Flawed Page 5

  And then they take me away.

  Juniper screams at them to leave me alone, held back by Art, who doesn’t look much better. As they hold me under the arms and drag me away by the elbow, Juniper screams, “My sister! My sister!” They lead me down the steps of the bus and into their van, the sound of the whistles ringing in my ears.

  THIRTEEN

  BEFORE I WAS born, there was a great recession in this country; banks folded, the government collapsed, the economy was ravaged, unemployment and emigration soared. People were blindsided by what happened, and the leaders were blamed. The leaders should have known; they should have seen it coming. It was their bad judgment, their bad decisions that led to the country’s collapse. They were evil people; they had destroyed families and homes, and they were to suffer. They were the morally flawed people who had brought about our downfall.

  As a result, anyone who made the smallest error in judgment was immediately punished. These people were publicly ridiculed, held up as examples of failure, and forced to resign. They were named and shamed. They weren’t criminals, but they had made bad decisions. Society demanded leaders who would not learn from hindsight—leaders who would not make the mistakes in the first place. No second chances, no sympathy, no explanations allowed nor required. Anybody who had made mistakes in the past couldn’t take leadership roles in the future. And as hundreds of thousands of people marched on the government, it was decided that any person who made any error in judgment was to be rooted out of society entirely. Hindsight would be a thing of the past. Everybody would always—always—look ahead before it was too late, no mistakes made.

  Could perfection be bred? Many ways to achieve this were tried and tested, and what the government eventually settled on was Crevan’s Guild and its Flawed brandings. No matter what you do in your life, your Flawed title can never be removed. You hold it till death. You suffer the consequences of your one mistake for the rest of your life. Your punishment serves as a reminder to others to think before they act.

  I’m taken to a holding cell in the basement of Highland Castle and guided to a table upon which sits an information pack containing all the information about the Guild that I need to know. It has a chapter dedicated to the rules you must adhere to living as a Flawed. It even has a comprehensive section on the searing of the skin: the process and how to treat your brand afterward. I slam the pack closed and look around.

  The holding cells are pleasant; they are newly renovated. There are four total, two on each side of the room, separated by a walkway in the center, each one enclosed by bulletproof and soundproof glass. According to the information pack, the glass represents the transparency of the system, but I feel it is to prepare us for the lack of dignity coming our way and invasion into our lives. Each cell contains a table with four chairs, a single bed, a bathroom with real walls, and some randomly placed chairs should the desire for a holding-cell party take me. Everything is earthy tones, to make us feel like this is the most natural place in the world.

  Of the four cells, I am the only occupant. The two opposite me are empty; the one beside me had been occupied—I can tell from the clothes, the items of belongings scattered. I assume this person is in the courtroom now, awaiting his or her fate. The bathroom, thankfully, has solid walls, but it has been made so small that you can barely spend a minute in there before feeling suffocated. It is where I have run to cry, though I may as well have stayed here and done it in full view because my tearstained face and red eyes are a giveaway, and there’s nobody here to see me anyway.

  I have not had the opportunity to speak with anyone yet, to analyze, dissect, and discuss what has happened. I was registered at reception by a nice lady in a Whistleblower uniform, who introduced herself as Tina, and then I was brought to this room beneath the Clock Tower, where the Guild has its offices. I know from watching trials on television, seeing Pia on every live report following the accused from the Clock Tower, all the way across the cobblestoned courtyard, to the Guild court, heads down and being hurled abuse by the public, who come to boo and hiss and show their support for the Guild.

  I am definitely in shock. I must be. I cannot fathom how I can be here, me who doesn’t do anything wrong, who is a people-pleaser, whose every report card is filled with perfect As, whose boyfriend’s dad is the head judge of the Guild.

