

### Revenge of Rivals

Lauren Salem

Copyright © 2015 Lauren Salem

All rights reserved.

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN: 1517513790

ISBN-13: 978-1517513795

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

### ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My novels are written for me, but I'll gladly share them with you. I am grateful for the tremendous amount of patience that you, the readers, have shown in waiting over two years for me to finish the Eternal Feud sequel to Reunion at Walnut Cherryville. Rest assured, the wait is finally over. I appreciate your support and always enjoy hearing your feedback.

I would like to thank my sister, **Julia Salem** , for being my first editor and trusted advisor. With every book I create, she revises the most difficult drafts and somehow manages to show me ways to write for myself while keeping my readers in mind.

I would also like to thank my world-traveling Aussie cousin, **Zack Doherty** , who has helped me with Spanish translations. He is an aspiring writer who has lived in South and Central America.

Lastly, I'd like to thank **Brian Lehman** , my boyfriend, for teaching me how to alter code in my website. As a writer, it's great to live with a software developer who is willing to accept my affection as payment. I'm enthusiastic about what the future holds for us.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Collins

Chapter 2: Vincent

Chapter 3: Johnny

Chapter 4: Laura

Chapter 5: Collins

Chapter 6: Johnny

Chapter 7: Vincent

Chapter 8: Laura

Chapter 9: Collins

Chapter 10: Johnny

Chapter 11: Laura

Chapter 12: Vincent

Chapter 13: Collins

Chapter 14: Johnny

Chapter 15: Vincent

Chapter 16: Laura

Chapter 17: Collins

Chapter 18: Vincent

Chapter 19: Johnny

Chapter 20: Laura

Chapter 21: Collins

Chapter 22: Johnny

# Chapter 1: Collins

Collins Greene was a high school senior determined to become a professional basketball player in the NBA. In spite of his witty jokes and handsome physique clothed by his orange janitor's uniform—a sign of diligence and hard work—he was a failure.

Those who knew Collins Greene may have thought that Jordan Bryant, a freshman at Arizona State University, showed an uncanny resemblance to Collins, but rest assured, they're not the same person. I should know. I was Collins Greene. And I am Jordan Bryant. Jordan Bryant lived in Tempe, Arizona, and studied biochemistry. He grew up in a small town, graduated from a normal high school, and was the point guard for the Sun Devil men's basketball team. Collins had died tragically in a car accident after attending a graduation party where underage drinking was involved. I read about it in the newspaper; what a sad story.

* * *

I stood on the sunny lawn by campus housing, one of about a hundred hopeful freshman boys waiting for the Alpha Dogz pledge initiation to begin.

"Jordan Bryant will be everything that Collins Greene never was," I thought. Alpha Dogz was the coolest and most recognized men's athletic fraternity in the school; every year they only allowed ten students to join. It would be an honor to be recruited as a freshman.

As a group of chiseled, shirtless men approached us, the chatter halted, and I heard faint awes of admiration.

"Attention, maggots," said a man with wavy blond hair. "Welcome to the first part of the Alpha Dogz initiation. I'm Donnie Summers, a senior Alpha Dog, and I will be administering your first test this afternoon, so I hope you all came prepared. After receiving thousands of applications, photos, and videos, we've narrowed it down to the top one hundred freshman athletes standing before us."

Everyone applauded.

"So what does it mean to be an Alpha Dog?" Donnie continued. "Does anyone know?"

The initiates raised their hands, shouting and jumping with excitement.

"You, the maggot in the basketball jersey—what's your name?"

"Jordan Bryant," I answered.

"What does pledging Alpha Dogz mean to you?"

"It means I'm the best of the best."

"Exactly," Donnie said. "To be an Alpha Dog, your BAILS must always rank in the top 10 percent of your class. Who here knows what the acronym BAILS stands for?"

"Beauty, athleticism, intelligence, leadership, and socialization," another freshman blurted out.

"Correct. Who said that?" Donnie asked.

"Joey Travito," came the reply from the back of the crowd.

"Why does that name sound so familiar?" I thought. "Oh, wait. That's because he's my roommate." I had met Joey two weeks ago. Why hadn't he told me that he wanted to pledge Alpha Dogz? After I moved into the dorm, I had little opportunity to talk to my new bunk buddy, since we had such different class schedules. I remembered that he was studying anthropology and that he had made the wrestling team. He was a fairly hairy Italian fellow who smelled like a sandwich joint. Maybe that was why I had a strange dream about pepperoni the other night.

"Every semester, your BAILS will be evaluated, and if you fall below the top 10 percent of your class, you will be eliminated from Alpha Dogz," Donnie continued. "No matter how difficult, tough, challenging, or stressful your life gets during these next few months, you must not let yourself go. Keep up your grades, stick with the commitments you made, and, for God's sake, don't forget to manscape."

Everyone chuckled.

"We're all busy guys, but this doesn't give any of you the excuse to walk around campus like a tubby hobo with an unruly beard and bedhead. Many pledgees don't take beauty and hygiene seriously, and that's going to pull down your BAILS score. The challenge I give you today will be the first of five, and only eighty of you will continue to compete in the next test. Your first challenge, the beauty test, will evaluate your attractiveness among women. Take off all your clothes except your boxers."

The freshmen gasped and whispered among each other nervously.

"Come on, guys. Don't be shy," another senior shouted out. "Take it off."

I initiated the strip party by taking off my jersey and tossing it into the DMV zone—the empty space between the freshmen and upperclassmen. Everyone turned to watch me as I dropped a beat by Nelly: "'It's getting hot in here. So take off all your clothes.'" I danced as I sang and got undressed. My black T-shirt was the next thing to go. "'I am getting so hot. I wanna take my clothes off.'"

"Good leadership, Jordan," Donnie announced, hinting to the other freshmen to start stripping.

The others followed my lead and even joined in singing the song. When the basketball shorts reached my feet, I kicked them off, and they became airborne before an upperclassman caught them.

I thought I saw my chemistry professor walk by our group, so I squinted and used my hand as a visor to block the sun.

"Hey, Dr. Jones," I shouted, stepping out of the crowd waving. "It's a warm, beautiful day, isn't it?"

She shot me a smirk and nodded as she quickly walked along the sidewalk.

"By the end of this semester, I'm going to be her favorite student," I thought. "She'll never see it coming."

The upperclassmen were bent over laughing at my gesture. "Can you believe that guy?" someone said.

* * *

Surrendering my clothes to the Alpha Dogz reminded me of the time when Johnny, Vincent, Laura, and I were captured and imprisoned by Walnut Cherryville secret watchers. Kenneth, the maniac son of the governor of Walnut Cherryville, had made us strip in front of each other, and I had stood in nothing but my boxer briefs until he gave us uniforms. The only difference between then and now was that instead of stripping in a jail cell, now I was stripping on a college campus. I was so glad those days were behind me. Nothing in the world could possibly convince me to go back to Walnut Cherryville.

After four long months of being on my own, I could now look back at my Walnut Cherryville days as an insightful experience. Overall, it had boosted my confidence and taught me that I had to fake it until I made it. Everything in life was an act in a play, and I was an actor trying to entertain the people around me. Collins on the reality TV show, _Chair Trials_ , which punishes Walnut Cherryville lawbreakers. He was a repeat offender who was never voted to die, because the community loved his sense of humor. Collins stealing a truck driver's identity, and now Jordan Bryant—I faked it until I made it, and I even put on an encore performance, thanks to perception filters. Without perception filters, I wouldn't have been able to start my new life and avoid the Walnut Cherryville secret watchers. Since I had changed my identity, I didn't feel the need to wear a perception filter in school, but I always wore it in the hood. It disguised me as just another _gangsta_ while I was out on the streets.

Shortly after I ran away from the car crash that possibly killed Amy Chang, I found work in downtown Phoenix. Over the summer, I assisted some slingers with the weighing and packaging of their products to make some quick cash. It wasn't my proudest moment, but at the time, I didn't know what else to do.

The opportunity fell into my hands in the form of a half-full Starbucks iced coffee that a woman intended on throwing away. I had been having a bad day, stressed over the fact that I had lost my perception filter and couldn't find it anywhere, even after retracing my steps. I had another one, but it was back at Amy's apartment, at least ten blocks away, and I was hungry, hot, and tired. Even a rat was looking like lunch to me at that point.

When the woman saw me chug her abandoned drink, she approached me and offered me a job. I couldn't believe it; I was grateful for her scraps but, more importantly, for her work. I asked no questions of her, and she asked none of me. I weighed and packaged bath-salts in potpourri bags, shampoo bottles, and tubes of cream for sixteen hours a day. I worked with two thugs, Biggie Jesus and Duty Calls. Da Boss, as we called her, sold bath products as her cover business. I was cheap labor, and she gave free meals. My thug name was _Grizzle_ , which was used to protect my identity.

In June, I lived in Amy's apartment, but by July, I was kicked out for not paying rent. The apartment cost one thousand dollars a month, and that amount of money felt like too much to throw away on rent. Instead, my coworker Biggie Jesus let me stay at his place and bunk on his couch for two hundred dollars a month. It was a win-win situation. He got extra income, and I saved a lot of money. The couch wasn't the most comfortable sleeping situation. Since I was too tall to lie across it, I slept scrunched up in a ball every night. At first, it was difficult to fall asleep, but eventually, I got used to the feel of the springy couch and the sound of gunfire in the distance and hoodlums driving recklessly by.

Every morning except Sunday, I'd wake up around midday to the smell of weed and bacon. Biggie Jesus smoked weed with breakfast instead of drinking coffee like Da Boss. He didn't smoke on Sundays because that was God's day, but he did take me to church. He loved pork and had the belly to prove it. To keep fit for basketball, I was constantly doing push-ups, sit-ups, and crunches to counteract a diet rich in fat.

One day, I was helping Biggie Jesus clean up the living room, and I found a shoe box full of old photos underneath the coffee table. That was when I learned about his little brother, who had died in a shooting when they both were in high school. If his brother was still alive, he would have been voted "most likely to succeed" by his peers and teachers. It sounded like he had been a smart kid, and Biggie Jesus missed him a lot. When I told him that I was trying to save my paychecks for college, it brought tears to his eyes because I reminded him of his little brother.

Biggie Jesus thought he wasn't smart enough for college. I didn't think that was true. If you wanted it bad enough, studied hard, and didn't act like a fool, anyone could make it into college. Look at Collins Greene. He had come from a correctional school, and he would have made it into college if he was still alive. May he rest in peace.

Besides hooking me up with a place to live, Biggie Jesus also introduced me to Swift Thrift, the man I purchased my new identity from. He sold me Jordan Bryant's fake driver's license, social security number, birth certificate, high school transcripts, and so forth. By the beginning of August, Jordan Bryant was born, and I applied to Arizona State University. When I was accepted into ASU, I received financial aid, but it wasn't enough to pay off my tuition. Da Boss was nice enough to give me a loan—after I got down on my hands and knees, begged for the money, and promised to pay her back. She cringed at first and said no about a thousand times, but I eventually wore her down enough to reach an agreement.

The arrangement was simple: I would continue to work for her at least thirty-two hours a week until I paid off my debt. In addition, she influenced my choice of major, since I was her investment. She wouldn't loan me the money to "waste it on studying something fluffy like English or history." She required me to study something that was "useful." But what degree would lead me to a useful profession in this downward-spiraling economy?

After doing some research online, I knew biochemistry was the answer. It was a degree that wasn't limiting. I could work for a pharmaceutical company, work in a chemistry lab, do drug testing, or possibly be some sort of doctor. The medical industry seemed like a safe bet since drugs were always in demand. Everyone was happy with my decision. Biggie Jesus and Duty Calls even helped me create Jordan Bryant's application and video for Alpha Dogz during our downtime. I didn't actually expect to be selected as a top contender, since we more or less made the video as a practical joke. It would be cool to be part of Alpha Dogz, but I probably didn't really have time for it with school, work, and basketball practice.

* * *

"Listen up, maggots," Donnie said, bringing me back to the present. "You have one hour to get as many ladies' phone numbers as possible. We will provide you with pens; you must get her first and last name, along with her phone number, written somewhere on your body. Remember, only the eighty of you who collect the most phone numbers will advance. Good luck, and meet back here in an hour for the results."

I walked away from the mountain of clothes, grabbed a pen from Donnie's pen box, and went inside the nearest campus-housing building to begin. I started with the lounge. It was empty except for a bangin' cheerleader with ebony-colored skin who was sitting by herself reading a premed book. I loved how school spirit came in short skirts.

"Damn, that girl is fine," I thought. A smoother beat by Ginuwine dropped in my mind: "I'm just a bachelor. I'm looking for a partner."

When I approached her table, she didn't notice me, so I pulled out a chair across from her and sat down. She lowered her book, glanced at me, and then ignored me and continued reading.

"Hi," I said, trying to start a conversation. "I'm Jordan."

"I don't care," she said quickly. "I'm busy." She went to write something down in her notebook, but suddenly her pen ran out of ink.

"Here, take mine," I said, handing her the pen.

She looked up and laughed. "You're walking around almost completely naked, but you happen to have a pen. Why?"

"So I can get your number."

"Why do you think I'd give you my number?"

"Do you like what you see?"

"You are ridiculous."

"Not as ridiculous as it would be to get your digits."

"You're not the first guy today that's asked for my number. That's why I came in here: to sit alone and study without being bothered by Alpha Dog wannabees."

"I promise I'll call. I wouldn't ask for your number if I didn't intend on calling you. What's your name?"

"Mmm-hmm," she sassed. "Right. The key word in that sentence is _intend._ "

"Really. I'm serious."

"Look. I know what you're doing, so don't waste my time. If all you want is to add my number to the collection of numbers on your body, move on. You're not getting mine."

"Does it look like I have any other girl's number on my body?" I said as I stood up and turned slowly. Yeah, I caught her looking, but she was actin' like she wasn't.

She buried her head in her book and pretended to look busy.

To be honest, the only reason I didn't have any other digits was because she was the first girl I asked, but she didn't need to know that.

"That's not all I want..." I said, hovering over the table and peeking at her paper, "Eva Williams."

Startled, she jumped up and quickly flipped her notebook over so that I couldn't read it anymore.

"That's a beautiful name. Where you from?" I asked.

"OK," she said, followed by a frustrated laugh. "Let's say I give you my number just so you go away. What would you do with it?"

I leaned on the table by her premed book. I felt that she was starting to warm up to me and give me more of her attention. "Actually, I prefer your e-mail address because I don't own a cell phone, but I will ask you out to lunch."

"You're admitting to me that the only reason you approached me was to get my number for Alpha Dogz?"

"No, that's not true. Maybe the Alpha Dogz challenge was the reason I approached you, but it's not the reason I continue to stick around. I want to get to know you. If you give me your e-mail address, I'll ditch this whole Alpha Dogz challenge."

That was the boldest move I had ever made to impress a girl. I could see that I made her smile, but she was trying to hide it.

"Why would you do that?" she asked.

"Maybe getting to know you would be a better opportunity than pledging Alpha Dogz. I don't know, but I'm willing to take that risk."

As we peered at each other, she let her smile grow without holding back. "I agree. I'm way better than Alpha Dogz," she commented, before we laughed together. She clicked open the pen that I gave her, grabbed my hand, and tugged me closer. The pen tickled my skin as she wrote her e-mail on my forearm. "Out of all the fraternities, why did you choose Alpha Dogz?"

"I just thought it would be fun to be part of a group where there's a close network of brothers all interested in the same thing. I'm new to this school, new to the basketball team—"

"You're a freshman?" she interrupted.

"Is that a problem?"

"Wow," she laughed, slightly embarrassed. "You're good. I can't believe I just let a freshman smooth talk me into giving him my e-mail. You're younger than you look."

"Thank you?"

"It's OK. Don't worry about it. I wasn't trying to insult you or anything. I'm a junior, by the way. What did you say your name was again?"

"Jordan Bryant," I said, extending my hand to her.

"Hi," she said, shaking my hand.

Eva and I talked until she had to go to class. Not once did she call me a jerk or slap me across the face. This was a first for me. I had never had a real conversation with a woman that I was attracted to before. Come to think about it, no woman had ever taken me seriously when I asked her out. Eva and I planned to meet in the cafeteria for lunch the next day.

"I hope she decides to come," I thought, "for real."

# Chapter 2: Vincent

Every day, about 50 percent of suspicious-activity cases went unreported. I called these "special-interest cases," since I watched all of the events unfold before reporting them to Alejandro, and many times, I deliberately neglected reporting them.

After I fixed the zombie computers and hacked into the government security feeds, the resistance assigned Veronica and me with the task of being the lookouts for suspicious activity. I was told to report everything I saw—rapes, murders, theft, confrontations, trespassers, and the like—even if I didn't know why it was happening or what it meant. It wasn't my job to interpret the videos that streamed through the feeds, but how could I not? Deciding whether to report suspicious activity was a challenge, as was keeping Veronica occupied so that I maintained control over the incoming information. The less she knew, the better. I had someone in the government to protect, and letting Veronica report everything she saw to Alejandro could put Laura in danger. If something sparked my interest, I'd make up an excuse to get Veronica out of the room. I'd often send her to get me food or supplies that I needed for computer upgrades and maintenance. She knew nothing about fixing computers, so it wasn't difficult to fool her.

For the past few weeks, I had been working on a side project that I hadn't told anyone about. When the time was right, I'd install it on ComCon.

I missed Laura so much. Watching her on screen through the corner of my eye as I worked was just teasing me. Lucky for me, she spent most of her time on the Quintons' private floor, where there were no security cameras, so I didn't spot her on the feeds too often. That was all right, because I was far too busy for distractions. I hadn't seen or spoken to Laura as Vincent for four months, so I believed she still thought I was dead.

When there wasn't much suspicious activity occurring on the feeds, I let Veronica watch them while I visited Laura. I would pop into the Quintons' private quarters every now and then, but always as the housekeeper, the semester, or the loyal servant. With the perception filter on, Laura didn't realize who I was. I never told Veronica what I was doing when I left the basement. I didn't know if I could trust her.

As the official neighborhood watchman, I knew the layout of the basement like the back of my hand. And I knew the inhabitants too. Real basement dwellers possessed certain physical and behavioral qualities that the surface people did not. Basement dwellers were pale skinned; their eyes were sensitive to light, and they were always very dirty. Since many of them had been living in the basement for months, even years, they had developed excellent night vision. They concealed themselves in the shadows and could quickly find hiding spaces when trouble lurked. The physicality of a basement dweller was most often thin, strong, and limber, unlike government guards, who had bulky muscles. One of the most interesting things I learned about them was the fact that they never wore shoes. I didn't understand the reason behind this. I still had my shoes.

The basement dwellers lived in the parts of the basement that had been abandoned by the government because they were structurally unsafe. The entrances to those areas were blocked off with plastic, yellow caution tape. Basement dwellers would never pass the caution tape and wander into government territory during the day, unless they needed to do something urgent. It increased their risk of being seen by the government guards; plus, the hallway lights hurt their eyes if they didn't wear sunglasses. If they did cross the line, they usually did it at night when the lights were turned off.

As far as I could tell, the government used the basements for the storage of goods and materials, which the resistance often raided in groups. All of the government storage rooms were locked with combination locks or keypads, so people commonly asked Veronica and me if we knew the lock combinations before attempting a raid.

On the special occasions when I left the security room, I observed and spoke with some of the basement dwellers. I watched them exercise, which included sparring with each other, strength training, stretching, and sandbag lifting. Even when they weren't exercising, their body odor was that of moldy cheese.

On a recent outing, one of the female subjects wanted to practice a sparring scenario with me; she approached the corner where I sat watching.

"Hold me in a choke hold," she requested.

To appear friendly, I did what she asked, which was a terrible mistake. She stomped on my right foot, elbowed my ribs, and forcefully banged her head into mine, which caused me to release her. I ended up with bruises, a nosebleed, and a migraine.

"I didn't use full force," she said, trying to prove a point. "You need to shape up if you expect to survive the uprising."

I had heard a lot of talk about the uprising, but no one knew when D day would take place.

* * *

I resided among hundreds of the legally dead people in the basement, beneath 41 floors of high-tech interactive glass. The basement of the glass building in Walnut Cherryville was a maze full of secret rooms and suspicious people I was personally tracking for the resistance. The trespasser I was watching right then was a medical assistant I had been tracking in the basement since I became a watchman. Like every other Wednesday morning, he was on time. It was nine o'clock, and the young man, with olive skin and dark hair, casually walked through a government hallway carrying something in a biohazard bag; he was shown on camera twenty-five. He stopped to exchange words with some guards as they stocked an open supply room with boxes. The conversation lasted about two minutes. Next, he continued on his usual path, walking by camera fifteen. He always took the same route to his destination and mostly used government hallways. I had never met him before, but he seemed like a suspicious character. Camera eight, the east hallway between the government and resistance territory, showed him looking around, possibly checking for others in the area. Since there was no one around, he ducked under the caution tape, pulled out a flashlight from his white coat, and continued onward.

At the next camera, I focused on the keypad by the door of the room he intended to enter. So far I had about 90 percent of the code: eight, two, four, six, five, nine, three, and one. That was where I always lost him until he exited the room, since the room didn't have any security cameras inside.

When he reached the silver door by camera five, he swiftly and discreetly punched the password into the keypad. The metal door quickly sucked up into the ceiling, and he entered before it fell back down to the floor.

"Yes! I got it," I said. "The last number is seven."

I wasn't sure why I said that out loud when I was the only person in the room. Veronica was out getting me breakfast.

Why did the medical assistant have to go into that room at the same time every Wednesday? I had no idea, but I wanted to find out. Now that I had the password, I could check it out for myself. What was in the biohazard bag? Was he really a medical assistant, or was he wearing a perception filter? Was he with the government? Who was he? What was that room used for?

I heard the ceiling creak above me. That could be "the lost souls of the dead," as Veronica put it, but it was more likely to be the sound of living people walking around on the first floor. Sometimes, when the walls creaked, Veronica got all spiritual, crazy, and emotional about ghosts. Just last night, we had had the most ridiculous argument about whether spiritual beings actually existed.

* * *

The light from the computer screens blared through the dark security room, and I kept an eye on them from my sleeping bag. I wanted to lay on my back and listen to the hum of the machinery, but Veronica was back, and she was being such a blabbermouth, I couldn't fall asleep. She was making appalling statements that I couldn't ignore.

Veronica sat next to me, hugging her pillow and preaching her beliefs to me in a heated debate.

"Dia de los Muertos allows the dead to live again," Veronica said. "During that time, the deceased return to their earthly homes to visit and rejoice with their loved ones."

"Is today Dia de los Muertos?" I asked, trying to prove a point.

"No, but it's coming soon."

"So if today is not the day that the dead come back to earth, how can the creaking sound from the ceiling be from the lost souls?"

"It's not that simple," Veronica explained. "The soul is eternal and can travel back and forth from this world and the next on _any_ day. Dia de los Muertos is just a date Catholics picked to observe and celebrate this belief at the same time as Día de los Santos, or All Saints' Day, and Día de los Fieles Difuntos, or All Souls' Day."

I was eager to poke holes in her logic.

"Where is the proof that souls exist and can travel between worlds? First of all, there is nothing eternal after death. Once you die, your body returns to the earth as nutrients for other living things in some way or another. However, technologists are actively working on a way for humans to preserve their minds and personalities inside robots, so that one day our minds can live far beyond the expiration date of our bodies. This 'world' you speak of is referencing an eternal world, but I only believe in worlds and ideas that can be physically proven. The fact is, no one can prove that a place like heaven or hell exists, but scientists have proven that other planets and galaxies are real—like Mars and the Andromeda Galaxy. There are approximately 170 billion galaxies in all of the observable universe, which I consider to appropriately fit the term 'another world,' none of which are spiritual ideas."

"Dia de los Muertos originated from ancient civilizations like the Aztecs, dating back to twenty-five hundred to three thousand years before the Spaniards conquered Mexico. It's not a made-up idea."

"Everything you're saying is made up by religion. It can be proven that the Aztecs believed in this idea, but the idea itself can't be proven to be true."

"Just believing in something automatically makes it real," Veronica rebutted, raising her voice.

"Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Cupid, the Easter Bunny—those are real?" I laughed.

"You don't have to be so condescending about it," Veronica said, poking my ribs abrasively.

I swatted her hand away. "Hey, it's not my fault you have to live in a fairytale."

"Do you believe in God?"

"I think we've established that God is only real to you because you believe in him, even though he's not scientifically proven to exist like, say, the big bang theory or evolution. At least those explanations of the creation of the universe and mankind make sense."

I heard someone knock on our door three times. "Keep it down in there. Some of us are trying to sleep," a man shouted.

Veronica and I glanced at each other, which was the first time I had made eye contact with her all night.

"That was creepy. A lost soul of the dead just told us to keep it down," I whispered, jokingly.

Veronica smacked me in the face with her pillow, initiating a pillow fight. Before she could pull it away from me, I snatched it and tossed it across the room, which got rid of Veronica for the night. I turned to face the wall, snuggled my pillow, and closed my eyes. She wouldn't bother me again until morning.

* * *

The hatch door in the corner of the ceiling creaked open.

"Vincent, could you get this bag?" Veronica shouted from the hatch door.

I got up and grabbed the bag from her. "What did she get for breakfast today?" I wondered. "Looks like a blueberry muffin and a pint of milk." I sat down and began eating as Veronica closed the hatch door and climbed down the ladder.

"Anything interesting happen on the feed so far?" Veronica asked.

"No."

She sat down next to me and began eating. "Did you think about what we discussed last night?"

"I was afraid you were going to bring that up." I laughed. "Do you seriously want to continue that debate?"

"Yeah, it was fun," Veronica said, enthusiastically.

I laughed out loud, threw my head back, and covered my face, exhausted from the conversation.

"No, really. I mean it. You're an interesting person to talk to, with insightful thoughts and opinions. I wouldn't have called it an argument, but I've never seen you speak so passionately before. It was a lovely surprise. Come on, don't be embarrassed."

"Are you saying I'm dull?"

"No, I was just saying that you were very lively last night, and I enjoyed our conversation. We should talk more often."

"Huh?" I said, confused.

"Even though we've been living together in this room for four months, I feel like we hardly know each other. I've noticed that you've been fairly quiet—reserved and secretive—and I hope it's not because you feel uncomfortable around me."

"Are you trying to ask me a question?"

"I know this situation must be awkward for you."

"Yeah," I said, letting my voice trial off as I stared at the computer screen.

As Veronica and I brewed in uncomfortable silence, the medical assistant left the room with his biohazard bag, and the door closed behind him.

"Do you still blame me for what happened to Laura?"

"Not just Laura, but also Johnny and, most importantly, me," I erupted.

" _Lo siento_ —I mean, I'm sorry," she said nervously. "Like I told you before, I didn't plan any of this. You act like you don't believe me. I'm telling you the truth."

I turned to Veronica and looked her straight in the eyes. "Trust is difficult to gain and easy to lose," I said sternly. "If you want to talk about how you shouldn't have lied to us about your identity, we can talk about that. If you want to talk about how this was all your fault, we can also talk about that. And if you want to talk about what you should have done, instead of what you actually did, I would love to talk with you about that."

Veronica slapped me across the face; she had tears in her eyes. "I don't have to listen to this," she sobbed. "After everything I've done to help you, you still don't appreciate it."

"Everything you've done to _help_ me? Are you fucking serious? Try entrapment—that word would better describe what you actually did."

"I never meant to hurt any of you," she cried, furious.

"Stop pretending that you're the victim," I said, bolting up from my chair and pointing at her. I took a second to breathe and calm down. "I think you already know how I feel about you. I'm done here." I walked out the door that led into the east hallway.

"Where are you going?" she bawled.

"Out," I shouted.

"I'm coming with you."

"Stay."

She didn't listen. She followed five steps behind me as I walked to the medical assistant's secret room. I typed the password into the keypad, the metal door slid open, and we both entered the room. She stayed in the corner while I looked around. There wasn't much to see other than a polished cherrywood coffin displayed under a bright spotlight in the center of the room. The coffin rested on a cement headstone that was roughly six feet long and three feet high.

I read the engraving aloud. "Jonathan Cockit, born May 25, 1995, died—" I paused. "It's blank."

Veronica walked over to the coffin, placed her hand on the wood, and lowered her head. "How did you find this?"

"I followed someone I was tracking on the feeds," I responded as I took a closer look. The coffin had a brass combination lock drilled into it. Whoever had done that must have worried that a dead body could suddenly come to life and climb out of the coffin on its own.

Veronica had sat down in front of the headstone and begun to pray when she noticed something strange. "What is that gunk on the floor?"

I knelt down beside her and saw a dollop of white creamy foam on the floor. I picked it up, took a whiff, and rubbed it between my fingers. "It smells like shaving cream, and it has tiny brown hairs in it."

"Ew. Don't touch that. You don't know what it is or where it came from."

"Hey, there is only one way to find out."

I tried to lift the coffin lid, but it didn't open.

"What are you doing, Vincent? That's so disrespectful," Veronica snapped.

I heard a bang. "Shh," I said. "Quiet."

We listened intently, and I heard a repetitive banging sound coming from inside the coffin, followed by muffled yelling. I couldn't believe what I heard, so I glanced over at Veronica for confirmation. She looked just as surprised as I did.

"Could it be?" Veronica questioned, and then she knocked on wood.

The wood echoed back Veronica's knocking sequence. Our jaws hung open; we were speechless.

"Well, don't just stand there," Veronica said, getting excited. "Let's get him out."

"I have an idea, but I'm not sure it will work," I said. Then I spoke directly to the coffin. "Johnny, stay really quiet and don't move." I scooted close to the coffin, got on my knees, and placed my ear next to the lock. I slowly turned each dial until I heard a faint click. Once the last number was entered, the coffin unlocked, and I lifted the lid revealing a living, breathing Johnny Cockit.

The minute he sat up, Veronica bombarded him with a tight embrace, nearly throwing herself into the coffin. He wrapped his arms around her, and they began making out. I could have really used a cigarette about then. They didn't even acknowledge my existence. I whistled, twiddled my thumbs, and paced around the room for a few seconds until Johnny realized that I was there too.

"Hey, Vincent," he said as he hopped out of the coffin and gave me a hug. "Thank you so much, guys, for getting me out. It was getting really cramped in there."

"I can imagine," I said. "For the record, I was the one who unlocked the coffin and got you out; she did nothing."

Veronica folded her arms and rolled her eyes.

All of a sudden, the ceiling lights in the room turned red, including the spotlight over the coffin. Johnny and Veronica rushed to the closed door, while I stood a few feet away, struggling to recall the password under pressure. In the mist of punching the code into the keypad, I accidently grazed a wrong number.

"Invalid code. Intruder alert," a robotic woman's voice announced.

I had to start over, typing in the entire code from the beginning.

"Hurry up," Veronica said, fretfully.

"Invalid code. Intruder alert."

When I got the code correct, the metal door opened, but only for ten seconds. Johnny and Veronica ran out together, and I followed a few steps behind. I ran to the door, which was halfway closed, slipped on shaving cream and slid underneath the door on my backside.

It all happened fast and ended with a sudden, severe pain in my right wrist. I blacked out for a few seconds before two blurry people rushed toward me. Johnny took off his wife-beater, tightly wrapped it around my handless wrist, and lifted me into his arms. He clamped my bloody nub under his chin and applied pressure before running away from the crime scene. My wrist pulsated with sharp, stabbing pain, and I became lightheaded.

"Stay with me, Vincent," Johnny said as he panted. "You will be fine."

It felt like Johnny was running a million miles per hour, and it was making me nauseous, so I shut my eyes. I felt alternating hot and cold flashes as my body became drenched in sweat.

"Stay awake. Look at me. Veronica, how much further?"

"Turn back. We have trouble," she shouted.

"What?" Johnny questioned, suddenly stopping short.

My head flung to the other side, and I yacked all over the back of Veronica's pants. I saw a blurry vision of yellow caution tape and a group of guards stampeding toward us.

"Shit. Guards are coming," Johnny said as he turned around and ran back the way we had come.

"Over there. Get them," a guard yelled.

"What are we going to do?" Veronica panicked.

"We have to lose them," Johnny said as he ran through the dark corridor. "Over here." He turned into a perpendicular hallway and stopped to catch his breath. He and Veronica waited for the flock of guards to pass before they headed toward the caution tape.

"No," I groaned. "You're going the long way."

"What did he say?" Veronica asked.

"I think he said we're going the wrong way," Johnny replied.

I didn't have the strength or the energy to correct them, so I grunted. Apparently, Veronica didn't know her way around the basement like I did.

"I don't understand what he means," she said. "This is the way to the medical wing upstairs."

"Go the way you know how to go," Johnny instructed.

When they reached the caution tape, Veronica ducked beneath it, and Johnny walked through it.

This rescue was a disaster. I was lucky they made it back to the security room. Johnny set me down in my sleeping bag, elevated my arm, and continued to apply pressure, while Veronica climbed the ladder and escaped through the hatch door to find help.

Two minutes later, Alejandro came down the ladder with medical supplies. He cleaned the wound and examined the damage before performing surgery. The surgery lasted for several hours, and Johnny stayed by my side the entire time while Veronica watched the feed. I could tell Alejandro was angry. During surgery, he kept questioning the three of us about the accident. "How did this happen?" "Why were you there?" "Who is this person you brought back with you?" "Where did he come from?" Once the surgery was complete, Alejandro put a cast around my wrist. He gave Johnny a bag of antibiotic pills and a jar of magenta-colored liquid.

"Give Vincent one pill every twelve hours, and make sure he takes it with food," Alejandro explained. "That will prevent infection. The purple liquid is nopal cactus juice, which promotes fast healing, reduces inflammation, and relieves pain. He may drink that whenever he wants."

"OK," Johnny said.

"What's going to happen to me now?" I asked. "I can't work with only one hand."

"Don't worry. You won't be one-handed for long. I will get you a prosthetic soon, but for now, you must rest. Veronica, may I speak with you in private for a moment?"

Veronica and Alejandro left the room through the door that led to the east hallway.

"I'm so sorry that this happened to you," Johnny said. "I feel like it was my fault. I cannot thank you enough for losing a hand for me."

"It's fine. I'll survive, like I always do," I said. "Listen, there's something important I need to tell you before Veronica and Alejandro come back. She's not who she says she is, and she lied to us. After you were electrocuted on _Chair Trials_ , I learned that Veronica wasn't a food-service worker but actually a recruiter for the resistance. The resistance is a group of basement dwellers who want to take down the government and destroy Walnut Cherryville, but that's an entirely different story. Anyway, instead of telling us about the resistance, Veronica tested our alliance by convincing us to leave Walnut Cherryville. She put everyone's life in danger, split us apart, and forced me to work for the resistance without leaving me a choice. Everything we went through to escape could have been avoided if she would have told us the truth from the beginning. Do you understand? We can't trust her."

"Are Laura and Collins still alive?" Johnny asked.

"Yes, but that's not the point; she—"

"Thank God," Johnny sighed in relief. "I still have a chance to make this right. I just need to figure out how."

"What? Earth to Johnny, are you listening to me?"

"I understand why you're angry, Vincent, but none of this is her fault—it's mine. I'm the reason we were captured and brought to Walnut Cherryville. Since Kenneth has a personal vendetta against me, he's taking it out on everyone I care about. Despite what you may think, Veronica is trying to help you. Without her, I'm not sure that any of you would be alive."

"Oh, I see what's going on here. You're taking her side because you two are _involved_." I laughed. "I should have seen it before. I'm so stupid."

"This has nothing to do with the friendship I have with Veron—

"No, no, no," I insisted. "Friends don't kiss like that."

"I killed Kenneth's father, so he wants revenge."

"How do you know that? You told me when we met in school that you didn't know the man you murdered."

"That's true, but I recently discovered that—"

"Recently? As in 'since I've been stuck in a coffin' recently?" I questioned.

"I know this may sound weird, but I found my biological father, and he explained everything."

"Am I the only sane one left? Spiritual beings with supernatural powers do not exist. If you can seriously tell me, with a straight face, that you can communicate with dead people, then you and Veronica are meant for each other." I popped a pill and washed it down with cactus juice. "Just be careful. I don't want to see you die again. By the way, what happened to your beard?"

Johnny felt his face. "I don't know. That's a good question. I don't remember shaving it off."

"For as long as I've known you, you've always had that scruffy beard; you never walk around with a clean shave. Did you ever see anyone else open the coffin besides me?"

"No," he responded. "That's odd."

Was the medical assistant shaving off Johnny's beard every Wednesday morning? Who would care about how Johnny kept his mane? No one in particular came to mind, but I was sure this would lead me on another adventure. Veronica and I had found Johnny alive, and I had to assume that the medical assistant knew.

# Chapter 3: Johnny

After I died from electrocution on _Chair Trials_ , I had a bewildering dream. I envisioned that I was in the future, flying through a fantasyland searching for something, but I had no idea what I was looking for. The airplane crashed into a dark hurricane where I saw Laura, a sobbing ghost, who told me to swim through a black hole. The black hole transported me to a realm made of sweets, and I almost got run over by a giant basketball who spoke like Collins. I rode a cinnamon-stick raft down a champagne river, fell down a steep waterfall, and floated into a metal cave. Robots with pickaxes were mining the cave for USB drives that contained the answers to all of life's questions. A robot who reminded me of Vincent helped me remember why I was on the journey. Apparently, I was looking for my deceased biological father, so he gave me directions to the Swamp Bar.

When I found my father at the bar, he was in the middle of a fistfight with a man I had killed when I was ten years old. My father told me a lot of strange things. I killed Kenneth's father. The Quinton family stole Walnut Cherryville from my family because it made us immortal. Somewhere in that Sonoran Desert village, my great-great-great-grandfather had hidden a sacred dagger that my father wanted me to use to kill Kenneth. If I didn't stab Kenneth in the heart with that dagger, it would cause a false death, and Walnut Cherryville wouldn't safely be mine. I argued with my father about how I didn't want to do what he asked of me. That was the last thing I remembered before waking up locked inside the coffin.

I've heard that people who are dying often experience visions where they can reconnect with deceased family members. At first, I thought the vision occurred because I had died and come back to life, but that didn't explain why the visions continued. Every time I fell asleep, my mind traveled to places in the future and the past that were far beyond the coffin. I knew it wasn't a dream; it felt too real. When I woke up, I could remember everything as if it had happened yesterday. During my waking hours, I analyzed the visions, trying to figure out what they meant. I learned that my family had a special connection to the cherry trees that grew in Walnut Cherryville. My ancestors slept on cherrywood in order to time travel through the family's history and future while they lived in Walnut Cherryville. This gave them visions much like the ones I experienced in the coffin. It wasn't like traveling in a time machine, where I could specify the time and place I wanted to visit. I had no control over when or where I went in my visions or how long I got to stay there. From what I understood, I could only see future events or past events that will be or were already witnessed by a direct bloodline of my father.

Each vision was a snippet of the past or future, and I had to create meaning in the pieces to find out how to make the story whole. I believed that each vision was a message from an ancestor or future relative who was trying to contact me. The visions were always out of order and usually felt short. By the end of them, I was starving for more. Thriving for adventure and clarity of my past, I could hardly wait until the next time I would fall into a deep sleep. I had never known much about the members of my biological family, and these visions made me feel that I had a connection to them.

The first step to understanding my ancestor's message was to decipher where and when the vision took place. Since every vision was an unknown abyss, I used environmental clues to narrow down the possibilities. In my first vision, the stewardess on the airplane served me Sprite with no ice, which indicated to me that there was a water shortage. Not using ice was probably a water-conservation effort. The flight was going to Antarctica, which was called "Underworld" in the vision. In my time, there was no way to fly to Antarctica—and who would want to? It was just an uninhabited continent full of melting ice, which would be exactly why people would flock there in the future. Global warming would have caused severe drought and a depletion of natural resources in many areas of the world, especially in those that would become overpopulated.

Maybe I was on the plane because I was intending to live in Antarctica. The _Underworld_ magazine wrote about Antarctica like it was a popular tourist destination. Advertising ice in a time of drought would boost colonization, attracting immigrants from dry or desert regions. Many of them would not be able to adapt quickly enough to survive—knowing this, I must have come prepared. Even if this vision was saying that I would eventually leave Walnut Cherryville alive, it would take a lot of training for a desert boy to learn how to be an Eskimo. Getting on a plane, leaving my home behind, and learning an entirely different set of survival skills must have meant that my life depended on it. I think I could safely say that the time this event occurred was somewhere between ten and twenty years in the future. If that were true, what was the fate of Walnut Cherryville?

To this day, I have yet to understand why a forest would grow in the Sonoran Desert. It was as if the laws of nature didn't apply to Walnut Cherryville. If Arizona was affected by a water crisis in the future, Walnut Cherryville would be the only place plentiful in water, so why would I leave? This I could not answer. Possibly, leaving Walnut Cherryville was a bad choice. The plane ended up crashing into a dark hurricane, and everyone died.

The only way I could analyze the events preceding the crash was by looking at them through a more spiritual lens. If the future played out this way, I may have been witnessing my own death and, partially, my afterlife in advance. Did the fact that I saw weird representations of my friends after the crash indicate that they had died before me? What happened to them? How did they die? Was it my fault? There were so many questions and not enough visions to answer them. With patience, every vision gave answers, but it brought along with it more questions.

My first vision was the one I pondered about the most during my time in the coffin. After a long, one-sided debate with myself, I found meaning in the fantasy. The airplane was like a spiritual limbo or entrance into my afterlife. Each level I traveled through represented the sins of my friends.

Laura was a sobbing ghost, whirling around in the dark hurricane for being lustful. I could tell because I heard her listing the names of the men she had slept with. When I caught her attention, she said I wasn't on the list.

Collins was being punished for consuming in excess. Did his round physique suggest he would die a fat man who never played in the NBA? All Vincent told me was that Collins managed to escape from Walnut Cherryville again, out of pure luck, and that Collins didn't send help. Despite what Vincent said, I still had faith that Collins would help us when we needed him the most.

Vincent was a greedy robot who wanted the answers to all of life's questions. He was addicted to information, which was a constant temptation when mining the cave for USB drives. What was my ancestor trying to tell me by creating Vincent with the inability to reach his port? I was worried about Vincent—he held long grudges over minor things. After the surgery yesterday, I watched him stare at five computer screens for hours on end. He seemed to push me away and wouldn't let me watch the feeds with him. I was grateful that he helped me get out of the coffin, but I felt tension with him after he warned me about Veronica. I could tell he was angry with me for defending Veronica and not taking his side. By the way, what happened to Veronica? She hadn't appeared my vision.

Last but not least, my drunken father ended up in an eternal bar fight with a Quinton. Couldn't say I didn't see that coming, since he lived a wrathful life. Was this vision trying to convince me to kill Kenneth or to advise me against it? I didn't know if I could trust my father, even if he was dead.

Now that I was no longer in the coffin, my visions had stopped. I still wasn't sure if I should listen to my father, and I wanted to see more before I made my decision. I couldn't find any cherrywood in the security room, so I would have to search for it elsewhere.

As I lay down that night, I knew the visions would not offer the escape they had provided for the past four months. It felt strange, and I couldn't sleep, even though I felt physically tired. I rested on the cold concrete floor in between Vincent and Veronica, shirtless, shivering, and awake. As I scratched Vincent's dried blood off my pants, I peered at the bright computer screens. Vincent and Veronica had their own sleeping bags and pillows, but I didn't because no one had brought me anything. Vincent was sound asleep and snoring loudly.

"Hey, you all right?" Veronica asked. "You don't have to sleep on the bare floor like that. I'm more than happy to share my sleeping bag with you. That must be uncomfortable."

Sharing a sleeping bag with Veronica and spooning her warm body sounded comforting. I refused her offer because I didn't want to impose on her space. There wasn't much room in the sleeping bag, and I didn't want her to feel smothered or pressured by me. The truth was, if I slept next to Veronica, I wasn't sure if I would be able to control my urges. Since Vincent had puked all over the back of her pants earlier, she was only wearing panties and a T-shirt. She looked incredibly sexy in those flower-patterned, cotton panties. I wanted to get close to her—to kiss her, feel her, and hold her—but I couldn't. That would make things complicated for both of us. I wished I could get lost in a vision so that I could stop thinking about how much I wanted her.

Veronica reached out from her sleeping bag and placed her warm hand on my chest. "You're freezing."

"I'll be all right," I said.

"I feel bad using this sleeping bag when you're lying on concrete that is so cold." Veronica sat up, took off her shirt, and gave it to me. "Here; at least take my shirt."

My eyes locked on her bra, and I think she caught me staring. Embarrassed, I took the shirt from her, put it on quickly, and rolled over onto my face. "Thank you," I mumbled from the floor.

She placed her pillow on my back. "I hope this helps."

I rolled over onto my back and put the pillow behind my head.

Veronica scooted close to me, nestled deep in her sleeping bag. She rested her head on my chest and wrapped her arm around me to keep me warm. "I missed you," she whispered.

I held her tight. "Me too."

I was already waking up the next morning when I heard the hatch door open. Alejandro climbed down the ladder with a satchel as I yawned and stretched out my arms and legs.

"Good morning," Alejandro said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I did—eventually," I replied.

"I'll make sure to get you your own pillow and sleeping bag as well as some clothes after I'm done with Vincent's hand."

I looked over at the computers and saw Vincent watching the feeds.

"Do you have my prosthetic?" Vincent asked.

"Yes, it's right here," Alejandro replied, taking it out of the satchel.

Vincent bolted out of the chair, grabbed the hand, and gasped. "It's a bionic, myoelectric prosthetic hand, with five individually powered articulating titanium digits, a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree rotating wrist, and a smooth, transparent silicon finish," Vincent stated quickly with enthusiasm. He was so amazed by the hand that it nearly took his breath away. "It's...so...awesome—so durable, strong and better than a human hand." He spoke to it directly, "I can't believe you're going to be my new right hand."

"Will he be able to feel anything with that hand?" I asked.

"Nope," Alejandro replied. "He'll still get the sensation that his real hand is attached, but he won't be able to feel anything he touches."

"How is that better?" I questioned.

Alejandro ignored my question and took the cast off of Vincent's nub and examined it. "Looks like you healed nicely."

"Yeah, the nopal cactus juice seemed to work really fast. I healed practically overnight. It's incredible," Vincent said, surprised.

"What's in it?" I asked.

"It's all natural nopal cactus juice," Alejandro replied. "No additives."

"From the graveyard?"

When my friends and I first arrived in Walnut Cherryville, the guards walked us through the graveyard, where I saw nopal cacti growing.

Half-asleep, Veronica sat up, causing her covers to fall off and expose her lavender bra. As she rubbed her eyes and stretched out her arms, I gawked at her boobs uncontrollably. When she noticed, she laughed, and I snapped out of it.

"I know you're looking at my breasts," she whispered.

I groaned and covered my face with my hands. "I'm sorry," I said, taking off the T-shirt and returning it to her. "You look ho...ni...ful," I faltered, trying to find the right word. At first I was going to say hot, but that was too sexual; so I switched to nice, but that was lame. I ended with beautiful. My face heated up, my heart raced, and my stomach churned. I had never choked in front of Veronica before. Why was it happening now?

"Honiful," she repeated as she put her shirt back on. "I think you're honiful too." She giggled, pulled her long hair through the neck hole of the shirt, and flipped it around.

Alejandro cleared his throat, and Veronica startled. "Alejandro—I didn't realize you were here."

"Epic fail, man," Vincent laughed at us as he slapped the table with his remaining hand.

"Veronica, is this boy bothering you?" Alejandro asked.

"I'm fine. Please go about your business," she said.

"Recuerdas la promesa que hacías a Dios," Alejandro said firmly with a serious face.

