Sinners 01 - Branded (12 page)

“Why!” I scream. “Why her?”

“Stop.” Sutton’s calm voice breaks my tantrum.

Slowly sinking to the floor, I rest my head against the wall behind me and look around
at the mess I created.

“I’m sorry.” I pull the collar of my shirt up over my face, sniffling and wiping my
tears away. “I’ll clean it up.” My arms throb and my muscles twitch from adrenaline.
I push myself up, ashamed for losing all self-control, and start picking up gauze
and tape.

“Stop,” he says again. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

I watch as he makes his way toward me. My lip starts to tremble and I shake my head
frantically. “It’s not fair. She’s so young.”

“I know,” he says.

“We have to do something. We can’t just let her die.”

“I’d give my life to save hers.” He puts his hands on my shoulders.

“I thought the very same thing.”

“Because you’re a good person. If you didn’t care about her, you wouldn’t feel this
way. Believe me, I’ve tried everything I possibly could for her, but the virus is…
too complex. It might take years before a cure is found, and obviously, she doesn’t
even have weeks.”

“I hate the virus.”

“Me too.” He pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me like my father used
to do. “Sweetheart, me too.”

I can hear his heart beating. It’s strong with a consistent rhythm. I know good hearts
are hard to find, so for the first time in a long time, I feel comfortable around
a man. Maybe it’s because he could easily be my father, or maybe it’s because he treats
me like a human being. Either way, I almost trust him.

“What can I do?” I ask.

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“You should read to her. Not just any book, but a story where she can fly away and
escape the world through her imagination.” He releases me from our embrace and steps
back, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Come with me. I have a collection in my
office… and don’t worry about the mess. I noticed some nurses sleeping on their shift
earlier. I’ll send them to clean up and restock.” He laughs. “I hope you feel better
now. I’d like to keep my office intact if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

He leads me into his office and then opens the closet door. The heaps of boxes and
random items overwhelm me.

“How can you possibly find anything in this mess?” I ask.

“What mess?”

“Oh, dear heavens.”

“Ha. I’m joking. I collect the belongings people leave behind and throw them in here.
When you close the door, the mess is gone, so I don’t see anything wrong with it.
As long as I can’t see it, I’m fine.” He winks at me mischievously.

I nod my head and push past the shelves of bedclothes and sheets. Large boxes stacked
on top of each other sit along the back wall. I pull down one box and cough as the
dust particles float into my nose and mouth. My fingers slip off the edges, causing
it to land on my right foot.
Dang it.
The top flops open, and I peer inside.

Jewelry, magazines, and old CDs rattle around as I sift through them. A baby rattle
makes me pause. These were someone’s prized possessions at one time, but I let the
thought go as quickly as it arises, knowing I’m going to use them for a good purpose.

The next box contains more of the same, and I let out a long sigh of exasperation.
Alyssa’s probably wondering where I am, and I haven’t found anything to read her yet.
Then I see the stack of books at the bottom. I delay my excitement until I lift them
out. Their tattered bindings make them fragile, and their browned pages curl at the
edges, but I found them!

One by one, I read the titles and settle upon
The Last Silk Dress
by Ann Rinaldi. It’s the only one that seems appropriate for a thirteen-year-old,
and the cover even has an elegant young woman on it.

I put the rest of the belongings back in the boxes and stack them together. Then I
skip-walk down the hall and back to her room with a huge smile on my face.

“What are you all happy about?” she asks.

“I got you something.” Proudly, I pull the book out from behind my back and place
it on her lap. “It’s the only one I could find that was appropriate for your age.”

“What? Are you kidding me? I’m dying and you’re worried about corrupting me?”

I cock my head. “Do you want me to read it or not?”

She nods enthusiastically and then lays her head back on my flat, measly pillow. I
sit in the chair and open the book to the first page. Ironically, it begins with a
fourteen-year-old girl and her father at the beginning of the Civil War. I find myself
and Alyssa drawn to her vivacious spirit and her close family connections. Will Susan
side with the confederacy or with the abolitionists? I remember reading about the
Civil War in school, but this book begins to bring it alive for me.

