Day
WE RIDE UP SEVERAL FLOORS UNTIL I HEAR THE elevator’s chains come to a scraping halt. Two soldiers drag me out into a familiar hallway. They’re returning me to my cell, I guess, at least for now. For the first time since waking up on the gurney, I realize I’m exhausted and slump my head against my chest. The doctor must’ve injected me with something to keep me from flailing too much during the operation. Everything around me looks blurred at the edges, as if I’m sprinting.
Then the soldiers come to a sudden stop halfway down the corridor, a good distance away from my cell. I look up in mild surprise. We stand outside one of the rooms I’d noticed earlier, the ones with clear glass windows. Interrogation chambers. So. They want more information before they execute me.
Static, then a voice comes through one of the soldiers’ earpieces. The soldier nods. “Let’s take him in,” he says. “Captain says he’ll arrive shortly.”
I stand inside, waiting as the minutes tick by. Guards with blank faces stand at the door, while two others hold my shackled arms. I know this room is supposed to be more or less soundproof … but I swear I hear the sound of guns and the vibrations of distant screams. My heart pounds. The troops must be firing on the crowd in the square. Are they dying because of me?
More time passes. I wait. My eyelids grow heavy. I want nothing more than to curl into a ball in the corner of my cell and sleep.
Finally I hear footsteps approaching. The door swings open to reveal a young man dressed in black, with dark hair that falls over his eyes. Silver epaulettes sit on each shoulder. The other soldiers click their heels together.
The man waves them off. Now I recognize him. This is the captain who shot my mother. June had mentioned him before. Thomas. Commander Jameson must’ve sent him.
“Mr. Wing,” he says. He approaches me and crosses his arms. “What a pleasure to formally meet you. I was beginning to worry that I’d never get the chance.”
I will myself to stay silent. He looks uncomfortable being in the same room as me, and his expression says that he really hates me.
“My commander wants me to ask you some standard procedural questions before your execution date. We’ll try to keep it cordial, although of course we started off on the wrong foot.”
I can’t help choking out a laugh. “Really? You think so?”
Thomas doesn’t reply, but I see him swallow hard in an effort not to react. He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a small gray remote. He points it at the room’s blank wall. A projection comes up. Some police report, with pictures of a person I don’t recognize.
“I’m going to show you a series of photos, Mr. Wing,” he says. “The people you’ll see are suspected of Patriot involvement.”
The Patriots had tried in vain to recruit me. Cryptic notes scrawled on alley walls above where I slept. An escort on a street corner who slipped me a note. A small parcel of money with a proposition. After ignoring their offers for a while, I stopped hearing from them. “I’ve never worked with the Patriots,” I snap. “If I ever kill, I’ll do it on my own terms.”
“You may claim no affiliation with them, but perhaps some have crossed your path. And perhaps you’d like to help us find them.”
“Oh, sure. You killed my mother. You can imagine I’m dying to help you out.”
Thomas manages to ignore me again. He glances at the first photo projected on the wall. “Know this person?”
I shake my head. “Never seen him before.”
Thomas clicks the remote. Another photo pops up. “How about this one?”
“Nope.”
Another photo. “How about this?”
“Nope.”
Yet another stranger pops up on the wall. “Seen this girl before?”
“Never seen her in my life.”
More unfamiliar faces. Thomas goes through them without blinking an eye or questioning my responses. What a stupid puppet of the state. I watch him as we continue, wishing I weren’t chained so I could beat this man to the ground.
More photos. More strange faces. Thomas doesn’t question a single one of my terse responses. In fact, it seems like he can’t wait to get out of this room and far away from me.
Then a photo pops up of someone I do recognize. The blurry image shows a girl with long hair—longer than the bobbed cut I remember. No vine tattoo yet. Apparently Kaede is a Patriot.
I don’t dare let the recognition show on my face. “Look,” I say. “If I knew any of these people, do you really think I’d tell you?”
Thomas is trying so hard to hold his composure. “That will be all, Mr. Wing.”
“Oh, come on, that’s not all. I can tell you’d give anything to take a swing at me. So do it. I dare you.”
His eyes have taken on a furious glow, but he still holds back. “My orders were to ask you a series of questions,” he says tightly. “That’s it. We’re done here.”
“Why? You afraid of me or something? Only brave enough to shoot people’s mothers?”
Thomas narrows his eyes, then shrugs. “She’s just one less slum con to deal with.”
I clench my fist and spit right in his face.
This seems to break his resolve. His left fist hits me hard across the jaw, and my head snaps to the side. Spots explode before my eyes.
“Think you’re a star, don’t you?” he says. “Just because you pulled some pranks and played charity worker to some street scum? Well, let me tell you a secret. I’m from a poor sector too. But I followed the rules. I worked my way up, I earned my country’s respect. The rest of you people just sit around and complain and blame the state for your bad luck. Bunch of dirty, lazy cons.” He punches me again. My head rocks back, and I taste blood in my mouth. My body trembles from the pain. He grabs my collar and pulls me close. My shackles clank. “Ms. Iparis told me about what you did to her on the streets. How dare you force yourself onto someone of her rank.”
Ah. Here is what’s really bothering him—I guess he found out about the kiss. I can’t help grinning, even though my face screams in pain. “Awww. Is that what’s got you down? I’ve seen the way you look at her. You want her bad, yeah? Is that something you’re also trying to earn your way up to, trot? Hate to burst your bubble, but I didn’t force her into anything.”
A deep scarlet rage flashes across his face. “She’s looking forward to your execution, Mr. Wing. I can guarantee you that.”
I laugh. “Sore loser, huh? Here, I’ll make you feel better. I’ll tell you all about what it was like. Hearing about it is the next best thing, isn’t it?”
Thomas grabs my neck. His hands are shaking. “I’d be careful if I were you, boy,” he spits. “Maybe you’ve forgotten that you still have two brothers. Both at the mercy of the Republic. Watch your tongue, unless you want to see their bodies lined up next to your mother’s.”
He hits me again, then one of his knees slams into my stomach. I gasp for air. I picture Eden and John and force myself to calm down, force away the pain. Stay strong. Don’t let him get to you.
He hits me two more times. He’s breathing hard now. With a great effort, he lowers his arms and exhales. “That will be all, Mr. Wing,” he says in a low voice. “I’ll see you on your execution day.”
I can’t speak through the pain, so I just try to keep my eyes focused on him. He has a strange expression, as if he’s angry or disappointed that I’ve forced him from his orderly state.
He turns and leaves the room without a word.