“Miss Allison, how does it feel knowing that when your son comes of age, he will be an End Man?”
There’s a long pause. Gwen ducks her head to look down at her notes and then seems to disregard them altogether. Her face takes on a hardness and I know she’s about to say something she shouldn’t.
“I would like for my son to have choices in life, to be able to decide who he wants to be, to have a marriage and a family of his own, to not be forced into sex slavery as the End Men are. Our society has become lax in the nature of basic human rights. I would ask you this, when what is right for the whole world becomes wrong for an individual, what is to be done?”
There is a pregnant silence in the crowd and then noise erupts as dozens of questions barrel toward Gwen. She very quietly gathers her things and walks offstage, disappearing through the doors behind her. The camera pans to the group of Genome Y employees who are standing frozen in their spots.
They cut to the commentators and by this time I’m pacing the floor. How could she be so stupid? She can’t possibly know the trouble she’s unleashed. I grab my Silverbook and say her name; it connects before I’ve thought about what to say to her.
She sounds shaky when she answers. I don’t bother with small talk.
“Forty-nine Cardinal Drive. When you reach the guard, tell her your name. I’ll call ahead to let her know you’re coming.”
Forty-five minutes go by and I haven’t been notified that she’s here. I read the comments underneath the video of the press conference, which is on a continuous loop. Most are outraged by her words; I am surprised to see a few that agree with her. I drag my hands through my hair and step to the bourbon, pouring a glass and lifting it to my nose for a long sniff. No, I need to be fully cognizant for this conversation.
Another fifteen minutes pass and I hear the intercom beep.
“Gwen to see you, sir.”
“Let her through,” I say.
I’m standing, waiting for her when she walks in, all dressed up. I hesitate for a minute, distracted by evening-gown Gwen, which is significantly different than wild-haired Gwen and lab-coat Gwen. I shake my head trying to clear my thoughts. A party, the Region would have thrown a party in her honor, mother of the Red son.
“What were you thinking, Gwen?” I say between my teeth. I shake my head, wanting to shake her. “You do know you were on the news, right?”
She glares at me, folding her arms across her chest. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m not an idiot, Folsom. It needed to be said.”
“What exactly did you hope to accomplish? Were you trying to put a target on your back? Do you think having a boy can protect you from the Society?”
“It was the truth! For the truth to make a difference, it needs to be said by one person at a time, until there’s a noise loud enough to make a difference.”
I want to kiss her and spank her all in the same minute. Her words are shockingly powerful, which makes me afraid for her.
“This is what life is. It’s what my life is. I accept that.”
She steps past me and looks around. “This isn’t too bad. Are most of the places you stay like this?”
“I’ve stayed in some that aren’t this nice, but yes, it’s usually decent. See? Not so bad.” I lift a shoulder and she narrows her eyes.
“Can you come and go as you choose?”
“I have a driver and security. Every place I go has to be thoroughly checked prior to me going there. The other night at The Fish Tank was a little off the beaten path. I only got minor correction for that. It probably helped that I had a heart attack that night.”
“Can you say no to one of your…appointments—if you didn’t like the girl, or didn’t want to have sex with her?”
I stay silent.
“So the answer is no then.”
“There is no right or wrong in this world. There is simply a matter of what must be done.”
“Bullshit,” she says.
I’ve never heard her curse and I try not to smile. I walk over to where she’s still standing, wrapped in her own arms, bitingly angry. I speak gently to her because I need her to understand.
“They can take him from you, Gwen. Do you understand me? They can call you crazy, radical, mentally unstable, and they can take your—our—son. Say you’re not fit to raise him.”
Her face pales, the fire that was in her eyes just moments ago suddenly dims in realization. She starts to cry. I pull her to me and hold her against my chest. Her hands are fisted on either side of her face as she cries into my shirt, the warmth of her tears and breath dampening my skin.
Our son. I’d said those words and now the full impact hits me. What would it be like to raise a son with her? It’s foolish to even consider it. I manage to keep my voice rough with her, but I can’t help but be moved that she’s willing to defend me, to take on the Society and the Regions. This one, tiny wisp of a woman.
“I’m glad you called,” she finally says, coming up for air.
Her nose is red and her eye makeup is smeared across my shirt.
“Sorry,” she says sheepishly, touching the spot with her fingertip. “I thought last night might be the last…” She looks down at my boots and smiles. It’s gone by the time she glances back up. “Sophia is having a girl.”
I make a face.
“What?” she says. “Just spit it out.”
I walk into the kitchen and she follows me, bumping into me when I open the fridge.
“Governor Petite and your mother…” I say.
“They’re together. They’re getting married.”
I pull containers from the shelves, stacking them on the counter as she watches me impatiently.
“She asked your mother to marry her after finding out that two babies will be born into your household?”
Gwen frowns. “I don’t know the details exactly. The news was sprung on me tonight.”
I spoon food onto plates and pull two forks from the drawer.
“Hmmm. And when is she up for reelection?” I slide a plate of food toward her. She only hesitates for a moment before pulling it toward her and sitting on a stool.
