Chosen Ones (11 page)

We stopped at the entrance of his room. James still didn’t look at me as he opened the door. I knew I could speak if I wanted to, but I didn’t. My mind was still reeling from the events of the night. When he returned to me, he held the book in his hand. His book.

“I want you to take this,” he said shakily.

“But—”

“I’m sorry about tonight. I should have stopped them. I’m not…I don’t know how to do this. They don’t teach us about this…”

“About what?”

We were whispering even though no one was around to hear us.

“About what it means to want something outside of this place. I wanted to speak up. I just didn’t know if I could. I’ll regret it for a long time.”

He gently lifted my hands and placed the book into them. “Please, take this. I need you to see who I am and what I want to be.”

“You don’t have to,” I offered, knowing I would never be so brave.

He shook his head. “Yes, I do. Because when you find out what this place really is, what it means to be sentenced here, you knowing that I mean you no harm is the only hope I have of protecting you.”

…

As I made my way through the quiet compound, my fellow naturals sleeping, I held Shelley’s
Frankenstein
. While I felt some jealously over the fact the chosen ones were allowed books, I wasn’t surprised their library was only filled with ones belonging to the time period so beloved by their creators. It seemed that even the chosen ones were forbidden to experience things outside of what their council deemed appropriate. Maybe they were no freer than us naturals.

I found a place that I knew would keep me hidden and safe.

The Void.

I couldn’t recall the origin of the nickname. It was a room kept for the purpose of holding naturals selected during a wrangling, a time when a natural was to be accused of a crime. They would stay here before facing their public trial and, in most cases, execution. When I was little I always thought it would be the perfect hiding place during a game of hide-and-seek. But even then, even before I knew what the world really was, I never stepped foot near The Void. Stories of men going crazy in the enclosed space were tossed around the compound. It was said that once a man clawed out his own eyes.

It was merely a room devoid of light. People would whisper that the space must be haunted, or some unnatural presence must have driven these men to the brink of insanity. But I had another theory. Our world was one where we were told what to think. When you were in The Void, you had no one. Just yourself.

And that was scary as hell.

I opened the door and stepped inside. Here, no one would bother me, not that anyone besides Robert even checked on me at all. I knew some part of him once cared about Louisa and me, but I think the part that felt anything true must have died with Emma. How could it not? He only looked to us now out of obligation.

I sat against the wall of the black room, lit the lamp I had stolen earlier in the night, and pulled the door shut. Slowly, I brought the tattered book out from inside my shirt. I held it in my hands for the longest time before opening it. I was slightly afraid of what lay in these pages. Not of the story but of James’s interpretation of it.

I began to read.

Hours later, halfway through the book, I found myself exhausted from the text and James’s notations. It wasn’t a very pleasant story. It was a narrative of violence and struggle, love and loss, creation/birth and death. The story of a man who attempted to reach for seemingly unattainable knowledge—the ability to create life outside of God’s will. The man, Dr. Frankenstein, succeeded only to later be horrified by his own creation. The creature, left to devise his own understanding of the world, turned to violence.

But the real story held within the pages of the book belonged to James. He questioned everything, almost obsessively. Sometimes he wrote so furiously it was difficult to construct meaning from the sentences. He wanted to know if, like the creature, he was doomed to destroy.

Near the end of the book, my name appeared. How strange to see writing in a book and know I was part of the story. I mattered. Even if it was just a little bit.

The book became almost like a journal. Some of what James wrote was painful. He had guessed my outcast status. He wondered why I had chosen to distance myself from my people. He pondered what I thought of him. Was I repulsed? Or could I see beyond the reasons he was created?

He wrote about how pretty I was. But this wasn’t a good thing. It made him nervous, even frightened. He spent so much time writing about how it was wrong to think such things, convincing himself he would never reach for me. But constantly wondering if I would allow him to if he were human and we lived in some different place and time.

He wrote about how strange it was to look at me and feel the things other boys, other chosen ones, had described to him so vividly. Things he thought he would never feel. He wrote about the way a loose strand of hair always seemed to fall and graze my shoulder. How hard it was for him not to reach for it. The way I bit my bottom lip when I was deep in thought. Attraction. His teachers never explained what it meant to want to touch. All he had was what the other boys said.