"No pasó nada," she responded, inflection in her voice.

I knew that "nada" meant "nothing." Even though I couldn't understand most of what they were saying, I felt they were talking about me. Alejandro seemed aggravated.

"¿Que está pasando entre tú y este muchacho?" Alejandro questioned.

He was asking something about a boy. He probably meant me but didn't want to say my name in front of me.

"Por favor, para. Puedo cuidarme sola." Now she was saying please.

"No me gusta a él."

I knew that phrase. I had learned it in high school Spanish class. It had become engrained in my memory because Collins would practice his Spanish during lunch. While we were on the lunch line making our trays, Collins would say "no me gusta" to every food he didn't like, which included lettuce, bell peppers, and anything low fat. Alejandro had just said he didn't like me.

"No lo conoces," she replied.

My knowledge of the Spanish language was _muy poco_ though I learned a handful of silly phrases from Taco Bell commercials. Yo quiero señorita. Maybe Veronica would be impressed if I could speak her language.

"Ten cuidado," Alejandro said.

"Hey, are you going to put this hand on me or what?" Vincent interrupted.

"Sorry. I got distracted," Alejandro said, switching his tongue.

Vincent and Alejandro sat down across from each other at the end of the table. Alejandro moved the computer screen onto the floor before he prepared his tools. When Alejandro was ready to start the surgery, Vincent placed his nub on the table.

"One more thing," Alejandro announced. "I wanted to talk to all of you about yesterday's incident. With both Veronica and Vincent gone from the security room, no one was watching the feeds. The revolutionaries got no warning that guards were coming into our territory. Our people were attacked by surprise, and many died. The higher ranks were not thrilled. I took a lot of heat yesterday for defending you because I am responsible for watching over you. I don't ever want to see something like that happen again. I hope the higher ranks will go easy on your punishment. Until they decide what will become of you three, I suggest you stay here and be good. I will try to smooth things over. From now on, no one is allowed to leave the security room without me. I'm taking away your perception filters until I'm told what will happen next. They may decide to split you up, give you different assignments, or something more severe. I don't know what will happen."

"So now you're punishing us?" Vincent asked.

"Yes, I'm punishing you like the little children that you are."

"How are we going to get food?" Veronica asked.

"Someone will bring it to you."

"All I have to say is, Veronica, you know better," Alejandro said before switching tongues again. "Controlas los muchachos o sabes lo que va a pasarles."

From the parts I understood, he had said something about controlling the boys, which meant I wasn't the only boy pissing him off right then.

Veronica sighed, "Yes, I know I'm working on it."

Veronica and I watched the feeds while Alejandro installed Vincent's new hand.

I didn't see how Vincent was entertained by watching the feeds all day. It was tedious, so I watched Veronica instead. Unlike me, she seemed to be familiar with what was occurring on the feeds, or at least she knew who she was watching.

After two hours of silence, the surgery was complete. Alejandro forced Vincent and Veronica to give him their perception filters before he left the room.

"This bites," Vincent said, breaking the silence.

"I've never seen Alejandro so aggravated," Veronica commented.

"I have to go," I said.

"Johnny, you can't leave," Veronica said. "We have to be more careful about not getting into trouble."

"It's important," I insisted.

"Why do you need to leave?"

"I have to get some cherrywood."

"What? I don't understand. What would you do with that in here?"

"Do you trust me?"

Veronica and I looked into each other's eyes as I held her hands in mine.

"Yes," she responded.

"Then please trust that this is important; I wouldn't be putting myself at risk if it weren't."

"Where's Vincent?"

We looked around the room and realized that Vincent was gone, and the hatch door was open.

"Oh, no," Veronica sighed, worried. "He must have slipped out while we were talking. Seriously, I can't have him causing any more trouble—"

"Don't worry," I said, trying to calm her down. "He'll probably come back soon."

"But what if he doesn't? It's not safe for him to be roaming around upstairs without a perception filter. Something could happen to him. He already lost his hand, and Alejandro will be pissed if he loses another."

Just then, Vincent climbed down the ladder and closed the hatch door. "I'm back."

"What were you doing up there?" Veronica asked.

"Close your eyes, hold out your hands, and say please," Vincent requested.

"So you can run away again? I can't let that happen."

"No, I got something for you," Vincent said.

I closed my eyes and held out my hand. "Please," I said.

"Please," Veronica sighed.

The feel of Vincent's bionic hand grazing my skin creeped me out. It reminded me of the robot Vincent that I had seen in my vision. Vincent was already losing his humanity. Was the future shown in my vision not as distant as I once thought?

When I opened my eyes, there was a perception filter in my hand.

"Where did you get these from?"

"I stole them from the medical wing," Vincent answered. "Now Johnny can get what he needs."

"Are these the same perception filters that Alejandro just took away from us?"

"No, they're different ones."

The hatch door suddenly opened, and a sleeping bag, pillow, and three pairs of scrubs fell down from the ceiling. When the door closed, I grabbed a shirt and put it on.

Veronica slipped on some pants and sighed with relief. "I got scared for a minute. I thought Alejandro was going to come down here and say that he saw Vincent leave."

"It's OK. He didn't see me," Vincent said. "You should go with Johnny to help him find what he's looking for; it would be safer that way. I'll stay down here and watch the feeds."

"We really shouldn't be doing this, but I will go with you, since you say it's important," Veronica said as she clipped the perception filter onto the elastic of her pants. She took mine and put it on me. "All right, where to?"

"To the forest," I said, following Veronica up the ladder and out the hatch door.

The hatch door led to a medical-supplies closet. Veronica peered through the closet-door grates as she listened for people nearby. When the coast was clear, we came out of the closet and closed the door. The perception filter made her look like a gatherer, but the uniform was different from what I remembered. Instead of being a baggy orange jumpsuit, it was a fitted two-layer outfit. The underlay consisted of sky-blue leggings and a long-sleeve shirt made from a spandex-cotton blend. The overlay was a cloud-white polyester miniskirt and vest. For some reason, this outfit looked familiar.

"Wow, the uniforms look so different now," I said. "Now you can tell the boys apart from the girls. I wanted to tell you earlier that you looked beautiful, but I couldn't formulate the words at the time."

"Aw," Veronica said, blushing. "I thought that was adorable."

"It was torture for me."

She laughed. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

At that moment, the memory came back to me. This outfit looked like the drawing Laura was working on during lunch on the day we ate outside by the glass building.

"Who do I look like? I've never worn a perception filter before."

Veronica looked around the room. "Ah, there's a mirror if you want to see for yourself."

When I saw what I looked like, I was stunned. A young stranger wore a thin, fitted polyester jacket in aqua blue that had a sky-blue interior and a half zipper. The collar of the jacket was flipped to expose the lighter side. The Walnut Cherryville logo and my fake name and position were embroidered in white on the right side of my chest. When I lifted my arms, I noticed the fabric along my waist was also sky blue. The jacket was paired with matching sports tights.

"Laura changed the dress code while you were sleeping," Veronica said. "Every type of work now has its own unique uniform design. The new uniforms just came out a few weeks ago, and Laura ran a fashion show on _Chair Trials_ to introduce them to the workers."

"That's interesting," I said, checking out my ass in the mirror. "This outfit definitely seems to be a more supportive fit for gatherers, considering the type of labor they do. I'm proud of her. She did a good job."

Veronica and I left the medical wing and headed out of the glass building toward the forest.

"Yeah, people seem to like the new uniforms. Kenneth helped her design them, and they claim the uniforms enhance worker productivity, individuality, and overall health."

"Vincent told me that Laura and Kenneth are engaged to be married. He was rather upset about it—"

"Oh, yes," Veronica interrupted. "You could say that again. He's been really difficult since the engagement. It's frustrating, and I don't know how to deal with him. I'm really glad you're back. I could use some time with someone who doesn't constantly undermine me."

"Don't let him get to you," I suggested. "If he wants to be mad, let him be mad. Stay true to yourself despite what other people may think of you."

As we casually strolled through the sandy village, Veronica took my hand.

"In spite of how challenging it was, I actually miss living in the forest with you. I can see why you like it so much. There wasn't any stress or political drama like there is here. I don't like my job. Watching security feeds is worse than working in the kitchen or being a recruiter. By the way, I want to apologize for making you think I was just a food-service worker. I couldn't tell you who I really was because—"

"I understand," I interjected. "You don't have to explain yourself to me; I trust you."

"Thanks for understanding," she said with a smile.

Once we reached the forest, I found a cherry tree that looked about fifty feet high. It blossomed with bright-green foliage and ripe, sweet cherries. I broke off a thin twig and placed it in my pants before I began to climb the tree.

"Come up," I said, holding my hand out to Veronica.

She took my hand, and I helped pull her up. She climbed behind me until we were about twenty-five feet above ground. I stopped, took in the beautiful view, and breathed in the fresh air. When Veronica stepped up on my branch, she wrapped her trembling arms around me as she looked down. I could tell she became afraid once she noticed how high we were.

"Don't look down," I said, softly lifting her chin toward me.

She leaned against me and found her balance while gazing into my eyes. I reached up and gripped the branch above me before unhooking our perception filters and going in for the kiss. When her soft lips caressed mine, we closed our eyes. A warm, tingling sensation came over me that felt like I was defying the earth's gravitational pull. As my mind floated adrift, my body became numb to everything except the touch of her skin. I felt like we were floating in midair until Veronica screamed and gravity pulled me back down to earth.

I was paralyzed and trapped in darkness for a brief moment before the sound of her voice faded in.

"Johnny," Veronica called. "Are you OK?"

When I opened my eyes, my vision was blurry. Above me, Veronica dangled from the tree, barely hanging on at about seventeen feet. The branch broke, and I dashed to catch her. She clung onto another branch eight feet from the ground. Light-headed and woozy, I held my arms out beneath her.

"Sit down, you look drunk," she said, laughing. "I can get down by myself from here. You got up too quickly."

I plopped down on the ground, laying on my back as I watched her climb down the tree all by herself.

She collected some cherries, set the them beside me, and propped me up on her lap. "You need energy," she said as she fed them to me. "Wow, you fainted and fell out of the tree with not even a scratch on you."

I felt like I had gotten some cuts during the fall, but they had healed by the time Veronica got to me.

"I guess I was lucky," I said.

"How is your head? Does it hurt?"

"I have a slight headache—nothing too serious."

"Stay here. I'm going to look around for our perception filters," she said, carefully resting my head down and standing up.

I felt around my waist and found the cherrywood twig still in my pants. When Veronica found the perception filters, we put them on and headed back to the basement.

* * *

A crater-sized pit of fire illuminated the night as it burned away in the desert sand. It had consumed everything in its path until only two dead, leafless trees remained. I was sweating profusely, sitting on the branch of a cherry tree that bore shriveled, rotten fruit. Across the pit, a walnut tree was engulfed by the flames. Suddenly, I felt my tree lean toward the fire, and I was forced to evacuate. I jumped down into the sand, which was riddled with glass, metal, and bones. I landed on my side, where a metal shard jammed into my ribs and punctured my lung. The blood poured out of me as I struggled to breathe. With excruciating pain, I managed to roll myself onto my back. My hand hooked onto a thin, golden chain; it was Veronica's cross necklace, stained with blood. I placed the cross over my heart and took my final breath as I stared at the stars.

# Chapter 4: Laura

When I was a little girl, I always thought my wedding day would be the best day of my life. I expected to walk down the aisle in a puffy, white dress toward the man I loved, with my father giving me away. Both of our families would be gathered in a beautiful cathedral for the ceremony, and we would exchange rings and the vows we wrote for each other. After the priest pronounced us husband and wife, I always imagined the kiss in slow motion. Our lips would inch closer until the space between us disappeared. We would close our eyes. When we finally locked lips, fireworks would erupt. It would be my first real foot-popping kiss. Everyone would be cheering for us on that special day—the day I got everything I wanted. That day was the fantasy of a girl who had no idea what she would become.

I stood in front of a full-length mirror, wearing Vera Wang's Jacqueline from the latest Fall 2012 collection; it was a gift from Kenneth. The wedding dress was gorgeous and trendy but not white like I had wanted. Instead, the sleeveless gown had black floral lace over satin peach-colored fabric and a black belt tied above my baby bump. Kenneth's mother said that the color white was reserved for him because it was his special day, not mine.

The wedding she was planning for us was far from the wedding fantasy I had imagined. I had no say in the details, and it was all about what Mrs. Quinton wanted. The plan was that the wedding would take place in the _Chair Trials_ studio and be filmed for the entire village to watch. No one would be invited to the ceremony except Mrs. Quinton, the stage crew, and the judge. Mrs. Quinton wanted to walk Kenneth down the aisle and give him away. On top of that, she insisted on dressing me like I was going to a funeral. She wanted me to wear a bland, all-black, satin dress that made me look like I was modeling an overpriced garbage bag.

I couldn't deal with his bossy mother anymore or her peculiar tastes, so one night I vented to Kenneth. I hadn't expected him to care that I was upset over the wedding, but he did. The next morning, he cheered me up by surprising me with the Vera Wang dress that I was wearing now. Vera Wang was one of my favorite designers, so I was more enthusiastic about Kenneth's choice than Mrs. Quinton's. When Mrs. Quinton saw that I got a new dress and heard it was from Kenneth, she was furious. She fought with him about it for hours, claiming that if I wore a designer dress, it would take all the attention away from him and his white tux. He said that he wouldn't be happy with her choices unless I was happy with what I was wearing. That was a grand gesture.

"I'm sorry, dear, but we're going to have to take it out again," the seamstress said. "You're showing a lot more than you were last month."

I sighed. "How much looser are you making it?"

"I want to do three inches, just to be safe, since this is the final fitting before the wedding."

"This can't be happening," I complained. "I feel like a cow."

During the first two months of my pregnancy, my stomach was hardly noticeable. Somewhere between the third and fourth month, I wasn't able to hide it anymore. Every time I went out in public, the villagers would crowd around me like I was a celebrity. They acted as if they had never seen a pregnant woman before, and everyone wanted to know the gender and the name of Walnut Cherryville's baby. Kenneth assured the villagers that he knew it was a boy, but the doctors said it was too soon to tell. Since I could barely leave the Quintons' private quarters without someone touching my stomach, Kenneth assigned some guards to protect me. Four guards stood on call by the glass elevator, ready to follow me wherever I needed to go.

The seamstress wrote down the new measurements on her clipboard before carefully helping me take the dress off. After she left, I put on a sundress and washed up in the bathroom. I was supposed to meet Kenneth and his mother in the dining room for breakfast, but I had slept in that morning, so I was already late. Well, they waited this long, so they could wait a little longer while I did my hair and makeup. As I put on my makeup, I noticed that my black eyeliner pencil was missing again. I could have sworn Kenneth had given me a new one last month, and now it was gone. I must have misplaced it, so I used the plum-colored pencil instead. When I was finished, I left the bedroom and headed to the private dining room where Kenneth and Mrs. Quinton were waiting.

The Quinton family and some of their most trusted advisors dined in the private dining room, which was like a full-service classy restaurant. The black, transparent glass walls displayed a slideshow of artwork by some of the most famous artists throughout time. Waiters stood a few feet away from the table, ready to respond within seconds to our requests. The cherrywood table was covered with a silk tablecloth set with fine china and decorated with a fresh sunflower centerpiece. Classical music played as the chef prepared our meals right in front of us on a portable workspace. These were the kind of luxuries that the Quinton family could afford.

"Fashionably late again, Laura," Mrs. Quinton commented. "This behavior won't be acceptable come the wedding day."

"Come on, Mom. Give her a break," Kenneth said. "She's pregnant."

I walked over to the table and kissed Kenneth on the cheek before the waiter pulled out my chair. "Good morning, Kenneth, Mrs. Quinton," I said as I sat down. The waiter pushed my chair in and placed my napkin on my lap before he fetched me a glass of ice water. Today the water had slices of strawberries and peaches in it.

"How are you feeling?" Kenneth asked.

"Better, actually. For once I feel rested," I responded.

"May I get you something to drink?" the waiter asked.

"No, thanks. Water is fine."

"The chef is preparing crème brûlée French toast, which will be ready momentarily," he said before walking away.

"Did you go to your fitting this morning?" Mrs. Quinton asked.

"Yes."

"And?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"It's perfectly natural to gain some weight while you're pregnant, honey," Kenneth said. "Don't feel bad; I'm sure the dress looks beautiful on you."

"We will have the wedding reception in here starting at eight o'clock, and guests will be invited by invitation only," Mrs. Quinton started. "I spoke to the chef earlier, and we liked the idea of serving a seven-course French meal. He makes an excellent foie gras appetizer—"

"Excuse me," I interrupted. "What's that?"

"Fattened goose-liver pâté, of course. Silly girl, have you never eaten French food?"

"Oh, wow. That sounds disgusting." My stomach rumbled, and the baby kicked. I don't think she liked the sound of it either. "Were you actually thinking about serving anything that's edible?"

Mrs. Quinton was speechless for a moment and looked peeved. "Kenneth, are you sure you want to marry this classless whore? There are so many other lovely ladies in Walnut Cherryville that would have been a much better choice—"

I furiously grabbed my glass of ice water and was about to throw it in Mrs. Quinton's face when Kenneth placed his hand over my glass to stop me.

"Ladies, please calm down," Kenneth said. "That's enough about the wedding."

Changing the subject, he continued, "Several guards were reported dead after chasing three thieves yesterday in the glass-house basement. This was an unprecedented number of casualties, so I checked it out for myself and found this in a supply room." Kenneth reached into his suit jacket, pulled out a severed human hand, and dropped it on the table, startling Mrs. Quinton and me. The hand was mummified in plastic wrap and sealed in a ziplock bag.

"Kenneth, where are your manners? That is not something you should bring into the dining room," Mrs. Quinton said sternly.

I covered my mouth. Even from across the table I could smell the dried blood and the hand rotting inside the plastic bag. I felt sick to my stomach. Suddenly, a hot plate of crème brûlée French toast was placed in front of me. I bolted up from my chair and rushed to the door, but I couldn't make it. I threw up in the middle of the dining room.

"I'm so sorry," I said.

Mrs. Quinton slapped Kenneth back and forth across his face as she yelled, "Look what you've done."

"Why are you saving that and carrying it around with you?" I cried.

"It's a souvenir."

"Of what?"

Kenneth grinned and laughed quietly. "I think the person that lost this may come looking for it. I'm going to watch it very closely."

"Why can't you just let the guards deal with stuff like that?"

"When are you going to grow up and take responsibility for the things that are actually important?" Mrs. Quinton chimed in.

Kenneth sat silently, eating his French toast.

"How did you have time for that when you have so many other important things to do?" Mrs. Quinton continued. "Your inauguration is this week, and I haven't seen your speech. Where is it? When did you plan on giving it to me to look over?"

I walked over to the table and covered the hand with my cloth napkin; the waiter sat me down.

"Would you like me to remove that, ma'am?" the waiter asked.

"Yes, please," I said.

"No," Kenneth rebutted, putting the hand back into his suit jacket.

"Very well. I will get you a clean napkin."

"Answer me, Kenneth," Mrs. Quinton demanded. "Where is your speech? I want to see it."

"It's not here," Kenneth replied.

"Go get it."

"I didn't do it."

"What? All this time and you haven't even written a line? I told you about this speech six months ago and advised that you start working on it. You and I will not leave this room until we have a proper speech for your inauguration."

"But, Mom, I have a _Chair Trials_ to host this afternoon," Kenneth whined.

The waiter brought me a fresh napkin.

I cut a small piece of food with my knife and picked it up with my fork.

"Hosting _Chair Trials_ is no longer your responsibility, Kenneth. From now on, that will be Laura's job."

I froze, my fork halted before my mouth. "I don't know how to host _Chair Trials_."

"Oh, don't worry. It's simple," Mrs. Quinton said. "I'm sure you'll learn quickly. After all, you've been on it before as a contestant, so you've seen how Kenneth does it."

"That would cause me a lot of stress. I can't do it because of the—"

"You can't use the baby as an excuse to get out of your responsibilities, Laura."

"Hmm. I don't think she can handle it," Kenneth said.

"I think the audience would love to see a woman hosting the show," Mrs. Quinton said. "Such a fresh, unique change. It would be a shame not to show her beauty on television. Plus, this would keep her busy so that she isn't staying in bed all the time. Besides, when she does leave this floor, the village can't get enough of her."

"I'm not feeling well, I'm going to go to—"

"Bed?" Mrs. Quinton finished my sentence. "How predictable. When you're done eating, you will go to the _Chair Trials_ studio and host the show—because I asked you nicely."

Mrs. Quinton smiled an evil grin that made me want to punch her in the face. I wasn't thrilled about having her as a future mother-in-law, but I had no choice. At some point, I was going to have to learn to put up with her and get along; especially since Kenneth and I were already starting a family.

* * *

Back in my prostituting days, I had a few pregnancy scares, even though I had been on the pill. Despite not showing any other symptoms of being pregnant, a missed period got me worried. I was relieved every time I peed on the stick and it came out negative. Eight weeks ago, I missed my period and didn't have access to any pregnancy tests. At first, I thought I'd ride it out and see if my period was late, like usual. But this time it felt different. Besides missing two periods, I felt tired and had headaches, tender breasts, nausea, and lower backaches. I knew I was pregnant, but I didn't tell anyone because I was afraid of Kenneth.

Kenneth and I had only been together for two months, and even though he was my fiancé, I felt I hardly knew him. My gut told me to hold off on the news until I felt safe. At the time, I didn't know how he would feel about the pregnancy; we had never talked about having children. Would he see it as good news or bad news? I didn't want to put myself in a dangerous situation that would lead to Kenneth losing his temper. Even though he had never physically hurt me, I cringed with fear every time I witnessed one of his temper tantrums.

Kenneth always reacted violently when he heard bad news. When Collins escaped from _Chair Trials_ , he threw chairs and bashed the microphone stand into the floor. He manhandled his guards, and he even killed one of them that day, though I wasn't sure if that was intentional. Nevertheless, that was how accidents happened that couldn't be undone. Besides his mood swings, he was a compulsive liar. The pills he took for his "allergies" were actually bipolar medication, and it pissed me off that he had lied to me about that. He tended to skip doses, refusing to take his medication because it made him feel bad. Strong words wanted to come out of my mouth the day he told me the truth—I could hardly hold my tongue. The lies, games, and irresponsibility weren't even the worst part. The part of Kenneth I hated the most was the joy he found in torturing people with cruel and unusual punishments. I could only imagine what he'd do to me if he was upset about my pregnancy.

I didn't have much time to delay the decision. Sooner or later, he would notice my baby bump and find out the truth. I had not seen a doctor because I had been afraid that the doctor would run tests and tell Kenneth the results. I never told Kenneth that I had HIV. He would probably kill me if he knew I had had sex with him with the intention of sharing the disease. I hadn't been thinking clearly that night; I was grieving in advance over Vincent's death. All I could think about was revenge—giving Kenneth HIV so that he'd eventually die from a cold. It was a stupid mistake. What if the baby contracted the disease? I wasn't ready to devote my life to taking care of a sick child that would never get better. If Kenneth could take that dose of information with a spoonful of sugar, then I'm sure he'd also understand that I had no idea who the father was. It could only be one of three people, but I would never know.

Two months into my pregnancy, I finally decided to tell him. In case he became aggressive, I took a butter knife with me for protection. I left the Quintons' private quarters and found Kenneth in the hall giving a group of newcomers a tour of the glass house. Before interrupting the tour, I folded the knife slightly into my sundress; then I approached the group.

"Here is the cafeteria, where you can eat—"

"I'm pregnant," I said quickly before walking away toward the elevator.

"Excuse me," Kenneth said as he followed me.

I pressed the up button several times. "Open, come on."

"Laura."

I turned around, frazzled.

"What did you say?" Kenneth asked, looking stunned.

"Nothing; it's not important. We can talk later. I'm so sorry to interrupt your tour. Bad timing."

"Why are you all twitchy?" he asked, looking around me suspiciously. "Is that a butter knife?"

"I'm pregnant," I said, loud and clear.

Kenneth's eyes watered, and he gave me a hug. I dropped the knife on the floor.

"Wow, I can't believe I'm going to be a father. This is great news," he said excitedly, and he kissed my lips passionately.

I let out a sigh of relief, and tears streamed down my face. Finally, the ice was broken, and I no longer had to worry about seeing the inside of a body bag anytime soon.

"I don't understand why you brought a knife with you. Are you all right?"

"I will be eventually."

"Laura, if something is wrong you can tell me. I'll always be here to listen to you if you ever need to talk. I love you."

I took a few steps back. He loosened his embrace, eventually releasing me, and I gazed into his watery eyes.

He constantly said words that made me feel uncomfortable, even though he knew I'd never feel the same way. Ever since he forced me to say "I will learn to love you forever" during my proposal speech on _Chair Trials_ , the whole idea of love had lost its luster. I didn't believe in it anymore. No two people could ever care about each other more than they cared about themselves. With everything that I had been through lately, it was difficult for me to develop feelings for anyone.

The glass elevator opened, and I stepped inside.

"Where you going?" Kenneth asked.

"I have work to do. The uniforms aren't going to design themselves."

"Do you need help?"

"No, you're busy."

The elevator doors began to close, but Kenneth stopped them and walked in, standing next to me. "Now I'm not," he said, holding my hand by his side.

We stood silently until the elevator doors closed.

"I know I haven't been the best fiancée, and I'm trying to improve that," Kenneth said. "I would really like to make this relationship work."

I didn't want to live the rest of my life afraid of my husband. If something was going to happen, it would happen now. I pressed the red emergency button, and the elevator stopped, locked between the eleventh and twelfth floors.

"There's something else," I said, turning to face him. "I have HIV."

"I know."

"What? I don't think you understood me, I have a—"

"That diagnosis was a hoax set up by me," Kenneth revealed. "I told the doctor to tell you the wrong results." I was shocked, relieved, and angry all at the same time.

"The good news is that your results were actually normal, and you're healthy," he added.

"Why would you do that?" I shouted. "What gave you the right to meddle around with my body? Having that disease has tormented me for months."

"It changed your life for the better," Kenneth rebutted. "I saw that you had a problem, an addiction, and I tried to help you get over it. My methods may be unconventional, but I'm not the bad man that you think I am."

I slapped Kenneth across the face, unable to control myself. "What the fuck, Kenneth."

"It's all right. You have every right to be angry with me."

"What kind of addiction do you think I have?"

"I think you know the answer to that question."

"You're lying; you're so full of shit."

"Sex. You're addicted to sex, Laura."

"Is that what you think? You don't know me or anything I've been through. I used to be a prostitute who slept with men for money, not because I enjoyed it."

"That's just what you tell yourself to rationalize it. It's the excuse you use to cover up the problem."

"I hardly think you're qualified to be making those kinds of assumptions."

"Tell me this: when was the last time someone paid you for sex? You showed up here, in Walnut Cherryville, wearing a suggestive outfit and flaunting your body around like it's a sports car, and then you come onto men. I didn't ask you to have sex with me; it was never part of our agreement. You initiated it on our first date."

"That's because I was angry that you were going to kill Vincent. I wanted revenge, so I had sex with you purposely to give you HIV."

Kenneth laughed. "You call that revenge? Why would you have sex with someone you hate? Was that supposed to hurt me? If you really wanted to avenge Vincent, there were ten thousand more efficient ways to make me feel pain."

"So what was your grand plan?" I asked. "What did you hope to accomplish by giving me a fake disease and then forcing me to marry you?"

"Believe it or not, I do feel an emotional connection with you that is completely nonphysical. I enjoy your company, and that's all I was looking for in a wife. We have similar interests, and you're a great dance partner."

"But why did you make me propose to you? That wasn't part of our deal."

Kenneth pondered for a moment as he rubbed his eyebrows in a circular motion. "I couldn't ask you to marry me; you would have said no," he explained. "It would have been embarrassing if you refused me in front of my entire village." His hand retreated into his pocket to squeeze the stress ball that he always carried around with him. "Since my twenty-first birthday, Mom has been pressuring me to get married. I never had a girlfriend before." He took the rubber ball out and bounced it on the floor. "When you're the governor's son and the host of _Chair Trials_ , no one is genuinely interested in dating you. You just happened to be my lucky first, and I'm glad I picked you."

I caught the ball; he faced me, and our eyes locked. I felt Kenneth's sincerity in that moment, but I knew he didn't deserve my forgiveness. I wasn't sure what I should do, but anything would have been better than what I did. I grabbed his face, closed my eyes, and impulsively kissed him, dropping the stress ball. He kissed me back and began to wrap his arms around me; I abruptly turned away. My chest fluttered, feeling heavy, and I saw an audience of workers watching us through the glass. I fretfully bit my lips. I couldn't believe I had kissed him.

* * *

"Welcome back to another thrilling episode of _Chair Trials_ ," I said, facing the cameraman with shaking hands. "I'm your host, Laura Hansen." I paused to swallow my nerves. "Behind me are five criminals who have broken the laws of Walnut Cherryville, and tonight you're going to hear their stories about what they did and why they did it." I flashed the camera a fake smile. "At the end of the show, you, the viewers in the glass building, get to decide who gets the ch-cha-chair."

"Cut!" the cameraman yelled. "She did it again. Why can't you say the word 'chair' correctly?"

I sighed, placing my palm over my forehead. "I can't do this."

"It's not that difficult. All you have to do is follow the cue cards. When Kenneth hosted _Chair Trials_ , he didn't even have cue cards."

"Don't yell at me," I snapped. "You didn't see a friend die in that chair." I felt a cramp in my stomach. "Excuse me. I have to go to the restroom."

"Again?"

The film crew whined and groaned.

"Laura, no more bathroom breaks," the cameraman said. "At this rate, we won't be done filming in time to air it tonight. Start from the word last sentence and continue reading. I'll edit the footage later."

I took a few deep breaths, flipped my hair, and practiced my fake smile.

"Ready, and action," the cameraman yelled.

"At the end of the show, you, the viewers in the glass building, get to decide who gets the chair," I continued. "You will have thirty minutes to place your vote with ComCon at the end of the show. When the thirty minutes are up, we will share the results. Now, let's begin. Our first contestant is..." My voice trailed off as I got an idea. I was the host. This was my _Chair Trials_. I should host this show the way I wanted to; Mrs. Quinton had put me in charge.

"Tom, a gatherer, was charged with absence from work. But I don't care about that," I said, grinning as I watched Tom twitch nervously in his chair. The reedy young man's freckly face was painted with bruises, and he had a black eye beneath his broken Harry Potter glasses.

Since my legs and feet felt sore from standing so long in front of the camera, I went backstage to find something to sit on. The camera followed me as I grabbed a stool, sat down next to Tom, and began to untie his ropes.

"What are you doing?" the cameraman asked, concerned.

"Just keep filming," I replied.

Once Tom was free, he sat hushed and confused. His eyes darted between me and the camera with his mouth slightly ajar revealing his braces. He slowly stood up, froze in place, and then sat back down.

"Thank you," he said with a nasally voice.

"You're welcome," I responded calmly. "Do you feel more comfortable now?"

He nodded with approval.

"I know what it's like to be a gatherer," I explained, rubbing my baby bump. "It's tough to make the quota every day, especially if you're new to the job. How did you get that shiner?"

"Another gatherer beat me up because I wouldn't give him my cherry basket. He stole it from me."

"Does this happen to you often?"

He hesitated before nodding yes.

My maternal instincts began to kick in as I looked sternly at the camera. "Look at this young, innocent boy. What could this victim have possibly done to deserve this kind of treatment? He was just minding his own business, doing his job picking cherries, when he was bullied by another worker. Behavior like this has to stop. We need to stop punishing the victims and start making the bullies responsible for their actions. Do you see the person who did this to you on this stage right now?"

"No," he said confidently.

"How is it that Tom ended up on _Chair Trials_ instead of the bully that did this to him? Tom, you are free to leave the show and resume your work."

Everyone in the room sounded shocked, and the guards became riled.

" _What?!_ " the cameraman shouted "Laura, you don't have the authority to do that. You can't just change the show."

"My authority reigns over yours, because I am a Quinton and the host of this show. You are just the cameraman, so you have to do what I say," I said assertively.

Tom sprang up from his seat, gave me a hug, and whispered "Thank you" in my ear before bolting toward the participant entrance door. A guard chased after him, and another called in for assistance.

"ComCon, I need you to send Kenneth Quinton a message," a guard said into his touch-screen device, "You are needed in the _Chair Trials_ studio. The host is out of control. Send."

After several minutes of waiting, no one responded to the guard's cry for help.

"You have two choices: you may continue filming _Chair Trials_ the way I want to host it, or we won't have a _Chair Trials_ at all," I stated. "Which do you think Mrs. Quinton would prefer?"

Thirty minutes went by with no response from Kenneth or Mrs. Quinton. The guards and the cameraman huddled in a circle, deliberating about what to do.

"I say, let her do her thing," one guard said. "At least it will show the Quintons that we were doing our jobs despite what a pain in the neck she was."

"That's easy for you to say," the cameraman replied. "You're not the one who has to turn in the footage and explain what happened."

"They won't need an explanation if we have proof," another guard chimed in. "They'll see what a train wreck she's caused, and they'll see that we tried to fix it, but there was nothing we could do."

The huddle dispersed. The cameraman resumed his place behind the camera while the guards stood by the entrance doors.

"Are we ready to continue, gentlemen?" I asked.

"Rolling," the cameraman replied.

# Chapter 5: Collins

"Life is great," I thought. "Jordan Bryant doesn't have a care in the world. So he didn't get accepted into Alpha Dogz. Who cares about that? Eva, my bangin' girlfriend, is way better than joining that sausage fest. I made a B on my chemistry test today, shot six three-pointers in basketball practice, and finished all of my homework—"

I strutted out of the locker room, carrying my gym bag over my shoulder. I lost my train of thought when a familiar Asian woman furiously intercepted my path and stunned me with a Taser. My body jerked around uncontrollably, causing me to pee my shorts and hunch over on the floor. There went my popularity. A group of guys stood nearby, laughing at me as I curled up in a ball waiting for the twitching to stop.

"You bastard," Amy yelled. "You left me to die."

The guys hastily cleared the hallway.

"No, wait. Don't leave me with her," I shouted. But Amy and I were alone. Oh, shit. I was scared.

"Wow, Amy, you look fabulous," I said, playing nice. "You got your hair done."

"Get up," she demanded, kicking me in the back. "Take me to your dorm, and don't you dare run away from me this time."

"How did you find me?" I asked, shakily standing up on my feet.

"I saw your basketball game on TV."

I groaned. It was all too good to be true. My perfect life was crashing down on me. Walnut Cherryville would never leave me alone.

Since I didn't have much feeling left in my limbs, I led Amy to my dorm room at a turtle's pace. She hid the Taser in her purse and pretended to assist me like I was a crippled friend. She held my hand, providing support as I leaned on her with my arm over her shoulder. As we walked together, my head drooped to the side, and drool dripped from my mouth. I must have looked drunk, because everyone smiled as we passed, not suspecting that I was in trouble. " _Help!_ " I wanted to scream. Once we entered my room, she threw me down on the floor and sat on my bed. My roommate was gone, and who knew when he'd be back.

"What do you want?" I asked, rolling over on my back. "Why can't you just leave me alone? I'm not causing any trouble."

"You didn't complete your mission, so now I have to take you back to Walnut Cherryville."

I cringed, making a great effort to roll over, get on all fours, and crawl toward the door. "You'll never take me alive—"

"Oh, I forgot to mention: Johnny is alive."

My heart skipped a beat. I stopped breathing, frozen in place. I plopped down on my ass and glanced at Amy. "I don't understand, but I'm listening."

"He needs your help, Collins. We all do."

"How is that possible? I'm not going back unless you prove to me right now that he's alive."

"I can't prove it until you get there and see for yourself. The electric chair must have been rigged. Why would I lie to you about that?"

"To get me to come back to Walnut Cherryville."

"Look, you've escaped from Walnut Cherryville more times than most people and managed not to get recaptured. If I'm wrong, you can leave again, and I promise that this time I won't come after you. You'll never hear from me again."

"That sounds nice. What do you want me to do once I get there?"

"The resistance is giving you a new assignment. I don't know what it is; I'm just the retriever they sent to bring you back."

"I love Johnny, and I miss him a lot, but what am I supposed to do? I have a life here now—a girlfriend, a job, money invested in my education—"

"Is all that really more important than helping your best friend?"

I took a few moments to think about it. In my mind, Will Smith rapped "Just the Two of Us" to a touching slideshow of memories. From the first day that I met Johnny, I had known we were going to be besties for life. He was the compass that guided me when I was lost, the person I trusted the most—even with my life. During every camping trip, game, holiday, prank, and lunch, he was there for me.

In my first year at Sonoran Correctional, I didn't realize that the school closed for the holiday and kicked everyone out, forcing students to go home and see their families. It was a tremendous inconvenience, since I didn't have a family; the school was my home. I wanted to stay with my grandma in the stuffy nursing home to eat Thanksgiving dinner and bring her fresh flowers, but security only allowed brief visits. I had nowhere to spend the night, and it was getting late. The school announced that the students had to leave before five o'clock or wait outside until their rides came. I didn't want to embarrass myself by asking another guy to take me in like a hobo, which would only fuel the rumors going around about me being court-ordered to correctional school for stealing bling.

I sat on the steps in front of the school, alone, watching families joyfully reunite with their sons until thirty minutes after five. Almost every family greeted their son with smiles, hugs, or kisses, which was something I hadn't had since before my parents died. No matter how misbehaved the students were, they still had families or at least someone who loved them. The school was now locked, the faculty had left the building, and a few security officers stayed behind to watch the remaining boys. Among the outcasts was Johnny, who was playing with bugs in the grass by the fence next to the sidewalk. He was my friend, but I didn't want to obligate him into letting me stay over; he lived with an adopted family the size of a football team.

I walked over to Johnny and sat down in the grass next to him.

"Collins, I found a grasshopper. You want to hold it?" Johnny asked, holding it out to me.

"Ick. No, thanks."

He cupped the grasshopper in his hands. "Your family is running late too?"

"Um. Well, yeah—yes. Actually, they are," I lied.

I couldn't swallow my pride for two seconds and ask him for a place to stay. It wasn't cool to need help or look vulnerable, and I didn't want to lose the only friend I had made in school. I hadn't told Johnny about my living situation or the fact that I didn't have a family.

"Are you excited to be going home?" he asked.

"Um. Sure."

"Yeah, I get it. My adopted family is nice, well most of them, but it doesn't feel like they're my real family. I hope my adopted parents take me to visit my mom in prison during the holiday. I miss her."

"I would go visit my grandma in the nursing home, but you know, we only have so much time away from school."

When Johnny and I were the last boys left, a security officer approached us. "Do you boys know when someone's coming to pick you up? How much longer is it going to be?"

"My adopted mom should be here soon," Johnny said.

With her hands on her hips, she looked at me, tapping her foot and waiting for an answer. My eyes darted around nervously as I thought of another lie.

"Um. I don't know," I responded.

"Since there are only two of you left, I could just take you home myself, if that would make it easier on your parents. Where do you live?"

A gray minivan pulled up in front of the gate.

"That's my ride," Johnny said, releasing the grasshopper.

I tried to ignore her, because I didn't want Johnny to hear that I was a hobo, but she was persistent.

"Where do you live, son?"

"Um," I said, trying to stall.

Johnny stood up, tossed on his backpack, and turned to me. "He's with me."

"For real?" I said enthusiastically.

He nodded in agreement; I hugged him, nearly in tears.

"Thanks, man. I owe you one," I said.

Ever since then, I always went over to Johnny's for Thanksgiving and Christmas, just like I was part of the family. Though his adopted family was chaotic, his parents were kindhearted, accommodating people. They let me eat their food, sleep on their couch, and even dropped me off at the nursing home to visit Grandma once in a while. For giving me a family, a home, and a friend in my time of need, I owed him more than just one favor.

"All right," I sighed, hesitantly. "I will agree to go back under one condition. You will show me how to get in and out of Walnut Cherryville so that I can come and go as I please—you know, just in case you're lying about Johnny being alive."

"Agreed."

"When do we leave?"

"Now."

I stood up and grabbed a fresh set of clothes and a clean towel from the closet. "Considering that you made me pee myself, I at least deserve a shower and a chance to say good-bye to my girlfriend and friends."

"Fine, take a few hours to get your affairs in order, but I'm coming with you."

"Understandable."

The first step, after cleaning the shame off myself, was to withdraw from school and get Da Boss a refund on her investment. I filled out and submitted a withdrawal application online before I began writing Da Boss, Biggie Jesus, and Duty Calls a letter.

Dear Friends:

I can't thank you enough for everything you did to help me afford college, but unfortunately, I had to drop out. By the time you read this, I'll be gone. I don't know when or if I'll ever be able to come back. Just wanted you to know that I appreciate everything y'all have done for me over the past few months. I apologize for not explaining myself in person—something came up, and I had to leave. I submitted withdrawal papers to ASU, but I'm not sure what kind of refund you'll get back. Sorry. Wish you all the best, and I hope we will meet again in the future. By the way, my real name is Collins Greene.

Sincerely,

Grizzle

I folded the letter neatly into an envelope, sealed it, and put it in my backpack before heading out in the pouring rain to Amy's car. She drove me to Biggie Jesus's house, where I slipped the note beneath the front door. I had her take me there instead of work, since I knew no one would be home during the day.

There were two more things I had to take care of before I could leave for Walnut Cherryville. The next was Eva. I had to break up with her, which could only be done in person. Amy took me back to campus and browsed the library shelves while I sent a difficult instant message to Eva, knowing that it would be pushed directly to her smartphone.

Me: We need to talk now. I don't have much time. How soon can you meet me at the library? Sorry for the short notice.

She sent a reply almost instantly.

Eva: Is everything OK? What's wrong? I'm in class right now, but I can leave if it's serious.

Me: How much longer?

Eva: Thirty minutes.

Me: It's OK. I can wait.

I'm sure Amy didn't want me to wait, but I was nervous and wanted some time to think about what I should say. I didn't want to come off as an asshole, but it seemed almost inevitable. Eva was a great girl, and I didn't want to break her heart. We had only been dating for two weeks, yet in that short amount of time she had made me feel different—in a good way. I didn't know how to describe it. We were so compatible with each other; I felt like I'd known her for years. Before I met Eva, I would only be enthusiastic about talking to a girl when I knew I had a chance to bang her. Eva wasn't just a bangin' girl; she was intelligent, funny, and I loved talking to her. I wished I could explain myself—that I could tell her that I was Collins Greene and not Jordan Bryant. It was frustrating.

"I don't know what to tell her," I said. "How do you let someone down easy?"

"I'm not the best person for handing out love advice," Amy commented as she flipped through a book and placed it back on the shelf.

"Well, you're a girl. How would you want a guy to, you know—"

Amy chuckled. "Have fun with that. I'm going to watch from over there," she said, walking away.

A few minutes later, Eva found me in the library. We found an empty table in the corner of the room and sat down facing each other. With much regret, I took a deep breath and reached out to her, placing my open hand on the table. She folded her hand in mine, gazing into my eyes apprehensively. We didn't speak. I tried, but the words wouldn't come out. As I tried to tell her the heart-wrenching news, my heart thumped, my lungs collapsed, and my eyes watered. I was too impaired by my emotions to function properly.

"I don't want to be with you anymore," I said.

As the information marinated in Eva's mind, she looked increasingly distraught. Being the strong woman that she was, she tried to shield her emotions from me and keep her composure, but I could see she was hurt.

"May I ask why?" she responded.

"I'm leaving ASU."

"To go where?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Something feels strange about this. This isn't like you at all."

"You don't know who I am," I said, standing up and turning to walk way.

"I can help you if you're in trouble," she replied quickly. "All you have to do is ask. Please, sit back down, and tell me what's going on."

"I'm fine. There is nothing wrong," I said, walking away. I heard Eva bolt up from her chair.

"The Jordan that I know wouldn't throw away everything he has worked so hard on achieving," she said to my back.

I ceased movement, and tears streamed down my face. She was perfect, but I had to give her up. I could hear her walking toward me.

"Leave me alone. I don't want you anymore," I yelled, storming out of the library. It was painful, but I forced myself to keep walking. It was done.

The last thing I had to do was to find an olive branch to extend to the friends that I had abandoned in Walnut Cherryville. After I escaped through the tunnel in my _Chair Trials_ holding cell, I had never came back with help. It had been a long time, and I didn't expect that they'd be happy to see me. As usual, everyone would be disappointed and call me selfish and unreliable. I didn't expect their forgiveness, but finding something that would make them happy would be a nice way to start apologizing.

Before driving to Walnut Cherryville, Amy stopped at the gas station. As she filled up the tank, I went inside to buy snacks for the trip and buy gifts for my friends. Browsing the aisles, I thought about each person and what I knew about him or her. The Harlequin romance novels on a nearby spinning rack struck me as something Veronica would enjoy; I knew she liked to read, so I grabbed one of those. To keep Laura from being bitter, I got her a one-pound chocolate bar. I felt she should indulge once in a while, and chocolate was the perfect snack. Since it contained phenylethylamine, it would improve her mood by increasing serotonin production, which would cause her to be less depressed. Vincent and I hadn't always been the best of friends, but I knew that he was always smoking instead of going to class. I imagined that being forced to quit smoking cold turkey for four months probably had him going through some intense nicotine withdrawal. To ease his mood, I got him a box of Nicorette gum. I was stumped on what to get my man Johnny. For him, it wasn't really an apology, but more of a "hello" or "I missed you" gift. As I dropped my purchases on the checkout counter, a display of colorful rabbit-foot key chains caught my eye. Johnny sure was lucky to be alive. To make sure his luck continued, I bought the brown foot. It was the most natural of the bunch; he would like that.

"Your total is $45.50," the cashier said.

I handed him a wad of cash, and he bagged the items before I went back to the car. Amy sat impatiently in the driver's seat.

"I'm ready to go back to Walnut Cherryville now," I said.

"It's about time," she responded as she started the engine. She drove out of the parking lot and headed toward the highway.

"Time to hold up your end of the deal," I said as I took out a pen from my backpack. "Now, how do we find this place?" Ironically, I didn't have any paper, so I prepared to write down Amy's directions on the last page of Veronica's book.

"Since you're writing it down, I can't tell you exact directions, but I can give you clues that will lead you in and out of Walnut Cherryville," Amy explained. "If that book got into the wrong hands, we wouldn't want anyone to understand what it meant."

"Hey, don't hold back on me now," I complained. "We had a deal."

"I could be more specific if you didn't write it down."

"But if I don't write it down, then I'll probably forget."

"That's the choice you have to make. Verbal directions with accurate details or written riddles—which do you prefer?"

With the verbal directions, it would be crucial that I remembered every detail, otherwise I'd probably get lost. I had no idea when I'd be leaving Walnut Cherryville again; who knew how long I'd have to retain the information before I needed to use it. At least with the written riddles, the directions would forever be in writing as long as I didn't lose track of the book. Hopefully, the clues wouldn't be impossible to figure out. I thought I was fairly good at scavenger hunts.

"I choose the written riddles."

"OK, write down exactly what I say," she said.

I carefully wrote each word that she spoke: "A journey begins and ends in the river where three boarders conjoin. At sunrise, the barren lands lead to a pueblo-ruin skyline. The inhabitants had migrated south for winter and hostilely conquered an underground tunnel. A passage lends way for the dead to rise to court."

It was all sorts of cryptic. Was it too late to pick verbal directions? I wondered.

"I don't understand," I said. "Can you explain it to me?"

"They're very simple directions if you read between the lines. Just pay attention to my driving and think about how it relates to the riddle. You'll get it."

