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My whole life has been an enormous lie. I was always told that my brother walked down the wrong path. He mixed with the wrong crowd; he had the worse type of friends. My mother drilled these facts in my head after his death. Always abide by the law, and the law will protect you. Go against it, and it will go against you. All those lectures made no sense now.
The law, the law, the law.
Five weeks had passed since I learned that my mother was one of the five Dailies.
Strategy.
It wasn't easy to view her as the mastermind that plots out everything in a secret anti-government organization. She was a mother. The only thing I knew she strategized was how to conserve energy and prepare chicken. I wanted to be angry at her, and I was.
My room had become my prison. Only coming out when I needed food. It was five in the morning, and I'm currently preparing my breakfast. Usually, I would wait for her to go to work, but my stomach won't stop grumbling. This was not healthy. My body needs fresh air, and my mind needs an explanation because pretty soon, I'm sure that I would start going crazy.
I'm already losing it. The way I used the knife to slice the sausages angrily was proof of that. My index finger accidentally got into the way of my rage chopping. It leaves a small cut on my index finger. It was painful but only for a second. I rush to the sink and used the water to wash the blood away.
I expected a nasty-looking cut but there wasn't anything there, not even a mark. It was as if I didn't cut myself at all. I was hallucinating. No sleep in weeks, bearly had any food, and to top it all. I came up with every possible theory as to why my mother didn't tell me about her after-work activities.
Leaning onto the counter, I dried my hands. My thoughts hauled in, pushing me away from my surroundings, causing me to stare at nothing in particular. I wasn't aware of the sound of my mother's bedroom door opening.
"You're up," she greets me, a heartwarming smile plaster on her face. It was hard to be mad at her. Somehow I managed to pull it off.
"Morning," I mumble.
"I know you have questions and I have already given you enough time to cope with the truth."
"Here's a question. Did you know that Brandon was a part of the Three Rings?"
"Yes I knew exactly what he was doing," she admits sounding regretful.
"Yet you pretended you had no idea what your son was up to when the police came knocking."
"Jemi-"
"No, don't. You hid this whole other life away from me. I blamed him for dying. I hated him for so long," My voice cracked at the end. Tears welled in my eyes, threatening to fall. "What else are you hiding? There must be a million things that you're keeping from me."
"All to protect you even if you hate me and blame me for your brother's death," She says confidently not bothering to deny that she was still presently keeping things hidden. "I made a mistake involving Brandon, I didn't want to make that mistake again."
"Well, you did. I got kidnapped, drugged, and almost shot at all because my mother is a criminal and not just any criminal, a leader." I try my best to keep my tone low because, despite everything, she was still my mother.
"I'm not a criminal."
"Really? Oh, so what the T does isn't illegal in any way?"
"It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it because I don't understand anything."
She gestures for me to sit at the table. I did because I desperately wanted any piece of information to ease my curiosity.
"The Three Rings was formed by citizens ten years before the Uprising. It aims to serve and protect, the job law enforcement failed to accomplish. When the law didn't work they step in to fill the gap." I give her an understanding nod. "Over two years, it grew and spread across the island. They recruited people, mostly men under the age of twenty-two."
"How did you get recruited?"
"When your father died they contacted me. He was one of their leaders. He dealt with war-based decisions"
He was no doubt an Azim. All these years I thought my father was a math teacher. War-based decisions were not how I remembered him. I bearly remembered him at all.
"And you joined them?"
"Once he joined, he had to pay a small price. His next of kin had to be recruited in the cause of his death. That's how it worked with Azims."
"In the case of your death, Jordon would be recruited. That's why you told him and not me," I realize.
"I rather have him trained and prepared for the worse type rather than being clueless if something should happen to me."
"Does this mean that I'll be recruited next."
"Once Brandon died the recruitment cycle stopped," That was a relief. I couldn't imagine being forced into something like that. I liked having the freedom to make my own choices.
"There are more important things than the Three Rings. For example school. The university is resuming online and they want you to continue your program next month ."
I don't know how I should feel about that since their main campus crumble several months ago
"It's only two more years I will live." I end the conversation and went to my room, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore. Today is Thursday, which meant I had therapy. I had been avoiding it since I found out about my mom.
The best thing I could do for myself was to get out of the house and go somewhere-anywhere. The fresh air would clear my mind and allow me to focus on something less confusing like politics or the new mandate to reopen churches.
Anything was better than thinking about the Three Rings at this moment. I take a shower and pulled myself into my regular attire, a tank top and a pair of ripped jeans. My sneakers were worn out. This was an opportunity to go to the store and buy new ones.
When I got back to the kitchen I realized that my mother had left for work-Maybe it was her regular job as a lawyer or her other job. At this point, I try to disengage myself from the situation to put my mind at rest.
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After buying two pairs of sneakers. I head to the supermarket. The streets of St. Maris were busy today. They looked cleaner and businesses that were closed down for years were finally reopening. A police vehicle was posted at every street corner, stop light, and crowded area. It almost made me feel safe.
Almost.
Walking into the Supermarket gives me a feeling of nostalgia. The smell of fresh vegetables that I always hated. That warm fuzzy feeling when I see all my favorite snacks at the front. Nobody could judge me if I went home with a bag of junk food and indulge in a bunch of unhealthy snacks.
My trolly had enough snacks to give me high cholesterol or diabetes. As I pushed my way to the cashier someone pulled my arm bringing me to a haul. I let out a startled high pitched scream that was muffled by a hand. Before I could start kicking, they released me.
I face them. Or should I say him? Wade. The Michael Wade. In a black hoodie along with baggie jeans, looking homeless and vulnerable.
"You" I mutter scared of what he might do to me. I took a few steps back.
"I need your help."
"My help," I point to myself in disbelief. He stepped toward me and I take two more steps away from him.
"I know you don't trust-"
"I don't trust you. I hate you. You killed my friend. You blew up my school. You started the freaking Uprising. You tried to kill me multiple times."
"All that is true Jemima but something has happened that is bigger than all that I have done." He says relaxed.
"I highly doubt that there is something bigger than your crimes."
"I will give you the one thing that you want. If you get me meeting with Atticus." I huff
"Are you forget that your Westsyde members put him in jail?"
"I'm aware. He'll get out and when he does I want a meeting with him."
I crossed my arms over my chest, my face clouded with anger. "Do you regret what you did?" I ask, somehow on the verge of tears. "All the lives you took, I get that you lost a child but you didn't have to burn the whole island down and kill my best friend."
"I didn't lose anything, they were taken away from me. I was robbed of a daughter and nephew. When you have a child Jemima and you have to bury them then you will understand why I did those horrible things."
I wanted badly to sympathize with him. To have one shred of feeling other than hate for him but I couldn't, all I see is Lia's body every time I look at him.
"Vengeance is not always the answer."
He allow me walk away from him. I didn't purchase anything.
What does he want with Atticus? It was too late for him to mend his wrongs. He had taken hundreds of lives. All because of his grief, corruption, and hatred.
"You took your time," I jump at the sound of Jason's voice. He was sitting on the bumper of his sleek red BMW.
"Hey"
"Get in," he demands.
What's with these people and giving orders?