Violet (11 page)

I feel great sympathy for David. It must be very
difficult to have a parent given that type of sentence. To know
that he is alive, but that he suffers.

“I’m sure he cared about you very much,
David.”

David is angry. “No, he didn’t. He cared about
things.
He cared about
money.
If he cared about me or
my mother he would have done the right thing. He would have done
his job. He wouldn’t have done something that he knew could get him
sent away. Do you know how many times I heard my mother
beg
him to stop? She pleaded with him. She cried. She got down on her
knees and humiliated herself, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t see
past the money. He couldn’t see past the status. He got what he
deserved and I’m glad he’s dead.”

I’m shocked by David’s sudden anger. I can see
that his father has hurt him deeply, maybe irreparably. I don’t
know anything that I can do to help him, so I just put my hand over
his.

David sighs. His anger is spent. “I’m sorry,
Violet. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.”

I sit alone for a long time before I decide to
go to bed. I sit, just staring at the wall, not thinking of
anything. David’s outburst showed me that there is so much that I
don’t know about him. Not that I blame him for the anger he feels
toward his father. The man all but abandoned his family. No wonder
David felt such intense loyalty for me. No wonder he was so hurt
when I told him that I thought he’d left me.

After a while, I lie down next to David. It is
too cold to sit alone. My fingers and toes are icy, and I can no
longer feel my nose or ears. The blanket, along with David’s body
heat, warms me immediately. For the first time in a long time, I
feel safe. I know that our safety is precarious at best, but I
believe that with David, I can accomplish what I set out to do. We
will find The Cube. We will hide it from The Vox. We will finish
what my father started. I allow my eyelids to droop. I let go of my
thoughts. Soon, I am asleep.

I may have fallen asleep peacefully, but the
sleep itself is fitful at best. All of the excitement about the
intruder made me forget something. As usual, my brain has chosen
the time when I am supposed to be resting to remind me. There is
some question. Something is not right.

I am with David in the meadow. He tells me the
truth about my accident. My father and I were in an explosion. I
lost my memory. My father faked our deaths. We are dead. I am
dead.

I am at my house. My father, who pretended to be
dead, is now truly dead. Twice he has killed himself. He only
killed me once.

David with a gun to his head. David is going to
die. David with a trickle of blood on his temple. David will help
me. David knows what we need to do.

I am being interrogated by The Alter. My father
is a thief. My father stole the Cube shard.

You will not be prosecuted for your father’s
crimes.

I don’t know where it is. He threw my sketchbook
on the table. The Alter threw my sketchbook on the table. I am with
David in the meadow.

And Violet, there’s something else. I think
you should give me your sketchbook.

I think you should give me your
sketchbook.

My eyes fly open. It is midday. David is beside
me, still asleep.

How did The Alter get my sketchbook?

* * *

I have not been awake long when David begins to
stir. Immediately, I panic. I cannot accuse David after everything
he has done for me. He has given up his entire life, his future, to
follow me on this suicidal quest. Regardless, I cannot ignore the
fact that my sketchbook somehow traveled from David’s possession to
that of The Alter. The Vox would not be aware of my slight
knowledge of The Cube were it not for this detail, and that is
something that I cannot overlook. I have not yet decided what I
will do when David opens his eyes.

He yawns, smiles at me sleepily, and touches my
cheek with his fingertips. I can force nothing more than a
close-lipped smile as I stand up and move into the kitchen,
pretending to busy myself by rationing our morning meal. I do not
want him to see the doubt in my eyes until I am ready to hear his
explanation.

I do not have much more time to consider it
because suddenly David is standing behind me. He puts one arm
around my waist and uses his other hand to cover my mouth. His lips
brush my ear as he whispers, “Violet. Do not panic.”

I nod my head. I understand. Someone is
here.

David drops his arms and I pull the broken piece
of baseboard from the waistband of my pants. After yesterday, I
decided to remain prepared at all times. I have a weapon, and I
will soon find out if I have the courage to use it.

