6

J essie lived on a pretty street of white-washed terraces just off the town square. I parked my bicycle against the picket fence and rapped on her door. Across the street, a woman flung open her window and shook out a blanket. Farther up, a mother pushed a stroller on the sidewalk.

I pulled up the collar of my coat against the chill and knocked again. The curtain across the front window twitched. I didn’t knock again. Jessie could take as long as she wanted, but I knew she’d answer.

It was another minute before she opened the door, dressed in a full length coat and winter boots. She tucked a loose curl behind her ear as she looked at me, saying nothing.

“Can we talk?” I said.

Her usual smile was nowhere to be seen. “Actually, I was just on my way out.”

“This won’t take long.”

She pulled a face, and didn’t move to let me inside. She could be stubborn when she got an idea into her head. But I wasn’t some imposter posing as her former best friend. It was just me. It had always been just me.

“Jessie, please.”

With a sigh, she finally stepped back.

I pressed forward and closed the door behind me. “Jessie, my mother is a Sister of Capra. I never knew about it until she inducted me into the Sisterhood when I turned sixteen. We’re sworn to secrecy. I seriously thought—or at least, I hoped—you were also in the Sisterhood.”

Jessie folded her arms, not looking me in the eye. She was listening, but I wasn’t sure she was hearing.

“Anyway, the first contact I ever had with the Sisters of Capra was after we’d graduated. Until then, they were just a vague concept. But then I married a warden, Roman, and they had a mission for me.”

Her gaze slowly tracked to me, as if interested despite herself.

“One mission,” I told her. “Everything else, going outside the walls and visiting The Smoke, that had nothing to do with me being a Sister. That was all just me and my curiosity. That’s who I am, who I’ve always been. I never hid myself, not from you, and if you can’t see that, then maybe at some point you just stopped seeing me.”

Her chin lifted, and a dismissive noise escaped her throat. She thought I was trying to turn the blame onto her. I wasn’t. I just wanted to open her eyes, before I lost my best friend.

“Is that all?” she said.

There was one more thing, and I didn’t hesitate. Whatever else happened between us, I knew my best friend. I knew I could trust her, even if she decided she could no longer trust me. She would never go blabbing my secrets.

“Daniel Edgar and some of the other, older heirs, are locked up at the Guard Station across from Berkley House. The Sisterhood believes they’re a threat, and plans to send them to rehab. I don’t yet know how, but I’m going to get them out.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re going to break them out of prison?”

“Probably not.” I grimaced. “I’ve managed to get a position at the rehab center. I’m hoping it’ll be easier to find an opportunity there than at the Guard Station. Like I said, I don’t exactly have a plan yet.”

“Why are you telling me?” Her eyes flattened again. “Have you finally decided I’m good enough to help your causes?”

The way she said it, she wasn’t offering. It was more like an accusation.

“I’d love all the help I can get,” I said anyway. “But I don’t even know how I’m going to do it, let alone how anyone else can help. I just wanted you to know what’s going on.”

Jessie said nothing.

That was okay.

Well, not okay , my heart was still sore at the distance between us, but I’d said what I’d come to say.

I opened the door, had already stepped outside before I found one more thing to say. “Jessie, I love you. I would never knowingly do anything to hurt you. Whatever else, I hope you can believe that.”

Then I left. I did glance back when I grabbed my bicycle, and again just before I started pedaling away, but she didn’t appear in the doorway.

Later that afternoon, I received a message from Janice Clearwater instructing me to present myself at Berkley House tomorrow at 8:40 sharp.

The following morning, as I was getting ready to leave, a voice message came in from Roman. He would be home this evening. Relief washed over me. I didn’t even care how cold his mood was, I just wanted him here. This cabin felt empty without him.

When I arrived at Berkley House, a couple of minutes early, Janice Clearwater was already waiting for me in the entrance hall with another woman, whom she introduced as Belinda Hart, the other approved volunteer who’d be joining us today.

Belinda Hart was a lot older than me, a lot older than Janice. Her hair still held color, although the blond seemed to be washed out, limp strands cut into a bob that sat just shy of her shoulders. The rest of her was staid and neat. She wore a thick woolen skirt with flat boots and a cardigan buttoned up to her throat beneath a matching woolen jacket.

Janice was also dressed in a black pantsuit and flat heels, while I was in my comfortable jeans, stylish boots and a long-sleeve t-shirt beneath my winter coat.

