The Gender Lie

  I whirled on Desmond to find her already giving orders in a soft yet commanding tone.

  “Have Dr. Tierney come here immediately to check on young Mr. Bates and everyone who is injured. I want statements from everyone about what happened here today within an hour. No one is to leave until I get to the bottom of this event.”

  Several people peeled off to follow her orders. Desmond turned, rubbing her temples lightly. When she saw me staring at her, she dropped her hands.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  I licked my lips and swallowed the excess saliva that had built up. The pain in my shoulder had faded some, and my jaw ached down to the bone, but I nodded. “I’m okay,” I said, climbing ungracefully to my feet. “What did you do to my brother?”

  “I gave him a sedative,” she replied.

  “So what, you were just carrying that around waiting for him to explode like that?” I couldn’t help but ask, clenching my fists. Desmond had never hidden her compunctions about having my brother around; it was why she insisted that he be shadowed by a Liberator guard whenever he left our room.

  Desmond’s lips flattened to a thin line, her eyebrows almost touching her hairline. “Ms. Bates,” she said, her tone clipped. “That is the second time in less than twenty-four hours that you have been disrespectful and rude to me. While it is understandable that you are upset at the moment, you would do well to remember that had I not shown up, your brother may have killed you and young Mr. Hughes over there.” I looked over to where Quinn was now sitting slumped against the table, his hand clutching his stomach as his face turned an interesting shade of green.

  “Now,” continued Desmond, her voice dangerously low. “I understand that you have trust issues with authority figures, so allow me to answer your question. No, I have not been carrying a syringe in my pocket with the expectation of your brother losing control. I was notified that he was in a rage, and grabbed a sedative from the lab just in case.”

  Once again, Desmond’s argument served to suck the fire out of me, leaving the remnants of a sputtering coal of embarrassment that lodged in my throat.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled after a few seconds.

  Desmond sighed loudly and brought her hands in front of her, lacing the fingers together. “No, I’m sorry, Violet. As I said, I recognize that you have severe trust issues, and perhaps I came down a little too hard on you yesterday. I felt… bad after our conversation. I regret giving you the impression that I would have the pills destroyed, and should have perhaps notified you of my decision not to. I’m not used to having people question my orders. The circumstances that brought us together are unique, and merit special consideration in some matters.”

  I nodded, taken aback by her apology. “Thanks,” was all I could think to say.

  She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Which is why we need to talk about your brother,” she said, her face grim.

  I looked down at where Tim was lying on the floor. “What about him?”

  Desmond gave me a steady look, and then half turned, allowing me to gaze out on the wreckage. Looking at the injured people in the room, I saw the confusion and anger in their faces.

  “What do you propose?” I pressed, my heart beating painfully against my chest.

  She turned back to me, a sad look on her face. “He can’t be allowed to roam around the facility anymore,” she said, her voice and eyes sympathetic.

  I closed my eyes and felt a tear slip from under my eyelid and fall down my cheek. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to resist the painful reality of what Desmond was trying to say, and nodded.

  “I understand,” I said, even as I hated myself for it.

  22

  Violet

  I was physically and emotionally drained as I trudged up the stairs. I had spent the last three hours doing everything I could to help clear the wreckage that my brother had caused, and it still didn’t seem like I had done enough to help.

  After a long discussion with Desmond, we had decided that, for the time being, my brother was to remain confined to the room downstairs that had been used for Viggo’s interrogation. Tim wasn’t allowed to leave without me and one other Liberator to go with him, and even then, he could only go with special permission from Desmond.

  Owen and Quinn had helped me carry him downstairs, and Quinn had been kind enough to offer to go upstairs and get Samuel and the blankets Tim had been using to form his little nest on the floor. I had been surprised at his offer, and told him not to worry about it, but he insisted. Owen told me that it was because Quinn felt guilty—he had reacted to Tim’s step toward me as an act of aggression, and had been trying to stop Tim from hurting me. I guessed I couldn’t blame him. A part of me wanted to, though.