The baseboard piece is a little less than twice
the length of my forearm. I raise it above my head and ready myself
to swing. David crouches near a set of cabinets, assuming my
position of attack from yesterday. Another moment passes. We
wait.

Just as I am about to ask David if he is sure
that someone has come in, a small head peeks into the kitchen. It
is a small child, a girl. Her fuzzy, matted hair is blonde and
obviously has not been washed in some time. Her face is so smudged
with dirt that I cannot help but postulate that either she has gone
a
very
long time without a wash, or it was not done by
accident. She smiles at the surprise on our faces and steps around
the corner so that her entire body has come through the doorway.
Her clothes are ragged and torn. Her shoes are falling apart at the
soles. She doesn’t seem to bemoan her status, though, as she raises
her hands, palms facing us, and good-naturedly says, “Don’t
shoot.”

I look at David for guidance. He looks at me. We
make the same decision. I lower my weapon as he loosens his body
from its position of attack. We speak at the same time. “What are
you doing here?” I say, just as David says, “Are you lost?”

I am alarmed that such a small child is
wandering around an abandoned building by herself. Surely she has
no more than four rotations behind her, and even so, she is small
for her age. She seems to sense my concern because she raises her
eyebrows, crosses her arms and says, “Look, I’m not the one who
needs help. My mother and I are just fine on our own. We just
thought we should help you two out before your clomping around up
here attracts every V1 in Summus.”

V1’s are low-ranking foot soldiers. Many of them
are given city patrol assignments until they are promoted to V2
Officer or even V3 Inspector status. It is very difficult to gain
rank in The Vox. Many men will remain V1 for their entire
lives.

David seems slightly offended by this girl’s
accusations. “Us? Clomping around? We’re not clomping around.”

She looks at him skeptically. “Really? Then how
did we know you’re here?” She has a point. “Besides, you’ve chosen
the most obvious apartment in the entire building. Clear view of
the street from above, fire escape access…”

David is growing impatient. “What are you
getting at?”

“They would know that you were hiding here
because this is where they would hide if they were running. V1’s
have basic training. They’re not taught profiling like Inspectors.
They don’t think like fugitives. If a V1 decided to search this
building, this apartment is the first place he’d look.”

Maybe we
could
use this girl’s
assistance. David seems to be thinking the same thing because he
softens. I set the baseboard down on the counter. She narrows her
eyes at me and says, “Keep that.” I decide to take her word for it.
I tuck it back into my waistband.

We stand awkwardly for a moment until she steps
forward and sticks out her hand. “Name’s Beck. Pleased to make your
acquaintance.”

I grasp her hand and shake it. “Violet. That’s
David.” He nods.

“That’s some grip you’ve got, Violet.” She uses
her sleeve to wipe her nose. “Come on, I’ll take you to our
place.”

Without a word, David and I follow Beck out the
door. Rather than using the main hallway as we did, Beck enters a
supply closet at the end of the hall. In the back of the closet is
another door. Beck opens it, then turns around and gives a
triumphant grin. Maintenance staircase. I shake my head. We have
been outdone by this child.

We follow the staircase down the four flights
that take us to the ground level. As we descend, the air becomes
moist and weighed down with the smell of mildew. When we reach the
bottom, Beck opens a small door in the wall. Well, it’s small to
us. Beck just barely has to duck her head to get through. It seems
to be some type of chute. Perhaps for garbage or soiled laundry.
Beck sits down on the edge of the doorway. The interior is so dark
that her legs immediately disappear from view. She turns to me and
says, “Don’t be afraid.” Then she turns her gaze to David and says,
“You come last. Make sure to hold on to this string as you slide
down. It will pull the door behind you. All right?” David nods.
Beck pushes off, and she is gone.

I do as she did. When I sit at the edge of the
darkness, I feel myself supported by a piece of steel set at a 45
degree angle. I test my weight by pressing down. It seems sturdy. I
push off and begin my descent. The walls within this chute are very
close to the edge of the slide, probably to prevent anything from
falling into the gaps. My arms brush against the stone and it is
slimy and cold. Within seconds, I reach the end of the chute and my
heart stops for a moment when I feel the bottom drop out from
beneath me. I fall into a heap of bedsheets. When my weight hits
them, a whoosh of mildewy air hits me in the face and I cringe at
the sour smell, but it’s better than a three foot drop onto stone.
I stand up not a moment too soon; David falls into the heap just as
I step away from it.

