Enemy of Gideon (16 page)

“Get out of the way, Ogden,” the chief says. He turns to me. “Knock her out!”

I fight harder, kicking my legs, scratching, and making contact with one of the officers. Something sharp pierces my neck, a needle, and a fiery sensation spreads outward from the shot. The room spins and blurs. My limbs no longer follow my commands but fall dead, dropping me to my knees. My eyelids are stone slabs, blocking out the world around me.

Chief Penski’s face appears only inches from mine. “Time for rehabilitation.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

T
he smell of cotton and alcohol hits my nostrils even before I open my eyes. A soft hand caresses my forehead, and my mother’s gentle humming echoes around me. Hard, metal springs in a thin mattress press into my back. Florescent light pierces through my eyelids. The space around me comes into focus, revealing a white room with a metal cart, and Mom in a chair beside me.

“Hi, bug. I’m so glad you’re okay,” she says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I attempt to move my arm, but it resists. Both wrists are strapped to the rails of the bed. The memories flood in as my silent questions are answered one after another. I remember surrendering to God, dancing with Arkin, and running to Corinth. The long journey to Ogden’s apartment and the terror on his face. More troubling questions pour into my mind, the ones I can’t answer.

“Where am I?” I ask.

“The rehabilitation facility,” she says. “It’s going to be okay. They’re going to help you.”

I shake my head. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“You’ve been in a deep depression since we lost Petra,” she says, stroking my hair, “and the enemies took advantage of you. The doctors here are going to help you, though. We should be grateful to Chief Penski for being so kind. They could’ve punished you severely, but—”

“I want to go home,” I say, struggling to keep my voice calm.

“You can’t go home until you’re all better.”

“We don’t have to live like this,” I whisper. “We can leave Gideon. There are more villages, more believers.”

She rises from the chair and walks toward the door. “Shhh. You’ll be good as new when you come home.”

“Mom? Where are you going? What are they going to do to me?”

She opens the door. “It’ll be okay. I’ll see you soon.”

“Wait!” I yank at the restraints. “Mom, don’t leave! Mom!”

►▼◄

“Raissa Santos?” the woman asks, pus
hing her glasses up her narrow nose.

The CE officer makes me sit in the chair across from her desk and cuffs my ankle to the chair leg. Then he leaves the office. I ignore her and stare down at my slippered feet.

“I’m Dr. Millay Harget,” the woman says, “and I will be your therapist for the duration of your time here at the facility.”

I still say nothing.
What time is it?
I have no sense of it, thanks to the tranquilizers they’ve been pumping into me.
Have hours passed or has it been days since my arrest? Are Arkin and Saphie still safe in Corinth? What became of the captured believers in Philippi?
The questions close in on me like walls.

“This time is meant to be your opportunity to vent your feelings,” Harget says. “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

I keep my eyes on the floor.

“I heard you made it to an enemy camp. Do you want to tell me about that experience?” she asks.

I shake my head, sitting up in the chair but still avoiding her glance.

“Good. It’s nice to get a response from you. I’d call that a successful first session.”

“I want to go home,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Why do you want to go home? What do you like about your home?” she asks, dividing her attention between me and her desk touch-screen.

“I don’t belong here,” I say.

“You lived with your mother and your sister, right?”

“They killed my sister.”

“Who? The enemy?” she asks.

“Of course not!” I yell. “Code Enforcement killed her! You know that, so stop playing dumb!”

She throws up her hands and smirks. “You caught me, Raissa. It’s true. I know a lot about you. It’s what I don’t know that I’m hoping you’ll share with me.”

“I don’t know where the other villages are,” I say. “And even if I did, I would never tell any of you.”

“I don’t care a lick about where the enemies are,” Harget says with a sympathetic smile. “I don’t work for CE. My job is to help you get back home.”

I cock my head. “So what do I need to do?”

The therapist folds her hands on the desk. “Tell me what you’re thinking about and how you’re feeling. It’s as simple
as that.”

“I’m angry.”

“What’s making you angry?”

“Being held here against my will,” I say. “Being forced to live by the Code. Everything!”

She smirks. “I promise, by the time you leave this facility, you won’t be angry anymore.”

►▼◄

“Help, Lord, for no one is faithful anymore; those who are loyal have vanished from the human race. Everyone lies to their neighbor; they flatter with their lips.”

The words from Psalm 12 come to mind as I lay restrained in the bed, waiting. I now understand why I memorized certain verses. I’ll need them to stay sane, to keep my hope steady.

What time is it?

In the white-walled, windowless room, the cool, still air slows time. Every few minutes, footsteps and voices stream in from the hall, but they fade away in a matter of seconds. No clock hangs on the wall, and no wristband graces my arm. But my stomach aches for food. My last meal was at Philippi with Arkin. I’ve been praying and recalling verses from the Bible for an hour or more.
God, please get me out of here. Somehow I have to get out of here.

A buzzer sounds, startling me from my thoughts. The door opens across from my bed, and a nurse in blue coveralls enters, pushing a metal cart.

“We have your breakfast ready, Raissa Santos,” the wrinkled woman says in a sing-song voice, reminding me of a grandmother.

“I can’t eat with my hands like this,” I say, shaking my wrist restraints.

The nurse lifts a plastic tray from the cart. “We’ll work it out, dear.”

“This is ridiculous. I need my hands,” I say, sitting up in the bed.

“I’m afraid you’re not ready for that privilege yet.”

The nurse takes a seat in the chair beside the bed and sets the tray on her lap. Opening the covered dish, she reveals a jelly biscuit, scrambled eggs, and a sausage link. The warm aroma makes my stomach grumble in empty pain. The nurse scoops up a forkful of eggs for me.

