Vanishing Rain (Blue Spectrum Chronicles Book 2) (4 page)

Chapter 7

Garment

My emotions were tackling me, though, squashing me to the ground.  I couldn’t believe what I was doing.  Gasping for a last breath of the only life I had known, breathing in perhaps some of my last Province A air, I put my head down and solidly trekked to the tall mirrored skyscraper and blasted through its shiny front doors.  The lobby was empty, and as I searched around, I remembered the chute that Dove and I had taken up to the top story.  I punched in the number and waited as my stomach leaped into my throat.  The great plan I had formed squirreled incoherently in my mind, and suddenly I wasn’t so confident.

What if he turned me away?  I shook it off, remembering the same feeling the night I had shown up at my dad’s apartment. I was taken in with open arms then.  But could it happen twice? 

I reached the twenty-seventh floor and walked out of the chute, satchel in hand.  Hoping I wouldn’t be noticed, I found Garment’s door and tried to open it, but it refused to budge when I pressed the button next to it.  I looked around for something.  Anything. 

There was another button by the door, this one green.  Probably a buzzer.  I pushed it as hard as I dared, glancing over my shoulder for the guard, hoping he hadn’t followed me.  Or a different guard or hall monitor who might want to start asking me questions, like why I wasn’t in school and why I was bleeding and why I probably reeked of alcohol. I glanced around the lavish corridor, tapping my foot impatiently. I waited.  Nothing happened.

I pushed the buzzer again, moving my eyes around the poorly lit hall.

“Who is it?” a female voice finally asked.  I recognized the voice, but she was the last person I wanted to talk to.

Letting out a sharp breath, I answered. “It’s Rain.  Rain 24-A.  You know, Dove’s step-daughter.”  Even though Dove called me her daughter and I was more than happy to let her be my mother, I wasn’t sure if Blush would recognize me as Dove’s real daughter.

“Go away.”  It was a simple directive, to the point.  A typical Blush answer.

“I can’t,” I breathed, biting my lower lip again.  If I kept this up, I wouldn’t have a lip left.  I heard a scuffling and then the door swished open.

I let out a breath I wasn’t even sure I had been holding. Standing before me was just the man I wanted to see, and he was holding his long arms wide open for me. 

“Rain, daaarlinnnng,” he drawled.  I raced into his arms and he enfolded them around me, an octopus of love. For the first time since I left home I felt safe, even if I knew it was only for a fleeting moment. 

Garment’s voice warbled in my ears as he held me away from him, examining me.  He fluttered his heavily ringed hands.  “Dove buzzed me and said you were here on a school trip.  Magnificent!”

He gently turned me around and led me to the back of the room, and we entered a door.  The same door that Sergio had entered when Dove and I had been there before.   

The door whirred shut behind us and I found myself in a drab, dark room.  It was such a contrast to the heavily decorated fashion designer’s front office that I was taken aback.  The paint on the walls was a deep black and the room was bare except for two ugly beige couches on either side of the walls.  

Garment clapped his hands, and some lights came on, but they were dim.  I looked up, and just then I saw the Administration cameras fold back into the wall, so much like how the Clinic tucked S.L.A.G.s into tubes in the wall that I dropped my jaw in surprise.

Garment’s voice changed immediately and he narrowed his eyes while crossing his arms over his thin chest.  “Okay, little butterfly,” he began in his sing song, drawled out voice.  “I covered for you out there.  I’m pretty sure that Dove thinks you’re at school.”  He lifted his perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “Now, spill the beans.” My eyes moved up to the cameras that had magically disappeared, and he seemed to read my mind.  “No worries, daaarling.  There are no cameras here.  I have them overridden to display the front office.  How else do you think we can keep Sergio here?”  With that, he laughed, his high-pitched voice resounding throughout the dark room.  “Gods, I don’t know why more people don’t do it.  Silly sheep.”  He giggled at his words then abruptly stopped, crossing his long arms over his chest.  He was wearing thin, red velvet slacks and a long, knee length shirt that was ivory colored with no embellishments.  He wore no make-up, which disarmed me for a moment.

