Page 14

Chapter twelve

Forest

T he rough texture of a rag moves across my face, making my skin tingle with pain. An Official wipes repeatedly, even working the rag through my hair to rid my front of any evidence of the atrocious murder they just committed. My eyes are glued shut, not daring to peek open, even after they turn their attention to anyone else who might have been hit with the girl’s blood. I feel them work on Fallan, rubbing more aggressively than they did with me.

“Look how pathetic this is,” one of the men says, pulling Fallan’s limp hand away from my neck. I hear his body roll as they move him onto his back.

“That Unfortunate running the booth had his hands all over this pretty little Untouchable,” the man says, running his fingers through my hair, working his touch dangerously close to the top of my chest.

My stomach rolls with nausea. I start to sweat uncontrollably as his fingers fumble with my shirt.

“Mind your touch,” Adam snaps, slapping away the hands of whoever was about to run their fingers beneath my bra strap. “That includes leaving the sewer trash alone,” Adam continues. The thud of Fallan’s head meeting the dirt fills my ears.

“What's one more little cut on him? His back is already torn to shreds,” the man messing with Fallan questions. I want nothing more than to take his prod and beat him over the head with it. My mark's pain grows at the idea of hurting all of the men standing around us.

“Get the hell up and start cleaning. You aren't getting paid to make more of a mess,” Adam spits. The men hovering near Fallan sigh. Their knees pop as they stand, following the order of their superior.

A man's booted foot stands on my wrist, putting all his weight on the weak bones. It takes all I have not to wince. The pressure increases as the man leans his weight into his hip. Rocks dig into the top of my hand, scratching and tearing the skin. My fingers are numb, growing more pained the more prolonged the blood flow is restricted. The sound of trash bags flaring open is heard. The men grumble, spraying bottles filled with a robust solution that burns my nose. A wet feeling hovers over my front, increasing the strong smell of chemicals surrounding the air.

“Aren’t these two Blackburn’s kids?” one of the men questions, standing closer to Kai as he acknowledges my exposed face. My last name leaves his mouth like he’s one of my family's closest friends.

I feel a body move closer, bending down to observe me, warming my body with its sudden presence before moving back into its standing position.

“Yes, you dense moron,” Adam says, shoving back the man standing on my wrist. “So, get off her hand before her father has a fit when we give him the rundown about tonight,” Adam finishes.

My father would never support this. He would never support the murder of children.

“Blackburn created a beauty like that?” A man sneers, getting uncomfortably close.

“Yes,” Adam says, grabbing the material of the man's jacket. “And he wants her, so keep your fucking hands off and finish cleaning,” Adam says, dismissing all of the men crowding us.

“What do you want us to input for the others, sir?” someone questions, motioning around to the students who are still face down on the ground.

It's the voice of the man who held the Re-Regulation device above the girl.

“Make them think only a few seconds have passed. They all zoned off during this miserable movie but can’t acknowledge it. As far as they know, all they did was blink, and they lost track of time. How much longer until we are cleaned up?” Adam questions.

“Ten seconds, boss, and then we are good to clear out,” another Official says.

A human life is cleaned up and disposed of in no more than ten minutes. All those memories, all of those connections she created, stolen by the hands of a lie we let them put inside our heads with no second thoughts.

Or did we let them?

“Time to go, boys. He wants us back in time for the Lottery bids,” Adam barks to the other Officials, their feet dragging across the ground as they move. My eyes slowly creep open at the sound of their exit.

The man in charge of the Re-Regulation device hits his screen, watching the chips of those on the ground blink once more. The land once coated in the girl's blood is spotless, concealed by the bloodied paper towels now shoved deep into one of the many garbage bags the Officials hold. Adam slings the girl over his shoulder, pulling her dead weight with no issues. The group moves farther from the screening, one of them hitting the projector as they start the movie from where it was before the attack. Five black Official cars are parked, each one of the trunks being filled with their supplies. They finish loading the trunk with the girl’s body, throwing her in carelessly before slamming the trunk shut with a thud. The men smile, some laughing as they each file into their car. Their headlights light up the area, each revving their engines before disappearing in the night as if they were never even here.

I pry my head away from the ground, gasping as I struggle to take a full breath. My voice is nothing more than a silent scream. My mouth salivates, pushing away nausea clouding my system. I grasp the front of my shirt, clawing at its material as I linger on the Official's touch. The blood sure to have soaked my front has vanished, and I see nothing but the clean gray shirt I had come here in. My hands rub my face violently, trying my best to wipe away the blood that’s no longer there. My mind keeps reflecting on the moment her life left her eyes. He pulled that trigger with no hesitation and a look of satisfaction.

