Firstlife

Killian jumps up and steps in front of me, shocking me. He frowns at me over his shoulder, as if he’s in shock, too, then he scowls at the guards. “She stays. I’m not done talking with her.”

He, a stranger, is...guarding me? And he’s doing it even after I refused to guard Bow. Way to rock my world.

I stand and give him a nudge into his chair. “Don’t worry about me,” I whisper. I don’t want him hurt on my behalf. “Worry about yourself.”

He glares but remains silent as Colonel Anus takes my left arm and Ben Dover takes my right. I’m hauled to my room. Bow is there already and she’s still in a drugged sleep, but now she’s on her bed, her wrists and ankles shackled to the posts with cuffs that glow more brightly than a lamp. Aka fetters.

Vans enters the room behind me. My stomach churns, as if it’s trying to make butter from bile, but I swallow back pleas for mercy. This man has none.

I’m held immobile as he paces in front of me. “Ten, Ten, Ten,” he says and sighs heavily. “Ever the troublesome child. Why do you force me to hurt you?”

“Your choice. Your actions. Don’t try casting blame on me.”

“This isn’t the way I like to treat my patients, but I’m willing to do whatever proves necessary to save you from the Realm of Many Ends...or an eternity as a Troikan slave.”

“You are Unsigned.” He must be. “I’ve heard you tell other kids you’ll do anything to save them from eternity as a Myriad drone, one of countless souls overpopulating a dying realm.”

He shrugs. “What’s right for one isn’t right for another.”

No. No! He has an answer for everything and though this one sounds good, I cringe as if he scraped his fingernails over a chalkboard. There has to be absolute right or there isn’t absolute wrong.

This place is wrong.

This man is wrong. He misleads and misdirects without regret, caring more about a monetary payoff than the long-term health of the kids under his “care.”

Troika would tell me to forgive him.

Myriad would probably tell me to attack without mercy.

That. I like that. Strike before he can strike at me.

With a roar, I lunge at him. The guards hold me in place, squeezing my shoulders so roughly the joints nearly pop out of place. Pain lances through me, and for a moment, I see stars. I don’t care. I struggle with all my might, desperate to reach my target.

“Did you get your degree at Discount Psychology?” I throw at him. “You only make half a difference and even then it’s a bad one.”

Direct hit! A muscle flexes in his jaw.

Two other guards enter the room. D-bag and Titball. How sad. No Comrade Douche today.

“Perfect timing,” Vans says, gloating now.

Both males carry a bucket of water and a rag. They stop in front of my blood-covered wall and dip the rags in the water—

Understanding dawns, and I gasp with horror. Not my calendar. Anything but my calendar. Those numbers have been the only constant in my life. My only friend. I can’t lose another friend.

“Apologize for insulting me. On your knees,” Vans says. “I’ll think about forgetting your behavior today.”

I actually consider it. My numbers...they aren’t just my friends but my only diversion from the horrors of the asylum. My only real hope. Through them, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. My next birthday...and my ultimate escape.

But. There’s always a but with me, isn’t there? I won’t be able to live with myself if I give this man—this travesty of a human being—what he wants. Because, if I do, the light at the end of the tunnel will no longer be so bright.

I lock my knees, remaining on my feet.

“Very well.” He nods, almost anticipatory.

The guards begin to wash the lines away, and my horror is renewed and redoubled.

Not ready to say goodbye. “Stop. Please. You have to stop!” I kick out my legs, but I’m jerked out of striking distance. “You have no right to destroy my property!”

They continue washing, and my emotional pain cuts worse than any physical pain I’ve ever endured. Flesh heals. The soul can fester.

“If you don’t want to lose anything else you value, Miss Lockwood, you need to leave Prynne. And soon. All you have to do is sign with Myriad,” Vans says, and the guards pause. “Nothing has ever been easier.”

A crimson drop of water trickles down the wall. A bloody tear. My beautiful calendar is dying, and with a single word I have the power to save what’s left of it. How can I not just say—the—word.

Say yes. Yes, yes, yes.

See? It isn’t difficult.

The word bubbles up... “No,” I end up saying. “No, I won’t sign.”

What is wrong with me?

Vans vibrates with rage, but quickly manages to calm himself. “I know that isn’t what you planned to say, Miss Lockwood. Last chance. Sign with Myriad.”

Moonlight...castles...and one day, a return to the Land of the Harvest, Fused with another soul...living out my fate...

Might Equals Right.

Sunlight...wildflowers...an eternity of Rest after I fulfill my covenant duties...my mistakes my own...

Light Brings Sight.

Right now, I would rather know the truth—who is right and who is wrong? I would rather not ruin my future. As I’ve learned, the wrong decision can lead down a road with more bumps and slumps than I’m equipped to handle—can cost far more than I’m willing to pay.

“I won’t,” I grit out between clenched teeth. I can’t allow a momentary pain to eclipse an eternal decision. Feelings are fleeting, no matter how earth-shattering they seem; they never last, always change. A covenant is forever.

Vans curses at me. D-bag and Titball return to work. I go still and quiet, watching as every precious line disappears.

When there’s nothing left, the group leaves, though Vans pauses in the doorway to say, “I want to be your advocate, Miss Lockwood, and yet you insist on making me your enemy.”

“You insist.” My eyes burn with tears. I blink away, refusing to give this man the satisfaction of knowing he broke me. “I simply oblige you.”

He taps his fingers on the door frame, the only indication his irritation hasn’t faded. “Perhaps one day Myriad will decide they don’t want you, after all. Kind of like your parents decided they didn’t want you, yes?”

A sharp pain nearly slices open my chest. Vans knows just how to wound for maximum damage. “Has torture ever worked for you?” I ask, but I already know the answer. I’ve noticed the fast turnaround. Most kids stay only a month or two.

“More often than not.”