The Choosing (19 page)

He took a deep breath and pulled his hand away from the girl’s cold neck
 
—dead, as he had suspected. He stood from his crouched position and took several long, slow strides across the room. Back and forth he paced, frustrated by this setback. Were none of God’s children redeemable? He reached over to a long table nearby and gripped the edges for support.

He was following the steps as instructed. The vision for a more holy people had come to him in a dream that had roused him from a deep sleep and imbued him with a new sense of purpose. He had barely made it out of bed before a powerful presence had descended upon him, keeping him prostrate on the floor in reverence for two days. When he finally felt the presence lift he had known his work must begin immediately. The first sinner had been collected only days later and the cleansing had begun.

Seven days of cleansing
 
—seven days for the sinner to repent and be saved.

It was hard to escape the feeling that his efforts were returning void. If none of them could be saved, then why not burn the whole city to the ground and save himself this torment? In a fit of rage he yanked his arms across the tabletop, sending his supplies crashing to the stone floor. The objects bounced and shattered, the noise of the destruction echoing around him like a violent orchestra.

He turned his eyes toward heaven and wished he could see the face of God through the drooping ceiling. “Have You called me to a mission with no resolution? Am I to find any soul worth saving?”

Only silence answered him.

“Tell me and I shall listen! Lead me and I will follow, but do not hide Your face from me! How am I to know that at the end I will not be completely alone?”

Her face filled his mind like a soft picture, her smile captured in a perfect moment.

He was attracted to her
 
—not just to the way her body curved but also to the way she spoke and thought. To the way she obeyed. It was a dangerous attraction that was foreign to him. He wanted her to be his yet felt the slightest twinge of disgust over how disappointed he would be if she belonged to anyone else. He had always maintained a safe distance from actual intrigue in women. Even when they were close, he kept himself removed. They had never held any interest for him before, but she was different.

He worried that she could overthrow him, but was she not chosen for this same calling? Had she not been ordained to be his alone? Guilt replaced his anger as the heat around him turned icy. He had lost his temper and, in doing so, had lost his way. He had questioned the holy mission; he had practically thrown himself off the life raft that was his salvation from the perilous sea of damnation raging around him. He could not let his physical weaknesses overpower his righteousness, lest he be swallowed in the waves.

God had chosen her for him. His perfect complement so he need not face the days to come alone. She was part of his salvation. He knelt where he stood and fell into an attitude of supplication. He would not question the holy mission again. He would continue down the path that had been placed before him, and he would receive the sanctification he deserved. Praise be.

For Carrington, the next two weeks crept along painfully.

Moments stretched into hours that felt heavy with despair. Larkin was released from isolation and heard about Helms immediately. Other Lints on her floor talked about the way she cried into the early hours of the morning, almost making herself sick. She was forced to return to the factory but passed out from exhaustion. A Lint Leader escorted her to the Stacks medical ward, where she was sedated. Carrington tried to visit, but they weren’t letting anyone see her.

When Larkin finally did come back to work for good, it seemed she wasn’t interested in reconnecting. She ignored Carrington’s glances, avoided running into her around Alfred, and made it clear that she wanted to be alone during the travel time to and from the factory.

Carrington considered ignoring her friend’s signals and starting up a conversation anyway. Part of her believed it would be good for Larkin to speak with someone, to vocalize her pain, or at least to know that someone was willing to listen when she was ready to talk. But the stronger part of Carrington thought honoring Larkin’s wishes was the
best way to let her heal. Besides, it would be a lie to pretend her desire to reconnect with Larkin wasn’t motivated primarily by selfishness.

While Larkin cried herself to sleep a couple levels below, Carrington fought off a new set of nightmares. Instead of children from school singing about her insignificance, now she dreamed of Remko luring her in only to slap her away. Feeling unwanted wasn’t a new sensation for her, but the shock of how Remko’s stone-cold rejection had been delivered was. To want someone specific
 
—to long for someone’s touch, someone’s warmth
 
—then to get the chance to experience a kind of joy most people believed was impossible . . . and then to have it taken away by the giver was a different kind of cruel.