Hmm. I hoped the light bulb would turn on soon. I wasn't sure that focusing on Amy's driving would help too much; it would only show me how to get to Walnut Cherryville from Tempe. We headed southwest toward San Luis, Arizona, taking AZ-85 South to I-8 West, which took about three hours and thirty minutes. Even though I didn't understand how Amy's driving related to the riddle she gave me, so far the directions were fairly easy to follow.

It didn't stay like that for long. Right before we hit the San Luis exit, Amy veered off the highway and started driving through the desert sand. That was where I really got lost.

"Cactus, cactus, corpse, vultures, cactus," I said, naming off every landmark I saw out my window.

"Collins, stop it. That's annoying," Amy said.

"Sorry. I'm confused. I don't even know what direction we're going in or how far we went."

After about an hour of driving in a straight line though the desert sand, we hit a skyline of pueblo ruins, and Amy made a left turn.

"How did you know to turn left here?" I asked.

"Because the inhabitants migrated south for winter."

"I don't know what direction south is when we're in the middle of nowhere and don't have a compass," I complained.

"Well then, for your sake, make sure you don't leave Walnut Cherryville until you get one. Also, it would be north if you were leaving."

"Oh, great. So now I have to read the riddle in reverse?"

Another hour passed, and then we drove straight into the mouth of an underground tunnel. Amy parallel parked beside the rocky limestone wall along with five other cars.

"We walk from here," she said, grabbing a flashlight.

I gathered my things, got out of the car, and began walking down the labyrinth. As we ventured deeper, the foul air chilled, and I heard what sounded like rats. The little girl inside me shrieked in fear. Walking around blind in the dark made me afraid, so I grabbed Amy's hand.

"You big baby," Amy commented.

"I don't like rats."

The tunnel led to a room filled with aisles of metal filing cabinets. As soon as we walked through the red, wooden door, florescent lights automatically flickered on from the ceiling. Something didn't smell right about the place. Instead of smelling like old papers, the basement reeked of dead bodies. I followed behind Amy, letting her body dust the aisle first for cobwebs. I don't like spiders either, and I could tell that this place hadn't been cleaned for a while. At the end of the room, we climbed a flight of stairs and exited through a hatch door that led to a small filing closet.

Amy squinted through the peephole in the closet door. "We have to wait a minute."

"I wanna see," I said, shoving Amy out of the way. To my surprise, we were in the filing closet of the courtroom. My beautiful African queen sat gracefully on her throne, judging a sobbing citizen.

"Never thought I'd see her again," I thought. "I hope she's as happy to see me as I am to see her."

"So what's her deal?" I asked out loud. "Can I say hi to her on the way out?"

The judge's assistant opened the door and searched file-cabinet labels. "Hi, Amy. How are you feeling?" she asked casually.

"Much better," Amy responded.

The assistant changed her tone of voice and greeted me much more sternly.

"Collins," she said, giving me the stink eye. She found the corresponding cabinet, placed the file inside, and looked out to the judge. "She's going to leave for dinner any minute now. Here is his new task." She handed Amy a folded piece of lined, yellow paper.

"What did I do? I don't even know you, woman," I commented; she left the closet and closed the door.

Amy read the paper and chuckled before handing it off to me.

Collins:

I hope you find your new task more suitable. You have been reassigned to the army. Your training begins immediately. This is your last warning.

I folded up the paper and slipped it in my bag. "Now that's what I'm talking about."

"The guy who is afraid of rats and the dark is excited to be fighting in our army?" Amy laughed. "Unbelievable. You won't last."

"Hey, I ain't scared of no rats," I corrected. "I just don't like them."

# Chapter 6: Johnny

The gargantuan flaming crater in my vision could mean that someone would bomb Walnut Cherryville from underground, but who? The sand was scattered with debris: shards from the glass house, metal from the _Chair Trials_ studio, and human remains of everyone that lived there, including my friends. Why would someone carelessly take so many lives that way?

After Walnut Cherryville was destroyed, I was the only survivor. What did that mean? I hoped my ancestors weren't implying that it was my fault. The dead cherry tree was the same tree that Veronica and I had kissed in. Then I found her cross that was stained with blood. Did I find her cross in the sand by chance, or was there a deeper reason that the vision focused on her?

My visions were starting to contradict each other, which didn't make sense. Before I spoke with my father in the Swamp Bar, I had died in a plane crash. He said I couldn't die on Walnut Cherryville soil unless a blood relative stabbed me in the heart with the family's sacred dagger, but I died from a metal shard puncturing my lung, which should have caused a false death. There was no explanation for this unless Walnut Cherryville getting destroyed had caused me to lose my healing abilities. That made sense to me, considering that the land grew a forest in the desert.

I just wasn't sure; I knew I could be wrong, but I pulled together what I could out of the conflicting stories.

It seemed that everyone I cared about would be tragically lost if I didn't do something about resolving the feud—my friends would be killed, my awesome healing abilities would be lost, and this fascinating utopia I knew so little about would be demolished. I had been all for destroying Walnut Cherryville before I had known what it was. It wasn't the land that made the place undesirable; it was the Quintons' government. I had no interest in leading the community like my father wanted, but something needed to be done about the Quintons. When I was abducted and brought to Walnut Cherryville, Counselor Hank had said, "Violence is not the answer. Adults handle situations by reasoning with one another." The lingering question on my mind was whether Kenneth could be reasoned with so that I wouldn't have to kill him. My ancestors obligated me to be the person who swooped in and saved the day, but what was I saving if I had to kill Kenneth in the process? Even though I already had Quinton blood on my hands, I was not a murderer.

* * *

The cafeteria was serving Mexican food for dinner. With Alejandro's supervision, Veronica prepared some burritos in the traditional style of her homeland, Nogales, Mexico. I hadn't actually eaten a meal for more than four months, so I was ecstatic to get a taste of any food, let alone her cooking. When Veronica had fed me those sweet cherries the other day, it had been explosive. Those tender, juicy, sugary cherries were intense with flavor; they brought my taste buds back to life.

Now, my mouth watered from the spicy, rich smell that seeped through the bag that Veronica held as she climbed down the ladder into the security room.

"I'm going to show you what a real burrito tastes like—not that bug stuff you ate in the forest," Veronica said, sitting down on her sleeping bag next to me. "I put together a few different kinds for you to sample, but the cafeteria didn't have a lot of traditional ingredients to work with." She reached into the bag, pulled out a foil-covered burrito, and unwrapped it. "This one is chili relleno."

As soon as she set it down, I dug in, taking an unmannerly bite out of every burrito. I went unnoticed as Veronica continued through the bag, and Vincent watched the feeds.

"Asadero cheese and beans, shredded beef with tomato chili sauce, salsa verde chicken—"

When I bit into the salsa verde chicken, my mouth burned numb, and my eyes watered to cool down my beet-red face. It was so spicy; I began panting, which got their attention. Vincent turned around in his chair, and Veronica rushed to open a water bottle for me. I gulped it down.

"Sorry about that," Veronica said. "I should have warned you that that one was really spicy."

"Did you intend on saving any of those for me?" Vincent asked. "I prefer mine without the nibble marks."

I smiled, trying not to spit out my water. "Sorry. I got a little overexcited about eating food. These are really good, Veronica. Thanks for making them."

"You're welcome," Veronica replied, loosening my grip on the salsa verde chicken and removing it from my hand. "I'll finish this one."

Vincent picked up the remainder of the beef burrito with his bionic hand and ate from the uneaten side, causing the filling to fall out. "What are you looking at? Stop watching me eat."

All of a sudden, the hatch door opened, and a mysterious white bag with "thank you" printed on it, dropped from the ceiling. I halted my feast, listening quietly to the person who began climbing down the ladder. A man's Nike sneaker entered my view first, and what I saw after that looked increasingly familiar—basketball shorts, a jersey—and then Collins Greene, in the flesh, hopped off the ladder. I was so surprised to see him that I unintentionally squeezed my burrito, causing it to poop on my scrubs.

"Johnny, you're alive," Collins said, a tear in his eye.

As I stood up, Collins frolicked over joyously, and Veronica swiftly moved the food out of the way. Before I could say hello, Collins lunged onto me, embracing me in a tight bear hug. While being squeezed nearly to death, I patted him on the back.

"I missed you too, man," I said, trying to hold down my food.

Once he loosened his grip and helped me up, he cupped my face in his hands and stared into my eyes.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again," Collins said sternly as he lightly slapping my cheek.

"Hey! Hey—"

"God has answered my prayers and brought you back to me," Collins interrupted, becoming emotional. "I love you, man."

The waterworks started a flood, and there was no way to turn off the faucet. I had never seen Collins cry that much before.

"Don't start. You're going to make me—oh, no," I said, tears streaming down my face.

"Aww, what a tender moment," Veronica commented. "So cute."

"Get a room," Vincent shouted.

Collins turned to Vincent, cocked his head to the side, and opened his arms. "Hey, man, bring it in."

"No," Vincent refused, trying to avoid Collins's hug.

Collins cornered Vincent against the computers and forced him to accept his hug.

"Get off me," Vincent demanded.

After a few seconds, Collins let go of Vincent and moved onto Veronica. "How you doin', girl?" Collins said, giving Veronica a hug.

"I'm well. Glad to see that you came back."

"Yeah, like twenty years later," Vincent remarked. "What's in the bag?"

Collins let go of Veronica, opened the bag, withdrew a box, and threw it at Vincent; it hit his forehead. "That's for you, man. I bought it with my own hard-earned money, so chew it wisely."

Vincent rubbed his head, looking down at the floor. "Nicotine gum? I could really use some cigarettes."

"Well, this is what I got you, so shut the f—— up and chew, you bastard."

Vincent laughed, picking up the box.

"Believe it or not, I want you to live. What the hell happened to your hand?"

"Ick," I said, cringing slightly. "It's a long story and best told later."

"I got this for you, Johnny," Collins said, pulling out a brown, rabbit's foot; it was the keychain. "It's a good-luck charm so that you don't die again."

"Thank you," I said, taking my gift. "It's nice that you were thinking about us. I wish I had something to give you."

"No, don't worry about it. I'm always thinking about WWJD when I'm in a situation."

"What would Jesus do?"

"No, what would Johnny do?"

"Oh," I laughed.

"Veronica, this is for you," Collins said, handing her a book. "Please don't lose it."

"Wow, thank you," Veronica said, surprised to receive a gift. "I'll keep it safe."

As she began to read the back cover, Vincent grabbed it out of her hands. "What's so important about this book?" he questioned as he flipped through the pages.

Veronica sighed, glancing at me as she folded her arms and legs.

"Vincent, don't be rude," I said. "Ask; don't grab."

"Collins, I didn't know you wrote poetry," Vincent said, ignoring me.

"I don't. What you're looking at is actually the way in and out of Walnut Cherryville, written in a code created by Amy Chang. The only problem is that it has to be deciphered before we can use it and follow the clues."

"Well, it's good that you came back with something useful," Vincent replied.

"Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment. Between the four of us, I'm sure we can figure it out."

I tugged the book away from Vincent and gave it back to Veronica. She retreated into her sleeping bag, looking unhappy. I continued to listen to Vincent and Collins talk as I watched her read and nibble on her burrito.

"Did you guys kick Laura out of the group? How come she's not here?" Collins asked.

"Cause she's a traitor," Veronica replied.

"And you're a manipulative bitch," Vincent argued.

"Hey, guys, stop it," I tried to say.

"She married Kenneth," Veronica rebutted.

"You lied to us."

"Whoa, I didn't mean to start an argument here," Collins said. "Anyway, I got this for her to say I'm sorry, since she was so angry that I left." Collins pulled out the one-pound chocolate bar from the bag. "Who's going to take it?"

"I'll get it to her," Vincent said.

I could tell Veronica wanted to comment on that. She looked at me, irascibly seeking my approval, so I mouthed "no" and shook my head. She seemed disappointed and returned to reading her book.

Later that night, when everyone was tired and ready for sleep, I gave up my sleeping bag and pillow to Collins. I knew that Collins wouldn't sleep if he wasn't comfortable. It was the least I could do after he had gotten me such a thoughtful gift. Veronica and I shared her sleeping bag, and I spooned her and sporadically kissed her neck. I lightly cupped her boob in my hand—a risky move, but she didn't say no. Underneath our pillow, I clutched my rabbit's foot and cherrywood in my free hand until we fell asleep.

* * *

Firelit torches illuminated a stone spiral staircase contained by brick walls. I walked down the stairs cautiously until a thin man in a gray coat and top hat pushed me aside. With a twelve-inch steel blade in his hand, he ran in front of me in a hurry. His glossy, pointed shoes hit the stones and echoed throughout the staircase. I picked up the pace, following behind him until we reached a crypt. When he turned to look back, I was concealed in the shadows, watching from a distance. The empty room featured nothing but two rows of old dusty stone coffins. Behind his pointed beard and lavish moustache, the man gazed back, hopelessness in his eyes. He dropped a dagger. I heard a stone lid grind against a coffin as he pushed it open.

I silently snuck closer, taking cover behind a neighboring coffin only a few feet away from the dagger. The dagger showed resemblance to a medieval dagger. The pure gold handle was engraved with a symbolic pattern, encrusted with rubies, and shaped like a cross.

The stone lid suddenly plummeted to the floor and startled me, bringing my attention back to the man. He removed a skeleton clean of flesh from the coffin, set it down, and picked up the dagger. He sighed, hesitating for a moment before climbing into the coffin. Once he lay down, I stood up. I saw him use the dagger to stab himself in the heart, taking his own life.

* * *

The next morning, the hatch door creaked open, awakening me from my slumber. Someone climbed down the ladder and turned on the lights, but I didn't care to see who it was. Since I was still tired, I snuggled against Veronica and buried my face in her hair to block out the light. I heard footsteps approaching me, and then someone tapped me on the back with a foot. I groggily rolled over, yawned, and stretched.

"I thought I gave you your own sleeping bag," Alejandro said. "Why aren't you in it?"

I pointed over at Collins. I noticed that Vincent wasn't sleeping where he usually slept. He usually slept by the wall. For some reason, his sleeping bag was there, but he wasn't. My eyes darted around the room, and I spotted him, curled up in a ball, sleeping under the computer table.

"Not again," Alejandro sighed. "All right, how did you find this one?"

"He climbed down the hatch yesterday," I replied.

Collins woke up and sniffed out the trail that led to Alejandro's bag of ham-and-egg sandwiches sitting on the table. He took one out and began eating.

"I guess I didn't bring enough food," Alejandro said. "What's your name?"

"Collins," I responded, because he was busy chewing.

Collins reached into his pocket, pulled out a yellow paper, and held it out to Alejandro. Alejandro stepped over Veronica and me to grab the note. As Alejandro read, Vincent woke up, grabbed a sandwich, and began watching the security feeds.

"Well, that's convenient. You've also been assigned to the army, so you can be Johnny's training partner," Alejandro said.

Veronica groaned and mumbled, "Did you just say Johnny was assigned to the army?"

"Yes, I did," Alejandro responded.

"Why?"

"Because that's where they want him."

"No. He can't," she complained, bolting up from her pillow.

"Veronica, it's out of my hands. I'm sorry, but it's not my decision."

"You could have tried harder to get him a better mission, but you didn't want to," she shouted. "You know, one where the survival rate is better than 1 percent."

" _What?_ " Collins shouted with his mouth, full sending food particles airborne. "I'm gonna die? I didn't sign up for this." He started coughing.

"At this point in time, the only thing we can use is more fighters," Alejandro explained. "All other missions have been delegated, and I had no input in this decision—honest to God."

A frigid silence filled the air between Veronica and Alejandro. Since her back was turned to me, I couldn't see her face, but I didn't need eyes to know how concerned she was for me. I could hear it in her voice.

"Don't worry. I'll be fine," I assured her as I took her hand and held it in mine.

"You don't know what you're getting into," Veronica said, trying to hold back her tears. "Those guards are ruthless. They outnumber us two to one."

"Which is exactly why we need more people in the army, especially after so many were killed because of the three of you," Alejandro said. "I had a hard enough time trying to keep the higher ranks from enlisting you, Veronica. The only one they don't want is Vincent. Johnny is a strong, fit guy, who survived electrocution and four months in a coffin. There wasn't much I could say to defend him."

Veronica confrontationally ripped open the sleeping bag, rose to her feet, and stormed out of the room into the basement hallway. Alejandro followed her while I stood by the door and watched her walk away.

"Hey, where you going? You can't leave this room without me," Alejandro said, snatching her hand to make her stop.

"Let go of me," she snapped, yanking it away.

"I know you're upset, but let's be rational here—"

"You did this on purpose," she cried, turning to face Alejandro. "You knew I had feelings for him, so you recommended that he be enlisted to keep him away from me."

"Stop shouting. I did no such thing. This is why I told you not to get involved with him. I didn't want to see you get your heart broken."

"Does anyone care that I got enlisted in the army?" Collins questioned, standing behind me.

I chuckled, slapping Collins on the back. "I do. As long as we stick together, you'll be safe."

Veronica and Alejandro parted ways. He returned to the security room, looking frustrated. I had no idea where she was going for sure, but I imagined that she went to the Quintons' hidden library. It was her favorite place to go; she would relax and read banned books.

"She'll calm down and come back," I assured Alejandro. "Just give her time."

"Now she's running around out there without a perception filter," Alejandro whined. "She's going to get herself in trouble, or even worse, killed."

"I'm sorry. I could look out for her just to—"

"No, you've done enough damage. I'll go look for her after I drop you boys off at training. Follow me," he said, leading us out into the basement hallway.

The path to army training was a short walk through safe corridors where no yellow tape had to be crossed. When we stood outside the door at our first training station, Alejandro punched a code into the keypad, and the door revealed a rustic gym with a pungent odor. The left side of the room was for strength training, where nearly naked people pumped rusty iron dumbbells. Cardio training, on the right, had people running shoeless on moldy treadmills with their hands on their heads. The flexibility station, a series of splintered, wooden balance beams, was located in the middle of the room, and I watched people do the splits while balancing on only their head and forearms.

"Johnny and Collins, I've been expecting you. Welcome to the first part of your army training," a pale, buff man said as he approached us and shook Collins's hand. "I'm Ross, and I will be testing your strength, cardio, flexibility, and balance."

He shook my hand next; he had a tight grip, and his callused palm was sweaty.

"I'm going to go look for Veronica," Alejandro said, and left the room.

"First, I'm going to need you both to take off any clothing that isn't used to cover your privates," Ross ordered.

"Why is it that everywhere I go, people always be askin' me to strip?" Collins mumbled as he began taking off his shoes.

I liberated myself from my burrito-stained scrubs.

"We're going to start with strength. Pick the heaviest dumbbells from the rack that you think you can handle, one for each hand," Ross instructed.

Collins and I walked over to the rack and peered down at the dumbbells before glancing at each other. There weren't that many choices left.

"Am I going to need a tetanus shot after using these? This doesn't seem safe," Collins said.

"Nothing about being in a rebel army is safe, son," Ross remarked.

"Which one you going for?" I asked.

"You first. I ain't touchin' that shit," Collins replied.

I gripped my hands around two eighty-pounders and lifted them off the rack. I thought that was a modest selection, but Collins didn't agree.

"Oh, I see how it is—you're just trying to show off. Well, challenge accepted," Collins said, selecting two one-hundred-pounders. The minute he lifted them off the rack, they plunged his body down to the floor.

I carefully placed my weights on the floor to help Collins.

"No, don't help me. I can lift it."

"Careful there; they almost landed on your feet," I said. "I can switch with you."

"Good idea," Ross said. "Let's try that."

I took the one-hundred-pounders, and Collins took the eighties. Ross assigned us various exercises to do in sets of ten to test how strong each muscle group was. I couldn't do every challenge with the one-hundred-pounders, so I sometimes switched out for the eighties. I beat Collins on the weight-lifting challenges in our silent pissing contest, but he ran faster than I did on the treadmill.

The only time we were allowed to take our hands off our heads was to increase the treadmill speed. I started at 7.5 miles per hour, and he did 7.6. Ross required us to run for two minutes before increasing the speed. When my two minutes were up, I surged to 7.7, and Collins challenged me with 7.8. We battled it out, until I finally gave up at 8. My legs cramped up, and the treadmill spit me off against the wall. Collins won that round.

We calmed down at the flexibility station, where I got a chance to think about last night's vision while stretching on the balance beam. It had been the most confusing vision I'd ever had, since it had occurred so far in the past. I didn't recognize the man in the top hat, but I knew he must be related to me somehow. His clothes were the only thing in the vision that could possibly nail down a specific time period, but I wasn't at all knowledgeable about fashion history, so that clue was lost on me. Damn. Maybe Veronica would know, or maybe she would be able to find me a book that could help. I assumed that the dagger he had killed himself with was the sacred family dagger that my father told me to find—the one hidden by my great-great-great-grandfather—

The realization of my discovery shocked me, causing me to fall backward off the balance beam from a squatting position.

"Johnny, are you OK?" Collins asked as I continued to zone out on the floor.

My great-great-great-grandfather had killed himself with that dagger, the one I was supposed to use to kill Kenneth. That was why it was hidden in a coffin somewhere in a crypt, but where was the crypt? It had to be somewhere in Walnut Cherryville, otherwise he probably would have chosen a less painful method. I wondered why he did it. What drove him to suicide? I knew Vincent could probably shed some light on the subject, but I didn't want to bring up a topic that would be agonizing for him to think about. On the other hand, what if the purpose of the vision wasn't to show me where the dagger was, but to warn me about myself?

Collins poured water over my face and slapped my cheek a few times. "Johnny, can you hear me?"

I felt like I was drowning; I coughed up the water and came back to reality. When I sat up, I took a few deep breaths.

"Are you OK, man? Your eyes were like stargazing through the building and not even blinking."

"Come with me," I said, possessed. I sprang up, clutched Collins's hand and raced to the door.

"Wait," Collins said, pulling away for a moment to grab our clothes.

Collins followed me back to the security room, where I bumped into a bulky, young woman who was on her way out.

"Excuse me," I said, moving her aside before entering the room. I glanced around for Veronica, but she still wasn't there. Vincent was by himself, watching the feeds until I interrupted him.

"I need to talk to you—all of you," I said. "Where is Veronica?"

"She's out running an errand for me," Vincent replied. "She's been out for a while, so she'll probably be back in a few minutes."

"Is she OK?"

"Yeah. Why are you panicking?"

"I just have something on my mind."

"Well, take a breather."

While I waited for Veronica to return, I sat on a chair by the computers and cooled off. About fifteen minutes later, Veronica came down the hatch carrying a bag of supplies. With her eyes glued on my sweaty bod, she beamed and held out the bag in Vincent's direction, letting it slip from her hand.

"Hey, careful with that," Vincent said, rushing out of his chair to pick up the bag.

I stood up from my chair, and Veronica moseyed over to me, sensually touching my bare chest before she pushed me against the wall. For a moment, I forgot that there were other people in the room. My mind seemed to block them out and only focus on Veronica. She didn't mind that I was dirty. I wrapped her up in my arms, groping her ass with one hand and clutching her hair in the other as we kissed fervently.

"No," Vincent shouted. "You two aren't having a fuck-fest in my security room. Don't you have something you desperately need to talk about?"

"I don't know how the hell that happened, and I don't care," Collins commented. "Where's the popcorn?"

I released Veronica, and she handed me my scrubs from the floor. After I got dressed, I was ready to talk. "Sorry about that. We don't really get much time alone. I had another vision last night and—"

"I'm missing precious security footage for you to ramble on about your dreams again," Vincent complained. "All right, make it snappy. What did the twig tell you this time?"

"Well, since Vincent is irritable, I'm just going to get right to the questions," I said. "During what time period did men wear top hats? Does anyone know where I can find a crypt in Walnut Cherryville? And lastly—" I paused and turned to Vincent. "If this makes you feel uncomfortable, please don't feel obligated to answer. I want to understand why my great-great-great-grandfather committed suicide."

"I didn't know him personally, so how am I supposed to answer that?" Vincent questioned.

"I can't understand what my ancestor is trying to tell me through this vision unless I can see it from his point of view. I'm just looking for general reasons why someone would...you know. Nothing personal."

"Can I take some time to think about it?"

"Yeah, sure—all the time you need."

"Top hats," Veronica answered. "Late eighteenth century to early twenty-first century, which is a wide range unless you have more details that would narrow it down."

Collins retrieved Veronica's Harlequin novel by her sleeping bag, flipped to the last page and gasped. "You're looking for a crypt, and I think I have a lead. In Amy's riddle, she said, 'The dead will rise to court.' On the way into Walnut Cherryville, we traveled through a basement filing room that smelled like a cemetery, which took us upstairs to the courtroom. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that the crypt is being hidden by perception filters in the courthouse."

"Sounds like an adventure for only the best dynamic duo in town," I suggested. "What do you think, Collins?"

"I think it sounds better than being in the army."

# Chapter 7: Vincent

After Veronica stormed out of the security room and Alejandro escorted Johnny and Collins to army training, I was relieved to get some peace and quiet from all the drama. Finally, some time to myself without the peanut gallery looking over my shoulder or complaining about how rude I was. I popped a piece of nicotine gum in my mouth and began browsing the feeds for suspicious activity. I hadn't seen the medical assistant around for several days—ever since I had helped Johnny escape from the coffin—so I had put that investigation on hold. I wanted to find out who he was, but he had disappeared from the feeds. There wasn't much I could do except find a new investigation to follow until something progressed with the medical assistant.

About an hour later, the hatch door opened, and Veronica came down. There went my peace and quiet.

"Back so soon?" I asked. "Would it be possible for you to run back up there and get me some supplies? The computers need maintenance."

She sighed, "I guess."

I had convenient excuses with written lists prepared, which would get Veronica out of the room so that I could watch the feeds privately. I gave her my "earthworm" list, which was really a bunch of random crap for her to collect to keep her busy. It did, however, contain one important item that I actually needed for the special project I was working on in my spare time.

She glanced over the list. "I don't understand why you give your lists such strange titles," Veronica complained. "What does 'earthworm' mean in reference to this list? Empty water bottles, screwdriver, paper clips, magnets—"

"It means I know what it is, and you don't, so go get it," I said.

"Don't test me today, Vincent. I'm not in the mood," she said sternly.

"Go on; get out of here," I snapped.

Veronica climbed back up the ladder, opened the hatch door, and went on her jolly way, leaving me to my cameras.

While watching camera two, I saw something intriguing, which also reminded me that I wasn't the only one watching these feeds. Somewhere above ground, among the day-walkers, was a person just like me, whose job was to report suspicious activity to the government.

A group of janitors, manned by three guards, were cleaning up after the bloodshed that had resulted from rescuing Johnny. Deep in resistance territory, the janitors sorted the bodies into two separate lines on the floor in the middle of the hall. One line was for deceased guards, the other was for basement dwellers. As the line grew, a guard went around snapping pictures of each person's profile with his tablet. He also swiped each person's index finger across a digital fingerprint scanner connected to the tablet. When he finished, another guard used a machete to decapitate any dead body that wasn't a guard. During the last steps of their assembly line, a janitor collected the heads in a large biohazard bag while two others built a wall of basement dwellers. I felt that the government was trying to send us a threatening message. They knew we were down here.

My interest peaked when I saw the body of a dead basement dweller move. After the guard took her fingerprint, I saw the woman's eyes flutter, which sent chills down my spine. She was a robust young lady with snow-colored skin and brown hair. She looked familiar, but I couldn't put a name to her face. Her fingers twitched, reaffirming that she was still alive. Shit. She was going to be decapitated in about seven bodies. I had to do something fast.

Without a plan or much time to think, I left the feeds and the security room and rushed over to her location; I hid behind the wall of a perpendicular hallway to camera eight. I poked my head out and spotted the guards, taking note of their positions. Three bodies until live decapitation by Guard One.

"Move this one over there," Guard Two said from behind the wall of bodies.

Guard Three, the most distant, directed the janitor traffic over by the dead guards.

One body until live decapitation. It was now or never. I sprang out from hiding, leaped onto Guard One, and socked him behind the head with my titanium fist, knocking him out instantly. With their feathers ruffled, the janitors scurried away as Guard Two rapidly approached from behind. I snatched the machete from Guard One's hand, stabbed Guard Two in the stomach and pulled it out with his guts still attached. As I turned, I heard a gunshot, but I didn't feel any pain. I tried to throw the machete at Guard Three, but my grip wouldn't loosen because of technical difficulties.

He cocked his gun, aiming it at my chest. I froze in a compromising position on my knees. Seconds before he pulled the trigger, the dead girl sat up, accidently taking a bullet for me. Petrified, the guard put his next three bullets in her, which gave me a chance to get away. I quickly dove behind the wall of dead bodies, panting so hard that I swallowed my gum. Instead of coughing it up, I encouraged it to digest as I lay on the floor by headless necks. The guard opened fire on their feet until he was out of bullets.

After several minutes, he left, and all I heard was a ringing sound in my head. My bionic hand had locked up because there was a bullet jammed in my tendons. Until I got it out, I wouldn't be able to let go of the machete. I doubled checked to make sure the guard was gone before kneeling behind the chick who had unintentionally saved my life.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you in time," I said, closing her eyes with my human hand.

Her eyes shot open, and she looked up at me; then she made a groaning noise. I suddenly remembered why she looked familiar. She was the female subject who had wanted to practice sparring with me. She smiled blissfully, which was odd for someone who had just gotten shot in the back three times.

"I'm going to get some nopal cactus juice to heal you," I said. "I'll be right back." As I began to stand up, she grabbed my hand.

"It's you," she said, laughing. "That puny guy who watches the security cameras. I can't believe you survived."

I stood up, speechless, as I slowly let go of her hand. There was no logical reason on earth why this girl was still alive and moving as well as she was.

Despite what Johnny had told me, I didn't believe that he died or talked with his father. After being stuck in a coffin by himself for so long, I thought that he actually had gone insane with boredom and that he had made up stories for entertainment. Tom Hanks had made friends with a volleyball in the movie _Cast Away_ , an example of how loneliness could make someone delusional. Johnny's sudden increase in spirituality made him delusional enough to believe that he had to sleep holding a cherrywood twig every night so he could communicate with his dead ancestors. He was so far gone that I knew there was nothing I could do, so I did what a good friend does. I listened and didn't engage or encourage his delusions. I let him ramble on about his visions to get it out of his system, hoping that, with time, he'd soon come back to his precoffin state of mind. Since Johnny was a guy versed in survival skills, I was surprised when he didn't realize that what he experienced in the coffin wasn't real. Then again, it is difficult for a person to recognize his own insanity.

That was why it was crucial that I complete my investigation on the medical assistant. Before I could confront Johnny and make such accusations, I needed proof that I was right. To save Johnny, I must find out who the medical assistant was and what he was doing in his coffin for four months and why. Johnny wouldn't be able to ignore hard evidence.

"Don't waste your nopal juice on me. I don't need it," she said. "What's your name?"

"Vincent."

"They call me Raven."

Raven was hard evidence of something unexpected. The fact that Raven was alive shook my logic. I had always believed there was some scientific reason why strange things like this happened, even if I couldn't explain it. I could explain what really happened to Johnny but not what happened to Raven.

"We should leave," I suggested. "That guard will eventually come back with others."

"Aren't you afraid?"

"Of what?"

"Me."

"No."

"Why not? This is the first time I woke up from the dead and people didn't run away screaming 'vampire' or 'zombie,' whatever that means."

"I don't want to have another confrontation with those guards," I said. "Stay here. I promise I will come back."

She squeezed my hand, not wanting to let go.

"Ouch. That hurts," I said, causing her to release. I backed away, out of her reach. "I promise you; I will come back. You are a human woman; you are not a vampire or zombie—because those don't exist."

Raven looked confused by my statement. Probably because I said it looking like Edward Scissorhands. I ran off to the security room, grabbed the remaining nopal juice I had from surgery, and brought it back to Raven. She didn't want to drink it, but I insisted, so she did. Her skin glowed with golden luminescent rays of light while the nopal juice repaired her wounds. That didn't happen when I drank it. It had taken my wrist all night to form a nub, but she healed three bullet wounds in less than ten minutes. I held out my hand to her and helped her up on her feet, unsure of how she was feeling. Her strength almost pulled me down.

"Sorry," she said. "Or was it thank you?"

"Huh?"

"Where are we going?"

"Do you feel OK to walk, or do you need me to help you?"

She took a few steps on her own. "It doesn't hurt, so I can walk."

"OK," I said, leading the way.

She followed me back to the security room, where she pulled out a chair and sat down in front of the feeds.

"Are you sure you don't want to lay down?" I suggested.

"Nope."

She seemed interested in the feeds but was easily distracted by the cold, unfinished ham-and-egg sandwich sitting next to the screen. She ate it as if she hadn't tasted food for years, taking large bites, stuffing her mouth, and making sounds of approval. It reminded me of what Johnny had done to the burritos the night before.

"This is what you do all day?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's not that exciting," I said, sitting next to her. "Most of the time, nothing interesting happens. What do you do?"

"Army."

"That's cool," I replied. "I have two friends in training. I have to say, it's amazing how you're even alive. The nopal juice healed you way faster than me. I wonder why that is."

"I didn't need it. I always heal."

"I think you would have needed more than nopal juice to grow a new head," I said, laughing. "The guard was about to decapitate you, and you wouldn't have healed from that."

"What's wrong with your hand?"

"It's a titanium bionic hand, but the signal is jammed from the bullet that lodged in my—"

She dangerously grabbed the blade of the machete, brought my hand to her mouth, and removed the bullet with her teeth. "There you go," she said, spitting out the bullet on the floor.

"Wow! Thanks," I said, astonished. I straightened my fingers, releasing the machete. "It's almost as good a new—except for the slight dent."

"Good-bye?" she questioned for a moment as she pondered. "No, you're welcome."

Hmm. Did she not understand how to use greetings and salutations? She seemed to be confusing them with each other. Maybe English was her second language.

"Where are you from?" I asked.

"Here."

"No, I mean what country?"

She got up, wandered over to Veronica's sleeping bag, and squatted down to rummage through Johnny's things. Something had attracted her to that spot, and it wasn't the Harlequin novel, which she tossed aside. She petted the rabbit's foot for a while before setting it down for the cherrywood twig, which she sniffed and then broke in half.

Whoa. I didn't know how Johnny would react when he came back to see his precious twig mysteriously broken. I guess I could tell him that I had accidently stepped on it. That excuse would have worked before she stole half of the twig. What would I say now? That I suddenly believed his visions, and now I had them too?

"You like cherrywood?" I asked, distracting her. "That belongs to my friend. He picked that from the forest."

She didn't seem to get the message. Instead, she placed the twig in her pants.

"Where do you sleep at night?"

She ignored my question and left the room, walking out into the basement hallway.

"Excuse me," I heard Johnny say before he entered the room. "I need to talk to you—all of you. Where is Veronica?"

* * *

Camera forty, my eye that watched over the glass-building entrance on the first floor, was remarkably bustling with titillating activity for a late night. At approximately fifteen minutes after three in the morning, Laura walked by camera forty, wearing a skimpy nightgown and slippers, and carrying a gallon-sized glass jar. I was surprised to see her alone, since she was usually surrounded by guards. She turned around toward the camera, held the jar on her baby bump, and pushed the door open. The camera was too far away to see the contents of the jar, so I had to go up and see for myself.

I clipped a perception filter onto my scrubs and cautiously got out of my chair, stepping over Collins who was sprawled out on the floor. The Johnny-and-Veronica cocoon was more challenging, but I managed to hop over them without waking anyone up. The light from the computer screens helped me climb the ladder discreetly until I reached the squeaky hatch door, which I left open for my return. It was pitch dark up there in the closet, indicating that no one was currently in the medical wing, so I went out, making sure to close the door.

Keeping my distance, I followed Laura to the graveyard. She placed the jar down in the sand, got down on her hands and knees, and began to dig a hole. I walked up behind her and took the jar. Behold! There it was. My severed hand was being preserved by a liquid substance in the glass jar.

"Oh, you startled me," Laura said, looking my way.

"What are you doing alone here at this time of night?" I asked.

"I'm sorry. I know I'm not supposed to go out by myself, but I couldn't stand the smell anymore. I can't sleep with this human hand rotting in my bedroom. Ever since Kenneth found it, he's been obsessed with it. I don't know why, but it's creeping me out."

"Stop digging," I said, dropping the jar in the sand.

She stopped, straightened her back, and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "I feel nauseous."

"I bet," I said, extending my hands out to her. "You shouldn't be doing this. The graveyard will make you sick."

"Are you going to tell Kenneth that I was out here?" she asked, looking worried.

"No."

She took my hands, and I helped her up on her feet.

"Oh, wow. One hand is warm, and the other is freezing," she said, stroking my silicon coating masked as skin.

I didn't want to let go, so I gently pulled her closer to my lips, forgetting who I was.

"You want to feel?"

She must have thought I was ogling her baby bump because she took my bionic hand and pressed it against her belly. It was the only time that I wished that hand could feel.

"Ah, that's nice," she sighed with relief. "Like an icepack. You're going to have to do my forehead next."

I laughed. "OK, but not here. I'll bury the jar for you."

"Thanks, I appreciate you not telling Kenneth about this."

"No problem," I said, sitting down.

I continued to dig her hole as she stood and watched. Who did she see when she looked at me? I figured the perception filter made me look like a guard, but I had no idea who I was. Was this guard someone she saw often? How well did they know each other? When I finished digging the hole, I buried my hand, saying my last good-byes.

I found a nice spot away from the graveyard to sit with Laura under the stars and breathe in the fresh air. She reclined on my lap as I chilled her forehead with my cold bionic hand. She was stargazing, which made her unaware that I couldn't stop staring at her. I didn't care that she had HIV, that she was pregnant, or that she was Kenneth's fiancée. I wanted her; I wanted to be with her, even if it was only for a few minutes. If only she knew that I was alive, we could pick up where we had left off. I had waited months to reveal myself to her, but why? Why was I subconsciously holding back?

"I'm going to do it tonight," I thought. "Right here, right now. I'm going to lose this damn perception filter and show her that I'm Vincent."

I covered her eyes with my bionic hand.

"What are you doing?" Laura questioned. I removed my perception filter and lifted the blindfold.

When she saw _me_ , she bolted out of my lap, astounded.

"Hi," I said causally.

She stood up and backed away.

"Laura, it's me," I said, inching closer. She shot me that pouty look I loved—right before she smacked me across the face. "What was that for?" I said, rubbing my cheek. "I thought you would be excited to see me."

In fact, she was angry.

"You asshole," she cried, tears streaming down her face.

I was deeply confused by her reaction. This wasn't where we had left off. The last thing I remembered was a drunken pounding before we were recaptured. "Sorry. Am I missing something here?"

"You've been alive all this time, hiding and pretending to be someone else, and you didn't tell me?" she shouted.

"Was that all?" I thought. "I also stalked you, brought you gifts, stole your eyeliner, and visited you every week."

"Shh!" I said out loud. "Calm down and lower your—"

She clutched the neck of my shirt in her fist, forcefully pulled me toward her, and kissed me with tender lips that tasted like pickles. Her tongue ventured into my mouth. I caressed her waistline, bringing us closer, but she suddenly pushed me away.

"I missed you," she said.

"I love you."

With only an arm's distance between us, we gazed into each other's watery eyes, stuck on mute. Her mouth kept moving like there was so much she wanted to say, but she held her tongue. Instead, she turned and sauntered away from me—again.

I clipped the perception filter on my pants, feeling rejected. I returned to the basement and curled up in a ball under the computer table. My heart throbbed, ached, and tingled until I silently cried myself to sleep.

* * *

I thought about last night, and I found a way to answer Johnny's question. I wrote it down and left the paper under Johnny's half-twig and rabbit's foot.

You entice me

Unknowing

That you own me

You confuse me

Use my aid

Then seduce me

We testify

Amendments

To feed our doubt

I justify

Conclusions

You leave me out

I speculate

Allusions

When I am down

# Chapter 8: Laura

"My fellow citizens," Kenneth said into a microphone. "I stand here today, proud to accept the task before me, grateful for the empire I inherited, and mindful of the effort every citizen has contributed." Under bright spotlights, Kenneth held an assertive pose for the camera.

He was wearing a black Dolce & Gabbana brocade jacket embroidered with gold. What the camera couldn't see was that behind the podium, Kenneth sported a more casual look of bare feet and boxers. I had an explicit view of everything from where I sat in the first row of the empty _Chair Trials_ auditorium.

"I want to thank my mother, Governor Quinton, for her service to our village and for the generosity and cooperation she has shown throughout this transition. She is a fine leader, and I'm glad to follow in her footsteps and lead by her example."

A few seats to my right, Mrs. Quinton sat like a proper lady, with her legs crossed and her back straight, pompously mouthing the words she wrote as Kenneth gave his inauguration speech. I rolled my eyes and pouted before focusing my attention back on the stage.

"I want all citizens to realize that even though I am privileged, I understand the concerns of the laborers," Kenneth continued. "I value and appreciate the work they do every day. I am not just another governor standing up here giving a speech; I'm your father, someone you can talk to about anything. I am here to encourage you, support you, and defend you, because the village of Walnut Cherryville is a strong family with traditional values. We must collaborate with one another and protect one another from those who betray us or mean us harm. The safety of our family is of utmost importance."

Today marked the day that Kenneth had become the new governor of Walnut Cherryville—under the supervision of his mother, of course. Mrs. Quinton was far too much of a control freak to give up all of her power, even to her own son. The more time I spent with the Quinton family, the more I noticed their odd puppet-and-puppeteer relationship. Trust was a fantasized idea to them that was easily severed. All their lies and deceiving acts tested me, making it difficult to understand my role in the grand scheme of things. After the film crew submitted the _Chair Trials_ footage to Mrs. Quinton, I was punished maliciously for the way I had hosted the show, and it wasn't allowed to air.

* * *

It was midnight, and I was bingeing out on pickles. I had a craving that wouldn't subside, so I got out of bed, put on my slippers, and raided the Quintons' private kitchen. All of a sudden, I heard footsteps and was knocked out before I could see who was there.

When I woke up, my nightgown was around my ankles, leaving my bra and panties exposed. My wrists were cuffed and chained to the ceiling of an outdoor jail cell, where my feet could barely reach the cold, concrete floor.

"Hello? Who's there?" I panicked, gazing around the room, feeling hazy. I had a pounding headache.

The sound of high heels echoed throughout the hall, the unmistakable declaration of Mrs. Quinton's approach. She entered my cell carrying a whip.

"Good evening, Laura," Mrs. Quinton said.

"Get me out of this," I sobbed.

"I haven't done this for quite a long time. I'm afraid there's a crick in my wrist," she said, rotating her wrist around. "Arthritis. Don't ever get old, Laura."

"What are you doing with that?" I shouted.

Mrs. Quinton walked behind me and took the first crack at my back, causing me to scream out in pain. As she circled around me, she began to tell me a story.

"I used to be rebellious like you, Laura, when I was a teenager. I grew up on an old cotton plantation in Georgia, where my family had lived for generations. I used to rob jewelry and clothing stores in town just for the thrill of it. It was exhilarating," she said. She snapped the whip at my feet, causing me to jump. "When a child in my family did something terribly wrong, my parents spanked us with this antique whip my great-grandparents used back in the day to whip their slaves. I never forgot the first time I was whipped. It was such a painful experience, but it worked, and I never wanted to shoplift again. Back then, I resented my parents for doing it, because I didn't understand their discipline methods," she paused, and then swiftly spanked my leg with the whip.

The blood beneath my skin rushed to the surface, giving it a dark hue. It burned like a bee sting and throbbed. I could feel the baby's heart beat rapidly inside me.

I silently cried out, "Stop you, crazy bitch; you're going to kill my baby!"

"Years later, when I had a son, my parents passed the whip down to me. When Kenneth was twelve years old, I caught him kissing another boy from dance class, so I whipped him, and he never did it again. He understood very quickly that his behavior wasn't God's way. Now it's your turn. Do you know the purpose of _Chair Trials_ , Laura?"

I shook my limp head no.

"It serves a very similar purpose to this; it's used to promote fear," she said, whipping my back again.

I cringed and squeezed the chains. Nothing could prepare me for the pain I had to endure. I prayed to God that my baby would survive.

"This is how you stay on top; this is how you keep people in line. Are you going to be a nuisance to me, Laura?" she asked, gripping my chin tightly as she dug her polished nails into my cheeks. She forced me to look her in the eyes, but I didn't respond.

"Kenneth would never know that I made you disappear—just remember that the next time you want to be disobedient."

I finally realized exactly how far the apple falls from the tree. At times, I felt sorry that Kenneth had to grow up this way. Under no circumstances would I ever whip my child or would I ever allow Kenneth to carry out this psychotic tradition.

* * *

Kenneth's voice faded in as I came back to the present.

"I plan to increase armed guard forces 30 percent by the end of the year," Kenneth stated. "Under my leadership, lawbreakers will be judged and given stricter punishment to prevent reoccurring crimes. In order to devote my full attention and energy to being your governor, I declare my resignation from hosting _Chair Trials_ , effective immediately. I'm proud to promote my lovely fiancée, Laura, as the new host and watchdog of this village."

Mrs. Quinton turned her head, grinned, and leered at me, gloating silently that she had gotten her way. My plan for getting out of hosting _Chair Trials_ hadn't worked, and she had to rub it in my face.

"I am confident that her presence on the show will engage, entertain, and persuade you against violence, so that Walnut Cherryville can be a safer community," Kenneth said. "Victims injured by the crimes of others will receive top medical care. Over the past few months, I have invested and funded great scientific research in hopes of finding a more effective way to heal and cure our terminally ill citizens. As you are aware, the love of my life has contracted HIV, a truly devastating disease. Her struggle and courage have motivated me to find a cure, and I will stop at nothing to make sure that my family is healthy and HIV free and that my wife and future child can live the lives they deserve."

I knew Kenneth was using me for something more than companionship, but I didn't know what. Since my HIV was a hoax, not a word of truth was spoken to the villagers on the subject. Instead, Kenneth made me the poster teen for HIV, creating an elaborate story about my struggle, which I didn't appreciate. I wouldn't want everyone in the village talking about my HIV, even if I did actually have it. That part of my life was something I wanted to keep private.

* * *

Kenneth knew nothing of my struggle with his mother because the evidence was magically healed. After an hour of torture, Mrs. Quinton shot me down from the ceiling using the handgun in her sundress. Once the chains were broken, I fell on my belly because my muscles were too weak to support my weight. Blood was smeared across my back, legs, and face. I cried and lay on my side, worried about the baby. The beating had caused me a lot of stress, and I didn't want to make Kenneth upset by having a miscarriage. If I lost the baby without looking roughed-up, Kenneth would think I did it on purpose. Kenneth was far from the perfect guy, but in my current situation, I needed to use him as protection against his mother. Even if Kenneth didn't have my interests at heart, this baby gave me leverage with him, so I could use that to my advantage when he was around.

Mrs. Quinton had forced me to drink a magenta-colored liquid before she cleaned my wounds. It looked strange, and I had no idea what it was, but I did as I was told because she was holding a gun to my head. I drank every last drop. I remember her saying, ironically, "This is going to sting," before rubbing aloe on my open cuts.

Amazingly, the wounds healed in an hour; it was as if they never existed. During the healing process, Mrs. Quinton babysat me, so I wouldn't have any proof to show Kenneth that she whipped me. She also threatened to kill me if I breathed a word of it to Kenneth.

