Unforgiven (20 page)

A small smile formed on my face in response to David’s remark, but it didn’t feel real. None of it did. “How long will he be…?” I trailed off, not really sure how to complete the sentence.

“Until it’s time,” David answered vaguely. “Are you ready to see him?”

“More than,” I said as we stood at the very bottom of the stairwell.

David touched a seemingly inane panel on the wall. The outline of his hand illuminated, and the floor beneath us slowly lowered, catching me by surprise. Mitchell took my elbow for support, and we went deeper into the depths of the facility.

At the bottom, a sterile room awaited us. It looked remarkably similar to a real hospital. White walls and horrible florescent lights surrounded us, but there weren’t as many beds, and not nearly as many nurses or doctors bustling around. There was no receptionist to receive us, probably because it was assumed we knew where we were going. The technology that lined the walls was astounding. Some screens showed x-rays of various body parts; others showed vital statistics.

“Are those all for Owen?”

“No, he was the most badly hurt, but he’s not the only one down here. Camden will be ready to go back upstairs today, I expect.”

Camden too?
The thought threatened to break my heart even more.

We finally arrived at Owen’s room. Though I’d thought I was ready, nothing could’ve prepared me for seeing him that way. He was connected to a dozen tubes and wires. A machine hissed rhythmically as it breathed for him. His neck and arms were covered in white bandages that already had stains seeping through them, but his face looked as I remembered it.

Mitchell led me over to Owen’s good side and sat me in a chair. I stroked Owen’s face and started talking, not sure if he could hear me, but knowing what I needed to say.

“Owen, my love, I’m so sorry.” Leaning forward, I stroked his face, feeling how warm it was. How real.

“We can leave you two alone if you like,” David offered, shifting awkwardly.

“No. Now that we’re all together, I’d like to tell you what happened.” I paused, trying to take strength from the love that surrounded me. These men were all so important to me. Silently, I vowed to never take them for granted again.

“I don’t really know where to start. Going in to get Shields seemed like a good plan, but something went terribly wrong.” My own voice sounded distant to me as I struggled to find words to explain how horribly I’d failed. “It started with Tracy. He got her easily, too easily. Then he trapped me inside my own personal hell.” I couldn’t bring myself to look at Mitchell. I had no idea what they’d done to Mitchell, nor did I want to know. My own personal paradise/hell had been quite enough.

“I watched on some kind of projection screen from the inside of Shields’ mind as Amanda, of all people, explained what they were planning—how they would use me to infiltrate the Unseen’s facility. They had control of my body, although they didn’t use that control as well as they should have.”

I continued stroking Owen’s undamaged face, holding on to this reality with everything I had. It might be broken, but it was real.

“No. I took to thinking of her as a robot. Her movements were so stiff, I had to laugh as I watched her climb the stairs. I thought they’d get me killed just trying to maneuver my body. But, unfortunately, they didn’t. She made it all the way down to your office, David, and I’m afraid of what they’ve learned.”

David sank into a chair behind me. “I um…” He trailed off, a stunned expression on his face. He spoke through his hand over his mouth. “I had hoped I was wrong about Amanda.”

After a long pause, I swallowed and told them the rest. “There’s more. Coda was just a test run, or maybe even a diversion. I don’t really know. In any case, the Potestas intend to use Zero for more attacks. Something about getting into a position of power.”

“How can we stop them?” Mitchell asked, a hint of fear in his voice. He’d lived through the Coda disaster. He had probably been out there helping Owen. Being trapped in Shields’ mind had at least saved me from seeing the devastation of that day firsthand. And yet, the memory of those screaming monkeys came back to me full force, and seeing the evidence of that horrible chemical all over my love’s broken body brought tears to my eyes. The knowledge of the damage that had been done to so very many people made them flow freely down my cheeks.

We couldn’t allow it to happen ever again, let alone on a wider scale. But I had no idea where to begin. I looked to David for answers. Mitchell was staring at him too, I noticed.