She was a fool to think any other outcome was plausible. This world had made it plainly evident that she wasn’t worth much. She wasn’t sure how the idea that someone would actually risk his own safety and well-being for her had slithered in. Worst of all, she had momentarily believed it. This cruelty was an outcome of her own making, just as she had always been told.

Carrington reminded herself that she was already chosen, that she would still marry, still have children, but it only masked the pain until the ruthless rejection snaked its way back in and the sense of security she derived from being chosen at last evaporated. Sometimes her treacherous mind even dared to suggest that being chosen didn’t matter; she just wanted Remko. But whenever that thought
skipped through her head she squashed it. That kind of folly was pointless and only brought more misery.

Besides, she liked Isaac, despite Larkin’s deafening plea that she stay away from him. When she wasn’t near him, she could see how he could possibly be dangerous with all the power he possessed, with all the fame. But none of that seemed significant when she looked in his eyes. She felt more comfortable with him as the days progressed and their time together increased. Their conversations were becoming easier, their laughter seldom but genuine.

So why did thoughts of Remko continue to invade what should be her greatest happiness? Carrington wanted to see things clearly but she couldn’t seem to find a way out of the fog.

“What are you thinking?”

Carrington was pulled from the mist and remembered where she was. Lunch was before her and Isaac sat just to her left.

“You’ve hardly touched your food. Is everything all right?” Isaac asked.

This was the fourth time in the last two weeks that Isaac had requested her company at lunch and normally she was happy for the distraction. She wasn’t sure why the weight of her thoughts was so heavy today.

“Yes, of course. Everything is fine. I’m just not very hungry,” Carrington said.

Isaac eyed her suspiciously but seemed momentarily
satisfied. “You are scheduled to move back in with your family tomorrow, correct?” Isaac said.

“Yes.”

“That will be a welcome change, I imagine.”

“It will be wonderful to be back home.”

Isaac nodded and Carrington watched his expression turn solemn. He took another sip of wine before speaking. “I know things have been difficult for you at the Stacks.”

Carrington gave him a curious look. “No more than for anyone else.”

Isaac put his fork down and rested his elbows on the table in front of him. “I understand that Larkin Caulmen, the Lint we recently tried, is a companion of yours.”

Carrington felt as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. She wasn’t sure how to respond. From the look on Isaac’s face there was a wrong answer. Clearly he already knew more than she’d thought, so lying was probably a bad decision.

“Yes, um, well, I haven’t known her long, but we worked together in the Stacks and got to know one another.”

“I’m told she’s not doing very well.”

Carrington shook her head. “She is grieving deeply.”

“For her CityWatch guard?”

Carrington nodded.

Isaac frowned. “Being held accountable for sin is difficult; the road to redemption is not a smooth one.”

Carrington felt a bit stunned and turned her face to
the lunch before her. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but it certainly wasn’t the words that coldly fell to the table between them. There was a long moment of silence.

“Her behavior in the hearing was surprising to all of us. Her lack of self-preservation was unexpected,” Isaac continued. “In the face of dire consequence she still chose him. They still chose each other. I’m not sure what they expected to accomplish by being so blatantly defiant. Imprisonment is not the kind of punishment the Authority likes to give, but in this case it was necessary.”

Carrington heard the calmness in Isaac’s voice, watched the way his face failed to reveal even a hint of sorrow or regret. Helms had been murdered in the cell they had sent him to and the man dining with her couldn’t care less.

“You look as though you disagree,” Isaac said.

Carrington tried to clear her face of emotion. “I don’t imagine I know enough to really have an opinion one way or another.”

“Do you think they shouldn’t have been punished for breaking the law?”

“No, there are consequences for our choices.” The words came out, though she wasn’t sure she completely believed them.

“And the incident with the CityWatch guard
 
—was that not just an unfortunate by-product of his own behavior? He wouldn’t have been in that situation had he followed the law. So, while regrettable, his death was of his own making.”

Carrington couldn’t think of a proper response that wouldn’t be an all-out lie. She couldn’t think much of anything. The small, nagging voice that usually served as an annoyance started to grow. She didn’t believe Helms deserved to die for what he had done. Could Isaac really believe his murder was justice?

