A Time to Die

  I stand, mute, staring at my betrayed hope. When feeling returns to my legs, I stumble out of the hall, my mind consisting of no insight and all frustration. The Preacher gave me nothing but questions. I sacrificed weeks of time for his wisdom and now I’m left with the message that life is meaningless.

  It can’t be. It’s not. “It’s not meaningless!” I shout, bringing myself back to reality and startling a short shopkeeper with black hair and crossed eyes. He bustles away from his wares and crouches behind his desk.

  It can’t be meaningless.

  That’s what I get for seeking answers from a man. Well, God, You’ve made your point.

  By the time I reach Mrs. Newton’s house, I’m sweating, tense, and determined to spew my thoughts to Mrs. Newton, Jude, and Willow. They’ll affirm God has a purpose for life—at least, Jude will. They’ll understand my despair.

  I open the front door to a scene that stuns my fuming. Jude sits upright on the couch in the living room, his head in his hands and Willow stands beside him, her ivory face streaked with tears. She looks up when I enter.

  “What’s wrong?” I step forward.

  “Jude can’t remember my name.” She releases a shuddering inhale, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand.

  I look at him. “What?”

  “Yes I can!” He lifts his head from his hands and slams his arms down on his knees. His sling lays abandoned on the floor. He looks at Willow with a mixture of anger and exasperation.

  She stares back with growing tears.

  His face contorts and his mouth moves as he reaches out with a hand as if her name floats on the air. Slow seconds tick by. His fingers curve together like a claw. Willow lets out a wail.

  Jude releases a roar and grips his head again. “I know it.”

  I step forward and kneel down, concern turning my heart into a fluttering alarm bell. “Do you know my name?”

  “Yes,” he gasps, straightening, looking at me with wide eyes of disbelief. “P-P-Puh.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Pay . . .”

  “Parvin,” I whisper, aching with him.

  He nods and blinks several times. It doesn’t hide the red around his eyes. “Parvin,” he murmurs back. “Parvin and Willow.”

  35

  000.086.16.15.09

  “Parvin.”

  I open my eyes and meet Jude’s eyes above me. He shakes me. Jude knows my name. Jude is touching me.

  I sit up.

  “Want to see the sunset?”

  My first instinct is to say no. In Unity Village I avoided the sunset because its rays glowed behind the Wall, but we’re in the West. The Wall isn’t blocking the sunset here. And this is the first time Jude has asked me to do something with him. My stomach flips. He desires my company.

  It’s odd being woken for a sunset. The day feels backward, like it should be starting not ending. My anxiety and meeting with the Preacher stole my energy and, after Jude’s odd struggle with memory, I slipped into a desperate escape from reality.

  Thoughts are foggy as we take a motorcoach to the Marble and then climb the endless stairs to the top floor. Shops are closed. The hollow sphere is stiff with silence—a sleepy evening of families gathered together.

  Jude walks toward the web of ropes connecting to the center elevator platform. My stomach sinks. “Jude, you know I can’t tightrope walk. Why didn’t we take the elevator up to the platform?”

  “Because I want to show you something.” His eyes crinkle a little and something deep inside me shudders in a delightful way. “Piggy-back ride?”

  My delight dies a horrified death. I glance from him to the ropes. “Across that?”

  “Yes.” He reaches out for my hand.

  “You’ll fall.” I take his hand. It’s warmer than I expect. Then again, I’ve never held someone’s hand. Not like this. Is he nervous? Why am I nervous?

  “There are nets. Besides, you haven’t seen me really tightrope walk before.”

  I tilt my head, playfulness basting my emotions. “That’s true. I’ve seen you dive off a cliff with a gun in your hand and then get a concussion from a gymnast.”

  He laughs, but turns his back to me and crouches down. “Come on.”

  I climb on, pulling against his clothes with my right arm to gain leverage. I feel rebellious being so close to him. What would Mother say?

  I smirk.

