Firstlife
Page 21
I jerk my head left, right, then behind. No one stands near me.
“Are you all right?” My mother reaches across the table to clasp my hand.
I lurch back, avoiding contact. A single touch will be more than my fragile state of mind can handle.
She presses her lips into a thin line.
“Think,” Vans says. “Once you agree, there’ll be no more pain. No more hardships.”
“And Killian?” I demand.
“He’ll be pardoned.”
Zero! Dr. Vans knows me well. If there’s a chance Killian is a victim of his manipulations, I can’t allow him to be hurt.
Trepidation crawls the length of my spine. Am I actually considering doing this? “Give me a minute.”
My dad nods eagerly. “Yes, yes. Of course.”
I swivel my chair and face the door.
I know this present life is hailed as a simple dress rehearsal. A test, some say. A type of school, others believe. Either way, if I sign with Myriad, I might be able to live for the very first time.
I’m ready to live.
My parents believe Myriad is the right choice. As much as I resent them, I admire their confidence. And dang it, I still love them. They’re as worried about their future as I am about my own.
“If you were to sign with Troika,” Vans says, “you would be on the opposite side of the war. One day, you might even be tasked with killing your parents.”
I resent the pair, but I could never kill them. Even temporarily.
I spin back around, finally ready to do it. To say yes. I mean, why not? When I open my mouth, however, no sound emerges. After everything I’ve endured—physical hunger, weakness and depravation, mental exhaustion and trauma, emotional upheaval—my decision comes down to their needs over my own?
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I can’t. Not yet.”
My dad closes his eyes, his shoulders hunching in. A position of defeat. He’s known among his peers for his indomitable strength and unwillingness to back down. “I only want the best for you. Why can’t you see that?”
“Maybe because there’s usually blood in my eyes,” I snap, unmoved by his unusual display of emotion. And wow, when did I become so cold and callous?
Oh, I know. The day I arrived at Prynne.
His nostrils flare. He glares at Vans, unloading a shotgun full of fury. “This is your fault. You promised us results.”
The doctor dons an impassive mask. “I’ve asked repeatedly to take my efforts to the next level. You refused.”
What? My dad actually prevented certain tortures?
“I even advised you against the massages and other privileges.”
What!
“Say the word, and I’ll hurt her in ways you can’t even imagine—without breaking her, of course.”
I clutch my churning stomach.
“No,” my mom says, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”
“I won’t kill her,” Vans assures them. “She won’t be violated. But an increase in pain is the only option we have left. All I need is your permission to proceed.”
My father pinches the bridge of his nose.
I tremble in my seat. Say no, Daddy. Say no.
“Yes,” he croaks, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from screaming. “I don’t want to proceed this way, but you’ve left me with no other choice. One day you might even thank me.”
I don’t... I can’t...
I blink rapidly, fighting tears. “Fathers are supposed to protect their little girls.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” he shouts. “I’m trying to protect your future.”
Right words. Only, they are a lie. He’s protecting his future. Mine is shattered, just like my heart.
“You’ll be pleased with the results, Senator Lockwood.” Vans lifts his famed digital pad. “I’ll send you pictures documenting the procedure.”
Sign with Troika. The voice hits my awareness again, so distinct that I can’t pass it off as my imagination. Swear allegiance right now, and I’ll get you out of here. No one will hurt you.
“Who are you?” I demand.
Vans frowns at me. “Is someone speaking to you, Ms. Lockwood?”
My parents share a look of shock. Well, the senator is shocked. My mother is almost...hopeful.
“Is there a Laborer in the room?” My father looks around.
A Laborer? But—wait! A memory sparks. Laborers are sometimes allowed to visit a human while in spirit form.
Please, the voice says. End this travesty before it starts.
“Does no one else hear him?”
A chorus of “No” rings out, each individual negation tinged with a different emotion. Irritation, relief and confusion.
So. A TL is here to help me. And all I have to do is hand over my eternity.
To Dr. Vans I say, “What are we waiting for?” I clap my hands, as though overcome with excitement. “Stop the unnecessary chitchat and get this party started.”
Chapter six
“What you know and feel matters, but what you do matters more.”
