Taken (12 page)

All the anger and betrayal and hurt I’d felt when I first discovered Ma’s note comes surging back.

“I climbed because of you, Blaine,” I snap. “I did it because
you
lied to me and
you
kept the truth from me. Maybe if you and Ma trusted me enough to be honest, I wouldn’t have gone searching for answers myself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact that we’re twins, Blaine. You and me. Born on the same, exact day.” I pull Ma’s note from my pants pocket and throw it at him. “Next time you don’t want me discovering something, you should burn your evidence.”

He smooths out the letter and his eyes grow heavy as he recognizes it. When he speaks again, he sounds embarrassed. “And you pieced it together? This page doesn’t even admit anything.”

“Well, Ma was right about one thing—I did go looking for answers. Carter’s records, her private ones, had an interesting note claiming that you and I are twins, born the very same day back in year twenty-nine.”

“You weren’t supposed to know,” he says quietly.

“What was on the second page, Blaine?”

“I’m sorry, Gray. I didn’t think it would matter. Ma . . . I thought she was crazy. She gave me that letter and I didn’t want to disgrace her memory by betraying her trust. But I swear I thought you’d be Heisted with me. I always thought it would be the two of us.”

The memory flashes before my eyes. How Blaine had winked at me, said we’d see each other again soon. Inside I am burning, angry and hurt, and yet I cannot raise my voice. I slowly repeat myself. “Blaine, what was on the second page?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of parchment. I take it from him and unfold it with unsteady hands. I remember where the previous page left off—
Gray is, in fact
—and begin reading.

your twin. You are not a year apart but several minutes. I did not know I was carrying two, and when Gray arrived just moments later, I saw my chance to test things. I had Carter keep Gray’s birth secret. A full year later, after a faked pregnancy, Carter returned to “deliver” Gray. She deemed him “sickly” and forbade him visitors. Gray saw his first day of sunlight at age two and a half. By then, no one questioned a thing. You were nearly identical, but brothers, believed to be a year apart.

If the Heist really is just a part of life, none of this will matter. I had wanted to see this myself, so that I could finally accept the mysteries of Claysoot, but I will not, and so the rest is on your shoulders. Should you and Gray disappear together, you can accept the Heist for me. But in case the Heist is something more, well, this is why Gray must not know. His knowing will foster questions, and I fear with questions he will not stay put. And if he is spared, he must. He will be proof that some of our boys have a chance.

Carter and I have devised a plan if this is the case, but the closer death creeps, the more likely it seems that the Heist is just an unfair portion of life I never managed to accept. I hope you do not hate me for this, for turning your lives into an experiment. I love you both very, very much. Not a day goes by that I don’t see your father in the two of you. You are his mirror images, but only Gray has his stubborn nature, so remember that even in keeping this secret, as painful as it may be, Gray is your brother, your twin, and will forgive you in time.

There is no signature, only a splotch of ink at the bottom of the parchment.

This is the information that Frank wants, right here in this letter. This could be what he needs, proof that a concealed birthday made all the difference in my escaping the Heist.

“Can I keep this?” I ask, not looking up.

“Sure.”

I fold the parchment in on itself, matching premade creases. Blaine passes the first page back to me, and I return the complete letter to my pocket. It’s odd finally having Ma’s letter in its entirety. For so long, I thought that reading the message would make sense of things, but even now, I’m still perplexed. And plagued by questions.

“What was Carter’s plan? What did I mess up by leaving?”

“After Ma died, Carter filled me in,” Blaine says. “She said if we were not Heisted together, her plan was to simply wait. After your Heist, if it came on your nineteenth birthday, she’d have proof that the Heist was somehow based on public records and not actual birth dates. She was going to talk to Maude then, start devising a way to hide other boys’ birth dates on a more grand scale, buy them more time. Test out the theory. After that, I don’t know.”

I snort. I don’t think telling Maude would have been much help, not after what I saw the night I climbed. I start to tell Blaine this, but he speaks over me.

“I thought she was crazy, too. I thought they’d both lost their minds and I only stayed quiet because I’d made a promise to Ma.” Blaine looks at the ground and then back to me. “She said you’d forgive me. For keeping secrets.”