“Open wide.”

With my hunger outweighing my embarrassment, I open my mouth and lean forward for the first bite. It tastes delicious. The nurse feeds me another forkful, and then offers me a bite of the jelly biscuit.

“See, it’s not so bad here, is it?” the nurse asks.

I ignore the woman’s satisfied smirk as I finish off the meal with the sausage link. With my belly full, I ease back on my elbows, dazed. My eyelids weigh a hundred pounds. Th
e room and the nurse swivel out of focus, my surroundings melting before me.

“What’s happening?” I ask, struggling to hold my head up.

The nurse brings her face close to mine. “Sleep tight.”

►▼◄

I open my eyes. I sit in a cushioned chair in a dark room. Judging by the smell of old carpet, I no longer sit in the white room. My arms and legs are immobile, strapped to the chair. A lap belt squeezes my waist tight to the seat. A white screen covers the wall before me. Then the familiar Gideon anthem on the piano carries across the room, the words sung by a choir. A stout, bearded man appears on the screen, and the music fades.

“As you should know, I am Archibald Gideon, grandson of Ulysses Gideon. My grandfather created Gideon on the principles of human perfection. You and those you conspire with aim to destroy those principles,” the man says with a scowl. “You are an enemy of Gideon, but you have been found to be, for one reason or another, capable of reform. You will be rehabilitated to reenter Gideon’s society and given a second chance at citizenship. Count yourself lucky. Many enemies before you have been punished by death. This is your one chance at redemption. If you revert to enemy status, you will face death. To begin your therapy, you will relearn the Code and the history of Gideon. Long live, Gideon!”

Archibald Gideon disappears from the screen, and the music fades up again. Then the screen displays text from the Code as a female, automated voice says, “Read the following codes aloud.”

“No!” I shout.

A sharp pain shoots up my back like a hot knife, and I shriek, struggling to pull away from the chair.

The female voice repeats the instructions, so I mumble the words on the screen.

“Speak the words clearly and audibly,” the voice says.

I examine the restraints, trying to find a way to break out of them. I cry out when the chair once again shocks my back. The pain strikes me harder this time.

The voice repeats the instructions again, and I read the words on the screen. I follow every instruction, fearing another shock. The words of each code are repeated again and again, for what feels like several exhausting hours. My eyelids long for sleep and my stomach begs for food when it ends, but I don’t suffer any additional shocks.

The words leave the screen, and th
e voice says, “Congratulations on completion of your first session.”

Before I can even wonder how many more sessions I have to endure, a needle pricks the side of my neck, and the room goes completely black.

►▼◄

The apartment door creaks open, and I know
Daddy is home. Mommy hurries to greet him with a kiss and the usual small talk, but his expression catches us all off-guard.

I remember this. He looked so scared.

Daddy locks the deadbolt. “Pack food and water. We have to get out of here.”

“What’s going on?” eight-year-old Petra asks.

She always wore that blue hair band back then. I wanted to wear it, but she would never let me.

“Code Enforcement is coming for me.” Daddy rushes by us through the foyer, grasping his metal briefcase.

“Why?” Mommy asks. “You never got rid of it?”

Daddy’s face turns red.

“Just pack a bag,” he says. “There’s a safe place we can go.”

I remember this. He hid the suitcase under the sofa.

“I’m scared, Daddy,” I say.

He was so tall and strong. I remember his green eyes, like mine and Petra’s.

He scoops me up in his arms. “It’s going to be okay, bug.”

“Code Enforcement! Open up!” a voice shouts through rapping on the door.

Daddy sets me down. He heads for the foyer, but before he even enters it, the door flies open. Two CE officers stand in the doorway. Each officer holds a nightstick in his hand. Mommy drops the sack of supplies she gathered and wraps her arms around me and Petra.

“Corbin Santos,” the tall officer says, “you are under suspicion for possession of enemy propaganda.”

“That’s nonsense,” Daddy says.

They enter the living room. “Remain where you are. Your dwelling will be searched.”

I squeeze Mommy’s side. “Mommy?”

“It’s okay, girls,” Daddy says. He turns to the officers. “You won’t find anything.”

The tall officer points at the sofas. “Go have a seat.”

We follow his instructions, and Daddy sits beside us. The officers disappear into the bedrooms.

“You lied to me,” Mommy whispers to Daddy. “I thought we agreed.”

He shushes her and places his arm around her shoulders. We all jump at the crash of ceramic breaking. Furniture groans as the officers force it out of place.

The two officers return empty-handed. They go for the sofas next, making us stand aside as they pull up cushions and rip them open. I hold my breath.

They’re going to find it. And then our lives will be over.

“My furniture!” Mommy yells, creating a distraction.

The shorter officer narrows his eyes at her. Then he pushes over the glass lamp on the side table, allowing it to crash into a hundred pieces on the hardwood floor.

Daddy takes a step forward. “Enough!”

Both officers ignore his protest, and the tall one scans the room, stopping at the kitchen doorway. “Check the kitchen.”

As they both head out of the living room, Petra dashes back to the side of the sofa over the briefcase and plops down on top of it. The shorter officer stops in his tracks and stares at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Petra, come here,” Mommy says through gritted teeth.

Petra shakes her head.

The shorter officer approaches her. “Get up, girl.”

Petra’s face contorts, tears filling her eyes. She jumps from the sofa and runs to Mommy’s side. Mommy hugs her and whispers comforting words.

No, empty words. It’s all over now.

The CE officer bends down and hoists the sofa up. It falls with a heavy
thud
on its back. The briefcase lays exposed on the hardwood floor. He picks it up.

“Open it,” he says, pointing at the combination lock.