  “Grip tight with your knees and wrap your arms around my shoulders.” He steps toward one of the tighter ropes.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to dispel the memories of him falling from rope to rope in the Arena. That was different. He was fighting someone.

  He transfers one foot from platform to rope. I grip him with every ounce of quivering energy.

  His body is tight beneath me, his arms outstretched. One foot on firm ground, the other on the rope. My heart pounds. Can he feel it?

  At least I know we won’t die. I’m still at eighty-six days.

  With a soft push, he brings his other foot onto the rope. We teeter. I bite back a squeal and grip even tighter. The less I move, the more stable he’ll be.

  “The hard part is over.” He releases a long breath. Foot over foot, we advance.

  Somehow, I’m not as frightened as I thought I’d be. He’s secure. Controlled. The progress is slow. Sweat gathers at his temples. I inch my arms down a few centimeters until I feel his heartbeat.

  Quick. Excited. Focused.

  We reach the elevator platform. I slide from his back and my joints groan in relief. We both release a gush of nervous laughter.

  “Not so bad, was it?” I say.

  His laughter settles into a grin. “Tally ho.”

  I walk around the platform with a sense of empowerment. With Jude, I can go anywhere. I’m no longer trapped by my inability to tightrope walk. We’ve discovered a solution.

  Jude stops at the other side of the elevator chutes and looks up. I follow his gaze until my vision alights on a steel ladder stretching from the high ceiling of the Marble and connecting with the wall of the chute. The bottom rung is above my head.

  “Up we go.” Jude lifts me by the waist without so much as a warning.

  “Wait!” I grab the highest rung with my right hand, wrap my left arm around it, and pull my weight from his arms. He guides my foot onto the bottom rung.

  “Go on. Sunsets don’t wait.” His voice holds a hint of a smile. It’s so different from his clipped strict tones, I don’t argue. I like this side of Jude.

  I climb with little difficulty. My right arm is strong from taking the effort of my left arm every day. The ladder shakes a few rungs as Jude hauls himself up. The square hole in the ceiling leads into an empty, domed, glass room with an arched floor. Jude climbs through moments later. He leads me across and through a small tunnel opening to an extended wraparound balcony of sorts.

  The door closes behind us and warm wind blows my hair around my face. I used to hate my hair loose like this. Now I wonder if Jude likes it. I allow my eyes to slide to my left, hoping for a glimpse of his thoughts. He’s watching me. Expectant.

  I look out over Ivanhoe. We stand atop the city. My breath leaves me at the sight of orange-tinged glass towers casting shadows from the sinking sun. “Wow.”

  Jude’s smile widens. I look at him, half-wishing I had my sentra, but thankful I have this moment all to myself.

  We sit down and lean against the Marble roof and I glance at him. “How did you find out about this place?”

  “I have a knack for observation. I saw the ladder, so Willow and I explored while you worked with Wilbur.”

  A frown threatens to steal my joy. He came here with Willow. I’m not jealous. How could I be when she’s such a little girl? But I wish, somehow, Jude experienced this moment with no one but me.

  Okay, I’m jealous.
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  The sunset is silent. Does it bother Jude? What would his tune-chip be playing right now?

  I sigh. It broke because of my gamble with Rangell. Jude suffers because of my desire to see the Preacher. I should tell him I’m thankful he’s here. I should tell him it was an accident. I should tell him . . . “I’m sorry I left you and Willow.”

  “It’s okay.” He looks at his hands.

  Why do I wish he’d say, “It wasn’t your fault”?

  My emotions weave in and out, carrying strong whiffs of nostalgia and hope followed by despair and guilt. I wish they’d settle. I wish my mind would clear. I wish I knew what to say, to think, to hope.

  “Parvin, I wanted to watch the sunset with you . . .” Jude twists his hands together, then takes a breath and forces them to still. “But I also wanted to talk with you.”

  Oh good. Talking. He had purpose in bringing me up here. Purpose beyond a romantic sunset.