He wondered if what his teachers told him about my people was true? Or if I was merely an exception.

I didn’t finish the book. I only read till the place where James’s notes stopped. I was left breathless by the end of my reading. Never in my life had anyone shared so much of themselves with me. Not Emma or even Henry. Those I was once close with remained guarded. But this boy let me see everything.

Maybe he didn’t have a soul. But maybe something else made one a human. Maybe us naturals had forgotten what it meant to be one. But this boy, with his questions and insecurities, seemed more human than was possible.

And it was beautiful.

Chapter 15

“So tell me,” James urged.

“Tell you what? You need to be a bit more specific than that.” I laughed.

“About the book, of course,” he said, lightly tapping me on the head with the treasured novel, the forbidden fruit.

We had just finished reading
Jane Eyre
.

When I had returned James’s book, we didn’t speak of it. He simply took it from my hands and placed it back inside the drawer. I knew when I was ready to talk he would be there to listen. I’d still made sure to smile when he opened the door, though I wanted to somehow communicate to him that I understood the things he wrote, the parts of himself he had revealed, even though I didn’t have the words to tell him.

I insisted as I entered the room that he give me some task to complete. I needed boundaries to remain in this new friendship. After I dusted his room, James suggested we read more of
Jane Eyre
, and I didn’t refuse. I wanted to read more. I wanted some sense of normalcy before it all got so complicated.

And I knew it would.

The things he wrote and the things I saw would force us into a place where we both would have to re-examine everything. I knew that now.

But not yet.

I didn’t pull away from him when he carefully grabbed my hand as we sat on his bed reading the novel and his fingers interlaced with mine. It was a simple gesture. A safe gesture. Yet it caused me a moment of hesitation. Is this where it all started?

But as we delved deeper into the story, I couldn’t move away from him.

“I thoroughly enjoyed it,” I replied.

“But…you’re holding back something.”

Was I that easy to read? Or did he just know me?

I hesitated. “Well, I don’t think she got it exactly right.”

He wasn’t letting me off that easily; he simply sat there, expecting an explanation. I had to remind myself not to stare too long at his wondrous face. He cleared his throat.

He thought I was pretty, too.

I licked my lips. “Well, she makes it seem like Jane and Mr. Rochester are two halves of one soul.”

James nodded at my assessment. “But you believe the soul has many parts. I remember you saying so.”

“You remember that?”

“I remember everything you say.”

“Um, well, yes, that’s what I believe. I think there were others who had a claim to Jane’s soul.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Her aunt who made her feel so insignificant certainly claimed a part. Jane spent her whole life wanting to fight this sense that she was worthless, unlovable. That fear and her aunt’s malice most certainly possessed part of her. It’s not only love, affection, that can touch one’s soul.”

The words had all come out in a rush. I was afraid to look up at James, afraid that his face would show me how stupid my thoughts were. I picked at a single thread on the blanket of his bed. But I knew I wasn’t done.

“I think in the end, Rochester won her soul, just as she won his. But there was always a battle for it. From the very start, before she even knew him—a battle between the light and the dark. And even in the end, he didn’t have her whole soul; he had what was left, what survived. And that was enough.”

I brushed a loose strand of hair off my face. The room had become stifling.

I saw his free hand gently caress the book’s cover. He was silent, his eyes somewhere else. But then, quickly, they found mine.

“Is that how you feel about your soul?”

I was caught off guard; I could feel the blush creep into my cheek.

He seemed to sense this. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

I shook my head, mostly in an attempt to clear it. “No, it’s just, I didn’t realize. I didn’t remember how overwhelming a good book can be.”

“Yes, overwhelming.” He chuckled. “What about his secrets? Mr. Rochester’s? Jane was such a good sort of girl, a bit stubborn, but good to the core. He, on the other hand, left something to be desired when it comes to fictional heroes. How do you feel about him and all his dark secrets?”

What secrets does James have left?

