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India, Unknown Province 7 page

I bit my lip. “I’m late.”

“How late?”

“I don’t—I don’t really know. Time is sort of screwed up for me—maybe, maybe two weeks?” Or three.

“That’s pretty late,” Stella said quietly.

I said nothing.

“I’ve never been that late.”

I still said nothing. Apparently, whatever was going on with me wasn’t going on with her.

Stella’s expression quickly changed from curious to concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” But I wasn’t fine. I was a lot of things, but definitely not fine.

“You look weird . . . ,” she said.

I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I looked awful, was how I looked. My face was nearly white, and my lips were gray, and the shadows under my eyes were like bruises.

Stella didn’t look like this. Stella looked healthy. Normal. If she was different, like me, why didn’t I look more like her?

“You look like you’re going to pass out.” She glanced back at the door. “Should I get Jamie? I’ll get Jamie.”

I started to protest but the room began to spin, and I couldn’t speak and stand at the same time. I grabbed the sink, but my knees felt shaky, and I slid down to the floor.

 


BEFORE

London, England

AUNT SARAH KEPT HER PROMISE. She treated me as if I were her own child. Better, perhaps. She had always secretly wanted a daughter, she said, a girl who would be docile and gentle, unlike Elliot and Simon, rough young boys, always tumbling in the dirt and battling each other with sticks.

I dined with her at nearly every meal. She would brush and braid my hair, though I had a lady’s maid to do it for me. I was her Indian princess, she said, a gift her husband didn’t even know he had given her, to keep her company after his death. I spent nearly every moment with her as she taught me every rule.

Rules about what to eat and when and how. What to wear and how to dress. How to behave. How to address women, how to address men, how to address men of title, the differences among the servants, among the butler and valet and the different types of maids. She taught me whom I could be seen with, and what I could be seen doing.

We dined together in the morning, took calls together in the afternoon, and she taught me to dance and play cards in the evening before she retired for bed. I could never have imagined a life like this. I became accustomed to the tastes of rich foods prepared painstakingly, of clean linens that I did not myself have to clean. I took long walks with Aunt Sarah. I spent time with the little boys. And three times per week, in secret, the professor came to me during the day.

The first time I met him, I was startled by how familiar he seemed. He was dark and handsome, and I could have sworn I had seen his face before, but he made no mention of it, and it would have been rude if I had.

Mr. Grimsby  ushered him into the house without ceremony, and he bowed when I arrived. I bobbed a curtsy, and he smiled. We were to study in the library, Mr. Grimsby said, and showed the professor the way.

It was my favorite room in the house. I loved the smell, and the quiet, and the way shafts of light trapped little motes of dust. It felt like another world.



We sat down. “Well, Mara,” he said to me in English with just the faintest trace of a foreign accent. “Tell me everything you know.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Ask the wrong questions, and you will get the wrong answers. I will let you ask three of them before we begin our lessons.”

I had never been challenged so directly, not since arriving in London, at least, and I was perturbed by it. “Who are you?” I asked warily.

The professor smiled, exposing all of his white teeth. “I am a person. A human. A man. I have been a father and a son, a husband and a brother, and now I am your teacher. Is that really what you want to ask me?”

Frustrated, I blurted out, “Why do you look familiar?”

“Because we have met before. That is three. Now—”

“Wait! You never answered my first question,” I said as I crossed my arms over my chest.

The professor smiled again. “I know your name,” he said, “because Mr. Grimsby announced you before you walked in.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What’s your name?”

“There is power in a name. That is four questions, and three was our agreement, but for practical purposes, I shall answer. You may call me Professor. Now, let us begin.”

 

Most days the professor taught me about the world and its people. Which countries were at rest and which cities were at war. He taught me the history of the world and of the universe, about mathematics and science. But every now and then we would do something different. He would play cards with me, and not the way Aunt Sarah did. I never understood the rules of the game. He would have me cut the deck, and then he would lay out his cards, with strange numbers and pictures on them. Sometimes he would give me objects, like bird feathers or stones or, one time, even a sword, which he withdrew from his cane, and he would tell me to write stories about them. Other times he would give me pretend problems and ask how I would solve them. He never answered my questions, about the objects or cards or their purposes. He said I had asked my three questions, and had wasted them. In the future I would be more careful. On those days I hated him.

