Mortal - Chapter 24

Premise: In this young-adult dystopian novel, people can no longer die. But they still feel pain, and suffer--and it's maddening. Because of the chaos that ensued, the US Government created a program to figure out how to kill people. When Garrett, a teenager, falls into a coma for weeks as a result of an experiment, the Program sets its malicious sights on him.

This is the twenty-fourth chapter of the novel, Mortal. Click here for the beginning of the story. Or, click here to view all chapters.

I sink my toes into the smooth, cold water, unaware of anything else.  After the incident on the highway, and my not so composed reaction, Edward decided it was best to stop at a hotel for the rest of the late afternoon and go to the mental hospital in the morning. Bern had protested profusely, arguing that stopping Arthur Paracot and Project Eden would help put my mind at ease, but Edward strictly refused. And frankly, I can’t think of anything that would do that for me.

I’m losing myself.

Maybe I am crazy. Maybe Paracot did find my breaking point, and now he and VitCorp are just stepping on the shards of my remains. Maybe it’s not even worth it anymore.

It’s weird being so close to my parents. Hadn’t been this close since they had tried to murder me, and I was forced to answer the Corpses’ questions at the hospital. The hotel’s about a fifteen minute drive from the hospital. Tomorrow, right after breakfast, I’ll come face-to-face with them. It’s been five years. And they know something. It was their idea. Whatever that means. But right now, it’s hard to see the point of any of this.

I press my feet against the blue tile of the swimming pool’s wall, frowning. I’m trapped. It’s obvious that at least VitCorp knows where we’re headed and if they’re working together, Eden does too. I might as damn well be broken. The result is still the same.

“You didn’t know what he would do, you know,” Lucy’s soft voice startles me from behind.

I look straight-ahead, my face flushing as memories of the tear-stained, blood-soaked boy ignored her comforting attempts on the car ride over flood back to the forefront of my mind. Her sandals scrape against the concrete as she comes closer, before she sits next to me, on the edge of the pool.

“Unless you like wearing wet pants, you should roll them up higher. I think Bern only bought you two pairs,” she comments as she unbuckles her sandals before slipping her feet into the water as well.

I grunt quietly in response before following through with her suggestion. No amount of soap and water could remove the bloody stains on the other pair. These were the only ones I had left besides Edward’s sweats.

She lifts her foot up, water trickling down back into the pool. Her pale, moist skin sparkles against the dimming rays of the setting sun. “Brrr,” she sounds, shaking slightly, so that our shoulders brush together, “It’s pretty cold, huh?”

“I should have known he was a Corpse,” I finally mutter, focusing my stare on my treading feet.

“Right. Because checking every person’s wrist you see is normal,” Lucy replies sarcastically, a faint smile pricking her lips.

“Normal people don’t run in front of cars. On a highway,” I exclaim bitterly, “I should have known.”

Lucy sighs, fingering the ends of her dirty-blonde hair, “Let’s say you did know he was a Corpse. It wouldn’t have changed anything. I think I have an idea why you wanted to help him. Corpse or not, you needed to.”

I grimace, shaking my head, “I would have—“

Lucy drops her hand on my own, and stares into me with fierce determination, “Garrett. And you know it so…” a breathy, exasperated sigh leaves her lips, “Just shut up, alright?” Her eyes are bright with sympathetic humor.

A shiver runs down my spine, urging me to pull my feet out of the water to rest on the rough concrete. I pull my hand away from hers subtly, by needing to brace my knees with my arms. “He shot himself,” I breathe out raggedly.

“So he’s awful at showing his gratitude,” Lucy mutters, folding her hands into her lap, “Not your fault.”

“He said he knows me, Lucy. And he said I know him,” I finally can’t help but spit out the words that have been bothering me since the trauma of the shooting reached a lull.

“Do you?” she asks as she gives me a sideways glance through her wall of hair.

“I…no,” my mouth presses into a deep line, doubt filling me, “I don’t know,” a depressed moan escapes me, compromising my former decision. “Sometimes things feel so foggy.” It’s almost as if I was never the child Garrett. Only Eden Garrett. But a few shattered memories mutilate that theory.

She places a hand on my shoulder, and I almost flinch away. “Maybe it’s the coma?” she suggests.

