The Registry (20 page)
Postservice is always a period of adjustment; reenlistment is an option for those who miss the exhilaration of battle.
—The Boy’s Guide to Service
G
rant prided himself on being a man of structure. He was trained well and knew how to keep himself in top physical and mental shape. Staying up this late was not part of his daily practice. It was almost two A.M. and the boring Midwest Area scenery was just as dull at night as during the day. He drove the agent’s black SUV, which had no sunroof to let in any glimpse of the stars. The men were too interested in the fighting youths to notice that Grant had slipped away with their car. He knew where he was going and what he needed to do. Leonard and Ross were of no use to him, at this point in time anyway.
The second-shift bartender had been much more responsive. He remembered a thin new boy, looking for honest work. It was Grant’s lucky night, because the worker also remembered who he left with. A wealthy man named Frank Piozzi, who lived well below his means in a tiny farmhouse about an hour away. Grant thought it was odd that someone who lived an hour away could be considered a local, but a lot of things out this way were odd.
Grant wasn’t excited about picking up his wife. He wasn’t sure what her punishment would be yet. The thought of her running away and rejecting him was driving him to rage. She did not have the right to make any decisions, let alone turn him down. Her punishment would have to be severe. He was debating making her kill her friends, or at least watch helplessly while he did. Maybe if she could learn her place their marriage could still work. Either way, he planned on taking all three of them back to his estate, another reason to ditch the agents.
The dilapidated house came into view. The bartender’s directions were dead-on, and it would have been impossible to miss this place. Grant threw the car into park and pulled out his bag from the backseat. It was filled with some specialty items from his own collection: several handguns, knives, and other fighting equipment. He smiled to himself when he pulled out what he was looking for.
Lunar-vision glasses. They looked just like sunglasses, a little stylish even. These were one of his earliest inventions. They were smaller than night-vision goggles, and unlike those bulky tools, they allowed the viewer to see everything as if it were day. There were no foggy green images. It was like having a personal sun. They didn’t go with his outfit, but he doubted anyone was going to comment on his fashion sense tonight.
A barn loomed in the back of the house. Grant had a feeling that was where he would find his wife, fast asleep on some makeshift bed. He thought about how she’d chopped off her hair and decided he wouldn’t be able to show her off until it grew back. Another reason to maybe just kill her. He swung open the barn doors and scared a chicken, which flew low through the air in front of him.
The stench was awful. Grant hated the smell of the whole area. It didn’t sound like the chicken had woken anyone, not that it mattered. He reached into his bag and pulled out a gun. He decided it would be easiest to hold one of them hostage in order to make the other two comply.
After surveying the floor, his eyes caught a glimpse of the rickety stairs. He looked up at the loft and thought it was a good place to house boys. He cursed himself for not packing his heat sensor. He didn’t want to walk all the way to the top if nobody was there.
Grant slowly walked up the steps, not wanting to wake anyone and lose whatever surprise he had left. He came upon the row of unused beds. He felt the first couple, and none of them were warm or looked slept in. It didn’t look like anyone had been there at all. Grant’s anger rose when he thought the bartender had lied to him and sent him on a wild goose chase. Even though the stairs were dangerous, Grant showed no fear as he walked down, kicking a feeding trough at the bottom of the steps.
Grant began to head back toward the car. He was growing determined to destroy the bartender when he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. A fence, with parts painted white. He strolled over to examine it and noticed three brushes drying out. A coy smile crossed his face. They were here.
He stared up at the creepy old house and assumed they were inside. Grant might not have been a country man, but he knew it was unheard of to house a laborer in your home. It was more common to force them to sleep on your lawn than under your roof.
This discovery could mean only one thing. Piozzi knew. This changed Grant’s plan. At first he had thought of him as an innocent bystander, but now he was the responsible party in need of punishment. Grant was thrilled by this knowledge, pleased at how the night had turned out.
I
t was simple to break into the old house. Grant just slid open the back door. He laughed to himself at how trusting people were in this area. While the interior was much finer than Grant had anticipated, the house was still small. He did a quick search through it. He noticed a pile of dirty clothes in the basement, far too many for one person, and five dishes set in the dishwasher. This was all the confirmation he needed to know that Mia was here.
The array of pictures in the front room made it clear the Piozzis were a gay couple. Grant could not begin to comprehend what these men would have to gain from helping a runaway girl. He didn’t care either. The fact that they were helping her was enough to lock them up for the rest of their lives.
Grant examined the rest of the house. Only one person was present. Grant was pleased the man didn’t wake up when Grant opened his bedroom door. Rather than act without a plan, Grant retreated back to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water while debating his next move.
Based on some letters on the counter, Grant found out that the man’s name must be Alex. Grant did feel some relief at Mia’s absence. His game of cat and mouse was not over and he already had his next step lined up.
He walked back upstairs and into the room where Alex was still fast asleep. Grant watched him for a moment. He was in a huge mahogany bed that took up almost the entire room. Everything was decorated in deep royal blues, including the man’s silk pajamas. Grant noted that while Alex looked in peak shape, he probably would not be a fighter and Grant had little to worry about. He removed his glasses, flipped on the light, sat on the bed, and introduced himself.
“Hello, I’m Grant Marsden. You can call me Mr. Marsden.”
The sleeping man jumped up, shocked by Grant’s presence. Grant watched as the man struggled to adjust to the new brightness. He noticed the clock; it was almost four
A.M
. He hated being up this late and hoped to wrap it up soon.
“I hear you’ve met my wife,” Grant said. “Where is she?”
Alex rubbed his eyes and swung his legs out of bed to stand up. However, Grant grabbed one of his limbs and flipped him back down on the pillow.
