Year 18

-Chapter 4-

I stare at the wall, my mind whirling with all that's taken place.

The weeks we spent planning to get Kane back boiled down to nothing more than a lackluster goodbye and a terrible discovery regarding Charlie and Paul's loyalties.

I wonder if Andrea and Andrew were able to get Kane back to Headquarters. And then I think, is Headquarters the safe option anymore? Paul knows everything about Headquarters. In terms of tech, he dominated the place.

The look on Kane's face when he realized I was staying behind is like a branding on my memory, burned into my retinas.

I feel myself shrinking even though he's no longer here, his eyes boring into me, angry and hurt. Disappointed. So disappointed.

I run my fingers through my hair, trying to undo the knots that have formed, my scalp stinging. I imagine Mrs. Porter and Anya, the day they braided my hair, the care they had taken to be gentle as they moved the brush through the thick tresses. I had become so accustomed to something as simple as brushing my hair all over again. Back when I lived on the streets, my hair was the least of my concerns.

I hear a pounding on my door, and I rush over, my legs wobbly with fatigue.

It's the Agent, now standing on the other side of the hall, his pounding apparently not to gain my attention.

"Frustrated?" I ask, knowing there's a mic somewhere near the door, someway for him to hear me. "I'm sorry you have to babysit me," I say, but I'm not particularly sorry.

"Somebody had to," He mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. He leans against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankles. His posture is rigid, but tired, his shoulders slumped as though there's a weight there, weighing him down.

"I bet they have a lot of plans for me," I say, laughing, though my laugh is void of any humor.

"I honestly don't know," The man says, and I'm surprised he's continued to converse with me. Maybe the Agents stationed in the Cells are just tired of their job. They are at a status so elevated, their pay-grade calls for heinous acts. They were the ones who were there that day at the riot. They shot those who sided with Kane, killed them in cold blood. My fingers tremble remembering that. Charlie shot me. It wasn't the old man, some Government worker, that was just a face Charlie wore. Charlie pulled a gun on me, on the old woman, choosing the Government over the rebellion.

I hear a set of footsteps, a slow, methodical pace echoing through the hall. Charlie comes and stands next to the Agent, who salutes him before resuming his rigid stance outside of my Cell.

Charlie waves his hand over a scanner, and the door slides open.

"Felisha, I think we deserve a do-over reunion," Charlie smiles, amusement dancing in his eyes, "don't you?"

I back away from where I had been situated, talking to the Agent, not wanting to stand so close to Charlie. There was a barrier between myself and the Agent, but there isn't one between Charlie and I. Not a physical one anyway.

"Charlie, I don't feel like arguing with you-"

"You think I came to argue?" Charlie bites his lip, throwing me a lopsided grin that is so like the old him, my heart hurts. "You don't think very highly of me do you?"

"I only have what you've given me to go on," I shrug. "It didn't used to be like this."

"You act like so much has changed," Charlie muses, coming in, the door closing behind him.