Ma was right about me being his brother, about the fact that I’ll forgive him. I’m just not ready. Not yet. You can’t read that your whole life is a lie, that you were a test, and then carry on like everything’s normal. Nothing about me is normal. Nothing about where I am now is normal. I am completely and utterly lost.

“Gray.” It’s another
I’m sorry
without saying the actual words.

“It’s done, Blaine.” There’s an awkward pause. I try to remember if one existed between us before, and come up with nothing. “So you know everything?” I continue, desperate to break the silence. “About Claysoot? And Harvey?”

He nods. “You?”

“Yeah, Frank told me.”

“You met him? In person?”

“How else would he have told me?”

“I watched it all on a video.” He must read the confusion on my face, because he continues. “They have these things called cameras here. It’s like a set of eyes that can watch things at all times. It can even save some of what it sees and trap it permanently, so you can watch it later, anytime you want. I think they did that with Frank—had him talk about Claysoot, saved his speech, and then showed it to me when I was Heisted. Septum and Craw saw the same thing. Frank’s so busy, he doesn’t have time to meet each boy after every single Heist. I’m amazed he had time to meet you.” He pauses for a second and then adds, “What’s he like?”

“He’s really nice.”

Blaine sticks his hands in his pockets. “I hope he figures things out soon. I think about Kale every day. I need to get her out of there.”

The mention of Kale makes me think of everyone else still trapped behind the Wall. Of Carter and Sasha and Maude. “Do you think they’ll all climb now?” I ask, panicked. “If Emma and I were the first the Order picked up, that means there won’t be bodies. If there aren’t bodies, everyone might—”

“They won’t,” Blaine says.

“You don’t know that.”

“The video . . . it mentioned that if the Order saves a climber, they will use someone from the prisons as a replacement. Leaving a criminal of similar build in the Outer Ring ensures that a body goes back to Claysoot.”

I think of the second car waiting on the hill when Emma and I were found by Marco. It had driven off, but not in the direction we did. Its driver had more business to attend to. “I guess it makes sense,” I say. “If Emma and I are the first they’ve ever saved, and it’s hard for them to save climbers in general, it’s better for Claysoot to stay put until Frank solves things.”

“Or until he gets his hands on Harvey.”

“Exactly.”

I smile and Blaine smiles, too, but for some reason it doesn’t feel right. If we are not encircled by a Wall and standing on clay streets, are we the same brothers? The thought is exhausting.

“I’m really tired,” I say. “I think I need to sleep.”

“Sure. I’ll find you later. We can catch up.” As I walk away, he adds, “I’m sorry, Gray. About the twin thing. Really.”

I could accept it. But I don’t. “I know,” I say, and then I keep walking.

As I wind back through the dining hall, I am engulfed by a wave of doubt. The likelihood of Frank solving things or capturing Harvey seems so remote, so improbable. I want to go home. I never thought I’d say that, but I just want to go back to Claysoot, where everything was simple. Where things with Blaine were uncomplicated, where I had a future with Emma. Not knowing made everything easier.

I leave the way I came in, brushing through a group of people entering for breakfast. I keep my head down, buried in my thoughts, but someone grabs my arm.

“Gray?”

Emma is standing before me, her hair brushed out so thoroughly it is pin straight. It makes her look oddly formal. I am overcome by every emotion I have ever felt for her. Love, joy, pain, want, all mingled with relief.

“I missed you,” she says. She’s wearing all white: a pair of pants that look uncomfortably tight and a top that flutters when she moves, almost as fluidly as water. Something is different about her. Her eyebrows have suddenly become too thin, and her skin too shiny. There’s something odd about her face, too, as though all of her features have been exaggerated with a fine-tipped quill.

“What did they do to you?” I ask. Her lips are dark, painted with a color too even and bold. Even her eyes, which I thought I could never forget, seem to be surrounded by dark shadows.

She groans. “I don’t even know. I feel like I have three layers of grime on my face, while every other inch of my body feels like it’s missing three layers of skin. At least they didn’t make me wear the
heels
. I kept falling in them anyway.” She points to a pair of flat, white shoes on her feet and then steps into my arms.