“Calm down,” Fallan says aggressively, grabbing my bruised wrist as my eyes begin to water. He immediately re-adjusts his grip, holding my jaw hard, forcing me to stop my panic to look at him. I see now the small cut lining his forehead. The Official had managed to mark him up despite Adam’s wishes.

“You need to breathe, they are going to wake up any minute, and you can't be panicking when they do,” Fallan says, pressing his hand to my chest.

“Take a full breath. Don’t think about anything else, breathe. Focus on my touch. Breathe from here,” he continues, applying more pressure to my chest. His hand takes up a great deal of my front, helping guide my breathing as he inhales with me.

I comply, feeling the air enter my lungs in greedy, shallow breaths. Fallan continues holding my chin, dragging me closer once my breathing has regulated. His eyes grow narrow, holding me still with such a brief touch.

“I could care less if you expose yourself to your Officials, but you're sure as hell not bringing me down with you,” Fallan hisses, shoving me back and closer to my brother as he pulls himself to his feet.

I watch him quickly move past the bodies. Some begin twitching, moving their limbs slowly as they gain consciousness. Fallan kneels next to Hunter, dragging him farther behind the shed, not giving me a second look.

“Forest?” Kai’s voice questions, pulling me away from my dazed stare toward the shed and back to my brother as he blinks away his confusion. Once abnormally blank and void of expression, his face now shows a flutter of emotion. He’s standing, looking at my dirtied figure kneeling on the ground.

“Kai!” I say in a sob. I force my arms around his neck, pulling his hands around me before pressing my face into his shoulder. “Are you okay?” I mumbled against the material of his shirt, squeezing him as tight as possible. I narrow my eyes at his chip.

“Yes, crazy,” Kai says, speaking like normal as he begins to pry away from my touch. I stumble back, taking a long look at my brother. He looks completely fine, even brushing off some dirt from the front of his clothes. All the others around him are on their feet, some still trying to watch the movie, the twins included.

“You've just been staring off into space. I’ve been trying to get your attention for like five minutes.” Kai says, rubbing the back of his neck as he fidgets anxiously. I clutch my damaged wrist, shielding it from his prying eyes.

Officials return to the area, casually glancing around as they once had, letting their eyes linger on the crowd they so easily manipulated.

“Y-you don't remember?” I question, knowing the answer long before he dares to say it.

“Remember what?” Kai questions, looking back at our friends in a way that I know is meant to mock my current state of sanity. Hunter and Fallan are back in the booth. Hunter happily continues serving popcorn. Fallan watches me, crossing his arms, waiting to see what I will do. He looks unbothered, as if nothing ever happened.

The space around me feels smaller as the eyes of neighboring Officials seem to linger on my brother and me. Everything seems tighter, the very area around me closing in. My stomach churns as I reflect on what I saw. The visual of a fragmented skull painting the grass in puddles of red still lingers. My stomach twists. Maybe it wasn’t real. I skipped my meds this morning. Maybe all of this is in my head. Perhaps it’s just the hallucinations again.

My focus moves to my hurt wrist and sore jaw from Fallan’s touch.

No, not in my head.

I clutch my stomach, covering my mouth and backing away from my brother.

“Forest, what's wrong?” Max’s voice finally questions, creeping up behind my brother, finally inserting himself into the conversation.

“I don’t feel so good,” I say honestly, unable to fight back the influx of saliva that I know is about to turn into something much worse.

I force myself away from the pair, letting my knees hit the ground. Breakfast and lunch leave me in a hurl, covering the ground beneath me. My spit trails out of my mouth, making the pain in my stomach only grow once there is nothing else left to expel. A few straggling Officials move closer, looking genuinely concerned as if they didn’t just have pistols ready to use on any of us a few minutes ago. Kai and Max reach their arms out. I force myself up, stumbling backward, backing away from the gentle touch of one of the Officials I had seen laughing at the girl’s lifeless body.

“It’s the popcorn. Too much grease,” I say, dismissing the Official's concern with a simple statement. My shaky hand covers the quiver in my lip. Many watch me, all observing my humiliating display on the lawn.

“Are you sure you're alright?” the Official questions. His voice perfectly matches the one of the man who stepped right on my arm.

“I need to go home,” I say, turning away from the numerous eyes on me. I shove past my brother and Max, pressing my arms across my body as I walk farther away from the screen's light. My head continues to pound, my scar growing hotter as if it’s ready to burn through this shirt and expose me. “Now,” I finish, watching the roll of the tram's wheels as it stops at the bench outside the school.

“Forest, wait a moment-” Kai begins, grabbing my elbow.

