Flip (The Slip Trilogy Book 3) (20 page)

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment.”

“You didn’t,” she says. “And I’m okay.” She knows she can’t change the past, and that sometimes the present seems more out of her control than ever. But she knows it doesn’t define her. Only the future can define the person she truly is; and that’s up to her.

“You are?” She doesn’t blame him for the doubt in his tone. He’s been with her at the bottom, dragged her out of that pit of despair. And maybe she’s not out of it for good, but she is out of it for
now
. This time she pulled herself out, and she knows she’ll keep clawing her way to the top, until the stones and dirt she kicks down behind her fills that hole, allowing her to stand on her own two feet again.

“I learned something,” she says.

He raises an eyebrow, which she likes. She likes surprising him. “Care to share?”

“I thought I needed a purpose for living. For a while it was the thought of redemption, of making up for my mistakes, for saving lives to atone for the lives my actions had cost.” Harrison opens his mouth to speak, but she presses a finger to his lips. He kisses it, but stays silent. “Later, you were my reason. I wanted to protect you. This might surprise you, but I sought out the Destroyer before I knew he had your father. I was already there.”

She waits for the eyebrow to go up, but it doesn’t. “That doesn’t surprise me,” Harrison says. “It’s what I would’ve done.”

She nods, feeling their connection growing by the second. “But then I realized that life is a gift that can’t be replaced. Life
is
the purpose. Life is always worth it, no matter how terrible you feel, no matter what mistakes you've made, or others have made. This world isn’t for running. It’s for standing. It’s for fighting. I almost killed myself, yeah, and that was a huge mistake. But you saved me. You thought I was worth saving, even if it took me longer to figure out you were right.”

She shakes her head, fighting off the emotion welling to the surface. “But that mistake isn’t who I am and it doesn’t predict my future. My parents died so I could live, and I won’t throw their sacrifice away, no matter what I’ve done, no matter how far I’ve fallen. Never again. I know that now.”

Harrison’s arms surround her and she folds into his warmth, allowing his comfort to touch every part of her body, to fill the holes and imperfections in her soul, even as she does the same for him. They’ll never be perfect, neither of them, but together they are.