* * *

"After many months, scientists and medical experts in Walnut Cherryville's laboratories have developed a healing drink extracted from natural ingredients," Kenneth said. "The active ingredient, nopal cactus juice, comes from cacti growing in our own backyard and promises to detoxify the body, reduce injury inflammation, and promote optimal cellular health. The medicine is currently in trial testing and will be available to citizens soon via doctor's prescription once a full list of its side effects is compiled. Laura is such an inspiration to me, and I thank her again for her redesign of Walnut Cherryville's new and improved fashion line"

* * *

After the confrontation with Mrs. Quinton, I was frazzled, and I couldn't get back to sleep. I couldn't let her get away with what she had done.

"These Quintons _will not_ step all over me," I thought. I had to find some way to draw the line and play their game as an equal. As I tossed and turned in bed, Kenneth slept like a baby. It only took two minutes for my sensitive nose to pick up the scent of rotting flesh from the glass jar on the dresser. This was when I first noticed that Kenneth had put the hand on display, which made me furious.

"That's it! I've had it!" I thought.

I bolted out of bed, rammed my feet back into my slippers, and grabbed the jar, leaving the Quintons' private quarters by myself. Little did I know, I was walking into more confrontations and further disappointment in the graveyard.

* * *

I placed the jar down in the sand, got down on my hands and knees, and began to dig a hole for the disgusting pickled appendage. I heard sand shuffle behind me, so I listened until I realized it was Gary, a guard from my personal secret service. "Oh, you startled me," I said, looking behind me.

"What are you doing alone here at this time of night?" Gary asked.

"I'm sorry. I know I'm not supposed to go out by myself, but I couldn't stand the smell anymore. I can't sleep with this human hand rotting in my bedroom. Ever since Kenneth found it, he's been obsessed with it. I don't know why, but it's creeping me out."

"Stop digging," he said, dropping the jar in the sand.

I stopped, stretched my back, and wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. "I feel nauseous."

"I bet," He said, extending his hands out to me. "You shouldn't be doing this. The graveyard will make you sick."

"Are you going to tell Kenneth that I was out here?" I asked, looking worried.

"No."

Thank God. Gary was way more chillax than the other guards Kenneth had assigned to protect me.

I took his hands, and he helped me up on my feet.

"Oh, wow. One hand is warm, and the other is freezing," I said, feeling his skin.

Gary was acting strange tonight. I could have sworn he was trying to kiss me. He pulled me close to his lips, so I interrupted the awkward moment.

"You want to feel?" I took his cold hand and pressed it against my belly. "Ah, that's nice," I sighed with relief. "Like an icepack. You're going to have to do my forehead next."

He laughed. "OK, but not here. I'll bury the jar for you."

"Thanks, I appreciate you not telling Kenneth about this."

"No problem," He said, sitting down.

He continued to dig my hole as I stood and watched. When Gary finished digging the hole, he buried the hand.

We found a nice spot away from the graveyard to sit under the stars and breathe in the fresh air. I reclined on his lap as he chilled my forehead with his icy hand. I was stargazing. While laying down on Gary's lap—watching the stars and trying to relax—he covered my eyes with his chilled hand for no reason. This made me nervous, considering I had been knocked out and whipped by Kenneth's mother only hours earlier.

"What are you doing?" I questioned. Then I saw that Gary was actually Vincent.

I sprang out of his lap, amazed by how the night kept getting increasingly worse. I was thrilled to see that Vincent was alive. He had marginally escaped death, after I had screwed him over by choosing Kenneth's deal to save myself instead of dying together. Though selfish, it was probably a good decision, since we both were saved in the end. Suddenly, I realized how I was being used by Kenneth—I was bait. Vincent had been killed by Mrs. Quinton months ago, yet here he was standing in front of me.

"Hi," Vincent said innocently.

I stood up and took a few steps back. One of the first lessons I learned about the Quinton family was that they kept people alive until they were no longer needed. They would stalk, interrogate, manipulate, and torture their own citizens for any reason at all. Kenneth was obsessed over the corpse's hand he claimed to have found in the basement. He kept it close because he knew it belonged to Vincent. During breakfast the other morning, Kenneth had stated that he thought whoever lost the hand would come looking for it, and he was right, but I didn't want to think about Kenneth torturing Vincent after I seemingly had broken his heart. I felt that Kenneth was probably using me to lead Vincent into a trap, but I didn't understand his plan or why Vincent had been kept alive.

"Laura, it's me," Vincent said, trying to kiss me.

I pouted and smacked him across the face for being so stupid. Whatever Kenneth was plotting, Vincent was falling for it because I was involved, and he still thought he was in love with me.

"What was that for?" he whined, rubbing his cheek. "I thought you would be excited to see me."

"You asshole," I cried, tears streaming down my face.

"Sorry. Am I missing something here?"

I wasn't going to take his blunt approach and be rude by pointing out his flaws, like he did to me every time I got in trouble and needed help. I would be more subtle and fix the problem before he realized he was in danger. I knew I would never get the chance to love Vincent as much as he thought he loved me, but I still cared for him. I enjoyed the time we spent together, though it would be too dangerous for him and me to continue hooking up. In order to keep him safe, I had to come up with something that would discourage him from wanting to see me again, so I chose to play the blame game.

"You've been alive all this time, hiding and pretending to be someone else, and you didn't tell me?" I shouted.

Blaming my boyfriend for not letting me know about every detail of his life was something I did that usually pushed my boyfriends away when I was tired of them. I didn't want to hurt his feelings again, but something happened.

"Shh!" he said. "Calm down, and lower your—"

I snatched his shirt collar, forcefully pulled him toward me, and frenched him. He caressed my waistline, making me feel sexy for the first time in months. Since my baby bump had started showing, I hadn't felt attractive anymore. Kenneth would never touch me, probably because I had gotten fat. Just because I stopped whoring myself out to men, didn't mean I stopped yearning for their affection and attention. I hadn't expected to get married to someone who never wanted to have sex. Kenneth had only made love to me one time, and then I got pregnant, but after that, never again. It had been four months and three weeks since my last sexual encounter. I needed to unwind and have something to release my frustration on—something hard that would make me sopping wet. The thought of riding Vincent got me antsy. Oh gosh, what if I _was_ addicted to sex? I couldn't let Kenneth be right, so I pushed Vincent away. Besides, fucking Vincent would send him the wrong message; it would keep him coming back for more, leading him into trouble. I didn't want to confirm or deny the feelings I had for him.

"I missed you," I said.

"I love you," he responded.

From far away, we gazed into each other's sad eyes in silence. I wanted to tell him to be careful. I wanted to tell him that I still cared for him and that I appreciated him. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry for the pain I had caused him and that I would only have abandoned him for a good reason. There was so much I was about to say, but I stopped for his protection. Instead, I turned and walked away—with regret.

* * *

I couldn't help but drift off during Kenneth's boring speech. When I heard his closing statement, I was relieved it was finally over.

"Thank you. God bless the citizens of Walnut Cherryville," Kenneth said hesitantly. "It is the greatest community in the world. May it continue to prosper through generations of Quinton leaders. I hope you all sleep well tonight, feeling safe in the hands of your new governor, Kenneth Quinton."

# Chapter 9: Collins

"Warning, shwar-ning," I told myself. "Screw army training. Who needs that shit anyway?" I knew I didn't because Johnny was relying on me to help him find that thing—what was it? I didn't really understand why he was looking for a crypt, or what he expected to find there (besides dead bodies), but I was sure I would find out soon.

Johnny and I woke up early, before everyone else, to avoid being seen by Alejandro or anyone in the army. We couldn't afford to get caught skipping school, especially since this was my last warning, and I was not sure how serious the resistance was about that. I clipped a perception filter onto my basketball shorts as Johnny kissed his sleeping beauty good-bye.

"I'm ready," Johnny said. "Let's go."

"Don't forget this," I said, tossing him a perception filter. "Hold on a second." I felt gas moving quickly though my intestines. I squatted down by Vincent's face, cut the cheese, and began racing toward the ladder. On my way there, I tripped over Veronica, which woke her up.

"Ay mi pierna," she groaned, curling up into a ball and rubbing her leg.

Before I could get back on my feet, Vincent awakened, coughing and gasping for fresh air.

"He did it," I said, pointing at Johnny, who rolled his eyes.

Vincent flipped me the bionic bird.

"I love you too, Vincent," I stated.

"Can we just get out of here now?" Johnny asked.

"Where are you going?" Veronica questioned.

Johnny glared at me, looking annoyed.

"Where do you think?" Vincent commented rudely. "They're skipping army training to go find the dagger that the twig whispered about—the one that's in the courthouse crypt. Do you pay attention to anything Johnny says when he talks to you, or do you just go gaga watching his lips flap?"

"I know what you're going to say," Johnny said. "Please, don't go. It's too dangerous. Well, I promise I'll come back, and everything will be fine. It's just for a few hours. You know how important this is to me."

"Are you sure you don't need another hand?" Vincent suggested. "Veronica could go with you—"

"No, it's too dangerous," Johnny blurted out. "Oh, shit," he said, realizing Veronica had caught him in a fib. "I mean it's too dangerous for you. I would feel much better if you stayed here."

"Oh, no. He didn't!" I thought. "Good luck explaining yourself out of that one."

"Relax. I'm not going," Veronica said.

Johnny sighed with relief.

"Dammit," Vincent interjected, slamming his titanium fist on the floor.

Veronica stood up and faced Johnny. "For the record, I can take care of myself, thank you. I was going to say be careful and have fun." She gave him a peck on the lips, grabbed a perception filter from the computer table, and climbed the ladder. "See you later," she said, closing the hatch door on her way out.

"OK, I feel like the worst guy ever," Johnny said, bewildered. "I just assumed she would be mad, but now she seems disappointed in me, which is worse."

"Assuming makes an ass out of you and...well, in this case, just you," I joked, but Johnny wasn't amused. I started to count Johnny's dating violations. "Not only did you assume, you also lied to her, insulted her, and snuck around behind her back—"

"Collins! Can we please go now," Johnny insisted. "This is why I didn't want to leave when everyone was awake."

"All right. I'm going," I said as I climbed the ladder.

Johnny followed me up until we entered the closet of the medical wing.

"That wasn't an 'I'm going to miss you, don't die' type of kiss, but more of an 'I'll deal with you when you get home' type of kiss," I explained. "She'll probably be expecting some grand apology."

"Stop!" Johnny shouted, frustrated. He slammed the hatch door. "If you hadn't farted in Vincent's face, I wouldn't be in this situation. You know, maybe it's better if I do this alone."

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you mad. Besties have to stick together."

Johnny exited the closet, oblivious to the people nearby, which was dangerous for both of us. Thank God he was wearing the perception filter, so he appeared to be a peeved medical assistant. When we came out of the closet, everyone was staring at us. Johnny didn't care and continued walking to the exit. I felt nervous.

"Hi!" I waved uneasily to my fake coworkers. "Just a little, tiny, minuscule dispute over a joke; nothing to see here. Sorry to disturb you." I gently closed the door behind me before chasing after Johnny.

"You could have gotten us killed, man; you need to be more careful," I suggested.

On the way out of the glass building, Johnny let the door close on me—a bitchy thing to do to a best friend. I hadn't dropped everything in my life and come all this way to be treated like dirt.

"Johnny, don't be so prissy. She's just a girl. You'll kiss and make up, and she'll get over it."

He stomped onward, ignoring me.

"You can't blame me for something you did," I said. "That's not fair."

"You'll never understand," Johnny responded. "She's not just a girl." He sighed. "Sorry if I'm overreacting. I know it's not your fault. Can we drop this now and focus on getting the perception filters off the courthouse?"

"Yeah, sure."

The last time I had seen Johnny and Veronica, which was several months ago before leaving Walnut Cherryville, they hadn't been an item. I respected the "bros before hoes" code, but I wasn't sure that Johnny did. I thought that a best friend was irreplaceable and forever, but apparently, I was wrong. While I was gone, that bitch took him away from me. He replaced me with her, and now they were almost inseparable. I had given up a lot to be here for him; only to find out that he had moved on with someone else. Amy said that Johnny needed me, but it looked like he was doing just fine with Veronica. The Johnny I knew would have thought that that prank on Vincent was funny. We used to pull pranks like that all the time back in school, and he never acted angry when something went wrong. It was even more surprising to see Johnny blaming me for his problems instead of blaming himself. I hadn't told him to say those things to Veronica; so why was he irritated with me? All I did was fart in Vincent's face, and he only cared enough to flip me the bird. There was something wrong with Johnny that only a friendly intervention could fix.

Johnny and I circled around the courthouse, scanning it from top to bottom for perception filters. All I saw were dome cameras and those irksome stick-figure drawings, which were supposed to mean something to the effect of a fortune-cookie statement. After so many months, I still couldn't figure it out, so I concluded that it was the artwork of a severely jaded fellow. One night he had gotten high, ate too many prickly pears, and doodled on a building—that was it. Nothing revolutionary about those drawings. A child could draw better than that. He was probably laughing in his grave about how seriously the future people had been analyzing his bullshit doodles.

"I can't imagine that the perception filters on the courthouse are constructed the same way as the ones we're wearing," Johnny said. "There isn't anything to clip it onto."

"Maybe it's inside," I suggested. "The perception filter must be making the courthouse look bigger on the inside, but that does create a slight problem."

"What's the problem?"

"The judge. She's probably in there right now; she doesn't leave the courthouse very often. As far as I know, she only leaves to eat, which doesn't give us much time to snoop around."

"Perception filters are nice, but they don't hide the fact that we're snooping," Johnny added.

"Not to mention, cameras are watching us, and the judge probably has anti-perception contacts since she is a high-ranking government official."

"Anti-perception contacts?" Johnny questioned.

"They are contact lens that see though perception filters and expose who you really are. I learned that from you—I mean from Amy, who pretended to be you."

"Weird. This does seem dangerous and risky," Johnny admitted. "But what adventure isn't?"

I laughed.

"I don't think we should wait around by the courthouse; it looks suspicious," Johnny said.

"Yeah, the guards will be bringing in people to be judged any minute now, and they'll tell us to get back to work if they don't recognize us. If they do recognize us, then we're dead."

Johnny glanced around. "We could hide in that low grate on the _Chair Trials_ studio and watch to see when she comes out," he suggested. With no better options on the table, we shuffled behind the _Chair Trials_ studio. "How are we going to get into the courthouse? We don't have scan keys anymore, and I doubt you can run fast enough to catch the door before it closes and locks us out."

"Hey, don't doubt me, bro. You know I beat you at the running challenge in army training the other day."

"Yes, you're fast. But not fast enough to jump out of that grate without been seen, run over to the door, and catch it before it closes. Don't be unrealistic, Superman."

"That does seem tough," I agreed. "I'd have a better chance at it if I didn't lose time by jumping out of the grate. The distance isn't that far."

"This is going to be harder than I thought," Johnny said.

A woman medical assistant approached us, and Johnny and I hushed since we didn't know who she was.

"Excuse me, I believe I can be of some assistance," she said. She pulled a scan key from her white coat and dangled the red medical button in front of us.

We gasped, amazed that our problem was solved by a kind stranger. Johnny reached for the scan key, but the woman snatched it away.

It _had_ seemed too easy. Who was this woman, and what did she want?

"I have some things you need, but there is something I need in return," she said.

I was prepared for someone to ask me to strip again. It had happened so often that I automatically shook my ass to an imaginary beat, took my shirt off, and whipped it around. "What would you like, fine lady?" I asked, getting crunk.

She and Johnny giggled, smirking at each other.

"How long are you planning on letting this go on?" Johnny asked.

"Just until you get jealous enough to apologize," she responded.

"Oh, shit! You're Veronica," I said, embarrassed. "You should have said something sooner; I was about to grind on you." I backed away, picked up my shirt, and put it back on. I looked at Johnny. "How did you know it was her?"

"I can recognize that smile from anywhere," Johnny responded. "Perception filters may hide who you are, but they don't hide your facial expressions."

I didn't see anything special about Veronica's smile. And clearly, I wouldn't be able to pick it out of a lineup.

"I'm not sure what I said that invited you to take off your clothes, Collins, but I want to make it very clear that I don't want to see you get naked," Veronica said harshly. "Don't do it again."

"Yes, ma'am," I replied.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," Johnny groveled. "I didn't want to get you involved with something dangerous. If you got hurt again, I would never forgive myself. I was just trying to protect you. You understand, right? I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. After seeing how worried you got when Alejandro said I was admitted into the army, I felt it would be better not to tell you exactly when I was going into the crypt."

"You know I'm ready to help you with anything you need, right?" Veronica said.

Johnny nodded.

"I accept your apology, but know that this isn't the woods," Veronica continued. "I've lived here many years, and I know the territory much better than you do. Don't count me out of dangerous adventures. I'd rather experience them with you than sit on the sidelines. I'm not scared of everything. Maybe if you had talked to me about this, I could have helped you be more prepared."

I had to admit she was right. It seemed that Johnny's plan was to wing it, and that wasn't working out so well. We were already experiencing complications just trying to figure out how to get into the courthouse. I wish I knew more about what was going on here.

Johnny and Veronica hugged, kissed, and made up for five minutes—just as I had predicted. Nothing was better than a team of brains and brawn working together.

"Can I make a suggestion?" Veronica asked.

"No, thanks, Veronica. I think my boy and I got this down," I said confidently.

"Don't bother turning off the courthouse perception filters. It's not worth your time; I brought you anti-perception contacts," Veronica said, pulling two sealed sets out of her bra and handing them to Johnny. "These will make everything go a lot faster, and they will lower your risk of getting caught."

"Thanks. Would you like to join us?" Johnny asked.

" _No! No! No!_ " I thought. "Really Johnny, do you have to bring your chick to everything? How bad would it be for you to spend some time with your bestie? Quick, think of something to get her to go away."

"You can't come with us," I blurted out to Veronica. "Johnny would be too distracted, and I need him to watch my back."

"That's fine," Veronica responded. "I have things I need to do anyway." She continued, "Here are your items: One authorized scan key"—she yanked the medical button apart from the scan key and threw it far away—"minus the tracking device." Next, she pulled a gun out of her pants and handed it to me. "This is for protection." She reached down her scrub blouse, retrieved Johnny's twig and my rabbit's foot from her bra, and gave them to him "for luck and guidance." Lastly, she gave him a smooch "for love and a safe return."

"You're the best," Johnny said. "I lo—"

"OK, let's go; we're burning daylight here," I interrupted.

I thought he was going to pop out the _L_ word, which would be doomsday to our friendship.

"Thanks, Veronica, for returning something that I thought I lost."

Oh, _lost_ —a much better word.

"Where did you get all this extra stuff?" Johnny asked.

"I stole it from Alejandro's stash. I brought you the cherrywood because I didn't know if you'd be spending the night. How much time do you think you'll need to be down there?" Veronica questioned.

"Ugh. I have no idea," Johnny replied.

"I don't want to sleep in no crypt," I remarked. "You hear me? I ain't spendin' the night with those dead suckers."

The more Veronica spoke, the more uncomfortable she made us about the task ahead.

"Would you say about three hours?" she asked.

Johnny shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm going to wait three hours, and if you're not back in the security room by then, I will assume you've gotten hurt and need help. I'll bring someone with me; we'll find you and bring you back to safety."

"OK, sounds like a plan," Johnny said. "Thanks for your help."

"Be safe. See you soon. Bye for now," she responded, waving good-bye.

"Bye for now," Johnny repeated, waving back like a doofus as he watched her walk away.

I secured the gun in my basketball shorts before tossing that doofus into the grate. He was startled because he hadn't been paying attention.

"Ouch, Collins. The metal is hot," Johnny complained. "Why would you just throw me in there like that without warning?"

I hopped in, realizing that we could potentially cook ourselves to death sitting in a metal grate under the strong desert sun. I could last in the sun for a while, but Johnny was white—the kind of white that freckles. Thank God I had my Nikes. Unfortunately, Johnny didn't have any shoes, so he used me as a footrest. While we waited for the judge to leave the courthouse, we put the anti-perception contacts into our eyes and peeked out from the grate. Nothing looked different, which confirmed our belief that the perception filter was inside the building. What did the courthouse interior really look like? Would it match the smell of dead bodies that came from the basement filing room?

After waiting for what felt like an hour or two, the judge finally left the courthouse. I pushed Johnny out of the grate, so he wouldn't burn his feet on the hot metal. Once I hopped out, we ran to the courthouse and unlocked the door using the scan key. Then Johnny and I walked casually into the building and closed the door.

The courthouse interior I knew didn't exist, but I liked it much better than what the perception filters had been hiding. The real interior matched the exterior: a small, red-clay hut decorated with tons of stick-figure drawings that look like Egyptian hieroglyphics. There were over a thousand boxes strung together, telling a story from the ceiling down to the stone floor. A dome camera was attached to the center of the ceiling, which stood only inches above my head. I didn't notice any perception filters around—unless that wasn't just a camera. What if the dome camera served a dual purpose? That would mean that this wasn't the only building being covered up by perception filters. I reached up and felt around, but there were no buttons or switches. This was the only object in the room that seemed out of place, so it had to be what I was looking for. I needed more light.

Johnny and I each grabbed a firelit torch; they were mounted on the wall next to an array of skulls that were neatly lined up on a rugged wooden bookshelf. As I strolled past them, I heard a slight grinding sound.

"Did you hear that?" I whispered.

Johnny was a few feet away, on the other side of the dome, examining the pickled, naked bodies. All of them were pregnant females with their uteruses cut open, exposing the fetus at different stages of development.

"Hear what?" Johnny asked.

My stomach churned at the sight of them, so I moved to the next exhibit, which featured stacked jars of blood. I quickly lost interest and continued to examine the dome camera on the ceiling. There wasn't any text imprinted on it, which probably meant that it couldn't be turned off manually.

"I may have found the perception filter, but there's no off switch," I said.

"I bet it's computer operated," Johnny said. "Maybe we could get Vincent to investigate it when we get back."

"Yeah, there is probably some password or code connected to ComCon or something that turns these things off. Someone might be watching us."

"We should hurry. There's the staircase. I know where to go from here, so follow me," Johnny said as he began walking down the steps.

A long spiral staircase, confined by a brick-wall perimeter, led down into the crypt. The air reeked of dead bodies rotting inside their stone coffins. All of them were sealed except one, which was Johnny's great-great-great-grandfather. His stone lid was broken on the floor, which explained the horrible stench. Johnny and I stood over his coffin, gazing at the golden dagger between his ribs.

"This is it," Johnny said. "This is what I've been looking for."

"That is some pretty sweet bling," I commented. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Well, that's complicated, see—"

A machete flew from out of nowhere and stabbed Johnny in the back, causing him to keel over on the coffin. When I glanced behind me, an athletic, pale chick with brown hair was stampeding toward us from the base of the stairs.

"Don't get any closer," I sniveled, pulling the machete out of Johnny's back.

He collapsed and hit his head the stone floor.

Wait. Was I supposed to take that out or leave it in? I knew I should help him, but I'd be no good to him dead. This bitch was freaking me out, and I couldn't think straight. I swung the machete around recklessly, warning her to stay away, but she didn't listen. She stepped on my turf, so I slashed her arm, filleting the flesh right off the bone—a clean cut. Steaks anyone?

Aggravated, she snatched the machete by the blade and yanked it out of my hand. "Shit, this bitch is hardcore," I thought.

"Please, don't hurt me," I whimpered, my hands above my head. I was so afraid, I nearly pissed my pants.

She moved in, pressing the blade against my chest, and I stepped back until I hit the wall. My knees trembled, and I gulped. This was the end.

"You look familiar," I said. "I saw you coming out of the security room the other day. Why are you doing this? Aren't we on the same team?"

She ignored me and lowered her weapon before stealing Johnny's dagger from his ancestor's ribs. Why did she spare me, and why did she need that dagger?

"Hey, that's not yours," I shouted. "Give it to me."

She tossed the machete into the coffin and kneeled down next to Johnny. She cut his shirt open with the golden dagger. Johnny groaned in pain as it sliced through his skin from his neck down to his belly button.

I pulled the gun out of my pants, aiming at her. "Back away, or I'll shoot," I demanded.

She glanced at me nonchalantly, placing her hand on Johnny's heart.

I fired a warning shot into her shoulder, which distracted her, and Johnny swiftly knocked the dagger out of her hand. It slid over by my feet. She immediately tried to move after it, but Johnny restrained her. He plopped onto her back and pinned her hands behind her head, so she couldn't fight back.

"Who are you? Why are you following us?" Johnny questioned, but she didn't answer. "Collins, there's something in her pocket that's poking me. Can you pull it out?"

I secured the golden dagger in my pants before emptying her pockets. "It's just a twig," I said, dropping it on the floor.

"That's the missing piece of my cherrywood twig," Johnny said. "Why does she have that?"

"What are we going to do with her? She's not going to talk. I've already tried."

"I don't know," he sighed. "I don't want to hurt her, but I can't have her following us either."

"She's tough; she can take it," I said. "I'd rather be safe than sorry. She might come and kill us all in the middle of the night."

"I don't know what to do," Johnny complained.

"Now is not the time to be indecisive."

"Well, do you have any ideas?"

I had one, but I couldn't say it out loud. She had tried to kill my bestie, and she had threatened my safety. I was angry and fearful, which made me think about killing her. The thought of stabbing her twenty times with the golden dagger eased my mind and made me feel relaxed. I wasn't a murderer, and I had never killed anyone before, but this was a question of survival. She wouldn't stop attacking us until she got what she wanted. What if she wanted Johnny dead? I couldn't let her kill my best friend. Johnny was kind of touchy when it came to murder. He wouldn't approve, but he didn't understand that there was no other way out. I couldn't sleep with one eye open every night, waiting for her to steal that dagger again. There was no clean solution to this problem that we would both agree on.

"Do I have to say it?" I asked. "If she were a tigress trying to eat you, what would you do?"

"No," Johnny rebutted. "She's a woman. I can't be responsible for taking another human life."

"I'll do it," I said.

Johnny looked stunned.

"Only because she's threating our safety," I explained.

"I can't let you do that."

"Then don't watch. What were you planning on doing with a golden dagger anyway?"

"It's a family heirloom. I just needed to find it, so I can keep it safe and use it to figure out what my visions mean."

In my opinion, the dagger was safer with great-great-great-gramps, because I knew a dead man wouldn't use it. Johnny was hiding something from me. I didn't think he'd risk our lives trying to locate an antique dagger that he didn't plan on using. Despite how moral he thought he was, there must have been someone he was reserving that dagger for.

"Could you turn around? I don't want you to watch," I requested.

"Collins, are you sure you need to do this?" Johnny pleaded. "You can't take it back, and it will ruin your life. I know what you're feeling. You think you'll be safe if you kill her, but you're not—"

"Sorry, Johnny. I don't need to hear a sob story right now," I interrupted, taking the golden dagger out of my pants. "Now, move so I can do what needs to be done."

"I don't want you to use my dagger. Use the gun or machete instead," Johnny insisted.

As soon as Johnny released her, I handed him the dagger and drew my gun. She sat up, waiting patiently to die—not resisting. I didn't understand how she could be so calm. When the roles were reversed, I was freaking out. Johnny got a head start on climbing the staircase. I fired a bullet into her brain. I wasn't going to let Johnny make me feel bad about protecting myself. It needed to be done. What I thought would be a fun adventure with my bestie was ending up being a disaster that could potentially ruin our friendship.

On the way back to the security room, Johnny walked ahead of me without saying a word. Between this and what had happened with Veronica, who knew if he'd ever forgive me. I was starting to think that returning to Walnut Cherryville was a bad choice, and that I should have left things the way they were. My interference was causing problems. I wished there was a way I could go back to ASU as the happy bastard Jordan Bryant, blissfully unaware of the tragedy that had occurred in Walnut Cherryville.

As I passed through the medical wing on the way back to the basement, I saw a familiar face that I never thought I'd see again. Eva Williams. She was here, and she was a medical assistant helping out a patient.

"The rash is itchy and it burns," the man complained as he showed Eva his arm.

"I think you brushed up against something poisonous," Eva said. "Follow me to room two, and I'll ask a doctor to examine it."

She did brush up against something poisonous— _me_. Why was she here? From a distance, I watched her, but she didn't notice my existence. I was wearing so many masks, she probably couldn't recognize me.

# Chapter 10: Johnny

In a sandy graveyard, scattered with prickly pears, a young, shaggy-haired man was holding his hands out to help bring new life into the world. His Nirvana T-shirt was drenched in sweat all the way down to the long-sleeved, flannel shirt wrapped around his waist, but he was ready to catch the new life when it arrived.

The harsh sun beamed down on the lonely couple over a familiar landscape that had no _Chair Trials_ studio in sight. Her eyes were fixated on a dead man's cross, looking away from the sun as she panted, pushed, and restrained her scream.

"If you don't push harder, we're gonna be here all day," he said, aggravated "And I will leave you."

"If helping me birth your child is such a burden, then leave, you selfish bastard," she cried. "I don't need you."

"Mary, I didn't mean it like that," he responded, softening his tone. "I'm just afraid we're gonna get caught."

"Fredrick, pay attention. It's coming," she snapped, scrunching her face during the final push.

Within minutes, the baby was born, and it was a girl; she cried loudly. Fredrick shoved the baby into Mary's arms. "Make her be quiet," he demanded before beginning to dig a hole in the sand with his bare hands.

Mary swayed the baby in her arms until she calmed down. "She's beautiful," she said as the baby gripped her mother's finger.

"Don't get too attached. You know what we have to do."

Mary cleaned her baby's face using the skirt of her sundress. She held her close and pecked her forehead. "If we were keeping her, I would have named her Raven."

"Stop fooling around, and start working on cutting the umbilical cord," Fredrick said. "I'm almost done with the hole, so be ready."

"I'm glad to see that this is so easy for you."

"It's her life or ours. There's not much to think about. It's a long, hard trip, in the heat of summer, and we don't need another mouth to feed."

Mary carefully placed the baby down, plucked a needle from a nopal cactus, and sliced though the umbilical cord, severing their connection.

When Fredrick finished digging, he sighed and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. Without looking at his newborn daughter, he put her in the hole and buried her alive. As the baby drowned in sand, Mary wept over her daughter's muffled cries.

* * *

I woke up from my nap to a tingling sensation on my torso caused by a cold liquid that bubbled inside the unhealed gash. As my vision came into focus, I released the cherrywood twig from my grip and saw Veronica towering over me. I was shirtless, laying on top of her sleeping bag beside a first-aid kit and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

"I hope you don't mind that I was cleaning your cut while you were sleeping," Veronica said. "It looked really bad, and I didn't want it to get infected. It's so long—how did it happen?"

I rubbed my eyes and glanced around for the golden dagger, but it wasn't in sight. "I came back with a dagger; where is it?"

"Here," Vincent said, turning around in his chair. He slid the dagger to me across the floor before returning to watch the feeds.

When I crunched my abs to reach for the dagger, the hydrogen peroxide dripped down my waist, and Veronica pushed me down to lay flat.

"No, you can't get up right now; stay down," she ordered. "I don't have much of this left, and I still have half of the gash to clean."

"I need to hide it," I explained. "There are people after it."

"I'm sure it can wait."

I rotated my shoulders and didn't feel any pain in my back from being stabbed with the machete. That wound had completely healed on its own, while the long gash that extended from my neck down to my bellybutton had not healed at all, which was surprising. I guess wounds made by the family's sacred dagger were unaffected by my healing abilities. Would the gash eventually heal and then become a scar? Or would it always look like a fresh wound? Only time would tell if I could heal from this.

While being restrained by Veronica's medical care, I had nothing to do except decipher my vision and think about what had happened in the crypt. The golden dagger was the only weapon that a direct bloodline from the Quinton family could use to kill me successfully on Walnut Cherryville soil, but now I learned that Kenneth wasn't the only person I had to worry about. The girl, who I had seen briefly in passing but never met before, had attempted to steal my dagger and kill me. She knew that she had to stab me in the heart, which could only mean that she was a direct bloodline of either my family or the Quinton family.

Considering the vision I had just experienced, my wild guess would be that she was a Cockit and a closely related one—probably my half sister. Fredrick's parenting skills never ceased to disappoint me. When I was growing up, he hadn't said a word to me about having a half sister. Even worse, he had abandoned her in Walnut Cherryville's graveyard. No wonder she was pissed, but why was she directing it at me? She must have known who I was from her visions, but that didn't explain her motive for murder. Under different circumstances, I would have loved growing up with a sister or just anyone around my age that I could have related to. This so-called Raven seemed close in age, which meant that Fredrick must have had another family around the same time that he was with me and my mom. Who was Mary, and what had happened to her? Was Fredrick cheating on Mom, or did this vision occur shortly before they met? Based on the fact that Fredrick wore a Nirvana T-shirt, this had to have taken place sometime during the late 1980s to mid-1990s. I never knew much about my parents' relationship, but I could tell that it wasn't very good. That could explain why Fredrick was with another woman. Based on their bickering, it seemed that they had decided to kill Raven because Fredrick and Mary were attempting to escape from Walnut Cherryville.

Sometimes it scared me to learn about Fredrick because it showed me how much we had in common, and I would rather keep my distance from him. Despite the fact that I looked like him when he was young and that we listened grunge music, enjoyed hunting, and wore flannel shirts, I was not the same man as my father. My visions were insightful, but they had me questioning all of his decisions and morals and whether I should continue to be guided by him. What was he leading me into? Raven clearly wanted to kill me, and once she healed, I knew she'd come back to finish me off. Why was it so easy for her to come to terms with killing me, but I couldn't do the same? Was her motive for murder to possess Walnut Cherryville, or was it something more personal? I was already having a difficult time even thinking about killing Kenneth, but now Fredrick was telling me that I had to kill my half sister too. This was becoming too much for my mind to handle, and I needed an escape.

I sprawled my arms out, plopping them on the floor. The back of my right hand hit Veronica's Harlequin novel. I picked up the book, peering into the back cover, and saw Amy's code written down on the last page. It was still unanalyzed. That was the key to my escape and the answer to all of my problems.

"All right. I'm all done," Veronica said as she patted me dry with a cotton ball. "Hopefully, it doesn't start bleeding again when you move."

"Hey, do you want to go to the Quintons' secret library?" I asked, slowly standing up.

"I'm always up for going to the library," Veronica responded enthusiastically.

Before we left the security room, we clipped on perception filters. I grabbed the book, and slipped the dagger in my pants. Once we exited the medical wing, we walked together, and I held her hand, caressing her bare fingers, which gave me an idea. Who knew what the future would hold for us. According to my visions, our future looked pretty bleak in every outcome; there was no fairy-tale ending. If we could decipher Amy's code and escape from Walnut Cherryville again, I had to make it count this time and do something that mattered—something other than running off into the woods and playing Survivorman, which wouldn't be worth the risk of getting caught. On the other hand, hiding the golden dagger somewhere outside of Walnut Cherryville, so that Kenneth, Raven, and I could not become tempted to murder each other was worth the risk. Also, marrying the love of my life was worth the risk, and there was only one place in the United States where that would be fast and legit.

Antsy, and bubbling excitement that was about to explode, I followed Veronica into the glass elevator. As soon as the doors closed, I jumped her, passionately kissing her lips.

"Oh, Johnny," she said, once I let her come up for a breather.

"You know I love you, right?" I said, spilling my heart out. "I want to run away with you and get married."

"Sí me casaré contigo mi amor," Veronica shrieked, joyful tears in her eyes as she pounced on me for a hug.

I almost lost my balance as she tightly wrapped her arms and legs around me and kissed me vigorously, so I grabbed her ass for support and leaned against the wall. Since she was so happy, I assumed she said yes to my proposal, even though I didn't have a ring and probably wouldn't be getting one for a while. When the elevator released us, I carried her into the Quintons' library, propped her up against a bookcase, and sensually took off her scrub blouse. Gnawing at the skin from her neck down to her breasts, I almost felt like I was inside her.

"Espera," she blurted out, panting. "We have to wait until marriage."

I stopped and lifted her off the bookcase gently. "I'm sorry. I got a little ahead of myself. Won't happen again."

"Thank you for respecting my wishes," Veronica said, blushing with rosy cheeks. She fanned herself with her hand to cool down before putting her blouse back on. "I know it's hard to wait. So what did we really come up here for?"

"I wanted to figure out Amy's riddle so we can get out of here, get married, and hide my family's dagger somewhere where no one will find it."

"How is this going to work? Last time we escaped, it took a whole team to pull it off. Not only that, but Alejandro wouldn't approve—"

"You can't tell anyone about this, especially not Alejandro. He hates me," I said. "Let's keep this a secret between us until we get back."

"We're coming back?" Veronica questioned, in shock.

"I can't leave my friends behind in Walnut Cherryville, so yes, we're coming back for them."

"Oh, wow, Johnny. That's a very dangerous plan."

"Hey, you said you wanted in on my adventures, so I'm letting you in. This one is just for us. Collins and Amy got into Walnut Cherryville by themselves using this riddle, so I'm sure we can get out doing the same thing."

"That's probably true," Veronica agreed. "Well, let's take a look and see what we can find out."

After much research in the geography section, we figured out that the riddle translated into these directions:

1) The riddle should be read in reverse to leave Walnut Cherryville.

2) "A passage lends way for the dead to rise to court" meant we should start our journey in the crypt of the courthouse. I had figured that out from Collins.

3) "The inhabitants had migrated south for winter and hostilely conquered an underground tunnel" indicated that after traveling through the tunnel, we should head north until we reached "a pueblo-ruin skyline," then we should go west because sunset is opposite of sunrise.

4) The destination would be somewhere around San Luis if Amy meant the Colorado River, and the three conjoining boarders were Arizona, California, and Mexico.

5)

# Chapter 11: Laura

The altar was a place where Kenneth and I would vow to live together until death do us part. Death was common in the _Chair Trials_ studio, but marriage, well, that was rare. From what I had heard, Kenneth and I were the first couple in Walnut Cherryville history to wed in the _Chair Trials_ studio.

The stage was decorated to look like a church, with Hollywood movie props, fake scenery, crosses, and candles. Unable to repress my growing despair, I stood waiting in front of the red-curtain backdrop under dim stage lights in my black Vera Wang dress. My groom-to-be was still in the dressing room, and the cameramen were almost finished setting up their equipment. I gazed out into the empty auditorium, rubbing my baby bump while envisioning Vincent's blue eyes and the feel of his kiss on my lips the other night. Ever since I had discovered he was alive, I couldn't stop thinking about him.

* * *

After opening my side salad, I poured Italian dressing into the plastic lid and dipped my fork into the dressing, picking up each piece of lettuce for a light coating of flavor. Vincent sat across from me at a table in a bustling McDonalds with his eyes glued to me. His constant gaze made me feel uncomfortable, so I tried to avoid direct eye contact. My eyes darted around from my salad, to the long line behind the registers, and occasionally back to Vincent to see if he was still watching. After ten minutes of sitting in silence, Vincent finally decided to unwrap his McDouble. He picked up the burger, brought it near his mouth, and smiled instead of taking a bite.

"What?" I questioned before sipping water though a chewed straw.

"We're on our first date," Vincent said, factually.

I placed the cup down, wiping off the condensation. "And what makes you think that?"

"I took you out and bought you dinner."

"You bought me a side salad off the McDonald's dollar menu with money you stole from a stripper," I replied, pouting. "How romantic."

"Hey, sweet cheeks! Money is tight right now."

I choked on a lettuce leaf, coughed it up into my napkin, and took a sip of water. "Wow, that is by far the worst pet name you've come up with today. Don't call me—"

Vincent stood up and walked away from the table while I was in midsentence, which was incredibly rude. He grabbed a handful of straws and placed them in the center of the table.

"All I'm saying is that you could have ordered the McDouble," Vincent rebutted, replacing my chewed straw with a fresh one. "It's way more food for the same price, plus it will keep you fuller longer than a side salad. Why do you eat your salad like that anyway? It's cute, but what's wrong with pouring your dressing onto the salad?"

Under the table, I rolled a paper straw wrapper between my fingers, creating a ball. "Force of habit for cutting calories, I guess," I responded with a shrug.

I was about to dip a lettuce leaf into my dressing when Vincent took the lid, and dumped _the entire packet_ into my salad. My jaw hung open, speechless, as he pried the fork from my hand and mixed the salad together.

"Eat your calories," Vincent said. "We don't know when we're getting our next meal, and I don't want you to be hungry. I'll share a little of my burger with you; it's too much for me anyway."

Once he began eating his hamburger, he stopped looking at me, so I flicked the paper ball in his face, causing him to flinch. "If this is our first date, consider it our last," I commented sternly. "I don't go out with boys who aren't good providers."

"It's nice to know I'm being considered," Vincent said, giving me a wink.

I sighed and rolled my eyes.

* * *

My mind abruptly skidded from the fond memory back into the harsh reality that I was about to marry Kenneth.

The somber organist ominously played "Here Comes the Bride," which frightened me, causing my heart to thump inside my chest. Kenneth, wearing a white tuxedo, walked down the aisle holding his mother's arm. Mrs. Quinton wore her best funeral dress; she had expressed to me earlier that "giving her son away to a whore was no occasion for bright colors." When they reached the end of the red carpet, the organ stopped, and Mrs. Quinton erupted with tears that streamed mascara down her face. Now that she was the center of attention, the cameraman zoomed in, filming her as she dried her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Mrs. Quinton, do you need a moment before we proceed?" the minister asked.

"Excuse me. I apologize for being disruptive. Please continue."

"Dear citizens of Walnut Cherryville, on behalf of Kenneth and Laura, I welcome you all to this marriage ceremony," the minister started. "We are here today to encourage, celebrate, and support the covenant these two people, Kenneth and Laura, are going to make and to share in the joy that Kenneth and Laura experience as they pledge their love and commitment to each other. We rejoice in the manner God has led them to each other and brought them to the place where they now stand."

* * *

"Well, that's the end of our tour," Mrs. Putzer said, opening the door to her bedroom.

Vincent galloped past us, entering the bedroom as he spun around in circles. He became dizzy, lost his balance, and tripped over his own feet.

"Is he all right?" Mrs. Putzer asked.

I took his hand, encouraging him to follow me, and sat him down gently on the bed. "He's a lightweight," I chuckled. "He'll be all right."

"Well, I'm going to go make you two something to eat; maybe that will help him feel better. In the meantime, I want you to wrap up the furniture. The plastic wrap and tape are on the floor in the closet," Mrs. Putzer said before she left the room and closed the door.

When I entered Mrs. Putzer's walk-in closet, I was in couture heaven. She had ten shelves lined with purses from Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Hermes, Gucci, and many, many more. I picked up the Chanel violet metallic leather 226 Reissue Mademoiselle flap bag, hung it on my shoulder, and struck a pose in the full-length mirror. Such a beautiful, quilted, calfskin purse didn't deserve to be worn with a wretched, black Walnut Cherryville guard uniform, so it was time for a makeover. As I took off the jumpsuit, I saw in the mirror that Vincent was standing in the doorway, watching me with a blank stare.

"Dispose of that for me, will you?" I asked, kicking the jumpsuit off in his direction.

He caught it, dropped it on the floor, and entered the closet, standing behind me. As I sifted through Mrs. Putzer's divine collection of dresses, he wrapped his arms around me, cupping a boob with one hand as the other ventured south into my panties. I heard angels sing when I came across the Michael Kors ikat-print A-line dress. The gold-and-black patterned, sleeveless, knee-length dress made my heart melt, and it silently screamed "wear me on the catwalk." I eagerly snatched it off the rack, and, leaving Vincent's embrace, I rushed over to the mirror and slipped it on.

"Zip me up," I demanded.

Vincent wasn't moving fast enough to fulfill my request. In fact, he just stood there and grinned while sucking on his finger.

"Come on, please," I whined, trying to zip it up. I could only reach far enough to zip it halfway, so I became impatient and jumpy. "This dress has to get worn."

Vincent sighed and started to zip me up; the zipper suddenly stopped in its tracks. He then unzipped the dress and walked away into the bedroom.

"Hey, what are you doing?" I snapped. "Get back here. Is the zipper stuck?"

He leaned against the footboard of the bed, laughing. "No, there is nothing wrong with the zipper, but if you need me, I'm in here."

"Well, of course, I need you. How else am I supposed to get this dress on?" I remarked as I slipped on Mrs. Putzer's Sergio Rossi peep-toe gold pumps. I waltzed up to Vincent, pouted, and turned my back. "Zip me up."

His fingers hesitantly danced around the zipper, tickling my back, and I snickered uncontrollably, even though I was trying to be serious. The sensations I felt from his touch were intense, and my legs wobbled like Jell-O. Once I turned around, our eyes met, and I couldn't keep a straight face. "Seriously, stop," I giggled.

A portrait on the wall caught my eye, and I used it as a distraction to detour Vincent's flirtatious advances. "Look at that old dude in this picture," I said, pointing at the wall. "I probably slept with him."

"He was probably her ex-husband," Vincent joked, suddenly stroking my back.

I was struggling to keep my balance, so I leaned on Vincent, but he was tipsy, so we both fell to the carpet.

"The people I used to...like how in the world did I ever get through that?" I said, laughing so hard that I couldn't catch my breath. I accidently cut the cheese, which was no surprise considering the way I had been eating lately.

"You're beautiful," Vincent said, and he began kissing me.

As we made out, the dress I had desperately tried to zip up slipped off my shoulders and was pulled down past my waist and then carelessly tossed aside. He was tender at first, teasing me.

* * *

Kenneth took my hand, squeezing it lightly.

"Do you, Laura Hansen, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" the minister asked.

"I do," I said, zealously dreaming of Vincent.

"Do you, Kenneth Quinton, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," Kenneth answered.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife; you may kiss the bride."

With my eyes closed, I kissed Kenneth, imagining he was Vincent.

The room roared with applause as the organist resumed playing her gloomy wedding song.

"There you have it, Walnut Cherryville, Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth Quinton," the cameraman announced. "Thank you for joining us on this very special day."

I had told Vincent I had HIV, talked about the other men that I had slept with, and let out a ferocious fart. Surprisingly, he still wanted me, and I couldn't understand why. He called me beautiful, which wasn't something I heard often. Most men called me hot, sexy, or fine, after I acted super mannerly, suggestive, and fake. Why hadn't I seen it before?

During the reception, I sat alone, slouched over the bridal table while Kenneth mingled with his guests. The Quintons' private dining room was lively with about fifty important government officials and friends—no one I cared about meeting. Some faces looked vaguely familiar, but I didn't really know anyone, and they didn't notice my existence. They were carbon copies of each other: black, silk cocktail dresses and suits chatting, laughing, and clinking glasses. I gulped down my champagne glass of orange juice, and the waiter, who stood on call behind me, refilled my glass immediately.

"I could use a real drink," I said before belching. "What do you have that's on the rocks?"

"Water," the waiter replied.

"This sucks." I planted my elbows on the table, rested my head in my hands, and began watching the French-art slideshow that flashed on the walls.

It only took a few minutes for Mrs. Quinton to notice my unmannerly behavior. She snuck up behind me, tapped me on the shoulder, and bent down close to whisper. "Wallflowers have better posture than you. Don't wilt. Elbows off the table. And smile. It's your wedding for God's sake. Be blissful, or shall I remind you of—"

I straightened my back and gracefully put my hands on my lap.

"Good girl," Mrs. Quinton said before walking away.

A server who reeked of body odor approached and placed a basket of French baguettes on the table.

"Today is my special day," I said with a wry grin.

Instead of walking away to serve bread to the other tables, the young man set his tray down and sat next to me in Kenneth's chair.

"After all this cost us, you don't seem too happy about it," he stated.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't mean to be impolite, but the laborers were promised amenities that the government said it didn't have enough money for. Yet we all worked our fingers to the bone to pay for this extravagant wedding. Everyone here, except the help, is wearing an outfit that's worth hundreds of dollars. While we're talking about frivolous government spending, I must say that the new leadership spends far too much money on fashion—"

"Excuse me; fashion is a necessity," I interrupted.

