Intermix Nation (18 page)

Adamek is nonchalant. “Just a minor threat
to security that needed addressing,” he says. “I didn’t want to
worry you.”

Mother and son exchange a significant look,
leaving Nazirah hopelessly lost. Victoria grabs Adamek’s arms,
sliding them out of his pockets. Nothing strikes Nazirah as
unusual, except that Adamek is wearing black fingerless gloves.
Victoria, however, seems fixated. She stares at them for a long,
uncomfortable moment. “You should change, Damek,” she says, her
voice flat. “You’re a mess.” Victoria picks up her champagne and
stalks away.

Adamek doesn’t move from his spot for
several seconds. Without warning, he turns and begins weaving his
way through the crowd. Nazirah follows him nimbly. Adamek stops
only to greet someone here and there, shake a few proffered hands,
and kiss several gloved wrists. It seems he’s brushing up on his
etiquette.

Why is Nazirah wasting her time with this,
anyway? Just so she could glimpse a lifestyle she’ll never know
otherwise? Does Adamek replay these memories, regretting his
decision to leave the luxury of Mediah behind?

Nazirah follows him through several hallways
overflowing with sculptures and paintings. She stares in wonder at
everything she comes across, trying to memorize the artwork that’s
so incredibly breathtaking. Intermix aren’t allowed inside museums.
Nazirah imagines Adamek probably took all this for granted, growing
up.

Adamek eventually opens a door and Nazirah
follows him inside.

Nazirah suddenly feels like she’s completely
trespassing on his personal space. She’s clearly standing in his
bedroom, which is large, full of dark woods, modern lines, and
shades of gray and navy. It’s masculine and clean, perfectly
suiting him. A large, wooden four-poster bed stands in the center
of the room. The thought of Adamek sleeping there makes Nazirah
clear her throat. She clamps her hand over her mouth and looks at
him until she remembers he cannot hear her. Adamek casually shrugs
off his jacket and hangs it on the back of his desk chair. The
familiar silver briefcase that holds Iluxor rests on his desk.

Adamek’s furniture, though, is nothing
compared to his view. Like the grand room, the back wall of his
bedroom is made entirely of glass. Nazirah walks over to it,
mesmerized by the Median skyline at night. They are thousands of
feet up in the air. Nazirah realizes the Morgens must live on top
of one of the tallest skytowers in Renatus. She stares down in awe
at the miniature traffic, whizzing through the city at varying
altitudes.

Nazirah eventually turns around. She finds
Adamek similarly mesmerized, but by a fresco on his wall. She comes
beside him, looking at the mural too, because he seems so absorbed
in it. Hundreds of people, barely clothed, are scattered amidst a
light blue background. The base of it is cut off, like the painting
should be much larger. Nazirah finds that difficult to imagine.
Compared to the other artwork around the penthouse, it’s antiquated
and broken, cracked in spots.

Nazirah doesn’t understand it, but she can’t
take her eyes off Adamek. Like Nazirah, only in solitude does he
remove the mask of lies he shows to the world. Looking at him now,
Nazirah feels like she’s really seeing him for the first time.
Adamek reaches a gloved hand out, slowly tracing the brush strokes.
Deep sadness and longing plague his face.

Adamek wrenches his hand away, removing his
gloves and shaking his head. He sits down on the bed, untying his
boots and replacing them with formal black shoes. He stands up,
pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his bare torso.
Nazirah flushes as she stares at his toned chest. She’s obviously
seen shirtless boys before … she lived on the beach her entire
life! She has no idea why this particular boy has such an effect on
her. Nazirah looks at him in a way she would never allow herself to
normally, because this is only a memory.

And she’s taking risks today.

Adamek stretches his arms above his head,
yawning and revealing the Medi tattoo on his forearm. Nazirah tries
to get a better look, ignoring his state of undress.

The tattoo’s different from that day in the
library. It looks textbook perfect.

Adamek walks straight through her towards
his closet, sending cold shivers through her body. Nazirah whirls
around as Adamek searches for an appropriate shirt, seeing his
dusza for the first time. She stares open-mouthed. The tattoo
covers the entire left side of his back. Thousands of tiny black
characters, in an ancient text Nazirah cannot read, scroll in
vertical columns from shoulder to spine. She walks forward, wanting
to see it up close, but is startled by the sound of soft knocking
at Adamek’s door.

