The Brothers (6 page)

I can’t speak. Grabbing his arm, I tug him in the direction of the receiving desk.

Robbie follows and we walk at a clip, his mop bucket rattling over grout lines. He doesn’t pry as I nearly sprint away from the storage closet, and I’m grateful. The lie Dr. Houghtson gave me won’t make any sense, and there’s no way I can tell Robbie the truth.

When we find the wooden desk and the shelves cluttered with odds and ends, I tuck myself down behind it and sit on the floor. Robbie looks at me like I’ve grown horns, but he doesn’t ask. He offers me a package wrapped in wax paper. When I unwrap it, I find a fish sandwich.

“This is your lunch,” I say, staring at the thick brown bread around the flaky white fish. “Or whatever you night shifters call your mid-meal.” I hand him his food back.

He takes it and folds the paper back gently. “We call it lunch. Weird, right?”

I smile, but I still clutch my knees to my chest as if they will protect me. “What do you call the last meal before you sign off?”

“I call it lucky, since we’re lucky if we get anything,” he says, coming around to rest a hip on the cluttered desk. “Did you need something from me?”

“Oh, darn it. I dropped the forms by the elevator.” I punch a hand into the tent my gown makes across my knees.

He reaches around and draws out a tube of paper from his back pocket. The requests. He hands them to me. I smile and press them to my chest.

“It isn’t like you to lose your forms,” he says, looking at me from under his mop of curls.

It’s his way of asking what happened, but I dodge it. “What’s new on level one?” I ask, peering at the desk. “Anything thrilling?”

He gestures to the mop in his fist and then to the lightbulbs on the desk. “A clogged toilet on three. A squeaky door on two. That’s thrilling, right?” He twists his mouth, thinking. His face is comforting with his round cheeks and deep-set eyes.

“How’s the puzzle book?” He mimes a book with his hands.

“Wonderful,” I say. “And almost gone. God, can you imagine what it used to be like having books like that at your fingertips? I can’t fathom what that must’ve cost you.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “I found it in a garbage pile.”

“Liar,” I say, smiling. “Anything happening outside?”

“A lot more raids of the night bazaar. I guess some major gambling ring has been going on. Lots of money won and lost. Mostly lost. Make everyone do crazy things, so they’re shutting it all down.”

“Nothing you’d get into?” I ask.

He shakes his head and scratches a hand through his half-inch beard. “No ma’am. Straight and narrow is the path for me. My dah taught me right.”

I nod, remembering that Robbie was raised by a foster father in the shantytown outside the hospital, just like most of the male workers here. Boy babies born to Breeders girls are given to willing fathers with a stipend and reared until age thirteen. At that point, the boys have to fend for themselves. Many die. Some, like Robbie, show enough promise to come back and work for the hospital. He’s lucky, by all accounts. Maybe that’s why I’m here. I hope some of his luck rubs off on me.

“Do you still talk to your dah?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “He died.”

“How?”

Robbie sniffs. “At the night bazaar. Some trader, high on devil’s weed, stole a knife and went after some boys. My dah stepped in. The trader spilled his guts and ran off.”

“Sorry, Robbie.”

“I was twelve. Able to take care of myself by then anyway.”

I let the moment sit, thinking about Robbie and his dah. He pushes the mop bucket aside and comes to sit beside me on the floor.

“What were you looking for in that closet? You looked shaken as a cockroach on a stagecoach when you came out.” When I giggle at his choice of words, he blushes. “Sorry. Something my dah used to say.”

I nod, tasting metal in my mouth.

“Anything that I can do?” he asks, tugging at a hole in his work coveralls.

My fingers form letters in my lap that I don’t know I’m signing until I’ve spelled several words. “No, but thanks for asking.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He digs into the breast pocket of his coveralls and produces a thin, red satin ribbon. He drops it in my palm.

“Robbie, it’s beautiful,” I say, almost crying. “How much did it cost?”

He shakes his head, smelling like lemon cleaner and warm earth. His presence makes me wish I could stay behind this desk with him, my friend, for the rest of my life.

“Thank you,” I whisper, tucking the ribbon in my pocket. “Sabrina will be so happy.”

He nods, his beard quirking into a smile. “I can get you things, too. Whatever you like.”

I smile and pat his hand. “I have all anyone could get me.”

“Well, I got you something anyway.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out a small box.

