We spend the next thirty minutes gathering the copper, silver, golden, and platinum rings on the tails of the ratmen dead at the gate and put them all inside William’s backpack with an agreement to split up the profits evenly, despite Janet's arguments against it, saying that she and Oak deserved more, as they did most of the 'heavy lifting.' It would be a good bit of change, regardless, but I wanted to spite her. I had been sending part of my money to my parents, but I suppose that wouldn’t be a good idea right now. I hope Lawrence can rescue them. We had only just begun talking over the phone recently.
I called them about three weeks back when I first started going to lunches with Lawrence. It was after the third or fourth lunch date that we got to talking about our parents. Lawrence had said that he and his parent’s relationship was rocky, but he had wanted to patch things up now that he had some time away from them. He said that the distance he made by leaving the house, made him look at the petty little fights they had in a different life. At the end of the day, he regretted how rude and close-minded he had been all of those years he held hatred for them. How much his actions have led to the fights and disagreements they had. How disagreements festered into resentment.
I told him that my relationship with my parents wasn’t the best well. I didn’t tell him anything other than that, but that got me thinking through the rest of the day: there’s no guarantee that I’ll be alive tomorrow; I could easily die in the very next dive. After our talk, we went our separate ways for the day, and I called them. As the phone rang my heart raced. Were they going to answer? Did they even know that I was alive? Did they even know that I could walk now? That I could talk? Ring. Ring. Every ring sent a wave of cold through my heart. What if they didn’t want to talk to me? What if they still hated me?
“Hello?” My mother’s voice came over the phone, and I nearly froze.
“M-mom?” I had managed to stammer out.
“Who is this? William?”
“N-no. M-Monica…”
“What kind of sick joke is this? Who is this?”
“Mom. It’s...It’s me.”
“Look. You’re a disgusting woman. Trying to mock the mother of a disabled woman?”
“Mom! I’m serious.” I gripped the phone closer to my ear as my fingers trembled. “Do you know what’s happening? With the ongoing war and the ‘Chosen?’ I’m one of those…”
“You can’t…”
“On my fifth birthday, you bought me a bike and taught me how to ride it.” My voice trembled. “Your maiden name is Maureen. You have a freckle underneath your right eye. Me and William look more like you than Dad.” I swallowed the burgeoning and complex sorrow, “And you hugged me and told me you were sorry you couldn’t do the things that I needed when you sent me to live with grandma and grandpa.”
“Monica?”
She broke down crying and thanked God for deciding to help me over the phone. She apologized for five minutes straight and then got my dad on the phone to do the same. It was the first time I’d heard my father cry as he, as well, begged for my forgiveness. Not a day went by that he didn’t wonder if he made the right decision or not, and when they heard that their grandparents had tossed me out a couple years later and that I was being tossed around by my family, they cut them out of their lives.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
They had promised to get me the help I needed, but apparently, what they found out, they were using me for the disability check that would come in every month. A check that I don’t recall ever getting.
When I told him what my uncle had done, they cried again. I told them of the dives, and how free it is to be able to walk again, how I enjoy fighting for the world, and what powers I have. I told her that I had made it into the top 100 chosen worldwide more than once. They asked me how William was doing; he hadn’t called them for a couple of months. I tell him he’s doing okay. He’s here in California with me. He’s incredibly smart, and incredibly well-regarded in the military. I didn’t tell him of his escapades with some of the female Marines; how often, and how many he had brought over to his bunk, and how glowingly they talked about him when he wasn’t around, but I didn’t think they’d appreciate that. My family was fairly conservative, after all.
We talked until I was yelled at by Janet to hurry up, and then excused myself. Over the next two weeks I would call them every morning when I woke up, and every evening after work I would call them. We spoke about my life, and where I had gone — they didn’t even know about my scholarship, nor did they know that I was attending MIT. They were so proud of me, they said. I began sending them money, to help with my father’s ailing health, and to help them buy a house. They were grateful and told me as such every day.
And then, one day, I called them, and they didn’t answer. I thought they were tired of me. I called again, and they didn’t answer. It was the day after that, when Lawrence had vanished, that I was handed the folder by the Order of the White One.
It contained pictures of my parents, bound, gagged, and bruised with the message:
“If you don’t want them to die, help with getting rid of Lawrence Able: he has been a thorn in the side of the Cause of the Order of the White One, and we are getting rid of him, so choose; a man you barely know, or your parents?”
I was torn for the day and a half it took for Lawrence to get out, but I trusted Lawrence to get out of it, so I went along with the ploy…
I shake my head as I pull another ring off the tail of a dead ratman. No, I have to focus on this for now. Mark stood at the top of the gatehouse, looking over the spiraling chasm. Mana circled around his eyes like a pair of lenses.
“Guys, there are people here.”
“What?” Oak said as he shoved the armor of one of the larger ratmen into William’s bag. The scrap value of it alone would be several thousand dollars, due to the scarcity of the metal.
“People. Being treated like slaves. I can count...fifty? Sixty? I don’t know.”
My mind goes to the people that emerged from the dive that Lawrence closed earlier tonight. Their thin forms, their far-away look, and their baleful wails as soon as they stepped out. Did Lawrence also know that these people were here? No, he only mentioned Dylan; the motel owner, Jenna’s niece.
“So?” Janet says, “We can’t focus on saving them. All we have to do is kill this, ‘apostle,’ so that’s our priority.”
“Are you really suggesting that we leave these people here?”
“I’m suggesting that the fate of the whole human race is more important than a few normals. How many people will be flooding this valley in the coming months? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? If we don’t take our duties seriously they all will die.”
“So we should abandon these people?”
“They’re free to leave, but we are under no obligation to help them.”
“That’s evil,” I say firmly.
Janet rolls her eyes.
“It’s not evil to be practical. In fact, it’s evil to try to do good when you don’t have the means to do it.”
“Huh? It’s never evil to do good.”
“Orders are orders, sweetheart.” Janet taps her hand against her thigh. “Our priority will be neutralizing the threat, and nothing else. If they get out, it will be on their own accord.”
“Monica, she’s right. This dive is going to be difficult enough without having to watch over a bunch of civilians.”
“But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t.”
“You would have died in Afghanistan, honey. What if they’re here on their own volition? Like that traitor, Lawrence? If we wanted to be extra safe, we should kill them, too. Do you want that?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I say, “These are human beings you’re talking about. Enslaved by our enemies, and you’re threatening me to kill them because I don’t think it’s plausible to save them?”
“Let me be clear,” She stepped up and pressed her nose to mine; a slight sneer on her lips, “I am not threatening anyone here. If you try to lead them back here, I will take that as an act of treason, and I will act accordingly.”
My mind flashes to the folder. Was she...no. She was too uptight to be willingly betraying humanity. But I can’t risk it. My parent’s life was at stake. So I grit my teeth and mutter, ‘Yes ma’am.’
She turns around with a smug expression.
“Well, are we done here? Let’s go.”
My fingers wrap around the hilt of the saber. How was she allowed to call herself a hero? How was she allowed to give interviews to the world as if she were the one leading the charge here? How was she allowed to get away with her abuse? Breathe, Monica. Breathe. As long as they don’t die, they’ll be able to get out, you just won’t be playing chaperone. I collect myself, drop my hand away from the basket hilt of my saber, and follow the group down into the abyssal city.