  I go through my actions on the bus again, over and over in my head. I go through them so much they start to blur, like an overplayed song. I think about what I did, what I should have done, what I could have done better. I become confused as to what actually happened. I watch it happen over and over in my head; it’s like staring at somebody’s face until that person eventually starts to look different. I sit on the bed, my back against the only solid wall of my cell, and push my head to my knees, hugging my legs. I don’t know how long I sit like this; it could be minutes, it could be hours, but my heart flits from calm to panic as I reason with myself.

  I can’t be Flawed. I can’t be Flawed.

  I am perfect.

  My parents say so, my teachers say so, my boyfriend and even my sister—who hates me—say so. My sister. I think of Juniper’s screams of defense as I was taken away, and my eyes fill. My big sister, who was flailing against the unmoving Art to get to me. I hope she’s okay. I hope they didn’t take her, too. She will be forced to say she didn’t agree with my actions, and I worry instantly. I don’t want to drag her into this. Who knows what Juniper will say? And what about Art? How is he feeling right now? Is he in trouble? Will his dad help me or never speak to me again? Will Art ever speak to me again? The thought of ever being without him makes me feel sick.

  Around and around it all goes.

  A door slams and I look up.

  Tina and a male guard escort a boy who looks about my age, maybe a little older. They pass my cell and take him to the one beside mine. I can tell by his familiarity with the place that he isn’t new here, unlike me—as I was being led in, I frantically looked around to examine my new surroundings. His T-shirt is covered in white powder, and so is his hair. There are splashes of it on Tina and the male guard, too, which confuses me. The boy is tall, broad. He has a bold, stubborn face, a guilty look. He’s young like me, but his face looks older.

  The fact that he is young makes me sit up. I want him to see me. I want to share a look, a glance, something to comfort him, and to comfort me. The guards aren’t as polite and gentle with him as they were with me, and this, selfishly, gives me hope that this has all just been a great big misunderstanding and I’ll be able to walk out of here as normal. I watch him, his mean, tough, bold face, and will him to look at me. I wonder what he has done. It can’t be a criminal act or he wouldn’t be here, but it must have been close. Whatever he has been accused of doing, I have no doubt that he has done it.

  He looks up at me once he steps into his cell and sees me through the transparent wall we share. My heart flips. Contact with somebody, for the first time in hours. But as quickly as he sees me, he looks away again and strides with his long, lean legs and sits with his back flat against the transparent divide, so that all I can see are his back muscles, rippling through his soiled T-shirt.

  Insulted, scared, and suddenly feeling even more alone, I sense the tears start again. They comfort me; they make me feel human and remind me that I am human, even in here, in this box within a series of boxes.

  The guards lock his door and leave. They disappear out the main door and I’m alone again, but this time with a boy who won’t look at me.

  The main door opens, and I see Mom, her face worried and frantic, and my dad, stern, wide jaw working overtime to contain himself. As soon as Mom sets her eyes on me, she becomes composed again, like she’s taking a walk in the park and enjoying her surroundings, so I know that it must be bad. When Dad sees me, his face collapses. He’s never been one to hide his feelings. Tina unlocks my cell door, and as they enter I rush to hug them both.

  “Oh, Celestine,” she says, voice laden with grief, as she
squeezes me tightly. “What on earth possessed you?”

  “Summer,” Dad says harshly, to which she reacts as if she has been slapped.

  I feel stung, too. The first real contact I’ve had since this happened and I was hoping for defense, for backup, not for an attack, not for my own mother to agree with them and point the finger at me. I knew that I was in trouble, but now it is really setting in.

  “Sorry,” she says gently. “I didn’t mean to, but it is just so out of character for you. Juniper told us what happened.”

  “It didn’t make any sense,” I say. “The whole thing defied logic.”

  Dad smiles sadly.

  “The man was coughing. Wheezing. He was about to pass out, probably die, and the fat woman and the broken-leg woman just kept on ignoring him! They were in his seat!” I’m talking quickly, leaning forward, in their faces, trying to make them understand. I’m almost pleading with them to see my side of the story, telling them how disgusting and unfair the entire thing was. I get up and pace. I start the story from the start, elaborating, maybe exaggerating, maybe the fat woman was fatter, maybe the coughs were more life-threatening, I try to get them to see what I saw, to say that they understand, that if they were in my shoes, they would have done the same. To tell me I am not Flawed.