  Romantic? Was it romantic to begin with or am I creating the mood? I force myself to respond. “Okay. I’m listening.” His intentionality brings a warmth of leadership with it.

  “I told you I’d tell you about my invention.”

  The atoms in my body slow in tense anticipation as if, by decelerating, I’ll hear him better. Tingling tickles my ears. “You don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.”

  “I want to.”

  “Okay,” I say before I offer another escape.

  He flicks his hands, palms up, in a defenseless way. “It’s hard to know where to start. I’ve never told anyone the full story.”

  “Why are you telling me?” What’s special about Parvin Blackwater?

  His voice hardens again, like thoughts I’ll never know pour steel into his blood. “Because it’s time for someone to know.”

  Just someone?

  He lets out a breath. Neither of us watches the sunset. “Have you ever been to a USE orphanage?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “I have.” His tone is low, soft like a whisper. Something about it makes me sad. “Almost all the children in the orphanages are accidental Radicals—children of dead Radicals or irresponsible parents. They never get adopted. Why would someone adopt a child without a Clock? They might be evicted like the Newtons were. The child could die any day.”

  A hollow cavity deep in my chest turns cold as I imagine hundreds of children waiting in a stone orphanage for an adult to show them interest. “What happens to them?”

  He shrugs, but not in an unknowing way—in a helpless way. “They grow up, leave the orphanage, and live as Radicals. No jobs. Homeless. No health care. Stealing. Starving. Getting involved in the Black Market . . .” He looks away from me and speaks so soft I almost don’t hear him. “. . . Dying.”

  Shadows creep across Ivanhoe, bringing with them a chill appropriate to the conversation topic.

  “My family and I couldn’t handle knowing the lives the children would have once they outgrew the orphanage. We all got involved in some way. My father entered a Black Market form of health care to help them. My brother became an Enforcer to try and relocate children to Radical families. And I . . . I went to school to study history, biochemistry, and nanotechnology.

  “I started purchasing old Clocks from the Black Market and fiddling with them. Learning how the chips inserted into women detect the conception of a child. Eventually . . .”

  He goes silent.

  I tense, waiting. What came from his experiments? “Eventually what?”

  “This is hard for me, Parvin!”

  I shy away, drawn back to his flashing anger amongst the headstones. What if he hits me again? The pounding in my heart accelerates. I’m helpless up here. No one could aid me if Jude got angry. The railing around our balcony is short. He could push me over. I imagine myself plummeting toward the concrete ground, bouncing off the uneven sides of the Marble.

  Stop, I bark at myself. I’m escalating a one-time incident for which Jude already apologized.

  Jude takes a deep breath, oblivious to the dramatic swing of my imagination. “Eventually . . . I invented a Clock that can be matched to a person after conception. Adults. Kids. Anyone at any time in life.”

  I gape at him, frozen in a stunned silence. He looks up and gestures at my face. “I know, right? Enormous breakthrough! It can change the world.” He doesn’t sound happy.

  My mind reels. “You can match Clocks to . . . anyone?”

  “Yes.”

  “After birth?”

  A pause. “Yes.”

  My breathing is constricted. “This is huge.”

  “I know.”

  Possibilities flood into my brain like a water-pump. “There would be no more Radicals. No more stupid ovachips. No more people thrust through the Wall. Everybody could be matched with a Clock if they accidentally destroyed theirs. People wouldn’t have to die.” I grab his hand. “Reid could have a Clock after mine zeroes out! He could still get medical care. A job. A life.”

  “Parvin . . .”

  His voice holds a warning, but I don’t want to stop. The hope in his invention continues to drown me. “Jude, you’re incredible! How did you create it? Did you test it? People like the Newtons could return to Upper Cities if they got new Clocks. There would be no more evictions.”

  His fingers tighten like pincers around mine. “Parvin!”

  I yank my hand away. “What?” I’m angry. He’s going to crush my hope, I can tell by his tone. This is the invention he said he kept away from the government. He doesn’t want people to have it. I don’t want to hear why.

