Women of War (48 page)

She and Amber are staring at me.

“We've been in existence ten years,” Amber says. “Do you know how many people have reintegrated? How many women we've helped return to their lives?”

“No.” I clutch my throbbing hand with my other one. “We're not supposed to know, remember. Government keeps statistics. Facts, figures, we're not about that. We're about healing.”

“So why not let people know the system? We can patent it or whatever so that they have to follow our rules. Let them know, so others can be helped.” Amber says this as if she's just thought of it.

But I know Carla's set her up to say it. Amber used to support me. Carla's been the advocate for letting the House's systems out. Carla thinks we can save the world.

“No,” I say, and turn my back to them.

They sit in silence for a long time. We're good at silence.

Finally, Carla says, “This girl, she hit you in home.”

I let out a small breath. “I don't have a home any more.”

“We all do,” Carla says. “I just thought yours was House. And I thought you had remarkable control. Every time a recruit infracts, I thought how impressive it was that you didn't kamikaze all over her. But you just did. Home to you isn't the House. It's the method. You think we're the only ones who can do this. Maybe you're the only one. Don't you?”

I reach for her before I even have a chance to think. Amber restrains me. She's strong. Not as strong as I am, but I'm not entirely gone. I let her hold me back.

I'm shaking this time.

“I should've seen it,” Carla says, more to herself than to me. “I should've realized it was the method, not the building.”

“Have you ever thought that I'm right?” My voice sounds harsher than I want it to.

“About what?” Carla asks. She's using her shrink voice. I hate that voice, all reasonable and calm and mommylike.

“About the method. What if we are the only ones?”

“Then other experiments'll prove it,” she says. “I think it is a mixture of personalities that makes this work. But I have to remind you, Wena. Our culture's good at personalities now. That's how they found us in the first place. Maybe we should give in. Maybe they'll use this for good.”

I shake myself free of Amber. She cringes.

So does Carla.

But I'm calm again. I have finally understood what I'm protecting.

“Yeah, they're good at personalities,” I say. “And for a while, government facilities'll use our methods. Then they'll find other uses. Our good work'll get twisted. We'll have created new kinds of monsters.”

“We won't,” Amber says.

“We need to keep something pure,” I say. “Just one thing. We have to hold one thing sacred. If we don't ...”

They're staring at me, but I can't finish. The words—those words—I said them just before I led my troop—my real troop—into the worst fight of our lives. The purity I was referring to then was our friendship, which I had thought to protect, because the training was that deep—I had to pick something, something to protect, something that elicited that deep, violent response ...

“Shit,” I whisper, and put down my head.

They're right. Carla and Amber are right. I've been hit at home, and I'm not rational.

But it feels like I am.

And that's the scary part.

 

We can agree on a few things: We're going to press charges against Davi and whoever's behind her. We're going to keep identities in the House private. And we're going to find someone to replace me, for a week, six months, a year.

As long as Carla can convince me to stay away.

She thinks it's not healthy for me to remain. The House has helped others, she says, but then I insist that they leave. They grow outside, and become real people.

I never have.

I'm not sure she's right, but the only way to prove her wrong is to step out into the world. And not for short ceremonies or speeches at VA Hospitals.

For some significant time. On my own.

The idea scares me and exhilarates me at the same time. And my shrink—my original shrink who approves of Carla's ideas—says those emotions are normal.

But I don't like normal. And I think Carla's wrong about a few things. I'm not protecting the method. I'm believing in our uniqueness.

I don't think anyone else can create the right environment. I don't think anyone else would know when to break the rules and when to enforce them.

I don't think anyone else can nurture like we do.

Only I don't admit that to Carla. She'd say I've got a mother complex that is part of the Elites distinctive psychology. She'd say I have to get it repaired.

I'm openminded enough to think that she might be right. But I'm wary enough to know that if she's wrong, we lose everything.

The House, our home, our community. The women we've been helping and the ones we haven't helped yet.

Fifteen years of success, based in part on my own particular pathology.

And I keep thinking the House has gone beyond potential. I'm not fighting for what might be.

I'm fighting for what is.

It's our last stand—and I seem to be the only one who knows it.