Rehabilitation: Romantic Dystopian (Unbelief Series Book 1) (6 page)

All I want to do is run and see if Jacob is alright, and Samantha, too, but I force myself to take the small bowl of grits and scrap of bread. I sit down to eat, barely managing to choke it down. But I know if I leave without eating, everyone will be suspicious. There’s so little food that goes around that to step out on a free meal is a red flag for something big going on. I sit next to a couple of girls from the first floor, listen to them chat away about nothing, and go through the motions of meal time. I don’t even taste what I’m eating, not that there’s a lot to taste to begin with, and when I’ve finished I stand, taking my plates with me. I’m just dropping them off at the kitchen when I freeze.

Being escorted in with the Matron is Samantha. My fists clench reflexively down by my sides.

“Sammy?” I say aloud as I watch the small girl take hesitant steps, clearly frightened of her new surroundings.

This is bad. This is
frighteningly
bad. If Samantha is here, then it’s because she no longer has family to take care of her—or family no longer
willing
to take care of her. Her parents have been dead for years and her only sibling is her older brother. I know if Jacob was around, he would never let her end up here and that’s what convinces me he’s gone. My stomach knots again and my shoulders slump as truth hits me. I’m right about what happened last night.

The Matron leans down and whispers a few things in Samantha’s ears, to which the frightened little girl only nods. Then the older woman leaves. Samantha just stands in the middle of the dining room, the other girls ignoring her—it’s not uncommon to get new additions. She looks around, probably trying to find a safe place to hide.

My stomach turns and tries to send my breakfast back up. With effort I keep it down. As calmly as I can, I walk over to Samantha. I don’t want to draw a lot of attention to her, or me, so I try to appear casual.

It’s pointless because as soon as she sees me and realizes who I am, she runs toward me as fast as she can. She launches herself at me, wrapping her thin arms around my waist and burying her head into my shirt. My arms wrap around her tiny frame automatically, my lips brushing against the top of her hair.

She starts sobbing.

I hug her back, shushing her to try to get her to quiet down. “Shh,” I say, glancing around at the other girls who have now begun to glance over at us curiously. It’s not unusual for a new girl to break down, but it’s rare one of us offers any kind of comfort for that.

“Jacob’s gone,” she sobs into my shirt.

I freeze again. Something heavy hits my heart and drags it down into my stomach. I feel sick and cold and somewhat panicked.

It’s not that this surprises me. I’ve been dreading it since I saw that van. Before that, even. Since Jacob didn’t show up at the Gravestones last night. And I knew it the second I saw Sammy walk into the room. But hearing Samantha confirm it aloud... it’s more awful than I thought it would be.

I swallow with effort. “Samantha, it’s okay,” I tell her, even though I don’t believe that myself. It’s definitely
not
okay if Jacob is gone. “Everything’s going to be okay. Let’s go upstairs.”

It’s with great effort I manage to pry Samantha off me enough we can walk up the stairs toward my dorm. I’m sure she’s been assigned some bed in one of the other wings, the one for younger girls, but for now we’ll be able to talk privately in the dorm I sleep in. Now’s the best time for it, while all the other girls remain eating.

As we leave the dining hall, I catch the gray gaze of Miriam following us out. She’s still watching as the door closes behind us.

When we make it up the stairs and into my dorm, I close the door behind us, making sure it’s shut tight. I take a moment to check and make sure no one is in the room who might listen in. It looks all clear.

Spinning around to face Samantha, I kneel in front of her and grab her small shoulders. “What happened?” I ask with urgency, keeping my voice low.

She wipes at her eyes with her tiny fists, sniffling. “Jacob’s gone.”

I nod, feeling impatient now that I know something’s definitely wrong. “Last night, right? They came for him last night?”

She pulls her hands away from her face and looks up at me. Her hair is darker than Jacob’s, though lighter than mine, and her eyes are dark brown instead of the bright blue of her brother’s. She takes after her mother, instead of her father, and it makes her look much too soft sometimes.
 

Definitely too soft for this world at any rate.

“Yes,” she finally says. “They knocked and knocked and then they kicked in the door. Jacob argued with them, yelled at them, but they hit him and dragged him away.”

I feel sick. They
hit
Jacob? Is he alright? If the Elite had taken him—and who else would have—then why did they attack him? Why did they take him in the middle of the night? Selection is always the easiest way to make troublemakers disappear. No one is exempt from Selection and Jacob is still within the age range it wouldn’t be abnormal for them to Select him in.

“Then they came to me and said that Jacob was filled with bad ideas.” She’s sobbing again now, her body trembling in my grip. “They said they were going to fix him.”

Fix him. The dread I’ve been feeling since last night boils to a head. I know exactly what ‘fixing’ means. It’s the same thing they told me and my mother the day my father went missing and never came back. It’s what they tell people who fail their Trials. I feel an involuntary shudder wrack my body.

Rehabilitation.

R
ehabilitation.

The word has played over and over again in my head for the last two months. According to the Elite, Rehabilitation is a program designed to help maladjusted individuals reintegrate into society as productive, wholesome citizens. That’s the official line, but no one buys it. When someone says Rehabilitation, they mean a camp where people get sent for failing their Trials. It’s not a fun camp either. People go there and when they come back—
if
they come back—they’re different. Haunted, is the term usually used to describe them. The haunted gray eyes of young Miriam flash in my mind.

