Saven Deception (3 page)

The President’s broadcast cuts out; however,
the Commi-Reel continues to display image after image of the Thalassic City
experiment. I’m spellbound as I stare at the magical new city under the sea.

“It’s the coming of the end. You mark my
words,” a gravelly voice says at my ear, and I swear I jump ten feet off the
ground.

“John,” my captor says to the bedraggled
older man standing in front of me. “Not this again. You’re scaring her.”

“It’s not me she should be scared of.” He
drags dirty fingers through his straggly, coarse, gray beard. “They’re coming
and there isn’t a damn thing any of us can do to stop them. I couldn’t stop
them. They took everything. This is the beginning of the end. We are all
doomed.” He waggles his finger in my face, and I step back, alarm clearly
evident on my features. He stares at me a moment longer before shuffling off,
muttering to himself.

I stand rooted to the spot, too freaked out
to move.

“Sorry about that.” My captor shoves his large
hands in his pants pocket. “Don’t mind old John. He’s a bit delusional these days.”
He taps a long finger against his temple. “But he means no harm.”

Self-preservation kicks me in the butt,
and the need to flee propels me into action. “I need to get home.”

“Of course. Come on.” He lifts one
shoulder and gestures for me to follow. “I know a few shortcuts. Curfew has
nearly expired, and you don’t want to be found wandering the streets now.”

I hesitate, fear welling inside me again.
While I don’t know him, and technically, he’s kidnapped me, if he wanted to
harm me, I figure he would’ve done so by now. And I’ve already accepted that
his motivation was to protect me from capture, so it’s silly to be hesitant
now.

Decision made, I shadow him as we walk farther
and farther into the abandoned building. “Which Sector do you live in?” he asks
when we emerge onto an empty sidewalk. Streaks of navy, gray, and black hover
over our heads as nighttime stealthily creeps up on us.

“Fourteen.”

“Right. This way.”

We move from one derelict building to the
next, dashing across back alleys and crumbling passageways. I’ve no idea where
we’re going but I’m not afraid. A small part of me actually wishes I didn’t
have to leave him.

That I didn’t have to return to a life I
hate.

Thoughts of Thalassic City waft through my
mind, and I let my imagination wander. How amazing would it be to trade this
life for one with so much promise, and the prospect of a different future? For
a split second, I allow myself to imagine that I’ve been chosen, and my heart
swells with joy at the prospect.

I recall my most recent tarot session and
the hope it instilled in me. While I try not to exercise my talent for reading
the cards too often—my grandma always advised against it—I couldn’t help it
after I registered my interest in Thalassic City. I was too eager to see what
the cards would predict. The three cards I’d pulled were major arcana cards,
which are indicative of a life-changing event. It points to something
transformative in my future, and since my reading, I’ve done little else but
think about what it means, hoping it means what I want it to mean.

Please pick me. Please pick
me. Please, please, please, PICK ME
. My
thoughts are a silent plea, a cherished inner mantra the whole journey home.

“What you thinking about?” he asks, a few
minutes later. He lowers his chin and his eyes penetrate mine.

“Thalassic City,” I blurt out, in a moment
of unusual transparency. I normally keep things close to my chest.

It comes naturally.

The consequence of living in a family
where I’m virtually invisible. Where little regard is given to what I think,
what I feel, and hardly anyone asks whether I hope or what I dream.

“Did you enter?” He speaks quietly.

I nod, biting down on my lower lip. I
haven’t told anyone that, and now I’ve blabbed my secret to a total stranger.

It’s weirdly exhilarating.

Hope swarms through me and my silent
mantra starts up again.

“Me too.”

We stare at each other, unspoken words
passing between us. Wouldn’t it be great if we were both chosen? It would be
nice to go in there semi-knowing at least one other person. That’s what I think
but I don’t verbalize it. After all, I
am
the queen of keeping things
locked up inside.

“What’s your name?” He steps out of the
shadows, and the glow of the rising moon lights up his face.

I get a proper look at him for the first
time—he looks so young! Not that much older than me. “Sadie. What’s yours?”

“Um.” His face contorts and he looks away.

I frown.

Schooling his features carefully, he
stares at me, as if he’s contemplating the weight of the world. His eyes search
mine expectantly, and the image resurrects in perfect clarity in my mind.

“Oh my God,” I exclaim, stepping back.
“You’re him! You’re Watson M—”

He fastens his hand over my mouth. “Shush,
not out here.” His head whips around as he scouts the area. Removing his hand,
he drags his fingers through unkempt hair. “Are you going to turn me in?”

“No.” The word shoots out of my mouth with
urgency. Despite the fact that my family could use the substantial reward
money, there’s no way I’m turning snitch for the State. I don’t care what he’s
done or alleged to have done. I just know he isn’t a bad person. I couldn’t do
that to him.

