17
ATTICUS
Strapping my gun holster around my chest, I paused suddenly when I felt something amiss on the nightstand. Sliding my gun into the holster, my eyes remained fixed on the things scattered atop the small bedside table, the random items that had always been there, and the one item that was no longer: a pocket-size book on pill identification. It had been there last night, sitting next to the small glass globe lantern, its top left corner poking from beneath a magazine.
“It’s Marion’s party,” Peter Whitman said. “Looks like he’s two soldiers and two horses short this time—can’t wait to hear why.” Peter laughed lightly.
“Yeah, that should be an interesting story,” I said, but it was only a filler response as my mind was off on another plane.
I wanted to believe that the missing book was nothing to be worried about—Thais read a lot, after all—but my instincts were kicking me again, and I couldn’t ignore them this time.
“I think that guy is a douchebag,” Peter said. “If he has anything to do with it, you’ll be overlooked as Overseer and he’ll be taking your spot.”
“I know,” I said, still with my back to the room, centering my attention on the nightstand and its contents.
I opened the drawer. A magnesium fire-starter was missing, I noticed right away.
Thais was still sitting on her cot, her nose buried in a paperback. Why is she so disinterested in Peter’s presence? I knew then that something was going on. She’s planning to run…
“We should get down there,” Peter spoke up.
“Peter,” I said, “I need you to go down ahead of me and keep them busy—better yet, just fill in for me until I can—”
“Wait—what do you mean?” Peter’s eyebrows bunched in his forehead.
Thais’ head shot right up from the book, further confirming my suspicions she was hiding something. She wasn’t interested in anything we had to say before; now it was like something had stung her.
I went over to my desk and grabbed my inventory notebook and put it into Peter’s reluctant hand.
“Fill in for you?” Peter argued. “Are you crazy?”
“I won’t be long. You can handle it; it’s nothing you haven’t seen done dozens of times before.”
“Yeah, but—.” Peter sighed. “This won’t look good on you. If you wanna become Overseer, it’s not exactly the time to be running late or calling in sick—you wait until after you get the job to start slackin’ off, man.”
Thais’ demeanor continued to shift: she looked back down into her book; her fingers shuffled the pages nervously.
“I’ll be done as soon as I can,” I said, and then escorted Peter to the door. “Just tell them I’m indisposed at the moment—they’ll get over it when the supplies start coming off the horses.”
“The citizens will, sure,” Peter pointed out, “but Marion and his party won’t, and you know it.”
“I’ll figure it out.” I ushered Peter into the hall and then shut and locked the door after him.
I looked at Thais immediately. She wouldn’t raise her eyes, but she knew.
Investigating the rest of the room, I took in everything no matter how important or insignificant. In a red milk crate pushed against the desk, a small plastic box that contained emergency fishing gear items was gone; a roll of snare wire that used to sit on the bookshelf was gone; my military sewing repair kit that sat on top of a stack of magazines was also gone; a knife sharpener that hung from a nail had disappeared, and my aluminum canteen had also mysteriously joined the other missing items.
My room may have been messy and unorganized, but I knew where every single thing in it could be found.
“What are you planning?” I finally accused; I stood in the center of the room with my arms crossed.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re planning something,” I said stepping up closer, “and you’re gonna tell me what it is.”
She shook her head as if to say “You’re crazy” and went back to pretending to read.
“Things are missing from my room, Thais.” I towered over her, casting a dark shadow over the text I knew she wasn’t reading. “I know where everything is in my room at all times—several things aren’t where they were just this morning.”
She craned her neck to look up at me.
THAIS
“So, you think I stole it?” I tried to remain calm, but my heart was beating so fast I thought I might puke.
Atticus crouched in front of me, his long legs open, his muscled arms propped atop his camos; his black boots made a squeaking noise against the floor as he balanced his weight in them. He looked me in the eyes; his close proximity made my heart rattle and my hands shake. Absently, I let the book drop from my fingers into my lap.
“You’re the only person allowed in this room,” he said, “so no one else could’ve taken it.”
“You just let that man in here,” I reminded him.
He ignored my distraction attempts.
“I know you’ve got something planned,” he said in a calm, persistent voice. “There’s been something different about you since Farah came here the other day and brought you a new dress—(Oh, that’s her name!)—and I’m not leaving this room until you come clean.”
“Well, I don’t have anything planned,” I said. “And I didn’t steal anything.” Every lie I told made me feel that much more nauseous because I knew he wasn’t buying any of it. And the longer I stayed, trapped in this room when I was supposed to meet ‘Farah’ downstairs, the further away my escape drifted from my grasp.