“Yeah, I guess,” I shrug, “But…”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Lucy interrupts the ring of doubt in my voice, “He clearly was having a crisis with sanity.”

“But maybe he’s right,” my jaw clenches as I finally find the words to say, “I must know him. Somehow. Why else would the Corpses be after me? Why else would they help Project Eden?”

I stare into her green eyes, vacant of any answer, and rise to my feet with a hiss of frustration. I walk away from her, my whole body rigid. The hotel’s brick walls enclose the swimming pool, and although it’s a crisp, warm day, the courtyard is nearly deserted except for a middle-aged woman flipping through a magazine as she rests on one of the few lounge chairs.

I stop moving, glaring at the dark shadows on her face conjured by the large rim of her sun hat. My left hand curls into a fist as I fight the urge to not stalk towards her and check her wrist for a number. God, I hate this. Is it even worth it? To be free but always looking over your shoulder? I thought I knew.

Lucy’s beside me now, gripping my hand and pulling my fingertips away from my palm. “One thing at a time, alright?” There’s sternness in her eyes that I haven’t seen since before Turkey Kettle.

She pulls me towards a table under an umbrella in the corner of the courtyard, away from the woman. Lucy pushes me down into the plastic seat, but I refuse to look away from her. She could be a Corpse…watching me.

Lucy maneuvers her chair in front of me, blocking my view. My eyes narrow at her in irritation to the point where Lucy scoffs and rolls her eyes. She glances over her shoulder before smirking, “Oh, she looks menacing, doesn’t she?”   

“Shut up,” I huff half-heartedly, crossing my arms firmly across my chest. “You know it’s—“

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, flicking her wrist at me, “It’s all a part of their master disguise, I get that.”

My teeth clench as my face flushes. I lean in closer so that my chest rests against the edge of the table. “This isn’t funny,” I tell her seriously, “You’re doing it again.”

Her eyebrows rise, “Doing what?”

“Pretending to be completely oblivious,” I say flatly, rubbing my chin.

I can tell by the way she purses her lips and the lowering of her gaze that she’s trying to hide the bitter hurt that came from my words. I’m not even sure she realized that’s what I thought she did. But so what if she does? Maybe I’m envious of that sacred ability of hers. Maybe I still can’t get rid of the murky blur of the old man lying in a puddle of his own blood out of my head. Maybe I still see it every time I shut my eyes.

Her eyes glint brightly and for a second, I think she’s either going to scream at me or leave without another word. Instead, she imitates me, closing in on the table so that only a few inches separate our faces. “I’m trying to help you,” she states coldly, “What you’re doing isn’t helping anyone but Paracot.”

I bite my lip, thinking that she might be right. If the Secretary was trying to break me, he’s certainly succeeding.

“She could very well be a Corpse, Garrett,” she continues, “And so what? What are they going to do to you? We’re immortal. They can only you hurt you as much as you let them.”

Lucy’s cell phone buzzes, and she quickly pulls it out of the pocket of her shorts and places it on the table. She reads the text message, “Edward’s ordering dinner. You okay with Chinese?”

“Yeah,” I nod my head slowly, and she smiles at me.

She’s right. I know she is. I’m letting them get to me. Maybe that’s what their plan is, to force me to return to Project Eden willingly. I can’t be honest and say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind this afternoon.

My throat constricts as I remember what other plans the Secretary has to torture me. And they’re unfolding tomorrow. “Do you really think tomorrow’s a trap?” I ask uneasily, blinking hard.

Lucy frowns at me, glancing up from her phone. “I don’t know,” she replies quietly.

Is it even worth it?

I don’t remember saying anything out loud, but she seems to know exactly what I’m thinking and reaches for my hand, squeezing. “Hey. Whatever happens, it’s going to happen to us too. We can suffer together.”

Her cheesy grin is enough to force me into a weak, lop-sided smile. And at that moment, I want to tell her. I want to tell her that I’m more afraid of seeing my parents than a trap from Project Eden. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold it together. But I don’t think she can understand. I don’t think anyone I know can understand except maybe Therese, who was sold into the program by her father. My parents tried to kill me. They knew it was impossible, but they were desperate enough, to try anyway.

“Okay,” I nod slowly and I feel the skin on my face tightening as it attempts to mask the pain, and to wipe away the growing concern in her eyes, mockingly, I add, “Well, as long we’re together.”