Janice ushered us outside into the blustery chill and fine drizzle, speaking as we hurried up the street and to the corner across from the Guard Station. “The shuttle runs on the hour throughout the day to the Quantum Zone, but there are additional early morning services. The Rehabilitation Center is the last service stop.”

We weren’t the only people waiting for the mini-bus, mostly men dressed in sharp suits but two other women as well, dressed in the gray pants and tunic shirts of the guard uniform. They looked as out of place as I felt, catching a morning shuttle to work.

The lack of privacy meant we didn’t speak much more, except for the odd pleasantry.

“I’m delighted to finally meet you,” Belinda said, her smile warm, almost grandmotherly. “I only know you by reputation, and what we’ve seen on the screens, but I feel as if I know you.”

“Thanks.” What else could I say? I blushed and awkwardly returned the smile, and then the shuttle arrived, already half full, and we packed on and found spare seats scattered amongst the other passengers.

I’d never visited the Rehab Center. Everyone knew where it was situated, set apart from the hub of the Quantum Zone, all the way across on the far end, but it was an institution of nightmares. Despite my usual overactive curiosity, this was one place I’d never felt any desire to explore for myself.

We drove through the symmetrical streets of the Quantum Zone residential area, then deeper into the power hub of our scientific and medical research facilities. Massive glass buildings and sleek laboratories shadowed the streets, the shuttle making regular stops along the way to drop off and pick up new passengers.

It was roughly thirty minutes before we left the buildings behind and arrived at the final stop.

The only other passenger still on the shuttle was a middle-aged man. He climbed off with us, shooting a couple of glances our way before he strode on ahead. We walked in the same direction, down a paved driveway that curved into a shallow forest that seemed to act as a boundary between the Quantum Zone and the Rehabilitation Center. A different kind of wall, hiding Capra’s little secret from the more respectable citizens.

It wasn’t long before the building came into view, a low sprawl of brickwork built in a fat U around a bland, paved courtyard. Towering conifers pressed close on all sides, hugging the manmade compound, as if nature were doing its best to protect the lost souls trapped within.

The entrance was a thick glass door with a guard standing sentry just inside. The reception area was warm and welcoming, the floor carpeted in cream and brown tones, the walls hung with oil landscapes, the lighting soft. Even the man behind the reception desk greeted us with a gentle smile and kind eyes.

The next hour was taken up with sorting out our security access. Belinda and I had our photograph taken, and then we were given a laminated card with our photo, name and citizen number and instructed to wear it clipped on our person, in a visible spot, at all times. We also had to hand the card in at reception each evening, and collect it again in the morning. They took security very seriously.

Janice had disappeared at some point, but she returned to bring us into the heart of the building. We passed through an internal door, one at a time so we could unclip our security card and scan it. It was a laborious effort just to walk through a doorway.

“All access and attempted access to secure areas is registered and recorded,” Janice informed us.

That was unfortunate, although not unexpected.

The long corridor behind reception was somewhat less inviting than the reception lounge. The walls were more eggshell than cream, the floor tiled instead of lush carpet, the click-clack of our footfalls echoing in the hollow space. The air also felt colder, and my nostrils twitched at the sterile, clinical smell.

Numerous doors dotted the passageway, all closed, with Janice’s office at one end, across from a set of swing doors labeled Ward Z.

She invited us into the visitor chairs and settled in behind her desk, which looked like ordered chaos. Pens and notepads, various piles of blue binders and a coffee mug within easy reach.

Janice pushed the mug aside and planted her elbows on the table, leaning in. “As I’m sure you can understand, the members of staff here are highly trained and currently all male. We do intend to initiate a trainee program for women, but that’s not why you’re here. First of all, your positions are voluntary and temporary, to help us clear the backlog. Depending on how that goes, I may recommend you for the trainee program, if you wish.”

I settled back in my chair, not at all interested in the trainee program.

“What do you mean about backlog?” asked Belinda.

“I’ll get to that.” Janice steepled her fingers beneath her chin, her sharp blue gaze pinned on Belinda. “Your younger sister underwent a stint in rehab, and you’ve spent the last five years caring for her.”

I snuck a look at Belinda. If her sister had needed ‘caring’, it meant she wasn’t one of the lucky ones who’d escaped unscathed. “I’m sorry.”

They both ignored me, and Janice continued, “Your application said you were keen for this role, so you could learn more about what she’d gone through, and apply that to help your sister. You’re compassionate and sincere, have life experience as well as firsthand experience with women who’ve been through this ordeal. That’s why I wanted you.”