I stared into his blue eyes, the ones that had once reminded me so much of Orion’s.  Garment’s eyes in return were gentle, searching.  His lips curved up slightly, and I knew I had to tell him why I was there.

“I…I need help.”  I swallowed hard and the words left my mouth, flying off of my tongue and landing in his lap.

“I’m…I’m pregnant.”

Chapter 8

Haven

“Oh, little one…”  Garment reached out and pulled me toward him, his stiff gauzy shirt brushing crisply against my cheek.  In his arms, I fell apart, unraveled piece by horrid piece. The hidden box that had been locked up so tightly inside of me opened up like a secret making the rounds at Citizen School.  Once the tears came, I couldn’t stop them, wetting Garment’s shirt with huge, wet puddles…pregnant, abandoned, pathetic tears.

Garment brushed his hands over my hair.  “Shhhhh.  Shhhhh,” he cooed, so much like Dove that a lump formed in my throat.  Maybe about the fifth one that day.  Shit, I was tired of falling apart.

Finally, he pulled away from me and gazed at me tenderly, a hint of sternness lurking behind the cobalt rims of his eyes.  When he spoke, his words were both calming and stiff, a dichotomy I struggled to separate.  “Butterfly, they will track you here.  You know that?”  He stroked my cheek gently with his long, ringed fingers.  If it had been any other man I would have been angry, insulted.  But not with Garment.  Definitely not him.

I nodded, then painfully pulled up the sleeve of my shirt, revealing my bandaged forearm.  “I cut it out,” I simply told him like I might have trimmed my hair or sliced my finger on something sharp. 

“Holy mother of God!” Garment exclaimed, a wisp of his breath cooling my hot forehead.  But my lips curved up into a half-smile when I saw the distasteful expression on his face.  It was as if I had murdered Ruler 9 himself.  He cast his eyes down on me, waiting to speak for a moment.  When he did, I was proud for some arcane reason, as if I had actually found a cure for S.L.A.G. or something more important than just cutting out my tracker-timer. 

“You tough little butterfly,” Garment gushed.  He inhaled deeply before speaking again, his piercing blue eyes sparkling proudly at me.  Waving his arm in the air, he asked, “Where is that nasty little thing now?”

My answer was quick, to the point. “In my glider. It’s parked in the garage downtown.”

Garment scrunched up his face, and his eyes seemed to disappear into the folds of his skin.  “Well, that was smart of you.”  Then he waved his hand in the air dramatically as he leaned in closer to me, a true conspirator.  “Did anyone see you?” His breath was sweet and minty and cool.  I pressed into it, a safe wall that blew itself around me.  But my body ached, as though someone was squeezing me from every angle and the small room was becoming unbearably hot.  To top it off, my arm was pulsing in pain, an invisible hammer smacking it in a rhythm that was worse than Ivy’s heavy death music.

As the room seemed to swim in waves, I told Garment about the guard and the lie I told him about being on a school field trip.  I also informed him about the woman who faked getting her bag stolen so the guard would be distracted.  In my murky mind, I still couldn’t understand why she did that.

“Oh, dear,” he sighed.  “The slimy bastards will be searching for you. Soon.”  He held his hand up to his mouth, again, deep in thought.   

My arm was fiercely burning by now, and I just wanted to lie down and fall asleep, have somebody else take over. It seemed like I had made a thousand hard decisions in the past twenty-four hours, and I was drowning in the fluids of my own brain.  Still, I had to make one thing clear.

I found Garment’s eyes in the dimness, pausing for a moment. When I spoke, I left no room for argument. “They aren’t killing this baby.  I don’t care if it’s S.L.A.G. or not.” I crossed my arms over my chest, prepared for a fight, ignoring the poisonous pain that spit into my wound.