"Mrs. Quinton, I don't care about how I look to earn a shower coin that allows me to enter a facility that's contaminated with athlete's foot. The new uniforms are cute but not necessary. If I took a guess about who was in control of the village finances, I'd say it was you. Again, not to be rude, but a woman shouldn't be balancing the books."

"You have interesting opinions," I said, feeling insulted. I tore off a hunk of bread from the partially sliced baguette and nibbled on it before thumping it down on the fine china. "You have no idea what I'm trying to do for you," I ranted. "Fashion isn't practical, but the colors and clothing you see impact and influence your mood and how you feel about yourself. I have no control over the finances, but I'm doing my best to turn this drab place into a home—a home that everyone can enjoy, since we're all stuck here forever."

The server smiled. "Today is your lucky day."

It didn't feel like it was. I was bewildered when the appetizer was served. It looked like Fancy Feast paté cat food decorated with glossy fruit cubes and topped with an herb leaf of some sort. "What is this?" I asked, stabbing it with my fork before I gave it a sniff. I couldn't decide which smelled worse, the dish or the server sitting next to me.

"Ah, I believe this is the bloc de foie gras d'oie coated with mango chutney," the server replied, eyeing it up.

I could tell he was hungry, so I pushed the plate aside. "You can have it, if you want."

He cleaned the plate, wolfing it down in two seconds. "Not bad."

"Ick."

"You don't like to eat meat do you?" he asked. Then he muttered "side salad" under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me: side salad."

"You shouldn't be here; it's dangerous," I whispered harshly.

"Come with me; we'll raid the pantry for some real food," he said, standing up.

I followed him discreetly, sneaking around the crowded dining room, through the chaotic kitchen, and into the walk-in, industrial-sized pantry. Once the door closed, I became the main course, which Vincent devoured in complete darkness. We kissed, pressed up against shelves filled with spices as he peeled off my dress and I yanked down his pants. His fingers didn't fumble around the zipper this time, though being around him made me weak in the knees. As he fondled my breasts, I melted down to the floor, tearing down the shelves that I leaned against. Bags of basil, oregano, and thyme fell and exploded on the tiles.

I could never forget the distinct scent of Italian seasoning after working at my dad's restaurant as a dishwasher. At the end of the day, my clothes always reeked of the smell. That herb combination made me crave pizza, and I was getting hungry for something other than sex.

Vincent's chilled bionic hand moved down from my breast to caress my baby bump. My body shivered, but the air was warm from the heat radiating off the ovens in the kitchen. His fingers clung onto my panties, removing them on his way downtown, before I habitually spread my legs apart.

Laying on the floor with my legs propped open was a familiar sensation, but for the first time I hesitated. I had never questioned who I had sex with or why, but this time I did. Just as he made his entrance, I suddenly had a change of heart, and I forcefully rammed my foot into his chest, shoving him away.

Vincent crashed into the shelves behind him, causing an avalanche of flour to fall from above.

It had been four months and three weeks since my last sexual encounter—only one week away from the five-month mark. The fact that I was able to go so long without sex felt gratifying, and I was surprisingly proud of myself. As much as I liked Vincent, I didn't want him to ruin my abstinence marathon. I was working hard at suppressing my sexual urges and doing so well. Why should he get in so easily, without earning it?

"What was that for?" Vincent said, moaning in pain. "Did you just kick me?"

I crawled over to Vincent, following his voice, and sat next to him, dusting him off.

"I'm sorry. Are you hurt?"

"I like foreplay, honey, but that came out of nowhere. It wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but continue," he said, tugging on my hair and leaning in to kiss me.

Before he could reach my lips, I put up my guard to hold him back. "I want to get to know you."

"Oh," Vincent said, pausing disappointedly. "Do you really think this is a good time for that?"

After everything that we had been though together, I was hoping for something other than sex.

"I have to go," I said, trying to hold back my tears.

"Wait, don't leave," he pleaded, hugging me close. "Would you obliterate my balls if I held you for a while?"

"No," I said, laughing. I stretched my legs out over his lap and rested my head on his chest. I could feel his heart beating slow and steady.

He pressed his human hand up against my baby bump. "Is it mine?"

"I'm not sure."

"Despite what you may think, I know you very well. I watch you all the time, and I've visited you more times than you could imagine. I—"

I interrupted him. "How well can you really get to know a person by observing them though cameras? We haven't talked much to each other as Laura and Vincent. You're alive now—well, you always were—but I feel like this is a second chance to get to know how you think and feel about things."

Since I couldn't get him off my mind, and he refused to stop sneaking around to see me, I might as well get to know him better—as a person, not just as a sex object.

Vincent placed his hand over his heart. "I didn't realize you were interested in anything I had to say. What is there to know about me? Are you thinking about me as more than just a casual companion?"

I didn't want him to get too excited over promises I couldn't keep, even though I was interested in testing the waters of a romantic relationship.

"I'm married and pregnant, so it's complicated," I explained.

"It always is with women," Vincent sighed.

"This situation is difficult for me too, but I'd rather focus on us than the status of our companionship."

"There's that silly word again—companionship. Whatever does that mean? It's not a relationship or a friendship. Ah, I know—I'm your dog."

All of a sudden, the lights turned on, and the pantry door opened, revealing Mrs. Quinton. Vincent and I froze in place, startled and unable to breathe.

She stepped in, grinning as she kicked the door closed behind her. "Classless whore," Mrs. Quinton said. "I told Kenneth that before he married you. You know that old saying...Oh, what is it?" she said, snapping her fingers, trying to remember. "Oh yes. 'Mother knows best.'" She lifted her dress, reached for the handgun strapped to her thigh, and unclipped it from the holster.

Vincent and I immediately rose to our feet, and I stood in front to protect him. "Hey, that's not necessary. We can work this out peacefully," I pleaded.

"Mothers always have their child's best interest at heart, so it's perplexing as to why Kenneth still chose you," Mrs. Quinton continued. "You ended up doing exactly as I predicted, cheating on poor, innocent Kenneth the minute you said 'I do.'"

Vincent chuckled as he zipped up his pants.

"You think that's funny, Vincent Henderson-Smith? We've never formally met, but I've taken a shot at your heart before." She glanced into the gun's revolving chamber and flicked it, causing it to spin.

"Well, you're a bad aim. You missed last time," Vincent remarked.

Mrs. Quinton closed the chamber, twirled the gun around her finger, and erratically shot me in the foot. Once the immense pain hit my nerves, I lost my stability and collapsed.

" _Laura!_ " Vincent shouted. He caught me and set me down gently on the floor.

"Oops. Sorry. I have to work on that rusty aim of mine," Mrs. Quinton joked.

Vincent kneeled down over me, brushed my cheek, and held my hand, trying to comfort me. The waterfalls I cried made my vision blurry, and I started to panic. My heart raced with fear, and I hyperventilated uncontrollably, even though Vincent tried to keep me calm.

"Laura, you're going to be OK. Just relax, and try to take deep breaths," Vincent said. He gave me a quick peck on the lips. "I'm going to take good care of you." He grabbed his shirt and tied it tightly around my foot to stop the bleeding.

"Speaking figuratively, did I miss this time?" Mrs. Quinton asked.

"You heartless bitch," Vincent shrieked, stomping toward Mrs. Quinton, who was continuously spinning the gun around her index finger.

"Stop, right there," she demanded, pointing the gun at his head. "Move any closer and I'll blow your brains out."

Vincent stood confidently in front of Mrs. Quinton with the gun pressed against his forehead. "Is this too close?"

"You're playing with fire, young man. I suggest you stop."

"Go ahead, blow my brains out. I know you're bluffing," Vincent egged her on as they locked eyes with each other.

He swiftly initiated an overhead block, punching Mrs. Quinton in the ribs with his titanium fist, which caused her to misfire into the ceiling. She keeled over, wilting like a dying sunflower, which made my lips curl just a little as I winced through the screaming pain in my foot. Next, he took control of the gun by crushing her wrist in his robotic hand until she released it, which didn't take long considering her arthritis. When the gun hit the floor, Vincent kicked it behind him, and it slid over to me. Mrs. Quinton pulled a fast one and kneed Vincent in the balls.

While they were having a catfight, I picked up the gun. If my foot couldn't fit into stilettos anymore after it healed, I'd be extremely upset. I sat up, bent my knee, and placed my uninjured foot flat on the floor. I had never touched a gun before. I propped my arm on my knee and tried to aim at Mrs. Quinton's torso, hoping my hand-eye coordination wasn't too far off. I accidently squeezed the trigger and "put a cap in her ass," as Collins would say. That wasn't exactly my target but, nevertheless, a job well done. Mrs. Quinton dropped hopelessly on the floor, like a damsel in distress.

Wow, that felt therapeutic. I sensed all of the stress and frustration pouring out of my body. The rush of adrenaline from shooting Mrs. Quinton felt so great that it nearly numbed the pain in my foot. I had to do it again. I fired the next shot into her kneecap, and I became high from the adrenaline rush. Tears of joy streamed down my face as I cackled. The gun ran out of bullets after I punctured her lung, but if I had had an entire box, I could have fired it all day.

"Laura, stop! What are you doing?" Vincent said. "She was dead like two bullets ago."

Someone from outside pounded on the door. "Mrs. Quinton, is everything all right in there?"

I was in such a trance that I failed to see the mess that I had made by killing Mrs. Quinton. For one, I had been inhumane, and I turned her into Swiss cheese, which looked disturbing once the high wore off. I dropped the gun and it splashed, which was when I realized I was sitting in a pool of blood mixed with Italian seasoning and flour. My Vera Wang wedding dress was drowning to the point where it couldn't be worn, and the sharp pain in my foot had returned.

The door knob began to turn, so Vincent held it steady with his bionic hand. "No need to come in; I'm perfectly fine," Vincent said, mocking Mrs. Quinton's voice.

That seemed to distract whoever it was who had heard the gunshots.

"Great impersonation, Vincent," I said, laughing.

"Question—how am I supposed to get you out of here?" Vincent asked, stumped. "I only have one perception filter, and you can't walk on your own. We're going to need help, but I don't want to leave you here alone with a dead body." He grabbed my dress and stood behind me.

I lifted my arms up, he pulled the dress on, and zipped me up. "That's sweet of you, but I'm not sure what other options we have, considering the circumstances. I can't go back to my wedding looking like this with Mrs. Quinton missing. It won't take long for someone to find her in here."

"Shit. What are we going to do?"

"You have to go get help," I said. "It's our only hope."

# Chapter 12: Vincent

As soon as I slithered out from the pantry with my waiter uniform covered in flour, herbs, and blood, I got scrutinizing looks from the curious cooks. All production in the kitchen had come to a screeching halt. An industrial mixer churned cake batter, a pot of water boiled over, oil in a sauté pan sizzled and splattered, and the oven smoked, but the cooks paid no attention.

"Mrs. Quinton is a feisty cougar," I announced.

"Which one?" a guy blurted out.

"Both of them," I answered, giving a cocky wink.

The guys nodded with approval as gossip simmered among the chefs. I heard someone say, "Wow! A waiter shacked up in a threesome with Kenneth's mother and his wife—we should do weddings more often."

"Stop gawking, and get back to work," a woman chef demanded as she fumingly stomped toward the pantry. She reached for the door handle, but I stepped in front of it, blocking her access.

"Excuse me, waiter," she said, "but because of you, I have an enormous unsanitary mess to clean, so if you don't mind stepping aside—"

"You can't go in there yet, the ladies are not decent," I fibbed, although it was slightly true. Laura was naked, and Mrs. Quinton was dead. That seemed pretty indecent to me. "Don't worry. I've notified janitorial services, and they will be here shortly to clean up the mess."

"What you did in there was absolutely disgusting," she lectured, nearly stabbing her pointer finger in my eye. "The next time you get the urge to have a threesome, consider doing it somewhere else, _not_ in my kitchen."

Ah, she must be the head chef—the Gordon Ramsey of this _Hell's Kitchen_.

"Noted," I said, walking nonchalantly away in the mist of her lecture.

"Hey, I wasn't done talking to you," she yelled.

When I exited the kitchen, I rushed heading to the security room for help. Unfortunately, I would have to tell the peanut gallery what I'd done if I wanted to save Laura, but my confession was slightly delayed by a pit stop to the medical wing. As I raided a vacant examination room for nopal juice, scrubs, and bandages, my heart raced; I was worried that Laura would get caught. I had promised that I'd take care of her, and if I didn't act fast, I'd lose her forever. I couldn't help but think about the last time that I had gotten caught with my pants down, which nearly revealed my identity.

* * *

Behind the red curtain, on the backstage of _Chair Trials,_ potential models garnished themselves with Laura's designs in front of the mirror, but they wouldn't dare try anything on. It was Laura's first casting call for men and women interested in debuting the new Walnut Cherryville uniforms on the catwalk during the town's first fashion show. The turnout was abysmal; the few people that came decided that the garments they tried on on top of their orange jumpsuits were too risqué, so back on the rack they went. For most citizens, imagining their bodies wrapped in something other than rough, orange cotton was considered indecent exposure at the time. Eventually, they adjusted their thinking.

I had abandoned the feeds for two hours to support Laura as she developed her fashion show. Every face that showed up that day would make her happy, even if she didn't know it was me. It was the riskiest visit I had taken—up to that point. As long as my perception filter remained secure on the elastic of my briefs; Vincent would be mascaraing around as Vaughn from laundry services.

"Don't be afraid to try things on," Laura announced. "The clothes will look better on your body than they do on the hanger."

When speaking of the maxi dress Laura wore that day, I had to disagree. Of course, I preferred to see the dress on the hanger, since that meant Laura would be naked. With that pregnancy "glow," not even Leonardo da Vinci could have painted a woman more beautiful than Laura.

"I know it's been a long time since you all have seen clothing in colors other than orange. If you want help picking out the best color palette for your skin tone, let me know. Does anyone have any questions?"

I was an outlier, browsing the racks for my size while the other models stood around chatting to each other. "Excuse me, Miss Quinton," I said, waving at her to get her attention. "Would you consider my frame to be a men's small or medium?"

I could sense a spring in Laura's step as she walked over to help Vaughn.

"I think you're a medium, but it depends on the style and cut of the top. Which one were you thinking of?" Laura asked.

I grabbed a black-based item off the rack, which ended up being a three-quarter-sleeved blouse that had a turned-down collar, and green, mosaic patchwork on the right shoulder and left sleeve. "This fits my taste for dark, mysterious, and geeky."

Laura giggled and bit her lip.

"Why are you laughing? Do you disagree?" I asked, holding up the blouse to my chest and striking a funny pose. I bated my eyes at her. "I like the pattern; it looks like patches of computer keys formulating a riddle. I have to admit that I am kind of a computer nerd, so I think this is really cool."

"That's awesome. I'm glad you like it," Laura said, enthused. "I actually designed that piece for someone special, who had similar interests."

"Oh, were you saving it for him?"

Laura paused and gazed out at the empty audience seating before brushing her hand through her hair. Her eyes glistened, moistened by remorse.

I was relieved to see she that she still had feelings for me, and that I hadn't been forgotten over time. I had to restrain myself from ripping off the perception filter, chucking it on the floor, and stomping on it to death, which would have blown my cover. Even though she couldn't see me, I was always looking out for her from afar, making sure she was safe.

"He inspired me to design it, but he's no longer around to wear it, so you can have it if you want," Laura said.

Aw, she had designed a uniform for me. I was flattered.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," I commented.

Laura smiled showing off her teeth, which were as white as the pearls strung upon her neck, and changed the subject. "The patches are like mini crossword puzzles, which are fun and distracting at the same time."

I chuckled and continued to examine the patchwork on the microfiber blouse to see what Laura had written. The first word that popped out to me was _blue_ on the shoulder, which intersected with _electric_.

"There are two varieties of this style: the black background with green keys, and the green background with black keys." Laura browsed through the hangers until she found the green-based option. "I think the green color brings out your eyes," she said, pinning it up to my chest.

"Really?" I asked, gleaming a wide smile.

"You should try it on to see if you like how it fits."

"Right," I said, immediately fumbling to unbutton my fake uniform. The orange jumpsuit slipped down to my feet, accidently nudging the perception filter, and it almost fell off, but I caught it just in time—right before it completely detached from my briefs. Since it was still touching me, everything I wore was under the protection of the perception filter. There was no need to fret though; Laura didn't seem to notice anything wrong. I slipped Laura's design over my head and pulled it down. "How do I look?"

Laura keeled over laughing. "It looks like we'll both need pants."

"You mean this shirt wasn't designed to be worn with briefs?" I joked. "I didn't know women wore pants under their dresses."

"Well you need pants to complete the uniform," Laura explained. "Kenneth won't approve the uniform without pants. I can help you find a matching pair. I actually need a clean pair of panties. Not much I can do about that right now. This baby is pressing on my bladder and causing more than the occasional spritzer, especially when I laugh."

"Aw, I'm sorry. I'll try to be serious from now on—so you don't get your dress wet."

"TMI," Laura said. "I have got to stop doing that."

"I think it's great that you can say whatever you feel like. No one else talks to us like we're real people because we're laborers. You know what I mean?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Laura replied as she sorted through pants on the rack. "I don't want to be that way. I'm hoping that with the little power I have in the government, I can bring confidence and faith back to people. Little by little, one thing at a time."

* * *

I frantically rummaged through the drawers, pocketing scrubs for her to wear and gauze to wrap around her foot. The nopal juice was more difficult to find, and I searched through every cabinet until I was interrupted by Alejandro.

"What are you doing up here?" he said sternly.

Instead of picking an argument with him or wasting time trying to explain the situation, I cut the raid short and apologized.

"Sorry," I said as I closed the cabinet.

If Alejandro knew I was getting this stuff for Laura, he probably wouldn't help me, so I needed to find someone who would. Alejandro followed behind me as I retreated to the closet, opened the hatch door, and began to climb down the ladder.

"That's right; you stay down there, _muchacho_ , and don't come back up here without my supervision. _Estás castigado_ ," Alejandro shouted before he kicked the hatch door shut.

Veronica was sitting alone in the security room watching the feeds.

"Sounds like Alejandro is angry," Veronica said. "What did you do this time?"

Though Veronica was needed for a dangerous rescue mission, she wasn't the golden goose who could put all these ducks in a line. I needed a mutual friend, someone who was compassionate but also had the ability to convince the other ducks to help me. After careful strategic analysis, I concluded that my goose was someone who would fly head-first into danger without overthinking the consequences. The only person I knew who fit that description perfectly was Johnny, which led me to the army training gym.

Johnny and Collins were bench-pressing dumbbells together, counting aloud with a strained, constipated looks on their faces. "Fifty-four," they said, lifting the weight up before dipping it down. "Fifty-five."

I needed to get Johnny alone, otherwise Collins would mess up my plan with his nervous behavior.

"Look who finally decided to step foot in a gym," Collins remarked. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm not here to work out," I said. "Johnny, can I talk to you in private for a minute?"

"Sure." Johnny set the dumbbell down on the ground, and I led him out into the hall so Collins couldn't hear our conversation. "What's up?"

"We don't have much time," I said quickly to create a sense of urgency. "Laura is bleeding out from a gunshot wound; we need to get her out of there before anyone—"

My eyes watered, which was an uncalculated reaction, and tears began to stream down my face. The reality of my situation finally sunk in, making it difficult to stay rational in the face of all my raging emotions.

"Where is she?" Johnny asked.

"In the pantry of the Quintons' private kitchen," I said, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Don't worry, Vincent. We're going to save her, and she'll be fine," Johnny said, patting my arm with his sweaty, callused hand.

"Oh no," Collins objected, bolting out from behind the gym door. "Do you realize what today is? Going up to the Quintons' private quarters would be a suicide mission on Kenneth and Laura's wedding day. I'm not sticking my neck out for her."

"Great choice of words, Collins," Johnny remarked.

I sniffled and wiped my eyes. "That's OK. Collins would probably screw it up anyway."

"Guys, this is not the time to start arguing. We need to work together," Johnny said. "Let's go back to the security room and tell Veronica."

Before Johnny pranced off to tell his sweetheart the news, I grabbed his wrist with my bionic hand, causing him to quiver. Johnny was easy, but I knew convincing Veronica to help Laura would be much more difficult considering their political differences. Since Veronica and Laura weren't the best of friends, I needed to make sure Johnny introduced the situation to Veronica with a lead that would peak her interest. I wished I could tell her myself, but all she would probably do was yap about was how I had screwed up. The words would be much more seductive if they came from Johnny's mouth instead of mine, but he'd have to focus on spinning things in a way that showed her the positive benefits of helping me—showing how someone from the resistance would benefit from the situation.

"Tell her that Laura killed Mrs. Quinton, and she needs our help disposing of the body," I suggested. "Make sure she gets perception filters for you, Collins, and herself—and nopal juice to heal Laura."

"Are you for real, man?" Collins asked.

"Yes, I watched Laura turn Mrs. Quinton into Swiss cheese. It was a pleasant sight," I said sarcastically. "Go, Johnny. I will meet up with you in a few minutes."

Johnny sighed, folded his arms, and looked displeased, which made me confused. Why was he thinking about it? That wasn't supposed to happen.

"I don't mean to be rude, but is there a reason why you're wasting precious time still standing here?" I questioned.

"Laura killed Kenneth's mother? She's married to him, pregnant, and you watched her do it?" Johnny said, rubbing his chin. "How could you let that happen?"

"What? I don't understand. Is there a problem here?"

"You shouldn't be meddling in situations that aren't any of your business," Johnny snapped. "I will help you even though you have no idea what kind of mess you two have just made." Johnny stormed off to give Veronica my message.

Huh. That hadn't gone down like I thought it would. Why was he mad? Maybe there was more brain activity going on in that meathead's skull than I thought. Was I losing my touch as the neighborhood watchman? Was I no longer a viable source of information? There must have been something I missed somewhere along the line in the feeds. Maybe I had been distracted.

"Join the club," Collins said. "He snapped at me too—for killing someone in self-defense."

Despite the fact that this made absolutely no sense, I curbed the urge to question Collins about it, and I had to continue with my mission to help Laura.

"Collins, I don't expect you to come with us to the Quintons' private quarters, but it would be helpful if there was a place to hide the body when we got back," I said. "Maybe you could work on digging a grave in the graveyard while we're gone?"

Based on my experience watching people on cameras for years, I inferred that the best place to hide a body would be in an obvious place, since that would be the last place anyone would look. Back when I used to live with my parents, Mom was notorious for misplacing the car keys. She'd rummage around the house, frantically looking under couch cushions, on the table, and on kitchen counter tops with only minutes to spare before she had to appear at her next meeting. It was funny because she always forgot that she had put the keys back in her purse the night before.

"I guess I'd be willing to do that," Collins replied. "After all, I'm in support of killing Mrs. Quinton. One Quinton down, another to go. Maybe we all can get out of here soon, and I'll never be bothered by Amy again."

Collins had a point. If I ever wanted to have Laura all to myself, Kenneth had to go. As long as he was still alive, Laura and I would never have a real relationship, and I'd always be her mistress—misteress?

Collins and I departed in opposite directions, and I went back to the security room where I saw Veronica literally jumping for joy. As soon as I walked in she attacked me, giving me a tight hug.

" _Muy bien_ ," Veronica said. "Are you sure she's really dead? Did you check her pulse?"

Johnny made a _pfft_ sound under his breath and slapped down a chair by the computer table.

"Hun, why aren't you more excited? This is a huge step for the revolution! When Alejandro hears the news, he's going to—"

"You won't tell him," Johnny interrupted as he put on his perception filter. "We need to stall the rumors from spreading around as much as possible. Now let's go."

Veronica, looking shocked, silently clipped the perception filter onto her scrub pants.

Up the ladder, through the medical wing, and to the Quintons' private kitchen we went, disguised as three janitors. I opened the pantry door to discover that Laura and Mrs. Quinton's body had disappeared, leaving behind only the mess, which made me extremely anxious.

Where were they? What happened? My heart thumped, my nerves tingled, and my blood ran hot though my veins. I was too late. What if something had happened to Laura? What if she was dead? But I couldn't bombard my mind with _what if_ questions right then. I needed to investigate and figure out if Laura was safe.

"We should look around for her," I whispered. "Maybe she's nearby."

"Wandering around these parts won't be safe," Veronica responded. "Let's go back to the security room. At least from there you can examine the feeds and see if whoever moved them left the Quintons' private quarters."

"She's right," Johnny chimed in. "We can't help Laura at all if we get caught."

"That's it? You guys are just going to give up?" I grumbled.

"Even if you found her, what would you do?" Johnny said. "The secret is out. We have no idea who found her or what they know."

"She's on her own now," Veronica added.

I hated to admit it, but this was all my fault. Laura constantly told me to stay away, but I hadn't listened, and now look what happened. I had put the woman I loved in danger when I was supposed to be protecting her.

# Chapter 13: Collins

The blistering sun beat down on my back as I dug Mrs. Quinton's grave. The wind rippled the sand, creating a mirage of a basketball court by drawing the free-throw line inside a three-point circle in the graveyard. As soon as I shoveled sand onto my blade, the stout wooden players came after me. I pivoted, searching for my closest teammate, balancing the sand on my shovel, but I couldn't find anyone. I didn't have a team; the game was about one man playing against an army. If I was going to score, I had to shoot the ball now from the midcourt line, which was an impossible shot. With all my might, I flung the sand into the air hoping for a miracle, but the ball ended up in the stiff arms of a Tuscan bobcat. I hopped out of the five-foot hole, hustled over to the ball, and read the name on the wooden cross.

"Reese."

I wondered when Johnny, Veronica, and Vincent were showing up with the body. It felt like I had been out there for hours. Maybe something had happened, and they ran into trouble on the way to the graveyard. The graveyard was a pretty obvious place to hide a body, so why had Vincent told me to bury it there? If I had killed someone—which I had done recently—I would hide the body where no one would think to look. Raven died in a convenient place, the crypt, a place where hardly anyone went, so I didn't have to move her body. Even if I did, I had only had to move her a few feet to place her in one of those stone coffins and seal it off with a lid. No one would ever know or suspect anything. If I were in Vincent's situation, what would I do?

Well, Mrs. Quinton had died in the kitchen pantry, all the way up on the forty-somethingth floor, which would make concealing the body difficult no matter how you sliced the wedding cake. Yum. Cake. I wonder what kind it was. I knew if I were in Laura's shoes, all pregnant and stuff, the first thing I would do would be to dig into that wedding cake, not sharing it with anyone else. I'd eat my feelings away until I drifted off into a sugary coma that made everything in the world OK again. Damn, I really wanted a piece of that cake.

Hypothetically, if Johnny, Vincent, and Veronica did manage to sneak the body out without getting caught, the best spot to hide it would be in the basement somewhere in resistance territory. That would probably be easier than lugging it all the way out here but whatever he wanted—Vincent was the boss. He hadn't even wanted to include me in this operation, so if shit hit the fan, it would be his own damn fault.

"I ain't waiting no more," I said out loud. "Going back inside. I dug the grave; they can bury the body without me." I was walking away from the game, shovel dragging behind me, when I heard voices in the wind mocking me.

"Loser...chicken...coward," the voices whispered.

I swiftly turned around, guarding myself with the shovel. "Who said that?" None of the wooden crosses fessed up to claim their insults. "That's what I thought; you're all scared." I ignored them and continued on walking, but somehow, their accusations began eating away at my conscience.

* * *

There had been an incident a few months ago where my cowardliness had cost Da Boss thousands of dollars of product.

I had been working by myself in the basement for about thirty minutes while Biggie Jesus's stomach disputed some questionable fish tacos he had eaten for lunch. I specifically remember that "Still D.R.E." featuring Snoop Dogg, a song over a decade old, blared through the giant, cushiony headphones from the Walkman that I borrowed from him. I was more productive at work if I listened to music.

"I'm representing for them gangstas all across the world," I sang, my head rocking back and forth to the beat. "Still, hitting them corners on the low-low's girl—"

A large cardboard box filled with premeasured baggies of bath salts sat on the table next to a pot of homemade Arizona red desert mask mix. Da Boss used red Arizona montmorillonite clay, volcanic pumice, and willow-bark extract to make a face mask that promised to clarify and exfoliate skin. Once the mask mix was ready for packaging, it was my job to fill the jars and hide the drugs. Each glass jar was 3 ounces and required the appropriate sticker label covering the outside. First, I measured out 1.5 ounces of mix for the bottom and used a funnel to pour it into the jar. Next, I inserted the tiny bath-salts baggie before topping the jar off with another 1.5 ounces of mask mix. Lastly, I closed the jar with a metal cap, wiped the outside clean with a cloth, and slapped a label around the jar. All the finished products were stacked on the table ready for bagging.

"Still taking my time to perfect the beat, and I still got love for the streets; it's the D-R-E..."

Since I couldn't hear because of the music blasting in my ears, I didn't know that someone had snuck into the basement. I was so focused on my task that I didn't notice the person was there until I saw something move through the corner of my eye. I glanced around, and suddenly was the intruder approaching me from behind. I panicked, nearly peeing my pants. The black-masked man was charging toward me, prepared to whack me with a crowbar.

"Take whatever you want," I bawled, placing my hands up in the air. "Don't hurt me."

"Get up slowly. Now get down on the floor, and lay flat on your stomach with your hands and legs spread," he demanded. His voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't remember his name. He sounded like that disgruntled employee Da Boss had fired a few weeks earlier for sampling too much of the product.

"Come on, man? Really?" I questioned.

He raised his crowbar, threatening to whack me.

"OK, I get it," I said, slowly standing up from the stool. I stepped away from the table, sat down on the cold ground, and rolled over on my belly as told.

I watched as he robbed Da Boss, and I did nothing about it. I wasn't outnumbered. He didn't have a gun, and I probably could have put up a good fight, but I didn't. For some reason, I didn't feel like getting involved in a fistfight with a crazy drug addict. He grabbed the box of bath salts and ran up the stairs laughing. After everything Da Boss had invested in me and my education, the very least I could have done was to put up a fight against the robber and attempt to save the product. I really regretted being a coward, especially that day.

Later, when I had to explain to everyone what had happened, I lied and said that he had a gun. They were peeved for a while, but they eventually forgave me because they never knew the real story.

* * *

I reached the glass building and waited a few minutes for someone to leave so I could catch the door on their way out. I slipped in without a scan key and began to head back to the basement. When I entered the medical wing, I saw Eva again. I stood by the entrance door, gripping the shovel with both hands as I casually crossed my legs, leaned against it, and rested my chin on my hands. Half the cots in the whitewashed room were filled with resting patients under her care, and I watched her nurse them back to health from a distance.

Eva sat on a rolling stool beside a sick man lying in a cot; his arm was sprawled across her lap.

"Now you're just going to feel a little pinch as the needle goes in, OK?" Eva said calmly.

The patient flinched slightly as the needle, which was connected to an IV, pierced his skin.

"All done. It's over; so now you can relax and close your eyes," she assured him with a smile as she got up and placed his arm carefully beside his body. "You did a good job."

As she left his bedside, she spotted me and walked over. "It's a hot day today. Lots of outside workers are getting dehydrated. How can I help you?"

It had been a while since I last saw that beautiful girl, so all I could do was stare at her with twinkly eyes. With the perception filter on, she couldn't tell who I was, and even then, she wouldn't know who I was for real. I had lied to her about everything. I didn't know what to say or where to begin, but I did muster up the courage to say one word.

"Hi."

"Come, lay down," she said, leading me to an empty cot. "Can I take this?" she asked, indicating the shovel.

I sat down and let her take the shovel, which she placed on the floor next to my cot. "How are you feeling?"

Since I was at a loss for words, I decided to let my sudden change in appearance do the explaining. As soon as I removed the perception filter from my scrub pants, I was magically transformed back into myself.

Eva jolted back, startled. " _Jordan!_ "

All right, well, I transformed into the other version of myself, my alter ego Jordan Bryant.

"Thank God I found you," she said with relief. She jumped up and embraced me tightly against her boobs.

I wrapped my arms around her waist, rested my head, and closed my eyes. Before I knew it, she was kissing my lips, but then she suddenly stopped and backed away.

"I'm sorry. I got a little ahead of myself," she said, embarrassed. Her arms crossed against her boobs, creating plush cleavage as her eyes gazed down at the floor. "For a moment I forgot we...never mind."

"I didn't want to..."

We both danced around the word "break up." Just the thought of it made my eyes water, so I looked away because I didn't want her to see my emotional, tender side. I had to stay strong—for her. I was thrilled to see that Eva still wanted Jordan, but how would she feel about Collins?

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"You left in such a hurry, and I was worried that you were in trouble, so I followed you. I'm sorry, I—"

I rose to my feet, held her hands in mine, and spilled out the truth.

"I really appreciate how much you care; you deserve to know that my real name is Collins Greene. I created Jordan Bryant in attempt to hide from this place, so I could finish school. When I was in high school, my friends and I were captured by secret watchers, brought here and almost killed. I swore I'd never come back, but my best friend was in danger, and he needed my help. I apologize for lying to you about who I am, but I had no choice. For all I knew, I was going to be Jordan Bryant for the rest of my life. I just want you to know that I genuinely like you, and I didn't want to break up. I'm not sure how much of this you understand."

Eva took a deep breath before a single tear rolled down her cheek; I wiped it away with my thumb. "These last few days have been so surreal. I feel like I understand everything and nothing at the same time. A few minutes after you and that girl left the filing closet, I walked out and ran into my mother, who I haven't seen for three years."

"Wait, your mother lives here, and you never heard of this place before now?" I questioned.

"Yeah," Eva responded, waving her hands up in the air as she began to pace around the room, distressed. "What is going on here that was so important? She left me to live with my aunt and uncle when I was twelve and only popped by to visit once every few years. I haven't seen or heard from her since my high school graduation, and suddenly, I find out that she's been here, working in the courthouse, all along."

"Please tell me your mother is the filing assistant," I joked.

"Nope, she's the judge."

Shit. Now I saw the resemblance. If the African queen found out that her favorite repeat offender was dating her daughter, I would be a dead man—not to mention the fact that I worked for the resistance army, and the judge sides with the government.

I heard people screaming next door, which distracted me from the conversation.

"What was that?" I said. I peered through the whitewashed glass and saw shadows of people huddling at the door, banging on the glass in a panic. The screams and cries got louder and surrounded us from all directions; suddenly a picture of churros appeared on every wall. I walked over to the door and tried to open it multiple times, but it was stuck. I was starting to get nervous.

Most of Eva's patients had woken from their sleep and began to shout all at once, asking her questions.

"Everyone stay calm," Eva announced. "I'm sure it's just a glitch, and someone will fix it soon."

I continued to jiggle the door handle with great perseverance; Eva walked up next to me and made a confession.

"I have no idea what's going on," she whispered. "Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"

"We're trapped." I stepped away from the door, turned around, and released my tears. The notch just turned up from nervous to afraid, and I didn't want Eva to notice me crying. We still didn't know each other that well, and if I had any shot left at being this amazing girl's boyfriend, I wanted to impress her with my bravery. I tilted my head back to suck the tears up into my eyes, and I saw the glass ceiling rapidly cracking. In the moment before the ceiling caved, I froze in panic.

"Get down," Eva shouted. She quickly grabbed the back of my shirt, pushed me down on the floor, and threw herself onto me before the glass ceiling broke and debris began piling on top of us.

A fierce, forward, bangin' woman who'd risk her own life to save me—my hero. The weight of the world crumbled on Eva's back, squishing us close together like bugs about to be stepped on by a shoe. The light of day dissolved into darkness, my breathing became labored, and I could feel sharp objects pricking beneath my skin.

A sporadic catastrophe like the glass building falling down _had_ to happen on the day Eva and I were reunited. I almost couldn't believe it. The Lord couldn't find a better day to fit this into his schedule? Like during a time when Eva and I weren't actually in the building? I wasn't ready; there was still so much I had to learn, love, and experience.

With all of my mighty strength, I crunched my abs to boost me an inch or so to reach Eva's lips, and I kissed her one last time. Her lips caressed mine until blood spilled from her mouth, dripping all over my face. I felt something sharp poke my chest, which meant an object had to pierced through Eva first in order to get to me. All of a sudden, Eva became stiff, and I could no longer feel her breath on my face. I thought she was dead. All I could do was lie beneath her, inhaling smoke and listening to the ringing in my ears; my body felt paralyzed. Anytime now, it could happen—anytime. I closed my eyes and waited.

The ringing in my ears eventually faded away to the sound of chaos. My head pounded. All the noise blended together, and I couldn't separate one thing from another. When I opened my eyes, I could see the clouds moving across the sky and feel the gritty sand between my fingers. I sat up in a row of wounded victims resting near a fiery pit that had once been the glass building. I scanned their faces, looking for Eva, but I didn't find her there. I was surprised; I felt OK, considering the circumstances. I was able to move my limbs without any pain, which was a plus. It seemed that I hadn't endured any major injuries, thanks to Eva.

I spotted Eva dragging a guard out of the fire by his armpits, which confused me. I thought she had died in the explosion, but apparently she was alive and playing doctor. I stood up and began stumbling over to her, enduring cuts on the soles of my feet from invisible glass shards scattered in the sand with metal, wood, and paper—and human remains. Shivers went up my spine when I caught a glimpse of a skull with half of the flesh burned off its face, an eyeball about to burst from its socket. Ready to gag, I continued shuffling toward Eva, thanking God that I was still alive.

Eva placed the wounded guard at the end of the line and knelt beside him. Her scrub shirt was as stiff as cardboard from dried blood, and it was torn above her boobs, where I saw a deep gash.

"Eva," I said, trying to catch her attention.

"Jordan, you're awake," she said happily as she poured nopal juice into the guard's mouth.

"It's Collins," I laughed.

"Sorry. It's going to take me a little while to remember that since I'm so used to calling you Jordan."

"Thanks for what you did back there," I said, twiddling my thumbs. "You know, how you used your body as a shield and saved my life and stuff. I thought I lost you." I could barely say it without blushing, which made her smile. "What happened," I asked, pointing at her gash. "How did you—

"Nothing a little nopal juice and faith couldn't cure. If you're better, I could really use some help," she interrupted. "We're running short on hands."

"Oh, OK. What do you want me to do?"

"Rummage through the debris, carefully pull out any victims you find, and collect anything useful, like medical supplies, cloth, nopal juice," she said as she buzzed back to the fiery pit.

As she walked away, I saw a fist-sized hole in the back of her shirt exposing a gash. I was thankful that she had survived, but I couldn't imagine how. There was only a slight rip in my scrub shirt, so all the dried blood on me had to be hers. If she had been shish-kebobed by a rod or something that pierced through her back and pricked my chest, she would have died quickly. I guess I shouldn't be questioning a miracle; the Lord works in mysterious ways, and we had all been sipping too much of that cactus nectar. It was a little weird though that she had healed like she was superhuman. The only other person I knew who could do that was Johnny.

I followed her and stood by the edge of the pit and watched as she sifted through burning debris. Out of all the people who healed and came to help, she was one of the only people in the pit who was actively getting her hands dirty. I could see resistance army members, government guards, and laborers in Eva's line of injured people that she saved. She was helping everyone, regardless of the party that they were associated with, probably because she didn't know what was going on politically in Walnut Cherryville since she was a new arrival. Other people rescued more selectively, creating lines of only people from their own party.

It was strange being out in the open without my perception filter. There were guards out there, and I knew they saw me, but they weren't trying to kill me—yet. I could feel them gazing at me, staring me down, which made me uncomfortable. Tension was rising fast as more people began to wake up, talk to each other, and regroup. What would happen after all of the survivors healed and regained their strength? All of Eva's efforts to save them would have been for nothing if they started fighting and killing each other in attempt to overthrow Kenneth, who didn't even appear to be there. I didn't want to stick around to see what would happen next, but I also didn't want to leave if there was a possibility that any of my friends were still in the rubble. Once I found Johnny, Veronica, Vincent, and Laura (and she was negotiable), I would take Eva, get out of the war zone, and go somewhere safe. Maybe we all could escape again while everyone else was distracted.

"Calm down," I told myself. "There's no assurance that the battle you've been training for in the resistance army is going to happen today." Nevertheless, I couldn't be any more antsy.

Should I clue Eva in on what was going on? Or should I suggest that she only save certain people? I didn't survive an explosion only to be killed by a guard in battle. Maybe we shouldn't be saving anybody; I would feel much safer knowing that most of my enemies were dead, including the resistance members who wanted me to fight against my will in their army. They had claimed that that was the only way I could be free to live my life, but once Kenneth was overthrown, who would come next? What would they do as the new head honchos of Walnut Cherryville? I didn't even know who I was taking orders from, which frightened me.

"Well, don't just stand there," Eva said. "Come down, and help me. People are dying."

I didn't know which path to choose: the dangerous path of rescuing people from a fiery pit—people who might try to stab me in the back later—or the safe path of escaping into the forest to hide. There were so many factors to think about: my friends, my death, Eva's opinion of me. I gazed out at the forest, which looked very enticing, but I didn't run for it. Instead, I hopped into the pit next to Eva to impress her with my bravery.

# Chapter 14: Johnny

Veronica and I, disguised as tourists, leisurely strolled down a pathway through Geyser Basin in Yellowstone National Park. I couldn't wait to get rid of my family's sacred dagger, which was strapped to my hip with the elastic on my briefs. It was uncomfortable and difficult to conceal when I sat down, and it kept cutting my leg.

When I had tried to change the bandage on my torso yesterday before army training, I was alarmed by how Raven had left her mark on me. The wound wasn't healing, and the skin around it was abnormally black. There was pus seeping out of my chest, which reeked of rotting roadkill. I tried drinking nopal juice to heal it, but it had no effect.

Veronica and I had left Walnut Cherryville in a hurry, only taking the bare essentials: perception filters, Veronica's Harlequin novel, and my cherrywood twig. Back in the day, when we planned the first escape from Walnut Cherryville, those things would hardly have qualified as essentials—though I was thankful to have the perception-filter thingy. It somehow managed to keep me warm in fifty-degree weather. It was much colder up in Wyoming than it was in Walnut Cherryville for an October day. Veronica told me that it looked like I was wearing jeans, a hoodie, and boots. She wore the same thing. Her hair was shorter—about shoulder length—and it was a lighter shade of caramel brown with gold streaks; her facial features were slightly altered.

Veronica took one hand out of her hoodie pocket, playfully pushed me, and smiled. Unlike the Veronica I knew, this one didn't have a cute gap between her two front teeth.

"This place is beautiful, Johnny. You know you're supposed to take me on the honeymoon after the wedding right?" she joked, laughing. "I love exploring the world with you. I'm so happy our fates have crossed paths. If we had never met, I wouldn't have had the chance to see amazing places like this. I didn't have the courage to leave _that_ place until I met you."

"Ah, _that_ place," I responded, taking her hand in mine.

We didn't want to speak of Walnut Cherryville directly, in case any of the tourists around us were secret watchers. We had to be careful and avoid getting captured before I completed my mission to sink the dagger to the bottom of Grand Prismatic Spring.

"I'm glad I could open your eyes," I said. "I love you, and I want to take you on all my adventures. I've been wanting to go here ever since I learned about it in school. Grand Prismatic Spring is the largest hot spring in Yellowstone National Park—and in the United States. As a matter of fact, it is the third largest hot spring in the world."

"Wow, that's astounding. Are you going to be my tour guide?"

I chuckled. "Oh, gosh no. I don't know enough about it to be a tour guide."

Veronica and I reached Grand Prismatic Spring and stood at the edge of the wooden pathway gazing down the steep drop at the majestic rainbow colors. The pure, blue water in the center steamed, surrounded by a green shore, a yellow rim, and orange roots that sprouted away from the spring into charred land. This was the best place to keep the dagger out of reach of Kenneth, his goons, Raven, or anyone else's sticky fingers who wanted to steal it for murder. Once the dagger sank to the bottom of Grand Prismatic Spring, it would be impossible for anyone to retrieve. They'd have to jump off the bridge, search 370 feet of steaming water heated to 160 degrees Fahrenheit, and then swim down 121 feet to reach the bottom. It would be _Mission Impossible 4_ or whatever number they were currently filming.

"Why does it have so many colors?" Veronica asked.

"The green, yellow, and orange are bacteria growing around the water," I answered enthusiastically. "The middle is blue because the water temperature is too hot for bacteria to survive, making it sterile."

"Ah, I see," Veronica said, snickering.

"What? Are you making fun of me?"

"No, I just think it's cute when you get excited about environmental science."

I blushed, embarrassed, and she gave me a peck on the cheek, so I chased her lips.

"Stop, not here. We don't want to make a scene," Veronica said, giggling as she attempted to push me away.

I grabbed her arms, pulled her close to me, and kissed her lips. Since she was trapped by my strength, she couldn't refuse, so she gave into her urges. I loved teasing her, because it made her giggle and smile. As we kissed, I could feel her lips stretch and retract as she attempted to resist smiling. I was tickled by a bubbly, tingly feeling that overtook my body every time we kissed.

It had been a while since we had had any alone time. We had started our journey yesterday after Veronica, Vincent, and I failed at rescuing Laura, and we had been traveling for almost twenty-four hours. The Quinton wedding and Mrs. Quinton's murder provided us with the perfect opportunity to slip out of Walnut Cherryville for some fresh air.

Waiting until marriage to lose our virginities was building up anticipation. I'd spontaneously daydream about all the places I wanted to love her in while I was doing other things, like driving. I drove us through the desert, following Amy's decoded riddle in reverse, until we reached a road by San Luis. Operating a car and driving through barren desert was easy, unless I was thinking about sex. I had a few almost-mishaps with some cacti on the way to San Luis that almost deflated our tires. Fortunately, Veronica was observing the sand carefully. She yelled at me if it appeared that I wasn't avoiding a tire hazard, which snapped me out of my daydream. If I hadn't had her by my side, I wouldn't have made it so far. Once we reached actual roads, we ditched the car and hitchhiked north through Utah and Wyoming. Since neither of us had a driver's license or knew the rules of the road, we thought it would be best to hitchhike.

"I want to love you in the Grand Canyon," I said. "That should be our first place. It's close to Vegas."

"That sounds uncomfortable," she said, snickering. "How about we save the landmarks for later and just try loving each other in a bed first. Don't worry, we'll have plenty of time to try out landmarks after we get used to being intimate."

"All right. I guess I can compromise. Are you nervous?"

She folded her arms and nodded her head yes before changing the subject. "Don't you have an offering for the Great Prismatic Spring?"

I reached into my jeans and carefully pulled out the dagger. It was time that the dagger and I departed ways. I took one last glance at the golden handle engravings decorated with rubies. "It's too bad I have to worry about this thing falling into the wrong hands. I could have traded it in at a pawnshop, got a lot of money, and bought you the diamond you deserve."

"Just having you is enough for now," Veronica said. "Until you have enough money to get me a real wedding ring, of course."

I laughed. "You're silly. You'll probably be waiting awhile. I've always been a poor man, so scrounging up enough pennies for a diamond ring could take years."

I gripped the blade, stretched my pitching arm back, and threw it as far as I could. After I saw the dagger splash into the Grand Prismatic Spring, I felt relieved. I no longer had to worry about anyone else finding it. All direct bloodlines of the Cockit or Quinton families would remain protected by the healing power of Walnut Cherryville as long as they remained within its walls. Without the dagger, anyone who wanted to conquer that land would be forced to do it by reasoning with one another instead of murder.

"I'm proud of myself for deciding not to hurt anyone over _that_ place," I announced. " _That_ place is not worth the pain, bloodshed, or guilt it's caused me. I refuse to take ownership of it in the name of my family. Come on, Veronica. Let's go get married."

