Escape from Eden (32 page)

I shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Bridgette sneered, but said nothing to me. “Let’s go, Dina.”

Dina gave Juanita a small, encouraging smile and followed Bridgette from the cabin, pulling the door shut quietly.

“Thank you,” I said to Aliyah. “For staying with her.”

“I want to,” Aliyah said, pushing a strand of curly hair from Juanita’s face.

“But if Nurse Ivy—”

There was a knock at our cottage door, then, and without waiting for an answer, Mama stepped in. My speeding pulse felt as though it would burst through my veins. I needed to get to the kitchen to replace the poison. And I wasn’t ready to face her.

“Mia,” Mama said. “We need to talk.”

“I—” I started to protest.

“Now,” she said in a snippy tone that didn’t sound at all motherly. At least not a motherly tone I’d heard from her since I was a young kid, when I’d done something wrong and was ordered into a time out.

“It’s all right,” Aliyah said. “I’ll make sure Juanita is okay. Promise.”

“Outside please.” Mama motioned behind her.

“Be right there,” I said. After Mama left to wait for me outside, I turned to Aliyah. “Thank you,” I whispered.

She smiled.

Mama stood outside our cottage. When she saw me, she turned and walked in long, confident steps. Her uniform dress, starched and unwrinkled, was as stiff as her spine. She sat on a bench beside the path. It was still early, so many of the Flock were asleep.

I sat next to her.

She folded her hands in her lap.

I shifted, locking my ankles together.

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

I leaned forward, elbows on my thighs.

She stretched her neck to the left, and to the right.

A soft breeze blew through the frangipani bush next to her; the cloying scent was almost too much for so early in the morning. With no sleep for two nights, I was beginning to feel dizzy.

“How was it?” she asked.

“How do you think it was, Mama?” I asked. “Monsieur Lambert sends his regards.”

She half-turned her head toward me, saying nothing, her eyes widening a fraction. Her mouth opened, then closed again, like a landed fish. After long moments of impenetrable silence between us, she said, “Lambert?” in a choked voice.

“You knew what they were sending me into,” I said. “And you let it happen anyway.”

She wrung her hands in her lap, tension paling the skin of her knuckles and wrists. The sun was rising now, casting a pale pink glow in the sky. Hazy morning shadows stretched across the path, as if deciding to come into sharper focus.

Just like Mama, I thought. Deciding whether she wanted to tell me the truth, or remain fuzzy and indistinct.

Finally, she said, “Mia, I didn’t have a choice. The Reverend would have forced you to attend anyway, and if I tried to stop it, we would have been punished.”

“We?”

“Your brother and myself,” she said. “That’s how it works. Threats.” She fully turned to me. “You know there are those of us who remember. Practically everything we experienced. Some of what happened to us is murky, but other things we remember. We spend every day hiding our memories of that place, of what they make us do.”

“What would they have done to you,” I asked, “if you stopped me from going?”

Mama flattened her palm along her skirt, straightening a crease that wasn’t there. “Those kind of details you don’t need, Mia. If I can’t protect you from the Reverend and Las Casitas, I can protect you from knowing things like that, from experiencing things like that.”

She peered up into the lightening sky. “I was so afraid when we first arrived. Your father left and all I had was you and the church.” Her green eyes swelled with tears. “I couldn’t find work. And if I did, I couldn’t afford to pay anyone to watch you while I went to work. I found out I was pregnant with Max. It was one thing after the next. Hurdle after hurdle.” She wiped her eyes. “Then I heard about Edenton, about the utopian society the Reverend created, how they’d purchased land and built the town.

“It was so beautiful when we first came here. The love, the support. Everyone wanted to take care of us, of each other. And I wanted to take care of them, to contribute to the whole. It was such a loving place to be.”

“But it’s changed here, Mama,” I said.

She glanced around at the perfect flowers, the quaint cottages, the well-kept yards, the pristine white fence that held the jungle at bay.

“Why can’t we just leave?” I asked.

“And go where?” Mama raised her voice, and caught herself. “Do what to make money to survive? And do you think he’d let us go? Don’t you think I’ve tried before?”

“You tried before?” I asked in disbelief. “You tried to escape?”