“Why not?”

It’s a perfectly reasonable question. One
I’m not quite sure how to respond to. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

He looks at me anxiously.

“You’re not a bad person. And I’m not a
snitch,” I add, hoping it conveys my sentiments adequately.

Air whooshes out of his mouth and he
smiles. “You’re a good person, Sadie. I hope you get picked.”

We enter the backend of Sector Fourteen
five minutes later. “I’ll have to leave you here, Sadie,” Watson says.

“Thank you. And good luck.”

“You too.” He holds my two small hands in
his larger ones and squeezes. “I hope we meet again.” And with those parting
words lingering in my ears, he ducks back down the alley and disappears.

Leaning against the wall, I crane my neck
and stare up at the dark sky. Today had started out like every other
mind-numbingly boring day. But boy, it sure didn’t end up like that. Caught up
in the adventure of the absurdly abnormal, I can almost deflect my growing
hysteria.

Almost.

I’m over twenty minutes late now, and I
know I’m in for it the minute I step foot in the apartment. But I actually
don’t care.

It was worth it to feel truly alive if
only for a fleeting moment in time.

***

As soon as I walk through the door, the onslaught starts.
Mom screams. Dad shakes his head in disappointment, and my elder brothers take
turns throwing scathing remarks at me. Only my sister, Ella, remains quiet. She
shoots me a “grin and bear it” look. They only stop when the screen flares to
life and the official announcement of my curfew breach is confirmed.

Mom curses as one hundred Nuvis are
deducted from our family currency account. I sit down in the only vacant chair
and zone out. Ignoring the shrieking voices and hate-filled faces, I stare
blankly in front of me.

Every second that passes, I die a little
more inside.

I deploy my usual strategy. Throwing up my
imaginary shield, I visualize a thick, solid brick wall laced with barbed wire
on top in my mind’s eye.

Please pick me
.
I make one last silent, solemn plea to every deity known to mankind as a
solitary tear escapes my eye. Quickly, I brush it away. I never lower my
defense or show any signs of weakness in front of them. My family doesn’t
falter and the horrific verbal insults endure.

One would think I’d be well used to this
by now.

I briefly drop my guard and latch onto
Mom’s current tirade.

“What a pity they didn’t introduce the ban
a year earlier, and then you’d never have been born. What did I do to deserve
such a disobedient, selfish fool for a daughter?”

I zone out again.

The TV flickers to life a second time, and
my ears are given a merciful reprieve. Hope blooms to life in my chest. “Sadie
Owens.” My head darts to the screen and I stare at the tall, thin brunette with
pinched features staring back at me.

“Yes.” I jump out of the chair.

“You’ve been chosen to participate in ‘The
Experimento.’ You have thirty minutes to pack your belongings and make your
goodbyes.”

They picked me! I can’t believe it. I pinch myself once,
twice, three times, and it’s real. It’s happening.

I’m getting out of here.

Ignoring the shocked faces of my family, I
smile widely and offer up thanks to God, the Universe, Mother Nature, Karma, and
anything and everything that played a hand in this.

“An escort will collect you,” the woman
adds. “Everything will be explained once you reach our Mock-Up Facility in
Sector Eight. Good luck, Sadie. I hope you enjoy your time in Thalassic City.”

Silence pervades the room. I can’t recall
a time when my entire family was mute. A self-satisfied grin spreads across my
lips, and I feel like jumping for joy.

“What have you done?” Mom asks, a new
variation on a familiar scowl lighting up her face.

The grin slips off my mouth.

Stalking toward me, she catches me roughly
by the shoulders. “Answer me!”

“I registered my interest in ‘The
Experimento,’” I mumble.

Dad scratches his head and stares at me
peculiarly. “Why’d you do that, Sadie?”

“I …” Watching the incredulous and
suspicious faces surrounding me, I wish to blurt it all out. To finally be free
to speak my mind and let them know what I’m thinking.

I hate this life, and if it’s all this
world has to offer me, then I’d rather be dead.

I want out of this messed-up dysfunctional
family.

I want the opportunity to go back to
school and to pick up on an education that was halted at age thirteen when I
was forced into the workforce.

The thought of working as a factory
operative in Medi-Tech for the next sixty-some years makes me want to tear
strips off my skin and throw myself off the top of our stifling high-rise.

I dream of finding someone to love and
cherish me, someone who will treat me with understanding and respect, a boy to
devote myself to.

I want to explain how the government’s new
pilot project, ‘The Experimento,’ offers me a much-needed lifeline and a chance
to escape my normal dreary existence, if only for six months.

Secretly, I’m harboring hope that somehow,
someway, my life will permanently change for the better after the experience. Maybe
someone will notice something worth investing in me.