Atticus grabbed my arm and jerked me from the cot. I stumbled when he let go, and took several steps away from him when the sheet and blanket went flying into the air, followed by the mattress as Atticus turned it up on its side. He searched underneath to find it empty, then dropped it with frustration; a brief gust of wind stirred several loose sheets of paper on his desk a few feet away.
I watched in a quiet panic, both hands pressed to my chest—I thought my heart might finally burst right through it. He knows…dear God, he knows…
Atticus searched in every corner of the room. He tossed clothes, moved boxes, opened drawers, checked behind and under furniture until he found his olive-green knapsack hidden in the laundry hamper. As he lifted it out, dangled on his index finger by the hook strap, the room got quiet. He threw the flap over onto the back of the bag and peered inside. Everything I had stolen was there.
He dropped the bag on the floor in front of me.
“Where were you planning to go, Thais?”
My eyes strayed. I didn’t answer; I knew I was busted, but I wasn’t ready to give up—I would fight this for as long as I could.
ATTICUS
“I’m not leaving this room until you tell me,” I said. “You know you can’t get out of this city alone. And even if you did, you wouldn’t make it far. So, who’s helping you?”
“No one.”
“Who’s helping you?”
She looked at the floor.
I grabbed her elbows and shook her; strands of hair fell down her face.
“Answer me!”
I was pissed, but deep down it was more with myself than with Thais. She was only doing what I would’ve done—whatever it was exactly—if I were in her position. I was pissed at myself because I knew that none of my plans for change in Lexington City would ever come to fruition. And every single thing that happened since Thais arrived, no matter how great or small, further opened my eyes to that brutal truth—her plan to escape, evident by the bag on the floor, was just another one of those things.
Thais’ life was in my hands. If she remained in the city, she would end up in Rafe’s bed—or in Private Masters’ bed—or dead at the hands of Rafe’s viper wives. If she escaped the city, she would either be dragged back, or killed before she got far. Whatever she was planning to do now, I knew that her blood would be on my hands alone. I needed more time. Just like I needed more time with her sister. Thais trying to leave now—and Evelyn only giving me one week—was stripping away what little time I had, and at a faster rate than I could keep up with.
Fuck!
I shook her again, my fingers pressing against the bones in her arms.
THAIS
His eyes churned with anger, the corners narrowed, the blue irises swirling with purpose, his pupils contracted. I could smell his warm, unoffending breath he was so close, and the soap and cigarettes on his body, though I had never seen him smoke before.
He released me and marched over to a red milk crate, yanked out a thick mass of old telephone cord and unraveled it; his large hands moved in a chaotic motion, his fingers poked and pried and pulled as if it were a complicated puzzle as he untangled the massive knots.
Anxiety filled me. He’s going to tie me up!
I glanced at the locked door, wondering if I could get to it fast enough, but it was a preposterous idea.
“Give me your hands,” he demanded; the cord, only partially untangled, hung from his fist.
I shook my head and walked backwards toward the door.
Atticus followed.
“I’m going to find my sister!” I cried out, my voice strained; I put my arms up in front of me.
Atticus stopped. “With a getaway bag?” he said with accusation, glancing at the bag on the floor. “You were doing more than that.”
He came toward me again, the long cord dragging the floor beside him. I kept walking backwards toward the door until I could go no farther.
“Please, I’m begging you to let me go,” I said, still with my hands out in front of me. “I-I can tell you’re not a bad man. “Y-You’re d-different from the other men here. Please, just let me go…” A part of me truly believed that he was different.
I was teetering precariously on the edge of my and Sosie’s freedom. Every second I spent in the room pushed me further and further away from our only chance. Sosie’s face flashed across my mind; I saw Farah waiting with her by the fountains, getting anxious as the time passed and I never showed; I saw Sosie’s hope drain out of her face—I needed to leave. Now.
“Please!” Begging was all I had.
Atticus stopped, the cord dangling from his hand.
He shook his head with what seemed like concern, and then said in a calmer voice, “I know you’re going to try running. And I know that someone is helping you”—he pointed upward as if to emphasize his point—“and how I know is not only because of the bag, but because it’s not even nightfall yet. Unless you had help, you’d wait until it was dark before trying to escape, like any intelligent person would.”
My gaze strayed; he was right and I didn’t want him to know it.
Reaching up with both hands, I adjusted the shoulder straps of my dress for nothing other than a nervous distraction.
“Is it Farah?” Atticus finally came out with it.
“No.”
“It’s her, isn’t it?” He moved closer.
I pressed my back against the door.