Every other day I was Aunt Sarah’s doll, to be dressed and played with and entertained. My own doll lay buried but not quite forgotten in the trunk I still kept beneath the skirts of my bed. I scarcely remembered the befores—my days spent with Sister beneath the hot sun, or nights with Uncle as he’d showed me the stars. I became an indoor creature, like Dash, the late Master Shaw’s foxhound, who had been relegated to the servants’ quarters since he’d taken an immediate disliking to me.

I watched my reflection change in the mirror above the marble fireplace as the seasons changed outside. The garden bloomed with roses, and I bloomed into womanhood. After Aunt Sarah’s year of full mourning ended, she began to talk of presenting me at court, so that she might begin her search for a suitable match for me.

She would not hear that I might not be considered by the greatest families in London because of my skin, or my lack of family and property. “You are fair enough, and your face is so lovely! With your full lips, your raven hair—and your eyes, so exotic! You are a rare beauty, Mara, and I will ensure that you have the grandest dowry—any man would be lucky to have you.” She fingered the locket of her husband’s hair that hung around her neck.

But the professor discouraged this idea. In fact he discouraged any mention or proposal of my being brought out into society. Aunt Sarah was not a meek woman, but he was persuasive, and he persuaded her for a time. But he could not talk her out of marriage.

I told him I did not mind. I saw ladies and gentlemen paired off together, sitting sweetly in Hyde Park. Why not me? I dared not say it to the professor, of course. He was not married himself. He did not believe it natural to have one partner for an entire lifetime. “Animals do not mate for life, and we are animals, no matter what anyone pretends,” he told me more than once.

But I was presented at court anyway, and engaged six months later. My fiancé was sweet and shy, and he loved me. Our engagement lasted three months. He died on our wedding night, just before dawn.

 


JAMIE’S EYES WIDENED AS HE saw me and Stella approach. I was too shaky to stand on my own. Stella cut him off before he could ask any questions.

“Mara’s sick,” she said, “and you’re driving.” She tossed Jamie the keys and helped me into the backseat.

I was grateful for the help, but I hated it. I couldn’t even muster up a proper amount of self-loathing about it, though. I was too tired and too scared and too sick to do anything but lean back in the seat and close my eyes as Jamie drove.

It was early in the afternoon when we reached Savannah an hour later. We pulled into a hotel parking lot not far from the highway.

After we got our keys, Stella said to Jamie, “I need to talk to Mara. You go ahead.”

“Can it wait?” I asked. “I have to go to the bathroom.” I didn’t need to, actually, but I wasn’t up to talking about what she would want to talk about. I just wanted to sleep. Really sleep. In a real bed.

“Didn’t you just go?” Jamie asked.

I threw him a look, and he handed me a key to my room.

Stella followed me in, but I escaped into the bathroom immediately and turned on the faucet to hide the fact that I wasn’t peeing. But I soon heard voices outside—Jamie was in our room too, for some reason. Damn it.

After I could no longer justify hiding, I washed my face, took a few deep breaths, and opened the door.

“My key’s not working,” Jamie said. He looked from me to Stella. “Um, am I interrupting something?”

“Yes,” Stella said as I said, “No.”

“We have to talk about this, Mara,” Stella said.

Now I was just angry. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Mara’s period is three weeks late,” Stella said to Jamie.

“Awkward,” Jamie mumbled as he backed up toward the door. “I’m, uh, going—elsewhere.”

“We can’t ignore this, especially not if—”

“I’m not pregnant,” I said to her, answering the question she was going to ask eventually.

She raised her eyebrows. “You’ve been feeling dizzy. Emotional.” She ticked off each word with a finger. “Nauseous—”

“Jamie’s nauseous. We’re all fucking nauseous. And we’re all fucking emotional.”