But I say none of those things.

Because I’m a coward.

And I don’t want to leave this apartment
with their mocking laughter ringing in my ears. So I do what I always do. I
bottle the truth and tell them what I think they want to hear. “I did it for
you. For the Nuvi reward. It’s more than I’d earn in a year in Medi-Tech.”

Mom grunts in a most unattractive fashion.
“What kind of idiot do you take me for? You did this for you.” She points a
finger at me. “You think they’re going to show any interest in you?” Planting
her hands on her skinny hips, she levels a scornful look my way. “You’ll be
back here in six months’ time. No question about it. And if you have any other
notions in that head of yours, you’d do well to displace them now. No good
comes from daydreaming, Sadie. This,” she says, gesticulating with her hand
around our worn, sparse apartment, “is your reality. It always will be.”

A red siren resonates from the screen as
the lodgment is credited to our currency account. I’m forgotten in the instant
excitement of witnessing all those zeros mounting. Seizing the opportunity to
escape, I tiptoe into the bedroom I share with my sister.

Pulling a black backpack out from
underneath the bottom bunk, I set it on top of my shabby comforter and open it
wide. Crossing to the small wooden closet, I remove my clothes and fold them
neatly into the bag.

My sister walks into the room and quietly
closes the door. “Oh my God, Sadie.” She circles her arms around me from
behind. “I’m so happy for you! Are you excited?”

I curl into her embrace. “I am. I can’t
believe they chose me!”

“Why didn’t you tell me you applied?” She
holds me at arm’s length.

“I didn’t want you involved in case Mom
took offense. At least this way, you can say you knew nothing and it’s the
truth.”

“I think I’m off the hook either way.
She’s far too excited over the currency bump up. Do you think I’ll be able to
talk to you while you’re there?”

I shrug. “I honestly don’t know. But sure,
she probably won’t permit it anyway.”

Ella hugs me again. “I’ll try my best.
Promise.”

The door creaks open and Mom’s eyes widen.
“Ella,” she snaps. “It’s your turn to make dinner. Get a move on.”

Ella gives my hand a discreet squeeze as
she spins around. “Of course, Mom. Coming now.”

I finish my packing and walk to the
bathroom. I glance briefly at my reflection in the mirror. Cherry-red lips and
rosy cheeks accentuate my pale skin, and the hidden blue behind my gray eyes
shines vibrantly. I look as excited as I feel. Collecting my toiletries, I
return to my room. Once they’re stuffed in the bag, I retrieve my hidden stash
of books and my tarot cards from under the loose panel in the floor.

A dog-eared faded photo falls out from one
of the book sleeves and lands silently on the ground. I pick it up and stare
numbly at the picture of Mom and me.

I’m a toddler and she’s cuddling me on her
lap, smiling expansively for the camera. I don’t remember it, but I wish I did.
I have no recollection of receiving any love from her at any time during my
seventeen years, and my heart aches with loneliness. I don’t understand what I
did to make her hate me so much. To resent my existence. To wish I hadn’t been
born.

Sighing, I tuck the photo, cards, and
books in the pocket of my bag and smooth away my tears.

No more crying. No more denying who I am.

From this point on, I’m a new person. Or
not. I struggle to gather my muddled thoughts. I don’t need to hide anymore. I
can show myself to the world without fear of ridicule or persecution. When my
feet land in the underwater city, no one will know who I am or where I’ve come
from.

I can choose to be anyone I want.

I choose to be me.

***

I open the door and greet my police officer escort.
Grabbing my backpack, I face my family. “Um, bye.” I chew on the inside of my
cheek as I take—what I hope is—my last look at our apartment.

It’s as if I’m truly noticing it for the
first time.

Paint peels off the walls as if it’s
clamoring for freedom. Originally a fresh cream color, it’s now marked and
stained and as sour as the people that live here. The battered leather couch is
ripped and torn, and one of the arms has collapsed, sinking downward into the
ground. The threadbare rug hides the waterlogged stain in the middle of the
hardwood floor. No family photographs adorn the walls or the mantelpiece, and
there’s nothing warm or inviting about the space.

I won’t miss it. Not one teeny, tiny bit.

My family stares at me in a familiar way.
Dad looks like he wants to say something but obviously thinks better of it.
Ella hugs me but no one else offers any form of goodbye, so I silently follow
the police officer out the door.

When we exit the building, he strides toward
the large, sleek, black transporter parked out front and opens the door. I
climb inside and move through the vehicle, locating an empty pair of seats near
the back. None of the faces I pass is familiar, and most people are minding
their own business or talking privately. I scoot into the window seat and
buckle myself in. The transporter glides seamlessly out onto the pavement, and
we begin the trip to Sector Eight.

