Renegade (7 page)

“And did you not think of the consequences?” He taps the box.

I move my eyes to meet his and then adjust them so I focus on the wall behind him.
It’s impolite to stare a man in the eyes.
“Consequences?”

His smile widens again, as if he knew that’s what I was going to answer. “You said yourself he’s sick. He could give you something. Do you not remember about the epidemic from your studies?”

“Oh.” My gaze travels back to the box, where Dr. Friar caresses the case as if it’s his pet.

“Besides, he’s only a Surface Dweller. Not worth wasting our precious resources on, or being waited on by the Daughter of the People. On Festival’s Eve of all days.”

This time I don’t say anything.

“What have you learned from him?” he prompts.

I take a deep steadying breath and play with the hem of my skirt. “Just that he entered through one of the emergency exits.”

“Did he tell you why he came?” He strokes the box and I swallow. Little rivulets of sweat slide down my back to pool at the base of my spine, though I don’t know why I should feel so uneasy.

“He said he stumbled upon a cave when he took refuge from the rain.”

There’s a shadow crawling over the box and I have no idea where it came from. I take a quick glance around the room, but there’s nothing I can see that’s causing it.

“I see.” Dr. Friar’s voice stays that happy, cheerful tone that should put me at ease, but it only makes the sweat all over my body turn to tiny little ice cubes. “And what did he say his designation was?”

I can’t stop staring at the box. Whatever’s in there, I don’t want to know what it is. I don’t even want to be in the same room with it. It makes my skin crawl. “N-no. H-he doesn’t have one.” I wet my lips, and Dr. Friar purses his. The move is so like Mother’s when she’s angry that it makes spiders of fear skitter along my nerves.

“None?” He looks disappointed. “Surely he must do something to bring money for his family?”

“He said they don’t get money from the Governess.”

Dr. Friar leans forward. “He did, did he?” He studies me carefully, his eyes taking a full journey from my face to my feet. He stops once on my chest, making me want to cross my arms, before continuing the journey. When he’s finished, he opens the box. Inside, nestled in black velvet, is an old-fashioned syringe.

“You’ll need to take your medicine so you don’t get sick, Evelyn. We can’t have the Daughter of the People getting sick, can we?”

A memory of pain comes to mind and I cringe away from it. “No. I feel fine. I don’t need that.”

He snaps his fingers and my Guards step next to my seat. The room feels like it’s shrinking around me. The walls I’d just admired feel like they’re going to crush me at any minute.

Dr. Friar sprays a little stream out of the needle of the syringe. The air starts to smell like alcohol and a mixture of familiar and terrorizing scents I can’t place, but make my heart go wild and my breath catch.

“Don’t struggle, Evelyn. This will only hurt for a minute. You’ll never remember it.”

“No, please, no,” I whisper as fear clogs my throat.

He gestures again and two of the Guards take my arms, holding me in place. I struggle, knowing I’m not stronger than them. I can’t pull away. The Guards are chosen for their strength and fear has apparently robbed my own muscles of theirs. I can’t escape. No matter what I do, I’m trapped in the leather chair.

Dr. Friar advances on me as I struggle. Whimpers come from my mouth as he steps next to me. His breath warms my neck.

The needle slides into the skin of my neck, just behind my ear. I cry out as my whole body seizes. The pain is excruciating, as if they are holding a lit match to my skin. Nerves twitch all over; it feels like insects are crawling over me—insects that are made of fire and burrow into my skin—and I’m trying to shake them off. Besides the tremors, I’m frozen in place. Eventually the pain is too much and, when it comes, the darkness is a blessing.

But it doesn’t last long.

Soon I’m wide awake. Voices swim in and out as if I’m underwater. One voice in particular is familiar, yet not.

“Evelyn,” it says, “why have you decided to help the Surface Dweller?”

I don’t want to answer, but it’s as if my body has stopped listening to my brain. “I was drawn to him.” My voice sounds strange. It’s slow and slurred.

“No, Evelyn, you were repulsed by him.”

“Yes. I was repulsed by him.”

“You won’t try to help him in the future.”

“No. I won’t help him.”

“He deserves his fate for breaking our laws.”

“Yes. He deserves it.”

“After everything Mother has done for you, you should be more grateful for her generosity and obey her without question.”

“Obey without question.”

The voice stops waiting for me to respond.

Surface Dwellers are manipulative and dangerous. Nothing more than heathens who’d just as soon kill you as look at you.

He’s the worst of them all.

Why am I protecting him? He means nothing to me.

He would not do the same had our roles been reversed.

He is not my friend. I’m only here for answers
.

His kind is the reason for the fall of man and our exile to the ocean.

I will share all of my knowledge with Dr. Friar and Mother. Why would I not want to? They are only trying to protect me.

Surface Dwellers are manipulative and dangerous. Nothing more than heathens who’d just as soon kill you as look at you.

He’s the worst of them all.

Why am I protecting him? He means nothing to me.

He would not do the same had our roles been reversed.

He is not my friend. I’m only here for answers
.

His kind is the reason for the fall of man and our exile to the ocean.

I will share all of my knowledge with Dr. Friar and Mother. Why would I not want to? They are only trying to protect me.

After some time, the voice says, “Very good, Evelyn. Time to wake up.”

“Very good, Evelyn. Time to wake up,” I repeat as another sharp pain stings my arm. Then darkness bleeds in.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

Idle hands lead to an idle mind. Therefore all Citizens will be given designations to benefit their city more effectively.

—
C
ITIZEN’S
S
OCIAL
C
ODE,
V
OLUME
V

My life is just about perfect.

Every morning Mother has the Maids wake me at precisely ten. Then it’s time for a light breakfast followed by a mandatory visit with my Therapist.
It’s nice to have someone to talk with.

