That Meditation was like all the others. Mana-ma’s voice rang out, clear and reverberating. The sun beat down on us. We closed our eyes and held hands, and created worlds with our minds inhabited only by us as our bodies stiffened with pain. This time, though, the pain was less, which made the dream sweeter.
It ended up being a turning point. We were all becoming better at lucid dreaming. The better we were, the less pain we felt. By the time we left the Hearth, Meditation barely hurt at all.
Afterward, it wasn’t our day for Confession. As we left the meadow, people paired off. For some, the drug made them incredibly horny afterward. Sex was another way of connecting, a way of expressing God’s love, and it was fully supported if all parties were willing. Most marriages were open, though not all. Our parents only had eyes for each other.
Taema and I never did that. We didn’t feel ready yet, and no one minded. We wandered through the path into the forest.
The forest was better than any church for me. Nowhere ever felt as holy to me as when Taema and I looked up at those gigantic redwood trees, smelling bark, dirt and leaves, the light filtered through so many shades of green. Mushrooms sprang up beneath the ferns, bright yellow like banana slugs. The sunbeams would catch the swirling motes of dust in the air. Overhead, birds called to each other. I do miss that. In the city there are the skyscrapers of trees, but you know it’s manufactured. I miss raw, unfettered nature.
We went to our hollowed-out redwood tree to be surrounded by that perfect smell of charred wood, damp and greenness.
That was when we first felt it.
The irregular jump of our heart in our chests. The painful squeeze. The faintness.
We gasped. We left the tree, and staggered to the forest path. We had to make it back to camp. Our vision blurred and we couldn’t breathe. I clutched Taema hard. I was so scared.
“What’s wrong?” she wheezed. We could see the roof of the church in the distance. It seemed so far away. “What’s happening?” Her head lolled on my shoulder.
“Don’t you dare faint on me, Taema,” I said, pinching her cheeks until she squeaked and her eyes opened wide. “If you faint, we’re a tortoise on its back. Come on, Taema. Come on.”
Somehow, she stayed with me. When we were a little closer to the main town, it felt like we couldn’t go any further. We leaned against the fence that lined the path. It was warm, the sun beating down on our hair. I couldn’t breathe. Up ahead, we saw a figure. For a second, delirious with pain and lack of oxygen, I thought it was Adam. That he was dead, coming to take us into God’s loving arms to begin the Cycle again. But then the figure cleared and I saw that it was Dad. We collapsed, and he started running.
TEN
TAEMA
I have a crick in my neck from sleeping in the damn Chair.
I sit up, managing to unplug myself. Again, it looks as though Nazarin turned it off for me a few hours ago, so I could have at least some proper sleep. It’s, as ever, not enough.
It’s another day of training. Of fighting Nazarin, a quick pause to eat, and then training some more. My muscle mods have responded well to the extra stimuli, and already I can feel that I’m the fastest and strongest I’ve ever been. After another shower and a giant meal to replenish my energy reserves, I ask Nazarin what we’ll be doing today. I crunched the numbers. Tila was arrested Thursday, I agreed to go undercover on Friday, I told the Ratel I’d be missing two shifts on Saturday and I went to Zenith on Sunday. Tila’s shifts are Tuesday and Thursday afternoons for two weeks, and then Mondays and Wednesdays the next two. She went to her last Thursday shift before she went to Zenith and everything went to shit. My next shift is next Monday. One week until I’ll have to go in as my sister. It doesn’t feel like anywhere near enough time, despite how much information I’ve had crammed into my brain already.
“Today I’m to show you the crime scene,” Nazarin says.
That brings me up short. “What?”
“Forensics have finished with it, along with the autopsy. I had them make a re-creation holograph here. We can view it upstairs.”
My eyes rise to the ceiling of their own volition. “Now?”
“Now. If you’re ready.”
I feel like he’s testing me. “All right.”
He starts up the stairs and I follow hesitantly. The old wood creaks beneath my feet. At the top, he turns to the right and opens the first door.
“Wait,” I say. I suppose I’m not ready. I need a moment. I’m about to see a re-creation of a gruesome crime scene. One that my sister might have created. I’ve never seen large amounts of blood before. “Will it look … real?”
“At first glance, it’ll look exactly like the crime scene, down to every last angle and splash, but remember: it’s not. It’s only a hologram.”