Isaac stood. “Come with me; I want to show you something.”

Carrington rose and felt an odd sense of déjà vu as she followed Isaac through the house. He climbed a grand staircase up to the second level and entered a small library. Three of the four walls were lined with books and the fourth held an arrangement of framed pictures
 
—nearly thirty images, she guessed, in perfect, organized rows.

The stoic faces in the pictures were unsmiling. These were not depictions of happy memories.

“Do you recognize these photos?” Isaac asked.

Carrington shook her head and Isaac pointed to the last picture in the final row.

“This one was taken forty-four years ago. This was the last man the Authority had to execute for breaking the law.”

The air in the room was already stuffy and grew heavier with his pronouncement. Carrington prayed her face didn’t betray her as she gripped her shaking palm in the opposite hand.

“Every picture here is of an individual or group committed to death because of their choices. I keep them here to
remind myself of what the Authority has sacrificed to keep God’s order and peace throughout this city,” Isaac said.

“All of these people were executed?” Carrington asked. She knew the answer was yes
 
—he’d just said so
 
—but it was the only response she could formulate.

“It has been a long time since the Authority felt a need for this level of punishment. One has to wonder if we have grown too soft. The
Veritas
says, ‘For the Authority is God’s instrument for the good of the community. But if you do what is wrong, be afraid, for the avenger does not bear the sword in vain but carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer.’”

She turned her face to Isaac and watched him scan each picture with what appeared to be utter fascination.

A single thought flitted across her mind. “You thought Larkin and Helms should be executed for what they did.” It was impossible to keep the quivering from her voice, and even as the words came out of her mouth she wondered if asking such a question was a mistake. Did she even really want to know the answer?

“Regardless of what I thought would be best, it is important to remember the great lengths the Authority will go to in order to protect this city of God.”

Isaac spoke as if every word was meant individually for her. Carrington suddenly wondered whether he somehow knew about what had happened with Remko. She turned back toward the wall so he could not read her face.

He laid his hand on her shoulder and a shiver crept
down her spine. “I will do whatever is necessary to maintain order.”

She kept her eyes glued to the walls, searching the faces for answers. Before, she had managed to rationalize away her worries about Isaac, but standing here with him now, staring at his shrine to the blood that soaked the earth beneath their city, she couldn’t silence the panic screaming inside her head. Larkin’s warning became clear and the fog began to part. She knew Isaac was dedicated to the law, was a man of righteous convictions, but these images and his words made the fear she fought so hard to ignore come roaring to life.

She realized she was afraid. And for the first time in her existence, Carrington truly wished she had not been chosen.

The room around Carrington should have been as familiar as the back of her hand, like her own reflection in the mirror, but it felt as if she’d never lived there before. The soft white curtains that hung just a couple of inches too long, the caramel-colored furniture aged from use, the worn pale carpet, the light-blue bedspread, the sweet yellow pillows
 
—all of it was unaltered yet foreign, punctuating how much she herself had changed.

The bedroom looked undisturbed, as if no one had even set foot through the doorway since she’d left. But the security she had once felt here seemed out of reach. The girl who had lived here was a child with dreams and secrets, a child who played house and wished for a perfect future and couldn’t imagine a world filled with worry and fear. This had been a place for hiding, for laughing, for learning. Carrington could hardly remember the face of that little girl, and now she felt like a stranger borrowing someone else’s bed until she was ordered to move on again.

She stood motionless, yearning to feel the comfort this place had afforded her throughout her childhood. How was it possible that in such a short amount of time her life had
gone from childlike fantasy to the foreboding gloom that was now draped around her body?

“Do you have to keep wearing that awful color?” her mother asked behind her. “I would think they could let you change back into your other clothes.”

Carrington turned to see her mother’s head buried in the rows of clothes in her closet. The woman pulled out a pair of form-fitting white cotton pants and a knee-length tunic in the same color
 
—a typical day-to-day outfit for the girl who used to live in this room.

“Well? Did you ask?” her mother demanded.

Carrington shook her head in response and her mother scoffed. “Carrington, how could you not think to ask about your clothes? Have you lost your head?” Vena laid the garments lovingly across Carrington’s bed and smiled at them with pride.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to find out.” She looked around the room again, wondering at the house’s quietness. “Where is Warren?”