  I had pushed that part aside—there was no blaming anyone. The reports that came in were that my brother had slipped down to grab a snack. Apparently Henrik had approached him, and said a few words to him—no one was sure what though—but apparently Tim had been smiling a little bit.

  Until Henrik clapped him on the shoulder. The reports around this were murky—some people said it was a light punch, others said that Henrik was picking something off Tim’s shirt. Everyone agreed that Henrik had touched him, and that’s what had triggered the violent reaction in Tim.

  I ran a hand over my face. Tim’s condition made him physically hurt when anyone touched him. Apparently it was called synesthesia, a genetic disorder that confused the senses, and in Tim’s case, made touch cause physical pain. I could just imagine what had happened to Tim, and how confused it would make him when he woke up.

  Dr. Tierney had assured me I had a few hours before that happened, which was why I was making my way back upstairs. I needed something positive at the moment, and there was only one face in the world that could make me feel better—even if it was attached to a dry sense of humor and a surly disposition.

  I stepped through the door on the top level and saw Dr. Tierney closing the door to one of the patient’s rooms. I raised my hand —the left one, not the right because it still hurt—and approached her. “Hey Doc. How is everyone?”

  Dr. Tierney mustered up a smile. “Everyone’s going to be okay,” she said. Her eyes moved to where I was awkwardly cradling my shoulder. “How are you?”

  I gave her a half shrug. “I didn’t want to bother you. I think it’s fine—it doesn’t feel dislocated.”

  Her eyebrow arched and she looked impressed. “You’ve dislocated a limb before?” she inquired.

  “Once, during a sparring match. My opponent slammed me against a wall to try to get me off her back. At one point… my body went left, shoulder right.”

  She made a face at that, and then gestured for me to follow her into one of the empty side rooms. I sat down on the gurney as she pulled her handheld out of one pocket and a small medical scanning ring out of the other. She ran the scanning ring over my shoulder, and then looked at her handheld for the results.

  “How’s Amber?” I asked, remembering that I had meant to inquire about her this morning.

  Dr. Tierney nodded without taking her eyes off the digital image the scan had produced. “She’s much better today. Was able to keep down some food. I’ll have her walking in a few days.”

  “And Viggo? How did his physical therapy go?”

  Dr. Tierney frowned and lowered her handheld. “Violet,” she said, and then hesitated.

  I widened my eyes. “What is it? Is the scan okay?”

  She fidgeted back and forth a few seconds and then sighed in irritation. “Mr. Croft asked me to ask you if you would stay away from his physical therapy sessions.”

  I suddenly felt very small and extremely confused.

  “What?” I asked, needing her to repeat it.

  She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Before you jump off the deep end, you need to understand a few things, okay?”

  “Like what?”

  “Mr. Croft is… well… he’s feeling pretty poorly about himself right now. He’s e
mbarrassed about all of his physical therapy, and he’s—wait, where are you going?”

  I had jumped off the table and was halfway to the door when she asked the question. I grabbed the door knob and threw open the door. “I’m going to get it from the source!” I shouted as I walked the short distance to Viggo’s door. I threw it open and strode inside, determined to get to the bottom of this.

  “What the hell, Viggo?” I exploded.

  Viggo fixed his gaze on the blanket, his jaw twitching in irritation. I folded my arms over my chest and waited.

  “Violet, please…” said Dr. Tierney as she arrived at the door.

  Viggo shot her a glance so vicious, if he’d had any form of telepathic power, she would have died immediately.

  “Oh no, don’t blame her!” I said. “You put her in the middle of this. So explain to me why you don’t want me to come see you while you’re here!”

  Viggo cleared his throat at the sound of my shouting resounding off the walls. “Could you close the door, please?” he asked, his tone tight.