“Mackenzie, as soon as you are feeling a little better, we will have a detailed debrief,” David said. “You will tell me everything you know, and I mean every last detail. Something you’ve witnessed will help us.” Although it was a statement, it came out sounding a bit like a prayer.

“There’s one more thing.” Taking a deep breath, I dove in. “I’m sorry. I wanted to say that to all of you.” I looked at the men, each with a different expression on his face. Mitchell seemed understanding, David seemed caught off guard, and Owen…

“I know who the real enemy is now, not to mention the devastation they’re capable of wreaking. I know it’s not about me, or my grief, or the fact that my family was torn apart by these maniacs. More families will be torn apart by them if they’re not stopped.” I thought of Shields’ family, and how I’d just torn them apart, and sighed. “I understand sacrifices will need to be made for the greater good, but I also know my personal vendetta has gotten in my way. It has hindered my ability to serve the Unseen.”

Looking down at Owen’s face, I stroked his forehead with my thumb. His eyes were closed, but he looked anything but peaceful with the huge tube coming unnaturally out of his mouth, held in place by tape on both sides.

“The Potestas have a lot of interesting techniques I don’t believe they’re using to their full potential. I’d like to learn more, and perhaps we can perfect their techniques for use against them. Tracy would’ve wanted that.” I swallowed a hitch in my throat.

Sighing, I let all the questions, doubts, grief, and anger whoosh out of me with one long breath.

“I promise, from now on, I will be undivided.”

I wanted to stay by Owen’s side until he woke up, but the nurse shooed me out, saying I needed to eat, sleep, and “for God’s sake, shower.” It gave me a little comfort to think about all the ways I’d be there for him when he woke up—just like he’d been there for me.

Sleep evaded me, but the piano finally summoned me. I found my way to the baby grand for the first time in weeks. Gaspard flowed from my fingers better than ever, as if I’d never taken a break. Yes, I missed a note here and there, but it felt wonderful to be lost in the music again. I wasn’t the same person I’d been the last time I played, but I’d
survived
. And I’d come out stronger for it.

David and Mitchell, apparently night owls themselves, stopped by once or twice and listened for a bit, but I didn’t stop. I needed the music.

When my fingers finally started to ache, I reluctantly quit, but the music stayed with me.

A woman’s voice interrupted my peace. “That was lovely.” Her voice was calm and soothing, despite the fact I hadn’t known she was there. Based on the sound, I knew she was in the back corner of the library.

I stretched over the top of the piano and spotted her sitting under a soft lamp with some sort of knitting and a ball of yarn. She had long, brown hair and beautiful, chocolate-colored eyes.

“Have we met?” I asked, not sure if the robot had met her, or if she was totally new.

“No. I’m Rebecca. I will be taking over training at this facility.” There was no arrogance in her tone, but her statement made me bristle a little. I didn’t want to train with anyone else.

Sensing my discomfort, she set her project down and walked over. “I knew Tracy well. We trained together as new recruits.” Leaning against the piano, she looked into my eyes with kindness. “I’m deeply saddened by the circumstances that brought me here. But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t excited by the opportunity to work with you.” I couldn’t help but return her smile.

Holding out my hand for her to shake, I said, “It’s nice to meet you, Rebecca. I’m Mackenzie, Mac for short.”

“Let’s hear a little more, hm? I’m not quite ready for bed,” she asked.

So, I cracked my aching fingers and dove in to another round of Gaspard, this time slowing it down, taking care with the notes, measures, and melodies, letting the music fill the room completely.

We had a lot of work ahead of us, and even more lives would be at stake, but in that moment, I knew down deep that we would prevail. I knew it like I knew how to breathe.

After all, I was not alone at the piano, and I no longer felt unforgiven.

The exciting conclusion to The Unseen Trilogy:
Undivided
is coming September, 2015.

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The following is an excerpt from Stephanie Erickson’s dystopian book,
The Cure
, now available on Amazon, Nook, iTunes, Kobo and Google Play.

1.