Adamek swiftly slips on a white shirt. He
opens the door to reveal Victoria holding two silk ties, clearly a
peace offering. Victoria walks in, gingerly closing the door behind
her. “I thought you might need these,” she says, holding up both
solid black and sequined options. Adamek eventually nods at the
solid one and allows Victoria to slip it around his neck. She
smiles slightly. “You never were one to follow the latest
trends.”

“Thank you,” he says.

Adamek clearly cares for his mother. Nazirah
doesn’t know why she finds this unnerving. She’s never thought
about him as a son before, but she guesses it is yet another part
he plays. Victoria tentatively touches Adamek’s cheek. There’s a
tension and formality between the two of them that Nazirah never
experienced with Riva or Kasimir, even when they fought. Nazirah is
quickly realizing that there are many unspoken words between the
Morgens.

Victoria’s attention drifts to the mural
behind Adamek. “I don’t understand why you’re obsessed with that
monstrosity,” she says.

Adamek stiffens. “I was drawn to it,” he
replies, “when I traveled abroad to see the lost ruins.”

Nazirah is bewildered. Adamek traveled
outside of Renatus? He saw the remnants of the Final War,
scattering the world’s population around their sole surviving
country? No one, Medi or otherwise, is permitted to leave Renatus.
Ever.

Victoria lightly touches the mural. “Yes,”
she says. “And it cost us a minor fortune to excavate, transport,
and restore for you. And even then we couldn’t fit most of it in
here.” She shakes her head. “It’s such a ghastly piece, Damek. Why
not let me cover it? I’ll commission the best artist in all of
Renatus to paint something worthy of you.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Adamek snaps.
“Why are you bringing this up again?”

“Damek,” she says slowly, “this morbid
obsession you have with death is not natural.”

Wait, what? Aren’t they
talking about a painting? When did they start talking about
death?
Nazirah searches the fresco more
carefully. It’s filled with figures climbing onto clouds, all
focused around a man with a raised right arm and a lady in blue.
She still doesn’t get it. Adamek looks down at his bare hands,
clenches them. “Easy to say for someone who never gets their hands
dirty,” he says quietly.

“Damek, please,” Victoria pleads. “I’m not
here to argue with you. It isn’t productive for us, and it’s not
good for my health. But you’ve changed so much these past few
years. You’re almost unrecognizable to me.”

“I’ve grown up,” he says. “That’s what
happens.”

Fat teardrops streak Victoria’s lovely face.
“It’s more than that!” she cries. “You never used to wear the cares
you do now! I fear your father and I made a grievous mistake,
sending you to the monkey so many years ago. You should have
trained here instead, with the other Medis. But we wanted the best
for you.”

“This has nothing to do with that,” he
snaps. “I’ve gone against all of my teachings.”

“Damek,” Victoria implores, “you can still
stop! You don’t have to keep doing this, if you don’t want to.”

His eyes narrow. “I have to do it,” he
growls, “despite the fact that I don’t want to. I do it to keep
Mediah safe. I do what’s right.”

“You do what Gabirel tells you to do! What’s
easy!” she hisses. “Not what’s right!” Victoria grabs Adamek’s
hands, her eyes wildly roaming the sea of scratches. “I never
wanted this life for you, Damek,” she says, her voice a shadow of a
whisper. “And I am afraid for you, afraid of what you’re becoming …
afraid of what you may already be.”

Adamek wrenches his hands from her. “What
you’re saying is blasphemy.”

“Damek …”

His voice is cold and bitter. “Please leave.
I’ll be down in a moment. We wouldn’t want to keep your guests
waiting.”

Victoria nods tersely, collecting herself.
She walks to the door. “I guess it’s a nice painting,” she says
finally. “In a primitive, pedestrian sort of way. Who painted it
again?”

Adamek glances at the mural. “Someone named
Michel, I think,” he says. “Michel of the angels. I found it in a
collapsed church over the Eastern Sea. The souls on the left are
rising into heaven while the souls on the right are descending into
hell. And their god is in the center, judging them all.”

“Adamek,” Victoria whispers, “there can be a
better way to live. We can be better.”

Adamek turns around, but she’s already
gone.