“A few of us did. You and your brother were with us, asleep in the back of the truck. But we were caught … and punished.” She smoothed her palm along her thigh again. “I don’t want you to ever feel pain like that, Mia.”

My stomach pitched. “Like what, Mama? What did they do to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Her lips tightened. “Clearly, the memory drugs at Las Casitas didn’t work. Just pretend they do. Pretend like the rest of us do. Don’t say anything, don’t talk to anyone about it. And we’ll get through this, okay darling?”

She hadn’t called me darling in months. “What is there to get through, Mama? This is all there is. We aren’t living. We’re existing at the hands of an egotistical madman.”

Mama’s face crumpled. Her soft brown hair fell from its knot as she tilted her head forward. “This is our life, Mia. We need to accept it. Find joy where you can. Even if it’s with that boy Gabriel.”

A surge of hope flooded me—fleeting hope. I pictured a normal life with Gabriel that I’d never have. Even something as simple as going on a date. It would never happen in Edenton.

“The Reverend wants me to court Freddie,” I said.

She twisted her head toward me. “The security guard?”

I nodded.

She nodded back. “He seems nice enough. Court him then. Just try to find happiness in the little things, in the other people, in the sanctity of ritual and routine, and it will be a fine life here, Mia.”

“I don’t want a life here. I want to make my own choices, create my own destiny. I don’t want to be whored out to old men. Goddammit, Mama, this isn’t living!”

Before she could chastise me for taking the Lord’s name in vain, the alarm sounded, high and grave and oppressive, through the sweet-smelling morning air.

It was time for a Bright Night.

In the unflinching light of day.

I rushed back to the cottage. Aliyah was walking out the door like an obedient robot.

“You can’t go!” I said, grabbing her shoulders.

She furrowed her brow. “Huh? But I have to go to Bright Night.”

“No,” I said pushing her back into the cottage. “Please, stay here with Juanita. I’m sure Thaddeus would understand.”

Aliyah bit her thumbnail. “But Nurse Ivy—”

“Don’t trust her, Aliyah. Don’t leave her alone with Juanita.”

Aliyah looked away for a moment, memories dancing behind her eyes. Her gaze snapped to mine. “Oh! She was there. That night of Prayer Circle. She … ” Aliyah skated her palm over her upper arm.

I took her hand. “Please. Stay here. Watch over her. If Nurse Ivy comes–” I stopped, unsure what to say. What could she do if Nurse Ivy showed up and began poking Juanita with needles? Could Aliyah stop her? “Just keep her away from Juanita.”

“How?”

I glanced at the door, knowing there was no lock. At least not from the inside. “Hit her.”

Aliyah’s eyes widened. “Huh?”

“Smack her, kick her, do anything you can to keep her away.” I started toward the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I have to get to the kitchen before Bright Night begins.”

She said something, maybe a mumbled prayer, but I ran away too fast to hear it. I dodged Flock members dragging themselves toward the pavilion, which was the opposite direction from the kitchen. Off in the distance, I spotted Agatha, her drawn face the only one visible in a sea of turned heads. She was coming toward the kitchen. Toward me. She hadn’t seen me, though, so I hurried into the kitchen.

Inside, it was empty. Items for breakfast preparation were left on the counter, abandoned. Cartons of eggs sat open; slices of bread lay out, slathered with butter, ready for the ovens. Boxes of mangos and papayas were stacked on the floor, a few pieces of fruit half-chopped on cutting boards.

I grabbed a blue box of fine salt off a shelf. Pouring the salt into the small vials was close to impossible at first. My hands shook and salt spilled on the floor. Frantically, I searched for a small funnel I’d had last night. I riffled through a drawer, the clatter of plastic and metal loud to my ears. Finding one, I filled the remaining vials. My tired eyes stung from lack of sleep. Through blurry vision, I screwed on the tops and laid them out carefully on the counter next to the pantry.

My hands still shook as I tried to shove the key in the lock. I dropped the key, picked it up, and tried again. I had to work faster, but my fingers felt thick and clumsy, and slippery with sweat. Sweat ran down my face, into my already blurry eyes. I wiped it away with the shoulder of my sleeve.

“Hurry up, hurry up,” I muttered to myself.