After, I am free to do as I wish until it’s time to perform one of the duties Mother has requested of me.

After the delightful talk with Dr. Friar about my flowers, Mother instructs me to go back to the Detainment Center. I’d rather play my violin. The soft, dulcet tones are the perfect balm to my soul. For some reason, each and every one of my muscles and joints hurt. As does my throat. Maybe Mother was right and I’m coming down with the flu. It’s a good thing she made me take my medicine.

But she wants more answers from Gavin. Although … I’m not sure what I am to say to him. Or what to ask. I do not wish to be near him. He’s a contemptible Surface Dweller. Why had I ever thought to protect him?
Had our roles been reversed he would not have done the same for me.

No answers come to me, but I follow my orders. The sooner I get answers, the sooner I get back to the way things are supposed to be.

Two of my Guards lead the way while the third walks behind me. For this, I am grateful. The stairs from Sector Two are slippery and if not for the younger Guard behind me, I would have smacked my face on the dirty concrete more than once. Not to mention, it is dark and dank in the tunnels. Dirty water runs down the walls. It smells like rotting vegetation. I hold my handkerchief in front of my nose. The lavender scent blocks the other smells.

When I enter the room where Gavin waits in his clear glass cell, I am hesitant. I do not wish to see him. I must continue my cross-stitching after practicing my violin. There is much to prepare for—Mother has told me I will meet another Suitor tonight. One she has handpicked. If he is a good match, then we will be Coupled. This pleases me immensely.

The Guards let me in, and Gavin smiles when he sees me. I don’t smile back. I don’t even want to be here.

His smile falters. “Is something wrong?”

“My life is just about perfect.”
My voice is rough and scratchy like I accidentally drank seawater instead of fresh.

He knits his brow together. “O-kay, but that’s not really what I meant.”

“I am not your friend. I am here for answers,” I say shortly, and begin to examine his shoulder. I don’t know how I could ever think he was attractive. He’s dirty and grungy. The hair starting to grow on his face gives him a wicked, shadowed look.

Maybe if he took a bath
,
I think.

He narrows his eyes and steps closer. I back up. I do not wish to stand so close to him. He does not smell good at all. I lift my handkerchief up to my nose.

He is not my friend. I am only here for answers.

“How are you?” He reaches a hand out, presumably to touch me.

I step away so his hand falls short. “Don’t touch me.”

“Why?”

I meet his eyes once before letting them flit away. “Why what, Mr. Hunter?”

“Mister? You were calling me Gavin last time.”

My fingers pleat the skirt of my dress. “It was highly inappropriate. I apologize for my forwardness.”

“Something is wrong.” There is a hint of frustration and worry in his tone. “Did your mother threaten you?”

“Certainly not.” I finally meet his eyes again and notice they are a beautiful gray. Almost silver in this light. What an unusual color. I didn’t even know eyes could be that color. They remind me of the charm around my neck.

“Then what’s going on?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I force myself to focus on something else—anything that isn’t his eyes. It is harder than I would have thought. “I am only here for answers.”

Gavin shakes his head. “Not like this. Something’s wrong with you.”

I settle for hands. Hands aren’t pretty. They’re functional.
“My life is just about perfect.”

He paces the room. “Yes, yes, you just said…” He trails off and then spins toward me. “Wait. Why did you say that again?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Because it is the truth.”

His eyes narrow and he comes back over, walking a circle around me. My eyes follow him. I’m not sure if it’s to make sure he doesn’t do anything, or for some other reason. “There’s something not right here. Where did you go? Where have you been? It’s been forever. The Guards have changed twice.”

“That is none of your business,” I snap. “Please remember with whom you are speaking.”

His eyes flash. “I know exactly who I’m talking to. I’m talking to Evelyn. The girl who probably saved my life. For which I’m grateful.”

I stare at the wall behind his head. It’s damp and chipped in places.
He’s only using me to get the answers he needs to find a way out of here.

“Fine.” Gavin sits back down on the floor. His expression is … hard to read. “You want answers?” he asks. “So do I. We’ll continue on with our earlier arrangement. One question, one answer.”

I slowly lower myself to the floor and wrinkle my nose at the dirt. My pretty dress is going to get stained. The Maids will probably have to burn it, and it’s brand new. Mother bought it not a week ago.

“I cannot promise to answer all your questions.” I straighten my skirt over my knees, taking care to make sure they’re completely covered.

He gives me a hard smile. “Then, neither can I.”

I purse my lips. “That is an acceptable arrangement. I will go first.”

His smile turns smug. “Fine.”

I recall the list of questions Mother made me memorize before leaving her. “Do you know where the door you entered from is?”

He scrubs at a dirt spot on his knee, only succeeding in making it worse. “Yes.”

I wait, but he does not volunteer any more information. “Where is it?” I ask.

He looks at me, amusement in his eyes. “Uh-uh. One question, one answer.”

I close my eyes against the anger rolling under the surface.
Anger is a poison and will eat away at your beauty.
I take a deep, calming breath—
Calming lavender in. Green, poisonous anger out—
before opening my eyes. “Very well. What is your question?”

He doesn’t even hesitate. His eyes are directly on mine, so intense I have to focus on not squirming. “Where did you go after you left here?”

“My Therapist. Where is the door?”

He furrows his brow and is silent for a minute. His voice is quiet when he finally speaks, as if he’s talking to a petulant child. “I’m not sure how to get there, but it wasn’t very far from your gardens. They’re very pretty, by the way.”

I don’t know what that has to do with anything. “What are?”

His mouth spreads into a lazy grin and my stomach quivers. “Your gardens,” he says. “I didn’t see them for long, but they’re very pretty. Did you design them?”

I smile at the visual of my gardens in my mind’s eye. It relaxes me instantly. “Yes. Father let me choose the flowers and the arrangement.”