“He’s playing with Robison down the street. I thought you’d like a few hours to get settled in without him around. He has turned into such a talker; sometimes it’s hard to get anything done.”

Carrington pictured Warren’s innocent face and wished desperately that he were here.

“I would like to burn this dreadful filth as soon as possible,” Vena said, pulling at Carrington’s sleeve. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to be rid of it.”

Carrington’s hand absently pinched at her neckline. “I suppose.”

“You suppose? What is wrong with you?”

How was she supposed to answer that?
The only real friend I’ve ever known is mourning her murdered boyfriend; I am engaged to a man who believes having people executed is the proper way to maintain order; oh, and I think I may be falling in love with a man I can never have, never even dream of having, because the reality in which I am currently stuck tells me that I’m not worthy of truly feeling loved.

“Nothing,” Carrington said.

“Ever since you set foot in this house, you’ve been moping around. You are acting very strange for a girl who is living a dream.”

“I’m sorry, Mother; it’s just been a long couple of weeks.”

“Well, all that is behind you now.” Her mother placed her hand on the side of Carrington’s face and stroked her daughter’s cheek with her thumb. “You have come home, been given a second chance. You should be celebrating!”

“I’m afraid of him,” Carrington said. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do so, but lack of sleep and her mother’s warm touch made Carrington feel like spilling her guts right out at her mother’s feet.

“Afraid of whom?”

“Authority Knight. He isn’t what he seems.”

“Hush, dear. You shouldn’t say such things.” Carrington’s mother dropped her palm and turned back toward the clothes on the bed.

“He has pictures of executed criminals hanging in his library, Mother. He believes Larkin and Helms should have been killed for breaking the law.”

“Those rebellious souls . . . I wish you’d had nothing to do with them.”

“He’s cold and ruthless.”

“Enough, Carrington! He is a leader of this city. A man of God! Maybe he is right. Anyway, it really doesn’t concern you. Your only priority will be to make him happy. Do you understand?”

“You agree with him?”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters!”

“That’s enough! How dare you speak to me this way? You may have been gone for a little while, but this home will function the way it always has. You have been chosen
 
—by a man, might I add, who surpasses any expectation we could have had for you
 
—and you will not speak unkindly of him under this roof.”

“And if I am miserable?” Carrington knew she should stop pushing, that she was dragging herself dangerously close to an edge she could quickly tumble over. But the voices in her head had become too loud to keep silent. After weeks of wondering, weeks of fighting her own inner doubts, weeks of suffering through loneliness and endless questions, suddenly her mouth was open, allowing the thoughts pounding in her skull to escape.

Her mother’s face turned fierce and angry. She stepped
to position herself inches from Carrington and spoke in tones she saved for rare occasions. “Then you will be miserable. You are no longer a child. You will marry Authority Knight and you will be his dutiful wife without fail, or being miserable will be the least of your worries. Being in the inner circle has many benefits, but trust me, my dear
 
—being pushed out would crush you.”

Tears rolled down Carrington’s cheeks. Her mother’s eyes had gone dark and she suddenly felt as if the woman who had given her life was looking at her the same way the rest of the world did
 
—as a pawn in a game she was never intended to win.

Vena brushed the tears from Carrington’s face and her expression lightened. “Don’t cry, my sweet daughter; I am only trying to keep you safe from yourself. A mother’s job isn’t always easy, but we do what is necessary to protect our children. Soon you will understand that.”

Carrington pulled her face away. A mother’s touch was supposed to be comforting. She had longed for it during the sleepless nights and the hovering fear, but now, with her mother’s hand still burning on her cheek, it felt contrived.

For just a moment, ripples of pain crossed her mother’s face before the coldness returned. That’s how it had always been with this woman
 
—brief flirtations with real emotion that were quickly masked by frigid control.

A soft knock jarred both women from their reveries to find Carrington’s father looking in.