I shrugged. “Not sure I really thought about it. You’re supposed to believe they were made just for each other. They exist for each other, despite his secrets. They exist for each other despite everything.”

James shifted. It seemed like he was uneasy. Was it my imagination or had he moved away from me? Still his hand clutched onto mine.

“And do you think it is possible,” he continued, “that two people can exist for each other despite secrets, despite everything?”

It was as if all the air had been sucked from the room. I could feel my heart begin to dance, to bounce against my chest. My mind was racing, always coming to the same image—the way Robert had appeared at her funeral.

I looked away from James. “No. Not in the real world. I don’t think that is possible.”

I was unsure why, but I felt angry. I pulled my hand away from his, and I stood up quickly. “I think it must be time for me to go.”

James glanced at the clock. “Yes, I think so.” His voice sounded so formal, so controlled.

For many days after that, we avoided talking about this new, strange thing between us. I would spend my mornings cleaning around the estate house and my afternoons with James. There was always something to tidy up in his room. I wondered if the boy ever slept. He would always insist I didn’t have to do anything, but it helped me control the nervousness that consumed me around him.

I wasn’t afraid of him. But that was the problem.

We would spend our afternoons reading or listening to music. James would hold my hand, or his knee would graze mine as we sat on his bed. His hand would touch the small of my back as he walked me to the door. And every time he touched me, I wanted more.

I wondered what it would feel like if he touched my face or brushed my hair from my forehead. I would find myself glancing at his lips, imagining what being kissed felt like. I wasn’t thinking of consequences in those moments; I was only thinking of want.

Desire.

Need.

I would think about the consequences of such feelings later, on the transport home. I would convince myself I was only experimenting, that I would never fall in love or get married. But did that mean I had to give up everything? Did that mean I couldn’t allow myself anything at all? Couldn’t some sort of balance be found?

Besides, soon, once some member of the council claimed him, he would be gone. He would leave me before it could progress anywhere. What harm could a little handholding really do?

Later in the week, my supervisor once again informed me that I was to help her for the morning instead of the usual work around Templeton. I felt my whole body slump with the news. Of course I knew why she’d selected me; she had made it very clear. But she was wrong.

We continued our usual routine of not speaking as I followed Gwen down into the lower levels of Templeton. I knew where we were going—the place where the young chosen ones slept. It was where I’d scrubbed the blood from the floor and walls, hiding the evidence that one of them had been found deficient.

As we passed through the room with the incubators, I couldn’t help but look more closely at them than I had before. Had James woken up here? Was this the very room where he had slept so peacefully till it was time to enter into the life that was chosen for him?

They seemed so helpless amid the tubes and machines that kept them alive.

We continued to the back of the room, stopping in front of the door where I had found the mangled body. I took a deep breath to try and stop the panic that began to work its way through me. It had been weeks since my last attack, but I didn’t know if my damaged senses could take what was waiting beyond the door.

It was Frank.

When we entered the room, he was sitting on the metal table. His hands held tightly onto the edges and his head hung low. He had lost so much weight since I’d last seen him. As he looked up to find out who had entered, I noted the dark circles under his eyes. Had there ever been a chosen one who looked like this?

“Helloooooo, ladies!” chirped the man who had no doubt killed the defective chosen one. He wore the same silly grin that I’d seen when I cleaned up the blood—he really enjoyed his work. I watched as my supervisor’s mouth formed into a tight smile in response.

“Tess, we are to help the doctor make Frank feel better.”

“Yeppers! Going to make Frank here as good as new. He’s got himself a little transformation fever,” replied the creator as he slapped Frank on the back. The movement caused Frank to erupt into a fit of coughs. “Now, Frank, we’re gonna need you to lie back.”

Frank, visibly trembling, lay down on the table.

“I’m ready for you, ladies,” said the creator.

“Right. If you will help me strap him down, please,” my supervisor instructed me, moving toward the cabinet stationed in the corner of the room.

“Why? Why do you need to strap me down?” Frank asked nervously.

“Because you chosen ones are big babies when it comes to this medical stuff. I guess never being sick makes one mighty scared of doctors when you
do
have to see one,” the creator replied with a laugh.

