Renegade (8 page)

He scoots closer, and this time I don’t move away. I don’t want to. It’s like there’s some magnet that’s pulling us together.

“I liked them very much. You must spend a lot of time there.”

“It is usually how I spend my day. Either attending to my flowers or cross-stitching or playing my violin.”

“That must keep you busy.”

I wave my hand in front of me. “Oh, I don’t mind.
Idle hands lead to an idle mind.
”

Excitement lights in his eyes as if I’ve said something important to him. “That’s a very interesting thing to say.” He studies me. “What else do you do for fun?”

“Fun?” I think about it. I’ve never been asked that question. “I read. Mother has an extensive library.”

“Really?” He looks surprised. “I love to read.”

I shift so I’m facing him and bend my legs underneath me. “Truly? All of my Suitors here are completely uninterested in reading.”

He frowns. “Suitors?”

“Yes. The young men Mother has chosen as candidates for me to couple with. Which stories do you like? I wonder if we have the same books.”

Still frowning, he names a few books I don’t recognize, then asks, “Couple with?”

The memory of what Mother wanted me to ask disappears into the mists of my brain. “Besides being Daughter of the People, I have been chosen for a woman’s highest honor. I have been selected to have a child.”

“What?” he yelps, startling me. “You’re still a child yourself.”

Anger replaces my excitement and I cross my arms over my chest. “I am not. A woman is eligible to have a child at sixteen. I have been eligible for three months
. It is an honor to fulfill my duty and ensure only the best are born in Elysium
.”

He gives me a look that is half shock, half incredulity. “That is the most bizarre thing I have ever heard. What about family? Isn’t that important here?”

A wistful feeling fills me. I don’t remember my birth parents, which is what I assume he means. I run my fingers along my necklace chain. “Do you have a family?”

“Well, yeah,” he says. I have a feeling he wanted to finish that sentence with, “Doesn’t everybody?” but already knew the answer. Instead he says, “I have a younger brother and an older sister. My sister just got engaged so she and my mom are planning the wedding for the spring. She’s twenty. We even have a dog.”

“A dog? Really? Mother has shown them to me in books. They always look so sweet, but Mother says that’s so we trust them.” I look at him pointedly. “But they’re Surface creatures—they’ll attack without reason.”

“Lucy? Attack without reason? Wow, your mom must have met some crazy dogs. Lucy wouldn’t hurt anyone … unless they tried to hurt my family.”

I move closer to him. “Can you tell me about them? Your family.”

He touches a hand to my forehead as if to check if I have a fever. His skin is rough, but I like the feel of his skin against mine. It reminds me of … someone.

Timothy and I sit in our alcove, as far away from the Square as possible. No one comes here, because it’s supposed to be where the Enforcers are, but Timothy figured out that it’s just another lie. One of Mother’s many.

No one comes here. Not even the Enforcers. It’s too dark. You can barely see in front of your face, and most people want to congregate where the light is. Light equals life in this place. His fingers caress the bare skin of my arm. He feels rough in comparison to me, and his touch gives me tingles.

The thought causes me to jump to my feet as if shocked. “Skin-to-skin touching between unCoupled people is strictly forbidden,” I gasp.

I touch the pendant around my neck, rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger. The memory fades back and the veil shrouding my brain lifts. I blink a few times, panting.

I glance around, furrowing my brow. I don’t remember how I got here. I was just in Dr. Friar’s office a second ago.

My heart is beating too fast. I need to calm down. Though I doubt they realize why I am agitated since they can’t hear anything, the Guards have tensed outside the cell with their hands resting on their side arms. I sit back down so the Guards will relax again.

I stare at Gavin, unsure what to do, silent as I calm myself. I press a hand to my temple.

He raises his eyebrows. “Are you okay? You sounded really weird there for a bit.”

I look down at the ground and into the shadows our bodies have made on the floor.
“My life is just about perfect.”

He sighs. “Yes, you keep saying that.”

“I do?”

He watches me. “Yeah. You do.”

“Oh,” I say.

It happened again. I know it. The pain in my head is familiar. It hurts to think back; the same as it always feels when I get flashes of memories.

To take my mind off it, I look over at Gavin. His eyes are clear and his skin has lost that yellowish tinge it had. The tremors appear to be gone as well. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m much better because of you. Thank you.” He reaches out a hand, then seems to think better of it and drops it to the floor. “You said you went to your Therapist. Why do you see one?”

“I said that?”

He nods.

I caress the charm, grateful for it as always. “I don’t know. I assume it’s because of my condition. I’m … forgetful.” I pleat the hem of my skirt again, and then adjust it, so it’s covering my knees.

He’s watching my movements carefully, as if afraid I might have another relapse. “What do you do there?” he asks.

“We just talk. About my flowers, my books. Violin lessons. Things like that.
It’s nice to have someone to talk with.
” I blink at the detached tone to my voice. It doesn’t sound like me at all. “That sounded a little odd.”

“Everything you’ve said since you got here has been weird.”

“It has?” I glance around. The Guards are back to whatever game they’re playing with little rectangles of cardboard.

“Yes,” he says, drawing my attention back to him. “You’ve been trying to find out how I got in. Don’t you remember?”

I hold a hand to my head as flashes come to me, but only vaguely. Like a dream. “No. Not really.”

He scoots closer and bends down to peer into my eyes. “What else happens at these appointments? Do you remember?”

“Just what I said. He listens while I talk and we have a good conversation.
It’s nice to have someone to talk with.
” I frown again at how different that last sentence sounded.

He adjusts his posture and there’s excitement in it as he leans closer. He’s mere inches from me, but I don’t back away. “Do they give you anything while you’re there? Do you drink anything? Eat anything?”