—Troika
There are days a smart mouth gets you into trouble, and you wish you could travel back in time to glue your stupid lips shut. For me, this is one of those days.
The sad thing? Even if I’d remained silent during the meeting, I would have ended up in this position.
My parents are escorted out of Vans’s office. In the doorway, my mom stops to glance back at me. Her cheeks are stained with tears, several droplets caught in her lashes.
Stay strong, she mouths.
Help me, I mouth back. I’m not too proud or foolish to ask while I have the chance.
Eyes welling, she ducks her head and leaves. As her sob drifts through the quiet of the room, my heart crumbles. My one chance for no-strings aid is gone.
Comrade Douche and Titball enter the room. Without speaking a word, they grab my arms and drag me into the hall. I offer no protest. I catch a glimpse of my parents slipping through the door in the opposite direction. Are they headed to a nice hotel? Going to stop for a delicious brunch?
I’m taken to a small sterile room devoid of furniture. Two chains hang from the ceiling, and both have fetters at the ends...just big enough for my wrists. I can deal with anything except chains.
At last I begin my struggle for freedom, but it hardly matters. I’m malnourished and weak, and I’m subdued easily, my wrists soon encased. The outside of the fetters begin to glow as little needles extend from the inside, drilling past skin and into bone in seconds. I hiss. The pain is substantial but nothing I haven’t endured before. The problem is the mental anguish.
Trapped! No way out!
The guards pull the chains taut, lifting me off my feet. My shoulders scream in protest, the pressure more and more agonizing. Finally, all I can do is breathe...in...out...in...
Comrade Douche whispers, his accent thicker than usual, “You need strong man to take you in hand. I come for you tonight and prove, yes?”
Now I want to vomit again.
Vans discards his lab coat and rolls up his shirtsleeves, displaying a patchwork of scars from one of Sloan’s attempts to kill him. The impassive, even affable, mask he’d donned for my parents’ benefit is stripped away, revealing the monster I’ve come to despise.
“You know,” he says as the guards march out of the room—Douche pauses to blow me a kiss. “I’ve always admired your spirit, Ms. Lockwood. It’s a shame I have to damage it.”
“Are you all right?” My mother reaches across the table to clasp my hand.
I lurch back, avoiding contact. A single touch will be more than my fragile state of mind can handle.
She presses her lips into a thin line.
“Think,” Vans says. “Once you agree, there’ll be no more pain. No more hardships.”
“And Killian?” I demand.
“He’ll be pardoned.”
Zero! Dr. Vans knows me well. If there’s a chance Killian is a victim of his manipulations, I can’t allow him to be hurt.
Trepidation crawls the length of my spine. Am I actually considering doing this? “Give me a minute.”
My dad nods eagerly. “Yes, yes. Of course.”
I swivel my chair and face the door.
I know this present life is hailed as a simple dress rehearsal. A test, some say. A type of school, others believe. Either way, if I sign with Myriad, I might be able to live for the very first time.
I’m ready to live.
My parents believe Myriad is the right choice. As much as I resent them, I admire their confidence. And dang it, I still love them. They’re as worried about their future as I am about my own.
“If you were to sign with Troika,” Vans says, “you would be on the opposite side of the war. One day, you might even be tasked with killing your parents.”
I resent the pair, but I could never kill them. Even temporarily.
I spin back around, finally ready to do it. To say yes. I mean, why not? When I open my mouth, however, no sound emerges. After everything I’ve endured—physical hunger, weakness and depravation, mental exhaustion and trauma, emotional upheaval—my decision comes down to their needs over my own?
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I can’t. Not yet.”
My dad closes his eyes, his shoulders hunching in. A position of defeat. He’s known among his peers for his indomitable strength and unwillingness to back down. “I only want the best for you. Why can’t you see that?”
“Maybe because there’s usually blood in my eyes,” I snap, unmoved by his unusual display of emotion. And wow, when did I become so cold and callous?
Oh, I know. The day I arrived at Prynne.
His nostrils flare. He glares at Vans, unloading a shotgun full of fury. “This is your fault. You promised us results.”
The doctor dons an impassive mask. “I’ve asked repeatedly to take my efforts to the next level. You refused.”
