Just being with Art would be enough for me, even if I have to live under Flawed rules and Art doesn’t. Crevan couldn’t possibly make things any worse for us.
But there’s something else he has said that has my mind in overdrive, about every Flawed person having a Whistleblower, every Flawed being documented, their whereabouts known. I’m trying to find Carrick. Carrick will have a Whistleblower, his whereabouts will be documented. My heart pounds with excitement. “Art, can you help me find someone?”
“Who?”
“A Flawed guy. His name is Carrick.”
“Who?” His eyes narrow.
“Carrick. I don’t know his surname. He was beside me in the cells. I really need to find him.”
His jaw tightens. “Yeah? Become close, did you? Just like Logan?”
“Art!” I say, surprised.
“Forgive me, Celestine, if I don’t know exactly who you are anymore, if I have to question you.”
“You know exactly who I am.” I swallow hard.
He examines me again. He sighs and closes his eyes, the stress clinging to him, weighing him down. I don’t know where he’s been staying, but there’s an earthy smell to his clothes.
“Carrick was kind to me, Art. I was alone in there and so was he, and he looked out for me. I just want to say thank you to him. I just want to know … what it’s like for him. If it’s the same for him as it is for me. It would be nice to talk to someone who understands—”
“You think that I don’t understand you? Forget it.” He walks away. “Do you know how hard it was for me to come here today? Dad has people out looking for me everywhere. Do you know what I risked? What I’ve risked for you period? And in the middle of my trying to explain, you ask me to help you find some Flawed guy you met in a cell? You’re going to parties like nothing’s happened? Well, I’m delighted everything is fine for you,” he says sarcastically, storming down the aisle.
I’m stunned at first but then chase him, realizing I’ll lose him. By the time I reach the end, he is out of sight, completely gone. I check every aisle. He’s gone. I’ve lost him. I run up and down each aisle, feeling dizzy, wondering how he disappeared, when I finally come upon a narrow metal door, like a service door. I pull at the handle, expecting it not to budge, but it opens and brings me to the service area where Mr. Murray, the groundskeeper, does his recycling and stores his tools and equipment. He is ripping up enormous cardboard boxes, flattening them and piling them on the ground.
He doesn’t even look up. “Get back inside, girl.”
“What? I’m looking for someone.”
“I know who you’re looking for. Get back inside.” He looks up then, and I see warning in his eyes, so I slowly back away.
Then from behind one of the enormous recycling bins, a photographer jumps out and starts clicking, the flashes disorienting me.
Mr. Murray tells him to stop, starts citing laws and acts and rights, but the photographer doesn’t listen, he continues snapping away. He lowers the camera at one point, and I see a wide grin on his face. I suppose he can’t believe his luck that I’m so startled I can’t move. But his grin urges me back into action, and I disappear back inside the library and slam the metal door shut. I’m back in the silent library, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure the books can hear me.
It’s then that I wonder why the photographer was there. What did he see? Did he see Art go in and out that door? And then me appear at the door? I haven’t broken any rules, but it makes me feel panicky because there is one person who wants to see Art almost as much as me, maybe more, and will do anything to find out where he is.
Crevan will come for me.
THIRTY-SIX
“TELL ME ABOUT the last time you saw Art Crevan,” Pia says in the library of my house at the end of the horrible day that I lost Art. I’m drained and not in the mood to talk to her, but I have to be on guard, because of her questions and because I’m waiting for Crevan and his army to bang on the door and take me away to interrogate me about Art’s whereabouts.
I’m exhausted from my parting with Art, from my lack of sleep, from imagining Carrick’s searing over and over again. I’m afraid of being caught by the photographer. I’m just completely zapped. They’ve taken all the goodness from me. I am just a scarred shell. But this new question about Art makes me sit up. Pia notices my body tense, and I’m annoyed with myself for being so obvious.
“Everybody knows what happened on Naming Day. Art was at the courthouse, it was on TV. Anything you want to know about that you can watch for yourself.”