I study it as he holds it out to me. “What is it?”

He shrugs. “Thought you could tell me. The guy who sold it to me said it was a puzzle, but it looks like a regular old box to me. Bastard probably ripped me off.” He drops it in my hands.

I roll the small, wooden box over in my hands. It’s tiny, about the size of a pack of cards, with a faded Chevron symbol burned into the side. As I turn it over in my hands, I notice one section of the box is more worn than the others. I push on it. That section of the box slides. I flip it over and find another panel, one that’s been worn away by many fingers. When I push this section, the panel slides back to reveals an empty compartment.

“It
is
a puzzle,” Robbie says, leaning over me to study it. “You’re really smart.”

“Not really,” I say, handing it back to him.

His warmth is comforting. I let my arm brush his. We sit and enjoy each other’s company for the short moment we’re allowed. It will be over much too soon.

When I tiptoe into our room, Sabrina’s already snoring. I pat my pocket with the red ribbon and the puzzle box. I’ll show her in the morning. With all the hormone treatments she’s on, Sabrina never sleeps well. Often, she wakes me up whimpering in her sleep. I never ask her about her dreams. It’s better if she doesn’t remember whatever it is she sees.

I creep into my bed and ease myself in. The springs are old, the mattresses thin. D Hall residents get all the hand-me-downs. I wiggle a little to settle myself and stare at the shadows on the wall. Sleep is a high ceiling, just out of my reach, and black thoughts hover between. Dr. Houghtson’s words cling to me. He wants me to be his wife. I roll this thought over and over, tasting it. Dr. Houghtson’s not a bad man. He has always been kind to me, always offered me sweets or a soft word. I’ve heard stories of doctors striking infertile girls, and he is definitely not that kind of man. But there’s something about him that makes my skin crawl. Maybe it’s that he always seems to be touching me whenever he gets the chance. Tonight, when my hair was slipping between his fingers, my reaction was to bolt. If we marry, how could I let him touch me in every place like that?

The image of the girl on a leash appears. What scars does she hide beneath her tunic? Around her heart?

A life on the outside would finish me. A life with Dr. Houghtson might be okay. I could live in the hospital. I could see Sabrina, Nanny Bell, and Robbie.

Another shiver courses my body at the thought of Dr. Houghtson’s hands. I roll over, stare at the window, and watch the clouds skim past a harvest moon. I have to get pregnant. I have to.

I lie in the silence and will my body to flower.

I wake to thunderous footsteps on the tile floor. My eyes pop open. In the dawn light, Dr. Bashees and two other doctors stare at me.

“Janine of D Hall?” Dr. Bashees says, glancing at a clipboard.

“Y-yes. Yes sir, that’s me.” I stand. My heart is pounding and my head spins. On the other side of the room, Sabrina sits up and looks at me with fearful eyes.

“Janine, you have been unable to produce offspring for the good of the cause. Is this correct?” His voice is even, his face unflinching.

I swallow hard and feel myself nodding. “Sir, none of the treatments have taken. I’ve followed every order, taken the hormones—”

He cuts me off with a wave of his hand. The doctor behind him clears his throat like what I’m saying is making him uncomfortable. Sabrina shoots me a terrified glance.

“And you’re…how old?” He lifts one of the papers on his chart. “Sixteen?”

I nod. Swallow. Feel like I’m going to die.

“Almost seventeen,” the doctor behind him says, pointing to the clipboard.

“I have two months,” I blurt out.

Nanny Bell appears in the doorway. Her face is just as afraid as Sabrina’s.

Dr. Bashees looks at the chart and then at me. “Two months, six months, ten months. Really, what’s the sense in prolonging the inevitable? It’ll be harder for everyone if we draw this out.”

My legs turn to jelly and I dip down, gripping the bed to keep from falling to the floor. There’s a pounding in my ears, making the rest of what Dr. Bashees says just a muffled thudding.

Today’s the day,
I think.
The day I die.

Sabrina stands up. “Please, sir. She has one more treatment. It might take.” She tugs on Dr. Bashees’ sleeve. He looks at her hand, and she pulls it back. He nods to the doctors beside him. They stride forward.

“Come with us,” the one on the left says, reaching for my arms.

This time when my legs give out, I tumble to the floor. My bottom hits the tile and my head bangs against my bed frame. The world is spinning.