After thirty minutes, Alyssa falls asleep and I fold the page corner to keep our spot.
This has been the best day in the Hole since I arrived. I tuck the book under her
mattress and step into the hallway. Sutton slams into me while I walk, deep in thought.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” he says.

“It’s okay, neither was I.”

“Did she like the book?”

“Very much so. Thank you for everything.”

He tucks his pen into his coat pocket and straightens his glasses. “Good. I’m glad,”
he says, his concentration fixed elsewhere.

“Okay, well, I have to meet Cole. It’s almost seven.”

Sutton glances at my face, nods, and rushes away without another word.

Of course Amber’s talking and drooling over Cole.

How does she get out of work all the time?

Her fingernails newly painted, she brushes her hand against his and bats her eyelashes
to gather his attention.

“Well, hello there. Seems like you’ve had a cakewalk day,” she says to me.

I scrunch my forehead and retort, “Not as easy of a day as you’ve probably had.”

“I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” She sneers. She places her hands on her hips and
raises her over-plucked eyebrows in a challenge. I don’t know what I did to earn her
nastiness, but she instantly hated me, even before I ever talked to her.

“That’s enough, you two. Let’s go.” Cole shifts his posture and beckons me to follow
him to the staircase.

“See ya,” Amber calls to him.

He swings the door open and it almost smacks me in the face as I pass through behind
him. My good feelings about reading to Alyssa are gone as I think about spending another
night alone in my dark, damp room.

Prostitutes, three of them, rush into the hospital, screaming about someone who’s
hurt. I can’t turn my eyes away from them as the staff tries to herd them back to
the front waiting area.

“Stay here,” one nurse tells them, “or you’ll have to leave.”

All three of them lean against the wall, dressed in promiscuous clothing that sticks
to their slim figures and wearing chunky high heels. Tears track down one of their
faces. She looks familiar.
One of the girls from Cole’s party the other night.
Her dirty blond hair hangs in tangles, matted against her back from the rain. The
heavy, black charcoal lining her brown eyes drips down her cheekbones. Her nervous
fingers fiddle with a small handbag. I try to ignore her brand to keep from judging
her because I don’t want to treat her the same way I’ve been treated. My hand moves
to my neck self-consciously just thinking about it. Looking up, she locks eyes with
me and then nods like she remembers who I am.

I quickly nod back and walk upstairs with an overflowing container of ratty, washed
blankets. The undependable elevator is stuck on floor three, so I huff my way up to
my wing. My breathing comes heavy and labored under the weight, but I welcome the
break from reading to Alyssa. I’m not used to reading so much and my eyes hurt. Guards
pass, but I duck behind the height of the blankets, angling them in front of my face.

Just keep walking.

Fortunately, the stairs teem with people today. The eighth floor comes as a reprieve
and I drop the basket into Alyssa’s room to keep her company while folding it. Her
solemn expression lifts and a smile crosses her face like she’s bursting at the seams
to tell me something.

“Well?” I ask, waiting.

“What?” She smiles.

“Spit it out.” I flip open the first blanket and begin matching the corners.

She pushes herself up and laughs. “Okay, so I read ahead a little…”

I cock my head sideways, giving her a knowing look. “And?”

“Her brother Lucien, well, he’s against owning slaves, so the family shuns him. BUT,
it just complicates things more because the Confederates surround Charleston and…”

“Whoa, slow down! How far ahead did you read?” I drop the blanket to my lap.

She grows quiet and then mumbles, “The whole thing.”

“You read all of it? That’s a three-hundred-some-page book!” My jaw drops.

“Well, I liked it and felt good enough to finish… Hope you’re not mad.” Her hands
clutch the book protectively as she pleads with her eyes.