“I gladly sacrifice my life for the good of others.  One life will make the difference, and that life could be mine.  For this reason, I’m devoted to finding the cure.”  I said the words out loud, but I wasn’t thinking about them.  A couple of squirrels chasing each other held my attention more securely than the pledge we’d been forced to say since kindergarten.  By tenth grade, the thing had lost all meaning. 

I sat back down among the rows of desks, still eyeing the squirrels.  I folded one of my legs under me and let the other one swing.  At five foot three, I wasn’t the tallest member of my class, but I wasn’t the shortest either.  My violet eyes followed the dance of the squirrels while I toyed absently with a lock of my jet-black hair.

My teacher was blabbing about our latest reading assignment, but those dang squirrels were so cute I couldn’t focus on her. 

“Macey?”

I turned to face her.  She was one of the younger members of the faculty, but dressed to try and fit in.  Her loose-fitting floral print blouse was tucked into her high-waisted navy skirt.  She stared at me over half-glasses perched at the end of her nose.  I imagined she referred to them as spectacles and liked to put the end of them into her mouth while pondering literary stuff. 

“Hmm?” I asked.

“Care to answer the question?”

I glanced out the window to curse the squirrels, but they were gone.  “Could you repeat the question?” 

She half-smiled as she leaned against the front of her desk, knowing she’d caught me.  “Certainly.  Why do you think Billy has a stutter?” 

“Oh jeeze, I don’t know.  I didn’t understand a single page of this book, Mrs. Whitehead.”  A few snickers escaped from some of my classmates.  “Hey, guys, don’t throw me under the bus here!  I couldn’t have been the only one who didn’t get anything from this!”  A few faces turned to Mrs. Whitehead and nodded.  “Look, I know this was the shortest thing we’ve read so far, but it was all moon language to me.  Quite frankly, I hated it and think it was a waste of time.”  I nodded to accentuate my point. 

A couple of kids clapped, but soon it died down under Mrs. Whitehead’s unceasing gaze.  The bitter taste of regret worked its way to the back of my throat.  It burned a little like a vurp. 

Mrs. Whitehead frowned.  “Fair enough.  Let’s go over it, then, and maybe you’ll get more out of it.” 

Even after talking about it for the next hour, I still didn’t get it.  I mean, Mrs. Whitehead seemed to find
Billy Budd
very enlightening, and if all that was in there, great.  I didn’t see it.  Sometimes I wondered if people overanalyzed a book.  Maybe the writer didn’t really mean all that stuff, and you saw something that wasn’t meant to be there, ya know?  In this case we’d never know.  Melville had been dead over two hundred years, so asking him wasn’t really an option. 

When the bell rang, I gathered my things quickly, hoping to escape the classroom without confrontation.  With her gaze burning a hole in the back of my head, I kept my eyes glued to the floor.  I was pretty sure her spectacles magnified her stare, the way the sun’s heat is more intense through a magnifying glass.  I reached up to scratch my scalp, making sure she hadn’t given me a bald spot.  I rounded the front row of desks and, by some miracle, made it out into the hall where I disappeared among the sea of bodies. 

Once I was a safe distance from Mrs. Whitehead’s room, I leaned against a row of lockers. 
One of these days you should really learn to hold your tongue,
I thought.  I took a deep breath, checked the top of my head one more time, and continued on to my next class: History. 

Mr. Garvillick was explaining the American Revolution to us.  “It was a unique time in history,” he said.  He tossed his salt-and-pepper hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head.  I thought if he kept his comb-over a little shorter it wouldn’t be in his eyes in the first place, but then part of his bald head might show. 

“The Americans rose up against their perceived oppressors, and…”  He searched for the right word.  “Well, they won their freedom.”  Freedom was such an archaic term to me.  We still lived in what was known as America and were told we had our freedoms, but there was so much control, all in the name of the cure.  So many had died that no one thought twice when our freedoms were claimed alongside our family members by the disease.

A mousey girl in the front row snapped me back to the discussion.  “Mr. Garvillick, what is this picture on the bottom of page 332?” 