The doctors grab my arms and pull upward.

Nanny Bell is at my side. “Dr. Bashees, this girl has served the hospital for years. She is our best courier. She’s trusted with an all-access pass.” Bell’s eyes flick from Dr. Bashees to me and back.

Dr. Bashees frowns and strokes his trim beard. “That’s all well and good, Bell, but we can get a boy from the town to run packages for a fish sandwich.”

Nanny Bell blocks the door, stopping the doctors from dragging me out. “Isn’t it bad for morale to go against procedure? Won’t it frighten the other girls if you start releasing them willy-nilly? You want everyone here scared as piss you’re going to sell them when the budget gets tight?” She gestures to the girls who have gathered around my door.

Dr. Bashees strides to Bell, leans toward her. His eyes blaze in a way I’ve never seen. “I don’t need to explain my decisions to a nanny. She’s going!”

He strides past Bell, past the girls that part before him. The doctors tug on my arms and I half-walk, half-stumble down the hall where they lead me. Sabrina starts to cry as I’m shuffled along.

This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening.

They pull me to the elevator. I look over my shoulder. Bell stands in the middle of the hallway, silently crying. She signs
stay strong
with quick fingers on her chest. With my arms pinioned, I can’t answer. I’m tugged into the elevator.

When the doors shut, a panic hits me so hard I start choking. Dr. Bashees examines me and shakes his head. “She’s faking.”

They say nothing as I gasp for air. Each breath is a tortured struggle. Maybe I’ll die right here.

I never got to give Sabrina her ribbon. It’s still in my pocket. I need to give her the ribbon.

The elevator dings at the first floor. They drag me out into the black-and-white checkered hallway. I think about last night. About Dr. Houghtson’s offer. It’s too late now. I think about Robbie. Is he here? Will he hear my asthmatic breathing and come out of a storage closet? But he doesn’t appear as they usher me down the hall, through a door, and down some steps. The air cools. A humming vibrates my body.

None of this feels real.

Dr. Bashees opens another door and they drag me through. We step out into the garage. The humming sound is a battered truck, pieced together with spare parts. A man stands beside it, an outsider. He turns around as he hears us.

It’s Rukus. I’d know him in an instant with his wild lion-mane hair and pointed teeth. He smiles wickedly.

“No,” I whisper through trembling lips. “No, please!”

Yanking my arms back, I struggle and kick. They grip me hard and drag me forward.

Dr. Bashees strides next to us. “Get ahold of yourself. This is embarrassing!”

I don’t look at him. I look at Rukus. His teeth are points. His fingers are dirty. In one hand, he holds a leather collar and leash.

“Please!” I scream, yanking back and forth against the doctors that drag me onward. “I have two months!”

Rukus smiles.

“
Where’s Dr. Houghtson
? I want to talk to Dr. Houghtson!” I scream, locking a foot around a metal pole to stop them from dragging me further.

“I’m here. Stop!”

We all look toward the open doorway. At the top of the stairs, Dr. Houghtson stands. In his arms, he carries a lifeless girl with black hair and long, thin arms. Her head flops to the side as he struggles her down the stairs. Is she unconscious or dead?

“This is a much more suitable girl for your needs,” he says, straining to carry her limp body down the stairs. He smiles weakly and then pauses to whisper to Dr. Bashees. It’s quiet, but I strain to hear. “The girls are in a frenzy. They’re upset you breeched protocol and released this one early.” He nods to me. Then he looks down at the girl in his arms. “This girl has been on sedation for the last month. No one will miss her.”

My skin prickles. No one will miss her? Dear God, how awful. I recognize her. It’s Alma, a girl I barely knew. She disappeared a month ago. And he’s right, as awful as it is. I didn’t miss her.

“Is she even breathing?” the wild man asks, looking suspicious. His tongue probes a fanged tooth.

“Oh yes,” Dr. Houghtson says, carrying Alma toward the man. “You can look her over, but you’ll see she’s very healthy. More than suitable for your…
purposes
.”

My stomach churns. I want to die. I want to go out like a candle. Melt onto the concrete.

Dr. Houghtson lays the girl inside the wild man’s truck bed, and the man begins inspecting her. Dr. Houghtson walks over to Dr. Bashees. “Well?”

Dr. Bashees stares at him, and then at the wild man. “You really think this will settle the girls down? Even if she’s sold in two months?”