* * *

By the next day, Veronica and I had hitchhiked our way down south to Las Vegas. Even though I was tired from traveling with little sleep, I was excited that we were finally getting married. I sat with Veronica in the waiting area of the Clark County Clerk's office anxious for a clerk to call out our number, so we could get a marriage license. I would have never guessed that this would be my first license. I always figured that my first license or permit would be for driving or gun ownership. In Nevada, almost anyone could obtain a marriage license, which was how many illegal immigrants eventually became citizens, though I wasn't sure how the whole process worked.

"Are you positive this isn't going to get me deported?" Veronica asked uncertainly. She repeatedly folded and unfolded our ticket.

"Yes. Don't you trust me?" I asked. I placed my hand over her hands and squeezed them lightly to make her stop fiddling.

She took a deep breath. "I do, but I'm not sure how familiar you are with this country's laws regarding our unique situation."

"I'm sure we'll be fine, and everything will go smoothly," I assured her as I placed my arm around her. "You have nothing to worry about."

With her head resting on my chest, she looked up at me and smiled. "I love you," she said, caressing my scruffy cheek.

"I love you too. You're my everything." I bent my head down and kissed her nose as she rested in my arms. Behind her tired eyes, she appeared apprehensive. "What's wrong?" I inquired.

"Everything is happening so...fast," Veronica mumbled. She rubbed her eyes and yawned.

"What do you mean?"

"We first met a few months ago when you got captured and brought to that place. We easily became friends, and that relationship flourished into something more after we escaped to live in the forest. The time I spent with you in the forest was one of the best weeks of my life—until I ate that poisonous berry, which got us recaptured. After you were electrocuted on the show, for over four months I had to survive and live with the fact that you were dead. I kept blaming myself; I felt guilty, but I also was disappointed. No one had ever made me feel the way you did, so I was sad that our blossoming relationship didn't have a future at the time."

"Aw," I said, squeezing her tightly against my chest. "You don't have to worry about that anymore. I'm here for you now. I don't blame you for what happened to me. I am just happy that you and Vincent finally found me and got me out of that box."

"After that happened, things accelerated...sexually."

"Is that bad?"

"I don't know. I've been feeling sinful lately. I didn't realize how difficult it would be to stay pure. It's like my mind is conflicted by two parts of me that want different things. Since living in that place, I haven't been able to go to church or confess my sins. My sins kept piling up over the years—mostly little things here and there—But nothing major until I found you again and started breaking all the rules."

I laughed. "I can make you do crazy, unthinkable things."

"Hey, it's not funny. You don't know what it's like to be a teenage Catholic girl in love for the first time. It's very challenging to maintain control over my feelings, let alone, my actions."

"I don't know what it's like to do either of those things, but I'm trying my best to learn about you and what you're comfortable with. What did we do wrong?"

"I was taught to not go beyond holding hands, hugging, and light kissing before marriage. In the past few weeks, we've made out, have seen each other almost naked, have engaged in heavy petting, dry-humping, and, you know, basic foreplay stuff. I've also...touched myself thinking about you, so I'm ashamed. I'm a very bad Catholic." Veronica sighed.

"Those are some really ridged rules," I commented. "It's like basically asking you not to be human. There's no reason to feel ashamed of what we did, because there's nothing wrong with it. It's perfectly natural, and I find it hot that you touch yourself thinking about me."

Veronica giggled a little as she cracked a smile. "Why did I confess that to you? Ugh, so embarrassing." She hit her forehead with the palm of her hand.

"I hope you're not requiring me to convert when we get married, because right now you're not making Catholicism look very appealing. I don't want to confess to some old man priest about every time I masturbated thinking about my ho-ni-ful girlfriend."

Veronica busted out laughing so hard that tears dripped down her face. "I would never ask you to do that. I think you should be able to worship God however you choose is best for you."

"That's comforting, because I've never been very religious. I believe in God and Jesus and all of that good stuff, but that's about it. I briefly went to a Christian church on Sundays when I was living with my foster family for about two years. But after I was admitted into Sonoran Correctional, I was no longer a church-going guy. Hearing how challenging it's been for you to stay pure, I feel lucky to not be so restricted."

"Alejandro would be so upset if he heard what I am about to tell you," Veronica stated.

"Oh, with an opening statement like that, I know that whatever you say next is going to be juicy gossip," I said.

"Not like I have to worry about you talking to Alejandro, but he did sort of raise me and treat me like his little sister when I came to that place. I hate it when he's disappointed in me; it makes me feel bad. So you have to keep this between us, OK?"

"I know."

Veronica paused. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't Catholic. I wish I could be more free, like you, and that I could enjoy our passion without thinking about how sinful it is. There is one part of me telling my mind that being with you is wrong; another is enticing me to go all the way."

The news wasn't as dramatic as I thought it would be, and it was rather predictable. Based on how Veronica acted when she was around me lately, I could tell she had been struggling with those ideas. I wished I could help her see that expressing her love to me was not morally wrong—it was just being human. At the same time, I didn't want to be the reason she lost her faith.

"No one is making you be a strict Catholic. If you want to go a different path or loosen up on some of those guidelines, I say do it. Your religion shouldn't get in the way of your happiness."

"You don't understand," Veronica explained. "My whole life, there has only been one way, even when I lived with my family in Mexico. I got separated from my parents at thirteen and was smuggled into that place. A week after arriving in that place, I felt really sick and began bleeding vaginally. I thought it was God punishing me for missing church the Sunday before."

My jaw dropped, and I couldn't stop chuckling.

"Yes, I know. I was pretty uninformed about sex and menstruation in my younger years."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I was just really surprised and caught off guard."

"Now that it's all said and done, it's funny, but back then, I was really scared; I thought I was dying. There I was, running around the glass building, seeking help and screaming ' _me muero._ ' That means 'I'm dying' in English. No one responded to my Spanish cries for help until I bumped into Alejandro. He spoke to me in Spanish because I didn't know English yet. I explained to him my symptoms, and he told me that I had become a woman that day. Ever since then, he has been teaching me—not only what to expect on my biological journey into womanhood, but also how to be a pure Catholic woman. The problem is that Alejandro still treats me like I'm that thirteen-year-old girl he fostered years ago instead of the eighteen-year-old woman that I am now. He shows hostility toward you because he thinks that you're making me lose my way."

"I understand, but are you a practicing Catholic because you want to do that or because Alejandro expects you to do that?" I asked.

Veronica pondered that thought.

"Now serving number thirty-nine," a woman's voice called out from behind the clerk's desk.

"That's us," I said, yawning. "Let's go."

Veronica and I walked up to the clerk's desk, where a bitter, heavy-set woman with mocha skin sat eyeing us up and down. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, her sunset-colored lips moved.

"How may I help you?" she asked.

Veronica and I held hands, gazed at each other giddily, and said in unison, "We want to get married."

"Um. Hmm. Fantastic," she said, apathetically. "Are you eighteen years of age or older?"

"Yes," we both responded.

"The fee for a marriage license is sixty dollars. I'm going to need to see some identification."

"Sixty dollars?" I questioned doubtfully.

I was starting to feel that our marriage probably wasn't happening that day, but it took a lot more roadblocks to break Veronica's spirited attitude.

"What identification?" Veronica chimed in, remaining enthusiastic and hopeful.

"Documentation that shows proof of your name and age, like a driver's license or permit, a passport, or an ID card." She grabbed a sheet of paper and placed it on the desk. "Anything on this list is acceptable."

"Oh, we don't have any of that," Veronica replied, glowing with her radiant smile as she nudged the paper away.

"Then I'm afraid I can't marry you today," the clerk said harshly.

"There must be something you can do," Veronica insisted.

Without saying a word, the clerk shook her head from side to side, giving us her final answer.

It took a minute for the news to sink in, and when it did, Veronica's optimistic glimmer dulled. She bolted away from the clerk's desk, disappointed, and stormed outside. I was heartbroken that we couldn't get married, but seeing my fiancée upset felt like I was watching the saddest movie ever made.

I grabbed the paper and chased after her. "Veronica, wait!"

She stopped in her tracks and turned to face me. "I can't believe this. We came all this way, and now we can't get married."

Her eyes filled with hopelessness before a tear dripped down her face.

"I'm sorry, hun. I didn't know." I tried to comfort her with a hug, but she pushed away.

"Maybe we're not ready to be married," Veronica stated, sounding distressed.

I didn't understand why she was saying such things; it seemed to come out of nowhere. Because we didn't have sixty dollars and some silly identification she was now questioning my devotion to her?

"Veronica, we don't need a piece of paper stating that we love each other in order to be together. All that matters is that we know how we feel about one another."

"You have to understand that I can't fully give myself to you without that piece of paper, Johnny. It's sinful and not God's way," she shouted.

Silence grew between us. I dreaded asking what that meant in terms of our relationship. I stalled the conversation by sitting down on the steps in front of the clerk's office and constructing a paper airplane. I was trying to distract myself from showing Veronica that I was disheartened, but she could tell. As I creased the corner folds with a twitchy hand, she sat next to me. I was supposed to be her rock; right then, I didn't feel very strong.

"So what does this mean in terms of us?" I asked hesitantly.

"I don't know," Veronica said, wiping her tears away with the edge of her sleeve. "I'm not sure if we can ever get married. All my documentation is somewhere in Mexico, and we don't have sixty dollars." She continued to sob.

I couldn't stand to see her upset. All I wanted to do was solve the problem and make her happy, but more complications began unearthing themselves as we hashed it out.

"There has to be some way for you to get something that proves your age and name without leaving the country," I said, trying to calm her down. "I don't know what, but if you give me some time, I can figure it out."

"We don't have time, Johnny. We're on the run. Look at us. We're not even ourselves right now. If we gave out our real names, they could find us and take us back to _that_ place as prisoners. Maybe we'd last a day as man and wife before they would come for us. I don't want to marry you and then have you taken away from me. Kenneth will kill you if he finds you out here; you know that."

I blinked several times, trying to disperse the tears that were forming in my eyes. I felt she didn't understand my point of view, why this was important to me, and how much I was willing to risk to marry her.

"I understand your concerns, but what can we do? I may be a dead man walking, but I don't want to spend whatever life I have left living in fear of Kenneth or dwelling over some pointless feud." I took her hand in mine. "I want to spend my time with you, loving you every minute that I can."

"No, Johnny. It's too dangerous."

"That's what you always say," I joked. "Sometimes you have to live on the adventurous side if you want to live at all."

"What about me? I won't break my promise to God—"

"I'm not asking you to," I interrupted.

"I want us to be married and then have sex like normal people, but we can't do that if you die in the process. I'd never forgive myself if something I did caused your death, and God will never forgive me for being a harlot."

I loved Veronica, and I didn't want to force her to have sex before she was ready, but I didn't want to wait forever either. A little while longer, sure, that was all right, but how much longer could I possibly hold out? I was ready and being tempted by her every day when we kissed and cuddled. Eventually, as our feelings for each other grew stronger, so would our lustful urges, and they'd become more difficult to control.

"So what do you want to do about this?" I asked.

"I think we should take a break."

"Can I refuse?" I blurted out. "I'm not in agreement with this. I think that's a little extreme."

"It's for the best," she said. "Maybe one day, if our situation changes and it becomes safe to marry, we could try again."

A storm of sorrow swooped over me, and I couldn't contain it anymore. I cried, burying my face in my hands. Without warning, my rock-solid facade collapsed. "No, please, don't leave. You're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. I need to be with you."

"I'm not walking out of your life. I still will be here for you as a friend. I'm just putting our romantic relationship on ice for now, so I'm not tempted by things I can't have. Do you understand?"

"I think so," I lied. I crushed the airplane and put it in my pocket.

I had no idea what she meant. What was the difference between breaking up and taking a break? Did that mean we were still considered boyfriend and girlfriend? I guess I'd have to ask someone with more dating experience, like Vincent, to explain to me all the nitty-gritty details. I knew I had no choice in the matter. If I wanted to guarantee that we had a future together, I had to do whatever it took to make her happy now. While we're on this break, I should find out how to solve some of our problems, so eventually, I could convince her to marry me. I couldn't let the most important person in my life slip through my fingers so easily.

"Johnny," Veronica said, getting my attention.

I gazed up at her.

"Despite what I said before, I'm practicing my faith because I want to. I'd be lost without it."

# Chapter 15: Vincent

Three hours, twenty-one minutes, and fifteen seconds had passed since Laura and Mrs. Quinton's body vanished from the crime scene. There was still no sign of Laura on the feeds. Veronica had brought me a sandwich before she and Johnny left the security room. That was almost three hours ago, but I had been too upset to eat or even to bother checking under the bread to see what kind it was. My stomach growled; the basement must have smelled like chicken. I was hungry, but I knew that if I took my eyes off the feeds for even a second, I could miss significant amounts of suspicious activity. Even though the trail of evidence as to where I could find Laura was dry, I did find something interesting to watch on camera forty.

A team of men wearing gas masks and the old-style orange jumpsuits huddled outside of the glass building entrance on the first floor. A guy named Fumar, from pest control according to the label embroidered on his uniform, hand-gestured something to his men. They nodded as he spoke and occasionally pointed at the glass building. Fumar knelt down and began to draw in the sand: a square and three arrows pointing in different directions that each led to a circle. Something shiny on Fumar's utility belt gleamed brightly into the camera, blinding me for a moment. It was the reflecton off smoke bomb cans; each was imprinted with a large, white, toxic symbol on its metallic, black labels. The text on the cans was too small to read, so I couldn't tell what kind of chemicals they had.

Since when did Walnut Cherryville have a pest-control division? I had never met anyone who worked in pest control and had never heard anyone talk about it. The glass building didn't have a bug problem. I would know, since I live in the filthiest part (a.k.a. the basement). The fact that they were wearing old uniforms must have meant that Laura didn't know about this division during the redesign, which was a huge red flag in my mind. Plus, they clearly weren't wearing perception filters, otherwise they'd appear as common people, which concluded that they were not working for the resistance.

If trouble lurked in the dark depths of the basement, or even in the daylight outside the comfort of my security room, cyborg VINCENT (Versatile Intelligent Neohuman Calibrated for Exploration and Nocturnal Troubleshooting) would always be the first reporter. The ultimate neighborhood watchman could see and record everything with nonbiased, camera eyes. My brain could retain over a billion gigabytes of information and camera footage. If I were the ultimate cyborg, I could use my recordings to project human behavior and predict their future actions with 99.9 percent accuracy.

By knowing the future, I could prevent travesty and detour events that would create troublesome time lines. VINCENT would make decisions based on what was mathematically more sustainable for the greater good of humanity. Without letting bugs like emotional intelligence interfere with calculations, I could prevent conflict, even war. If everyone had VINCENT in the home, humans could consult with it before making decisions that could impact other people. Me and my clones could provide everyone with the information necessary to make informed decisions. We could even factor in risks and suggest which present linchpin would lead to the time line with the best possible outcome. My clones and I would have the ability to weigh the impact of every possibility and rationalize advantages and disadvantages based on how they would affect the survival of humanity. All the VINCENTs would be able to wirelessly upload and download information to each other and to me, the mothership.

If I were VINCENT, I wouldn't have any emotional attachments to petty human problems. As Vincent, I was vulnerable, because I was overcome by my emotions, especially the loss of Laura. VINCENT would be flawless and powerful. If Laura had had VINCENT; he could have eliminated the time line that led Laura to marry Kenneth if it benefited the greater good. He also wouldn't care about Laura personally and would see her as nothing more than a user, thus, never desiring to have a relationship with her. No matter what any human did on this world, it could never hurt VINCENT; he simply wouldn't care because of his unbiased mentality. Everything in my life would be stagnant for the all-knowing cyborg, not like the emotional rollercoaster it was right then.

I could understand the appeal of VINCENT, but what was the point of a life without emotional intelligence? I had felt a lot of pain in my life but also excitement, love, and passion. By becoming a cyborg, I'd be deleting all the good emotions along with the bad. It would almost be like I was reinvented with no reason to live. My whole life, I had been wasting precious oxygen by breathing air that was meant for people who actually lived their lives. I was a fly, a pest with millions of eyes who existed to watch others live, and no one noticed, except her. In the moments before Laura disappeared, she had said something that really stuck in my mind.

"How well can you really get to know a person by strictly observing them though cameras? We haven't talked much to each other as Laura and Vincent," Laura had said as we canoodled in the pantry. "You're alive now—well, you always were—but I feel like this is a second chance to get to know how you think and feel about things."

I was flabbergasted by the thought that anyone wanted to get to know me, because I hardly knew myself. I had spent so much time watching other people, that I didn't know what made me tick, who made me blissful, or where my motivations came from. Early on, I had thought I was attracted to Laura because she served my sexual needs. This covered up the fact that I had an emotional connection with her, which I just discovered. In recent months, the only time I had been content was when I was basking in Laura's presence. Something about being around her made me smile incandescently. I did whatever it took to chase that feeling and relive it—no matter what or who I put at risk in the process. This time was no different. The woman who made me human was in danger, and I needed to rescue her to protect humanity from becoming controlled by cyborgs.

I didn't want to sit too long speculating about what might happen next, so I made an executive decision to release Churros.

Generally, when there was no suspicious activity to watch on the feeds, the most entertaining thing to watch was people's reaction to changes on the cafeteria menu. Even on mute, I could tell that the living citizens above became very irritable if the kitchen ran out of refried beans and had to replace them with pinto beans on burrito night. I witnessed public urination, fist fights, citizens punching walls, and food-service workers getting whacked with plastic trays. As a basement dweller, I couldn't taste the difference; I was satisfied just to get food when I was hungry.

To some degree, Walnut Cherryville citizens were spoiled and controlled by food. The first thing they did in the morning was check the cafeteria menu on ComCon, even before taking a piss. They went about their work day on their assigned jobs, looking forward to their next meal and counting down to the minute. When mealtime finally arrived, they socialized with each other and ate as much as they wanted. Since the cafeteria was an all-you-can-eat buffet, the kitchen ran out of certain popular items from time to time. At the last minute, the head chef would send out a mass e-mail notification:

Owing to high demand, the kitchen cannot continue to serve refried beans today. We apologize for an inconvenience this may have caused. Please see the attached document for a revised menu.

Such emails had been known to cause public outrage. Food-service laborers were often assaulted, and ComCon was vandalized for simply being the bearer of bad news. The worst case I saw was the churros incident a few months ago, which was why I named my virus Churros. At least fifty people were sentenced to _Chair Trials_ on counts of assault and vandalism. The kitchen had never served churros again—until now.

Churros was dormant on a USB drive pasted to the wall with nicotine gum, behind computer wires, where no one could find my precious pet. Churros was much more than a virus attachment that would put the glass building on lockdown and freeze the user interface with a picture of delicious churros. It also held key information like logins, passwords, and security codes that I would need to hack into ComCon's operating system in the control room. From there, I could virtually do anything I desired. My first order of business would be to find Laura through ComCon's GPS software that tracked and recorded the location of each person's red medical button. From the control room, I could unlock individual sections of the glass building with my antivirus code and create a safe path to Laura. I could keep my enemies trapped forever, starving them to death and taunting them with churros that they would never taste again.

The control room was located in the Quintons' private quarters, a place I had entered in disguise about a thousand times, both to visit Laura and to investigate. A superior neighborhood watchman like myself had to know the ins and outs of everything he looked after. After many visits and investigations, I found out that there were no security cameras or feeds in the control room. Like all private rooms in that section of the building, it was constructed of black, soundproof glass. The only people who went in there were programmers who installed updates on ComCon about once every thirty days. They would work during the wee hours of the morning while everyone (except the guards) was sleeping. The only other time I saw programmers in the Quintons' private quarters was if ComCon needed maintenance, which was rare but possible.

ComCon was the perfect fembot, and I felt slightly conflicted about allowing Churros to infect her hardware, but I would rather have a real woman who loved me than obsess over a fembot with no feelings at all. ComCon was about to become the most flawed woman I ever met.

I ducked under the table, retrieved Churros, and clipped a perception filter onto my scrub pants before setting out on a journey to the control room. Disguised as a computer programmer from the scientific wing, I walked down the halls daydreaming about my plan, which made me giddy with enthusiasm. I could hardly contain the school-girlish giggles or the infectious smile plastered on my face. I was awkwardly social, saying hello and waving to everyone who passed. Within minutes, I would be able to control ComCon and her walls with five simple steps:

1) Login with my fake alias.

2) Sign in to ComCon mail as the head chef.

3) Compose a quick but intriguing message that would entice people to open my attachment:

"In honor of Governor Quinton's nuptials, the kitchen will serve a special dessert with lunch today. Please see the attached document for a revised menu."

4) Attach the infected churros picture.

5) Send.

6) Watch Churros rampage though ComCon and then control.

When I arrived at the entrance, I punched the access code into the keypad. The door unlocked, and I slithered in. After executing all the steps, I sent the e-mail and waited a minute for Churros to become viral. All I needed was for one person on every floor (for a total of forty people) to open the attachment, and the virus would hijack the entire floor within seconds, locking the occupants in the rooms where they were currently located, including myself. I couldn't hear anything beyond the black, glass, soundproof walls of the control room except the hum of the air-conditioning vent. The control room door clicked. I knew someone on this floor had opened the attachment, so I tried to test the door. It was locked, which was how I knew Churros was a success. I celebrated my victory with a hoot and a brief spin on the plastic office chair before returning to work.

After launching the GPS tracking program, a map of Walnut Cherryville popped up with a million blinking red dots. As I hovered my mouse over the dots, a brief profile of the selected person appeared on the right side of the screen. The profiles listed their names, pictures, jobs, where they worked, the rooms they slept in, and their current locations. I browsed the glass-building entrance area and didn't see a Fumar listed, so I started to search the first floor.

There had to be an easier way to search.

A helpful, animated puppy appeared on the screen asking "Who can I help you find?" Once I typed in "Fumar," the puppy sniffed out a trail while wagging his tail joyfully until Fumar was found. His profile popped up, which stated that he was stuck in a hallway on the first floor. He and his crew had breached the building, though I was sure that they hadn't reached their destination. On a side note, there was an official government unit for pest control, but the puppy couldn't tell me where Fumar worked during the day or where he slept at night. I guess that would be too stalker-ish for this cute dog, or someone left it out of his database for some reason.

"Stop getting distracted," I thought. "I'm here to find Laura."

I typed in "Laura Quinton," and the puppy tracked her down to the courthouse, with Kenneth, the judge, a few guards, and the judge's assistants.

I sighed, burying my face in my hands with disbelief.

Well, that was just fabulous. I was stuck on the top floor, locked inside the glass building, and she was on the ground—very far away from my current location.

I couldn't think of anything I needed more than a parachute, but little did I know, someone intended on bringing me down a different way. The computer wobbled, and I felt the floor rumble beneath me like an earthquake. The room shifted to the right, and I panicked as my chair rolled me away. Computers and machinery toppled onto the wall, cracking the glass.

"What's happening? This wasn't part of—"

A pair of ocean-blue eyes magnified in my mind as they scrolled from right to left. She blinked her painted lashes, encircled by plum eyeliner and glittering pink eyeshadow. Her red lips blew me a kiss before exploding into a blob of colors that I could no longer comprehend.

# Chapter 16: Laura

All I knew was that someone in the kitchen had squealed before Vincent had a chance to bring me help. When the pantry door opened, revealing Kenneth, my heart thumped, and my body tingled with so much fear that I couldn't feel the puddle of blood I sat in. Not being able to wear designer pumps again because of my wounded foot was the least of my worries. What was he going to do to me when he found out that I killed his mother? Could I lie and make him believe it wasn't me?

Kenneth stood frozen in the doorway as his eyes watered and bottom lip quivered. "Mommy," he cried, tumbling onto her pale, lifeless body. He nestled his face in her bosom, embraced her tightly in his arms, and wept like a child. He muttered something I couldn't hear.

I felt guilty and filled with regret. If I lied to him, I'd always be worried that one day he'd find out the truth. It would buy me time, but who knew how much, and during that time, I'd still have to play the role of supportive wife by his side. It would raise suspicion that I was the culprit if I ran away, and how far could I get being five months pregnant? Even though Vincent was gone, making him an easy scapegoat, it didn't feel right to blame him. I didn't want to cause him anymore pain. After all this time, I finally admitted to myself I was in love with him. My only option was to tell Kenneth the truth and hope that he'd have mercy on me and the baby. I didn't really think he'd hurt me after how much our friendship had grown over the last few months, but I wasn't sure. Sometimes people did strange things when they were grieving over the loss of a loved one.

Kenneth sat up, gazing upon his mother, and squeezing her cold hand. He seemed to have difficulty breathing. Her weak bones fractured under the pressure of his grip.

"Do you have your stress ball?" I asked.

Kenneth smeared the snot and drool that dripped from his face across the sleeve of his tux. He reached into his pocket, took out his stress ball, and began the ritual. After he closed his eyes, he took deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling while he squeezed the rubber ball.

"How did this happen?" he asked, sniffling.

"Kenneth, I'm really sorry for your loss—"

"Answer the question," he demanded sternly.

"It was an accident—"

"I don't believe that," he interrupted, staring at me with a glare of doom and the stone look of resentment on his face.

"She was trying to kill me, so I defended myself," I explained.

"And why would my mother do that?"

A bitchy woman chef approached us with a group of guards. One of the guards began taking pictures of the crime scene while another jotted down notes in his notepad.

"Mr. Quinton, I'm sorry for your loss; your mother was a dear friend," the chef said. "I think I can help you solve this investigation." She pointed to a security camera on the ceiling.

Shit.

"Someone from security reported that they witnessed the entire incident," a guard chimed in. "Where would you like to meet with him to view the footage, sir?"

Double shit.

"In my office," Kenneth replied. "Send him over right away." He began to stand up.

"Kenneth, wait," I said, grabbing his arm. He looked at me with despair in his eyes. "Can we talk privately before you see the recording?"

"Why? So you can butter me up with more lies?" Kenneth snapped.

"I would like a chance to explain, please."

"Nothing you say will matter once I see the truth. You, and whoever else is involved, will be held responsible for your crimes."

"Still, I just need a chance to talk with you," I insisted desperately. "Please."

He sighed. "Come to the bedroom; I can't look at this anymore."

"Kenneth, I was shot in the foot. I can't get up."

"Someone escort my wife to the private medical wing," Kenneth ordered before he walked away.

A guard took my hand, pulled me up on my good foot, and then carried me out of the kitchen in his arms. He walked me down the hall into the Quintons' private medical room and placed me in a cot before sending a message through ComCon to call a doctor up to see me. When the doctor arrived, the guard left the room.

"Hello, Mrs. Quinton. I'm Alejandro. I was sent up here to take care of you," he said.

I nodded in agreement.

He opened a cabinet, took out a gown, and tossed it at me.

I wasn't prepared to catch it, so it fell on the floor. "I'm going to need you to change your clothes," he instructed.

"Are you kidding me?"

"No joke was intended."

"Didn't anyone tell you?" I said, frustrated. "I have a bullet in my foot, so I can't exactly dress myself right now."

"Of course. I apologize," he said. "I can be of some assistance."

I leaned forward, and Alejandro unzipped my dress. He held my hands and assisted me onto my good foot, allowing the dress to slip down my body. Once I sat down on the cot, he picked up the cotton medical gown and handed it to me.

"Thank you," I said.

"It ties in the back," he replied.

After I put the gown on, I leaned over, and he tied the back. He pulled a stool over to the edge of my cot and briefly examined my foot.

"It doesn't look too bad; it's an easy fix, Mrs. Quinton. I'll get you up and walking in no time."

Kenneth knocked on the door three times before barging in. "May we have the room?"

Alejandro exited, and Kenneth closed the door behind him. Kenneth sat on the stool, rolling the stress ball around between his fingers. He gazed down at the floor with watery, bloodshot eyes. "I don't have all day," Kenneth muttered. "If you have something to say, then speak now. Planning a funeral is a lot of work and responsibility. Something I wasn't planning on doing today."

"I'm really sorry for what happened to your mother." I started to explain. "I just want you to know that I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't want anyone to get hurt, and I tried to resolve the problem peacefully, but she threatened me—"

Kenneth squeezed the ball in his hand. "What did you do that caused her to threaten you?" he interrupted. "That is what I don't understand."

"You and I were set up in kind of an arranged marriage, but that doesn't mean I don't care for you. Over time, I've gotten to know you, and I found out that you weren't the evil person I thought you were when we first met. I really value our friendship, but I'm in love with someone else."

Kenneth looked confused. "How does that relate to anything that happened today?"

"Come here," I said, sympathetically reaching out. He stood up, took my hand, and I guided him into my arms for a comforting hug. "It's going to be OK," I said, patting him on the back. "I am here for you. You will get through this and be stronger than ever. You're your own man now, free to do as you wish."

Kenneth pulled away, looking appalled. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it as an insult or anything."

"I'm going to go watch the security footage now—unless you can tell me very quickly how this happened."

"When you watch it, I just want you to keep in mind that since I've been with you, I haven't had sex with anyone else, and that's the truth. As difficult as it was, I've been faithful to honor our friendship. Your mother always called me whore. She didn't like me from the moment we met. She was out to get me, watching me like a hawk. You saw what dress she wanted me to wear to our wedding. Doesn't that tell you enough to infer that she hated me? Plus, she made me host _Chair Trials_ solely because she knew I wouldn't like it."

Kenneth folded his arms and peered at me with a raised eyebrow. "So let me get this straight—my mother found you in the kitchen pantry, _alone_ , and threatened you with her gun because she hates you?" Kenneth questioned. "Why did you leave the reception to go to the pantry?"

"Um." I gulped as I tried to think. Telling the truth was more difficult than I thought it would be. "Pregnancy hormones—the smells from the French food were making me nauseous, and I was hungry," I blurted out suddenly.

I couldn't believe the excuses that were coming out of my mouth; it was like verbal diarrhea—I couldn't stop. Why couldn't I be honest with Kenneth? Maybe because he was never honest with me, being truthful was not a Quinton family trait. They were more of a cunning type of people, and I was stuck playing their game. Putting down my weapon and resigning from the game was unspeakable—kind of like telling the truth.

"So what? You were raiding the pantry for food," Kenneth pried. "How did this get so out of control that my mother ended up dead?"

"I was...I almost, but didn't...um..."

"I can see how much you value our friendship—not enough to tell me the truth."

"The fact that it's difficult for me to tell you what I did means that I value our friendship a lot, and I care about how you feel."

"Well, if confessing is too difficult for you, then I can spare you the agony and just watch the tape," he said, starting to walk away.

"Wait. You promised you'd listen to me and hear me out first."

Kenneth stopped. "I have been giving you the benefit of the doubt by listening to you, even though every gut instinct in my body is telling me to skip this and watch the tape. You aren't saying anything—I don't know why I'm still here."

Tears began to stream from my eyes. If Kenneth really did love me, like he said he had in the past, then watching the tape would hurt his feelings for more reasons than the ones we're arguing about. I couldn't let him watch it in order to protect Vincent, but I was running out of excuses. I used the only bait I had left at my disposal—a deal—which I knew he couldn't resist.

"I understand you're upset, but getting your questions answered isn't going to make you feel better," I stated. "How about we make a deal?"

Though surprised by my response, Kenneth did perk up a little when he heard one of his favorite phrases.

"What would be the nature of this deal?" he inquired, grinning.

"If you agree to delete the footage and not watch it, than I will accept whatever punishment you feel fit for killing your mother. I am the person who was responsible for her death. It doesn't matter how it happened or why. Do we have a deal?"

Kenneth peered at me silently as I rubbed my baby bump, appearing vulnerable. "Are those the only conditions of your deal?" he asked.

"Well, I have to see for myself that the footage was deleted, obviously."

"Of course, and since you're being punished for murder, a trial isn't necessary; I could just kill you. Why do you want to do this?"

"Can you keep a secret? Come closer. I don't want to speak too loud in case anyone outside this room is listening."

Kenneth shuffled over to me and stood at an arm's distance ready to listen to the dirt I had to tell. I grabbed his tie and reeled him close to my lips.

"I know you won't kill me because you're a good man at heart," I whispered into his ear. "You don't want to see anyone else you love die today. And the baby—you're going to be a father. I think it's going to be a boy. I can feel it."

"Shut up," Kenneth said, grabbing my hair before pulling me down on the cot.

I moaned in pain, and my lower lip quivered.

"You're right," Kenneth agreed. "I won't kill you." He released my hair from his grip. "Because you're pregnant, and because I've grown fond of your company, I'm going to have to go easy on you. You will be punished enough to learn a lesson from this, but you can keep your life if you still want it after you see what I have planned for you. See you in the courthouse after the doctor fixes your foot."

* * *

After I had moved on from Ron, the college student I boinked for a credit card in his name when I was fifteen, I found that I could really hit the jackpot by seducing a teacher. My tenth-grade geometry teacher, Mr. Anders, was to die for. His classic blue eyes, muscular bod, and sandy, blond hair had me salivating to explore that twenty-five-year-old man. This was his first year teaching after graduating from college in California and substituting for three years. All the girls whispered and texted to each other in class about how cute he was. Back in California, he used to be a surf instructor, which was how he got that perfect golden tan on his skin. Every girl wanted to be with him, while every guy wanted to be his best bud. The best part about him was that he was single, which excited me.

I wanted to show him that, unlike all the other girls in my class who hated me because they were jealous, I was a woman worth his time. I was an eager student, interested in learning. Every afternoon, I'd sit front and center in the first row of desks—seventh period, the last class of the day.

"Symmetry is the quality of being made up of exactly similar parts facing each other or around an axis," Mr. Anders said, instructing while sitting at his desk. "Can anyone give me an example of a symmetrical object?"

Every girl rushed to raise her hand ecstatically. I waited ten seconds, and then I gracefully raised my hand in the air. I had never participated in class before, so Mr. Anders was surprised to see me volunteering.

"Laura," he called.

All the other girls whimpered with disappointment.

I put my arm down and leaned forward toward him pressing my elbows together, which caused my breasts to spill out from my halter top. He smiled, gazing down at my rack.

"Many things in nature have symmetry like the bumblebee that pollinates a flower," I answered. I rested my back against the chair and opened my legs flashing Mr. Anders the symmetry of my vagina through my miniskirt.

He was speechless until I crossed my legs, snapping him back to reality. For six weeks, I had teased him by wearing revealing tops and short skirts, but this was the first day I had come to class with no panties.

"Uh...right. That's correct, Laura," he said before the bell rang.

All the other students stood up from their seats, packed their stuff, and shuffled out the door, rushing to go home. Mr. Anders and I remained seated until everyone left; then he closed the door and turned out the florescent lights. He detached the "Why study geometry?" comic poster from the wall and stuck it over the glass on the door.

I sensually stepped over to his desk in my first-ever pair of Sergio Rossi Matisse pumps, leaned on his desk, and slipped them off my feet.

"I see you got the gift I left in your locker. Do you like?"

"What do you think?" I said, sliding myself further onto the desk. While lying on my back, I propped my feet up on the edge and exposed my fleshy, red butterfly. As soon as he approached me, I closed my legs as a joke, and we laughed. He gently spread my wings open and grazed her with his fingers.

"You have impeccable symmetry, Miss Laura," he complimented as he unzipped his pants. He grabbed me by my thighs, pulled me down to the edge, and inserted himself into me.

I rested my legs upon his sturdy chest as he did me. The force and pace of his rapid thrusting caused my feet to bounce against his shoulders. I closed my eyes trying to ignore the pain by thinking about my next shopping spree. "River Island, Prada, Dolce & Gabbana, Jimmy Choo—"

All of a sudden I was blinded by florescent lights, and the pounding stopped. I looked over at the door, and the assistant principal was standing there.

"I'm calling the police," she said, pulling out a cell phone from her purse.

"No, please, don't. It's consensual," he begged, taking himself out of me and zipping up.

"Mr. Anders, sex with a minor is never consensual," she said. "You're fired, indefinitely."

"Laura, tell her."

I sat up and closed my legs. "Mr. Anders said he'd fail me if I didn't do it," I lied, followed by a fake cry.

"What? I said no such thing?!"

I wiped the tears from my face as I slipped on the designer shoes he had bought me. "I was so afraid. I-I-I don't know what happened..."

"Come on. This is bullshit," he yelled. "She came onto me. I'm telling the truth."

"I don't know what he's talking about," I said.

That was the last time I saw Mr. Anders. A few minutes later, the cops came, took him away, and locked him up. Thanks to me, he would be considered a sex offender forever and never be able to teach again, let alone get a job. I knew when it was time to move on to greener pastures.

Wam-bam, thanks for the shoes, sir. Hmm. The football coach was kind of hot. Maybe he'd be down for buying me a purse.

* * *

After the doctor tweezed the bullet from my foot and healed me with nopal juice, I slowly moved my foot, testing out his work. Since I felt no pain, I stood up on my feet. I wished I could say that I was walking out of the mess with Kenneth, but unfortunately, I was only strolling further into it. As soon as I took three steps away from the cot, his guards barged through the door and forcefully cuffed my hands behind my back.

"Walk," a guard said, shoving me out door. "It's time to be judged."

They made me walk fast, barefoot, down the Quintons' private hallway; I almost tripped on the cold floor. We stopped in front of the elevator; the guard pushed the down-arrow button, and we waited.

I could hardly anticipate what my punishment was going to be; what was Kenneth's version of "going easy" on a punishment? A slap on the wrist? A smack across the face?

When the elevator arrived, my heart thumped as we traveled to the courthouse. The posse of guards shuffled in before me, and once I stepped inside, the glass doors closed. We dropped down to the first floor, where my arrival attracted instantaneous attention: a pregnant woman with dried blood smeared across her face and arms, wearing a white medical gown, and surrounded by a cluster-fuck of guards wasn't easy to miss. The townspeople gravitated toward me and some reached out their hands trying to touch me. Those who were religious knelt in their glass cages, praying to God. Others just watched as the guards pushed me through the crowd.

I wondered if they knew I killed Mrs. Quinton. Were they praying for Kenneth to have mercy on me? Did they even appreciate me as a vice-leader? I had no idea what was going to happen next, since making deals with Kenneth yielded unpredictable results. I liked to think that I had done everything I could with the time that I had to make the situation better for the workers in Walnut Cherryville, but no matter how much I accomplished, there was always more to be fixed. I changed those ugly inmate uniforms to something more pedestrian, making everyone feel beautiful. I spared a nerd's life on _Chair Trials_.

I strode out from the front doors of the glass building, sinking into the sand a little with each step that I took. The wind blew against me as we continued walking toward the courthouse. Once we reached it, I tried to relax, which was difficult until I thought about who I was doing this for. Vincent. I was sacrificing myself to save him.

A guard scanned his key and unlocked the clay dome before pushing me inside; Kenneth was waiting. The judge sat up on her high throne.

"Approach the bench," she said. "State your name."

The guards walked me down the red carpet.

"My name is Laura Quinton," I said.

"I don't have that file," a woman shouted from another room.

"Previously known as Laura Hansen," I added.

"Only talk when spoken to," the judged snipped.

A young woman retrieved my file and brought it out to the judge. She grazed over the contents. "What are her crimes?"

"Murder, Your Honor," a guard stated. "May I approach the bench with my evidence?"

"Proceed."

The guard handed over his notepad and camera. As soon as the judge turned the camera on and saw the first picture, she was in shock. Her eyes widened, and she placed the camera down and scowled at Kenneth. "Why did you bring her to be judged?"

"That's none of your business," Kenneth snarled. "I have my reasons."

"You should have killed her," she argued, in a mothering tone.

"She's getting a reduced sentence."

The judge was revolted by Kenneth's statement. "I didn't realize the law gives mercy to those who murder government officials. How would you like me to proceed with this judgment?"

"However you want," Kenneth said. He sighed as he took the stress ball out of his pocket and bounced it around the room. "I don't care anymore." He glared at me for a moment, "I held up my end of the deal."

"You negotiated a deal with this murderer? Kenneth, this isn't how your mother would have wanted you to handle the situation," the judge debated.

"Stop judging me, and start judging her," Kenneth yelled, pointing at me.

"Fine. I will reduce her sentence to assault. The law states that a citizen who uses physical violence against his or her attacker will receive the same punishment as the attacker. The affiliated party is deceased from Laura's act of violence, therefore, her punishment is death."

"Over—"

The ground trembled beneath my feet, and I heard a boom followed by shattered glass that sounded close by. Kenneth put his thoughts on hold and bolted outside to see what happened. He didn't hang out too long before returning inside.

"Forget this," he said. "Guards, take Laura to the scientific wing immediately."

The guards tightly grabbed my arms and began dragging me toward the door.

"Please reconsider," the judge begged. "This ruling is highly inadvisable and doesn't fit the crime committed."

"I've made my decision, and it's final."

Once the guards led me outside, I saw what happened. The glass building was gone, and the area where it had stood was up in smoky flames.

At that moment, I couldn't care less about the results of my judgment. I was worried that Vincent had died—again—because of me. The thought of him suffering in that explosion was unbearable. My knees weakened, and my body plummeted into the sand dusted with glass shards and debris. I cried hysterically, unable to breath, nearly inducing a heart attack.

"Get up, and walk now," a guard demanded.

I didn't have the will to move, so they dragged me by the chain links between my cuffs the rest of the way to my final destination.

# Chapter 17: Collins

The desert breeze carried the scent of charred dead bodies downwind. After a couple of hours, during which Eva and I rescued everyone we could reach, we took a break. I kicked the sand around, sweeping away any debris before I sat down—hot, sweaty, and miserable, and frustrated that I couldn't find who I was looking for. Maybe that was a good thing. I rescoured the stack of dead bodies we had collected. From what I could see, none of my friends had died in the building, which was a relief and a mystery. I couldn't help but think about the last frame of the courthouse images—the one where the stick figures had fallen into the fiery pit lit by the sun. Were they some sort of prophecy trying to warn us about the future? If so, it was too late. Whoever drew these, thanks for nothing. I didn't know why I kept wondering about those courthouse images after I already deemed them to be meaningless.

"I wonder if my mom is OK," Eva said.

"It's likely that she is if she stayed in the courthouse," I responded. "That's usually where she hangs out."

"We should look for her."

Eva and I ditched the smoke joint and strolled over to the courthouse, which was locked. I didn't have a scan key, but Eva did, since she was a citizen recognized by Walnut Cherryville's government. Her key unlocked the door, and we entered the air-conditioned refuge. As soon as the door shut, the African queen came out of the filing closet, greeting her daughter with a warm welcome.

"Eva," the judge said in a surprised voice, and she rushed over and gave her daughter a tight hug. "Thank God you're alive. I was so worried."

The judge had tears in her eyes, making it a sweet, tender moment—or at least it was until she saw me, her favorite repeat offender, standing behind Eva. She scornfully glared at me with fierce eyes that burned through my soul.

I waved at her timidly with a half-smile, "Please, don't kill me."

Eva pulled away from her mother's embrace.

"Why would I do that when you're working for me?" the judge stated. "Collins, you're a difficult employee, and we've had our share of complications. Nevertheless, I'll take whatever comes down _Chair Trials_ ' death row."

I sighed with relief when I heard the good news. The judge was disappointed with me, as always, but at least I could keep my life for now—until she decided to make me fight with the army on D day, which could be very soon. I gulped fretfully. "So you're the resistance leader, the next governor of Walnut Cherryville if Kenneth is overthrown?"

"That's correct," the judge said, grinning with frustration. "I decided to save you from the _Chair Trials_ season finale. A small counsel and I delegated missions to you that you repeatedly choose to ignore."

My eyes darted around the room; guilty as charged.

"What's going on here?" Eva asked, confused. "Did you tell him to bring me here?"

"No, he did that on his own," she said before she sighed and turned to me. "As you can imagine, Collins," she placed her hand on my shoulder, "I was distraught to hear that you were the boyfriend my Eva was following back to Walnut Cherryville." With a soft, caring expression she gazed at Eva. "I didn't intend for you to be here during such dangerous times. I'm sorry we had to reconnect this way." When she turned back to me, her facial expression became stern, "Since we both have a mutual interest in my only daughter's well-being, I hope you take your responsibilities more seriously. If anything happens to her," the judge paused and took a deep breath. "Well, let's not let it come to that," she said, smiling before painfully patting me on the back. "Speaking of responsibilities, I have a new mission both of you could work on together for the time being until the resistance calls for Collins."

My heart thumped in fear that I wouldn't be able to escape fighting in the army with the judge fixing her crosshairs on my back. I was a target she was going to watch very closely now that she knew Eva and I were dating. In the foreseeable future, we might even get back together—pending my survival of course.

"I need help distributing food and water to everyone outside," the judge explained. "It doesn't matter who you give it to because everyone is hungry, thirsty, and probably still in a panic. We want to calm everyone, even the guards, without raising suspicion. I have trash bags full of food and water in the filing closet; grab those on your way out."

Eva jumped at her mother's request to aid the injured, but I deliberated. Knowing who was behind all those missions I got, the person who had forced me to come back to Walnut Cherryville, didn't make it any easier for me to do what I was told. My gut feeling sensed that something was fishy. The judge was a waffler, someone who flipped back and forth between two different sides. She freed me to poison produce in grocery stores. She was willing to kill innocent grocery-store shoppers to suffocate the cash flow into Walnut Cherryville in hopes that citizens would get uncomfortable enough to overthrow the Quinton family. That seemed ruthless to me. Not to mention the fact that the citizens here relied on the governor to have enough money to buy them the goods they need to survive. The plan that I refused to help with was as stupid as people who went on hunger strikes to prove a point. No one could fight for a cause if they were hungry or ill. After all that went down, she sent Amy to drag me back here, and then reassigned me to the army. Those were her decisions, ones I didn't agree with.

"I can see working with you will continue to be a pleasure," the judge said sarcastically. "What is the problem this time? All I'm asking you to do is hand out food and water."

"I'll do it," I said. "Sorry, for standing around; I'm a little disoriented from the explosion." I walked into the filing closet and peeked inside a garbage bag. "Where did you get all these tortilla chips and water bottles from?" I closed the bag and threw it over my shoulder before exiting the filing closet.

"That's part of our emergency food supply in case a disaster like this were to happen. It makes sense to have food and water in multiple locations and ration it wisely so we don't run out too quickly."

"I understand," I said. "One more pressing issue; what happens if I run into Kenneth while I'm out there?"

"You don't have to worry about Kenneth, he left town in a hurry after the explosion happened."

"That's terrible," Eva interjected. "What governor skips town after a disaster? That's when his people need him the most."

"Well, dear, he's obviously guilty," the judge responded. "The boy has been under a lot of stress. I don't know if you heard, but his mother was murdered at his wedding reception by his wife—anyway we can talk more about that later."

"Wow, very Shakespearean," Eva said, astounded. "It almost sounds unreal."

"Lovers' quarrels can get complicated, but let's not keep the hungry people waiting," the judge insisted.

I wondered if Kenneth was behind the glass-building tragedy. He seemed like the kind of maniac who would bomb a town after his wife killed his mother. Laura was dead for sure, so there was no point in searching for her anymore.

Once Eva and I left the courthouse, I was scared to be outside. Many of the people Eva and I had rescued had abandoned the area, but a number of them stayed and were fighting. It was all going down just as I predicted. We had wasted our time healing them, because now they were going to kill each other in battle. The people by the fiery pit were rummaging through the wreckage for anything they could use as a weapon: metal rods and glass shards—some of people even found guns. It was raining blood as men grunt-punched the shit out of each other, making teeth fly. My tongue brushed across my front teeth, cringing at the thought of how unpleasant it would feel. I saw some guys I recognized from the resistance army, but I didn't see Johnny. As I scanned the battlefield, I saw Amy scalp the hair off of another woman's head by pulling on her ponytail and slicing across the woman's hairline with a glass shard. My stomach churned acid, making me nearly want to puke, but I managed to keep it down. I decided I shouldn't disturb anyone to give them food and water—or stand out there too long looking for trouble.