His face was older than Carrington remembered, his
age showing in the texture of his skin. His clothes were dirty from work and his hair was plastered to his head from being under a hat all day. He smelled of grass and hay, and the familiar scent made the strangely foreign room feel a bit more like home. His eyes were laden with dark circles but still filled with youthful color. When he smiled at Carrington something in her broke. She had forgotten how much she’d missed his smile.

“You’re home,” her mother said. “Good. Maybe you can talk some sense into your daughter.”

“Vena, she’s only just arrived. We have a problem already?” her father asked.

“
We
do not have a problem. . . .
She
does.” Her mother sighed for dramatic effect and placed the back of her hand across her forehead as if she might faint from the utter disappointment her only daughter had become. “I have no more time for this. I need to get dinner started.” She walked to Carrington’s father, gave him a perfunctory kiss on his cheek, and with a final look over her shoulder that told Carrington this conversation was not over, she left.

Seth Hale watched his wife go, and when he turned his face back to Carrington his smile had transformed into a chuckle. He stepped into the room and shook his head. “Must you torment her? When you get her worked up, she takes it out on me. Have mercy on your aging father.”

Carrington wanted to defend herself, to let her father know that she was the one being tormented, that her mother may as well have said she didn’t care about her
daughter, but the laughter in his eyes and the silly tweak in his voice caused her to smile and shake her head. Her father knew the kind of woman her mother was; she didn’t need to remind him.

He moved across the room to sit on her bed and Carrington took the spot beside him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her tightly to his side. She snuggled into the shelter of his embrace and let all the turmoil, pain, and fear melt away.

They sat in silence for a long time, Carrington warm against him and his steady breath matching the rhythm of her calming heart. She imagined how wonderful it would be never having to move, never having to face the rest of this day or the days to come
 
—just being with her father, warm and safe.

“What is on your heart, child?” he finally said. It was a question he had asked her often when she was growing up, but until today she’d never really understood how heavy a heart could be. She wanted to be honest with him, but she was afraid of how he would react. Her mother’s harshness was anticipated, but Carrington couldn’t stand the thought of her father being disappointed in her as well.

“I feel as though I don’t understand the purpose of the way things are anymore,” Carrington said. Emotion choked her words and they came out in a whisper. She braced for a stern reaction, but none came.

“To be lost is a very fearful thing. I wish it was something I could have spared you,” he said.

Carrington pulled her head away from his shoulder and looked into his face. She thought she saw tears collecting in his eyes . . . but then maybe the fading light of day was just playing tricks on her.

He swallowed hard and reached for Carrington’s hand. It was so fragile compared to his own. She kept her eyes on his face, but he avoided her gaze.

“I have very little power in this world. I cannot make or change laws. I cannot control people with my status or resources. I have little use for strength or bravery; I’ve always found myself hiding behind my reason. In doing so, I fear I may have failed you.”

She didn’t understand and couldn’t imagine how his words could be true.

“The first time I held you I was amazed, and it is something I will never forget. I had a moment of complete clarity: you were absolutely perfect
 
—every inch, every part. Nothing could be added to you, because nothing was missing. I prayed that somehow you would always know that, even in the darkest moments.”

He turned his face to her and caressed her chin with his thumb. Tears clouded her vision as his eyes reached into her soul and broke through the fear.

“If I could have changed your world, I would have given my life to do so. I dreamed of a different world for you, one where you knew how precious you were. I thought it was impossible to reach.” Light sparkled in his eyes and a sad smile spread across his face.

“It took me a lifetime to discover it, but that world was always within me. And it exists within you. Do not be lost, my daughter; know how truly precious you are even in the face of darkness.”

He placed a kiss on Carrington’s forehead and she thought she might collapse into a blubbering ball at his feet. She was blanketed in the same overwhelming sensation she had felt when she first met Aaron and when she had spoken to Arianna.

“What if I can’t find it?” Carrington said.

“You will.” Her father wiped away her tears. “You will.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs and her father pulled his hands away from her. She forcefully brushed her cheeks clear and turned to see her mother’s worried face in the doorway.

Her mother looked troubled by Carrington’s tears but seemed to shake off her feelings before speaking. “President Carson’s daughter Arianna was arrested earlier this afternoon.”

“What? Why?” Carrington said.

Her mother nodded. “For leading a group of people outside the city limits.”