What? My dad actually prevented certain tortures?
“I even advised you against the massages and other privileges.”
What!
“Say the word, and I’ll hurt her in ways you can’t even imagine—without breaking her, of course.”
I clutch my churning stomach.
“No,” my mom says, shaking her head. “Absolutely not.”
“I won’t kill her,” Vans assures them. “She won’t be violated. But an increase in pain is the only option we have left. All I need is your permission to proceed.”
My father pinches the bridge of his nose.
I tremble in my seat. Say no, Daddy. Say no.
“Yes,” he croaks, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from screaming. “I don’t want to proceed this way, but you’ve left me with no other choice. One day you might even thank me.”
I don’t... I can’t...
I blink rapidly, fighting tears. “Fathers are supposed to protect their little girls.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” he shouts. “I’m trying to protect your future.”
Right words. Only, they are a lie. He’s protecting his future. Mine is shattered, just like my heart.
“You’ll be pleased with the results, Senator Lockwood.” Vans lifts his famed digital pad. “I’ll send you pictures documenting the procedure.”
Sign with Troika. The voice hits my awareness again, so distinct that I can’t pass it off as my imagination. Swear allegiance right now, and I’ll get you out of here. No one will hurt you.
“Who are you?” I demand.
Vans frowns at me. “Is someone speaking to you, Ms. Lockwood?”
My parents share a look of shock. Well, the senator is shocked. My mother is almost...hopeful.
“Is there a Laborer in the room?” My father looks around.
A Laborer? But—wait! A memory sparks. Laborers are sometimes allowed to visit a human while in spirit form.
Please, the voice says. End this travesty before it starts.
“Does no one else hear him?”
A chorus of “No” rings out, each individual negation tinged with a different emotion. Irritation, relief and confusion.
So. A TL is here to help me. And all I have to do is hand over my eternity.
To Dr. Vans I say, “What are we waiting for?” I clap my hands, as though overcome with excitement. “Stop the unnecessary chitchat and get this party started.”
Chapter six
“What you know and feel matters, but what you do matters more.”
—Troika
There are days a smart mouth gets you into trouble, and you wish you could travel back in time to glue your stupid lips shut. For me, this is one of those days.
The sad thing? Even if I’d remained silent during the meeting, I would have ended up in this position.
My parents are escorted out of Vans’s office. In the doorway, my mom stops to glance back at me. Her cheeks are stained with tears, several droplets caught in her lashes.
Stay strong, she mouths.
Help me, I mouth back. I’m not too proud or foolish to ask while I have the chance.
Eyes welling, she ducks her head and leaves. As her sob drifts through the quiet of the room, my heart crumbles. My one chance for no-strings aid is gone.
Comrade Douche and Titball enter the room. Without speaking a word, they grab my arms and drag me into the hall. I offer no protest. I catch a glimpse of my parents slipping through the door in the opposite direction. Are they headed to a nice hotel? Going to stop for a delicious brunch?
I’m taken to a small sterile room devoid of furniture. Two chains hang from the ceiling, and both have fetters at the ends...just big enough for my wrists. I can deal with anything except chains.
At last I begin my struggle for freedom, but it hardly matters. I’m malnourished and weak, and I’m subdued easily, my wrists soon encased. The outside of the fetters begin to glow as little needles extend from the inside, drilling past skin and into bone in seconds. I hiss. The pain is substantial but nothing I haven’t endured before. The problem is the mental anguish.
Trapped! No way out!
The guards pull the chains taut, lifting me off my feet. My shoulders scream in protest, the pressure more and more agonizing. Finally, all I can do is breathe...in...out...in...
Comrade Douche whispers, his accent thicker than usual, “You need strong man to take you in hand. I come for you tonight and prove, yes?”
Now I want to vomit again.
Vans discards his lab coat and rolls up his shirtsleeves, displaying a patchwork of scars from one of Sloan’s attempts to kill him. The impassive, even affable, mask he’d donned for my parents’ benefit is stripped away, revealing the monster I’ve come to despise.
“You know,” he says as the guards march out of the room—Douche pauses to blow me a kiss. “I’ve always admired your spirit, Ms. Lockwood. It’s a shame I have to damage it.”