"We should start with the buildings," I suggested to Eva. "People are probably hiding in the village jail and the _Chair Trials_ studio."

"I'll cover the jail, since it's further away," Eva said. "You can have the studio because it's close by."

Wonderful, I let the woman save my life one time, and now she thought I was a pussy.

"No, let me take care of the jail," I insisted. "I can't risk you getting hurt."

Eva laughed out loud, barely trying to cover up her radiating smile, which hurt my feelings just a tad. "I think I can take care of myself, thank you."

I really didn't want to hike across town to the village jail during battle, but I was still trying to impress Eva with my bravery. She was right though; it was safer for her to do the long-distance travel because she could heal naturally; I couldn't. Being a human man trying to impress a supernatural woman with bravery was challenging.

"Are you sure you want to do this? I'm willing to if you don't."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine," Eva said, giving me a quick peck on the lips. She grabbed her bag and, like Superwoman, ran to save the day.

There were so many fights going on at once that it was difficult to dodge them without getting involved by accident. All I had to do was look at someone the wrong way or graze them, and it could start a dogpile. On my short journey to the _Chair Trials_ studio, with the bag of goodies dragging behind me, I saw Johnny's half sister, Raven, kill an armed guard in two minutes flat. He popped a cap in her shoulder as she came charging toward him, but that didn't slow her down. She locked him in a choke hold before twisting his neck, killing him immediately.

I kept my head down, shuffling through the sand faster, trying to avoid her. She could have still been mad about what happened in the crypt. After Johnny and I stole the dagger, I had shot her in the head. Back then, I thought I had killed her; I didn't know she was a superhuman like Johnny and Eva, who could both revive after fatal injuries. With Raven in the mix, that brought the total number of superhumans in Walnut Cherryville up to three, which wasn't fair. Where were _my_ superhuman abilities? For all I knew, if three superhumans existed, there could easily be five, ten, or thousands more. Who decided that only certain people should have the ability to be special while the rest of us were ordinary?

The door to the _Chair Trials_ studio was open, so I closed it after I entered, just to be safe in case anyone from outside was following me. I treaded carefully beneath flickering ceiling lights in the hall of holding cells, where I had stayed twice before. Once I was out on the stage, I gazed out at the empty audience seating. All I could see were the tops of their heads, but I knew there were people hiding behind the seats. One pair of eyes peeked up from behind his seat.

"It's OK. He's one of us," a man announced, and the others dispersed from the safety of their hiding places.

"It's madness out there," a young lady said.

"I don't want to die," another cried. "I didn't sign up for this."

This was where the resistance cowards were hiding out so they didn't have to fight, and I couldn't blame them. If it weren't for Eva pushing me to lend a helping hand, I'd be there too, hiding out, waiting, and panicking.

"I have food and water," I announced, dropping the bag on the floor.

The swarm of cowards flocked over to me, snatched what they wanted, and retreated to their seats.

After taking a water bottle and bag of tortilla chips, a middle-aged woman with short, brown hair paused and stared at me for a few seconds. "Hey, I recognize you," she said. "You're the guy who escaped from a holding cell in this building before the _Chair Trials_ season finale. How did you do it? Where did it lead you? Can it get us to safety?"

"I doubt it," I said. "It led me to the scientific wing, and it was set up by the resistance people." I grabbed a bag of chips and water for myself.

As I opened the bag, I thought, "Were tortilla chips the only food in the courthouse's emergency food supply?" In an emergency where people could easily become dehydrated, why would you serve them something salty?

"I heard that the government sealed off that passage after you used it," a balding man with glasses chimed in before chugging down his water.

The woman, who seemed like a concerned mothering-type, munched on some chips and then washed them down with water. "We have to find a way out before anyone discovers we're here," she insisted. "Who are these resistance people you're talking about? Did they cause the glass-house explosion? What caused all that violent chaos outside? I'm frightened—I was picking strawberries out on the field when, when all of a sudden, the ground started rumbling." She demonstrated by holding up a chip horizontally as she shook it up and down. "Everyone was running—screaming 'take cover,' so I followed them in here. What should we do?"

"Calm down," I said. "You're safe in here. I don't know who caused the explosion, but I do know that the resistance people are fighting to take down the government."

"Oh, dear. These resistance people seem like trouble-makers." She took a modest bite of the chip that represented the ground before wiping the extra salt off her mouth onto the back of her hand.

"This young man is right," the vanilla-skinned, balding man said. "If we leave, it's more likely we'll be attacked by those terrorists outside. I say let's wait it out." He rubbed his beer belly and burped. "Excuse me," he said, smearing the beads of sweat from his forehead.

"What if any undesirables find their way in here? They could kill us all." The woman attempted to breathe deeply to relieve her stress.

"I understand your concern, but there are a lot of us. We could defend ourselves against any undesirables that enter if we work together." With a beet-red colored face, he bent down, resting his hands on his knees before puking out blood and bile.

"Good heavens, sir! Are you all right?" she asked, placing her hand on his back.

As I listened to their conversation in silence, I noticed that everyone else seemed to suddenly get sick. The air in the auditorium became fowl and smelled like diarrhea. That was odd. My mouth was dry; I untwisted the cap on my water bottle but noticed that the seal was already broken. What were these, reused water bottles? In all the time I had spent in Walnut Cherryville, I had never seen them reuse water bottles in the kitchen. I raised the bottle toward my mouth to take a sip, but stopped when I came to a realization. Salty chips would make people drink more water; the water was poisoned. I dropped the bottle on the floor. It was the judge. She was pissed at me for not completing my first mission, so she thought this would be a fitting revenge. She had made me poison these innocent people, but I didn't understand why she wanted them dead. These were probably fellow resistance members and ordinary people captured by the government, her own people who were dropping like flies, puking out their brains, and shitting out their guts.

"Stop," I shouted. "Don't drink the—"

I was going to warn them not to drink the water, but then I stopped to think about the repercussions. There was no way out of this that I could survive. If I told them that the water was poisoned and stopped whoever was left from drinking it, they would think I poisoned it, and they'd gang up on me. Even if I had a chance to explain that I hadn't known the water was poisoned before I gave it out, they might not believe me. Besides, they'd probably think, "Why save this guy's life if we're not sure we can trust him—whether he knew it or not, he just killed nearly everyone in this building." They'd still try to kill me.

I sat down in a chair frustrated. The judge had tricked me, and because of that, I could be sure she was trying to kill me. She was evil, no better than the Quinton family and probably worse. I couldn't let a woman like that come into power and rule over Walnut Cherryville. But what could I do about it?

# Chapter 18: Vincent

My eyes shot open, and I woke up panting. I had had a nightmare—I dreamed that I followed an animated, 2D dog to Laura, bombed the glass building, and killed everyone in it. The Churros virus went on a rampage, became out of control, and did things to ComCon that I hadn't written in the code. It didn't make much sense. Someone must have sabotaged my work, but I didn't know who. I may have been suicidal in the past, but I wasn't a suicide bomber. I had been framed; Churros couldn't have set off a bomb of tie-dye colors by accident (unless my coding was awful, which it was not).

"Calm down, Vincent," I told myself. "It was only a dream. Dreams are fictional delusions of reality."

When I sat up, I realized it wasn't a dream, and my head felt hazy, pounding with pain. My pale skin had been baking under the sun for what must have been hours based on its bright shade of red and formulation of tiny blisters. I was sitting inside a metal pocket, slightly above ground on the _Chair Trials_ studio, next to a smashed box of weathered grits. Those must have been from the _Chair Trials_ Olympic Games I had competed in a few months ago with Veronica. I couldn't remember what the game was called, but I did know it had involved grits.

I peeked down below and saw that the explosion had landed me in a pocket on the second tier, not too far from the sand where a vicious war was being fought. I gasped and bolted back away from the edge, trying to hide my face from the people. What could I do now that there was a possibility that this disaster was my fault? Leaving the grate would be risky at that moment, but I couldn't stay up there forever. It was so hot that I could feel the blood in my veins nearly coming to a boil, and I was dying of thirst. Maybe I should wait it out? Eventually the warriors below would get tired and need rest; I should wait until then to leave the grate.

The soothing breeze blew in some papers stained with blood splatter. Ah, reading material to entertain myself with while I waited. I collected the pages and examined them. Besides being a little dirty, they seemed to be in nearly perfect condition and weren't burned by the fire at all, which was odd. The left side of every page was torn—as if it had been ripped out of a journal. Someone had written on the pages with black pen, only using the front side.

12/5/93

It's that time of year again—the time where you can't go anywhere without hearing that infuriating Christmas music.

Ugh. Would Walnut Cherryville do that too? I hadn't lived there long enough to witness the nightmare of Christmas. Before I was committed into Sonoran Correctional High, my friends and I would loiter by the storefronts at the outdoor mall, smoke cigarettes, and create crude lyrics to Christmas songs that were playing. It was fun getting repugnant glares from old hags who were bothered by the metal chains that hung from our black, skinny jeans. The mall cops would buzz around on their Segways and make us move along because we were causing a public disturbance. We were simply trying to warn the public that "Crabs are coming to town." Ha-ha.

I'm not in the mood for cheerful music, so I brought my cassette player and earphones to the café.

A cassette player was ancient technology; my mom used to listen to her mixed tapes while she jogged around the neighborhood. The person who wrote these pages wasn't in Walnut Cherryville at the time. I wondered if they had come from a journal collected from someone who had been captured.

It's easier to collect my thoughts when I listen to Soul Asylum, drink a café au lait, and block out everything beyond this journal. I wish I was on a runaway train that was never coming back.

I knew that band—and the song "Runaway Train" was still playing on the radio as popular alternative music.

I have a bastard two-year-old monster an adorable son that believes the answer to everything is no. I can't wait until Kenneth grows out of the terrible twos so we can have a conversation with each other as father and son. I look forward to teaching him how to putt his first golf ball and, eventually, advising him in the art of wooing a lady. I'm enthusiastic about the moments we'll share in the future, even though raising Kenneth is creating a great deal of stress right now.

Genevieve can't get Kenneth to eat his grits, and she nitpicks about how I'm not there to punish him when he has a temper tantrum and throws the plate on the floor. I've lost count of how many china bowls I replaced for her because Kenneth rebelled against eating food. I'd prefer we use plastic—less of a hassle for the maid to clean—but Genevieve insists that plastic has toxic chemicals that could hinder Kenneth's development.

That sounded like an accurate description of the way Kenneth currently acted. Even at twenty-something years old, Kenneth was still tossing out food in dramatic ways when he didn't want to eat. The only difference was that back then he had disposed of it himself; now he forced other people do it for him during his _Chair Trials_ game. I picked up a handful of grits and let them slowly fall between my fingers. If I got hungry enough, I could eat the weathered, raw grits that had been toasted by the sun—it would depend on how long I ended up hiding in the grate.

Ever since Kenneth was born, Genevieve has been practicing "attachment parenting," which means that she and Kenneth are inseparable. While I appreciate her concern for Kenneth's health and well-being, I feel that she's completely ignoring my needs for sleep, sex, and quiet time alone. Kenneth sleeps in our bed at night, which is disrupting.

I busted out laughing; this was great. The wind couldn't have blown anything better my way. No wonder Kenneth was such a mama's boy.

Allowing a nanny, the maid, or a neighbor to look after Kenneth for just a few hours is out of the question. When I suggested it to her, she was outraged because "leaving Kenneth alone with a stranger would break their bond."

Kenneth still had a strong bond with his mother until recently. Did Laura and I single-handedly force Kenneth to become independent before he was ready?

While she's at home coddling Kenneth from sunrise to sundown, I've been on the road a few times a month to attend executive meetings with new distributors to expand distribution in the southwest region. My team and I made a strategic plan that will get Walnut Cherryville produce stocked in twenty new grocery chains across Arizona, Utah, Nevada, Colorado, and New Mexico. At the same time, I'm visiting the produce factory frequently to oversee that production increases at a reasonable rate with distribution.

So basically this operation has been running and expanding for a long time.

In my absence, my most trusted advisor, Teyana Williams, is the acting governor of the town. Before Kenneth was born, I made this arrangement to protect my family from those senseless, redneck Cockits.

I didn't know who Teyana Williams was, but I did recognize Johnny's family name. They were probably the ancestors that Johnny claimed to have spoken to in his crazy visions.

This way Kenneth can have access to the best private Catholic schools in Phoenix, grow into a wealthy business tycoon like his father, and remain safe from the feud. As long as those trigger-happy morons don't know where my family sleeps at night, they'll be safe. I'd tell Kenneth everything when he is old enough to understand. My great fear is my family becoming a hostage of the feud between the Quinton and Cockit families.

His greatest fear became reality several years later when little cowboy, trigger-happy (I must add) Johnny killed Kenneth's father to save his own. I rolled my eyes at the pathetic one-sidedness of this journal entry, though I expected nothing less. Johnny was far from having what Kenneth's dad had described as the Cockit family traits. Yes, Johnny did kill Kenneth's father, but he had been put in an impossible situation, and he had been punishing himself ever since. Anyone would choose to save his own family over people he didn't know—unless that person hated his family.

If history was condemned to repeat itself, then Laura and I had added our names and the names of our families to Kenneth's hit list by murdering his mother and bombing his father's empire. As long as Kenneth was alive, he'd be determined to make sure Laura and I had no lineage.

I remembered that I had tracked Laura to the courthouse before the explosion, but that didn't mean anything now. She could still be in danger, but there was nothing I could do about it in my current position.

I guess I'm frustrated. These long commutes are tiring. I want to be home with Genevieve and Kenneth, but when I do return home, I feel ignored and underappreciated. I hope this situation changes soon, otherwise it will continue to stress our marriage. Things felt much easier when I could live where I worked—that way I didn't have to choose. If Genevieve had still lived in Walnut Cherryville with me, I wouldn't have been tempted.

Kenneth's dad was about to reveal his deepest darkest secret, which marked the climax of this journal entry. My hand subconsciously grabbed a fist full of grits and stuffed them in my mouth, just like I was munching on popcorn at the movies.

I love my wife, and I feel awful about what I've done. I know I should confess, but I'm terrified. Will she divorce me? Will she allow me to continue raising Kenneth with her? The thought of another man rearing my son if Genevieve remarries upsets me too much to think about.

Reading this made me realize that I was going to be the "other guy" when Laura and I got back together, because she would still be married to Kenneth. He had stolen her from me for no reason other than to fuck with me, and I could never forgive him for that. He didn't love her or care about her like I did. She didn't know who the father of her baby was, so it could be mine or it could be Kenneth's.

Since I came from a broken home, I know there was no such thing as "separate, but equal" once the divorce lawyers sharpen their claws and go to court. She'll go for full custody, completely shutting me out, and she'll get at least half of everything I own. I can't raise Kenneth without her. I need her in my life.

I knew I needed Laura in my life, but I doubted that I was ready to be a father at nearly eighteen years old. I had never held a baby before, and I had no babysitting experience. I didn't know the first thing about what babies wanted when they cried uncontrollably—how much to feed them, what kind of mush they ate, or how to change a poopy diaper. Laura was probably due to pop in a few short months, which scared me. I imagined holding Laura's baby in my arms—she was a girl, with big baby blues, who was wrapped in a pink wool blanket. It felt heavy to have a vulnerable "bundle of joy" gazing up at me, depending on me, and relying on me to protect her from harm.

The first step is admitting it. I can't say the words. All I can do is write them down. I got Teyana pregnant. One thing led to another during one of our business meetings, and we just connected. I wish I could say that I only did it once, but that's not true. We kept testing our limits, seeing how far we could go. It was fun and addicting to gamble with all the odds: the odds of getting discovered, the odds of one of us falling for the other, and the odds of getting her pregnant.

In a strange way, I felt like Mr. Quinton was trying to tell me something through his words of wisdom, and I didn't like what he was saying. I was so used to seeing sex as something I did with Laura for fun and because I wanted to show her that I loved her. Once I got turned on, I forgot that sex was biologically intended to procreate, which was the ultimate consequence of having fun.

Questions were now looming in my mind: Who deserved to pay that consequence? Me, because I loved Laura? Kenneth, because he was her husband? Or Laura, solely because, at the end of the day, she was the one who was carrying the baby in her belly. I didn't know if Laura would want to keep it. We hadn't had a chance to talk about that. All the factors between dealing with the baby and dealing with Kenneth would make having a real relationship with her very complicated. My thoughts were making me feel claustrophobic. The walls of the metal pocket were closing in on me, and my chest became tight with anxiety, but I managed to continue reading.

Teyana was feisty, deliciously chocolate exciting delectably different, and she knew how to melt my stress away with her mouth supportive words.

That was code for a confident black woman who gave extraordinary blowjobs.

We can't be anything more than just business partners who fool around; I'm married and I have a family. I hope Teyana can be understanding of that when I tell her I'm choosing to stay with Genevieve. I can trust that Teyana won't tell Genevieve about our sexual partnership, because then I'll have to fire her. I'm willing to support Teyana and her child as long as she keeps quiet about the whole thing.

I was shocked to read that his solution was to sweep everything under the rug and pretend that the problem didn't exist. I wondered how it made Teyana feel to know that Mr. Quinton wouldn't tell his wife about their relationship. Had she had feelings for him? How had she reacted to his ultimatum that if she spoke a word of the affair he'd fire her? I wonder if Mrs. Quinton had ever found out about it. Where was Teyana Williams now? I had so many questions—questions that would probably never be answered. It was not like I'd have a friendly sit-down chat with Kenneth anytime soon. Imagine what that would stir up during tea time.

Mr. Quinton's solution to his problem made logical sense. He had calculated his options between the two women and chosen the option with less risk. That may have been the easiest option, but it didn't feel like the right one to me. In the end, both women had been undermined by him, and it didn't seem fair.

When it came to Laura, I wanted her to have the best possible chance at happiness—because she deserved it. I didn't know how to make that happen yet, but once I found her we could figure it out together. The important aspect of this equation, which Mr. Quinton eliminated, was the opportunity to make decisions _with_ his wife and mistress instead of _for_ his wife and mistress. That was a lesson I had learned from being with Laura.

# Chapter 19: Johnny

The gleaming, gold Eiffel Tower lit up Las Vegas Boulevard; the city buzzed with nightlife. Veronica and I strolled toward the glowing, blue Paris hot-air balloon, seeking someone heading toward San Luis so that we could make our way back to Walnut Cherryville. Veronica walked along the edge of the sidewalk with her thumb in the air, and I followed next to her, swaying my arms from side to side, hoping that my hand would accidently graze hers. I needed a reason to hold her hand. I felt miserable, and there was still a part of me that thought she could change her mind about us if I could get her to stop ignoring me. We haven't talked to each other since that afternoon, and when she did speak to me, she only wanted to discuss details about returning to Walnut Cherryville. She was so focused on hitching a ride that she didn't notice my silence or the tears streaming down my face.

Veronica and I being just friends had changed the situation a bit. I needed to go back to Walnut Cherryville to rescue my friends _from_ Walnut Cherryville, so why would I allow her to go back if she was already free? She had waited years to find the one—the right person who she believed could lead her to freedom from captivity—and she had chosen me. In one of my past visions, Walnut Cherryville had been destroyed from an apparent explosion, and her bloody cross necklace was the last thing I held before I died. If I brought her back with me, my ancestors had warned me that she would be killed. She'd be much safer anywhere else but there.

She stopped to rest by a palm tree and used her hitchhiking hand as a visor to shade her eyes from the overhead lights that beamed down on the bustling street. "Why isn't anyone stopping?" she said, sounding frustrated.

A group of peacock show girls wearing only bras and panties decorated with countless feathers and beads moseyed past us. The echoing click-clack of their black stilettos demanded my attention as their plush cleavage bounced with every step. A tall lady with red hair and ruby red lips winked at me with a gleaming smile. After they passed, my head uncontrollably cocked to the side, taking mental snapshots of their nearly naked asses.

"Maybe because we don't look like that," I said jokingly, with a half-smile and wide eyes. "Las Vegas seems like a wonderful place."

"For men," Veronica added, jealously. "It's disgusting."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. You're allowed to look," Veronica muttered as she folded her arms and peered down at the sidewalk.

I saw the flashing blue and red lights of a police car parked about a block in front of us, which gave me an idea. I stood close behind Veronica, brushed my fingers down her arms, and gently held her in mine.

"Please, stop," Veronica pleaded. "We can't do this."

"Why do you need to go back there?" I asked, wrapping my hand around hers.

She walk out of my embrace. "I don't understand what you're asking me."

"I'm going back to Walnut Cherryville to rescue my friends that are still trapped there. What are you going back for?"

"I want to help," she chimed in eagerly with a hopeful, glossy expression.

"I don't need your help," I argued.

She gazed into my desperate eyes that yearned for her love. "Johnny, where is all this bitterness coming from? We went on this adventure together—"

"And now we're separated, so I no longer need you. You're free. You don't ever have to return to that place again. There's nothing for you there."

Veronica stepped in toward me, only inches away from my lips. "That's not true."

My head tilted to the side, and I leaned in, close enough to feel her breath on my lips while she continued talking.

"We're a team. I'm not going to let you go back alone. You don't know Walnut Cherryville like I do—"

I kissed her, and she was at loss for words. My eyes closed, and I cuddled her in my arms like it was the last time we'd ever see each other. I hoped it wasn't, but there was no telling if we'd ever cross paths again after I said good-bye. Her lips quivered as she hesitated to caress mine and wrap her trembling arms around me. She didn't know this was good-bye.

She pulled away. "This is wrong. Friends don't—"

"Shh," I hushed her by running my hand sensually across her jaw and over her lips. I then combed through her hair, taking my last waft of her scent, before turning and running away.

"Johnny, where are you going?" she shouted, chasing after me.

I ignored her question and marched up to the police car parked on the side of the road. There was a red Ferrari parked in front of the police car with his driver's window rolled down, so I assumed the car was pulled over for speeding. The cop sat inside his car filling out a ticket, so I knocked on his window to get his attention. As he rolled down the window, I glanced at Veronica, who stood frozen and confused a few feet back.

"Good evening, Officer, I'd like to report someone who entered the country illegally. How can I do that?"

"ICE takes care of that, so you'd have to call them and tell them the name, work place, and residence of the illegal alien," the officer responded.

"I just met this girl who tried to hitch a ride with me. I don't know her personal information, like her address or where she works, but her name is Veronica Rodriguez. She's standing over there." I pointed in Veronica's direction. "She is a Mexican teenager with long brown hair and a...gap between her two front teeth." I hesitated as I spoke, and a tinge of grief that originated from my heart quickly intensified and spread throughout my entire body like poison pulsing through my veins.

Veronica's most beautiful feature, that gap between her two front teeth, was a sight for sore eyes. Her smile had been comforting me ever since we had first met in the village jail where she served me breakfast. I was instantaneously attracted to her in mysterious ways that I couldn't explain. Her sweet personality, intelligence, and innocence made her a good friend, while her trust, faith, and commitment made her loving girlfriend. I knew I was giving up my partner, the wind beneath my wings, as I made her worst fear come to life.

"I will call in some backup, and an ICE officer will be here shortly to arrest her. Does she suspect you're reporting her?"

"No."

"Forgive me, Veronica," I thought. "I love you too much."

"If you don't mind staying with her until the officer shows up, we'd appreciate it. Stay in the area and keep her calm so she doesn't run."

"Will do," I said, going back to Veronica.

When I returned, she looked at me curiously.

"What were you doing talking to that cop?" she probed.

"He's going to help us get a ride."

"A ride back to Walnut Cherryville?"

"Not exactly."

"I don't understand."

"He's going to get someone to drive us to San Luis," I lied.

"Oh, like a cab?"

"Yes, he called a cab service for us, and they're on their way, so sit tight."

Veronica walk over to a palm tree, sat down, and played with the mulch. I could sense she was feeling conflicted by the disheartened look on her face. I knew I had crossed the line by kissing her, and she was upset. There was no way we could continue to muffle our feelings for each other if we both returned to Walnut Cherryville. Having Veronica deported back to Mexico was the best decision for both of us. She had her heart set on being a part of all my adventures, but I couldn't let her risk her life to help me save Collins, Vincent, and Laura. If Veronica returned to Walnut Cherryville, I knew she'd die, so I had to make sure she stayed away. Since I couldn't talk her out of it, having her deported was my only option.

I sat down next to her. "Veronica, I want you to know that if anything happens—like if we ever get separated—I will come and find you."

"I know you will," Veronica said, trying to smile with watery eyes. "I would do the same for you."

Despite having Veronica deported for a good reason, I felt bad for doing it. "I'm sorry," I apologized. "I hope you can forgive me one day."

"I think we can work on it," she laughed, wiping her tears. "I know this new friends thing will take some time to get used to, but we did it before. That's how we..." Her voice trailed off as our eyes met, and then she finished her sentence, "fell in love."

I chuckled. "And you want to do it again?"

"You're right," Veronica said. "I'm such an idiot to think that us being only friends could ever work. That's what put us in this situation in the first place."

"I don't regret any of it," I reassured her. "Standing up for what you believe in never makes you an idiot. Remember that later on, OK? I love you no matter what you want to call us."

She reached over and hugged me, and I patted her on the back. During our embrace, I saw the ICE officer approaching.

"Excuse me," the officer interrupted. "Are you Veronica Rodriguez?"

"Um," Veronica mumbled. Her eyes darted between me and the officer before she clammed up nervously.

"It's OK," I said, shaking my head yes. I stood up and helped her to her feet.

She squeezed my hand, afraid.

"Yes, I'm her," Veronica responded.

"You're under arrest for illegal entry into the United States," the officer announced as he cuffed Veronica's hands behind her back. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

"Johnny, where are they taking me? Am I being deported?" Veronica cried.

"You're going somewhere safe," I said, trying to calm her down. "I meant everything I said. I will come back for you."

Veronica was frenetic; she could barely formulate words. She sobbed, leaving a trail of tears from the spot where she was arrested to the police car a few feet away. The officer opened the door, placed his hand on her head, and nudged her into the backseat. I was sad to see ICE drive her away but relieved that by doing so I was saving her life. Now she could go back home and reconnect with her family and her roots, and most of all, not become another casualty of the feud. I would miss her terribly. She was right about me not knowing how to navigate Walnut Cherryville that well. I had always had her by my side to help, but there were some adventures I needed to complete on my own.

I continued to stroll down the streets of Vegas, thumb in the air, attempting to hitch a ride. After several cars zoomed by, a red Porsche pulled over and stopped for me.

Finally.

I opened the passenger's door, hopped in, and shut the door. "Thanks, for—" I began, and then I recognized the driver. Kenneth, dressed like a groom, had captured me and was holding me at gunpoint. My hand bolted for the door lever, but the automatic locks clicked shut. I was trapped. I was shocked to see that Kenneth had come after me himself instead of sending one of his goons.

"Buckle up," Kenneth said tranquilly. "Safety first; it's the law."

I did as he asked and put on my seatbelt. Without my healing abilities, I couldn't survive a gunshot wound.

Kenneth unbuckled his seatbelt, turned to me, and roughly pressed the barrel end of his revolver against my prickly cheek. He stroked the revolver across my beard, down to my chin, and forced it into my mouth. As he ran his hand through my scruffy hair, he shoved the revolver deep into my throat.

"I hope you like the taste," Kenneth gloated. "There's almost no greater satisfaction to me than seeing my dick in your mouth. I could explode my metal load into your brain right now, but that would be too easy." Kenneth retrieved the revolver from of my mouth and pushed it against my heart. "I want to taste the tears that stream down your face after you watch everyone you love die at the hand of my metal cock. This barrel will pop your precious Veronica's cherry. It will make your mother wish she had an abortion before you were born. Walnut Cherryville will be painted red with the blood of your friends. Do you get my drift?"

My mind got caught up in Kenneth's imagery, allowing a tear to drip down my cheek. I shook my head yes.

"Oh no, I've upset you," Kenneth said sarcastically. "Here, let me get you a tissue." Kenneth deliberately licked my face, wiping my tears away with his tongue before he cackled like the Wicked Witch of the West. "Revenge is bittersweet."

I shoved Kenneth away, unable to bare anymore humiliation, and he leaned back in the driver's seat.

"Careful. You wouldn't want me to accidently pull the trigger, or maybe you do. Death is the only cure for a broken heart," Kenneth said. "You'll be begging for me to come in your mouth once everyone you love is dead."

"Revenge is not the answer, Kenneth. It won't make you feel better, and it won't bring back your parents," I virtuously explained. "No matter what you do to me, you'll always feel empty inside. I'm sorry for everything I've done to hurt you. I admit that some of your suffering was caused by things I did to you, but at the same time, it was also caused by how you chose to cope with your feelings. You'll never be able to heal if all you seek is vengeance. If the feud between us continues, more people will end up dying—people we both care about. Why can't we make amends and put it all behind us? I'm sure we can work out some sort of arrangement that we both can live with. I want to forgive you."

"Thanks, Johnny. I appreciate your sincere apology, but these don't," Kenneth rebutted as he flipped me two birds. "Besides, there's nothing I want more than to see you suffer and die. The feud ends with us, and Walnut Cherryville will always be mine once you are dead."

There had to be a nonviolent solution to dealing with Kenneth. He wasn't accepting my apology, but maybe he'd listen to reason.

"Stop lying to yourself, and admit that you need my help," I said. "I know why you couldn't kill me on _Chair Trials_. You know about the others, and you know that the feud wouldn't end unless you killed them too. You needed me because my great-great-great-grandfather hid the sacred dagger you're looking to use to end all the bloodlines. That's why you locked me in a coffin made of cherrywood, so I could communicate with my ancestors and lead you to the dagger's location."

"Are you done? Your voice is irritating," Kenneth said angrily, becoming defensive.

It appeared that Kenneth was immune to being persuaded by reason. I was tired of him treating me like his bitch, so shit got real.

"If you touch a hair on anyone I care about, you'll never know where it is," I threatened.

"I'll bet I can make you sing like a canary."

"Give it your best shot," I said, challenging Kenneth. "I promise you, I'll die before telling you where it is."

"I need a drink," Kenneth announced, out of the blue. "What do you like?"

A minute ago, Kenneth had been threatening to murder everyone I cared about, and now he wanted to share a drink with me?

"Come on, I don't have all night to figure out what floats your boat," Kenneth insisted. "What's your poison of choice? Vodka? Rum? Tequila?"

"Beer."

"Nah, I feel more like bourbon."

What was the point of asking me what I wanted if he was going to choose what to order for me?

"You think you can get me to tell you where it is by getting me drunk? I'm not even twenty-one, so I can't buy drinks," I said.

"Don't worry, it will be my treat."

This had to be a trap, but I couldn't figure out how it would work. He'd probably try to poison my drink, since he had done that before, so I'd have to watch my glass carefully.

Kenneth drove us to The Slippery Nipple, a bar about ten minutes away. "I figured this was the best place to take you to celebrate your freedom since you deported your girlfriend," Kenneth said, laughing as we both got out of the car.

I froze with the door hanging open, concerned about Veronica. If Kenneth knew where she was going, then she wasn't safe—and probably worse off than if she had stayed with me. "How did you know about that?"

We walked up to the front door.

"I watched the whole thing," Kenneth answered.

"If you go after her, I swear—"

"You won't tell me where the dagger is. Yeah, I got it." Kenneth opened the door and motioned me to step inside.

"How long were you following me?" I asked.

"I got a tip from a secret watcher that you were in Vegas trying to marry Veronica. He kept an eye on you until I got to your location. Go sit down. I'll order our drinks."

I sat down at an empty table and watched as a band set up their instruments, trying to ignore the slutty waitresses flirting with customers. A young Japanese waitress with long, silky hair approached me and playfully patted my arm.

"You look down. What can I get to cheer you up?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine. I'm waiting for someone," I said.

"Well, if you need anything, let me know," she said before walking away.

Kenneth sat down at the table with two empty shot glasses and a full bottle of Jim Beam Devil's Cut bourbon whiskey. He placed a glass in front of me. "I bought the bottle," Kenneth announced, pouring both of us a shot. He raised his glass. "Cheers. To numbing up the pain we have both caused each other."

We toasted, clinking our glasses together before tossing back the shot. The ninety-proof toxin drained down my throat and burned, causing me to cough. "Shit, that's strong."

"Suck it up, and take it like a man," Kenneth said as he poured us both another.

"Another?" I said, shocked. "So soon after the first shot? Can't we give our livers some time to catch up?"

"I wish we had a new glass for every shot I pour, so each time we drank one empty, we could flip it upside down in a line and count who drank more."

"You are freakishly competitive," I remarked. "I just want to sit here and enjoy—or at least try to enjoy—my buzz."

"Bartender," Kenneth shouted, waving down the Japanese woman.

She approached our table, holding a tray of empty glasses.

"My friend and I are trying to play a game—"

"No," I immediately objected, but Kenneth ignored me.

"Would it be possible to have a new glass for every new drink?"

"For that whole bottle? I don't think I can do that because of how busy the bar is; we'll run out of glasses. I'm sorry. I can check in the back to see how many I'm allowed to give you."

"OK," Kenneth sighed.

As the bartender walked away, I smiled at the fact that Kenneth was denied an infinite number of shot glasses. At least, in the real world, he couldn't get everything he wanted. He was acting really bummed out by it, like a child who was about to cry over spilled milk. Kenneth reached into his pocket, took out a rubber ball, and started squeezing it with a blank stare and a frown pasted on his face. In a million years, I wouldn't have imagined that a rubber ball would make it onto Kenneth's list of essential items to take from Walnut Cherryville. Maybe it had magical qualities, like my twig. The bartender came back to our table and dropped off eight clean shot glasses.

"Well, that's not enough," Kenneth complained. He began bouncing the ball on the table like he was playing a Ping-Pong match, his left hand against his right.

Suddenly, I had an idea. I collected all ten shot glasses, arranged them into an inverted triangle formation, and filled them up with booze. "I challenge you to a game of bourbon pong," I announced, snatching the rubber ball.

"Hey! Give me my—"

I stood up from my chair, walked over to the short side of the table, and jumped right into the rules of the game. "I don't know if you've ever played beer pong before, but bourbon pong will be a little different." I bounced Kenneth's ball on the floor, catching it in my hand. "Here's how it works. Each of us will have a turn to throw the ball into the glass. If I sink a ball into a glass—"

"I don't want you playing with my stress ball," Kenneth whined defensively. "Give it back." He reached for my hand, but I nudged it away. This angered Kenneth, so he forcefully grabbed my wrist and tried unsuccessfully to pry the ball from my hand. Apparently, my muscles were much stronger than his.

"What's so important about this ball that we can't use it for bourbon pong?" I questioned.

"It was my dad's," Kenneth said, in a miserable tone. "Wanna hear a story?" He slid a full glass of bourbon over to my seat, and I sat down. "Where to begin," he mumbled, slinging a shot down his throat in one gulp. "One night, a long time ago when I was thirteen years old, I was lying in bed browsing through _Playboy._ "

I drank a shot, hoping that it would numb my ears from hearing any masturbation stories Kenneth was about to tell.

"It wasn't mine. I had gotten it from a friend at school, who had stolen it from his older brother's collection. Anyway, so there I was, gazing at Pam Anderson's rack at five minutes past nine o'clock at night, when I heard something strange coming from downstairs. It sounded like someone was breaking furniture. I put down the magazine, tottered over to the staircase, and turned on the light. That was when I saw your idiot old man wrestling with my father in the foyer. At the time, I didn't know who the intruder was. I was afraid, so I scurried off to find Mom and tell her that someone had broken into the mansion and was attacking Dad. I wanted to go help him, but she made me stay by her side while she called the police. She locked the door to her bedroom and made me hide in the closet, telling me to be very quiet. She dimmed the bedroom light and kept an eye on the door." Kenneth paused and slurped down another shot as his eyes began to water. He slid me over another, and I gulped down the liquid cinnamon fire.

"Soon after, I heard a gunshot. When my mom finally released me from the closet, I rushed downstairs to the foyer. The intruder was gone, and the room was ransacked. My dad was dead, lying on the floor in a lake of blood that was oozing out of his head. It was a horrific crime scene, scattered with police and sectioned off with yellow tape. They wouldn't let me go near him. A police officer kept questioning me about what I saw, but I was too distraught to answer any questions. I cried for hours that night, truly devastated. The police continued to question me for several weeks about what I knew of the intruder. At the time, all I could do was describe what he looked like—a fat, hillbilly bastard. I didn't know about you, your dad, the feud, or anything until Mom moved us to Walnut Cherryville a few months later. For the longest time, I thought that your dad killed him. Before the funeral, my mom received a box of the items he had carried on him the day he died. That stress ball you're holding was in his pocket, so it has sentimental value to me—not that you care."

Guilt stirred inside me and burned like poison pulsing through my body. Kenneth had been innocent until he crossed paths with me. I rolled the ball across the table, giving it back to him. "How did you find out it was me?"

"I started having dreams about the past after I moved to Walnut Cherryville. My dreams were real-life visions that showed me parts of my family's history—parts that I didn't get to witness, but my ancestors did."

"As I figure you already know, I get those too," I mentioned.

"Yes, but the connection you need to mind travel is different from mine. You need cherrywood to complete the connection, while I need walnut wood; hence why our ancestors called the land Walnut Cherryville."

I swirled my bourbon gently in the glass. "I wish I could give it all up. I'd do anything to rid myself of that all-too-familiar feeling of constant guilt and pain from what I did to you." I chugged it down my gullet. "I ruined your life, so I understand why you hate me so much that you feel like you need to kill me. Although there are other alternatives. It's actually kind of cool that I have someone else to talk to who's like me. When I talk about my visions, my friends probably think I'm insane, because they don't understand what I—or people like us—can do. Sometimes, I think they just pretend to believe what I say because they don't want to tell me the truth."

"It's adorable that you think that we could be friends. We probably could relate to each other in a much different way if we lived in a parallel universe. A universe where we were both on the same team historically and interest-wise."

"I don't think we need a parallel universe to be friends," I slurred, lifting another shot to my mouth. I leaned my head back and sloppily dumped the shot onto my chin, causing it to drip down my neck and soak my shirt. "Shit, I poured too soon and missed my mouth. We should be on the same team. I'd really like that."

Kenneth smiled. "You're pleasantly kind, cute, and very drunk."

I belched loudly. "Thank you."

After that, I didn't know how much time had passed since my first shot or even how many I had. My body progressively heated up, and I literally became numb to everything.

"Since we're friends, could you take me to that special place you took Veronica?" Kenneth asked.

"You want to go to the Clark County Clerk's office to buy me a marriage license?" I reached across the table, knocking over a slew of empty glasses with my fumbling arm. "Thank you. Thank you. You are the best, my friend."

Kenneth held my hand, stroked my fingers, and tickled my arm with his touch, which made me giggle. "That's what friends are for, right? Whatever you need, I'll make it happen. Do you know what else friends do together before one of them gets married?"

I laughed, slobbering on the table. "Drink more booze?"

"At the bachelor party I will throw for you there will be plenty of booze. I was thinking of throwing it at that place that you and Veronica traveled to before you went to Las Vegas. What was that place called again?"

"The hot spring. Yes, that was fun. You should really check it out."

"Which hot spring are you talking about?"

My stomach felt bloated and churned with acid, so I rubbed my belly.

"Excuse me," I said before getting up from the table. I was forgetful and disoriented and stumbled into the ladies bathroom. I dropped face first into the closest stall I could reach, which was unlocked, and puked into a woman's lap. After relieving my stomach, I rolled over onto my back, panting on the bathroom floor. The Japanese waitress hung over me like an angel. Her mouth moved, but I couldn't hear anything beyond the buzzing noise in my head. I passed out.

# Chapter 20: Laura

Tears of mourning streamed down my face as I grieved for Vincent. The love of my life was dead. I was almost sure of it. Many people had died in the glass-building explosion, so I couldn't help but assume that Vincent was one of the causalities. What was the likelihood of Vincent being saved from death twice? I thought that the first time he died and revived was a miracle, but this time I didn't feel so lucky. I blew my nose into a tissue, crumpled it up, and dropped it onto tissue mountain, which was a pile of soaked tissues next to my cot.

"Lay down, please," the Dr. Alejandro said. "Just try to relax."

I reclined onto the cot; cold jelly smeared across my baby bump as he pressed the camera against me. My heart stewed in bleakness until I heard the rapid swishing of blood pumping from the Doppler ultrasound machine. The tranquil sound of life—a baby's heartbeat—after the boom of a deathly explosion soothed my mind, helping me relax. At about twenty weeks pregnant, I could see my baby's eyes, nose, mouth, fingers, and toes developing on the computer monitor. The tiny being in my belly kicked playfully as the doctor captured pictures from various angles. She, or he, had a big head attached to a fragile, slender body.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" I asked.

"It's a girl."

I gasped with excitement and awe, and tears of joy trickled down my cheeks. My lips curled into a smile after I saw my little girl waving at me through the camera. Even though she still looked underdeveloped, I could tell that she was adorable. I couldn't believe I was having a girl. I knew Kenneth wanted a boy, but I had secretly wanted a girl so that I could name her Gisele, after my idol, Gisele Bünchen, a Brazilian supermodel.

I heard a knock on the door. When Dr. Alejandro answered it, I saw the judge standing in the hallway holding a folder.

"May we have the room?" the judge asked.

"Actually, we were just in the middle of something; can you come back later?" I requested.

"She's all yours," the doctor said, ignoring me. He exited the examination room and closed the door on his way out.

I feared being trapped alone in the room with the judge because she wanted to sentence me to death for killing Mrs. Quinton. If it weren't for Kenneth overriding the sentence, Gisele and I would both be in the graveyard right now. I pulled the sheet up over my baby bump and coddled her protectively as I glared at the judge vigilantly. I kept a close eye on my enemy as she rolled a stool next to my cot and sat down. What could she want?

"Hello, Laura. How is the baby doing?"

"We are fine," I said sternly. "What are you doing here?"

"The results of your prenatal paternity test are available, so I came here to discuss the results with you."

"With all due respect, Madam Judge, I'd prefer to discuss the results with a doctor."

"I'm sensing hostility in your voice, Laura," the judge said calmly. Like a therapist, she placed her hand on my arm. "You may call me Teyana outside of the courtroom. I understand that my ruling in the courtroom has upset you. I need you to know that I was forced to do that by law."

I glanced down at her hand touching my arm, uncomfortable by her invasion of my personal space. Once she noticed my reaction, she moved her hand and continued.

"I'm sorry for touching you," the judge blushed. "My motherly instinct to comfort a child in pain has kicked in."

"You have a child?"

"We have more in common than you think. You're a kindhearted young lady who cares about people, much like myself when I was your age. It may not appear that way, but if I sentenced you any other way, I could lose my position or even my life. I must enforce the laws that the Quinton family created without showing vulnerability when it comes to making a judgment. As a single mother, who was also pregnant with a daughter out of wedlock, I really sympathize with your situation." The judge sighed and wiped away a stray tear that dripped from her eye. "Her name is Eva, and she is a little older than you. I had to give her away after she was born because I lived and worked in Walnut Cherryville, which is no place to raise a child."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said, softening my tone.

"Anyway, there's a reason why I need to speak with you," the judge said as she pulled out a piece of paper from the folder and handed it to me.

There was so much data and scientific jargon on the printout that I couldn't understand what I was reading. "What does this mean?"

"It means Kenneth is the father."

"Oh," I said, slightly disappointed. My child was my child, no matter who her baby daddy was, and I would love her just the same. The problem was that things between her mommy and daddy were a little bit shaky. "Has Kenneth heard the good news?"

"No, he left town right after your judgment—"

My jaw dropped in shock. "What for?"

"I don't know what he's doing outside of Walnut Cherryville, but I hope he's behaving himself."

"When will he be back?" I questioned.

"Again, I'm not sure."

"He can't just abandon his own town!"

I was stunned to hear that Kenneth had left the village. This would have been a great opportunity for him to prove to the village that he wasn't an evil maniac and that he actually cared about the people. Since his mother was out of the picture, I had hoped that together, Kenneth and I could run the town with nurturing hands instead of with an iron fist.

Evil is not born; it's made by bad mothers.

"Don't worry. I'm taking care of the situation in his place so that people don't realize he's gone—though I'm more concerned about you. Once Kenneth gets word that your baby is his; he will want to continue with his plans to perform experimental testing."

"What kind of experimental testing? It's a baby, not a science project," I stated.

Teyana scooted in close to me and began to whisper. "I've known Kenneth a long time, and, to be honest, I strongly think he's unfit to be a parent. He is plagued by severe mental illness. While you see the three of you as a family, he thinks the baby is his science project, and you are her temporary caretaker."

"No disrespect, but I know Kenneth on an intimate level, so I don't agree with everything you're saying," I rebutted. "I know he loves me, otherwise he would have allowed you to sentence me to death. He wouldn't hurt me."

"If I may be frank, your marriage to Kenneth is nothing more than a friendship forced upon him by his mother, because she didn't want the town to know that he is a homosexual. Look where you are. You're in the scientific wing instead of the medical wing. Had he ever sent you here before you killed his mother?"

"No..." my voice trailed off as I suddenly realized that Teyana's accusations about Kenneth could be right.

It all made sense when I examined the facts. Kenneth and I were great friends, and we shared a love of fashion, which he could see right off the bat. A short time after meeting him, I figured he was metrosexual, since he appeared to be into me. Maybe I was blindsided because I thought he was cute. He told me his mother had forced him to marry but had allowed him to choose his wife; Kenneth chose me because we connected as friends (to some degree—we weren't besties or anything). Throughout our relationship, he never wanted to have sex. I blamed it on the fact that he wasn't attracted to me being fat from carrying the baby, but the truth was that he was gay.

That was the missing piece to Kenneth's grand plan, which explained almost everything. The only time we had sex was during our engagement celebration in the greenhouse, and I had initiated it to infect him with HIV. Little did I know that Kenneth had forced the doctor to falsely diagnose me with HIV, when I was actually STD free. The Quinton family made me hold my tongue for publicity reasons while they promoted nopal juice, Walnut Cherryville's newest healing product produced from graveyard cacti. Kenneth said in his speech that he was working with scientists to find a cure for my HIV, which was a cover-up for something else. What was he really working on in the scientific wing? For some reason, he wanted a baby—and not any baby, one that contained his genetics, the judge had stressed. Otherwise, it wouldn't matter if Kenneth was the father or not.

I had unknowingly done exactly what he wanted. He had played me like a fiddle, and that hurt my feelings. I always knew that I couldn't trust Kenneth, because he lied about almost everything, but I hadn't thought he would betray me that way. I had thought I could find the good in him, but apparently I was wrong. He wouldn't do anything nice for anyone unless there was an ulterior motive behind it.

"What is he planning to do with me and my baby?" I asked, concerned.

"He doesn't share what goes on in the lab with me. I have ideas, but I can't be sure," the judge responded. "I do know that you and the baby are in grave danger if you stay in Walnut Cherryville much longer. It's only a matter of time before he doesn't need you anymore, Laura. I'd hate to see something bad happen to you and your innocent little girl. You've been an asset to this town."

"Are you suggesting that I leave Walnut Cherryville?" I asked.

"I believe Kenneth's absence has presented you with a unique and _timely_ opportunity," the judge explained. "However he plans to experiment on your child, I don't agree with it or support it, so I want to help you by providing you with a safe escort out of Walnut Cherryville. With my power and position within the government, I can keep him from finding you and make sure you stay off the secret watcher's radar. You'd never have to return here again. You'd be free to raise your child in a normal environment, if that is what you choose to do with your freedom. Trust me, being a single mother is extremely difficult. I don't want to sway your decision one way or the other about whether to give up your baby for adoption. But if you leave, you must promise me one thing."

