Genesis Girl (27 page)

That’s what Cal said to me too. Almost. That’s probably what Seth would have said as well, if I had given him the chance. Maybe even Ethan, if Lydia had allowed it.

It’s day eight of my captivity. I was hopeful yesterday that Barbelo would let me out. He didn’t.

But I’m a survivor, I’ve got good instincts, and I can think for myself.

And I’m okay. Because now I can go into the little bathroom and lock the door behind me. McNeal Solar makes all things possible
.
I can bring Cal’s watch to life and see all his favorite messages, played right here before me. I can see evidence of love and joy in every saved thought.

Seth as a teenager, calling home to say he’ll be late. Sophia calling Cal at work to ask how his day is going. Seth calling Cal a few months ago, asking him to put their argument aside and work together on a special project. I wonder what that was about?

When I’m done listening to the messages, I turn the watch over and look at the sun etched into the back. Seth has one exactly like it tattooed on his arm. I smile because I’ve finally figured out a family secret. I bet that’s a tattoo the whole McNeal family shares. A sun.

I can stay in here a long time, and I can keep going. Because I’ve been thinking a lot about my perfect day. If Seth ever asks me again, I’ll know exactly what to tell him.

I want to go outside.

I want to go for a ride on my new motorcycle. Thank you very much for that!

I want to go to a restaurant and eat a hamburger.

I want to kiss Seth and tell him it’s for real.

I want to give Cal back his watch.

It takes me ten days to figure out what Barbelo wants. Today when he opens my door at four a.m., I am waiting for him, fully dressed and sitting on the end of my bed.

“Hello, sir,” I say. “What can I do for you today?” I am prepared for all possible answers, except for the one he gives.

“You can call me Father.” Barbelo narrows his eyes at me, challenging me to disobey.

“Yes, Father. Of course, Father.”

A moment passes in the semidarkness. “Well, perhaps you’re ready to come out after all,” he says at last.

“Yes, Father. Of course, Father.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to be ready, Blanca. You’re a prize. Did you know that? A real prize.”

He’s lying to me. I know it. He’s buttering me up to control me.

“You’re very kind, Father.”

“Good, very good. Then why don’t we eat breakfast in the atrium this morning? You can pick up your tray and follow me.” Barbelo turns to go, leaving my door open.

His back is to me.

I could kick him. I could strangle him with the pillowcase I’ve ripped into strips.

But would that be patricide, or not? Would I be killing my very own father? That’s why he’s a sneaky bastard. That’s why you should never trust a Vestal.

I can’t kill him, not until I know whether or not he really is my father.

Not until I know the truth.

Generosity is a fallacy. It’s a figment of the imagination. I’ve never known anyone to be generous in my entire life. When somebody gives you something, it’s usually because they want something in return.

Take Fatima, for example. She’s willing to risk her life for her unborn child, but she wants a baby. Fatima still wants something in return. And Beau? He wants Fatima. And Cal wants Seth, and Seth wants the truth, and I want to be free from all of it.

So when Barbelo says to me at that first breakfast, “You’re a prize, Blanca. Did you know that? A real prize,” I wait for it. Barbelo’s lying to me, I know it. He’s softening me up to control me. Sooner or later, I’ll hear what he wants.

“You’re very kind, Father.”

“The world can be confusing, but I can be generous.”

“You’re the only one I can trust, Father.” I curl my toes so the rest of me won’t squirm.

“I’m glad you see that because you’ve been wayward. I know about your online transgressions with Ethan. I know about your relations with that Virus. That’s why you had to be cleansed. A week in your cloister was a good way to start.” Barbelo pours me another cup of green tea.

It wasn’t a week; it was ten days. I know that.
I’m a survivor, I’ve got good instincts, and I can think for myself.
Barbelo doesn’t understand who he’s dealing with.

The first rays of morning sun pour through the oculus now, and I get a better look at my surroundings. The rooms span outward from the central courtyard. I don’t see any windows, only skylights. I don’t need to be at tech wizard to know this place is cloistered up tight.

“Yes, Father. Thank you, Father.” I take a sip of my tea. It’s boiling hot and burns my tongue. I pray that it isn’t drugged.

“Are you wondering why I asked you to call me Father?”

“No, Father. Not unless you tell me to.”

Barbelo considers this, and then smiles. “Yes,” he says. “That’s a very nice answer.” He watches me eat my figs. “You know, I’ve helped a lot of people like you.”

“Yes, Father. You’ve helped many people, sir.”

Barbelo gazes at me intently, with his green eyes just like mine. “Technology is a cancer of the soul,” he says. “It’s like a weed growing in the garden, stealing light from the living things that matter.”