“Don't!” I yell, looking at all of my friends and anyone else who feels like staring. “I want to be alone,” I hiss, yanking away my arm with a great deal of aggression. Kai doesn’t push it, even putting his hand on Max’s shoulder, telling him to let it be. He whispers something in the blonde’s ear, ending his statement with a comment about this being “One of her episodes,” solidifying the fact he has no faith in my sanity. I take that as my opportunity to leave, trying my best not to feel the fear that only grows with each long stare from the Officials trailing behind me.

My hands bang on the tram doors, startling Mark from his small cat nap in the front seat. I aid him in opening the doors, clawing them open in an attempt to get into the vehicle faster. I stumble into the warm tram, watching his body go rigid as I move closer.

“Please, take me home. I will take full responsibility for whatever grief you get for running an early route. Get me away from here,” I plead. I know he can hear the grovel of emotions threatening to break me. I fight back the tears that want to escape my eyes, wishing for a distraction to pull me away from this nightmare.

“Boring movie?” he questions in a light-hearted tone.

“Something like that,” I admit with no humor in return.

“I can make a quick route toward your neighborhood for you,” Mark begins, pulling the handle to shut the doors. “I can always call an Official, too, if you are feeling unsafe-”

“No!” I yell, covering my mouth in embarrassment at my sudden outburst.

I hear a slam behind me. Both Mark and I silence our conversation.

His large hand grabs the door, stopping it from closing fully. He looks as casual as he did when I first saw him tonight, only pulling me further into the theory that all of this derived from my own delusional mind. He glances at me with his standard look of annoyance, leaving room for Hunter to get in the vehicle first. I back away from the men working their way up the steps. Grabbing the first chair closest to the back as I can, I try to find the slightest bit of comfort in the presence of the only other person who might have seen what I had moments ago.

Hunter moves past me, taking a seat in his bus section. I pull my knees up to my chest, pressing my head between my legs to silence the noise of the tram's engine.

Mark converses with Fallan, glancing back at me before returning to the tall, raven-haired boy. Fallan moves closer to Mark, whispering something in his ear while placing a hand on his shoulder. I rock my body slightly, Hunter’s raised brows going higher the longer he stares at me. Tears coat my face; hidden by the position I have tucked myself into.

“Did you enjoy the movie?” Hunter questions, lowering his head to meet my hazy eyes. I sniffle, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand. No amount of acting can hide the emotions rolling through me. Fallan joins his friend, observing the same wave of emotions Hunter does, leaning back in his chair as he does so. Neither man knows how to approach my sudden display of emotions.

“It wasn’t my favorite film,” I admit with a small laugh, rubbing my thumb along my injured arm. Fallan cocks his head at the gesture, moving one seat over from Hunter, working himself closer to my balled-up position on the seat. He reaches into his pocket, fiddling with his one leverage over me. Now more than ever, the idea of him outing me to an Official is horrifying.

“I think the film is a tad bit over-praised,” Hunter begins, leaning into his knees with closed eyes.

“So does my brother,” I admit after a few moments, continuing to watch Fallan’s adamant stare in my direction.

“Your brother is quite the talker. I overheard him babbling on to that blonde. I don’t think she listened to a single thing he said. There were times I was ready to break regulation to put my input in on his horrible analysis of the plot,” Hunter says. I smile, wincing as my hand stabilizes me from the tram’s sudden start.

“How bad does it hurt?” Fallan questions, motioning to my wrist. He cuts off the conversation topic, focusing on the wound I have tried my best not to look at. I can tell he’s already treated the cut on his face. Nothing but a faint scar remains.

“What did you do?” Mark questions, looking in his rearview for some clarification.

“I-” I begin, feeling that familiar well of emotions form in me as I recall the Official’s boot pressed firmly on my arm.

“She fell carrying food back to her friends and landed square on a rock. On top of being arrogant, you’re also one clumsy little Untouchable, aren’t you, Little Dove?” Fallan questions, propping his arms on his legs like Hunter, who can’t seem to take his eyes off his brash friend.

The alibi flows off his tongue like it’s nothing. He’s covering his ass, just like he promised.

“Fallan, watch your tongue, man-” Hunter begins.

“Why do you call me that? Little Dove?” I question, cutting off Hunter's justifiable line of questioning.

“Answer my question first, princess,” Fallan says, waving away Mark’s frustrated grunts, signaling Fallan to quit pushing. Though low quality on these trams, the cameras can still pick up enough for Officials to dish Fallan a heavy violation which I’d rather he not get, even if he does deserve it.

“It feels like someone stepped on my arm … so yes, it hurts,” I hissed, holding my wrist with frustration.

He nods his head at the response, clenching his jaw, running a list of things to say to me through his head.

“Give me your arm,” Fallan says after a few moments, catching everyone off guard.