I flipped ahead to that page to see what she was questioning.  There was a rectangle with a dark blue square speckled with white spots in the top left corner, and horizontal red and white stripes were displayed in the bottom left corner of the page.  The image was small, a mere column of text in width.  Mystified, I stared openly at the picture.  I’d never seen anything like it before.

“Oh, that.”  He cleared his throat.  “That’s nothing, just their flag.  They became unnaturally obsessed with it, and many years later when a more sensible government took over, they removed the symbol in the interest of…well, because it was the right thing to do.” 

He moved on rather quickly from that topic, not entertaining any more questions about the flag.  I didn’t hear the rest of the discussion, though.  I was captivated by the image.  Looking closer at it, I decided the white speckles were stars, arranged in the shape of a circle.  And what was a flag? 

At lunch, I took out my tablet and punched flag into the search bar. 

No results found

It glared defiantly at me.  I wondered if the term was so old that it wasn’t in the database, or if it was blocked, considered information that was too “charged” for the general population—whatever that meant. 

By the end of the day, I was obsessed with the flag.  I used my art class as a release.  Art was my favorite class.  I liked to think of myself as somewhat of an artist, as much as you can in tenth grade.  Someday, I wanted to be a professional artist, and have people pay me for my art.  Wouldn’t that be something?  For today, we were doing a still life with watercolors to be graded on technique.

The cream-colored bowl of fruit was placed on a faux oak table in the center of the room.  Our tables were arranged around it so we could all have an unobstructed view of the piece.  There were about fifteen of us in this class, which wasn’t as many as some of my other classes, but Ms. Paige liked to keep her class sizes down to give attention to all her students.

Dutifully, I painted the bowl with its banana, apples, oranges, and a bunch of grapes draped over the side.  The table wasn’t even draped with an interesting cloth.  I sighed.  Although my painting looked just like the table in front of me, it was dull.  Before I knew it, the flag came flowing from my brush.  I watched the background of the painting fill with red, white and blue.  Apparently, I’d decided to depict the flag as though it was waving in the breeze, although I had no idea if flags actually did that or what they were used for. It just gave the image some depth. 

When I was done, I sat back in my chair, proud of the finished product.  The bell rang at least an hour before I finished, but my teacher was used to having me hang behind. 

She walked over to see my latest creation.  Ms. Paige was what we all called a hippie.  She usually had some sort of hemp on her somewhere, whether it was a bracelet or a necklace.  I swear one time she came in with a hemp skirt.  Her clothes were baggy and generally stained with the remnants of her latest project.  For some reason, she liked to wear long beaded necklaces, but they were always dragging in her paints, so the beads didn’t all seem to be their original colors anymore.  Her brown, frizzy hair was something of a phenomenon.  Some of the kids took bets on how long it’d been since she’d washed it.  I didn’t participate.  First of all, there was no way to win.  How on earth would they find concrete evidence of that?  Second, I liked Ms. Paige.  I wasn’t interested in berating her.  Yeah, she was different, but she’s an artist.  What did you expect? 

“Oh, Macey.  I’m sorry, but I can’t accept this.”  She picked up my painting, and I reached out for it instinctively, not sure all the paint was dry. 

I took it from her hands, inspecting it for flaws.  “What?  Why?” 

“I just can’t.  It’s too…controversial.  You’ll have to do it over, or take an
F
on the project.” 

I started to protest.  “But-”

“I’m sorry Macey.  That’s my final ruling.  Take it or leave it.” 

She walked back to her office, leaving me, mouth agape, at my station.  An
F
?  I’d never gotten an
F
for anything before, let alone in my favorite class. 

I studied the painting closely.  The technique wasn’t perfect, per se, but it was worth at least a
B
, and seeing as it was better than all the other kids in the class, it was really worth an
A
.  The project was supposed to be graded on technique. 

I blotted the paper with a tissue, making sure it was totally dry, rolled it up, secured it with a piece of twine, grabbed my things, and headed out the door. 

This was a first.  I never left my art class so bewildered before.