ADDI THE BADDI
"Where's Louis?" Courtney asks Dave as soon as we seat ourselves for dinner.
"I dunno. Sophie hasn't seen him?"
I shake my head.
"What're you even fightin' about?" asks Courtney, leaning across the table towards me.
I try to recall his last statement to me. It was very vague, and I was about to ask him to explain before he slipped away. I get it now. You don't have to pretend anymore. I got the message. I'm sorry it took so long. A string of words that made no sense even with the context. I did what he advised me to do—I spoke to Tom. I've been speaking with him almost every night with Ben standing guard for me. But by the time we decide to leave, Ben is already half a kilometre gone.
Does he mean that we're getting a fake-divorce for our fake-marriage? Worse, why am I real-hurt by the possibility that this might be true? For the first time in my life, I can't just laugh off my pain.
Well, it's not the crazy life of Addi if everything's fine, I guess.
They say awareness is the first step to recovery.
"Miscommunication," I reply.
"Have you two spoken? Like, privately?"
I shake my head again. Courtney rolls her eyes.
Dave comes to my defence. "To be fair, it is quite difficult to get privacy around here."
Even if that weren't the problem, it's impossible to catch Ben nowadays.
Courtney rises abruptly, dish hardly touched. "I'll be back," she tells us before stalking off, leaving me to an awkward conversation with Dave about the life of Sophie Anderson.
"Remember that time Will and I cut your hair in the summer of 2007?"
"How could I forget? I wore a hat every day to hide how uneven it was."
He shakes his head, chuckling over his meal. "Good times."
And I am nostalgic for a childhood I never had.
***
I forget to ask Courtney where she'd rushed off to, only remembering two days later. I try to slip it casually in a conversation and she shoots me an incredulous glance. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
I leave it at that.
That night, I'd found a note on my bed signed by none other than the elusive Benjamin Harris. In quick slanted strokes, he'd written, Three more days. I'll find a way, I promise. Ben.
To anyone else, it was a love letter. I'd realised pretty quickly that he was referring to our escape plan. He had applied to pilot a cargo plane during the arrival of the Seattle prisoners, but had yet to receive an itinerary. He'd briefly mentioned in a previous note that Johnson had deemed him 'too valuable' to leave the camp then. I'd otherwise scoff and dismiss this for humour, but Ben hadn't spoken to me in a week at that point. It didn't really seem to be the right time for a joke.
Anyways, I thought it nice that he was still trying to help me, although we weren't on speaking terms. I don't know why he does it, but I'm grateful nonetheless. The best way to thank him is to relieve him of our burden. Get out of his hair, go home.
I confess, I haven't thrown away the note. It's the closest I can get to actually conversing with him. Though my plan is to leave this all behind as soon as possible, I know I can't do it on these rotten terms with Ben.
You are so creepy. Oh, man.
Flash forward three days later and I'm approached by Colonel Owens. "Commander Johnson is requesting your presence."
I don't think I have the choice to turn him down. Without looking back at Courtney, I follow the colonel away from the medical tents towards headquarters. I can't explain why but I've associated it with corruption and death.
(Admittedly, the latter is not that bad, but Addi 2.0 does not wish to die, not with a very important mission to carry out.)
As expected, being inside HQ is a lot scarier than passing by outside. The closer I get to Commander Johnson, the more my hands shake. At every checkpoint, Owens insists, "Ladies first."
Ladies first into the depths of despair. And they say chivalry is dead.
Though graced with two left feet, I feel as if I am a Russian ballerina tiptoeing across the stage, light on my toes in case something comes flying at me in this darkness. I decide to breathe through my mouth, preparing my voice to scream at any second.
When the colonel raps on a dark oak door I think I hear it echo through three thousand cubic metres of stagnant air. The echo that returns is at a deeper pitch still, barely intelligible until Owens heaves the door open. The first notes of light shoot past me like greedy little rodents on a useless pursuit of freedom. Under the white light I am met with the very man who threatens my existence with a mere smile: Johnson.
"Nurse Anderson," he seems to delight, a change from his typically disapproving glances at me. "Come in, come in. Thank you, Colonel, for bringing her so promptly. You are dismissed."
Oh no. I'm gonna be here alone with Johnson. This cannot be good.
The thick door closes with a resounding thud. I feel myself growing paler with every step Johnson takes. He rounds me, then his desk, and sits in a sturdy leather office chair. "Please, take a seat," he says. His eyes offer no other choice. So I sit in the far less embellished throne, keeping my gaze trained on the cuts on the table. Wonder if the same tree that gave its life to his soundproof door offered a thick branch for the desk too.
"Sophie—you wouldn't mind if I called you that?"
"Up to you, sir," I mumble.
"Then, you have the option of calling me Paul—in private," he says. "We don't want the other soldiers getting envious of your privilege."
It's fine. I don't think I will because frankly, the invitation is creepy.
Johnson sits back, making a tent of his hands. Something about this stance reminds me of a terrible principal, the kind that have called in a recalcitrant child in a final attempt to condemn them through an insensitive guilt-trip. "Now, Sophie, I've called you in here because a fellow member of this community expressed some concerns for you."
I don't think. Just ask. "Who?"
"Unfortunately, I cannot disclose that. But, more importantly, their concern was a lack of private time with your husband."
He draws his gaze from his hands, pressing a cynical glare into my soul.
This is it, Ben. I don't know how, but he got us.