Nazirah watches the carefully constructed
mask of Adamek Morgen shatter into pieces. He bangs his fists on
the wall, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against it.

Adamek stays like that for a long time,
breathing hard, before walking to his desk and sitting down. He
reaches into the bottom left-hand drawer, moving some books aside
to reveal a hidden compartment. Pulling out another silver case,
smaller than the one that holds the Iluxor, Adamek enters the same
four digit code on this keypad and opens it. He retrieves a thin
needle and a small bottle filled with black ink. Adamek
meticulously wipes the needle, inhaling deeply. He opens the
bottle, dipping the needle into it with such care it makes Nazirah
sick. Nazirah wants to look away but she can’t. She knows exactly
what he’s doing. Adamek told her once that Medis believe in nothing
except power. But if Adamek believes in anything, it’s this.

Like it’s his religion, Adamek zealously
takes the inky needle tip and pushes it into the back of his hand,
skillfully etching a small black scratch. It bleeds only a little.
Nazirah watches as he makes one more scratch on his hand before
returning the items to the case. Two unremarkable scratches already
lost in a dark ocean. But Nazirah knows they represent two innocent
lives Adamek has taken this night.

Adamek pulls out a pistol from his jacket
pocket. He places the gun inside the case as well, locks it, and
returns it to the secret compartment. He clasps his hands together
on the desk, as if in prayer. A tear mars his face. “I’m sorry to
disappoint you, Victoria,” he says sadly. “But I don’t know how
else to live.”

Adamek rises from his desk,
moving towards the door. Nazirah gets a strange feeling in her gut
that tells her not to follow him just yet. She looks from Adamek to
the drawer where the gun is safely hidden, a nagging suspicion
creeping into her mind. Almost against her own will, Nazirah moves
closer to Adamek’s desk and stands directly over it. She feels the
pull of his memory, dragging her away. But she can’t leave yet, not
until she knows for sure. She scans the contents of the desk, feels
the nausea hit when she finds what she’s looking for. The date is
April 4
^th
, the day her parents died.

He’s just murdered them.

Nazirah’s chest constricts
and her throat tightens. She wants to leave Adamek’s memory
…
now
. But she’s
either injected too much serum or the memory isn’t over, because
she can’t leave. She’s at the mercy of Adamek’s mind.

Adamek’s memory flashes forward. Nazirah
watches distantly as he returns to the party, laughing and joking
with friends. Victoria and Gabirel dance together, smiling in each
other’s arms. The music winds down like a broken accordion. The
crowd peters out. The handlers return the animals to their cages.
Adamek searches for his parents, unable to find them.

Nazirah unwillingly follows him back towards
his room, tired and emotionally drained. To Nazirah’s surprise,
Adamek passes it by. He turns down a new hallway and knocks on a
door to his right. He enters a feminine room full of pinks and
pastels. It’s clearly Victoria’s private chambers. Nazirah knows
he’s here to apologize for his behavior. She’s annoyed at having to
watch them reconcile, when he so easily just destroyed her entire
family. But Victoria isn’t here.

Adamek turns to leave, but something catches
his eye. There’s a puddle of water pooling outside the door Nazirah
assumes leads to Victoria’s bathroom, slightly staining the white
carpet. And Nazirah knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she
absolutely does not want to see what’s behind that door.

Don’t ask a question, if you don’t want to
know the answer.

His words taunt her now, egging her on.
Nazirah tries to run away, but is propelled forward by the
relentless memory.

Adamek walks towards the door. His face is
confused, but there’s dread there; Nazirah recognizes it well.

Adamek reaches his hand out, shaking
slightly. He rests it on the doorknob. Nazirah prays for the door
to be locked, but of course it isn’t. It swings open in one motion,
revealing the tableau before them. And, in that moment, so many of
Nazirah’s questions are answered. In that moment, she understands
Adamek Morgen perfectly. She knows exactly why he rejected the
Medis, knows exactly why Nikolaus trusts him, and knows exactly why
he’s joined the rebellion. And she wishes, beyond a shadow of a
doubt, that she didn’t.

Victoria Morgen lies in the overflowing
bathtub, skin pruning and pale. Her head lolls to one side, mouth
slightly ajar. The tap is still running, crystal clear from the
faucet. But the water spilling from the sides of the tub is tainted
a deep crimson.