“We have to get out of here, Gray,” she whispers into my ear. “This place isn’t right. They’re keeping something from us. I don’t trust them.” Her hair smells burned beneath my chin.

“They didn’t tell you about Harvey?” She pulls her head from my shoulder and frowns. I guess that’s a no. “I met with Frank. He had some answers.” My stomach growls audibly and I realize I haven’t eaten in hours. Sleep can wait. “I’ll fill you in over breakfast.”

“Hey, Romeo!” Marco comes strolling up the hallway and Emma and I break apart. “I need to borrow you.” I notice for the first time how truly ridiculous his massive beard looks in comparison to his shaved head. His eyes fall on Emma.

“Well hello, girly. Don’t you clean up nicely.” I watch his eyes linger on the low neckline of Emma’s top and have to stifle a strong desire to punch him in the face. Marco grabs me by the upper arm, carting me down the hall before Emma and I can say good-bye.

“Where are we going?” I ask as he takes a turn and guides me down a flight of stairs.

“The infirmary. You need to be Cleansed. Standard procedure for all Order members.”

“Cleansed?”

“Shots and pills and medicine. And we’ve got to shave that head of yours. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how we all sport the same clean look? We just want you to be part of the family.” He smiles at me viciously.

My free hand instinctively feels for the wild strands against my neck. It’s only hair, nothing really, but I want to keep it. I want to look different from the Order, from Marco. I want to keep Claysoot with me.

“No thanks,” I say. “I’m fine as is.”

Marco slaps the back of my head. “Did I say you had a choice? This is not negotiable.” I rub my head, startled. “Hair is cut short to prevent lice. Pills and shots are given to ward off illness. It’s for your own good, and for the good of everyone in Taem. Now let’s move.”

I’m dragged roughly in his wake. Marco was far nicer when he was trying to convince Emma and me to get into his car earlier. Now, inside Union Central, it’s as if something has changed, as if he hates me. I wonder if Frank reamed him out for putting me in that cell with Bozo.

We pass a door marked Authorized Personnel Only and stop at a second one marked Cleansing Infirmary. Marco waves his wrist at the box beside the door and guides me down the now accessible hallway, his fingers pinching my elbow. When we finally enter a room, he pushes me into a cold, metal chair.

The last thing I remember are two red pills being shoved down my throat, and the razor, waiting to strip me bald.

FIFTEEN

WHEN I COME TO, I’M
no longer in the infirmary. I wake in a bed in a private room, still wearing my muddy pants and hooded shirt from Claysoot. It’s dark outside. I’m not sure how much time has passed—a few hours, days. I roll over on my side. My head feels abrasive atop the pillow, as if it is clinging to the fabric. I reach up, and a brittle, coarse landscape greets my hands. It feels wrong. I’ve never had such little hair before, never in all the years I can remember.

I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Every muscle in my body aches. My arms feel like cumbersome weights, and a dull throb radiates from the base of my neck. Someone has left bread and fruit on a table beside my pillow, and I scarf it down before stumbling into a small side room beyond the bed. There, I find an outhouse—
inside
.

There is no tub, but when I twist a series of handles behind a panel of glass, water rains from a pipe mounted on the wall. It reminds me of the miraculous feature Emma and I had discovered back in the deserted building beyond Claysoot. I peel off my dirty clothes and step in. It’s much easier than bathing back home. I stand under the hot stream of water, scrubbing the dirt from my skin and watching the suds drip their way down the drain. The pain in my neck is finally beginning to subside when the water abruptly turns off. I jiggle the handle. Nothing. A small panel illuminates on the wall, flashing a message:
Two-minute daily shower allotment used
. I grab a towel and dry off, wiping away excess soap. Next time, I will have to be faster.

A pile of clean clothes sits on the bathroom counter: an Order uniform. The material is heavy, extremely durable. I wonder how they’ve stitched it. The pants aren’t half bad, but the top fits oddly. The collar is too tight, softly choking me, and the sleeves and body are narrow, causing the material to cling to my skin. I feel absurdly rigid, as though my movements are restricted and my neck limited to look only ahead.