I pause, keeping my hold on my knees in hopes he will retract the command. “Unless you want to continue this whole ride pathetically wallowing in pain, I suggest you do as I ask,” Fallan continues, ignoring Hunter’s punches to his arm.

“You just don't know when to shut the hell up,” Hunter hisses, watching Fallan’s hand reach into his apron's front pocket.

He pulls out a small jar labeled with masking tape and words I struggle to recognize. He quickly unscrews the lid of the jar. The smell of lavender and mint hits my nose as he gathers some cream onto his fingers. Hesitantly, I lean my arm past the red line, letting his fingers work on the tender skin of my wrist in small circular motions.

“Hunter’s grandmother makes medicine even better than your people's Cure-All. The only thing is she needs the money to continue creating it,” Fallan says, pressing down a bit harder on my bruise with a glance up at me. “She’s the woman you watched get beat by your schoolmates this morning,” Fallan continues, closing the lid of the jar. I feel a great shame in the pain that flashes over Hunter’s face at the mention of his grandmother. “Consider this me making sure my tracks are covered,” Fallan whispers in a voice only I can hear.

Pulling his warm fingers away from their hold on my arm, I yank it back, watching the skin's deep bruise fade into something much more tolerable.

“Why the nickname?” I question again, rubbing my wrist with comforting motions.

Fallan leans back in his chair, pondering the question despite Hunter's urge to get him to quit speaking to me. Hunter had nearly torn away his shirt, trying to get him to stop applying the cream earlier. Even Mark had resorted to slinging his hat over the tram’s interior camera, hiding what most would consider treason.

“When there was religion, the dove used to symbolize innocence and purity in a world scorched with floods and fire,” Hunter says, taking the words away from Fallan. “What Fallan won’t tell you is how you were the first Untouchable he had observed say sorry to someone like us-”

“It was abnormal and clearly an act to assuage your own personal inner turmoil. I liked the irony in nicknaming you after something as gentle and innocent as a small dove,” Fallan says, raising his arms above his head, causing his shirt to ride up. His torso is exposed, and despite its scarring, it’s not so rough on the eyes. I glance at his hip bone, seeing nothing but smooth skin. I was hoping to see a mark like mine.

“How is that ironic?” I question, forcing my eyes back up to meet Fallan’s. He smirks at my wandering eyes.

“The irony is in how much violence you hide within yourself,” Fallan says, smirking ear to ear, keeping his arms above his head. “And that’s where you and I become the same. No Unfortunates, no Untouchables, just two humans pretending to be something they're not,” Fallan scoffs, referencing more than just an innocent nickname. He knows so much more than he’s letting on, and he’s using that knowledge to torment me.

“Go to hell,” I hiss, forcing my knees back to my chest.

I cover my ears with my hands, staring out the window blankly. My head is pressed against the cool glass, balancing out the burning fire within me.

Mark stares back occasionally, debating whether or not it’s worth scolding the boy for how he spoke to me. Still, Fallan focuses on me, forcing a raise of his mouth each time I look back to see if he’s still watching. Hunter apologizes profusely for his friend, eventually giving up once he realizes no one is listening.

This is all part of his game, isn't it? Seeing how far he can push me before I break. Despite what we saw together, his hate for me runs too deep, and can I blame him after what I saw?

Those were my people. The Untouchables. The Officials.

“Stop looking at me,” I hiss, holding my head tighter to contain my negative thoughts.

Hunter nudges his friend, urging him to quit aggravating me. Still, Fallan pushes, continuing his blank stare.

“See something that scared you, Little Dove?” he questions, pushing me further. My head pounds with anticipation, spilling countless emotions I have yet to understand. His touch, the girl, our marks, all memories forced into my mind with no way to rid myself of them.

That feeling of another presence inside my mind returns. It holds my thoughts, coming from deeper than what lingers on the surface. I no longer feel alone in my thinking. The scuff of one's feet dragging along the surface of my mind echoes in my head as the pains behind my eyes ripples out. I lace my fingers with my hair, inhaling deeply, forcing away the pain with all I have. I focus on the open door in my mind, taking the unwelcoming presence by the hand and forcing it far away with a slam of the door.

Fallan takes a sharp breath, grasping his thigh, forcing his head back into the seat behind him. With a raise of his hand, he grabs his head, clutching his temple with angry curses. My hand shakes, wiping away a bit of blood that is trying to escape my ear. Hunter questions his friend, looking over his pained expression with confusion. I now see Fallan's grasp on his chest, higher than where my mark has taken residency. If tonight has taught me anything, it's this:

The impossible is entirely plausible.

I can't trust anyone or anything, even the recollection of my memories.

And the worst revelation of all is that I might be losing my mind.