  Gritting my teeth, I turned around and calmly closed the door in Dr. Tierney’s face. I took the moment to collect myself, taking hold of the hurt I was feeling and gently pulling it back, one deep breath at a time.

  As I swung back around, I met his eyes. “I’m sorry I shouted,” I said after a moment. I’m just under a lot of stress right now.

  Viggo nodded slowly, accepting my apology. I waited for him to say something, but he was stubbornly staring at his blanket again.

  “Viggo, c’mon. What is going on?”

  He hesitated. “I can’t have you here,” he said quietly. “Not during this.”

  “But why?” I asked, exasperated. “I only want to help you. Support you.”

  “I don’t want you to see me like this,” he said, his voice rising as he met my gaze, his green eyes iced over.

  I reeled back, confused. “Like what? Sick? Like you saw me in The Green?”

  He shook his head. “That was different.”

  “How? How was it different?”

  “Well, for one thing, you could walk right after.”

  I gaped at him for a moment. “I fail to understand how that connects.”

  Viggo made a frustrated sound in his throat. “Violet, you just… you don’t understand.”

  “But I’m here now, so make me understand. Please, Viggo, I would do anything you ask, but you’ve gotta give me a reason.”

  “I just did,” he said.

  “What… is this an ego thing? Dr. Tierney said that you were feeling sensitive to this but…”

  “No, Violet, it is not an ego thing, okay?! So just back off and give me some space!”

  I recoiled at the defensiveness in his voice.

  I had never heard Viggo speak like that to anyone, let alone me. He had always been cool and collected, letting his logic win out over his emotions. But the Viggo in front of me wasn’t doing any of that.

  It felt like I was looking at a stranger.

  And it hurt. It hurt badly.

  I breathed in, my eyes growing hot. And just like that, I was mad again.

  “All right,” I said softly, my voice thick with emotion. “You want space? I’ll give you space. You can take the whole damn base.”

  With that, I turned and stalked out.

  23

  Viggo

  One week later

  “Next leg, Mr. Croft,” ordered Dr. Tierney.

  I slowly exhaled, lowering my left leg down and obediently raising my right, straining to keep it off the bed. Dr. Tierney had told me that if I could hold my legs up for forty-five seconds, she would let me try to walk today, and I was sick to death of lying down.

  I had been progressing in leaps and bounds this past week, and was beginning to feel more optimistic about my recovery time, but it was still frustrating. Especially since it had been a week, and Violet still hadn’t come by to see me.

  Not that I could blame her—I had been an unmitigated jerk to her. It wasn’t her fault that I was having a hard time coping with the transition after surgery. It had just taken me a little bit to process what I was feeling, and a lot of reminding myself that I could get better—that I would get better.

  Now I was more than determined: If she wouldn’t come to me, I was going to go to her. Under the power of my own two feet.

  And then I was going to make it up to her, even if I had to apologize three hundred times a day for a year.

  The entire process had been miserable without her. I wished I had realized it sooner, but having her around would have made it more worthwhile. Because while I knew I felt good at my own successes, nothing would’ve beat seeing the pride in her eyes. Her happiness at my progression might even have spurred me on faster.

  My right leg started shaking but I held it steady, waiting for the doctor to give me the go-ahead to lower it.

  “And now,” she announced, clicking her pen.

  I lowered my leg to the bed quickly and shook both legs back and forth, trying to ease the burn in them. I sat up on my forearms and looked at her. “So?”

  “We’ll give your legs a bit of rest, and then get you started on the rails,” she announced.

  I grinned in genuine pleasure. “Thanks, Doc,” I said.

  “Oh, don’t thank me yet. I get to be there when you go walking back to Violet. I am going to enjoy that particular evisceration. I might even patch you up afterward.”

  She said this with a wink, but I sighed, resting back on my hands. “I know, I know. I was an arrogant, self-centered… Patrian.”

  “Yes, yes you were,” she agreed amiably as she sashayed back to her desk.