“Not like you,” Stella said. “When I was first—when I first noticed what was happening to me, when I first started hearing voices, I thought I was crazy. I didn’t know what was going on but I knew something wasn’t right. I was confused all the time, my body felt weird, like it belonged to someone else. I stopped eating because it was the only thing that helped. But then I started taking drugs. And the drugs helped. I stopped hearing voices. I started eating again. And even at my worst—and my worst was pretty bad—I wasn’t like you.”

She didn’t say it, but I knew she was thinking about what I’d done to Dr. Kells. To Wayne. To Mr. Ernst.

I had nothing to say to that, so all I said was, “I’m not pregnant, Stella. I’m a virgin! Jesus.”

“As far as you know,” she muttered.

“What was that, Stella?” I asked sharply.

“As far as you know,” she said, louder this time. “You were out of it at Horizons. We all were. They did all kinds of tests in that place. What if—”

No. “No, Stella.”

“But what if—”

“Noah wasn’t there,” Jamie cut in.

“He was at one point,” Stella said. “But what if—”

No.

Stella swallowed hard before she spoke. “What if it’s not Noah’s?”

It felt like her words had sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. One look at Jamie told me he felt exactly the same way.

I couldn’t speak, but I could shake my head.

“You won’t know unless you take a test,” Stella said.

I couldn’t believe this conversation was even happening. How did I get here? I racked my broken brain, desperately searching for a memory, any memory, that could help me answer that question. I forced myself to think about Horizons. They’d done things to me there. But what things?

Stella couldn’t be right. I felt sick. I was going to be sick. I covered my mouth with my hand and rushed to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I threw up.

I crouched on the tile floor, shaking and sweating. I felt the pressure of her hands on my head as she swept my damp hair back.

“It’s still early,” Stella said gently. “You could terminate it.”

I threw up again.

“You need to know, Mara. One way or the other.”

“Oh, God,” I moaned.

When there was nothing left in my stomach, I stood up and washed my face. I brushed my teeth. I said good night to Jamie and Stella. My voice sounded robotic. Alien. It didn’t sound like it even came from me, but that wasn’t really surprising anymore. My body didn’t feel like mine anymore. Sometimes I did things I didn’t want to do, or said things I didn’t want to say. Sometimes I felt like crying for no reason, or snapped at the people I cared about for less. I’d been so worried for so long that I was losing my mind, but now it felt like I was losing my body. I felt like a stranger.

What if I was carrying one?

 


OUR NEXT STOP SHOULD’VE BEEN DC, but I made that difficult.

I couldn’t stand being in the car. I was sweating through my clothes, even though Jamie had made the air as cold as it would go. Every hour or so I got sick, and I didn’t always have control over it. Stella and Jamie took turns at the wheel so one of them could sit with me in the backseat.

It was a quiet drive—no one said anything about the night before, least of all me, but by some tacit agreement, Jamie stopped in the middle of the eight-hour drive to switch cars and hole up at another hotel, for my sake, no doubt. Jamie persuaded the owner of a convertible to lend it to us, thinking the air might make me feel less nauseous. After the owner tossed him the keys, Jamie threw up himself behind a bush.

He was getting more and more confident about using his ability, but I still caught him digging his nails into his palms sometimes, or biting his lip until it bled. Perversely, it made me feel better to see him struggle too. Like I was less of a freak among freaks. Maybe what we had was an illness, like Kells had said. Sometimes I caught Stella watching me nervously, like I might be contagious.

But Jamie never acted that way. We talked about it later that night, in my room in one of the motels we’d found clustered by the highway exit, while Stella went off in search of something more palatable than fast food.

“I think Stella’s a little scared of you,” he said, while I changed for bed in the bathroom.

“And you’re not?” I called out.

“Of you? You have the soul of a kitten.”

I popped my head out of the bathroom. “A kitten.”

“An assassin kitten.”

I laughed for the first time in I couldn’t remember how long. The thing about Jamie was that he didn’t seem disturbed enough, sometimes, by the things I’d done. He’d say they were fucked up the way he would point out that the sky was blue. Just a fact, like anything else. But the things I did never seemed to really bother him. I never seemed to bother him. In some ways it made him easier to talk to than even Noah.

“So, what are we going to do with you?” Jamie asked.

“In what sense?”