“Yes, Father.”

“One little weed can do so much damage.”

“Yes, Father. So much damage.”

“That’s why Vestals are essential. We are a beacon of light. We show people there is a better, simpler way to live. People all over the world know that we can help. They look to us for guidance. Don’t you want to help? They crave our wisdom.” Barbelo’s eyes bore through me. He thinks his words are having an effect.

And for a moment, just a moment, I remember what it was like to believe him. The strength of his persona is a drug I’ve been hooked on my whole life. But I’m fighting to stay clean.
I’m a survivor, I’ve got good instincts, and I can think for myself.

“I think Lydia is right about you, Blanca. You’re a good girl after all. You could make a great leader.”

“A leader, sir?” So this is it. He
does
want something from me.

Barbelo nods. “I need eyes and ears on the ground back at Tabula Rasa. Lydia won’t be able to do that anymore. Not now that she’s dealt with your purchaser.”

Dealt with my purchaser? Is Cal … dead? But I don’t let myself think. I don’t let myself feel. I fight to stay calm. It takes everything I have to nod and take another sip of tea.

“First we need to make sure your soul is truly cleansed. Don’t you agree?” He’s watching me, seeing how his threat affects me. Dangling my cloister in front of me like an axe.

“Yes, sir.” I say. Placid. I’m completely placid. I’ve been taught well.

“Would you like to be my right hand? Russell can be so obstinate sometimes. He needs to be reminded about who’s in charge.”

“Yes, Father. Of course, Father.” And I imagine what that would be like, to hold power over Headmaster Russell. I’d really be top pick then, like Lydia.

“Excellent.” Barbelo wipes his face with a cloth napkin. “I knew you’d see it my way. People always do because I’m always right.” Barbelo smiles. He thinks he’s won. He thinks I’ll be the new Lydia.

But I’m nothing at all like Lydia. Not anymore.
I’m a survivor, I’ve got good instincts, and I can think for myself.

I don’t see Lydia until several hours later when I’m scrubbing the tile floors of the east wing. She approaches on quiet footfalls and bends down right next to my bucket.

“Blanca, sweetie?” she whispers. “I’m so happy to see you.”

I put down my brush and let my eyes go dead. “Yes, Ms. Lydia. Of course, Ms. Lydia.”

“Blanca? He’s released you out now. It’s going to be okay. Do what he says. Okay? Just do what he says.” Lydia turns her head and checks behind her. Her hair is twisted in a roll. She looks tan in her white tank top, sophisticated and vulnerable at the same time. “I didn’t tell him about the watch,” she whispers. Then she kisses my cheek and whispers one more thing in my ear. “I told him I shot Cal. Barbelo thinks I left Cal for dead. But he’s not.”

“Lydia?” Barbelo calls.

I watch her as she walks away, and I wonder what trick they are playing on me now.

Murder isn’t the only way out. I could also escape through the front door if I had the keys. But I’m not sure where they are. Lydia has them, I know it. But I hardly ever see her except at dinner. So I’m biding my time.

I’m a survivor, I’ve got good instincts, and I can think for myself.

Barbelo likes to spend his days in the atrium garden or in his office answering mail. He gets a lot of mail. Every day Lydia brings him a new stack of letters from the mailbox outside of the compound.

A few days after I’m released from my cloister, I’m outside in the hallway washing the floor when I see Lydia come into Barbelo’s office with her delivery. I spy on them, through the crack in the doorway.

“You’re a good girl, Lydia,” Barbelo says when she drops the basket of mail on his desk. “I’m sorry you have to be cooped up with an old buzzard like me instead of delivering these in person.”

“There’s no place I’d rather be.” Lydia drapes her arms around his neck. She tries to kiss him on the cheek, but he shrugs her off. Lydia straightens and reaches for a brown envelope. “This one’s from the prime minister.” She inspects the postmark.

“I’ve been expecting it. I’ll need to contact Russell right away. Did the letter from the sheik arrive yet?”

“No, not yet.” Lydia drops the envelope.

“Damn. I’ll have to write that CEO and tell him it’ll be another million dollars to make that problem go away. Everything we need is in the Archives.”

There’s a slight rustle of papers before they close the door.

It doesn’t make any sense at all. The only thing I know for sure is that I was wrong. Headmaster Russell isn’t the master of secrets; Barbelo is. He’s not retired; he’s orchestrating it all. Lydia is his conductor, At least, she used to be. Headmaster Russell is only one of many instruments.

We are all Barbelo’s instruments. We have all been played.