  Dad is watching with tears in his eyes. He is struggling with all this. It is Mom who jumps up suddenly and grabs me by the shoulders. Surprised by her grip, I look around and notice that the guy in the cell beside me is no longer sitting with his back to me but is instead on his bed, where he can see us. I wonder if he has in some way understood what I said, if he read my lips, but Mom grips me tighter and turns my focus back to her.

  “Listen up.” Her voice is a low, urgent whisper. “We don’t have time. Judge Crevan is coming to see you in a few minutes, and you have to use every charm you’ve got. Forget everything we taught you. Right now, forget about right and wrong. This is for your life, Celestine.”

  I have never seen or heard Mom like this, and she’s scaring me. “Mom, it’s just Bosco, he’ll under—”

  “You have to tell him you were wrong,” she says urgently. “You have to tell him you know you made a mistake. Do you understand?”

  I look from her to Dad in shock. Dad is covering his face with his hands.

  “Dad?”

  “Cutter, tell her,” Mom says quickly.

  He slowly lowers his hands and looks so sad, so broken. What have I done? I crumple into Mom’s arms. She moves me to a chair at the table.

  “But if I tell Bosco I was wrong, it will mean admitting I’m Flawed.”

  Dad finally speaks. “If he finds out that you feel you were right to do what you did, then he will brand you Flawed.”

  “Don’t lie about what you did, but tell him you made a mistake. Trust me,” Mom whispers, afraid of being overheard.

  “But … the old man.”

  “Forget the old man,” she says sternly, so coldly, so devoid of all the love that I know her to have, that I don’t recognize her, and for that I don’t recognize the world. They are my roots, my foundations, and they sit before me now uprooted and saying things I never thought they’d say. “You will not allow a Flawed to ruin your life,” she says, and her voice cracks.

  We sit in silence as Mom tries to compose herself, to put the mask back on. Dad rubs her back smoothly, rhythmically, and I sit there, stunned. My thoughts are barely thoughts at all as they hop unfinished from one to the other over what they have just told me.

  They want me to lie. They want me to say that what I did was wrong. But to even tell a lie is to be Flawed. To gain my freedom, I must for the first time become Flawed. It doesn’t make sense. It is illogical.

  The main door opens, and Mom and Dad bristle. Judge Crevan is coming.

  FOURTEEN

  I NOTICE THE boy in the cell sit up, too. I see the flash of red before I see him. Judge Crevan is like a winged man with his floating bloodred cloak. I see his sparkling blue eyes and his blond hair, and I think of Art and I feel at home. He smiles at me through the glass, his eyes crinkling at the sides as they always do, and inside I relax. I feel safe.

  “Celestine,” he says as soon as Tina lets him into the cell. He flashes his perfect white teeth and spreads his arms, and as he does, he looks like he’s lifting his wings, about to take off. I run straight into them, and he closes his arms, the red robe wrapped around me. I feel protected. In his cocoon. It will be all right. Bosco will take care of me. He won’t let this go any further.

  As he hugs me, my cheek is pushed up against the rough crest on his chest. I am face-to-face with the Guild’s crest and motto, “Purveyors of Perfection.”

  He kisses the top of my head and releases me.

  “Right, let’s sit. We have a lot to discuss, Celestine.” He fixes me with one of his infamous stern gazes, and just as I always felt before, it looks comical, cartoonish. This is not the man I’m used to seeing in his house.

  I hide the nervous smile that is twitching at my lips. Laughing now would not be good.

  “Things are going to be very difficult for you over the next few days, but we’ll get you through them, okay?”

  He glances at Dad, who suddenly looks completely exhausted, and I think for the first time what he’s had to tell people at work. How can he run a news station when his own daughter is headline news?