  She had been pretty vocal about reminding me of all my shortcomings, but in spite of that, I had come to like Dr. Tierney. With Violet so angry at me, I had come to rely on the doctor for information and conversation. No one else came to visit me—I had yet to even meet the mysterious Desmond who apparently led these people. I had gathered that she was supposed to be brilliant but beyond that, I knew more about the doctor, Owen, Quinn, and some girl named Amber I had yet to meet, than I knew about Desmond. She was an enigma, and I was looking forward to meeting her and getting to the heart of the matter.

  After I patched things up with Violet, of course.

  There was a sharp knock at the door, and Dr. Tierney went to open it. I saw Owen and an older woman with grey hair in the hallway through the window—anyone else who might be there was being blocked by the doctor’s body.

  The doctor spoke in a soft tone, and then stepped aside to let a young man I hadn’t seen before enter. I froze when I realized he had gray eyes, just like Violet’s.

  Suddenly nervous, I pushed myself up to a sitting position so that I could see the boy better. He stared at me, and then stepped into the room slowly, taking care not to brush against anything. Owen and the woman stayed in the hall, and Dr. Tierney stepped into it, closing the door behind her.

  I stared at the boy I was certain was Timothy Bates, unsure of what to say.

  “Hello,” he murmured.

  “Hello,” I replied. “You… you must be Tim.”

  Tim nodded and took a step toward me. “Sick,” he said, nodding toward the machine.

  It was my turn to nod. “Yes, but getting better.”

  “Lucky,” he replied, tilting his gaze around the room.

  I frowned and leaned forward. His head snapped back to me, eyes studying me intently. “Why?” he asked finally, and my frown intensified in confusion.

  “Why what?”

  He gave me an irritated look. “Violet—why?”

  Comprehension dawned on me and I blew out.

  This was… not going to be easy.

  “Tim, it’s… complicated,” I hedged.

  Tim frowned and then shook his head. “Love?”

  I stalled, clueless as to how to answer the question. The feelings I felt for Violet were deep… and complicated. I didn’t know where we’d stood before my little t
antrum, and I was even more uncertain now.

  “I… uh.” I gulped. “I care a lot for your sister,” I managed, and he nodded.

  “Good,” he replied. “Tell her.”

  I let out a breath and shook my head. “It’s not so… simple,” I replied and he shook his head.

  “No. Tell her. Say sorry. It’s enough.”

  “That’s what I’m planning to do,” I protested. “I’m just trying to get my feet under me so I can do it.”

  Tim frowned, then shook his head again, more vigorously this time. “No. Now. She’s… sad.”

  “But I—”

  “Violet talks about you,” Tim said, interrupting me. “Told me stories. ‘Viggo is brave, Tim. He’s so good, so kind, so caring. Treats me like a person.’” Tim’s eyes met mine, and I could see tears in them. “Not a person,” he whispered, touching his chest with his fingers. “Monster. But you… you’re… a person. She’s a person. She needs you. You need her. So, now!”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but the words stuck in my throat as he abruptly turned and walked out of the room. I watched as he stopped in front of the older woman. She asked him something and he nodded, holding his head high. Then the older woman flashed a glance at me, and I gaped at her… This was Desmond. The resemblance between her and Lee was too clear to me as I caught sight of her eyes.

  She said something to Owen, who then left with Tim. Desmond let herself in and I settled back into my pillows, studying her.

  “Mr. Croft, we haven’t met yet, but I’m—”

  “Desmond Bertrand,” I announced for her, and she smiled, the lines beside her eyes crinkling.

  “Indeed. How are you feeling?”

  “Pretty good, considering I’m being taken care of by a woman whose son tried to set me up for a bombing I had no knowledge of.”

  Desmond frowned. “Mr. Croft, please, I’ve explained to Violet…”

  I waved my hand. “Whatever. Regardless, you offered haven to Violet, myself, her brother, and… no, probably not Ms. Dale, and we’re all awesome friends now, right?”