As David gets his bearings, I take in my
surroundings. This must be a laundry room. There are large vats
most likely used for washing. I hear the dripping sound of water,
but I do not see the source. That’s a shame, because I suddenly
realize that I am very thirsty. Shelves with stacks of sheets and
towels line one of the walls. A few piles of folded clothes are
scattered among the linens. A woman stands near the center of the
room. She is a young mother, but time and stress have added
rotations to her face. She is haggard and pale, but not as dirty as
Beck. The woman looks at us and with a tight smile says, “Welcome.
I’m Elena.” She seems to be about to say something else, but Beck
steps out from behind one of the wash vats and Elena sighs and
walks toward her. Elena grabs a cloth drying on the edge of the
pot, takes Beck’s face in one of her hands, and begins to clean the
smudges away. “Rebecca, I’ve asked you repeatedly to stop rubbing
this dirt on your face.”

Beck replies, though her words are slightly
muddled, being that her face is being squished by her mother’s
hand. “Mother, I’ve asked you repeatedly to stop calling me
Rebecca. Besides, it’s not just dirt; it’s camouflage.”

This is obviously a conversation that they’ve
had many times before, but Elena cannot help but smile at her
daughter. “All right, there you go.”

Elena turns back toward us and gestures to the
floor. “Have a seat. You can use some of those sheets as a cushion,
if you like. Sorry we don’t have any chairs.” She seems a little
embarrassed about their living arrangements. “Would you two like
some water?” David and I nod emphatically. Elena dips two metal
cups into a small pot and hands them to us. The pot is situated
beneath a dripping pipe. Elena sees me eyeing it and says, “It’s
safe to drink. This pipe is marked so maintenance workers know that
it attaches to the water main. We figured out in the last building
not to use the faucets.”

Beck jumps in, “Yeah, that was a big mistake.
They don’t cut off water to these buildings on purpose. They figure
people like us will be desperate for a drink, so we won’t have a
choice but to use the faucets in the home units. They never thought
we’d be smart enough to catch it straight from the pipes.” She
grins mischievously. “Mother and I, we’ve got it all figured
out.”

David must look as confused as I feel, because
Elena begins to explain, “They leave the water on as a trap. If
they see a draw on the supply coming from one of the home units,
they’ll find you in minutes. You won’t even know they’re coming.”
It was simply luck that David and I had not used the water in our
unit. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“You seem to know a lot about hiding; how long
have you been doing this?” David asks.

A shadow crosses Elena’s face. “It’s been almost
a full rotation now.”

A full rotation? David and I exchange concerned
looks. How can someone live like this for such a long time? How can
someone expect a child to adapt to this type of environment?

Elena is defensive. “I know what you’re
thinking, all right? We don’t have a choice. We don’t have anyone
who will help us. The Vox will kill us if they find us.”

I am ashamed for having judged Elena. Of course
she does not want this life for Beck. She doesn’t have another
option. David and I are in the same situation ourselves.

“I’m sorry. I won’t presume to understand what
you’ve been through. We’ve only been doing this for a couple of
days.”

David says softly, “If you don’t mind me asking,
what have you been through? What crime did you commit that made you
run?”

Elena’s face twists with disgust. “Crime? You
don’t have to commit a crime here to be punished. I think you know
that.”

We remain silent, waiting to see if she will
tell us. Beck, who has been reapplying her camouflage, suddenly
becomes aware of our conversation. “Us? We’re renegades! We want
representation! We’ll never let them take us alive!” As she says
this, she jumps up and lifts the sleeve of her oversized sweater.
She shoves her forearm toward David and me. Drawn using the same
muddy water as her camouflage is the symbol of interlocking
diamonds. The same symbol that my mother had tattooed on her inner
wrist. I absentmindedly clutch my father’s pocket watch.