When I was seven, our dog, Nancy, ran away. It's a big deal to own a pet. You have to ask permission and prove that you have enough leisure time in your schedule to be able to fit in allotted time for animal care. Walking, cleaning, whatever. Generally if you are privileged enough to have someone like Mrs. Plum, you are privileged enough to be allowed a pet. Nancy was small enough to carry beneath an arm and had deliciously shaggy red fur. She was an added bonus to our little family and my mother adored her. Anyway, Nancy must have smelled something interesting and slipped through the gates during one of her late night toilet trips outside.
My mother's behaviour right now reminds me of when Nancy went missing. Mom flew into a flurry of panic, pacing and restless - she barely sat down until Nancy miraculously turned up, unharmed, three days later.
With a frantic look in her eyes, as though something extremely important is very wrong, mom urgently shoos Corin and I into her bedroom, dragging the thick metal door shut behind her.
"You mustn't tell anybody about this." She whispers, leaning back against the closed door. Appraising us with wide, dark eyes. "Alright, sweetheart?"
Corin and I stand awkwardly in the middle of the small windowless room, shuffling our feet as though caught breaking a rule. "Why not?" I ask.
"And what do you mean, this is the end?" Interjects Corin, running his hands through his hair, making it stick up even more. Mom sags against the door. Her frenzy deflates like a popped balloon. She shakes her head slowly. Some strands fall out of her bun.
"It's her, I just know it."
"Mom," I say, grabbing her upper arms, trying to spark some energy back into her. "You sound like a crazy person." She looks at me once more, blinks a few times. I can't read her eyes at all. This is so weird, she's my mother but she's different to my mother. Is Mindlinking to blame? Has it done this to her? And will it happen to me?
"You're right, Benna darling," she finally says, straightening up. "Sit down, both of you, time for a story before bed."
Corin and I catch each other's gaze quizzically but we perch on the edge of the single bed to humour her. The mattress is hard and thin, but the blanket is quality, feather-filled and soft beneath my fingertips. Mom takes a seat in a wooden chair beside the head of the bed. She must use it as a nightstand, because covering the surface is a few books and a hand-lamp. She places the items on the concrete floor before she sits.
"You mustn't tell anyone because, as you very well know, people are not always understanding about things that are new to them. Unfamiliar can immediately equal dangerous, even to those who have been ostracised because of the very same misunderstanding."
I'm chewing on my lip again. What she says makes sense, I guess, but it doesn't stop a large lump of disappointment weigh heavily in the pit of my stomach. I thought of anywhere in the world, here is where I could be accepted as me... but obviously I was wrong. When neither Corin nor I speak, my mother carries on. I rest my head on Corin's shoulder and listen.
"I want to tell you a story about two girls and a boy. Their names were Charla, Alexander, and Garnet. The three of them lived in the same city, and attended the same school. Charla was a quiet girl who had a quiet crush on the boy, Alexander Denman. Garnet Frenchwood was a studious, ambitious girl who also had more than a passing interest in Alexander. In fact, many of the girls at the school did. He was the classic combination: tall, dark, and handsome. Very serious, mature, smart... and heir to the presidency. Because of this, Alexander had to select his future partner very cautiously. Charla won out, obviously," my mother says, with a rather wry smile, "because she was beautiful, discreet, kept her opinions to herself and never caused any trouble. That is probably what Alexander loved most about Charla. Her obedience."
Boy was he in for a shock, I think to myself, remembering the rubbery steak dinner the night my mother disappeared.
"However, Garnet was never satisfied with second best. She was top student in examinations, talked her way into the most prestigious internships, never quit until she got what she wanted. Although Charla won Alexander's romantic affections, as they grew into adults, Garnet worked to ensure she became the highest ranking employee of the Institutes, knowing this would bring her into President Alexander Denman's closest circle."
No offense to your mom, but this sounds like the plot to a bad viewscreen drama. Corin whispers into my head.
"Shut up, Corin," I fire back into his.
