The Undesirable (Undesirable Series) (11 page)

Why did I care? They wanted me dead.

I placed a hand on the side of the large windowsill, lifted up a leg, and made my way inside the church.

“Hello, Charlotte,” said a deep voice I never heard before. “We hoped you wouldn’t be late.”

“I’m surprised,” said a much higher pitched voice. “I thought for sure she wouldn’t come.”

My dusty hands rubbed my black dress and my eyes focused on the direction of the voice. It came from my left. My eyes made out the outlines of four people through the stream of declining summer light coming through the window.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The figures took a few steps towards me. Familiar beads of sweat pooled in the grooves of my neck. The dread in my stomach tightened and then pulled at my insides.

“It’s okay,” Thompson said as he stepped even closer. “These people came here with me.”

“And that makes them—”

“Allies.” Thompson smirked. Next to him, a small, impish woman with a pinched face put her weight on her left leg as she studied me through smoldering eyes. 

“She’s not as pretty as you said she’d be.” The woman had brown hair, small eyes, pale skin, glasses, and a mouth naturally set in a thin line.

“Willa!” Thompson replied, and kept his voice firm and glared at her. Then he smiled at me. “Listen, Charlotte, I’m glad you showed up.”

“Thanks,” I replied in an uncertain voice. “And these people are?” He had about four seconds to tell me before I turned and hopped back through the fellowship hall window.

“Not here,” Thompson put up a hand. “In the kitchen.” He pointed at a swinging door about fifteen feet away from us. “Safer.”

I gave an uncertain nod and followed the group.

Once the door to the kitchen swung shut, I noticed no windows in the kitchen, no outside light coming in at all. The man who spoke to me first turned on a small hologram lamp he held in his left hand. We gathered around the green and blue light after he set it on the long Formica counter top. I pursed my lips and stared at the four of them: two women and two men.

“So?” I raised an eyebrow.

Willa exhaled and shot a dagger glare at Thompson. He ignored her.

“So.” Thompson kept his attention on me. “You’ve met Willa. That’s Glenn, and this is Trina.”

“Allies? How?” I almost choked on my words.

“Damn it, Thompson!” Willa exploded. She gritted her teeth. “How little did you tell her?”

“I told her a lot,” he insisted. Thompson put up his hand. “Imagine the stress she’s under,” he added under his breath.

“I hope you don’t think I’m going to worship you or something, oh daughter of the Supreme One,” she sneered. Willa turned to me and narrowed her eyes. 

“What did I ever do to you?” I recoiled, but pointed my question right at her. I clenched my hands and got a fist ready.

“Relax.” Glenn had deep-set wrinkles around his lips, chalk-like skin and hollow eyes with pain I could not place. “You must understand something.” He addressed me with a muted Southern accent. “Willa lost her whole family a few months ago. The Party shot them right in front of her.” He paused. “Over a loaf of bread.”

“I guess you all have your reasons to hate The Party.”

“Kinda like that,” replied Glenn as he scratched at the skin about his bushy left eyebrow. “You know,” he mused. “There was a time when all of this, The War with Canada and rule by a Supreme Leader, would have been crazy. No one would have agreed to it.”

“Really?” My thoughts raced through my childhood memories, but I could only remember a few things about the past.

“Really,” interjected Thompson. “People even used to vote for their leaders. They even voted for President.”

“They did?”

“Do you think it’s time to show her?” Trina muted her shrill voice with kind eyes. Her black hair was streaked with grey and she had creamy olive skin. She put a hand on her hip. They all nodded in agreement.

“Okay,” she exhaled. “Show her.”

Each one of them raised the left side of their grey shirts and showed me the skin beneath.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The blue and green light from the lamp didn’t illuminate the brand very well, but I saw it. Two intertwined Ss’ and an R surrounded in a circle marked the skin on the stomach of each of them. When I realized what I looked at, I stepped back into the shadows of the kitchen.

“Oh no,” I choked. I had heard of a tattoo like this before, but never seen one in person.