Janice’s gaze swerved to me. “You are without doubt an intriguing young lady. You have grit, I’ll give you that, but most importantly, you chose to throw off the blinders and seek the truth. You’re not afraid to see the ugly side of reality and you appreciate that sometimes we have to take the hard paths instead of easy shortcuts. That’s why I wanted you.”

Belinda and I shared a look.

Janice placed her palm on a stack of binders. “We have twenty-three women here at the facility, all in different stages of rehabilitation. We want them released as soon as possible, but also as safely as possible. Your job is to help with their transition.”

I wasn’t qualified? Was I? “What exactly does that entail?”

“Why not just discharge them and return them to their families?” Belinda said at the same time. “That’s the safe option, much safer than a minute more spent in this place.”

“I understand how you feel.” Janice put a hand up. “You will sit in on their psych evaluations, since many may not feel comfortable sharing the full truth with their male doctors. You will also spend time with them alone.

“I need you to listen to them, to reassure them, and to determine if their home life would indeed provide a safe harbor. In some instances, it will be the man in the family who was responsible for having his wife or daughter committed. I won’t send them back to that.”

I instantly liked Janice a whole lot more. “What is the alternative?”

She peered at me a long moment, considering her words. “We are, very tentatively, considering the option of divorce in exceptional cases.”

My brows shot sky high.

An indecipherable sound choked out of Belinda. I couldn’t discern if it was approval or horror.

“It’s natural that our first instincts might be to release these poor women as soon as possible,” Janice went on. “The ugly reality is that even if these women do not belong here, and have never deserved this, we cannot discharge them until we have a safe transition route mapped out for each of them. We must be cautious, and thorough, but we must also act as expediently as possible.”

“To get them home as soon as possible,” Belinda inferred.

Janice nodded. “Of course, but I also need Ward X cleared. We have incoming, and I’d prefer to keep them separate from the other patients.”

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. Subjected to the new arrivals. That sounded like being subjected to some terror or unpleasant company...like the councilmen and/or their heirs.

I wanted to help these women, of course I did, but my brain was suddenly fogged. I couldn’t wait to get out of this office and explore the facility, to find the weak spots and start planning the break-out.

This was all happening. It really was. And once Daniel was free, I’d finally be able to think clearly again, breathe without nerves and guilt pinching every breath.

Janice handed us each four blue binders. “These are the patients currently in Ward X. Please read their case files and add your notes as appropriate. I expect an update each morning and, of course, I’m available if you need to discuss anything.”

Next, a bald man in olive green scrubs took us on a quick tour of the facility.

“Lewis Carlton,” he said as we introduced ourselves. “I’m not a doctor. You can call me Mr. Carlton.”

His heavy black brows made up for what hair he lacked on his head and, combined with the round spectacles he wore, his age was indeterminate. Probably older than I would have liked. Someone younger would have been easier to relate to, but his personality could be a bigger stumbling block.

I had to try, though.

I needed all the friends I could get.

“You’re welcome to call me Georga,” I said, smiling as I extended my hand. “No need to stand on formalities, I’m sure.”

He didn’t shake my hand. “This is a workplace, not a tea party.”

I refrained from rolling my eyes. “In that case, you can call me Mrs. West.”

He stabbed a thumb at the swing doors labeled Ward Z. “That’s for the real crazies. Also known as Ward Red.”

I felt Belinda stiffen beside me. The air around her literally chilled.

I gave Lewis the benefit of the doubt and dismissed the slur. Not that I’d ever be that crass as to refer to Daniel’s mother as crazy, not out loud, but the first time I’d met Miriam Edgar, I had thought she was gone with the fairies. That was before I’d learned about her stint in rehab, though.

Also, I was desperate to get the full tour. “Can we take a look inside Ward Z?”

“You don’t want to do that,” he said.

“Actually, I do.”

“That’s a level 3 ward, top security.” He started walking. “You don’t have access.”

I remained in the passage between Janice’s closed door and Ward Z.

Belinda stayed with me. “What are you thinking, dear?”

“I’m thinking that Lewis might not have top security clearance, but we’re going to need access to any women inside Ward Z at some point, right?”

Belinda acted before I could. She unclipped her card and swiped. There was a soft beep, but the red light above the card reader didn’t change to green.

Disappointed, I tried the door anyway. Maybe the light sensor was broken. It wasn’t. The door remained firmly locked.