His demeanor, the artifice of it all, made me angry. It was hard to believe someone could really be so heartless.

Gwen handed me a set of restraints before she went back to Frank. She secured the top part of his body, and when she motioned for me to do the same with the lower half, I closed my eyes and tried to will my hands from shaking. With a deep breath, I worked on strapping Frank’s body to the metal table.

“Wait. Don’t I know you? You’re James’s girl, right?”

I didn’t want to look up and acknowledge him.

Would I run from this as I had run from the girl upstairs?

“Yes. I know you,” I replied quietly.

I watched as my supervisor’s face transformed into a mask of shock. I also saw the warning in her eyes: I wasn’t to speak again.

The doctor returned from the cabinet holding a syringe. “Now, Frank, this here is going to make you feel all better.”

Frank began to thrash against his restraints, painful, guttural coughs breaking through the noise. “No. You’re…going to…kill me.”

“What reason would I have to kill you? You have been chosen,” replied the creator as he stuck the needle into Frank’s arm.

Frank closed his eyes. I watched as tears fell down his face.

“Tess, you will stay with him till the end. The doctor will be busy in the other room. When it is done, you will inform us.”

“When what is finished?” I asked, rounding on my supervisor. But neither she nor the doctor bothered to answer my question. They simply left. What had I ever done to this woman to make her hate me so much?

Frank, much like the girl from before, began to settle down. I knew, without a doubt, the creator had just killed this boy, and I’d stood by and watched it happen. I felt the walls of the room crawling toward me. My breath came out in uneven, desperate puffs. I closed my eyes in an attempt to keep it under control.

The truth was the council wanted us all dead—anyone who they saw as weak or useless meant nothing to them. They didn’t want to protect us. They wanted us gone. Now that I saw the truth, what could I do with it? It wouldn’t save the girl who’d died or the boy who was dying in the room in which I stood.

“They’ll come for him, too,” Frank whispered.

A feeling of dread settled over me.

“Come here. Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

I moved so I was kneeling next to Frank. I watched as he attempted to keep his eyes open, fighting to stay alive.

“Why did they do this to you?” I asked. Somehow I felt it—a sense of camaraderie between the two of us. I knew nothing about him and he knew nothing about me. But we were connected.

In this moment, we were human.

“Because I got sick. I wasn’t what they wanted us to be. The kicker is, I bet they could fix me. If they really tried, they could fix me. But they don’t bother because I am nothing. I can be replaced.”

“That’s not true,” I replied. I said it for his sake, even though we both knew it
was
true. Maybe I said it for my sake, too. I didn’t want to be replaceable, either.

A sob broke through as he clutched to the side of the medical table, his face turning red and sweat appearing on his brow. I wiped his forehead with my sleeve. “Shhhh. It will be over soon, I promise.” I wondered if my words sounded like comfort or damnation.

“Do you think I will go to hell?” he spat out from clenched teeth.

I didn’t know how to answer his question. Did the chosen ones, children of science, have souls?

“Probably not, huh? No heaven. No hell. Just nothingness. God doesn’t care enough to send us to hell.”

“Shh. Just rest.”

I didn’t want to think of James in such a way. It was too painful. Too final.

“No one will even care when I am gone.”

I brushed the hair from Frank’s forehead. “James will care,” I said with certainty.

These words seemed to bring a sense of calm to the dying boy. “You’re right. He might just be the best of us. But they’ll hate him for it. They’ll see it, and they’ll punish him.”

I shook my head. He had to be wrong.

I couldn’t lose James.

“Will you hold my hand until this is over?”

He sounded like a child. But I held Frank’s hand until he died. I did for him what I had been unable to do for my sister.

On the transport home, I said nothing to anyone. This wasn’t different from the usual routine, but unlike the other days, today I
wanted
to talk. I wanted to tell someone how much I missed my sister. I wanted to inquire about my father, to find out what had happened to him. I wanted to confess how I was the one who found my mother hanging in the shower. I wanted to understand the feelings I had around James, to ask if it was wrong for me to want him to touch me so much. I wanted to shout to the world what the council was doing to both the naturals
and
the chosen ones.