  I nod.

  “You’ll have to listen to me and do as I say.”

  I nod again, feverishly.

  “She will,” Mom says firmly, sitting poker straight in her chair.

  Bosco looks at me to respond.

  “I will.”

  “Good. Now.” He takes out a tablet and taps and swipes his documents. “This nonsense on the bus this morning.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Art told me all about it.”

  I’m not surprised by this. Art wouldn’t have had a choice in the matter, and I am sorry again by how my actions have affected the people I love. I assume Art told him the truth. Art would never lie to his dad, but would he to protect me? I’m suddenly unsure of the story I am to tell, particularly after being told by my parents to lie.

  “Unfortunately, already there are people using your connection to Art to take advantage and undermine the work of the Guild. The minority, of course. You may be used as a pawn in their game, Celestine.” He looks at my parents and then back to me. “This is just extremely bad timing in light of the Jimmy Child verdict this morning, where people think I was too lenient. But, Celestine, you have always been one of my greatest supporters. You’re going to be just fine.”

  I smile, relieved.

  “I have my notes, but I want you to tell me what happened this morning.”

  I wonder what Art has said, but then I settle for the truth, hoping I’m not getting him into trouble. After all, there were thirty other people on the bus who will testify to seeing exactly the same thing. All I have to say is that I know I was wrong. That should be easy.

  “There were two ladies sitting in the Flawed seats. One had broken her leg and sat there because there was room to extend her leg, and the other was her friend. An old Flawed man got on the bus. He had nowhere to sit. He started coughing. He could barely stand. He was getting worse and worse. I asked the lady who didn’t have the broken leg—”

  “Margaret,” Bosco interrupts me, staring at me intently, his eyes moving from my eyes to my lips, narrowed in suspicion, analyzing my every word, every facial expression, every little movement. I concentrate on the story.

  “Right. Margaret. I asked her if she would move so he could sit down.”

  “Why?”

  “Because—”

  “Because he was disturbing the passengers on the bus, that’s why,” he interrupts. “Because his Flawed, disgusting, infectious cough was infecting the good people in our society, and you were concerned about them and yourself.”

  I pause, mouth open, unsure of what to say. I look at Mom and Dad. Mom is nodding coolly, and Dad’s blo
odshot eyes are focused on the table, not giving anything away. I don’t know what to say. This is not what I expected.

  “Continue,” Bosco says.

  “So she wouldn’t move, and eventually I called out for a doctor—”

  “To stop his disgusting condition from spreading,” he says. “You were thinking of the people on the bus. Protecting them from the dangers of the Flawed.”

  I pause.

  “Continue.”

  “So then I called for the driver to stop the bus.”

  “Why?”

  “To help—”

  “To get him off the bus,” he snaps. “To get rid of him. So that the air of your fellow passengers would be cleaner, wouldn’t be polluted. You are, in fact, a hero. This is what the people outside believe now. This is the story that Pia has been telling for the past two hours. People are gathering outside to see you, the hero who stood up to the Flawed.”

  My mouth drops and I look across at Dad, now understanding why he looks so shattered. Has he spent the whole morning spinning this story?

  “But there’s a problem,” Bosco says. “You helped him into a seat. A seat for the flawless. And that is where my colleagues and I cannot agree, and I have spent the past hour discussing it with them. We have failed to mention this part to Pia, but, of course, there are at least a dozen people on that bus who will come forward with the story. They probably even have video.”

  He looks at my dad again and my dad nods. He has received video already, something recorded on someone’s phone on the bus and sent directly into the news station. He’s probably spent the morning fighting for it not to be shown. He knows what will happen if it is.

  “Rest assured, your dad will do everything in his power to make sure that video doesn’t hit the airwaves.” It sounds like a threat.

  “I told you I’m doing everything that I can,” Dad says, looking him firmly in the eye.

  Bosco holds his stare; they look at each other coldly.