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Chapter twenty-nine

Forest- Expulsion Test, 16 Years Ago

I swing my legs in the chair, half expecting myself to be able to brush the floor. Kai is dead asleep on the chair next to me, leaning up against my father in a fatigued state. Only moments ago, had he finished his placement test, scoring as high as humanly possible, no doubt. My father nudges my head every so often, giving me soft smiles between responding to messages on his phone. I stare at the giant steel door, expecting it to swing open at any moment.

An Unfortunate woman sits to the left of us. Every so often, she looks at my father, giving him a confusing look. He only returns her gaze with a lowered head. Her hair is dark as night, and her eyes are as blue as an ocean. In many ways, she is very pretty for an Unfortunate, able to pass as one of us had she been given the proper clothing. She wears a gold ring around her wedding finger, its band made of twisting vines, creating a beautiful piece of jewelry.

She waits patiently, most likely for her child, no doubt.

“I’m thirsty,” I whisper to my dad, him only half paying attention to my statement.

“There's a water fountain just around the corner,” my father whispers, looking slightly startled once Kai decides to stir. “I can take you. Let me get your brother up.”

“No,” I say, stopping him from saying another word. “I can take myself,” I push, doing my best to sound as adult as possible. He gives me another smile, crossing his arms while he playfully taunts me.

“You sure you're up for it? Who's this 4th year that has replaced my little girl?” he questions, only making me giggle.

I hurry off my chair, giving him a slight bow as I walk away. He laughs at the exchange, only to glare at the woman beside us once I'm almost to the corner. I make eye contact with her, watching her express sadness before lowering her head. I follow the signs to the fountain, taking a sharp left, meeting the dead-end hallway with nothing but a door and the fountain. A sign above the door says, “Unfortunate Test Exit.” Taking three long gulps, I enjoy the water, not once noticing the sudden presence lurking nearby.

“The water over here is much colder,” a boy's voice says, almost making me spit up my mouthful of water.

I turn around, locking eyes with a dirtied, Unfortunate boy sporting the same black hair and blue eyes as the woman from the waiting room. He looks frail, patiently waiting behind me for a drink. I wipe my mouth as I step aside, observing the gauze wrapped around his pointer finger like the last child I saw exit the testing area. Mom says never to ask about people's wounds after the tests. She says if I ask, I'll get more marks on my scorecard.

“I'm not supposed to talk to you,” I say, shifting on my feet while watching him take several sips from the fountain.

“I know,” he says, “Doesn't mean you can't listen," he finishes, giving me a brief smile. I can't help but return the gesture, watching him wince each time he moves.

His hands, I now see, are not just cut in one place. They are cut everywhere, jagged red lines marking several of his knuckles on both hands.

“How did that happen? I thought hospitals were supposed to fix stuff like that?” I question, watching him glance down at his hands.

“I came here for my test. They don't give us much else,” he says sadly, running his worn hands under the cool stream of the fountain.

I fumble in the small bag I brought, filled with a few colored pencils and papers meant to keep me entertained. My hands make contact with the bottle of medicine my mother makes me and Kai carry around. Stealing a glance around the space, I see no one, and I hold up the bottle with an enormous grin.

“How did you get one of those?” the boy questions, smiling gently as he showcases his many missing teeth. I can’t help but giggle at his excitement, unsure why he could be thrilled by such an everyday item.

“My mom made it, so in return, she makes me and my older brother carry it around with us,” I say, nudging it closer to his hands.

“I-I can’t take that from you,” he says, lowering his hands to his sides like they are glued there.

“You’re not taking it,” I say, grabbing his hands, spraying them generously with the light mist as the wounds begin to close. “I just felt like letting you use it,” I say, smiling ear to ear at the look of relief on his face as his wounds dissipate into nothing. Unlike my hands, his are worn and dirtied. Still, I let them stay within my own, holding them close to my eyes for observation until each cut is gone. He raises his hands from my own with flushed cheeks, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“You look like the lady who did my test,” he says after a few moments.

“That lady was probably my mom,” I say, touching his finger gently.

“She says I'm not supposed to ask you how you got that,” I whisper, watching his eyes grow wide.

“My mom said I’m supposed to pretend like it never even happened,” he says, watching my frown consume my face.

