“Tell me about the institutions. He didn’t talk about them very much.”
“I’m not surprised,” she says. “Though they’re not horrible places. In fact, they’re probably quite the opposite, state-of-the-art facilities, greater luxuries than most people ever know. The state supports these institutions because most of our greatest athletes have come from them, some of our greatest recent scholars were educated in these places. Despite that, there is no hiding from the fact that all these children have been taken from their parents from birth, never allowed to see them or hear from them again. That is cruel, that is wrong. Carrick’s situation is slightly different, though,” she says. “As you know.”
“How is it different?” I ask, confused.
“Well, because of the age he was taken. It probably explains why the brainwashing didn’t work so well on him. He had memories of them, which couldn’t be taken away. Carrick was taken as a young boy, at the age of five. His parents had managed to hide out when they had him, but he was found, unfortunately,” she says sadly.
“I don’t know which is worse,” I say, thinking of him as a young boy knowing what was happening as he was taken away, torn from people who loved him.
“So”—she straightens up—“that is why I have tried so hard to fight for adoption rights for F.A.B. children.”
“F.A.B. children can’t be adopted?”
“Of course not. It interrupts the brainwashing process, and, anyway, the Flawed community isn’t allowed to adopt at all,” she says. “My husband even suggested divorcing me just so I could adopt a baby, because he knows how much I want it. Only on paper, of course. He wasn’t intending on leaving me. Where’s the logic in that, Celestine, you tell me that? Modern laws tell me I could adopt a child on my own but not with my Flawed husband.” She sighs. “Sorry. It’s just a subject that angers me.”
“I can see that,” I say softly, relieved to finally hear somebody speaking out against the Guild. “How do you know so much about Carrick?” I ask, still not completely trusting her rage against the Guild. “His file didn’t reveal very much about him.”
“So you saw his file,” she says, amused. “My, my, Celestine, you have more access than I thought.”
I don’t respond to that. It takes great nerve to hold my tongue.
She continues.
“All Flawed files are a matter of public record, available through citizen information, because everybody is entitled to know if they are living near a Flawed person, unless of course you are a Flawed person and you, therefore, have no access to these files.”
I swallow hard, caught out.
“However, to receive the files, you must submit a form to the Guild requesting access, and this raises alarm bells. And on top of that, Carrick’s files aren’t as readily available as yours are. The Guild doesn’t like to admit that the system has failed, or at least that the brainwashing has missed a brain or two. So to answer your question of how do I know so much about Carrick? I have a large organization. When a case like Carrick’s reaches the courts, people tell me. I went to his trial.”
I’m immediately envious of her. I wanted to be at his trial. I wanted to stand in the back and be his pillar of support as he was for me. I wonder if he had anyone, or if he went through it all alone. I feel more urgency to find him.
“How … how was he?” I ask, feeling my body starting to tremble.
“Remarkably strong,” she says with a fond smile on her lips.
“Did you go to the Branding Chamber?” I ask.
She nods. “Because of my charity foundation, I was allowed. The Guild understands that it’s important for me to witness events such as those to help the families and Flawed community in counseling.”
I think of him in the Branding Chamber, remember how hot it felt with the bright ceiling lights on me in the chair, picture him in the red gown feeling the same thing as I felt. My eyes fill with tears. “How was he?”
She takes my hands, and I feel the tears slip down my cheeks.
“Celestine, you’ll be proud to know, he was remarkably quiet. I’ve never attended a branding where there was such … silence.”
Inside, I feel broken, but I also feel like dancing. He did what I did. He followed my lead. He wouldn’t let them hear him cry.
“Have you seen him lately?” she asks as I wipe away my tears.
I smile, a knowing smile, like I know where he is but won’t say. “Do you know where he is?”
She laughs. “Actually, no. He’s doing a good job of hiding. To escape undetected from the Whistleblowers is a rare and difficult thing.”
I nod in agreement.