Memory Girl (25 page)

Perfect
? I almost laugh. “If it's so perfect, why does Daisy sneak out to be with someone from another Family?”

“She has free will to see who she wants, as long as the Family isn't shamed. Physical needs are natural and allowed, although not to be confused with love for our Family.”

“But I am confused. And I don't want to do anything physical with Arthur. He seems nice enough, but he's so much older.”

“Milly, I know you better than you know yourself, and you and Arthur are perfect for each other.”

“Soul mates?” I question, still not really understanding this concept.

“Friends, partners, lovers.” She peers into my face, smoothing away strands of my hair from my eyes. “You're lucky to have a wonderful man like Arthur. When your memories return, you'll be the wife he deserves, giving him what I … what no one else can,” she adds, with a look on her face that gives away her heart.

“Graces good!” I gasp. “You love Arthur.”

“Don't be ridiculous!” she says sharply. “He's my sister's husband. Why would I work so hard to bring Milly back if I loved her husband?”

It's because she
does
love Arthur. I'm not sure how I know this, but somehow I do. She wants him to be happy, even if it means he'll never love her the way she loves him.

My own feelings for love are confusing. At the Celebraze, if I'd been able to Choose one of the names on Marcus's list, I'd have no husband and would be free to marry Marcus. I'd
join his Family or he would join mine. And we would have been happy together. But when I close my eyes, as I'm doing now, I see Nate's face—the scar at the corner of his mouth, his tight, muscled arms and those eyes … those dazzling sea-blue eyes.

“Milly, you're not yourself,” Rosemarie says, the anger fading from her face as she leans close to me.

I almost laugh. Milly is definitely not herself, because she's me too. But she's going to have to stand aside, because I have important things to do.

“Get some rest,” Rosemarie urges. “We'll talk more tomorrow, and I'll teach you what you need to know. But please don't ask any more questions now.”

Small black hairs in her braids fray loose around her face, and her eyes pool with shadows and sadness. I want to comfort her, to promise anything that will bring back her smile.

Stop thinking like Milly
, I order myself.

So I think of Nate. Saving me from the vampfin, his stunning smile, the lilt in his voice, and the scars on his hands. I sit taller, confident and determined.

“Tell me about the meeting,” I demand. “It's about faith, isn't it? They meet in secret because it's illegal to worship outside of our community's faith.”

“Go to sleep, Milly,” she urges, pushing me away.

“I can't sleep until I understand what's going on in my home.”

“Fine. But you must never repeat this.” Rosemarie whispers, although we're alone with no chance of being overheard. “They mean no disrespect to the scientists, but there are so many different beliefs and different shades of god. They gather together to share a belief in a higher power. My
husband wanted me to join, but I refused. I was too afraid of breaking community rules.”

“Still, you kept their secrets,” I accuse. “Isn't that breaking rules too?”

Instead of denying this, she studies me, searching. “Do you remember when we were small and went to church?”

Memories jostle for attention, one surfacing of a glorious building with a slanted roof topped with a white cross. Crowds file through double stained-glass doors, and we're led to a cozy room with other children. “Sunday school,” I say, nodding. “Mrs. Cox told us stories, and we sang songs.”

“I'd forgotten Mrs. Cox.”

“She had a mole on her nose and painted her lips bright red,” I add, hearing our girlish voices giggling. I search for more images of the woman but find none. There weren't any more of church either.

“Mom had a strong faith, but Dad didn't, so we stopped going,” Rosemarie explains. “My husband, Jed, though, had a strong Catholic background. He'd considered becoming a priest for a while, but he married me instead. He never missed a Sunday service—until ShareHaven was attacked and our churches destroyed. When we rebuilt our community, the Leaders decided on one church with one faith based on science. Share and share alike, the Leaders agreed, not only our food and chores, but our beliefs too.”

I think of the Unity Pledge:
I pledge to honor Family, respect community, and give thanks to the miracles of scientists. Peace and safety forever.

Rosemarie's gaze drifts down to where she's twisting a corner of her pillow. “But giving up religious beliefs proved difficult—especially for my husband.”

I lift my brows, encouraging her to go on.

“Jed told me his soul would die if he kept denying his true beliefs, not in science but in a higher power. I reminded him that dissenting beliefs resulted in wars, destruction, and the mind-plague disease.”

“But the mind-plague was an accident of nature,” I point out.

“That's what your Instructors taught you, but those of us with longer memories know the disease was spread by a terrorist group who believed that anyone who didn't follow their religion deserved to die.”

Milly's thoughts click in: faces talking from a box—TV—warning us to wear breathing masks and showing crowds of running people and burning buildings. I hear a TV woman say a word which sends chills through me:
bioterrorism.

The mind-plague infected the world, destroying brains, societies, and my baby brother. Milly's brother, I remind myself. Not a random disease like I was told but airborne hate designed to kill. I lean against Rosemarie, remembering a tiny boy with chubby cheeks and a laugh that made me laugh with him.

“Beliefs are complicated, both uniting and dividing people,” Rosemarie says sadly. “I warned Jed not to join the Believers—that's what they call their group—but he did anyway. I always knew where he was going when he left our bed at night. One night he came back acting strange. He held me tight,” she said, her voice cracking, “and he said he would love me forever. Then he—he made me promise not to save his memories if he had an accident.”

“You said he was murdered,” I remind her.

