Gods of Anthem (34 page)

He’d be so damned disappointed in me.

Another voice, this one young and sweet, comes, as it always does when I’m like this. Untouched by time, or by my monster, she’s there …

“Your pa would have wanted
you to move on, Tommy.”

Daisy’s in my head, saying the things she always said.

“He wouldn’t even recognize me now.”

“Maybe that’s ‘cause you keep
lettin’ it get to you.”

“Maybe.”

“Pfft. The Tommy
I know wouldn’t be whipped so easily.”

“I’m not the Tommy you know. Not at all.”

“Listen
to me, Thomas Ripley Hatter. I’ve known you for
a long time, and you’re as stubborn as a
mule.”

And then, the figment of my imagination is here, with me, in the barracks. I gape down the aisle between the bunks as Daisy moves forward. She’s not so young anymore, or beautiful; her face is blue, and the whites of her eyes are red.

I’m losing my mind. I must be dreaming.

“No,”
she says,
“you’re not dreaming.”

Daisy—or my image of her—walks over and sits down on my bunk. I choke back a yell when the mattress moves beneath her weight.

“How—?”

“You know how. Because of him.”

She tilts her head in the direction she came from, toward a spot where the lights have been out since we got here—a dark space at the end of the barracks. In between old, unused bunks stands a shadow.

Fear thins my voice. “Him, who?”

When Daisy doesn’t answer, I expect to turn to find empty air. Instead, green eyes watch me. Her hair’s still auburn but stringy, her skin’s chalky, and the bloodshot around her irises makes them stand out in stark contrast. Daisy looks like a zombie.

“
Sometimes you need your past to conquer your future,
Tommy. Never forget who you are.”

I nod, and her mouth, as always, quirks.

“I’ve missed you so much.” I’m really losing it.

Beyond Daisy, the shadow’s moved to a different spot. It’s now more outlined, and big. The monster. He hovers in the dark, watching us.

“Why are you here?” I ask Daisy, not looking away from my nemesis.

“You know why. You’re splitting
down the middle. Choices will have to be made, and
we both pull you in different directions: him to the
bad, me to the good. I’ve always been your
sense, even when we were kids. Your subconscious probably thinks
I’ll help you now, and so you’ve made
me up.”

Then, she laughs.
“Lord only knows why,
since you don’t listen to a thing I say.”

In a strange way, this totally makes sense.

Giving into the imaginary Daisy being there, I ask, “What do I do?”

“You always were a scrappy boy; you never took
punches like I did. Be careful when you fight the
monster, that it doesn’t make you into one, too
.”

I regard the darkness, feeling it still watching me. It won’t come into the light. Somehow, I know this.

“Even if you’re lost, defeated—get back up.”

“But—”

When I glance over, she’s gone. And down the aisle, the monster’s gone, too.

I’m alone in the barracks.

My skin ripples.

The sensation of being watched remains, and I have to wipe my face hard to try to rid myself of it.

I decide to wake Joelle so I can spend as much time as possible with the little imp before I ship out. But when I lift the top of the conex, I find it’s empty.

She’s not in the barracks.

I check the window. The sky’s brightening on the horizon.

Dawn.

Gregor and Serena
have some heated discussion that’s coming through my walls.

Then, it begins—a crash, a door slams.

When I rush outside, there stands a red-faced Gregor, screaming at the top of his lungs, pointing at Serena. She’s pale-faced, crying, and surprised.

“But what will I do?” Her whispered words are swallowed by more of his outrage.

Manda’s come out, too, and I picture a knife being pressed to Gregor‘s throat, but Journee throws open his door in time to catch the obscenities pouring from the lawyer’s mouth like water from a faucet. Journee takes one look at Serena’s face, the hand over her belly, and the word “whore” is still ricocheting off the buildings like a gunshot. He’s on the finely dressed man in an instant.

Thinner, taller Gregor lands on the asphalt from a tackle that’s tinder-keg explosive. Together, he and Journee roll and punch while the population of our section comes to see what the commotion’s about.

With cat-like screeches, Serena gets them to pause, and Journee scrunches his face at us without his glasses on.

She lays a hand onto his arm, and it’s like an invisible leash; he stays, albeit still bristled, as he watches with hatred the other man who shuffles to his own feet and straightens his tie.

“It’s okay, Gregor,” Serena says. “I’ll figure this out. We’ll—”

“
We
?
Don’t you dare put this on me! I’ve been careful. It’s not mine. It belongs to some scummy loser you slept with; probably this guy. But it’s not mine!”

My hand barely catches Journee’s other arm as he starts forward again. Then, Manda jumps between the two men and jerks her chin toward the end of the street.

Two guards approach, and when they get near, they address the one with the new leather shoes, turning their backs on the Section scrubs.

Gregor rubs a hand through his hair, implants mussed and the perfectly straight, too-large teeth are white in contrast to skin a shade darker than what he’d probably been born with.

“Is there trouble here?” one guard asks, and Gregor nods.

“I’m … I’m this one’s attorney.” He flings a hand at Serena, and she glances quickly between him and the guards in confusion. “She’s pregnant without a license.”

The guard turns toward us. “Take her.”

Serena stiffens when they grab her arms.

Journee rushes forward, out of my grip, and in one slick move, he’s snatched one of the guards’ batons. He swings it above his head, landing a hard blow directly onto a visor, which cracks down the middle of the helmet.

They have to taser him twice to get him bound.

Serena begs Gregor to tell them the truth, even as they bind her hands.

Manda hugs her sister, whispering into her ear to stay strong as the guards force them apart and take Serena to one of their transports.

We’re left alone, then, Gregor and I.

Manda’s following the vehicle that holds both Journee and Serena as far as she can, on foot.

Gregor shoots me a nervous glance, and every vile thought vibrates through me like a signal until he looks away, shamefully.

After a week,
Serena comes back to us, eyes sad and looking ages older. She’s lost at least ten pounds that she didn’t have extra to begin with.

“They took the baby,” is all she says.

Now, she sits at the window every day, wearing depression like a sweater, while Manda wipes her eyes and pretends to be busy whenever we’re together. The way Manda nervously checks everything twice, three times, makes me jumpy.