Together they are whole again.

~~~

Article from the Saint Louis Times:

The Department of Population Control Announces Completion of Major Systems Upgrade

Today Pop Con announced the on-schedule completion of a five year project to upgrade their major data systems. According to analysts, one of the major benefits of the new system are the in-built disaster recovery protocols, including redundancies designed to protect population control data. “Although my hand in the project was small, I’m proud of what our dedicated employees achieved,” Charles Boggs said. “Our nation can count on Pop Con to protect the sanctity of citizen records and birth authorizations for decades to come.”

In other news, the sold out Sonic Boom concert already has fans lining up for three city blocks. What has been dubbed ‘The Concert of the Century’ will be a major reprieve for a city in need of some fun.

Have a comment on this article? Speak them into your holo-screen now.
NOTE: All comments are subject to government screening. Those comments deemed to be inappropriate or treasonous in nature will be removed immediately and appropriate punishment issued.

Comments:

SonicBoomFan#1: I’m 6
th
in line!

TheSonicBoomFan: Please please please play
Superhighway to Mars
. Best. Song. Evah!

MusicLuver: Thank bots this concert wasn’t cancelled, I would’ve cried for days. 4 real.

T
o Benson, time has become the enemy. He can feel every second tick away with the beats of his heart, the minutes disappear like raindrops evaporating on a hot summer’s day, the hours vanishing into a mindless black hole, never to resurface again. The enemy—time—might very well be stealing his last memories of his family, who are sleeping right through it.

He sits by his father, watching him breathe, watching the comforting rise and fall of his chest. Moonlight tumbles through a window, painting an icy sheen on Michael Kelly’s face. He almost looks angelic. It’s a wonder to Benson how everyone looks the same when they’re sleeping. Not in terms of features, but in innocence and emotion. Peaceful. Calm. Unthreatening. From the greatest warrior to the meekest lamb, we’re not that different when we sleep.

His father’s eyes flutter open, confused for a moment, but then settling on Benson. A lazy smile forms on his lips. “You should be getting some rest,” he says.

“Can’t sleep,” Benson says. “Tomorrow is too important, and I don’t want to waste the time I have left.”
With you
, he adds in his head.

Michael’s smile fades, and Benson thinks he might rekindle his argument about whether he or Janice should go, but instead he says, “There’s something I have to tell you. Not just you. Harrison too. And your mother.”

Benson doesn’t like the sound of that. There have already been so many secrets between them, most kept by his father, and he doesn’t know if they can take another. “Dad, whatever it is, leave it until after the mission. We don’t need any distractions.”

“But what if that’s too late?” His father’s eyes search his face, as if he’s hiding the answer somewhere in his expression.

“We’re coming back,” Benson says defiantly.

“There are things that are out of your control. I’ve learned that the hard way more times than I can count. Tragedy is a major part of the world we live in. You can’t run from it, can’t hide from it, can only face it head on and hope it doesn’t take everything from you.” Benson can almost see the flashes of memories flitting behind his father’s eyes, reminders of the swathe of destruction littered behind the path he’s taken.

His father doesn’t have to warn him about tragedy. “Why didn’t you tell us yesterday?” Benson asks, trying not to think about those he’s already lost.

“It’s not for Minda and Simon.”

Benson sighs deeply and has the sudden urge to flee the room. “Can it wait until morning?”

“It can, but this might be something worth sleeping on. Plus tomorrow you’ll need to focus on preparing for the mission.” There’s no room for argument in his father’s tone. Even in his weakest state, he still has the air of a leader who expects to be obeyed. No wonder he managed to fool so many people at Pop Con for so long.

“I’ll get them,” Benson says.

Harrison, with his arm draped over Destiny, looks like he wants to murder his twin when he nudges him awake. But when he hears their father’s request, he pries himself free and makes his way silently downstairs. Lola looks up sleepily, her robotic eyelids so well-programmed she could be a real dog, and watches Harrison go, but then nuzzles against Destiny and closes her eyes. Janice is far easier, her eyes popping open before he touches her, awake and alert, as if she was only pretending to sleep. She follows Benson to her husband’s bedside.

Harrison is laughing at something their father said when Benson pulls up two more chairs. Gone is his brother’s icy anger toward Michael Kelly. It’s as if he realizes they’re all very lucky to be here together, regardless of the past. He’s starting over.

When they’re all situated, an awkward quiet settles in. It feels weird, the three of them hovering around his father’s bed, as if saying their last goodbyes before he succumbs to some life-threatening ailment.

“Spit it out, Dad,” Harrison says, breaking the silence.

The uncertainty is written all over Michael’s face: His lips are thin and tight, his nostrils flaring slightly, his eyes searching for anywhere to look other than the faces of his family. “I’ve lived many lies,” he starts.

“You think?” Harrison jokes. Though their father’s eyebrows lift, he doesn’t smile.

“But there’s one bigger than the rest.” The ominousness of the statement seems to thicken the air, making breathing harder. Benson finds himself holding his breath in anticipation. What could be bigger than his father being the face of population control for so many years while trying simultaneously to destroy it and save his own illegal son’s life?

As his father takes a deep breath, Benson notices the way Harrison is leaning forward, his weight shifting to his feet, as if preparing to run. Janice says, “You think I don’t know my own sons?”

Michael seems completely caught off guard by the statement, raising a trembling hand to his mouth, tears flooding his eyes. Benson is confused, and clearly Harrison is, too, their eyes meeting in a shared look of bewilderment. “Mom?” Harrison says.

“How did you know?” Michael says.

“I’m their mother,” she says. “This is a secret, but not a real one. It was all random. It was all meaningless. This is silly.” Janice crosses her arms tightly across her chest.

“But it wasn’t random,” Michael insists. “I
chose
. I didn’t let fate decide, like I should have.”

Harrison stands, appearing as tall as a giant with the rest of them sitting. “Tell us what the hell you’re talking about.”

Janice takes Harrison’s hand, pulling him back down into his chair. “We can go to sleep now. The past is a smudge, but we don’t have to smear it anymore.”

“I want to hear it,” Benson says, surprised by the sound of his own voice. He didn’t mean to speak, the words rising so quickly and fiercely that he couldn’t stop them. But they’re true. He wants to hear the truth. He
has
to hear the truth, spoken from his father’s lips. Because he’s already guessed it, reading between the lines in his parent’s cryptic conversation.

His father’s lips open. Close. Open again. “You were born two minutes apart,” he says.

“We know,” Harrison says. “I guess I’ve always been a bit quicker than Bense.” It’s a tired old joke and Benson wishes his brother hadn’t said it now.

Michael Kelly is shaking his head. “Not always. Not at the beginning.”

He still hasn’t said
the words
and Benson feels like screaming. His twin is still confused, or perhaps clinging to what he wants to be the truth, a fact he’s built the last few weeks around.

“Bense?” Harrison says, looking at him, his expression weighed down by anchors tied to his thick brows. “Do you have any clue what he’s saying?”

Benson shakes his head, but not because he doesn’t know, because he can’t—or won’t—be the one to say it. And he knows he doesn’t need to, because his brother’s expression is already morphing from confusion to anger, sizzling beneath the surface.

“You were—” Harrison says.

“Yes,” Michael says. “Benson was born first. Two minutes before you were.”

Harrison’s eyes are wide and wild. “No,” he whispers. “That’s not right. That can’t be. Because that would make me—I mean, I’m the…”

“No,” Benson says. “There’s no such thing. Never was. And after tomorrow none of it will matter.” He can see the madness in his brother’s eyes, and he’s scared for him. He’s impulsive enough under normal circumstances, much less the significant stress of learning such an awful, awful truth.

“I’m the Slip,” Harrison says, and it’s one part wonder, one part fear, and eight parts raw venom. He’s still staring at Benson. “You should…I never should have…we should…” Benson’s never heard his brother so at a loss for words, his silver tongue abandoning him.

“It doesn’t change anything.”

His brother’s jaw clenches as he whirls on their father. “It changes
everything
!” He’s on his feet, his well-muscled arms hanging restlessly at his sides.

He spins back on Janice, who shrinks away, toward Benson, who puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You knew?”

“A mother doesn’t confuse her children,” she says.

Michael’s voice is repentant. “I’m sorry, Son. It was an impossible choice.”

Although the tension in Harrison’s body seems to speak volumes, he’s only able to get a single word out. “Why?”

Everything Benson knows about his father swirls together, forming the answer. “Because you were frail as a baby,” he says. “I was stronger. Dad thought I’d have a better chance of survival as a Slip.”

Harrison’s hand goes up, pressing against his forehead, his eyes closing into his palm. When they open again, he knocks over the chair and stalks away, ignoring Michael’s and Janice’s simultaneous plea of “Son.”

Janice squeezes Benson’s hand, and he squeezes right back. “This is hard for him,” she says.

“I know, Mom.”

“Benson, I’m so sorry,” Michael says. “I only wanted to keep both of you safe. Give you each a chance for happiness.”

“I know, Dad.”

“You’re not angry?”

Benson thinks that based on the RUSA’s laws, he should be. After all, he was technically a legal citizen and should’ve been matched with the Birth Authorization. But if he was angry, then he’d be a hypocrite. Because regardless of their order of birth, they both deserve the chance to live, to be brothers. It wasn’t his father’s impossible choice that stole that from them. It was Pop Con. “No,” Benson says. “Well, not at you guys. And I don’t think Harrison’s angry at you either, not really. He’s mad at himself. Even before he knew, he thought he’d stolen my life from me, by being stronger and faster and pushing his way to the front. It’s worse for him knowing he didn’t win his life fair and square.” Benson stands. “I need to talk to him. I need to make this right.”

“We should,” his father says.

“This is between us,” Benson says, patting his father’s arm. He turns and kisses his mother on the cheek. “Get some rest.”