“In the sense that you go from zero to homicidal in sixty seconds.”

“I’m passionate.”

“You’re manic,” Jamie said.

“Promise to put me out of my misery before an alien erupts from my stomach?”

“No lie, I think Stella thinks that’s a thing that could actually happen. You scare the filling out of her doughnut.”

“I’m not pregnant. Not with an alien or anything else.”

Jamie quickly changed the subject. “You know, I’ve been thinking—”

“How novel.”

“About your ability,” he said, ignoring me. “Have you ever tried to, like, make good shit happen?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“Nothing.” I paused, wondering if I should ask something I’d been thinking about for a while. Oh, why not. “Do you ever think about Anna?”

“Nope,” Jamie said without hesitation, which is how I knew he was lying. But I understood why. Sometimes lies are easier to believe.

Jamie changed the subject. “It’s too bad you can’t just, like, will yourself to win the presidency.”

“At seventeen?”

“Whatever. I just mean—if the stuff you imagine could actually happen, you could change the world.”

“I don’t think I’d want to be president.”

“Really?” Jamie looked incredulous. “God, I’d love it.”

“Why?”

“Someone has to be leader of the free world. It might as well be me.”

“And what would you do with your great power? It comes with great responsibility, you know.”

“New world order,” he said, grinning. “The freaks shall inherit the earth.”

“I don’t think that’s how democracy works.”

“Democracy is overrated.”

“Spoken like a true dictator. If only we could trade abilities.”

“I have an inappropriate amount of enthusiasm for that idea.”

“This whole conversation is inappropriate.” Which was probably why I was enjoying it.

Jamie frowned. “We need some music up in this joint.” He looked around. “Is that Noah’s laptop?”

I had opened his bag, as well as mine, and the computer was sticking out. “Yeah.”

“Have you . . . looked at it?”

I shook my head. “Password protected.”

“You can’t crack it?”

“Nope.”

“Can I try?”

I shrugged. If I hadn’t had any luck, he probably wouldn’t either.

Less than five minutes later his eyes closed and his face fell. As I predicted.

“No luck?”

“No, I got it,” he said. His voice was weird.

“Really?” I felt a nervous thrill in my stomach. “What was it?”

Jamie hesitated before he spoke. Then he said, “Marashaw.”

I couldn’t breathe. I dropped my head between my knees, but when Jamie put his arm around me I flinched.

I had not seen that coming. It was sweet, too sweet for Noah. If he were there, I’d make fun of him for it, tease him about doodling my would-be married name on his binder.

But he wasn’t there. I couldn’t tease him. Suddenly it was just too much. I reached for the laptop.

“Should I go?” Jamie asked. I nodded, not looking at him. I heard him leave the room.

My fingers trembled as I poked around in Noah’s files, looking for something, anything that might tell me where to find him, but nothing stood out. Finally I just started opening things at random. What I found made me wish I hadn’t.

It was in a folder labeled MAD:

Gather my leaves,

 

Twist them into crowns

 

Let me be the king of your forest

 

Climb on my branches,

 

I will seek out your hide

 

As you sleep beneath the shade

 

Of my giving tree

 

I held my breath as I read poem after poem that Noah had written for me—the old Velveteen Rabbit one, a new Lolita one, and even the terribly filthy Dr. Seuss one. My hands shook and my throat ached but I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. I felt angry instead. If he could have been with me, he would have been, which meant he couldn’t. I would make whoever kept him from me pay.

I turned on the bathtub faucet and closed the door, breathing in the steam as the tub filled with water, trying to calm myself down. I let myself imagine Noah in there with me as I undressed.

I thought about him lifting his shirt over his head, the way his muscles would tense beneath his skin. How he would climb into the tub first, wearing nothing but a smirk as he waited for me to join him. I closed my eyes and smiled, but when I opened them, I bit back a scream.

Noah was there, in the tub. The water was red with his blood. His veins were slashed open at the wrists.

I bolted from the bathroom, threw on clothes. I snatched Noah’s laptop from the bed and carried it with me to Jamie’s room. I pounded on the door.

“Put on some music,” I said the second he opened it, thrusting the laptop into his hands.