“Oh, butterfly, I completely agree with you.”  He smiled sweetly down at me.  “We’re just going to have to hide you out for a while, that’s all.”

Garment’s words were all I needed to hear.  I choked, almost falling to the ground with relief.

I had a place to stay. 

I had a place to stay. 

I said the words over and over in my mind as Garment wrapped his arms around me again and patted my back.  “Poor little butterfly,” he soothed.

I started to cry all over again, feeling like a stupid girl.  I sniffed back the tears and Garment set me gently on one of the couches just as Sergio entered with a tray of food, a plate full of meats and cheeses, and all sorts of fattening foods we weren’t allowed to have in Province A.  As usual, Sergio said nothing, but he did stare at me as if he knew more than someone who was S.L.A.G.  Maybe he remembered me from that day not too long ago when he cut my hair. 

Garment sat solidly next to me, waving his hands over the platter of food.  “You look like hell, butterfly.”  He squished up his face.  “My mother always said there isn’t a problem that a good meal and a night’s sleep can’t cure.”

“I do feel shitty,” I confessed.  “I’m tired. But I’m not really hungry.” My stomach performed a perfect flip flop at the mention of food, a see saw of nausea that felt like crashing ocean waves.

“Daarling, you reek of alcohol, your arm is spurting blood, and you have another life to think about now.”  Garment raised his eyebrows at me, a surrogate parent I chose on my own accord, the second one in a matter of months. His voice was as stern as I had ever heard it.  The lyrical tone that always made him unique, more special than just a fashion designer, was now gone.  “Butterfly, if you’re going through with this you muuusssst eat. That little baby needs nutrients.” It was a direct order, and I dared not argue with him. I nodded in agreement. “Then we’ll get you cleaned up and form a plan.” Garment reached over and daintily grabbed a cracker, nibbling on it like a squirrel in one of the few parks we had left in Province A.

“Okay,” I hesitantly agreed.  I reached for some cheese and salami, folded them into my mouth and actually savored the rare, exotic flavors.  The food went down easier than I thought.

A bell rang from far away, and Garment stood up as if a puppet had pulled strings on his long arms and legs.  “A customer,” he whispered confidentially to me through the side of his mouth while raising his eyebrows.  “I’ll be back in a flash, sweeeetie.”  He reached down and kissed the top of my head and rushed off in typical Garment fervor, leaving me all alone in the dark room with Sergio, who sat placidly on the other couch. 

My stomach was full, my arm felt like a fire was burning inside of it, and I was suddenly so tired, my eyelids felt like there were hundred pound weights on each one.

I laid down on Garment’s ugly couch and instantly fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter 9

Blush

When I woke up it was Blush who was perched in a chair beside me, not Garment.  I sat up groggily, rubbing my eyes.

“So, you got yourself into some trouble, huh?” she roughly asked me.

I waited a minute to reply, afraid of the scolding I knew I would get. “Yeah.” My stomach was heaving and I thought I might toss up the rich food I had ingested before I fell asleep.

She scowled at me. “Does Dove know?”

I bit my lower lip.  My heart was breaking over more than just losing Orion.  Leaving my family was almost harder than Orion’s strange disappearance. I met her eyes. “No,” I answered honestly, afraid of her response.

Blush shot me an even nastier look, her pale hazel eyes a weapon, one of the many she held in her personal arsenal.  “Why not?  She would have helped you,” she snipped.

“I know…but I didn’t want to get her in trouble.”

Blush tipped her head back and roared, a deeper laugh than Garment’s. Then she soberly glared at me.  “But you don’t mind getting us in trouble?”

I had never thought of it like that.  “I...I figured you already had Sergio…that you would know how to hide me.”  I faltered, unsure of myself around the outspoken woman who seemed to hate me. 

