Page 32 of Everything Under the Sun

“Please listen to me,” I said. “My sister, the blind girl you sent away, she’s sick. All I’m asking—”

“Sick in what way?” Atticus interrupted, his tone laced with suspicion. “It looked to me like she survived the worst of it. What are her symptoms?” Although The Fever had burned itself out three years ago, people feared it would come back.

Shaking my head, I pushed myself to my feet, wobbling a little without my hands free to steady myself on the way up.

“No, no,” I said, my bound hands out in front of me, “she doesn’t have The Fever anymore, sir, she is…mentally sick. Please, you have to understand, she”—I paused, not wanting to say it, not wanting to admit it to myself—“my sister is…a danger to herself.” I lowered my eyes.

Atticus turned his back and paced halfway toward the open window. His hands were folded on his backside, making him look refined. He stood motionlessly for a moment, and then turned again.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“My name is Thais Fenwick,” I answered right away, wanting to be cooperative. For Sosie’s sake.

“And where were you living before you were brought here?” he prompted.

“In the forest,” I said, my voice soft and shaky. “With my father and my sister.”

“Were there others?”

“Y-Y-Yes, sir,” I stuttered, looking at him looking at me. “We lived in a small town. But we were attacked and…everything was burned, a-and”—my trembling lips snapped shut, and my eyes strayed toward the floor again—“and my father was killed.” I couldn’t hide the heartbreak from my voice, although I tried.

“And what did you eat in this town in the forest where you lived with your father and your sister?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused, trying to recall what the last thing I ate was as my stomach rumbled. “We caught fish, and my father hunted. We grew vegetables, and sometimes we traded things with another town.”

“He’s asking if you’ve ever eaten human flesh,” Petra spoke up from the mattress.

“No-no-no-never!” I answered, my face twisted with horror.

Petra got up and came over to stand next to me.

“And you?” Atticus asked, looking at her.

“The same as her, sir,” Petra said in a steadier, more confident voice.

Petra walked seductively toward Atticus, just like she had the green-eyed soldier.

“My family and I moved from place to place, mostly abandoned houses and factories. We could never get comfortable in one place for too long because there was always some group of people who’d come.” She stepped up to Atticus, friendly and demure—she and I had very different ways of dealing with fear, I noted. Petra moved closer, attempting to close the space between them, but Atticus placed his hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

I took in his detached and uninterested personality, but I had no idea what to make of it. He seemed only interested in our backgrounds, and showed not the slightest attraction to Petra like the green-eyed soldier had.

But Petra would not give up easily, despite his rejection. She sat submissively at his feet, like she did at the feet of the soldier moments ago.

Atticus walked away from her without so much as a glance, and he went toward the door.

“Someone will be in shortly to help you get cleaned up.” He turned the knob, but then he stopped with his back to us. “There are two ways out of this room: this door and that window”—he didn’t look at either of us as he spoke—“I can assure you that you won’t escape through the door. But if you’re tired of this life, as I’m sure you must be now more than ever, then you’re welcome to use the window.” He closed the door behind him; a clicking sound, and then a bolt sliding through metal, followed.

I started to call out: “What about my sister?” but I was too late.

Absently, I walked backwards toward the dusty mattress on the floor and sat down heavily against it, my eyes fixed on the empty space in front of me; tiny particles of dust danced in the sun’s rays beaming in through the window. I had never felt as alone as I did then, even with Petra’s company. I gazed across the room at the window eight floors up, and for a moment I pondered the Overseer’s grim words regarding it, which sat heavily in my mind.

~~~

“It’s time for a bath.”

The voice was nearby; I felt a hand touch my hip.

How long had I slept? I didn’t care, and I didn’t want to get up. I lay in half-sleep with my cheek pressed against the mattress that stank like mildew and other awful things I didn’t want to think about; but still, I was in heaven and would not budge. I ignored the distant voice that threatened to upset my much-needed slumber, and rolled onto my other side and faced the wall.

---