He dropped the phone cord. I glanced at it once, and then met his conflicted gaze.
“I want you to listen to me,” he said calmly, intently. “Just listen to what I’m about to tell you—will you do that at least?”
I hesitated, and then nodded.
“Farah, Naomi, any one of Rafe’s wives will kill you before they ever help you.” He placed his hands around my upper arms.
Feeling uncertain about his closeness, I could only look at his shirt at first.
“If Farah has promised to help you out of the city,” he went on, “it’s only to get you alone with her. She’ll help you get only so far, and then she’ll have one of her midwives kill you. Or she’ll kill you herself.”
“Why would she do that?” I argued. “If they wanted to kill me, they could’ve done it many times, in many ways when I was alone with them. Naomi could’ve drowned me in the bath; Farah could’ve poisoned my food—it doesn’t make any sense!”
Atticus stepped back.
“And if that was true, why would you ever leave them alone with me in the first place?”
He sighed.
“When you were first brought here,” he said, “like any of the women, they—I—expected you to end up in the brothel. They’re not threatened by prostitutes, Thais, but they’re threatened by you because you’re youthful and beautiful and new.”
Beautiful?
“And they won’t kill you here,” he continued, “because if Rafe ever found out about it, the punishment would be severe. But by having you killed outside the city, and your body carried off somewhere, you’d be written off as an escapee, and no one could be blamed for that—well, no one other than me.”
I frowned.
“How do you know all this?” I said with disbelief, though a bigger part of me believed it. “You’re just saying it to make me trust you—all of this is just to keep me here.”
I tried to walk around him, but he stopped me.
“I know because it happened before,” he said, blocking my path. “You’re a threat to them, Thais. That roommate of yours would’ve been, too, if she hadn’t conformed like everybody else. But young, pretty girls who can bear children are more a rarity in this city every year, and that makes you a threat. Rafe has eleven wives—eleven—and those women are like a pack of wolves. They don’t want anybody else to compete with, or to share their husband with. And with him gone, they know there’s only a small window in which to get rid of you before he returns, and they’re going to take it.”
I wanted to believe him—I did believe him deep down—but I wanted to believe Farah more. I wanted the version that reunited me and Sosie and led us to our freedom to be the true version, and so desperation won out over instinct.
“She has my sister with her,” I said before I could stop.
I stepped forward, my arms down at my sides, despair in my face; but then despair turned to rebuke.
“You want me to believe,” I accused, “that a woman who was likely once in my position, who was forced to sleep with a man she didn’t love and to bear his children, means to harm me more than you do?”
Atticus, stung by my accusation, drew back his head, his eyebrows creased.
I went on:
“You expect me to believe you over her? You—a man who does the bidding of a tyrant? You—who forced my blind sister into a place where men can rape her? You—who separated us, even though I begged and pleaded with you not to?” I stepped closer, pointing my finger at him. “You—a man keeping me a prisoner inside this room so I can be given to another man, and so I can end up like Farah and Naomi, forced into his bed and to carry his children? YOU!” I pressed the tip of my finger against his chest and held it there, glaring upward the few inches to see his eyes.
ATTICUS
I was shocked into silence by her display. By her words. Because they held so much weight. She was right: Why did she have any reason to believe me over Farah? I hated myself in this moment. My choices. My ridiculous goals. My constant failures that began before I ever came to this city—Thais was about to become another one.
I exhaled deeply, and ran the palms of my hands over the top of my hair, hooking my fingers behind my head. I noticed Thais kept glancing toward the door, as if she was running out of time.
I tried one last time to make her see reason.
“Farah claims to have your sister”—I paused, regretting having to resort to this—“I know that’s a lie because I know where she is, and if she were anywhere else I would’ve been notified already.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s the truth.”
She shook her head. “You’re lying.”
I threw my hands up at my sides, pressed my lips together in a hard line.
Then I walked briskly over to the knapsack Thais had packed, snatched it from the floor and placed it into her hand. “Then go,” I said, defeated. “I won’t stop you. If you want to leave after everything I’ve told you, then go. But I can promise you, you’ll be dead within an hour.”
Thais froze in place, one of the straps on the knapsack crushed in her fist.
I stormed over to my bed, lifted the mattress, and found the gun I kept hidden there. I placed it into her other hand. She looked down at it for only a second, as if her mind didn’t register that it was real.
“Take it with you,” I said sharply, “because you’ll need it.”
I stepped around her then, slid the lock back, swung open the door, and left.
THAIS
In suffocating silence, I stared at the door for a long time until my gaze dropped to the gun in my hand. And I decided in that moment to do the only thing I could do.