“No. We just…” I trail off when I remember the medicine Mother insists the Maids give me every morning. “Mother does sometimes.”

He smirks. “I knew it,” he whispers.

“Knew what?”

He leans forward so his mouth is almost next to my ear. His breath washes over my neck and I tremble. My body fights itself as half wants to pull away and the other strains to move closer.

“I think they’re brainwashing you. It’s the only explanation. Why you’re constantly repeating things. Why you’re a bit … strange.”

I slide away slightly, so I can think properly. The only thing I can think about is how it’s against the law to touch him, but how nice it feels when he touches me. “What’s brainwashing?” I whisper, my pulse still skittering around my veins.

He pulls back and gives me a curious look. “It’s a process that … persuades others to conform to the wishes of someone else.”

“You mean Conditioning?” I ask. Conditioning isn’t exactly that, but it sounds close. It’s how we train the Enforcers. To get their bodies to learn the complicated maneuvers, to follow Mother’s orders unequivocally, and to shut down their emotions so they won’t interfere.

His eyes light up. “Yes. Exactly. That’s what they called it during the War. Conditioning.”

I shake my head. “They don’t do that to me. Only Enforcers.” However, my heart beats a little faster.

His eyes widen and his mouth works for a minute before he finally asks, “You Condition the Enforcers?”

“Certainly. How else would you train a three-year-old girl to be an Enforcer?” I ask.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

It is a privilege and an honor to serve as an Enforcer, Elysium’s most prestigious designation … Conditioning is the ideal training method as it is safe, quick, and painless.

—EXCERPT FROM
S
O
Y
OUR
D
AUGHTER
H
AS
B
EEN
C
HOSEN TO
B
E AN
E
NFORCER.
C
ONGRATULATIONS!
PAMPHLET

Gavin’s jaw drops and his hands fall to his side. “That little girl was three when they started training her to kill people?”

“Yes. That’s the age we all get our designations. And it’s the perfect age to start Conditioning. The body is still adjusting itself to everything around it. The bones are still pliable and the muscles still developing. Mother tried other ages, but the candidates always failed.”

“That’s … that’s awful.” He reaches a hand out again, but glances at the Guards and lets it drop. “And you’re sure they haven’t done this to you?”

“Yes.” My answer comes immediately, without question. As soon as it does, it feels wrong on my tongue. I rush to explain more, but I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself. “Anyway, none of the Enforcers remember anything from before the age of ten. It’s part of the process. That’s the age when they start their duties. Before that is inconsequential.”

“But how do they remember their training?”

“That’s part of the Conditioning,” I say. “They remember … only what they need to remember.” What they
let
them remember.

Perhaps it feels wrong because that has been one of my fears. That I was—am—Conditioned. It’s truly the only thing that explains … everything. How Gavin claims I’ve said things that I don’t remember saying. How I’m always forgetting things I know I did.

My fingers reach for the pendant again.

The concrete floor is almost unbearably uncomfortable and I adjust myself so I’m sitting on the floor with my legs crossed at the ankle in front of me. It’s impossible to keep the fabric covering my knees, but comfort outweighs modesty at the moment.

Gavin watches the movement and follows the hem of my skirt up my legs before turning his attention to the laces in his shoes. “Do you remember everything?” From the way he asks, I know he knows I don’t.

I look down at the ground. “No.”

“But you still think they’re not Conditioning you now?”

Hoped. Knew otherwise. Forgot.

I don’t say any of these things.

“I’m the Daughter of the People.”

He looks for a moment like he wants to ask more, but instead he asks, “How did you get to be Daughter of the People? Is Mother your real mom? Somehow I don’t think so.”

He is entirely too observant. I shake my head. “Mother … adopted me. She’s been waiting for the perfect genetic candidate. So, she made me her daughter, and gave me everything I could possibly want. My only requirement is to be a Breeder—to couple,” I say when I see the confusion on his face. “
And it is an honor to fulfill my duty and ensure only the best are born in Elysium
. We must continue my genetic legacy. There is no reason for mind control. I barely leave the Palace Wing, and when I do, the Guards are with me.”

He’s quiet for a few minutes. The room is silent, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It’s not like when I’m with Mother and the clock keeps ticking the time away.

“What about this coupling thing?” he says, and I jump. “Sorry.” He chuckles.

“It is an honor to fulfill my duty and ensure only the best are born in Elysium.”
I frown. Why does that sound so strange when I say it? It sounds right when I think it.

He smiles as if to prove my point. “And what about this? With me? I’m sure your mother wouldn’t be happy you’re not finding out anything about me.”

I purse my lips, then say, “
I’m
not happy I’m not finding out anything about you.” I look up to meet his eyes. “But that’s for another reason altogether.”

He grins. “Do you remember any of our conversation from earlier?”

No, I think. And that’s the worst. That’s
always
the worst. Not knowing what I’ve said. Or done. I chew on my lip before forcing myself to stop.

“Bits and pieces,” I say finally.

But again he seems to know what I haven’t said. “This has happened before, hasn’t it? Isn’t it always the same?”

I don’t answer. It
is
the same. He continues to watch me and I finally understand what he’s trying to tell me.

“I understand what you’re saying.” I know I shouldn’t ask this, but I can’t help it. I have to know. “And you think … it’s a bad thing.”

He looks astonished, the way his mouth hangs open. “Well, yeah. They’re
erasing
your past! How can you even know who you are, if you can’t remember who you’ve been?”

My own mouth drops open, but before I can say anything he’s continuing. “And just a few minutes ago, you were so confused you didn’t know where you were or what you’ve said. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life like that?”