“Yes. That’s right. We are members of the Specialized Secret Resistance — the SSR.” Thompson smirked as if he knew I would react this way.

“Oh no,” I repeated. My tongue tasted like cotton inside my mouth. I swallowed hard.

“At some point, we all wanted a way out. We found it there.” Glenn shrugged.

My mind ran away from me. I thought of all the times we learned about the SSR at school, all the times the teacher screamed about how the Resistance functioned as criminals, and how they told us members of the group became close with Undesirables who fled to Canada to fight our noble goals. For years, there had been no doubt in my mind. The SSR represented the enemy. The SSR would destroy me and destroy my way of life. I never questioned it until a few weeks ago. I had not needed to — it had been easier to accept it all as fact.

Now, here I stood, face to face with four of them. My mind twisted from thoughts of what to do next.

“You have a choice to make,” Trina spoke up. I heard the firmness in her voice. “If you decide to take our help, we’ll give it to you. You’ll get the complete protection of the SSR. But you must do what we say.”

Glenn raised his eyebrow as he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a small square wrapped in copper. It made a loud rustle as he opened it in the darkness.

“Really, Glenn? Really? Chocolate? Again?” Willa rolled her eyes. She crossed her arms. Trina giggled a little.

“What?” Glenn threw his hands up. He popped the candy in his mouth and aimed his next words at me. “I like chocolate. Everyone knows.”

“He hoards it.” Trina flashed a broad smile. “He’s addicted.” She stood several inches taller than Willa and had a scar on her cheek. The pink skin from the wound stood out against the rest of her complexion. I guessed Trina to be somewhere in her late 30s and Willa in her mid-20s.

“I’m not going to give up on the things I like because of what we do,” he told Trina, no doubt having gone over this argument with her before. “It’s dumb. Then the terrorists win. Least that’s what people used to call the bad guys. You know back, decades ago, half a century ago or maybe longer. Back when we fought something called The War on Terror. I ain’t lettin’ that happen.” We all stared at him. “Anyone else want some? Got at least four other pieces.”  

“No time for this.” Willa tapped her foot to an impatient beat.

“Okay, it’s like this.” Thompson redirected the conversation. “If you choose our protection, we’ll leave Harrison Corners for good tonight. You won’t come back here. It’s the only way to guarantee your safety.”

I stiffened as Thompson’s words brought us all back to reality.

Tonight? What about Fostino?

“I have to leave everyone?” I croaked as I considered the true meaning of their words. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, it’s like this.” Glenn put a hand on the hologram lamp and turned it down a little bit. “We have a plan to get you across the border and into Canada. Ain’t gonna be easy, though.”

I didn’t know what to say. My mouth went dry.

“Look. We know about your boyfriend,” Willa replied as she cut to the chase. “We know all about you, if you didn’t guess, Miss Supreme Princess.”

“Willa. What did I say? There is no need to be mean to her. She didn’t ask for this.” Thompson held up another hand. Willa just rolled her eyes.

A few seconds passed by before I found the words.

“Can—can Fostino come too? Please?” I mumbled to the people who held my future in their calloused hands. My eyes welled up and my voice broke. I bit my lip for a second.

Trina put her hand on my arm. I saw her answer in her eyes before she said it. “He can’t,” she whispered.

“He’s the first person who ever cared about me. I… I don’t want to leave him.” The first tears fell down my face. “Not yet. He doesn’t know what we know. He doesn’t. And he loves me.”

Why had my life turned out so unfair? How could I do this to Fostino? Why me?

“I know,” said Trina as she brought me out of my head. “But if you care about him, you’ll leave him. We’ve talked about this — all of us — and it’s the only way.”

“But you can’t be right. There has to be something… not as drastic. This is so wrong—” I protested, and then another soothing, strong voice cut off my words.

“We need to be doin’ it this way,” Glenn said in a soft voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not fair. I won’t. It’s not fair!”

“There’s no other way,” whispered Thompson. “Do you want to save him? Do you want to save yourself?”