“Mara—”

“Just do it, Jamie.” Thoughts roared in my brain, none of them good. I had to drown them out.

“You don’t think he’d mind?”

I shook my head without looking up.

I heard Jamie scroll through his music. “What are you in the mood for?”

I closed my eyes. “Something we can dance to.”

Five minutes later I heard the intro for “Sympathy for the Devil.” Jamie stepped up onto the bed and held out his hand. I took it and plastered a smile on my face, but it didn’t reach my eyes. He kicked off his shoes, and I kicked off mine.

When the door opened, we didn’t even hear it—we were screaming along with Mick Jagger at the top of our lungs. It felt good.

“Hate to interrupt,” Stella said, eyeing us both, “but dinner has arrived.”

“Oh, thank God.” Jamie jumped off the bed. “I’m starving.”

The smell of whatever was in the plastic bags she’d brought made my stomach growl. “Me too.” I peered into the bag Stella was holding. “What did you get?”

“Mexican,” she said.

“Perfect.” I plucked a foil-covered burrito out of the bag. We ate together with Noah’s playlist still playing. We talked and laughed about nothing, because if we didn’t, we would give up. Before she and I left Jamie’s room, Stella handed me a plastic bag. “I bought this for you,” she said as she opened the door.

“Um, thanks?”

She was already walking away, and waved at me without turning around. I looked into the bag.

It was a pregnancy test.

 


I LOOKED AT IT, CRADLED in the plastic bag telling me to HAVE A NICE DAY!, but I couldn’t even seem to take it out to read the instructions. I saw the scene unfold in my mind: me in the bathroom, fumbling to open the package and dropping the instructions on the sodden tile floor. Picking them up and trying to read the blurred letters. Sitting on the toilet, practically forcing myself to pee on the stick. And then, after, waiting for fate to hand down my sentence. I just couldn’t do it.

Stella and Jamie knew I hadn’t taken the test, and the atmosphere in the thousandth stolen/borrowed car was dark and uncomfortable. Every time I gagged, Stella and Jamie exchanged a knowing glance, which made me want to kill them, which made me feel even sicker. I caught my reflection in the mirrored entry to the Georgetown hotel Jamie checked us into. I looked undead. I was mildly surprised no one had tried to behead me.

“Just wait,” the girl in the mirror said back.

“Shut up.”

Jamie and Stella both turned to look at me. Guess I’d said that out loud.

 

As soon as I’d dropped my things in my room, Jamie knocked on my door. He brushed past me and then flung himself onto my bed. “Mara, dear, hand me that menu?”

“Make yourself comfortable,” I said, tossing it to him.

“I’m ordering room service,” Jamie said.

I dropped into an armchair. “It’s not even six.”

“I’m a growing boy. Leave me alone.” Jamie changed the TV channel. “Oh, a Tarantino marathon!”

I eyed the television. “Pulp Fiction? Not my favorite.”

“Blasphemy.”

“I prefer Kill Bill.”

“Hmm. Acceptable,” Jamie said with a nod. “Ugh, I can’t order what I want until seven. Bastards.” He punted the remote, and it bounced off the mattress.

“Temper, temper.”

“Pot, meet kettle. Where’s the minibar?”

I pointed to the other side of the room.

“Fetch me something?”

“Fetch yourself.”

Samuel L. Jackson was reciting the last bit of his Ezekiel 25:17 monologue on the flatscreen TV: “And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger, those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers.”

Jamie blocked my view. “You didn’t take it, I’m guessing?”

“Take what?” I asked, watching John Travolta and Sammy empty their clips into that sad guy.

“The, uh, test.”

“The—oh.” The pregnancy test. Before I could even answer, Jamie’s focus was diverted.

“Oh, hello there.” Jamie tossed a little black cardboard box at me just as Samuel was saying, “And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.”

I caught it even though I wasn’t looking, and turned the box over. “What is this?”

“It’s, like, a sex kit.” Jamie ripped open a bag of Skittles and tossed a handful into his mouth.

I threw the box back at him. “You’re more likely to need this than me.”

“Since you’re incubating an alien fetus, you mean?”

