“Listen to your counsel, Celestine,” Sanchez says, gathering her papers. “My offer comes off the table at six PM today.” She walks to the door and the guard opens it for her immediately.
“What’s going on?” Raphael asks as soon as she’s gone. “You should take the deal. This is exactly what you wanted. Your case publicly being overturned will raise questions about the entire Flawed system, which in turn will help everyone.”
“And, realistically, how long will that take? I want Carrick to be free now.”
“When you began this, you wanted to find Crevan Flawed. This is a step in that direction. Celestine, you have to stick to the plan. Don’t be foolish. You can do a great deal more good for Carrick and for all of the Flawed after you’ve regained your freedom. Don’t let Carrick sway your decision.”
My heart pounds at the enormity of the choice facing me.
I glance up at the clock, watching the minutes pass.
“Look, you’re young, I understand,” continues Raphael. “When I was eighteen I was crazy about this girl, Marie. Christ, if you’d asked me to jump off a cliff for Marie, I would have. Celestine, don’t give up your freedom at eighteen for somebody else. You have so much to learn. You have to think of yourself now. Take the deal.”
I finally look at Carrick, who is so close to the glass he looks like he wants to punch through it if I don’t tell him what’s going on.
I sigh and pick up a pen and paper that Judge Sanchez mistakenly left behind, though nothing she does ever hints at being a mistake. I lift the page and show it to him.
They agreed to everything, except you.
He stares at it for a moment, allowing it to settle, and then he nods, in a so what way. He folds his arms and studies me intently, asking me, telling me, to let him know that I took the deal. I squirm under his gaze.
I shake my head.
He throws his hands up angrily, and though I can’t hear him, I see him shouting at me. He wants me to be free. He wants me to take the deal.
I write again and push the paper flat against the glass.
I will never feel free if you’re not.
This seems to break him. I know it touches him, but it breaks him more because he snaps. I know he’s shouting my name but I can’t hear a word from my soundproofed box. I shake my head and look away; I don’t want to see any more protests. He can’t argue with me when my back is turned, which I know will drive him demented, but I can’t argue with him here, not like this. I’ve made my decision, and yet what Raphael has said stays with me. Am I being foolish?
“Sometimes you must be selfish for the greater good,” Raphael says, shaking his head.
“Whatever decision I make, Raphael, you and Granddad will be okay. I wouldn’t do that to both of you.”
“I appreciate that,” he says, almost sadly, for me.
But he doesn’t realize, I am being selfish. I have grown to love my Flawed world. I love the friends I have made. I love Carrick. I know who I am. I feel like one of them. For that to be taken away would be to go through it all again, being ripped away from a world and people I know. I feel at home being Flawed, maybe more comfortable than ever; I feel at peace in my scarred skin. I don’t want my brands removed. I don’t want to go back to who I was, to the life that I had. I would never feel at home being perfect. It doesn’t exist; it’s all fake.
But I don’t tell him any of this.
I look up at the clock.
Watching the time.
Waiting.
“Why do you keep looking at the clock?” Raphael asks, suddenly suspicious.
“No reason,” I say.
He narrows his eyes. “Celestine, you’re up to something, aren’t you?” he says, watching me. “That’s why you’re not taking the deal.”
“I’m not up to anything.”
It’s not a lie. I’m not up to anything now. I’ve already done it. Something is about to happen. Something I put into motion before I was even captured.
SIXTY-SIX
I GLANCE AT the guard, who’s still in the room.
“I’m not up to anything,” I repeat.
Granddad watches me, eyes narrowed, as though he’s trying to figure me out. He knows me well; he, too, suspects something. Or perhaps he already knows. Carrick is now beyond angry with me. He picks up a chair and throws it against the far pane of glass. It just bounces back at him. I see his red face, the veins pulsating in his neck, the anger high.
“Uh-oh,” Raphael says.
The guard in my cell jumps to attention.
“Leave him. He’ll calm down,” Raphael says.
“Back in your cell,” she says to Raphael, opening the door.
“I’m not finished with my client,” he protests.
But he doesn’t get to say much more because he’s strong-armed back into his cell by two guards who come racing in to settle the Carrick situation. I need Carrick to calm down—he can’t lose it now. Carrick has his back to me, deliberately so, a sign of his anger. His back is heaving up and down as he tries to gather himself. I write quickly and slam the page against the window adjoining our cells.
He’s going to ruin this if he doesn’t realize what is about to happen.
Turn around, Carrick, turn around.
I bang on the glass but of course he can’t hear me.
The guards open his door and I pray he doesn’t attack them. He finally looks at me, but I’ve lowered the page. I can’t risk the guards reading what I’ve written. I rip it up into a million pieces and throw it in the trash. The guards go to either side of him. They hold their hands out in front, like they’re taming a wild horse. Carrick ignores them, turns around to look at me, eyes red like he’s been crying. He thinks he’s ruining my life, but he has no idea how much he has saved me. If he had just read my note, he’d understand everything.
The guards stay with him for some time, blocking my view. Then, when they leave, he stays where he is, and I stand at the glass willing him to look at me, but he doesn’t.
I smile and shake my head. It’s not going to work. He can’t make me hate him.
And there is nothing he can do to stop what is about to happen.
SIXTY-SEVEN
THE GUARDS RETURN with our food and deliver a tray to each of us. As they do that, they remove the pen and paper from my cell and dump the Highland Castle uniform down on my bed, red scrub pants and a red T-shirt.