Finally the key slid in the lock. It clinked open. The box was still on the top shelf, seemingly untouched. I grabbed it, carefully put the vials back in, and began placing the box back on the shelf.

A click sounded behind me. I pushed the box on the shelf and shut the pantry door. I stepped as far away from the door as I could get before Agatha walked into the kitchen.

“Mia?” she said, wrinkles in her brow deepening with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” I glanced down at the salt spilled on the floor. “I made a mess and wanted to clean it up before I went to Bright Night.”

“There’s no waiting for Bright Night,” Agatha said, coming forward. “Go, now. I’ll take care of this.”

“Of course.” I nodded once and headed out the door.

It was then I realized I hadn’t locked the pantry.

* * *

As the sun rose over the trees, heat thickened the air and morning fog clouded the depths of the jungle, creeping through the leaves and into shafts of light. Insects swooped through the pavilion. Lazy ceiling fans circled above, barely creating a cool breeze below.

I stood alone at the edge of the pavilion, watching the Flock take their seats. I scanned the crowd for Gabriel, wondering what happened to him after we’d separated and I’d watched him head back to his cottage. After we’d left Bridgette and Freddie in the kitchen, we’d given the network the location of the back gate, as well as the code to enter the tunnels. Had they even gotten the message? We had no way of knowing.

I made my way between bodies, trying to wedge through people to get to my assigned seat with the girls of my cottage. Or those who were left from my cottage. Only Bridgette and Dina sat at our seats, backs erect and eyes alert, staring at the empty stage. I hoped Aliyah would stay behind with Juanita, even if Nurse Ivy showed up. Aliyah had it in her to take care of Nurse Ivy if she needed to, and it gave me a little bit of comfort.

Mama dutifully directed her charges, the children from the schoolhouse, into their seats along the right side of the pavilion. My stomach clenched as I saw Max recognize me. His face brightened. He shot up in his seat, as if he wanted to run over to me, but Mama gently pushed him back down. On her lips, I read the word “after.” He gave me a small wave.

I waited silently, stealing glances at the row where Gabriel should have been sitting with his cottage mates, hoping he wasn’t doing anything reckless, or stupid. Or overly courageous.

Freddie entered alongside Grizz, and they stood at the front of the two main aisles while the other security guards ushered any stragglers into the pavilion. As usual, their guns were slung across their backs. Freddie’s eyes went straight to Bridgette, but she didn’t look his way, only kept her gaze fastened on the Reverend’s vacant throne.

Slowly, I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out the remaining microphone. I didn’t know if it was working or not, but I stuck it beneath the bench anyway.

Moments passed. Long moments when nothing happened onstage, and only the murmurs of the Flock could be heard, growing louder as time went on.

I leaned over to Dina. “Never had one of these during the day, huh?” I asked her, mostly for whomever might hear me through the microphone. “Why do you think we’re having it?”

She shrugged one dainty shoulder. “Maybe the Reverend has something special he wants to preach to us about. Or maybe—”

“Ssssh!” Bridgette said.

I waved my open palm at the stage. “It hasn’t even started yet. No need for shushing.”

Dina cracked a very small smile.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bridgette said, straightening her back and elongating her neck. “We must be respectful of the way.”

“What way, Bridgette?” I asked in a low voice. “We wait for the Reverend to preach at us, then he does something horrible to teach us a lesson?”

“What are you—” Bridgette hissed, but she was cut off by a round of gasps.

I glanced at the stage and watched, helplessly, as two security guards I didn’t recognize shoved Doc Gladstone to the front of the Reverend’s throne. My gut dropped at the sight.

They forced him to his knees. His face, half-covered by dangling dreadlocks, was swollen and ravaged. A trickle of blood ran down his chin from a split in his lip. His left eye was shut, bulging to almost the size of an egg. He lifted his head, but winced in pain, his right shoulder veering off at a funny angle.

The pavilion went silent. No one moved to help him. No one asked what happened. Everyone accepted what they saw before them, without question or doubt.

Long minutes passed as a kneeling Doc Gladstone stared off into the distance without a wince or a word. His posture, although broken, was strong and willful. The collar of his shirt was torn, exposing blotchy, darkening bruises on the dark skin of his chest. With steely eyes, he dared us to say anything, but I knew to offer words of comfort or prayer would be an insult.