The Leaf

Never

Claire

Claire called a taxi which she waited outside for, dressed in the red dress Raymond never got to see on her. She clutched her purse, the knife hidden in its only inside pocket.

The driveways of Lane Eleven were identically populated: one car each, two at night when the family provider was home. Only one house had no car with a child seat in the back: the Wesley one. On Nico's street, families were less homogeneous. Since the state provided housing, the choice had been Tony's, and he picked the one closest to the people he wanted to imitate the most. Claire had no idea who any of them were. They were all the same family, to her.

Growing up in the state's care, Claire saw family as a diverse group of people brought together by shared interests, each with their own home and handler. Not very close outside of liking the same things, its members subject to change: all people with no one to call next of kin were socialized together. The former alcoholic. The woman whose only child had died. The rehabilitated ex-convict. Claire, once she'd turned eighteen.

It was a connection she appreciated: there, but not everywhere. She'd always considered herself lucky to escape nagging, limitations, parental ambitions. All she had to do to succeed in life was survive it.

In mandatory group therapy, Claire learned stories so distinct from one another that she couldn't imagine people living their entire lives under one roof with the same people. She could move anywhere, live anywhere, meet anyone, she was relieved.

Out of all the friends she'd made until college, she didn't have one left, regretting zero. Looking back, others managed to remain in each other's lives, Claire had simply avoided it. Therapy said she feared losing someone, it was why she couldn't easily attach to others. It was an elegant way to say never would attach, because at the time she had no one in her life who cared if she disappeared.

The professional assessment had made her proud, back then. Life had taken her parents from her when she was four and she just shrugged, it implied. What else can someone do when they are four? The challenge was to keep shrugging.

In the taxi, she directed the driver and leaned into the backseat, not bothering with the seatbelt. The driver wasn't very convinced the woman dressed like she was going to a ball understood what she was asking.

"You know it's a two-hour drive, right?"

Citizens didn't just wonder at night. Exceptions were rare, not because it wasn't allowed but because nothing was open past ten PM.

Claire took out her wallet and showed him her ID. The man didn't reach for it, although he had his doubts.

"I'm gonna play some music," he returned to his wheel.

The radio broke that connection too, Claire thankful for the man's affinity for nondescript pop, it kept her mind roaming.

Next up in her life, college: Nico, Lia, and Tony. The three people she'd found, all brought together by parties and the enthusiasm of new beginnings. Back then, maybe Claire could be convinced friends were not temporary.

Then an inevitable conversation followed, one both Claire and Nico had been avoiding expertly.

"Don't marry him," Nico had said. "It's not gonna get better than this."

The threat reached Claire through her usual rational filter: her friend was right. She was also one of two: there was no room for a third, the lonely best friend. Next to Tony, Claire could fake understanding how couples worked, he wouldn't even notice. A decision made swiftly -- to ignore that advice -- and Claire left behind the chance to become Nico's best friend. Not because of her choice, but because she never talked about Tony again.

The city ended with the lights, Claire watching the empty road, not once looking back. In red LEDs, the GPS showed one hour left until they'd reach their destination. In the distance, new lights showed the way.

She should've learned how to drive, her parade down the empty streets of the capital would've been more liberating. Worse, the man driving had no idea he'd be part of history. He was probably thinking about his long way back home, reminding Claire how she didn't have one, anymore.

When the car stopped, the driver seemed reluctant to leave her, despite no imminent dangers hiding behind the carefully groomed geometrical bushes. Claire exited the car with a hurried, "Thank you."

She followed the path that cut the perfectly manicured lawn in half. At its end, The Continental Forum. Not another person in sight, all the way to its front entrance, everything still, like a graveyard of the continent's historical monuments. Claire started walking, gaining confidence on the way.

She didn't reach far because the sky cracked in a lighting that blinded her.

Finally, a reaction. The light hit her hard, complete darkness following. Worse, Claire couldn't feel her own body, floating in the darkness, seeing nothing, feeling nothing. Like when closing her eyes to sleep, only there was no way to open them.

A few glitches of light, and she woke up in an empty room, seated on a plastic chair -- the only piece of furniture available, in the same metallic hue as the walls. A blueish diffuse light made her narrow her eyes to see better.

Despite the simplicity of its design, the chair felt like an armchair against Claire's back, complete with a plushy feel where her hands touched what looked like sprayed-on plastic.

"It's a simulation," a monotone voice explained. As much as she wanted it to be, it wasn't Raymond's. "Your senses are lying to you. The chair fools them."

A woman in a suit she'd seen before -- the suit, not the woman -- stood before her, reflecting metallic hues from the walls. No door, so Claire felt trapped, despite being so comfortable that she could fall asleep right there.

"We don't really have these anymore,"
the immobile woman smiled in a professional way -- like a therapist -- as she showed her the chair. "It's a very old model."

Where had Claire heard that voice, so clear and concise? Maybe a college teacher of hers? She couldn't remember.

"My name is too complicated to represent to you, but I am The Superior assigned to resolve your situation," the woman said, and Claire started to doubt she was indeed a woman. We have some options for you, but we need your consent to continue."

Good, they needed something from her. Claire also wanted something:

"Where's Raymond?"

The question surprised The Superior, "He's not part of the plan."

"Then you don't have my consent," Claire didn't even think.