I’ve never been to Rehabilitation. I’ve never failed any of my Trials, because I’ve had enough evidence thrown in my face over the years that I’ve never questioned the existence of God. I
know
He’s not real.

But Jacob? It’s been a wonder he
hasn’t
failed before now. Jacob’s been a...
Believer
his whole life. Since before we even met. When he was a kid and his parents were still alive, they used to tell him stories about God and how He is good and all-knowing and a lot of other stuff that just filled his head with stupid ideas.

Dangerous ideas. Now he’s paying for them. I sigh. Even though his parents died long ago and he hasn’t done anything harmful to the Elite, other than not liking them, which he’s not alone in... he is in Rehabilitation. I’m left driving myself crazy every day wondering what is happening to him.

Trials happen regularly and most everyone passes without too much trouble. They test people from pretty early on, kids primarily. Especially those who are from two parent households or who appear to have an overly chipper personality. Too much joy in the After World is a red flag to the Elite. Anyone who appears likely to believe there’s something more out there in the universe that reaches beyond our logical, reasonable ‘real-world’ is tested.

That’s why I haven’t gone to that many Trials. I got tested just like everyone else, taken in for Selection the standard two or three times a year, but no one ever thought I would become a Believer. It’s because my dad went missing when I was just a kid and my mom went crazy before she died in a nuthouse. Then I got put in the Girl’s Home and when things were all said and done, there wasn’t enough good going on in my life for
anyone
to think I could believe in a higher power. If I did, I’m sure I would just hate Him.

Jacob being sent to Rehabilitation only reaffirms there’s no all-good, all-knowing deity watching over us, like I’ve always known. Because how could a supreme being just sit around while the
one
guy who is truly decent and truly Believes gets sent to a camp that breaks people?

Things have only gotten worse since he’s been gone. Maybe no one else has noticed, maybe he just didn’t touch that many lives, but
I’ve
noticed. His sister Samantha wound up here in the Girls’ Home with me and I made a promise to myself I would keep her safe. Then about a month ago she was ‘adopted.’

It wasn’t a real adoption, though. Adoptions happen when people go through the girls and pick out the ones they think are the best, but no one came and looked at Samantha. No one came at all in fact, because adoptions are rare. The Elite came though.

They knocked at the door of the Girls’ Home and the Matron answered. When they asked for Samantha Moore, I
knew
it was bad. They said they selected a family for her. A nice, normal, law-abiding family that would teach her the appropriate values of our culture.

I know what they really meant was the family would try undoing everything Jacob filled her head with over the years.

The thing is, I don’t necessarily disagree with that. I don’t think teaching someone to value logic and reason over some big guy sitting in the clouds is a bad thing. It’s a lot easier to deal with bad stuff that happens when you know it’s coming. And when you’re not waiting for someone or something to wave a magic wand and make everything all better again.

My problem isn’t with what they’re going to teach her as far as the rules and reasoning and things like that. What
I’m
worried about is they’ll teach her to forget Jacob. My gut twists at the thought.

Whether he’s crazy or not, or believes in something that doesn’t exist or not, he’s still the best thing in my life. I’m not about to let them just
erase
him because he broke the rules. No way.

So here I am, standing outside the door of Carol and Mark Cales, the ‘pleasant’ couple that adopted Samantha. I knock on their door—
again
—and wait. This isn’t the first time I’ve waited knee-deep in snow on their doorstep asking to see Samantha.

It’s Mark Cales that answers the door today. He’s tall and lanky, with spindly arms that are too long for his body and a gaunt face with a pointed nose. There’s only a sprinkling of gray hair on his head and a pair of crooked glasses sit perched too low to be effective. He spends all his time pushing them back up toward his eyes.

“Hello, Mr. Cales,” I say in as formal and polite a voice I can muster. I keep thinking if I can just appear old enough and wise enough somehow, maybe they’ll change their mind. “Is Samantha home?” I can’t hide the spark of hope I know is written all over my face.

Mr. Cales narrows his dull brown eyes at me, his shrewd gaze frosty. “Ms. Reardon.” He always says my name with an exasperated sigh and puts a period at the end after he says it, like it’s a sentence all on its own. “Go home. I’m sure the Matron has already explained to you that—”

“I know Samantha’s adopted now,” I rush in hastily, unable to stop myself from interrupting him. I’ve already heard this and it makes me impatient. “I was just hoping that I could see her and maybe talk to her for a minute. I’ve known her my whole life and—”

The stern look on his face tells me my efforts are a lost cause. It was a lost cause the moment I knocked, maybe I even knew it then, too, and I know it’ll be a lost cause every other time I stand on his doorstep asking to see his new ‘daughter’.

“Samantha isn’t seeing anyone right now,” he tells me in that cool, stiff voice of his. It’s the same tone Mrs. Cales has when
she
speaks to me. “She’s adjusting to her new life right now, and the last thing she needs is a reminder of her old one.”

My heart plummets despite myself. I have to work hard to keep my shoulders straight and continue to stand tall. He’s not going to let me in. “But—”

“Good day, Ms. Reardon,” he barks, closing the door in my face with a thud.

I stand on his porch for several long moments, just staring at the closed door while snow falls down around me. I’m almost oblivious to the cold though, adrift as I am in my thoughts and disappointment.

 
I
know
I have to find a way to see Samantha, I owe it to Jacob, but every time I try, I never make it past the porch. And Carol Cales isn’t any better than her husband, either. Both of them might as well be the Elite for all the warmth and trust they grant me.