“Kaplan. He was dismissive of my work. Of…me.”

“Why does that bother you so?”

I shoot a questioning glare at the old man. Why does it bother me? Partly because my work is superior. It’s the best. And Kaplan made it feel substandard. Made me feel substandard. I don’t accept anything substandard from myself. And neither does Samuel. He expects me to be recognized for the quality of everything I produce. Even the things which are only for his ears and the shelves of my trophy cabinet.

And it’s not just that. It’s what I saw in the video. Something about Kaplan’s hunger and the way it wasn’t satisfied. It called to me. I saw the same need in him, the deep chasm that can’t be filled. I thought somehow that his darkness would find its likeness in mine. But maybe Kaplan saw a glimpse of a beast in me whose claws are too jagged, whose teeth are too sharp. One whose needs are too deviant for his tastes. Maybe his beast wants a tamer creature. Or maybe I’m missing something that everyone can see but me.

“I wonder if he saw something that is lacking in me, something I’m blind to.”

“No, Bria,” Samuel says as he smacks the table with his palm. I don’t startle. I saw this coming. Maybe I wanted it to. Samuel leans forward and pins me with those cloudy blue eyes that veil so many shades of darkness. “Do not nurture the seeds of self-doubt. My legacy will not be corrupted by an inferior man and his shortsighted intellect and dysfunctional cock. Cut the dead weight. Stay focused on your prize. Your victory will be all the sweeter when your trophy is in your hand.”

We’re locked in a stare-off when I see a set of powder-blue scrubs moving toward us from the other side of the room. I lay my hand over Samuel’s and give him a gentle smile as I let go of some of the tension in my back and shoulders.

“Everything okay here, Samuel?” Nurse Tory asks with her no-nonsense warning tone. I’m convinced she would still use it even if she knew who he is and all the things he’s done. “Do I need to take you back to your room for a rest?”

Samuel grumbles something unintelligible, suddenly looking like a frail old man and not a competent killer.

“I’m so sorry. My uncle was just reminding me that a man who so callously dismisses me and my work is not worthy of my time. Uncle Sammy just gets a little passionate about his favorite niece sticking it to the patriarchy,” I say with a saccharine smile as I squeeze Samuel’s hand. He chews his lip as though he might be in trouble and gives the nurse a sheepish smile.

She melts.

“Oh my days, Sammy. What a good uncle you are, looking after your niece. Let me go get you some more tea. How about some of that chocolate cake to go with it? I think I can slide you an extra slice,” Nurse Tory says as she winks and lays a caring hand on his arm.

“That would be just lovely, dear. Thank you,” he replies in his most frail old man voice as he pats her hand with his. She doesn’t notice the steadiness in those fingers of his, how strong they still are. How capable. She just grins down at him and then heads off to the kitchen as Samuel’s gaze turns to me, his smoky blue eyes searing me like ice.

“What? I just got you extra cake. You’re welcome.”

Samuel huffs and jangles the dice in his cup, spilling them across the felt. A flash of a moment from childhood comes back to me, something that exists in the desert behind my memory palace. I feel the echo of pain in my gums, the phantom taste of blood. I remember spitting two of my bloody milk teeth into the dust when the back of Donald Soversky’s hand hit them free of my mouth. I feel Samuel watching, seeing.

“You know where you need to go, Bria,” he says. I nod. I need to go to my most sacred place. A place I love and fear. One that lives only in my mind. I need to return to the place that changed my life.

“Yes. I understand.”

“And you know I won’t always be here to counsel you. At some point, you will have to do this on your own. If you can’t, you will fail.”

I roll my dice. I push my checkers across the felt. “I know, Uncle. But even when you’re gone, your voice will live on in my head. I will not fail, because you will always be there to guide me.”

When I meet Samuel’s eyes, it’s with the flame of determination burning brightly through my veins, reflecting back at me in a milky sea, a subtle nod.

I will not fail.

OceanofPDF.com

9 BRIA

I sit on my meditation mat, facing the pool and the atrium beyond, the water trickling down the infinity edge. My eyes drift closed and I focus on the sound, clearing my mind of all my thoughts and concerns. I take a deep breath in, and then out. In and out. Again and again, until the road to my memory palace is clear in my mind.

But instead of going toward it, I turn and face the other direction, and I walk into the desert.

The path leads to a white shipping container that’s been converted into an office. Three metal stairs lead to the door that’s been cut into the steel wall. I open it and enter, closing it behind me. There’s an old office chair, covered in desert dust, sitting in the middle of the room. I walk over to it and take a deep breath before I lower myself onto it and close my eyes.

When I open them, I’m fourteen again.

I’m bound to the chair. My eyes are sticky, my throat raw with thirst. My muscles ache with bruises and dehydration. A headache fills my skull with knives.

A plastic straw enters my murky field of vision and I blink up at the man holding it. He’s older, maybe in his sixties. He must be my height or perhaps a little shorter. He’s sinewy but strong. Despite the dusty office we’re in, he looks well-dressed, his white hair combed with precision. His skin is marked by the sun but not heavily lined, as though he rarely frowns or smiles. His expression is unreadable. He pushes the straw into my mouth and I drink. I want the whole glass of water but he only gives me enough to speak.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“Ava,” I reply, my voice tight and grating.

“How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“How did you arrive at my dumping ground?”

“I was dumped there. I guess it’s everyone’s dump,” I say, and the man appears neither amused nor enraged, though I get the sense that his anger could be easily stoked. I know it already, without needing to ask. This man is a predator. It lingers in the air between us like the scent of musk on his skin. He waits for me to elaborate. “My…community. They abandoned me there.”

“Why?”

I say nothing at first. I look around the room. There’s a desk with papers in neat, ordered stacks. A low lamp sheds light across the surface where there are drawings on blue paper. On the opposite wall are topographic maps. When I look at the man once more, his eyes have darkened. I don't know what this dumping ground is to him, but it’s obviously something he feels compelled to protect. I work out every option for how to proceed, and I’m left with only one. The truth.

“I killed someone.”

This seems to surprise the man, but not nearly as much as it should. His head tilts a degree on its axis and his eyes narrow. “Why?”

“I was meant to be paired to him. He was our leader’s son. I didn’t want to. I felt…compelled.”

The man regards me in silence. He seems intrigued by me, like I should be acting some other way. That’s something I’m used to. What I’m not used to is the way he’s acting in return. Like me. He’s not afraid or repulsed. He’s just observant, like my reflection in a mirror.

“You’ve killed before,” I say.

“Why do you think that?”

“Your reaction when I told you. You weren’t disturbed by me.”

The man seems to consider my observation before he presses the straw to my lips and permits me another small sip of water. It feels as though he’s rewarding me, though I think the true reward is that I’m still alive. “How did you kill him?” he asks. “Did you plan it?”