"Charla and Alexander had a good relationship, despite the demands of his position and the long hours involved. Through him, Charla learned that Garnet was ambitious to the point of continually suggesting ideas for the betterment of society. Ways she hypothesized would fix this or stop that. She tried hard to hide her annoyance when her ideas were passed over, but it was plain for all to see that she was frustrated. Alexander respected her regardless, because despite the overarching ambition, Garnet Frenchwood was above all, a brilliant doctor and scientist."
My mother shakes her head violently, as though vehemently disagreeing with her husband's judgement of character.
"Then Mindlinking happened. Or the first reports of it, anyway. Who knows how long Links had been forming between people? It was Frenchwood who was most concerned and, in my opinion, began putting paranoid ideas into Alexander's head. My guess is she thought if the president ever regarded Linking as useful, she herself would lose her position as indispensable. And besides, Garnet Frenchwood couldn't bear to know nothing about a subject, and Mindlinking was the biggest mystery of all. Garnet and Alexander became united over their hatred of Linkers, and put all scientific efforts into researching the phenomenon. I know she and the many teams they assigned to the project made great strides very quickly. If they are willing to publically admit Mindlinkers are real, and attempt to round them up under the guise of public safety, something big must now be underway. Something serious. Trust me, if Garnet Frenchwood can't wholly understand something, then she will do everything in her power to put a stop to it. If she's sunk her claws into Linking, it's almost certainly the end of it. As I said, when she has a goal, she will not stop until she's achieved it."
Corin shifts uncomfortably beside me. I lift my head from his shoulder, glance between him and my mother. They both have dark rings beneath their eyes, layers upon layers of exhaustion. I suspect I am much the same.
"You've been under her care, haven't you, Benna?" Mom asks, reaching across to lay a gentle hand on my knee. Reluctantly, I nod. It dawns on me that my father was basically Frenchwood's accomplice. He knew exactly what kind of woman she is and what she's meaning to do, and he sent me to her anyway. My eyes burn but the tears don't come. He doesn't deserve them.
"She did something to you." Mom sounds certain. Her pale eyebrows furrow. "It must be Frenchwood's doing. She's amped up your Link somehow - but why, is the question. I don't like it at all. I don't like her at all."
"Join the club," I reply, taking her hand and squeezing it. I kinda want to tell mom I stabbed her, but I'm not sure whether she'd be proud or disappointed, so I hold back. I also don't want to give her more reason to wonder if I am her Benna - but then I guess we have both changed a lot over the past two years.
Corin has gone extremely pale. In fact he looks as though he's about to vomit. I ask him if he's okay, and he perks up as though snapping out of a hypnotic trance. "Yes, fine."
Resigned to the fact that Corin and I must share a bed, or at the very least, a room, my mother leads us down the hallway to a shared dorm and reluctantly bids us goodnight. We share an awkward hug and then she's gone. Four sets of bunk beds teeter around the edges of the miniscule room, leaving just enough space to walk down the middle. Thanks to a smidgen of dim light sneaking in from the hallway, I make out the shapes of bags beneath beds and slumbering lumps upon them. The set of bunks at the far end of the bedroom appears to be empty. Hand in hand, we tiptoe through our sleeping roommates. It is almost uncomfortably warm with shared breath. I dread to think what it's like in here on bean burrito night. Corin says silently. I almost elbow him in the ribs, before remembering his wound and deciding against it.
Though the paper thin mattress is paradise compared to the forest floor, I find it really difficult to fall asleep. Images of Frenchwood and my parents swirl around my head, making me dizzy. How did I get to seventeen so utterly clueless? And to think Frenchwood may have altered my Link with Corin somehow... it feels like tampering of the worst kind. How dare she mess with something so amazing and personal and .... I'm tensing up with rage. I need to breathe. I need to talk to Corin about this, but I don't want to because that would make it all the more real. And I want it to be just another of mom's bedtime stories. Make-believe. The way they used to be, when I was seven.