"And that is?" I rubbed my belly to ease my sour stomach of all the drama.

"You must promise me that no matter what you decide, you will give her a good home, even if it's not with you. You must be extra cautious out in the real world, because your baby is special."

"Well, I wouldn't say special," I commented. "It sounds like you're saying she's inadequate or has a disability or something."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to insult you. I was simply saying that—"

"My baby will be precious and adorable, like all babies are _._ Wherever she ends up; she'll be safe," I said. "I will make sure of it."

"There is one more thing I should mention, if it isn't already obvious," the judge announced. "Once you leave Walnut Cherryville, you cannot return if you are still pregnant or if you decide to raise the child on your own. It would be too dangerous because Kenneth would still be interested in capturing you to get a hold of your baby. If you decide to give up the baby for adoption, it must be a closed adoption, meaning neither you nor Kenneth would have any legal visitation rights. After the closed adoption is complete, you may return to Walnut Cherryville if you wish. Also, please don't tell anyone that I helped you escape. Can I trust you to do that for me?"

"Absolutely, I won't tell anyone."

"So do we have an agreement?"

With Vincent dead and Kenneth threatening to experiment on my baby, this choice seemed like a no-brainer.

"Yes, I will do it." I smiled. "Thank you for looking out for me. I really appreciate it."

Teyana gave me a hug and patted me on the back. "No problem. It's just women helping women. Give me a few minutes, and I will have a private helicopter here to pick you up. Sit tight." She stood up and left the room, closing the door behind her.

For some reason, I was having second thoughts about my decision to leave. It felt shameful, like I, too, would be abandoning the town in a time of need, even though I was confident that the town was in good hands under Teyana's temporary leadership. Soon enough though, Kenneth would come back and resume his place. I was concerned that without my persuasion to be a kind leader, Kenneth might regress to his old ways.

I was curious to explore the scientific wing and find out exactly what he was up to with those experiments, but it could be dangerous. A mother's first responsibility was to protect her child—my child. Should I even keep her?

I wiped the gel off my belly with the sheet, hopped off the cot, and hesitantly stepped toward the door. My hand trembled, reaching for the doorknob in slow motion before halting in midair. If I stayed, would I regret it? Would I have a chance to leave again before the baby was born? If I left, where would I go? I guessed I could go back home and live with my parents.

* * *

The chopper lowered itself down onto my parent's lawn, creating ripples in their pool. Through the window, I could see Dad working on his herb garden that was now being whipped around by the chopper's wind. Mom lounged on a floating recliner, holding an icy alcoholic mixed drink as she bathed in the sun. Her bikini flaunted off her boob job, and her many Botox injections had made her face wind resistant.

Once we touched the ground, a handsome pilot opened the door for me and carried me out of the chopper like a princess. He carefully placed me on my feet, and I gave him a peck on the cheek to thank him for his service. He returned to the chopper and took off.

"Laura, you're alive," my dad said as he ran to me, throwing off his gardening gloves to give me a hug. During his embrace, I caught my mom lowering her sunglasses to get a look for herself.

Her wrist became weak and allowed the drink to spill into the pool, followed by the empty glass. "Even after sending you to an all-girls boarding school, you still managed to get pregnant?" Mom said. "Or did you just let yourself get... _fat?_ "

"Give it a rest," Dad snapped at Mom. "The important thing is that she's alive, and she returned home!"

"It's good to be home," I said with ease.

"Don't get too comfortable. You're going back to school," Mom commented.

"No. I won't let her go back to that school," Dad demanded. "She got kidnapped under their watch; from now on she will be homeschooled."

Mom laughed. "Homeschooled? That's ridiculous."

"It's brilliant. She never has to leave the house, because she can continue her education online—high school and college."

Mom rolled her eyes and sighed. "Fine, you win, but if she lives here you have to hire a full-time nanny. Screaming babies that wake you up at four in the morning are not my thing."

"Actually, I was thinking I'd take care of her," I said, causing Mom to burst out with laughter.

"You? Take care of a baby? Trust me, darling, you're in way over your head," she responded.

"No nannies. Laura got herself pregnant, so she needs to deal with the consequences," Dad stated. "That child is her responsibility."

"Fuck my life," Mom muttered as she paddled to the pool ladder.

"Don't worry about her; she'll get over it."

Mom climbed up the ladder, walked to the French doors, and went inside. Right after she closed the door, she opened it again to yell out, "She'll never catch a decent husband living at home with her parents and a baby! She'll turn into a thirty-year-old spinster before you know it."

"Don't you have a manicure or something you're going to be late for?" Dad shouted back.

Mom slammed the door.

I peered down at my left hand, took off my wedding ring, turned it backward, and slipped it onto my right hand, feeling like I could erase my marriage to Kenneth.

* * *

My mind returned to reality, and my hand retreated, moving away from the patient-room door. I could have a fairly good life if I went back home, but what if Kenneth found me? It wasn't like it would be hard, since my parent's house would probably be one of the first places he'd look for me. What if he was angry? He could seek revenge, killing my parents so I'd have nothing to go back to. In the end, he would win no matter what I did. There was nothing I could do to protect myself from Kenneth, but there was a way to prevent Kenneth from finding Gisele. Another scenario played in my mind.

* * *

The cab pulled up in front of a cozy, two-story house frosted with snow on the roof and the lawn. I pulled out the "Greetings from Madison, Wisconsin" postcard from my pea coat and read the handwritten note again.

Dear Laura,

Thanks again for considering our adoption application. We are glad to hear that you're interested in helping us start our family. If you have a free weekend available, we'd love to meet with you in person. Please accept this invitation to our home (all expenses paid) by responding to:

Mark and Belle Schroeder

318 Kensington Dr.

Madison, WI 53704

"Is this the right address, ma'am?" the taxi driver asked.

"Yes," I said, reaching into my Vera Bradley tote bag for some cash.

"The flat rate for a drive from the airport is thirty dollars."

Once I handed the man his money, he got out of the car and opened the door for me. I hung the tote bag on my shoulder and waddled out of the cab like a beached whale. Since I was eight months pregnant, I could barely see over my belly, let alone put on my own shoes. For some reason, I was wearing gray Sketcher's GoWalks on my swollen feet. I stepped onto the driveway, which was clean of snow and ice, and took a second to breathe. The house, constructed of beige stone and white-painted wood, was located in a quiet, charming neighborhood. I walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell.

"Crap. I forgot to take off my wedding ring." I tried to wiggle the ring off my fat finger, but it was wedged on pretty tight. If Mr. and Mrs. Schroeder found out that I was a married, pregnant woman, that would complicate the adoption. With only seconds before the Schroeders arrived at the door, I stuck my finger in my mouth, lubricated the ring, and slid it off my finger.

Mr. and Mrs. Schroeder gave me a warm welcome into their home.

"Laura, wonderful to finally meet you in person," Mr. Schroeder, a clean-shaven, middle-aged man, said after opening the door. His caramel-colored hair was neatly slicked back, like he'd just come home from work only minutes before I arrived. Mr. Schroeder was bundled up in a cardigan sweater and Dockers and standing next to his beautiful wife, Belle. His profile said that he worked as a sales manager for some cheese company, and she was a nurse at a rehabilitation center.

"Come in," Belle said; she was a slender, attractive woman with bouncy chestnut hair. "It's freezing out there." Her forest-green sweater dress matched her eyes, and I wished I could borrow her boots. Maybe if my feet didn't look like balloons it could happen.

I entered their home, walked a few feet past them, and they closed the door behind me. While they weren't looking, I spit the ring out into my hand and slipped it into my tote bag. "What a beautiful home you have," I said, pretending to gaze around.

"Thank you. We sure love it. After you get a chance to rest, I'll give you the five-cent tour. How was the flight?" she asked. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Let me take your jacket," he said, anxiously.

I handed him my tote bag and jacket, which he hung in the coat closet.

"The flight was six hours from Phoenix. It's been a long day," I said, tired and achy from the trip.

I settled down in the family room on the couch and reclined my feet on the ottoman while Belle fetched me a glass of water.

"Are you hungry at all?" she asked.

"I'm always hungry."

Everyone laughed—like the laugh-track recordings that were featured in a '90s sitcom.

"Well, I hope you like cheese, because we have a mini cheese shop in our refrigerator," Mark joked. "You can't live in Wisconsin if you don't like cheese. Well, you can, but that would be harder than a wheel of parmesan."

I smiled, giggling politely.

"You'll have to excuse Mark," Belle said, bringing me an assortment of cheese and crackers. "He thinks he's a stand-up comedian." She handed me the plate. "The gouda is my favorite."

"Wow, thanks. This looks wonderful."

"I thought that joke was hilarious," Mark insisted. "Parmesan is the hardest cheese in the world, so—"

"Oh, I understood," I explained. "My dad owns an Italian restaurant back home, so I know a little about cheese."

"That's fantastic," Mark said ecstatically. "What is your favorite kind?"

"Hmm. That's a difficult question," I replied, snacking on a cracker dressed with blue cheese. "I really love the soft cheeses like fresh mozzarella, brie, and mascarpone, but I like a lot of different kinds."

"I'm an asiago fan myself—if I see, I go."

"Please, don't feel pressured to laugh if you don't find his jokes funny," Belle said as she sat down next to her husband on the loveseat and crossed her legs. "So, Laura, tell us about yourself and what kind of adoption you're seeking."

"Well, I graduated high school a few months ago, and I'm applying to colleges. I'm really interested in studying fashion design in New York City. My ex-boyfriend and I accidently got pregnant, so that kind of interrupted my plans. We didn't want to feel obligated to stay together for the baby, so we both decided that giving it up for adoption was probably the best choice. I'm looking for a closed adoption, because we feel like having birth parents in the picture would be emotionally confusing for her. If possible, I don't want the child to know she's adopted. I want her to feel that she was always biologically a part of your family."

"I understand that having a strong parent-child bond is important, but that doesn't always have to come from blood relatives," Belle said. "The normal family dynamic has changed so much over the years. Children are beginning to recognize that some of their friends have interracial families or only one parent or two dads. Our child knowing that she's adopted is not something to be ashamed about. No matter who's blood pumps through her heart, she will always be loved and cared for in this house. May I ask why you're requesting that we not tell her she's adopted?"

"It's complicated," I said, trying to find a lie that could better explain it. "Sometimes when teenagers find out that they're adopted, they go looking for their birth parents. It would be safer for her, and the both of you, if she never found me or her biological father. You don't want to meet him. He's a dangerous man. I got mixed up with a gang while I was in high school."

"Ah, got a thing for those bad boys?" Mark joked, tossing me a wink.

"Honestly, I'm sick of men and trying to have relationships with them. No offense," I replied. "You seem like a nice guy."

"Since I'm a medical professional, I have to ask," Belle said. "Are there any chronic medical conditions that run in your family? Do you know anything about your ex's medical history?"

"I don't have any medical problems, and I hardly ever get sick." I could have said that the baby's father has a bipolar disorder and that I was giving up the baby without his permission, but I lied. "I deeply regret to say that I don't know much about my ex. We weren't together that long, and it was mostly a sexual fling. Is that going to be an issue?"

"Not at all," Belle answered. "I was just asking to make sure we could be prepared for anything we had to handle medically. Any information you could share with us would be helpful, if you chose us to be her parents."

* * *

There was a knock on the door, which interrupted my daydream. What was I doing to that nice couple? I wanted to make sure my baby was being raised in a good home, but I was withholding important information from them, which was setting them up for failure as parents. If I decided to put the baby up for adoption, I'd just have to trust that whoever became her new parents could handle whatever happened. I opened the door.

"The helicopter is ready for you outside," Teyana said.

"I appreciate the effort you took to arrange this for me, but I'm having second thoughts about leaving Walnut Cherryville."

"What is concerning you, child?"

"How exactly will you keep Kenneth away from me?" I questioned.

Teyana came inside and closed the door. "You just have to trust that I can handle him and protect you."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you don't have to worry about him or be afraid to live your life. You can go wherever you want. Come, we must go now. The helicopter is waiting."

"Please. I really need to know how you're going to protect me from Kenneth," I begged.

"All right. Let's slow down here. I'm going to tell the pilot to take five. Be right back," Teyana said before leaving the room.

Neither scenario I envisioned was a bad choice, but they both relied on one key factor: me giving up control over my own destiny. If I left Walnut Cherryville, I'd only be safe if I trusted Teyana to protect me. Without her laying out the blueprint for exactly how she planned to keep Kenneth away, I wasn't comfortable putting our lives in her hands. Running away from Kenneth wouldn't make things better between us. It could make things worse if he found me, and I was sure he would at some point in the future. Before I did anything, I needed to be sure I was doing the right thing. I wasn't sure, so I decided to do nothing. The best person to raise and protect my daughter was me. We didn't need to be rescued; I was in control. I was confident that everything would be fine, since I knew that I'd try harder than anyone else to keep us safe.

Teyana returned five minutes later with two glasses of iced tea. "I figured you could use something to relax."

"Thanks," I said as I took the cup and sat down on the cot. I took a sip of tea. "What is this, mint?"

"Mint green tea. One of my favorite ways to de-stress."

"It's good."

I must have been thirsty. Before I knew it, the tea was gone, and I felt sleepy. I could hardly concentrate on what Teyana was saying because my eyes felt so heavy. Her voice faded out, and I fell asleep within minutes.

# Chapter 21: Collins

All it took was one stupid word to open up a can of whoop ass on some government guards. I didn't need army training to teach me how to fight—the hood had taught me that. Upon leaving the _Chair Trials_ studio, Amy saw me and assumed I was hiding out to avoid joining the battle.

"Coward," Amy shouted out as she defended herself with kung fu, tai chi, karate, or whatever Asian sport she practiced. Three guards had ganged up on her, and the insult was her way of asking me for help.

My nose twitched as rage stirred inside me. The desert sun was setting, streaking colors of magenta, red, and yellow across the sky filling with dense clouds. My eyes locked on a target, and I planted my feet in the sand, preparing to sprint. Raindrops fell on my head as I bolted toward an unsuspecting guard with his back turned. I grabbed him forcefully by his uniform, pushed him down in the sand, and kicked his ribs in until they punctured his lung. Thunder clapped throughout the village as he suffocated to death. In the time it took me to kill one guard, Amy had already taken care of the other two.

"Thanks," she said before running off.

"Collins," I heard a familiar voice call out.

His voice turned my attention to the _Chair Trials_ studio, where I saw Vincent dangling from a second-tier grate. As he clung onto the edge, I hurtled over dead bodies to get to him, thrilled that he was still alive.

"Place my feet on your shoulders," Vincent said.

I stood under him and spread his legs apart, placing one foot on each shoulder.

"You got me?" Vincent said nervously. "Hold my feet."

I secured his feet as he walked down the building on his hands like an acrobat. When he got close enough to the ground, he plopped in the sand.

"Why didn't you just jump?" I said.

Vincent shot me a squinty-eyed glare. "Despite what you might think, I'm not an expert at jumping off buildings because I almost did it once before."

"I didn't mean to take a shot at you, dude," I apologized. "I was simply saying that the drop wasn't that far from the ground."

Vincent stood up from the sand and dusted himself off. He folded his arms and peered at me with darting eyes, like he was hiding something. The strangest thing happened next, he tried to make small talk.

"So...what's new?" Vincent asked awkwardly.

"Um..." I kicked around the sand with my arms folded behind my back. "Well, there was an explosion; that's pretty new. It was like boom," I gestured with my hands. "Yeah, dead bodies everywhere. Pretty gross."

"Yeah." Vincent nodded.

He looked like he had something on his mind that he wanted to talk about. "Anything interesting happen with you lately?"

"Meh. Have you seen Laura, Johnny, or Veronica around?"

"No."

Lightning bolted down from the sky, zapping the sand by the glass building's fire pit, which made Vincent uneasy. "I have a titanium hand, so we should find shelter. How about we wait out the storm in the courthouse?"

"Ah, you don't want to go in there."

"Why?"

"That's where the judge is staying. Let's go to the village jail. It's safer."

This could get interesting. Vincent was about to meet Eva. I hoped he wouldn't embarrass me in front of my first girlfriend—otherwise she'd become my last. I had to keep my cool like Jordan Bryant. Even though he was gone because his cover was blown, his essence still lived on deep inside me. As long as I kept him alive in my heart, I'd always know how to be cool.

Vincent and I walked across the village toward the jail, stepping over dead bodies. The blood-caked sand stuck to my basketball sneakers like glue. Each step I took became more cumbersome as the bloody sand densely packed on the pounds. Suddenly, I became entranced by a battle that arose in the distance.

Dainty Amy, light as a feather, weighing in at nearly one hundred pounds, was the resistance's most agile fighter. She stood on the east side, where the sun rose every morning, snarly licking the blood of ten dead laundry men off of her spork shiv. Rags, draped over her naughty parts, blew in the breeze, caressing her dirty skin as she stepped onto a man's corpse and tooched her booty. She flipped her short, black hair, licked a layer of blood onto her lips like lipstick, and eyed up her next opponent.

On the other side of the world, the west, her opponent appeared—a shadow in the blinding sunset. The tank, densely packed with pure muscle, approached Amy, revealing her identity. I recognized that broad-shouldered woman with thin, red lips; curly, brown hair; and rosy cheeks to be none other than the notorious Mama, the supervisor of laundry services. She stopped a few feet away from Amy, cracked her knuckles, and rolled the kinks out of her neck before inviting Amy to take a stab at her.

"Come to Mama," I imagined she mouthed to initiate the fight. Mama stood in a defensive position.

Amy circled around Mama, hunting for a weak spot to attack, but Mama made sure to always keep Amy in sight. All of a sudden, Amy took her shot and miserably failed. She attempted to kick Mama in the knee, but Mama grabbed hold of Amy's ankle and swung her around with incredible strength.

Watching that made me dizzy, so I looked down at my camelish feet.

Good luck with that, Amy.

At least I knew better than to bite off more than I could chew. I wouldn't dare kill any of Mama's boyfriends, fiancés, or husbands. She was one scary bitch.

Vincent plopped onto my back and dangled his arms around my neck, gripping my chest.

"Get off, man," I complained as I tried to shake him off. He wouldn't let go.

"Can you carry me the rest of the way? I'm so tired."

"What? That's ridiculous. We're two feet away."

All of a sudden, his grip on me loosened, and Vincent collapsed in the sand. I turned around, bent down, and poked his tummy. "Come on, man. Stop playing around." After several pokes, Vincent didn't budge, so I carried him in my arms as he drifted to sleep.

Maybe there was something wrong with him. What was I thinking? It was Vincent; of course there was something wrong with him—so overdramatic.

The village jail scene appeared the same as the _Chair Trials_ studio: dead people who had shat and puked their brains out from poisoned drinking water, thanks to the judge. I couldn't believe she had tricked her daughter into killing innocent people whose only crime was not wanting to fight.

"Eva," I called out. "Are you OK?"

"Jor—Collins," she cried, in a hopeful tone.

I scanned the area and didn't see her. "Where are you?"

"I'm in here," she said, waving through the bars of a corner jail cell.

I slipped out of my shoes to make it easier to walk and carry Vincent at the same time. Puke and poop soaked through my socks and squished between my toes, triggering my gag reflux, but I managed to keep it cool. With Eva and Vincent depending on me, I couldn't get sick. When I reached Eva, she looked traumatized. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and her body trembled.

"I don't understand what just happened," Eva started to explain. "I did what my mother asked. I gave them chips and water; then they got sick. They accused me of poisoning the rations because I wouldn't take any. The ones that didn't eat became violent and ganged up on me, pushing me around like a Ping-Pong ball. I ended up trapped between an angry mob and this open, empty jail cell."

I carefully placed Vincent's feet down on the ground and supported him with one arm, allowing him to sleep on my chest. Next, I pulled on the barred door, trying to open it, but it was locked. "Ah, I see the dilemma. You locked yourself in here, and now you can't get out."

Eva frowned with big doe eyes. "Right. That probably wasn't smart, but it seemed smart at the time."

"I understand. I would have done the same thing."

Eva and I chuckled.

"Once the mob realized I was locked in here, they left me alone, so it did save me from them at least," Eva said. "Who is that?"

"This is my friend, Vincent. Say hi, Vincent." I raised his hand and made him say hello by mocking his voice. "Hello."

She placed her finger under his nose. "He's still breathing. Do you know what happened to him? It's odd that he'd be sleeping right now."

"He was fine earlier when we were walking over here. At about two feet away, he collapsed and fell asleep."

"Did he hit his head?"

"I don't know."

"Let me see. turn him around."

I rotated Vincent so Eva could examine the back of his head. She felt around his scalp and came up with a diagnosis.

"He has a swollen bump on the back of his head, which probably means that he has a concussion." Eva pinched Vincent's arm and poked his tummy. "He needs to stay awake, and he needs ice as soon as possible to reduce the swelling."

"Where are we going to get ice in a desert?" I said, lightly slapping Vincent's cheek.

"Yeah," Eva sighed. "That will be challenging right now."

Vincent lifted his heavy eyes.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. How do you feel?" I joked.

Vincent grumbled.

"I'm Eva Williams," Eva said, introducing herself. "I met Collins at Arizona State University. How do you know Collins?"

Vincent seemed unenthused by Eva's attempt to keep him awake.

"Let me try," I suggested. "Guess what, buddy?"

"Collins is a chicken butt?" Vincent responded.

"Ha-ha, no. Eva is my girlfriend."

"You're lying."

"Well, we dated for two weeks. It's complicated. Nothing official yet," Eva explained.

"But we did make out," I added.

"Collins, stop bragging," Eva chimed in, blushing.

"You hear that, turd. You're not the only one who can get girls," I said.

"If any of us is a turd, I believe it's you, sir," Vincent laughed. "Wake me up when you lose your virginity; I'm still light-years ahead of you."

I placed Vincent down in a sitting position on the concrete floor with his back leaning against the barred door. His head drooped to the side.

"You keep an eye on him. I'm going to go to the courthouse and see if your mother has a key," I said while taking off my socks.

I slipped back into my basketball sneakers, still covered in gunk, before trucking back to the courthouse through the lighting storm, praying to God I didn't get electrocuted.

The fighting outside was dwindling, and there were only a few hurdles the resistance couldn't defeat, one of which was Mama. The government was strong, but now few in numbers. Amy was replaced by a number of army men who wrestled with Mama to hold her down. It was like a swarm of bees, too many to count.

The remaining guards and government superiors were surrounded by resistance members—entrapped by an angry mob with guns, pipes, sticks, and rocks. The rock-throwers went first, stoning the government loyalists into submission.

"I surrender," one guard said, his hands up in the air. "I don't care anymore. I just want this to end." The others followed, except one.

"Traitor," he blurted out.

"You can continue to fight for the Quinton family if you want, but I don't feel like dying for a guy who didn't even show up to lead or support us during the biggest battle of our lives. We are fighting blind and unprepared."

"Well, I'm not going to fight outnumbered, so I have no choice but to surrender with the rest of you chickens."

"You must surrender to our new governor in person," Amy said.

Raven herded everyone toward the courthouse, and I followed behind them. The flock moved slowly as they shuffled into the courthouse and took a seat.

"They surrendered; the rein of Quinton is over," Amy announced.

Alejandro walked up behind the stand to make a speech. "I am proud to be standing here, in front the army I helped nurture into soldiers who prevailed as survivors in the toughest battle we've ever fought. Together we are victorious. Moving forward, let us all remember that as we try to forget the pains of our past. After being sworn to secrecy for so long, I can finally reveal the supreme leader of the resistance."

Everyone listened intently, but I already knew what Alejandro was going to say. I was frustrated waiting for this political shenanigans to end. I just wanted to get Eva unlocked from her cage and get Vincent a goddamn icepack.

"Excuse me," I interrupted.

"Collins, not now," Amy whispered.

I rose to my feet, causing everyone to look toward me. "Sorry to interrupt, but I have a rather urgent matter that needs immediate attention."

Amy buried her face in her hands, humiliated to be sitting next to me.

"Yes, what is it, Collins?" Alejandro asked.

"Can I speak with you privately? I don't want to share with the group."

"It looks like I will have to cut my speech short, so without further ado, I present to you, the new governor of Walnut Cherryville, Judge Teyana Williams." Alejandro walked down the aisle and met me at my seat.

The audience seemed confused about how they should react. Some people clapped while others gasped. Chitchat filled the courtroom as the judge entered and stepped behind the stand.

"What do you need?" Alejandro asked.

"Eva, the judge's daughter—"

"I know who she is; continue," Alejandro said assertively.

"Eva is locked in the village jail, and Vincent might have a concussion. If I could get the key and an ice pack, I'll be out of your hair, and you guys can resume your little ceremony thingy."

"You stay here. It's important that you watch this historic event. I will help Eva and Vincent. If he has a concussion; he will need more than just ice." Alejandro left the courthouse.

I was forced to listen to the judge's speech of lies.

"I know many of you are confused right now, asking yourselves how the village judge could be working with the resistance and the government at the same time."

"Because she's a waffler," I said to myself. "A two-faced politician that flip-flops her stance on the issues; but please, continue."

"During my first year as judge, I was devoted to serving the Quinton family. I've served as judge for a little over ten years, even though I didn't believe in the laws I was made to enforce. This is the core reason for creating the resistance."

My bull-crap meter went off again! Like the Quinton family, queen-bee supreme also killed anyone who wouldn't comply with her direction. The only difference was that this queen didn't make her killings publicly known to promote fear. But that could change now that she was the leader.

"I needed to secretly empower the citizens of Walnut Cherryville to provoke change. We all needed to have faith that we could create a better future for ourselves if we all worked together. The teamwork I saw today was magical. As long as we stay united, we will never be bullied by evil tyrants like the Quinton family."

"Pardon the interruption," an elderly guard announced, standing up from his chair. "It isn't enough that those who fought for the Quinton family surrendered. Your leadership is not official until you kill the current governor, Kenneth Quinton."

"Yes, I am aware of this minor technicality, and I have someone working it," the judge responded.

"You don't have the balls to do it yourself?"

Oh, _snap!_ What a burn.

"Sergeant, please take your seat so I may continue," the judge requested, trying to maintain a calm composure. She rolled her eyes and impatiently tapped her nails on the stand as he continued to insult her.

"These newer generations—a bunch of sissies breeding sissies," the hunchback sergeant said. "Back in my day, a true leader would actually do their own wet work and would earn the title of governor. Now it's all about politics. If you can't face Kenneth and kill him yourself, then you're not worthy to lead this town."

"That's where you're wrong," the judge rebutted. "Under my leadership, things will not be like the old days. If you don't like it; you're welcome to leave."

The citizens gasped and applauded.

"The Abandonment Law will be abolished as soon as my position as governor is official, and _Chair Trials_ will be a thing of the past."

The crowd roared and began chanting her name. "Williams. Williams. Williams." Once they settled down, she continued.

"When Kenneth's body arrives, there will be a memorial service held in the graveyard for those of you who care to pay respects." The judge looked directly at the sergeant with her game face. "It will be an open casket, to prove that Kenneth is dead."

I thought I would like to see that. Cockroaches never die, no matter how many times you step on them—kind of like zombies; somehow, they always find a way to come back to life until you chop off their heads.

# Chapter 22: Johnny

A tingling sensation scurried up my spine as I fell through the purest sky I could imagine. Crisp, chilled air blew my hair back with an ambient hum in my ears. Patches of water vapor as light and fluffy as whipped cream sifted between my fingers. My eyelids struggled to lift open after the previous night's binge drinking, where I got black-out drunk.

"I can see the sun from up here," I thought absent-mindedly. "Wait. Up here?"

A surge of energy rushed to my head as I looked out the large, square window with rounded edges. A suburban landscape scrolled across my window from below the clouds. I was on a helicopter that was about to land, holding a bucket of puke, and I couldn't remember how I got there. As land drew nearer, the building tops passed by faster and faster, making me dizzy. I threw up in the bucket one last time. My first time flying—what a joy. I rubbed the crust off my eyes and saw Kenneth sitting next to me. Based on his grin and the way he tapped his fingers together, he was scheming something evil. What had happened last night? Ugh, I was so drunk. I moaned in agony from the pain of my hangover. Could someone turn down that helicopter? It was so loud; I felt that the noise from the engine was scrambling my brain, which had me reminiscing about those silly drug demonstrations in school.

* * *

"This is your brain," Mr. Cox, the health teacher, had said while holding up an egg. He cracked the egg against the edge of a frying pan heating over a hot plate. "This is your brain on drugs." He separated the egg shell causing the "brain matter" to drop into the frying pan and boil. "Don't do drugs, boys. It's bad for you, and rehab is a bitch. Your homework for tonight and the rest of the year is to stay sober. Every Monday, I will select ten boys at random and test you for drugs. The consequence for failing your drug test is that you'll spend your Saturday cleaning the school with the janitors and kitchen staff. I will also dock your final grade by a half-letter grade. Keep in mind, if you do drugs and get caught, you're losing points before you've even failed any written tests. This correctional school won't allow anyone to pass health class if their grade is lower than a C, so you'll be seeing me again next year if you fail."

That class was required for all students to take as soon as they were admitted into Sonoran Correctional. Every year, I failed it, because I couldn't watch TV with the other boys without getting high—too much peer pressure from the guys who already passed the class. One night, while watching _Fringe_ , each guy told me what they thought I should do about my health-class situation.

The TV screen blazed amazing colors behind dense smoke that filled the air with Dragon Berry Cheddar. I was sprawled out on the floor, unable to relax despite the weed, because I was worried I wouldn't graduate.

"Bite the bullet, and stay sober for a year," Lewis, the crime-show junkie that favored _CSI: New York_ , advised.

"Screw that," Dan, my weed supplier and _Fringe_ science-fiction nerd, interjected. "Just suck him off, and he'll leave you alone."

My jaw dropped, unable to formulate words. Tom laughed while Lewis gagged on his own smoke.

"I'm serious, guys. Talk around the bunks is that Mr. Cox loves dick."

"Is that how you passed health class?" I asked Dan.

His eyes darted around the room. "No, I didn't do that, but I know someone who did."

Everyone's ears perked up for some good gossip. "Who?" we all asked at once.

"I can't say because I swore I wouldn't tell anybody."

"Bullshit," Lewis called out. "You're a total cocksucker."

"Johnny, forget what they're saying because they're both totally ridiculous," Tom, the fairy-tale, fantasy nerd who liked watching _Grimm_ , said. "Just sneak into his desk, and remove your name from the hat. He won't notice, and you'll never get caught again. That's how I passed health."

"I don't know," I said, speculating. "He keeps his desk locked, so I'd have to steal the keys. Between stealing the keys, unlocking the desk, and finding my name, I'd probably get caught. It would take too long."

"Not if you pull the fire alarm _accidently_ ," Tom suggested.

Finally, my senior year rolled around, and I took Lewis's advice, because his was the easiest and safest route. I eliminated the temptation to smoke by not watching TV, which meant I missed an entire season of _Survivorman_. It felt like I was being punished, but I knew that having some self-restraint was better than being sent to the principal's office again. If I got caught pulling the fire alarm, stealing a teacher's keys, and breaking into his desk, it would go on my permanent record. I'd get detention, longer counseling sessions, and I still would not have passed health class, which would continue to threaten my graduation. There could even be other consequences I hadn't thought about. That was too much risk to take on for a guy like me, a social smoker who wasn't addicted to weed.

I only had two months left before I could smoke weed again without getting in trouble—and then Walnut Cherryville happened.

* * *

The pilot landed the helicopter between two sets of old, rundown, brick buildings.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. Sit tight," Kenneth said to the pilot, who nodded before shutting everything off. "Johnny, get out."

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Shoshoni, Wyoming," Kenneth replied. "Thanks to you and some intel from secret watchers, I was able to locate the dagger." Kenneth slid open the helicopter door and stepped out.

I was a little concerned. What had I told him? I wished I could remember the previous night.

We were in the right state, but I had left the dagger in Yellowstone, not Shoshoni. This town was only minutes from the Wind River Indian Reservation, where legal loopholes had allowed companies to dump their toxic oil residue. Note to self—no matter how dehydrated I was from the hangover, I wouldn't drink the water.

I trailed behind Kenneth onto the cracked road where weeds attempted to regain control of the land. "I may have been shit-faced drunk enough to not remember last night, but I do remember that I put the dagger somewhere where no one could find it."

Kenneth's laugh echoed, awakening the desolated buildings. "It's going to be a glorious day, where I will be victorious. Oh, that rhymes," he said in a jittery tone.

A black bird flew out of a broken window. All the structures were painted with bright colors that had chipped away over time. This area seemed like a ghost town, and the winds carried an eerie drift. Every shop was long out of business—except for Wind River Pawnshop. It was the only operating shop on the street and had metal bars up to protect the windows.

A Native American man wearing a backward baseball cap, baggy jeans, and a hoodie leaned against the building, smoking a cigarette. He took one last drag as Kenneth and I approached him before he dropped it on the pavement and smashed it. "Kenneth Quinton, in the flesh?"

A spark of anger lit inside me. I couldn't stand it when people littered.

"Yes," Kenneth said. "Are you the watcher that reported seeing a golden dagger here?"

"I am, and it's an honor to meet you, sir," he said, shaking Kenneth's hand ecstatically. "My name is Brijesh. Please come in." The man held the door open for us.

Kenneth entered, but I was tempted to pick up the cigarette butt. It was annoying to me how some people treated Mother Earth. I picked up the trash from the ground and buried it in the litter box. He looked at me like I was crazy.

"Wild animals can choke on those, mistaking them for food," I explained, but he didn't care.

Once I entered, he stayed by the door while Kenneth and I advanced to the counter. The pawnshop was a hole-in-the-wall shop, full of items from jewelry to guns to artifacts that were neatly displayed on glass shelves and locked in cases.

The pawnbroker was in the midst of a business transaction that, to my surprise, involved the dagger. The golden heirloom encrusted with rubies and engravings that belonged to my ancestors sat on the glass counter as two strangers assessed the value. I thought Kenneth was bluffing when he told me he found the dagger, but unlike Kenneth, my eyes didn't deceive me. I was even more astounded by the fact that it was picked up by a girl who looked about sixteen years old. What was she? A deep-sea treasure hunter? Had she scuba dived down to the furthest depths of Grand Prismatic Spring to get it? The slender girl brushed her messy black hair behind her ear, revealing a feathered earring that tickled her collar bone. She had a boldly patterned floral camera bag dangling off her shoulder, which was clean compared to her mud-stained, skinny jeans and leather jacket.

"How much can I get for this?" she asked.

"Excuse me, but that dagger is mine," Kenneth interjected. "It was stolen from me."

I laughed and rolled my eyes.

The pawnbroker, a mixed-race, middle-aged man who sported spectacles and suspenders, gave the girl a patronizing glare. "Kushala, was this stolen?"

"No, I swear. I found it while taking photographs for my scrapbook."

"Where did you find it?"

"Um..." she said, trying to stall.

"I can vouch for her," I said. "I know she didn't steal it, because I threw it into the Grand Prismatic Spring in Yellowstone National Park a few days ago."

"Yes, a dagger that he stole from me," Kenneth rebutted.

"It was never yours to begin with."

Kushala appeared confused.

The pawnbroker didn't know who to believe. He stared at Kushala hardheartedly, and his nostrils flared like a bull about to stampede into a red sheet. "Yellowstone is over four hours from the rez."

"Yes. I know what you're going to say." She sighed before breezing over the basics of a time-old conversation. "Blah, blah, blah. Lecture, lecture. It's not safe to travel alone. I'm going to tell your parents. I got it loud and clear."

"Apparently not," the pawnbroker responded.

As they were arguing, I strolled around the shop. The secret watcher that came with us was suspiciously guarding the door. He hadn't budged since we got there, and he had his hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket like he was concealing a weapon. I knew Kenneth was packing heat. I didn't have any, which wasn't a great position to be in if this turned into a shootout, especially without my rapid-healing abilities. I glanced out the barred window and noticed a group of men standing outside by a Walnut Cherryville produce truck, which hadn't been parked there when we arrived. It looked like the same truck that had brought me and my friends to Walnut Cherryville many months ago. With a strange feeling churning in my gut, I moseyed back over to the counter.

"I just wanted to see what's out there beyond the rez. Is that a crime?"

"I hate to interrupt what appears to be a family matter, but I have other business to attend to. So if I can get my dagger back, I'll be on my way," Kenneth said, reaching for the dagger.

Kushala rammed her fist into Kenneth's hand, pushing him away from the dagger. "Back off, snowflake."

"I'm so sorry, sir. I apologize for her misbehavior," the pawnbroker said. "She's my brat cousin. If you go home now, Kushala, I won't tell your parents where you've been for the past week."

"You can't give it to the tux. Trust me. I have an instinct for these things. It's not his."

"Enough of this." Kenneth pulled out his gun and aimed at Kushala, which triggered the pawnbroker and the secret watcher to draw their weapons.

The watcher targeted me, but it was a longshot from across the room. I was feeling risky. He was aiming high so I could trick him if I ducked down low. As soon as I leaned backward onto the counter, gunfire went ablaze and shattered the glass display behind me. I swiftly flipped my legs behind the counter and bolted into the backroom, which was stacked with bricks of heroin.

"Follow him," the secret watcher shouted.

I slithered around the backroom storage, silently seeking a way out.

"Get away from my shop," the pawnbroker raged, firing bullets at the secret watchers outside.

While they were busy dealing with each other, I found a backdoor. I left the building and crawled around to the side on my hands and knees, staying low to the ground until I reached the ice box. Hiding behind the ice box protected me from being seen, allowing me to think about another way out. All of a sudden, Kushala ran past me, smuggling the dagger and a brick of heroin under her arm. I was relieved that Kenneth hadn't gotten it back. I didn't know Kushala, but I felt better that the dagger was with someone who wasn't going to use it. She got in her car, which had an Arizona license plate, and drove away.

After several minutes, the gunfight ended. I poked my head out from behind the ice box. Only two secret watchers survived, and they were left cleaning up the mess. They opened the cargo container of the truck and carried Kenneth's body inside, leaving a trail of blood from the pawnshop to the produce truck.

"I can't believe we lost the Cockit boy," one man said.

"The judge will not be happy unless we bring her back two bodies."

"Let's check inside the pawnshop. Worst comes to worst, we can buy her love with all this sweet loot."

Once the two watchers went inside to search for me and raid the building, I left the protection of the ice box and headed for the produce truck. I snatched a revolver from a dead secret watcher before hopping in the back of the cargo container. The cherrywood coffin on the left side of the truck was empty, which was meant for me. The walnut wood coffin on the right was closed, but not locked, so I lifted the lid. Kenneth rested peacefully as his flesh turned pale from the blood oozing out a bullet hole in his neck.

The judge wanted Kenneth and me dead. She had ordered a taskforce of secret watchers to hunt us down and kill us. Raven, my half sister, wanted me dead. If Kenneth hadn't die first, he was going to kill me. Everyone was after my blood, and I was defenseless outside of Walnut Cherryville without my healing abilities.

"He's not in there," a voice sounded, alarming me that the secret watchers were coming back.

"He clearly got away, so we won't find him. Let's load up the truck and go back."

My heart pounded inside my chest, worried that I'd be spotted. In a panic, I scurried into Kenneth's coffin, lay over his body, and shut the lid. In the dark, I cocked the hammer, which rotated the revolver's cylinder. It had been years since I had fired a gun or even held a gun, but I could cock it with my eyes closed if I had to. In the event that the secret watchers found my hiding spot, I was prepared to shoot. I listened warily to their movements as they climbed into the cargo container, dropped off their loot, and unknowingly locked me inside Kenneth's coffin. The cargo container's sliding door was closed and locked. A few seconds later, I heard the engine rumble, right before the truck began moving. I had unintentionally hitched a ride back to Walnut Cherryville inside a dead man's coffin.

Kenneth wasn't a very comfortable cushion to lounge on during a long drive, but at least he still smelled fresh.

As a result of me trying to resolve the feud without violence, I had ended up in a coffin again after being man-hunted by wolves. The gun I held in my hands had power, enough to make any person yield to my will. And if they didn't...I held Kenneth's stiff hand in mine, caressing his fingers. They'd end up stone cold like my rival. Between being closed in one coffin and then another, I had learned something over time. This was life, not school. If I got caught smoking weed in school, I'd get a slap on the wrist, counseling, and a mark on my permanent record. Boohoo. That was how conflict resolution worked in school to teach me a lesson. I had treated the feud like it was school, trying to play it safe by eliminating the dagger from the feud to force everyone to get along, but no one was inspired by my good intentions. This was _life,_ and it was about taking control of my own survival. Everyone, including Kenneth, Raven, the judge, Laura, Vincent, and Collins, seemed to know that—long before the realization dawned on me. If I didn't terminate my enemies, they'd continue to threaten my survival until I wound up dead in a coffin.

Hours later, I was transported to Walnut Cherryville, and carried into the courthouse. The men set me down on the ground.

"Did you do what I asked?" I heard the judge question.

Keys jiggled as they transferred from one person to another. The other coffin creaked open.

"It's empty," she said in a dissatisfied tone.

"Well, it's not technically empty," one man chimed in.

"Where's the Cockit boy's body?"

"He got away, but we did fill the coffin with jewelry, guns, and heroin all for you."

"Fine, but don't stop looking for him. I need him taken care of eventually, because he will become a problem."

"Yes, ma'am."

The key was inserted into the lock on Kenneth's coffin. As the key turned, the gears grinded and clicked. I positioned the loaded revolver to point steadily at the opening. The door lifted ajar rapidly, letting in the light. As soon as I saw the judge, I pulled the trigger, shooting her dead without hesitation. It happened so fast that she had no time to react. I fired a close-range bullet into her chest, puncturing her lung. Suddenly, she dropped the cover, and its gravitational fall forced me down. The judge gasped for air hunching over the coffin. I kicked on the door, pushing it open with my feet, which caused her body to collapse on the floor.

With my back soaked in Kenneth's blood, I finally rose to my feet. Vengeance was musty and pungent with iron escaping from the coffin. The hair on back of my neck was coagulated and bonded by dried blood, otherwise it would have been standing up. My thumb pulled down the hammer on the velvet-coated revolver, prompting the cylinder to rotate as my eyes zoomed in on the target. A very focused, accurate, precise shot to her frontal lobe entered and exited the back of her head, putting her out of her misery.

The secret watchers were stunned, twitching, and horrified. Urine streamed down their legs and dripped onto the floor. One of them gulped before speaking to me.

"Wh-what can we d-do for you, Governor?"

I went outside for a breath of fresh air. A lot had happened there while I was gone. Walnut Cherryville was in complete disarray: fresh corpuses littered the sand, the glass skyscraper had disappeared, and a crater-sized fire pit burned under a hazy sunset. I didn't understand. I had done everything to prevent my visions from coming true, yet my actions changed almost nothing except a few minor details. The glass building was destroyed and almost all of Walnut Cherryville's population had died, leaving only a fraction of survivors. Kenneth was still murdered, despite me not killing him as my father had asked. Veronica was hundreds of miles away in Mexico, _because of me_ , and she didn't want to love me anymore. Worst of all, they were calling me _governor_ , meaning I had gained control of Walnut Cherryville, which was exactly what my father wanted. I couldn't change my fate, only alter how I became the man I despised—my drunk-bastard father.

"Prepare the village for a funeral. Despite our differences, we all should pay our respects to the dead," I said.

The two men emptied the stolen goods before carefully placing the judge's body into the cherrywood coffin that was meant for me. As they carried her outside on their shoulders, I walked shamefully to the graveyard.

"Johnny," Collins called out from afar.

I looked up and saw Collins running over to me with a tall girl following behind him. We met at the graveyard, but I wasn't feeling very friendly.

"Thank God you're safe," Collins said, giving me a tight bear hug. "I was worried you died in the explosion."

"No, still here." I peered down at my feet, kicking the sand, as a tear dripped from my eye.

"Vincent is alive, but he hit his head pretty hard, so Alejandro is taking care of him. Laura is MIA. This is my girlfriend, Eva, from ASU."

Eva chuckled and shook my hand. "You have to stop introducing me as your girlfriend."

"Why? I'm proud you're my lady. Speaking of ladies, where did you and Veronica go for such a long time?" Collins asked.

I took a deep breath and rubbed my eyes to wipe the tears away.

"Hey, dude. What's wrong, man?"

The two watchers carried the second coffin containing Kenneth past me. "Governor, where do you want them?"

"Just put them next to each other for now," I said. "Is someone working on digging the holes?"

"Yes, sir. The funeral will be ready in a few minutes."

"Whoa," Collins started to say but decided to hold his tongue. "I thought—" He gazed at Eva for some reason. "Never mind."

The townspeople began gathering around the graveyard, curious about what was going on. I listened to the faint chitchat stirring among them.

"Where is Governor Williams?"

"Why are those two men calling that boy _governor_?"

"Did anyone else hear those gunshots coming from the courthouse a few minutes ago?"

"Wasn't that the boy who was executed on the _Chair Trials_ season finale?"

"Yeah, he was."

"I saw him in army training once or twice. He kind of just appeared."

"Was he fighting with us?"

I stepped into the middle of the group between the two coffins that formed a _V_. Behind the coffins, a few men worked to construct a resting place for the judge and Kenneth.

"I have something to say," I announced loudly, catching everyone's attention. "Hi, I'm Johnny Cockit, for those of you who don't already know me. I am not very good at speeches." I timidly rolled the edges of my shirt between my fingers. "Um, well, we are gathered here today to mourn the loss of two iconic villagers." I turned around, lifting the lid of the walnut wood coffin, revealing Kenneth, followed by the lid of the cherrywood coffin, revealing the judge.

The town bellowed, upset by the truth they saw. Eva was particularly distraught—more than anyone else. She screamed as waterfalls spilled from her eyes. Collins tried to comfort her by hugging her from behind, but she released herself from his grip and dashed beside the coffin. Kneeling over the dead woman, Eva brushed her hand over her face, closing her eyes. "Mom." Eva wept as she pressed her mother's hand against her heart.

"Now that's how you take over Walnut Cherryville," a random man shouted out. "Good job, son. Killing two birds with one stone—impressive. I am honored to have you as my leader." He applauded, which was echoed by a few other people that clapped.

Not many of the villagers felt the same way about me as that man did. They gazed at me with scornful eyes.

"She was going to make things better for us," a woman sobbed. "You've ruined everything."

"You're just an irresponsible twit, a kid who doesn't know how to lead a village," another man said. "Step down before you get hurt, boy."

"Stop cackling, you fussy hens, and give the boy a chance to prove his worth," one of my only supporters said, defending me. "He may look like a boy, but he was the only leader man enough to kill the oppressors."

Rioting erupted among the villagers over a simple difference in opinion.

Eva rose to her feet, stepped in front of me, and stared directly into my eyes. "How could you," she exclaimed before slapping me across the face.

The force of her slap spun my head around, nearly breaking my neck. I wasn't proud of what I'd done, and I hated that my actions had caused so many people pain. Yet I realized that Eva's mother's involuntary death was the result of survival. Without survival, I wouldn't have life. That was what life was all about—survival. A circle of necessary evil that went round and round, burying one family feud while birthing another. In an ideal world, everyone could forgive, forget, and live side by side together in unity. This wasn't an ideal world, but maybe, one day, it would be.

# ABOUT THE AUTHOR

**Lauren Salem** currently lives in Pennsylvania with her boyfriend, Brian, and her cat, Oswald George. She works for a user-experience consultancy as a research associate, compiling data and organizing spreadsheets about digital design trends. This is her second published book and the sequel to _Reunion at Walnut Cherryville_ , a third-prize winner in the 2013 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Awards. In her spare time, she enjoys swimming, cooking, baking, and playing games.

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