Lewis had stopped to watch us with a bored expression.

“All done messing around?” he said when it became clear we weren’t getting inside Ward Z.

Belinda said nothing and I shrugged as we caught up to him. “So, how long have you worked here?”

“Too long,” he grunted.

We walked down the long corridor, the plaques on the closed doors self-explanatory. An Administration Office. Doctors’ offices. A staff lounge at the far end, just before the passage dead-ended in two sets of swing doors, one to Ward X and the other to Ward Y.

Lewis swiped his card for Ward Y and pushed through. Belinda and I hung back to swipe our own cards before following, into a room with an unmanned desk in front of a wall of pigeon holes, some empty, some containing yellow binders.

The room made me feel claustrophobic and I soon realized there wasn’t a single window. Fluorescent tube lighting bounced off the four walls with a yellow hue. A steel-plated door cut into one of the walls with the obligatory scanner and red light.

“This is the nurse’s station for this ward,” Lewis told us. He gestured towards the doors on either side of the counter, one with a small viewing window. “The communal spaces and the patient rooms. Ward Y is for serious offenders and re-offenders.”

I didn’t appreciate the terminology, but I held my tongue as Lewis shepherded us out again without further exploration. I’d lost all interest in making a friend out of him and had already decided I’d rather tour the facilities properly later on my own, without his foul commentary.

He waved a hand at the swing doors to Ward X. “Minor first offenses, mostly probation sentences.”

“That’s where we’ll be starting,” Belinda murmured.

That’s where they’d be putting Daniel. Not because they considered his offence minor, or because they intended to release him after a short probation period. That was just the ward we could get cleared out quickly.

The door to the staff lounge stood open and we took a quick look inside. A pair of brown sofas anchored one corner of the room. There were a couple of tables and chairs. A counter with cabinets beneath ran along one of the walls, holding a sink, mugs and plates stacked on a drying rack and a coffee machine.

I walked up to the bank of windows, genuinely pleased with the view. The forest of velvet pines pressed close, spectacular and peaceful.

“This is beautiful,” I exclaimed. “Do all the patients have this view from their rooms?”

Lewis peered at me from beneath the rim of his spectacles, then shook his head in a disdainful manner, as if he were trying to shake me off his vision.

Without answering, he pointed out the fridge. “If you want to bring in your own food. The canteen only offers whatever we serve the inmates, so it’s nothing fancy.”

“Inmates?” I marched up to him, my blood heating. I’d held my tongue until now. I’d made excuses for him. I’d done my best to ignore his callous attitude to women who’d been so grievously wronged. “Please tell me that is not how you refer to the women held here.”

His mouth thinned into a sneer. “Society is too kind to call them criminals out there, but why do you suppose they landed up in here? They broke the law.”

Belinda confronted him, as unimpressed as I was. “What is your position, young man? Are you an orderly?”

“That’s none of your business.”

I squinted at the security card attached to his chest. His name, Lewis Carlton, and citizen number beneath his photograph. I didn’t see anything about a job title.

Before I could re-read his citizen number to remember, he turned from us. “That completes the tour. Excuse me, I do have actual duties that require my attention.”

Belinda’s stare pricked his back as he walked out. “I do not like that man.”

“He should not be working here,” I said emphatically. “These women shouldn’t have to put up with another minute of that kind of attitude while they’re waiting to be discharged.”

A short while later, after hearing Belinda and me out, Janice was in total agreement with us.

“We’ve weeded out most of the bad seeds,” she assured us. “I must admit, we were more concerned about the medical and technical staff, but you are absolutely correct. We cannot have orderlies and admin employees who lack sympathy or hold onto outdated sympathies. I’ll look into Lewis Carlton at once.”

The rest of my day was productive. It didn’t take long to read through all four case files. The binders only held the admission form, and some blank pages for my notes. I sat in on two psych evaluations and got a good snoop around Ward X when I visited my other two patients. By the end of the afternoon, I was confident in recommending one of them for immediate discharge.

I stopped by Janice’s office and slapped the blue binder on her desk. “Mary Styler is a Sister of Capra. She’s twenty years old and was returning from a meeting with her contact in the Sisterhood when a guard caught her out on the street after curfew.”

Janice arched a brow, still listening, expecting more before she gave her verdict.