“I’m not mad at all, just surprised. Well, glad actually.” I finish folding the blanket
and place it on top of another. “I’m not sure if Sutton has any more—”

“It’s okay. It was really good and I’ll probably read it again, anyway.” She lays
back, places the book on her chest with her hands over it, and closes her eyes. “The
confusion and the violence remind me a lot of the Hole, except she has family…”

Her soft words cause me to pause and let my thoughts linger. She’s so mature for a
thirteen-year-old. I can’t imagine drawing comparisons between a Civil War novel and
the Hole at her age, but then again, my childhood aged me too.

Maybe the Hole ages everyone beyond their years.

“Why are you here?” I lower my voice when I ask.

Her eyelids flutter open.
“I’m not a bad person, really, I swear. I was only trying to feed my family. They
were starving to death and stealing was the only—”

“I never, not even for a minute, thought you were.” I lean closer to her. “How old
were you when this happened?”

“Eight,” she says, dropping her eyes. She fiddles with her hands in her lap.

“And what? The guards took you away?”

“They came late the next night, didn’t bother knocking. My family and I were getting
ready for bed and they barged in like animals on a rampage. I knew they had come for
me, so I went willingly because I couldn’t bear the thought of them hurting my parents
because they did nothing wrong. I did.” She looks directly at me, her eyes glistening
with the memories.

“I’m so sorry,” I wrap my arms around her.

“It’s okay. Everyone here has a story,” she says as she snuggles in closer. “On the
bright side I got to meet you.”

“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

“Do you want to know what bothers me the most?” Another tear slides down. “I’m going
to die a sinner. This is who I am. And there’s not a thing I can do to change that.”
Her hands pull her hair away from her chest, revealing her sickly yellow brand. “They
even took my dignity.”

Her words stump me. Dignity—it’s a word I never thought about until arriving at the
Hole. It’s an unusual word for such a young girl to use, but when she says it, I know
exactly what she means.

A plan begins brewing in my head. “I have to get something.” She looks at me with
an anxious expression. “I promised you I’d come back. I’ve never gone back on a promise
and I’m sure not going to go back on one now.” It’s true. I don’t. I’ve had so many
broken promises in my life I could never do that to anyone.

“I’ll just close my eyes for a little while,” she says, sinking farther into her bed.

I half-walk, half-run down the hallway. My feet barely touch the steps as I glide
eight floors down to the main entrance of the hospital. I look around, then casually
walk across the lobby, careful to avoid any bodily fluids, and stop directly in front
of the prostitutes.

The blonde raises her head, evaluating me with her angry, tearful eyes. “What do you
want?” Behind her accusing tone, I sense a vulnerable, weary, and sorrowful individual.

“I need a favor.” I speak slowly and gently so as not to make her more wary of me.

“You’re asking us for a favor?” The other girls narrow their eyes at me with suspicion,
but I continue on.

“I need makeup… well, not for me. There’s a young girl—”

She raises her hand to silence me. Then she digs through her small handbag and pulls
out a few items. “If I’m going to die in this godforsaken place, I might as well do
something decent.” Then she presses the containers into the palm of my hand, willing
her eyes to mine. “Hell with the guards and the system. Take this, make your friend
happy.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you so much,” I say.

As I make my way up to the floor, I turn the items over in my hand—lipstick, mascara,
and blush.

I can do this,
I think.

I lose track of time, and before I know it, an hour has passed.
Those worthless elevators.
Running up and down eight flights is exhausting. When I arrive back at her room and
pull the curtain aside, Alyssa scoots into a sitting position to talk to me.

“Told you I’d be back.” I hug her.

She gives me a partial smile. “What’re you up to?”

“I got makeup!” I bounce to her bedside.

“What?”

“You heard me.” I pull the chair to her bedside. The sunlight fades as the sun sets,
so the room darkens with shadows from the candles. “How about lipstick, mascara, and
blush?”

“What do I have to lose?” she asks, nudging me.

I open the mascara and begin looping it through her eyelashes. Putting on makeup feels
awkward. I’d never actually used it myself, but I remember watching my mother do it
years ago. She’d sit in front of her mirror and curl her lashes before running the
thick, bristled mascara wand through them. Her eyes looked sultry and mysterious when
she’d finish. I always wanted to try but never had the chance, and my heart sinks
a little just thinking about it.