“Did it hurt?” I question, watching his shoulders shrug.

“It helps if you close your eyes,” he says, inching closer as he cups his hand around my ear. “Between you and me,” he whispers. “They make you cut yourself. My mom says to just go along with it and say nothing, and you get the best score card,” he finishes, pulling away with a large grin.

“You cut yourself? With what?” I question, watching him glance around.

“There is a tool on the counter. Use it when they tell you to and give your finger a small cut,” he begins, pressing his finger to my lips. “But don't say anything about it. Just be quiet and do what your mom says. That's how you get the best score,” he says, lowering his hand as quickly as he brought it up—looking embarrassed by his sudden movements.

“I don’t have many friends in my sector willing to give up Cure-All like that,” he continues.

“I don’t have any friends my parents didn’t force on me,” I say, looking at my shoes angrily.

“What's in your bag?” he questions, pointing to the drawing I had made in the lobby.

It is nothing special. Just a few flowers, all in a big meadow, expanding to the edges of the paper on both sides.

“Hopefully, a picture of what the future will look like,” I say, pulling out the paper to show him.

He carefully takes the paper in his hands, running his fingers along the front, tracing each tiny detail.

“Can I keep it?” he questions, looking to me hopefully for an answer.

“You want my drawing?” I question, half expecting him to tell me he is joking.

“Makes me have hope I’ll have a future,” he says with a grin. I slowly nod my head, yes, watching him fold the paper, concealing it in one of his many pockets.

“I thought Unfortunates were supposed to be mean,” I say, watching his head tilt at my statement.

“I thought Untouchables were supposed to be ugly, soulless elites,” he says, only making me smile.

“My name's Forest, by the way,” I say, hearing my father’s phone start to ring loudly.

“Forest? I like it. My name is Fallan-”

“Forest!” my father says, staring down the hallway, keeping my brother's sleepy figure perched on the chairs.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Dad, I was just-”

He drags me away from Fallan, pulling me up as he gets a hold of me. I watch the woman from the waiting room silently move past my father, picking Fallan up quickly. She looks frail, holding the boy close to her with shaky hands.

“They were speaking to one another, Mariah,” my father hisses at the woman, observing me up and down, inspecting every part of me he can.

“They’re children, Andrew,” the woman says, moving past my father and me. My dad grabs her arm, stopping her dead in her tracks. Fallan and I exchange a look, both of our heads nuzzled on our parents’ shoulders.

“Tell Joshua I don’t want to see his boy near my child again. Consider what my wife did my final act of kindness to the Markswoods,” my father says, keeping my head down with his hand.

“You're a sheep wearing a wolf's skin, Andrew,” he mutters. “You can walk, talk, and live like them, but deep down,” she whispers. “You know those calluses on your hands will never hide who you really are, where you’re really from,” she whispers, giving me a slight glance.

"Do not speak to me like that in front of my daughter. I suggest you take your boy and leave,” he says, motioning his head backward, urging her to go.

She takes the opportunity to move past us, listening to her son's quiet words as he shows her his hands. She looks confused, touching his healed knuckles with her cut and worn hands. I hear her ask him who fixed them, watching his blue eyes glance back to me again, my name leaving his mouth. Her eyes move around to meet mine. I take the opportunity to wave goodbye to the pair, seeing his toothy grin once more, before watching them disappear behind the corner.

“I don’t ever want you speaking to one of them like that again,” my father says. “Especially anyone in that family.” He carries me back down the hallway I’d come down. “Clearly, you still need an escort,” my father barks, moving to set me down next to Kai as the door finally flies open, revealing my vivacious mother. She wears a mask that conceals her smile, but I can see it in her eyes.

“Are you ready?” my mother questions, motioning my father to bring me over.

Something tells me I’ll be going with her whether I am or not.

“What the hell is all of this?” I question, watching the reflective version of myself stand in the testing room with me. We both observe a younger version of myself patiently sitting in the operating chair, watching my mom typing away at her computer. She scrolls through my file diligently. “Why can't I remember this?” I push, watching the other me lean against the chair.

“It probably has a little something to do with blue eyes and his mom out there, for starters,” it says, rolling its eyes at me. “That delicious, deviant Unfortunate has been fond of us for quite some time. I’m glad you're warming up to him as much as I have…. Although, there's something about blondie that is so enticing,” it whispers, my head pounding as my reality continues to come unraveled.