I swallowed hard and swiped at my face with my left hand. “Yes. I do. I want to save him. How do you think I should do this?” I asked Trina. She tightened her grip on my bicep.

“Convince him you don’t care about him anymore. Fix it so he will not come after you. A clean break,” she said. “Charlotte, you must lie. And you have to do it tonight. We’ll take you there now.”

PART TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR

I wake up with a jolt. It’s daytime outside. Sunlight streams through the small window next to my metal twin bed. I don’t recognize the room. It’s a bedroom, but not mine. Blue sheets cover the mattress and a fuzzy grey blanket tops them. Another twin bed backs up across the room on the far wall and the blue sheets on it seem slept in, too. Between the two, a metal table holds a small lamp and a King James Bible. The cool taupe paint on the walls of the room soothes me. A large plain mirror rimmed in metal hangs on the wall by the closed wooden door. Next to the mirror hangs a silent, turned off 4-D TV.

I look down at myself and discover I am dressed in clothes I know I don’t own — a grey V-neck vintage tee and faded black cotton yoga pants. The rough cloth scratches my skin. 

My body creaks as I stand up and stretch. My muscles groan as if they have not moved for several days, and both eyes crust over from endless sleep. I rub them as the unfamiliar light in the room blinds me. My head throbs. A few seconds later, I walk over to the mirror.

Somehow, I’ve lost more weight. My deep-set eyes bulge out of my face like two huge blueberries. The chalky skin on my face tightens. My full lips look chapped, flaky, and splintered. I see dry cracks between the pieces of skin. My blonde hair does not shine when the sun hits it from the window on the side of the room.

I am a mess.

After a few minutes, I walk over to the wooden door of the room and open it. Outside, I find a hallway and several more steel doors like the one to the room where I woke up.

I creep down the long hall and it is not long before I hear the distinctive clink of silverware on china. The room ahead must be a kitchen. No one talks in there, but it is obvious more than one person is eating, drinking, and running the water.

Ten people sit at a long wooden table and they all glance up from their meal when they see me darken the doorframe. Glenn, Thompson, Trina, and Willa all sit with six other people I’ve never seen before in my life. All of them wear grey V-neck tees and cargo pants. The uniforms make a strange contrast against the lemon yellow walls of the room. 

“Good morning,” says Thompson, and then he smiles. He holds a black wooden spoon above a large tin bowl as if I caught him in mid-bite.

“How long did I sleep?” My voice sounds like I wrapped it in cotton. I am so groggy and unsteady.

“Four days, Princess,” Willa clips, even though I didn’t address my question at her.

Really? Jesus.

“You needed the sleep,” Thompson points at an empty seat next to him. “Breakfast?”

“There’s some chocolate cereal in the bowl at the end of the table if you want.” Glenn looks up from his bowl. “You probably need some water.”

I don’t laugh as I sit down on one of the metal chairs. Fruit and a bowl of granola decorate the center of the table. The woman next to me hands me a bowl before I ask and someone has already filled it with milk. I grab the granola and pour some in the bowl. Before I am done, the group resumes their breakfast.

“I hear you’re the new answer to Maxwell Cooper,” one of the women I don’t know says to me after she swallows her bite of banana. “The new secret weapon.”

“Huh? What?” My mouth hangs open.

Thompson puts a hand up toward the woman. “Not now, we haven’t made that decision yet,” he admonishes. He turns to me. “Eat up. Don’t worry about what she said. It’s nothing.”

My nostrils flare, but I turn my attention to the food. The sweet granola crunches under my teeth. I taste every bit of the natural sugar in the cereal because I am not used to this kind of food. It is too rich. I manage a few bites before I push my bowl away. I don’t want to get sick.

“Where are we?” I ask after a few minutes. It occurs to me I am not even sure if this building is a house or a barracks. “Seriously, where the hell are we?”

Thompson‘s own bowl of granola is now a second helping for him. He swallows a bite before he answers.

“This is a converted barn,” he says and then he gestures to the whole room and everyone in it. They stop eating. Spoons and forks clatter against the metal plates. Awkward silence fills the room.