~~~

Benson finds his brother sitting on his hoverboard outside a second story window. A cool breeze is wafting inside and micro-droplets of rain mist from the sky, but Harrison seems oblivious to both, wearing only shorts and a t-shirt. Perhaps he’s warmed by the ferocity of his own temper, Benson guesses.

“Want some company?” Benson asks, poking his head outside. He rubs his hands down his arms rapidly, hugging himself.

“Whatever,” Harrison says, staring absently at the night sky.

Benson carefully clambers onto the board, which wobbles slightly. He tries not to look down, but can’t help it, the potential fall making his head spin. Clearly heights don’t bother his brother as much as him. Or at all.

He clamps his hands to the sides of the board, and it stops bobbing. Taking a deep breath and forcing himself not to look down, he follows his brother’s gaze skyward. Thin clouds drift aimlessly, streaking the full moon before moving on. The rain is so fine it’s almost pleasant, a far cry from the pelting thunderstorms that are typical to Saint Louis. And even the cold isn’t as bad as Benson expected, which makes sense considering it’s raining and not snowing.

“There are no answers,” Harrison says.

“Not for us,” Benson agrees.

“How do you not hate me?”

Benson thinks about it for a moment, and although he has a dozen answers, he chooses his own question instead. “Would you hate me if our positions were reversed?”

It takes his brother far longer to answer than he expected. “No. I guess not. We were only babies. In some ways, we still are. We’re ignorant to so much.”

“Not anymore,” Benson says. “We get to choose our lives from now on. We get to choose what and who to fight for, and whether we want to accept the world we’ve been given.”

“I feel stupid. Stupid and naïve and angry. So angry.”

“At Dad and Mom?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Harrison’s fist is in his palm, and he’s massaging his knuckles. “Dad was doing what he thought would give us both a chance. And he probably made the right choice, you know.”

Benson’s laughs. “Are you admitting I’m stronger and faster than you? Better fit for life on the streets?”

“You wish. I’m admitting you’re way smarter than me. You pick your battles wisely. I wouldn’t have survived five seconds out there.” He waves in the general direction of the city lights.

“I think you’d do better than you think. Your perception would be different if it’s all you’d ever known.”

Harrison raises his face to the mist, as if the rain can help him absorb his brother’s words.

“You know, our lives, our insanely insane situation is the perfect example of the absurdity of the laws. That one of us could be born
two bot-lickin’ minutes
earlier and live a completely different life. Or that Dad could pick one of us to be legal and the other not, only society can’t really tell which of us is allowed to be alive and which isn’t. Pretty ridiculous when you really think about it.”

Harrison manages a wry smile. “But no one does think about it. They teach us not to in school. They stuff our heads full of statistics and history and fear. They tell us that we’ll all be starving in a month if we let illegals mooch off our food. Hell, I believed it until I became a wanted criminal.”