  “That’s what I thought, too.” He tries to soften his voice, but it doesn’t soften my heart. “I received permission to test the Clocks on some of the children at the orphanage. It would give them a higher likelihood of being adopted, even offer a better future once they left the orphanage. So I presented it to the council of my city.”

  He avoids my gaze. “They showed it to the Citizen Welfare Development Council I told you about. The CWDC wanted to see completed research. I brought some of the orphans with me and matched Clocks right before the Council’s eyes. The Council congratulated me. They mentioned a lot of possibilities—fame, honor, awards, wealth, anything. They said they’d get back to me with decisions and thoughts for the future.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Yeah.” He releases a humorless laugh. “Great.”

  I lean toward him, straining to see his face in the shadows. Muscles in his jaw tighten and loosen, like he’s trying to crush memories. “What is it?”

  His pulse pounds the soft skin on his neck, growing faster. “All the kids’ Clocks were short, just a teaspoon of months left for each of them, give or take. I wished I hadn’t Clocked them. Once I did, then I saw that most of them would die before me. I loved these kids.”

  Jude closes his eyes. “The CWDC did a few tests of their own. They went to the orphanage—my orphanage—that first inspired my invention and took the children with whom I’d already matched Clocks. They wanted to test if my Clocks were accurate.”

  I can’t bring myself to inhale. The word test instills a deep fear as I watch Jude process these memories.

  “They starved several of the children, tried drowning or poisoning others.” His voice shakes. His body shakes.

  I’m shaking, too. Nauseous. Sick. Helpless. I can’t breathe.

  Jude grips the front of his black coat with both hands and knocks his head back against the Marble. “None of the children died before their Clocks,” he croaks, sucking a breath in through his teeth. “Medical miracles. My invention was perfect. Too perfect.” He shakes his head and sniffs. “But . . . the kids were never the same after that testing.”

  I touch his shoulder as hard burning pinches the back of my throat.

  “Some of them,” he rasps, taking his hands away from
his coat and looking at me, “stared vacantly at nothing, like they had no soul left.” Jude grits his teeth and the tears behind his eyes pool so high I can’t see his irises. “Others were brain dead or crippled. Then they did zero-out, right on time with their Clocks—the Clocks I gave them.”

  With a thick voice, he gropes for words and points a shaking finger at his chest. “I d-did that. I-I caused that t-to happen.”

  “No, you didn’t.” I tighten my grip.

  “Yes, I did!” He closes his eyes tight. I force myself to stay close to him. “I could have conducted experiments with more control. I shouldn’t have shared so much information with the Council. Maybe, if I hadn’t Clock-matched the kids, they wouldn’t have died.”

  “You can still help people.”

  He shakes his head. “No. I started rethinking, weighing the pros and cons.” His breath quickens and strength hardens his voice. “Clock-matching would give the government more control. People wouldn’t have a choice to be a Radical or not.”

  “No one wants to be a Radical.”

  “That’s not true. Some people don’t want to know how long they’ll have. That’s heavy knowledge and the government would start making even more decisions based solely on a person’s Numbers. It’s pushing the country in the wrong direction. We need to try going backward to the life before Clocks when decisions weren’t based on someone’s time.”

  I shake my head, horrified. “No. We need these Clocks. Reid needs a Clock. I’ve watched people die to the Wall all my life because of injustice. That must be stopped!”

  He doesn’t seem to hear me. “Clock-matching needs to be a choice, just like being a Radical. Both need to be accepted. One can’t dominate the other. That’s why I kept my invention. I never shared how I matched. That is the one decision I’m proud of.” He straightens and glances over the city. “That’s why I’m here, Parvin. I took the information and ran.” He looks at me and his face turns into a cool mask. “And . . . I need to tell you something.”

  My heart squeezes my blood to a standstill. “What . . . do you need to tell me?”

  “I smashed my own Clock—you know that—but . . .”