“There. Is. No. Fetus. And I’m a virgin. Still. Which I believe I’ve told you already. Several times.”

“I don’t think Stella believes you,” Jamie said. “And I can’t entirely blame her. It strains credulity to imagine Noah could avoid such temptation.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Yes I am. You just have a crappy sense of humor. God, only you could manage to get pregnant without even getting to have sex first.”

“My life does seem to be uniquely shitty lately.”

“I’ll give you that,” Jamie said. “But really, though—why haven’t you done it yet?”

The best defense is a good offense. “Why haven’t you done it yet?”

“I’m saving myself for marriage,” Jamie said, chewing openmouthed.

“Really?”

“Yes. Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. We’re not talking about me. Did you— I mean, do you want to? Have sex with Noah? Current predicament aside?”

I noticed Jamie’s switch from past tense to present, but ignored it. “Of course,” I said quietly.

“So what stopped you? Current predicament aside.”

I wondered how to explain what had kept me and Noah apart even before Horizons. What I was afraid I might have done to him. What the fortune-teller had told me and what part of me still believed.

“I was afraid . . . I’d hurt him.”

Jamie quirked an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“Ha-ha, hilarious.”

“Seriously, though. You can tell me.”

I was embarrassed, putting the kissing conundrum into words, worrying Jamie might think I was crazier than I actually was, which, given the circumstances. But he listened intently, and didn’t mock me when I was finished.

“You think it’s just kissing?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve kissed Noah before, obviously—”

Obviously. He could never be that much of a saint.”

I ignored him. “And we did notice that something—happened. I think maybe it’s connected to my emotional state or whatever—like, I don’t know if it would happen with just a peck on the cheek, because—”

“Because there’s no intensity.”

“Right.”

“So you could probably kiss me or Stella and nothing would happen.”

“Stella would think I was trying to bite her. She’d mace me.”

Jamie cracked a grin. “God, that’s so accurate. It makes sense, though, the kissing thing? Like, if you stray out of your stable emotional range, something changes with your ability. Excess energy or something.”

“So a peck on the cheek wouldn’t do anything,” I said.

“Probably not.”

I planted a kamikaze kiss on Jamie’s cheek.

“FUCK,” he shouted, wiping it off. “What if you killed me!” He threw a Skittle at my face. It hit my forehead.

“Ow!”

“Taste the rainbow, bitch.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

“I am going to be a baby. I am going to lock myself in the bathroom and cry now, in fact.” Jamie did go into the bathroom, and he did lock the door. Whether he cried, who knows.

I heard the toilet flush and the water run, and when he opened the door, he said, “I left something on the counter for you.”

“I’m . . . afraid to ask.”

“You really should take it.”

“Are we talking about the pregnancy test again? Because, no.”

“Whatever the result is, you have to know. We’ll figure it out, but we can’t pretend this isn’t happening.”

“I will admit to deriving a positive psychological benefit from your using the word ‘we.’ ”

“Positive psychological benefit intended.”

I wanted to argue with him, but I couldn’t really. Jamie was right. If it was negative, I was like this for some other reason, and nothing changed. But if it was positive . . .

If it was positive, everything changed.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jamie said, popping another Skittle into his mouth. “If you think about it, you’ll change your mind. Like you said, you’re probably not . . . you know. But won’t it be a relief to know?”

Yes. It would be.

He turned around and not so gently pushed me into the bathroom. “Like ripping off a Band-Aid,” he said, closing the door behind me. “Just pee.”

I looked at the box. Jamie had already opened it, and the instructions were lying next to it, by the sink. I read them. Plus sign for positive, minus for negative. Easy enough. I ripped open the package and sat on the toilet. I could practically hear him outside the door, breathing.

I felt like a defendant, waiting for the jury to hand down its verdict. Seconds passed, or maybe minutes, before someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“I don’t hear peeing,” Jamie said mockingly.

“Eat me,” I muttered.

“What’s that?”

“Leave me,” I said louder. My voice was hoarse, and my bladder was shy. Or something. I couldn’t do it, not with him listening. I said so and told Jamie to leave. To my surprise, he did.


Date: 2015-12-17; view: 426


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