I continued, though. “Just for a while.  I…I’m going to Province K, to the Asters.”  I folded my arms over my chest, then winced in pain, my arm blazing with rabid heat. I tried to act casual, though, hoping that Blush wouldn’t notice, smoothing out my expression with a practiced look of boredom. 

Blush and I had never been fast friends, and I didn’t want to make things worse between us. I also knew how protective she was over Sergio.  Being threatened by her once was enough for me. “It won’t be for long,” I told her in my most grown up, ready to be a mother voice. “I just need to lay low for a bit.  Then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Holy shit,” she responded, then whistled through her nose.  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”  She sucked air into her lungs, roughly twisting her head to the side.  “Do you know anything about the Asters?”

I stuck my chin out stubbornly.  “Yes,” I answered.  “I’ve done a lot of research on Province K.”

She snorted, her plain face constricting into an angry ball. “As if that would help.”  I was getting ready to say something snarky to her, having had my fill of her comments and general nasty attitude.  The words were circling in my mind, a whirlwind of sharp, jagged verbs, mostly telling her where I thought she needed to go.  But her voice softened.  “Let me see that arm.”

I pulled my arm into my body, as if to protect it. “Why?  Like you care or something?”

Blush scowled at me again, her words a contrast to her expression. “Yeah.  I care.” 

She tipped her jaw upward, defiantly, so much like Ivy did, that I was startled for a brief moment.  Then she tossed her head, her plain brown hair jumping away from her face, a spider web of brown threads

She hesitated, then, and a faraway look peeled into her eyes.  Her words were kinder, dough that she was kneading around in her brain until it was smooth.  “I lost a baby, once,” she whispered coarsely, as if the words were physically hurting her voice box.

I took in a sharp breath, meeting her eyes.  “Oh, I…I’m so sorry.”  My breath felt hot, heavy,

rancid.  I pursed my lips together as pain shot through my head, a bullet that threatened to blast it right off of my shoulders.

After pausing again, more words rushed from Blush’s mouth, a turbulent river flowing out of her very insides.  I started to figure out that maybe Blush didn’t act like I was the only person that she hated.  Maybe it was everybody, a front she put up to protect herself, not so different than the imaginary plastic shield I placed around my own heart to protect me from the pain that still smacked over losing Orion.

Her voice was low, a strange new feminine tone added, softening her features, everything about her.  “I was living in a different Province back then, and the Administration aborted my baby.  Thought it would have S.L.A.G. so they put me under…and…”  Blush twisted her head away from me, but she continued to speak.  “I was six months along.”  She furrowed her brow.  “It was a tiny, perfect girl.”  They let me hold her for a few minutes before they took her away.” Blush inhaled sharply. “I know one thing.  She wasn’t S.L.A.G.”

A small tear dripped out of Blush’s eye.  Roughly, she swiped it away, turning from me, obviously embarrassed.  “They didn’t even say they were sorry.  Just sent me home.”

“What did you do?”

Blush took in about ten breaths, as if she was cleansing her soul. “I went to Dove. We worked together back then…in the same law office. She changed my name, my identity.  Called her brother, and he took me in.”  Her eyes landed on me, somewhat harshly.  “Same as you.”

“She can do that?” Thoughts raced in my mind, sprinting to a finish line I couldn’t find.  Maybe I could still go to Dove and have her help me, still be with my family. 

Blush rubbed her hand through her dull brown hair. “A long time ago she could.  I don’t know if she can any more.”  She reached for my arm and pulled my sleeve back, carefully unraveling the bandage that I had hastily wrapped in my post-drunken state.  I let out a sharp gasp from the pain.

She dropped the bandage in a trash bin and carefully examined my forearm, cocking her head to the side. 

“This looks awful.”  She lifted her head, and I could decipher worry in her eyes.

“That bad?”  I squeaked out, my arm pulsing as if it had a life of its own.

She nodded her head slowly up and down.  “Yeah.  Damn it all to hell.”