The motorized chair reclines. I wince against the brightness of the ceiling lights. My skin feels hot as they shine on me, in the spotlight and center stage for all to see. This is it.
“It’s better not to look,” Tina whispers into my ear as she fastens the strap across my forehead. I cannot look now anyway, I can’t move.
They inject my right hand first with the anesthetic. It immediately numbs. Bark picks up the hot poker, and I see it, with its cast-iron F surrounded by a circle at the tip. My hand is flattened out and my fingers are strapped down, too, my hand forced open so that my palm is ready. It is done simply and quickly. No modern equipment, just a cast-iron poker and a count to three by Bark.
“One, two…” Sear.
I jump, but I can’t feel the pain. A sensation at most. And the smell of burning flesh, which makes me nauseated. I don’t scream. I won’t scream.
“There’s a bucket here if you need to,” Tina says, by my side instantly like a midwife.
I shake my head. I can hear the internal whimpering inside, see the burn on my open hand. The raw wound in my smooth skin. Four more times. It is the tongue I fear the most. I know they will leave this until last, they have told me that already, because it must be the worst.
The skin on my right sole is injected with anesthetic, and I lose all feeling instantly.
Bark moves toward my foot. He looks at my ankle and frowns, seeing my anklet.
“Where did you get this?” he asks.
“Bark,” Tina snaps. “I let her keep it on. Keep moving.”
“No … I … I just … it’s just that I made it. For a young man. For his girlfriend. He said she was perfect.…” He looks at me, realizing.
I recall Art’s telling me when he gave me the anklet that a man at Highland Castle made it for him. Bark is the man who branded me perfect, and the same man who brands me Flawed. We share a long look.
“Bark,” June says sternly.
Bark is momentarily human as his sad eyes pass over mine, and then he snaps out of it.
“Brace yourself,” Tina says gently, hand supportively on my shoulder.
“One, two…” Sear.
I can see my mom crying into a pile of tissues, her composure completely and utterly cracked, smashed, and shattered. My dad is on his feet, pacing. A redheaded guard is near him, keeping a concerned eye on him, ready to step in if Dad crosses the mark. I can’t hear them, but they can hear me. It’s all part of the fear they place on the public. Let them hear my screams. Make a mistake, and you’ll end up like her.
So far I haven’t made a sound, and I won’t.
Bark’s hand comes into sight and injects my chest with the anesthetic. Again, I’m numb. The red-hot poker comes toward me again. I can feel its heat. I feel the familiar squeeze of Tina and realize it has nothing to do with support and is merely procedure. She’s readying me, but by now I’m ready to pass out. The smell is unbearable. It is the smell of my own burning skin.
I feel a blast of air. June has opened a window or something, must be to get rid of the smell of burning flesh. They’re not used to this. I can tell from the anxious looks on their faces. The average Flawed person receives one brand, rarely two. One man in the entire history received three, but never, ever five. I am the only person in the world to receive five. I feel dizzy, but I know I’m not moving. I close my eyes and squeeze tight.
“One, two…” Sear.
I feel like I can’t breathe. I haven’t felt the sting on my chest, but it’s as though psychologically I do. Pressure on my chest so immense I want to escape the constraints. I battle against them, still not making a sound. I refuse. The floor is moving. It’s rising upward. It’s going to hit me in the face.
“Celestine? Celestine, are you okay?” I hear Tina, but I can’t focus on her, her face keeps moving. She’s saying something about the bucket, but I can’t concentrate. I keep thinking of the tongue. I see Clayton Byrne’s tongue as he coughs in my face. I don’t want my tongue to be seared.
Tina tells me to take deep breaths.
“This is too much for her,” Tina says worriedly to Bark, who surprisingly is viewing me with uncertainty, too. “We need to alert someone. Maybe take a break. Do the rest tomorrow.”
“Guys, I know this is hard, but we have to do it,” June says in a low voice. “The longer we chat, the harder it is for her. Let’s not drag it out on her any more. The family is watching,” she adds with a whisper. “Let’s finish this for everybody’s sake.”
An injection in my temple. Quicker this time.
A squeeze on my shoulder. I know that for all time, if anyone squeezes me on the shoulder, it will be the trigger that brings me back to this.
“One, two…” Sear.
I gag. I retch. Smelling burning flesh. My own flesh.
Bark is mumbling something.
“Sweet Jesus,” June says, suddenly changing her mind. “We should be tending to her wounds now. This is taking too long.”
“You’re doing great, Celestine,” Tina says close to my ear. “A real little hero, almost there now, okay? Hang in there.”