I’ve never traveled to any Sector outside
the Outer Circle, so my eyes are riveted to the window the entire journey. I
know the moment we move from the Outer Circle to the Midi Circle because it’s
like moving from a black-and-white world into one that shines with vibrant
color. Gone are the slate gray concrete high-rises and the drab storefronts of
my world. My eyes are on stalks as I try to take it all in.

Glistening glass storefronts offer a
glimpse into this middle-class life. We pass clothing and jewelry stores that
dazzle me with their effervescence. Cafés and restaurants bustle with life, and
people converse in groups on the sidewalk, talking and laughing jovially. No
curfew restrictions then, I surmise. Huge high-rises are the dominant feature
here, too, but the contrast couldn’t be more marked. Sleek, glass frontage
showcases elegant residential buildings that stretch upward into the twinkling
nighttime sky.

As we move farther out of the city areas,
the landscape changes, and an inherent ache builds in my chest. Row upon row of
tree-lined pavements surrounds picture-perfect family homes. Children play
noisily on lush front lawns and race up and down the sidewalks on cycvees. A
severe hankering for my stolen childhood overwhelms me and I feel bereft.

I was one of the few children my age to
adore school. I lapped it all up, and my thirst for knowledge was unquenchable.
Thanks to a photographic memory and an ability to speed read, I devoured books
quicker than most people eat. The memory of my thirteenth birthday will forever
be etched on my mind because it was the first day I fully understood how
trapped I was. Removed from the school that was more a home than my actual
home, and forced to take up an assembly-line job in the Medi-Tech factory, I
was inconsolable at the realization this was the sum of my life until I reached
retirement.

Nothing left to look forward to.

Until now.

My heart races to attention. This is the
first time in my life that I’m free of my familial chains, and I’m both elated
and terrified. I’ve wanted this every single day since my thirteenth birthday.
The chance to break out on my own, to try to forge a new path in life.

Now that the moment is upon me, I’m scared
out of my wits.

So used to being invisible, I’m not sure I
have what it takes to occupy center stage, and it’s these thoughts that flit
through my mind the rest of the journey.

“Five minutes to destination,” the officer
says over the PA, dragging me back into the present.

Pressing my nose to the glass, I peer out
the window at the flat landscape. While I was immersed in my own world, we
appear to have driven far beyond the residential sectors of the Midi Circle.

The transporter swerves smoothly into a
stationary line of vehicles parked in front of a massive building. Shiny,
mirrored panels cover the lower level of the structure from left to right.
Several men and women in standard-issue police attire are scattered on the
sidewalk, digipads in hand, doling out instructions to the various people
alighting from the vehicles in front of us.

The line moves slowly forward. When it’s
our turn, the door opens automatically, and everyone piles out in single file.

Sliding my arms into my backpack, I gulp
nervously as I scan my surroundings. Miscalculating the step on the sidewalk, I
stumble and fall sideways into a tall, red-haired girl. Catching her off guard,
I grimace as she wobbles and drops to the ground, butt first.

“Ouch!” she exclaims. “That is definitely
gonna bruise later.”

Somehow, I’ve managed to stay upright, but
barely. My cheeks are fire engine red as I extend my hand to help her up. “I’m
so sorry! I’m such a klutz.”

“No harm.” She rubs her butt. “That’s like
something I’d do.” She smiles widely at me and I can’t help but smile back.
“I’m Jenna.”

“Sadie. Are you here for Thalassic City
too?”

“Yep. Do you want to stick together?”

“That would be super.” 

“Great. Come on then.” Jenna throws a
burgundy duffle bag over her shoulder. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

We walk to the nearest police officer—a
stout lady with a grim smile—and state our names. She records some details and
advises us to enter via block nine.

“What Sector are you from?” Jenna asks.
Her piercing blue eyes infiltrate mine as we walk and talk.

“Fourteen. You?”

“Twenty-five.” She tucks her short
raven-colored hair behind her ears. “Which factory do you work in?”

“I’m on the assembly line in Medi-Tech.
You?”

“I work as a machinist in Fabrix. I’d
recently been promoted to undergarments. Lucky me; I get to make panties and
bras day-in, day-out. Although it has its advantages.” Casting a quick glance
over her shoulder, she pulls me off to the side and lifts up her shirt,
revealing a generous cleavage encased in the most gorgeous bra I’ve ever seen.
“Have a feel.”

I sputter something incomprehensible.

She chortles, maneuvering my hand to the
silky material. “The bra, Sadie,” she confirms, chuckling again.

My fingers brush the firm pink silk of the
cup and trail over the black lace decorative panel. I’ve a mad case of bra lust,
which is totally ridiculous because even if I managed to snag me one of those,
it’s not like anyone is going to see it.