“Next year,” she says, softly.
“Right.”
“How’d you know I was hungry?” She frowns.
I shrug. “You’ve been causing too much trouble to remember to eat.”
Gwen rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s trying not to smile.
“Folsom,” she says, putting her fork down. “Do you really think that’s why she’s marrying my mother?” She wipes her mouth with the napkin I pass her and then crumples it up in a ball. Her face is arranged in worry, lines creasing her forehead.
“Can’t say anything for sure. Though the timing seems to work to her benefit.”
Gwen looks sick.
“She threatened me—”
My head shoots up.
“At the party before I left to come here.”
My fork clatters to the plate. “What did she say?”
“Oh, I don’t know. She will not let me bring shame to the Region…blah, blah, blah…my mother will be the one to suffer.” One corner of her mouth pulls in and her eyes fill with tears.
My heart pounds in my chest and I feel the slow climb of rage. As long as Gwen speaks the unpopular truth, everyone she loves will be in danger. But she’s too hotheaded to hear that. Stubbornly naive. She has not felt the bite of the Statehouse, the control of the Society. And then there is the child. Another son born as leverage in a political tug of war. I think about the bourbon I left on the bar and groan.
“What? What are you thinking?” She walks around the table to where I’m standing and cups my face in her hands. “Don’t focus on things that are bad for your heart,” she says firmly.
“Like you?” I look down at her and her facial expression changes, starting at confused and ending in surprise. I dip my head down and kiss her hard, pushing my tongue into her mouth until she moans. Her hands have moved from my face to my
hair, which she has corded around her fingers. She pulls away from my mouth suddenly and glares at me.
“Why are you just standing there?” she hisses. “With your hands at your sides?”
“You don’t have an appointment,” I say slowly.
Her mouth opens in surprise, and I start to laugh, my chest heaving in and out. I haven’t laughed in, what—weeks? Months? Gwen punches me once on the arm, and then she’s climbing up my body, her legs wrapped around my waist and her lips on mine. I lift my hands to cup her behind and I rub her against me so that we’re grinding. She wriggles out of my hands gasping for breath.
“We…can’t…do it like that,” she says. “Your heart…”
“That’s right.” I eye her wet, swollen lips and grab her hand. “Come on, I’m going to teach you how to ride…”
EIGHTEEN
GWEN
Something has shifted with Folsom. I’m not sure when it changed, but I think maybe… I pound the steering wheel and groan out loud. It’s crazy for me to be analyzing this, but it’s what I do all day, every day…I analyze all the data. Here’s what I know: when I left Folsom this time, he walked me to the door and gave me a long, lingering kiss. He held my face in his hands and told me to watch my back, to not trust anyone. He looked sad to see me go. That has to mean something, right? I wonder if he’s ever had a relationship with anyone outside of his appointments. My little afterglow dissolves into a hard pang of defeat. His appointments put everything in perspective when I start trying to place us in a happily ever after.
I won’t be getting a happily ever after with Folsom or anyone else, so I need to just enjoy whatever this is…or what it has been. I don’t even know from one time to the next if I’m going to see him again.
Instead of going home to change, I head to Genome Y and grab the clothes I keep in my office. I change quickly and stop by the food machine since the cafeteria is closed. I get as much junk as I can carry. It’s after hours, and now that dome six is empty, the only activity is in dome five. Only one nurse and a security guard are on the floor. When they see me, they wave and go back to reading.
I knock lightly on the door and open it. A cute, young blond dressed in the food service uniform, is sitting in the chair next to Laticus’ bed, chattering happily, and he’s staring at her with longing.
When they see me, the girl stops in mid-sentence, and Laticus swallows, eyes guilty.
Well, well.
“Who’s this?” I ask.
“This is Charity. She started working here three days ago,” Laticus answers.
Charity stands up and shakes my hand. “You must be Gwen. Laticus has been telling me all about you,” she says. I look over her badge and memorize her ID number.
“I can come back later,” I tell them. “Here, enjoy these.” I unload the candy and chips onto the bed and turn toward the door.
“No, I have to go home. My mom will be so mad at me if I’m late again,” Charity says, shyly. She waves awkwardly at Laticus and scurries out of the room.
Laticus sighs as she leaves. “She’s so hot.”
“How did I miss the fact that you have a new crush?” I clamp my lips together, grinning.
“Please don’t tell anyone she’s been hanging out after her shifts. She said we could both get into trouble.” He looks so handsome, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
“I won’t tell, just be careful. I don’t want your security amping up more than it already is.”
“When can I get out of here, Gwen?” He walks to the window and stares out. “I’m losing it. I haven’t even walked out of this room once.” He pounds on the window and looks at me, his eyes bleak. “I miss my mom, my friends. There’s not even the hope of seeing my dad, unless I become an End Man soon. He told them I’m not ready, but anything is better than this prison.”
“You’d be going right into another prison,” I tell him. “Folsom is right.” I put my arm around his shoulder. “I’ll get you outside—there’s no reason for you to be cooped up in this room nonstop. I’ll contact your team about it tonight. Okay?”