“I still can't figure out who’s trying to get in. You see, Fallan, we want Fallan in our mind because, well, we are linked. But that unknown bastard pounding on the back door is starting to get on my nerves,” it whispers, making me suck in a breath with confusion.

“What bastard?”

“If I knew the answer to that, they would be feeling a world of pain right now for trying to tamper with our minds.”

“Why are you showing me all of this? Why now?” I question, running my finger along the scar on my pointer finger.

“To show you why you can’t shake our raven-haired friend,” it says, pointing to the door I had followed my younger self through.

“He’s never been in this memory before,” I say, running my hands through my hair. “Every time I reflect on this memory, it was just me sitting in this chair and then-”

Then nothing.

I pause, watching my younger self glance at the cabinet beside the chair. I cock my head at the cabinetry, my eyes landing on a shiny scalpel out of its packaging. Its end is still coated in blood, unsterile and unmeant for my hand. The cameras in the room are off, each one limp and void of life.

“Starting to remember a little more, hmm?” it questions from behind me, squeezing my shoulders as I whip around, half expecting to see my own cat-like eyes. This reflection of me has hair that's nearly completely white. It's fully encapsulated by the gray my mother tries so hard to hide. My eyes seem brighter reflected back to me, no longer a forest green, but rather something light and unknown. Its presence dissolves, and once more, it’s just me, observing the memory as if it's the first time.

I watch my younger self hop down from the chair, silently tiptoeing past my mother and closer to the cabinet.

“Just a few more minutes, honey,” my mother says, blatantly unaware of my hand's reaching for the scalpel. I take a few more steps toward my younger self, watching her turn the blade in her hand, giving it one look before quickly slicing the tip of our finger. With a clatter, she drops the scalpel, clutching her finger as she begins to lean into the cabinets, unable to control her emotions—my small body flails, full of jolts and unnerving movements. My mother springs up from the chair in horror, grabbing my small figure with worried hands, quickly finding the cut, only to be horrified by my shaking body.

“Forest, what did you do?!” she questions, quickly healing the wound as she looks around for what I'd used. Her hands grasp the scalpel, looking it over with wide eyes. My body slowly stops shaking. My eyes quickly blink back to normal.

“Forest, did you cut yourself with the scalpel on the counter?” my mother questions. The tears rolled down my young face.

“He said it would get me a better scorecard!” I grovel, pressing my emotional sobs into my mother's chest. She looks worried, yanking something from her rolling tray as she begins pushing my hair away from my ear.

“Forest, what you just did creates a connection you cannot even begin to understand. One that will put you and that boy at risk,” she raises the Re-Regulation Device, turning the dial up all the way, quickly pairing it with my freshly inserted chip. She had taken the liberty of implanting it in our bathroom at home before I had come to the med units. I watch my younger self blink back tears, flinching away as she holds the device close to my head.

“This will only be able to make you comply for a few moments. Your brain fights the chip like no one else I've seen,” she says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the same pill she’s had me take every day for as long as I can remember.

“As long as you take this, Forest, your chip will work as best as it can, and you can live a normal life,” she whispers, moving the pill closer to my lips.

“Momma,” I pleaded. “What’s wrong with me?” I cry out, watching tears slide down her cheeks.

“You're special, Forest,'' she says. “And they will snuff out anything special,” she finishes, forcing the pill in my mouth as she leans my head back.

I stumble backward, watching my mother force the medicine into me. I back into another body, feeling even less comforted as my reflection looks over me, stopping me from falling.

“Guess the little pill wasn't for hallucinations after all,” it says with a smile.

I grasp my head, doing my best to process everything I’ve just seen.

“My parents…. They know? They know about me; they know about Fallan-”

“All while hiding our memories and convincing us that we were crazy,” it says, taking another step toward me.

“We are not the same,” I say, watching it scoff at my statement.

“I am you. The fact you're seeing me means you finally have some clarity. A word of advice?” it says, taking another step. “Don’t put another fucking drop of New Haven’s 'medicine' into your mouth!” it says, glancing back at the doorway, patting my pocket with the hard drive.

“And get our ass to the Untouchable sector. I think there's a long-time friend there we’d both like to see.”