I had plenty more. “She’s not afraid to speak her mind, and for two hours all I heard was how bored she was and how unfair it is that she’s stuck in here and missing the revolution. She blames her pathetic husband, who apparently didn’t have the backbone to stand up to the guard who arrested her. She plans to make him suffer and keep him miserable for months before she finally forgives him.”

Janice’s mouth twitched. “It certainly doesn’t sound like she’s a victim of abuse within her home.”

“If anything, I feel sorry for her poor husband,” I said. “Look, her marriage might not be ideal, but if she’s not happy about something, she’s not going to cower in silence. She doesn’t need to spend another night here when she has a safe home to go to.”

“I agree.” Janice pulled the binder closer, taking it off my hands.

“Another thing,” I said. “Ward X has two communal spaces, but the on-duty nurse told me the patients aren’t allowed to use them socially.”

“The rehabilitation program relies heavily on isolation,” she said. “The communal areas are only used for group therapy.”

“These women aren’t officially in the program anymore.”

Janice slid her elbows across the desk, pressing forward. “Once all the women have transitioned out of Ward X, we’ll be transferring the council heirs there, Georga.”

My heart gave a wild kick at the confirmation.

“But we’ll still have the same nurses on rotation, and we can’t set a precedent for bending the rules or allowing leniency in special circumstances,” Janice continued. “Also, we need to avoid looking like we have different rules for men and women. That was the council’s way, not ours. We fix this by discharging innocent women as soon and as safely as possible.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Oh, and Georga,” she called as I turned to leave. “About Lewis Carlton. His employment has been terminated.”

I turned back to her. “Thank you.”

“Thank you .” Her gaze narrowed as she considered her next words. “I did some digging into his background. His uncle is a prominent Puritan.”

Well, that certainly explained Lewis Carlton. Puritans believed women were a necessary evil. The snake in every garden.

“We’re trying our utmost to not show prejudice or make the men of Capra feel persecuted, regardless of their former or personal beliefs,” Janice said. “But I won’t tolerate misogynists. I’m grateful that you and Belinda spotted it. If you pick up any other unacceptable behavior, please don’t hesitate to bring it to me.”

Slowly but surely, women like Janice Clearwater were redeeming my faith in the Sisterhood.

Change was here. I could see it, touch it, feel it.

I had a voice. Every now and then, I could even hear it.

After the shuttle ride back to town, I stopped by Berkley House to collect my bicycle. As I was pushing it out of the alley, I spotted Lisa exiting the building. She didn’t smile when she saw me, but she did veer in my direction.

Lisa only really did one emotion—cold and cutting. But today, there was a tremble underlying her clipped tone. “Have you heard about Parklands?”

“Parklands?”

“They’re relocating the council families to the Legislative District.”

“Okay.” That wasn’t a complete surprise. Parklands was the Council Residential District, a secure estate of grand homes reserved for council members and wardens. Why did Lisa sound so bothered? “Is Geneva planning to move herself and the leaders of the Sisterhood in? Does your mother not want to live in Parklands?”

“That’s not it.” She shook her head emphatically. “The Parklands homes won’t be occupied. For now, anyway. My mother says the Sisterhood wants to distance itself from the elitist stigma of the council. So why throw the families out?”

“The Legislative District isn’t exactly the slums,” I pointed out. “It’s got the lake, and it’s closer to town.”

“But it’s not their home ,” she said through gritted teeth. “At least give them a chance to grieve or whatever in peace before disrupting their lives again. I’m not sticking up for the council, or my father, but we’re dealing with a lot, you know? The families, I mean. Although if you ask my mother, it’s just another day. She hasn’t even been to visit my father at the clinic.”

A couple of platitudes came to mind, but they all felt dismissive. Lisa had every right to feel whatever she was feeling.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said then, the slight tremble in her voice flattening out. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Maybe not.” I hesitated. Lisa was not a natural confidant. But she was a St. Ives girl, and St. Ives girls didn’t rat on each other. “But I’m also not okay with some of the decisions that have been made. Like Daniel, or any of the heirs. They shouldn’t be locked up.”

“That’s another one. What the hell? What’s going to happen with them?”

I shrugged, not wanting to get into all that. “I’m just saying, it’s okay to not be okay with everything the Sisterhood does. I’m definitely not.”

She looked surprised, then gave a small laugh. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“You don’t like me,” I said, although it was mostly teasing. I wouldn’t call Lisa a friend, but we’d come a long way from our prickly school days.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot.” She flicked her hair over one shoulder and leaked a small smile as she walked off.