On my way home, outside the Red Region’s offices, picketers stand outside the gate holding up signs that say: Set the men free! End the Men’s slavery! Enough is enough—we don’t need more men anyway.
Another sign catches my eye: I’m with Gwen. Free the men.
I laugh under my breath but then think about what this means. They’re out here because of what I said. Governor Petite’s threats seem very tangible now, and that makes me speed a little faster to get home.
Folsom doesn’t need to see this on the news next or he’ll think he’s right.
There’s a large van outside my house. What now? Just as I’m going to the front door, it opens and my mother and three large women walk out.
“Oh, there you are. I was hoping to tell you earlier, but you’ve been gone all day…” My mom motions for me to move past the women. One is carrying boxes and the other two are moving a couch.
Sophia walks down the stairs, holding some of her nicer dresses.
“I’m just going to drive these over. I can come back for everything else later,” she says. She notices me there and stops. “Is Little Miss Perfect coming?” she asks.
My mother shakes her head. “Don’t be like that, Sophia.”
“Well, seriously, we can’t even have a party without her ruining it and making it all about her.” She walks out the door.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re moving in with Pandora. She has more room and we can plan the wedding better if we’re together.”
“Today? Why so sudden?” I take the box out of her hands and set it on the floor.
“Well, honestly, because of you,” she says, her brows creasing. “Pandora says she can protect us better there, and I have to agree. She has twenty-four-hour surveillance and I’ll feel safer there. Reporters have been calling here all morning. I think the only reason they aren’t camped out here is because of the protesters at the Regional office. ”
I get a sick feeling in my gut and clutch my arms around my stomach.
“Are you sick again?” She clasps my shoulder.
“No, I just don’t like any of this. I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I can’t move into Pandora’s, though, Mother. I don’t trust her. Don’t you think it’s strange that she asks you to marry her now? You haven’t even been all that serious, and as soon as Soph and I are pregnant, right before election time starts, she wants to get married? It just doesn’t add up.”
“I considered that,” she answers. “But she’s the reason I was able to line Folsom up for you girls…she pulled a lot of strings to get you on his schedule. We have her to thank that these babies are being born to our family.”
“I don’t want to owe anyone anything,” I tell her emphatically. “Especially not Pandora.”
“Too late.” She shrugs and gives me a faint smile. “And you can’t stay here by yourself. Too dangerous.” She picks up the box and carries it out, just as the others are coming back in.
I follow her out. “We’re not selling this place, are we? I’m twenty-five. I’ll hire a guard of my own,” I tell her.
“I have a meeting in an hour and need to get ready, but this conversation isn’t over,” she says.
The loaded van pulls out and she gives me a pointed look before going upstairs. I stay out of the way until I hear her leave and then I crawl into my bed. I can’t seem to get enough sleep lately. I drift off and dream about Pandora and all the picketers. Something startles me and I wake up panting. My room is pitch black. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
A low voice says: “Don’t make a sound. I’m not going to hurt you, I’m here to talk about the boy.”
The light clicks on and I blink hard, allowing my eyes to adjust. I have the comforter pulled all the way up to my neck, and below the blankets my entire body is trembling. A man sits in a chair, pulled up close to my bed, his wide shoulders blocking the light that filte
rs in through the window. I sit up, pressing my back against the headboard and taking him in warily. He could snap me in two with one hand.
“Kasper?” I whisper, finally recognizing him. Of all the men, Kasper has the most unique style, choosing to wear bright colors and bold patterns. Whenever he’s in a news headline, they spend more time commenting on his clothes than they do about him being an End Man. Tonight, however, he’s dressed entirely in black and his face is somber.
“Gwen, Gwen, the Red Region shit-stirrer. I don’t have much time, so shut that pretty mouth for once and listen.”
I open my mouth, a retort balanced on my tongue, but then think better of it. It sounds like he’s here to…help.
“I couldn’t get to Folsom without them knowing I’m here. I need you to take him a message.” His voice, even deeper than Folsom’s, rumbles in his chest when he speaks. He’s so different from the brightly colored man on the Silverbook.
“Your press conference lit little fires under activists’ asses,” he says. “They’re trying to keep it under wraps, but when I left the Black Region this morning, the Governor’s Mansion was surrounded by picketers.”
I don’t know what to say, so I look on silently and wait for him to continue.
“The Regions are trying to contain the protesters for now, but as soon as it becomes public knowledge that they took Laticus in the night and shipped him off to the Red Region, shit is going to hit the fan. He’s sort of the Region darling, if you know what I mean. Excuse my language, Gwen. Do you mind swearing? I forget what a gentleman Folsom is.”
I get the feeling that he doesn’t mean this as a compliment to Folsom.
He crosses a leg over his knee and runs a hand thoughtfully across his chin.
“I wanted to thank you for what you said last night. It was a refreshing change to the normal pregnancy announcements.” He grins at me.
“I can’t tell if anything that comes out of your mouth is sincere or not,” I say.