Page 85 of Longing for Liberty
“The other…?” I stopped myself, my heart falling as I realized what else might have happened to everyone—the thing that had happened to nearly half of our nation already. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked.”
I lay my head back down with my head faced away so he couldn’t see me trying to get my emotions under wraps. My eyes burned.
“Hey.” His voice was gentle as he nudged me.
“It’s okay,” I assured him, though it couldn’t be less okay. “You don’t have to tell me any more. I shouldn’t have been curious.” Shit, my voice was trembling.
“Liberty, look at me.”
No, no, no.
He lifted my shoulder, and when I turned my head, I knew he would see tears in my eyes. A flash of terror went through me until he cocked his head in sympathy and took my face. He made us both sit up.
“You can’t help how you were raised,” he said as if speaking to a child. “I’m fascinated by your over-educated mind, and I know you’ve been fed lies your whole life—lies that have probably made you feel guilty about your heritage—lies that made you think all kinds of people are equal, but that’s just not true.”
Oh. My. God.
I prickled all over, my hackles raised.
As he held my face in both of his hands, my tears dried up, and all of my emotions stopped. I felt the deep desire to yank away from his touch. To recoil all the way across the bed and out the door. Remaining still and allowing him to continue touching me, looking me in the eye after he’d spoken those words, was one of the most difficult things I’d ever done.
“I think I’m just tired,” I whispered, trying to smile.
“Okay, sweetheart.”
He turned off the light. We lay back, and he put an arm around my waist, pulling me so that I was the little spoon flush against his chest. I was worried that he could feel the fast pace of my heart, beating wildly, but he said nothing. He was almost immediately asleep, unbothered by our conversation, while I lay there feeling like I was trapped in a pit with a poisonous viper. I felt insufferably hot as his words grated my soul, leaving me achingly raw.
I had let this man bring me pleasure. I had given him the benefit of the doubt, even going so far as to hope that he might be good. Remembering how Jeremy told me not to romanticize him, I realized that if I hadn’t done exactly that, I wouldn’t have been able to get where I was right now. But the grace I’d given him before was gone now. Fitzhugh was just as horrible as Roan.
Each passing second, I got madder and madder, the shouting in my head like a roar over the sound of his deep breathing. And in that roar, the ashes inside of me jolted with agitation, and the wings lifted outward as my phoenix’s body uncurled, her vertebrae cracking upright and her legs straightening.
She shook off the ash to reveal vibrant colors: a rainbow flurry of paper lanters rising high to celebrate Asian cultures, a purple hijab wrapped around a smiling face, green tomatillos and chiles in the strong hands of a matriarchal Latina, an elegant red chifon hat worn by a Black woman walking into church beneath a pink sunrise, burnt orange pottery formed between the fingers of Native Americans, a blue butterfly landing on the arm of an immigrant in a strawberry field, the yellows of turmeric, saffron, and mustard seed thrown into a hot pan at a street vendor’s stall. All colors that had embedded themselves into my psyche as an American.
How could anyone in the United States of America not have felt the innately beautiful importance of all races of humanity? How could anyone take in those colors and feel threatened rather than inspired?
The gall, the absolute audacity of the Order of Mercy to tell themselves they were better and worthier. And not just to think and believe it, but to act on it. They killed so many. Separated families. The sheer terrorization. I couldn’t even wrap my brain around the damage they’d done because of the twisted, hateful beliefs of their superiority.
A scream of rage rose up inside of me, and I clenched my teeth together as tears streamed silently down my cheek. The phoenix in my soul rose to her full height, her wings spread wide, her head lifted to the skies. She was shackled in an ornate cage, but it was time for her to fly.
The resistance needed a distraction.
I made a decision in that moment, and the sheer clarity filled me with a peace I hadn’t felt since before the fall. I once again had a cause to live for. Before, as a mother, my purpose was to give life. Now, my purpose was to take life. Somehow. Someway. I would be the chaos.
I was going to kill Amos Fitzhugh.
No, fuck that.
I was going to kill all three of them.
FORTY
STATE NEWS: THE STATE CELEBRATES LOWEST FOOD-BORNE ILLNESS RATE IN HISTORY!
A senseof peace and power remained over me in the days that I worked and listened, and in the evenings as I passed along information to Kathy. I took note of every time he wore his gun, every time he removed it, and where he set it. I never once saw him remove the magazine of bullets.
It was always loaded.
So many times, when he was in the shower, I glanced at the gun on his side table and knew I could do it. But Amos, alone, was easily replaceable. It had to be all three or nothing. Losing them would send the order into a scramble, especially now that one of their primary elders was dead.