“Please don’t get up on my account.” Grant stood. “Don’t lie to me either. You’ll make this harder on yourself.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Grant brandished his gun and pointed it at Alex. As the man’s fear grew, Grant could feel his own smile grow. In a quick move, he flipped the gun and gave Alex a smash with the butt, right into his nose. The crack of the bone echoed. Alex let out a cry and held his hands over his broken face.
“Again, where is she?” Grant didn’t show any agitation.
“I don’t know!” Alex said. His voice was muffled by his hands.
Grant was readying to strike him again when Alex blurted, “My husband took her. Someplace safe. I don’t know where. Please don’t hurt me!”
“I thought gay couples told each other everything; don’t you see each other as equals?”
“He’s paranoid. He didn’t want to tell me in case something like this happened.” Alex was sobbing.
“Well, I have to give him credit. You did fold quickly. When will he be back?”
“Tomorrow, sometime in the afternoon.” Alex didn’t hesitate. Grant knew anyone who responded this fast wasn’t lying. The man had no additional information.
“That gives us some time. I need to get some sleep anyway.” Grant stretched his arms over his head and beamed devilishly. “But what to do with you?”
All will be done to ensure every female is matched with a husband. If after a year’s time no match has been made, she will be married to the government, where she will still be protected; however, she will not have the same privileges as a wife.
—The Registry Guide for Girls
D
awn was breaking and the lightening sky woke Mia from her deep sleep. She was surprised how comfortable the back of the van was. Whitney stirred as Mia sat up. She went to the window. In the distance she could see the outlines of massive buildings. Their projection against the morning sky was beautiful. Whitney appeared behind her and seemed just as in awe of the skyline. This was the first time either girl had seen a large city.
“It’s fantastic. So many people, I can’t wait.” Whitney was filled with excitement.
“More people means more chances to get caught,” Mia said. She was having second thoughts about this.
“Well, if we get caught, maybe it’s for the best.”
“Why would you say that?” Mia asked. She didn’t understand why Whitney still didn’t think escape was the best option, why her friend was still filled with doubts.
“I’m scared,” Whitney said with a shrug. “Maybe I still would have been chosen; there were still six months left on my page.”
“I’m scared, too, but trust me, this is better than any alternative.” Mia reached out and grabbed Whitney’s hand. “You deserve better than a life as a punching bag. It will all be worth it in the end.”
“You’re right.” Whitney did not sound sincere. “I guess being in the back of a vehicle just jars me a little now.”
Before Mia knew it, the large buildings were looming over her head and the van was slowing to a stop. The height of the structures blocked out the blossoming sun, and a chill made its way down Mia’s back. She opened the back door and hopped down. She offered Whitney a hand, but before it was accepted, Andrew rounded the vehicle and lifted Whitney to the ground.
The trio walked around the van to the driver’s-side window, which Frank rolled down.
“Now walk up this street, and the contact will find you. He’ll ask you, ‘Do you know how to type?’ ” Frank said.
Frank’s mouth hung open. Mia could tell he was uncomfortable and unsure of his words.
“Thank you, and Alex, too,” Mia said. “If you’re ever in Mexico, look us up.”
Frank nodded and smiled. He appeared happy. Mia’s kind words meant he didn’t have to make any more statements. She owed so much to this man and wanted him to know it but decided to smile back and wave rather than give him any speech. Andrew nodded his head while Whitney waited on the sidewalk.
Mia and Andrew backed up while Frank turned the van around and started his journey home to his love. Mia smiled at this idea. She kept beaming and glanced at Andrew. He glanced down, then gave her a peculiar look.
Looking away, she reminded herself that this escape wasn’t about starting a relationship. It was about never having to enter into one. But after seeing Frank and Alex together, her perspective was changing. She hoped her life would lead her to a relationship based on trust and compassion, where two individuals worked as a whole, not one where she was property.
Whitney was bugging Andrew. She asked questions about the car ride and what was going to happen next. It was clear he didn’t know the answers, but Mia didn’t feel the need to step in and save him. She was scared and wanted silence, and hoped Andrew would yell at Whitney to stop talking, but knew that was unlikely. Instead, he would tune her out and let her ramble on. She sighed as the group walked to meet their mystery helper.
T
he shade of the buildings provided little relief from the afternoon heat. Mia felt sweat pour down her brow; any cleanliness from last night’s shower was gone. Her stomach growled in pain, too; it was empty. Whitney wasn’t faring much better; she had switched from asking too many questions to asking none at all. Mia was worried by her friend’s behavior but didn’t know what else there was to say. She couldn’t force years of programming out of Whitney’s head. On the other hand, Andrew looked unfazed by the heat or hunger. Mia wished she could read him better.
A whirlwind of men in suits walked past, ignoring them. At first Mia was afraid of her new surroundings, but then she realized nobody was giving her a second thought. They were abandoned boys and nobody bothered to look at them.
Mia understood why Andrew didn’t want to take a break. The path ahead of them was too unknown. Soon the booming city street calmed down and they ended up in a quieter section. While Mia felt a sense of safety at the absence of the noise, she had a feeling they had missed their contact. She figured at least they were farther south. It would be easy to revert back to the original plan of having Andrew escort them to the border. She took comfort in that thought.
Her contemplations were broken when someone walked out of one of the tinier buildings. It was a woman. She was tall and plain. Her hair was pulled tight into a bun on the top of her head. She wore a straight, long navy skirt and a white blouse. She was the first woman Mia had seen on their travels. She walked straight up to the group. Mia wanted to tell the woman to leave them alone, that they were boys and women shouldn’t associate with males.
“Excuse me, do you know how to type?” she asked.
Fear lumped in Mia’s throat. Andrew looked shocked and frozen, but Whitney was clearly relieved by the woman’s presence.
“Yes. We
love
to type,” Whitney said in her normal voice. Mia didn’t think she’d ever seen Whitney so eager.