“My husband died while working on a construction
project, when a nail gun misfired and pierced his brain.” She glances over at a dresser where an old-style photograph of a bride and groom is framed. “But it wasn't an accident.” She swallows hard. “Jed was going to ask the Leaders to allow freedom of religion in ShareHaven. The day before the appointment with the Leaders, he was killed quickly in such a way that his memories couldn't be retrieved. It was called an accident—but he knew he was in danger.”

“How could he know?” I ask solemnly.

“He wouldn't tell me, but I suspect he was threatened.”

“By who?”

Her eyes swell with tears. “Our Leaders.”

I shake my head. “ShareHaven Leaders are against violence. They would never commit murder.”

“That's why someone outside of ShareHaven had to kill Jed.” She wipes a tear from her cheek. “Someone like your friend Nate.”

Rosemarie falls back to sleep, but I lie awake, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Nate. Locked away. Condemned to die. Nate's guilty, surely, but he was only a tool. I don't know why Nate allowed himself to be used. I only know he's not a savage and doesn't deserve execution.

I have to do something.

When I climb out of bed, each step I take toward the door is heavy with Milly's fears
. It's too dark. Stay here where it's safe. Night creatures will attack. I'll be caught. Rosemarie will lose me. I can't do this ….

But I will,
a stronger part of me shouts
.

Rosemarie's breathing is even as I slip on my pantons, long-sleeved shirt, and jacket. I climb downstairs, entering the night.

It would take 'til daylight to walk to the jail. A vehicle, especially a solar cycle that rolls quietly, would travel more quickly. One small problem: I've never driven a vehicle. It seemed easy when I watched Daisy, but what if I lose control and crash? As fear shocks through me, I realize these are Milly's fears, not mine. Jennza would leap into the cycle and thrill with the ride.

While Milly's fears are paralyzing, there's wisdom into thinking first before jumping into danger. Too often I've jumped without checking for a safe landing. So I swallow
my impatience and pause to think how to operate the solar cycle. It takes many tries before I learn to twist a button and pump the floor pedal at the same time. A green light flashes. The engine rips to life. I locate the reverse handle, and roll out the barn door in a rush of triumph.

I don't flash on the front beams. There's enough light from a full moon and the glowing vehicle panel. On the main paveway, I increase my speed, my pulse racing with each mile. I only slow when I near City Central, recognizing dark building shapes. Bricks tower high, like a storm cloud against night stars—the jail.

Reaching into my pocket, I touch the packet, hoping it contains a miracle to save Nate. I park the solar cycle a fair distance from the jail, then sneak down as silent as a night creature. I stay in the shadows. As I near the hulking brick building, lights shine on a Uniform guarding the entrance to the jail. I hold my breath, not daring to breathe. Heart thudding, I creep to the bushes and crawl along the dirt trail beside the jail. Weeds brush my face, snagging my hair. It's slow going, but I know this path well now.

Milly's fears threaten when a bat swoops close to my head. I slap my hand over my mouth before Milly can scream. But I think of Marcus teaching me about crawlies and know the creatures around me are harmless—grass snakes, leaper frogs, and long-tailed rodents. Minutes seem like hours when I step out of the bushes and peer up into Nate's window.

The bars reflect silver, seeming oddly beauteous. Nate's inside, but I doubt he's asleep—not in his last hours. What are his final thoughts? His family, I guess. I always imagined Nocturnes living beneath ground in total darkness, a
grim, desolate existence. But when Nate spoke of his home, friends and their sharing of stories—stelling—his words were made of light. I'm curious to see his home, but that's impossible. The most I can do is help Nate return safely.

I withdraw the packet from my pocket, running my finger over the bumpy paper. What's inside? But even more puzzling, who left it for me? Someone else wants to save Nate. That should be reassuring, but it means someone has watched me. Who knows that I know Nate? Rosemarie knows of my friendship with Nate, but she'd rather see him dead than help him escape.

When I toss a pebble at the window, it bounces off a steel bar. The ping echoes like gunfire. I dive back into the bushes. Milly's voice warns me to leave, but I'm learning to quiet her. I imagine Nate's face. I'm concentrating so hard that I'm startled when Nate appears at the window.

He scowls down on me. “I told you not to come back.”

“I came to help you,” I retort, annoyed and hurt he's not happy to see me. “But if you'd rather die in a few hours, I can turn around now.”

“Don't risk your life for me.”

“My choice.” I raise my arm. “Here. Catch.”

When I throw the packet, he catches it in a pinch of two fingers. Awkwardly, he draws the package through the bars.

When I hear him groan, I call out, “Are you alright?”

His leans forward, his blue eyes catching moonlight. “I almost dropped it.” I hear a rip of paper. “Oh my god!” he cries. “Where did you get this?”

“Someone left it for me.”

“Who?”

“I don't know. I found it in my room with a note that
said I could save your life. Do you know who left it?”

“No. All Topsiders want me dead.”

“I don't, and at least one other person cares about you.” I stare up curiously. “What's in the packet?”

“You didn't open it?” His voice is light, almost teasing.

“I wanted to, but it was addressed to you,” I admit. “What is it?”

“Rubber strips and a bottle.”

I'd expected something more useful, like a steel saw or weapon. “How can rubber and a bottle save your life?” I ask.

“Watch,” he says.

He winds the rubber strips around the window bars like he's winding a bandage. “Now for the igniter,” he tells me, holding up the small container. He drips green liquid on the rubber, a few drops spilling down the ivy wall. Nothing happens at first … then I hear the sizzling.

Everywhere green drops drip, including ivy leaves beneath the window, green flames spark. There's an acrid odor and soft, popping explosions.

“Are there Uniforms near your cell?” I call up to Nate in a tense whisper.