What is Fear? Scene from Chapter 1
I shove my bicycle into our small garage and go inside, the food bag in my arms covering up most of the scrape on my elbow.
Camilla waves at me from the kitchen where she has already begun preparing tonight’s meal. Father sits on the couch, staring at the holovision news cast. I go around the edge of the room. If I’m fast enough, maybe he-. Nope, he sees me.
“Hey, Sweetie.” Dad smiles.
His face smiles, but his eyes don’t. They never do anymore.
“Hi, Dad,” I reply, turning a bit to the side to further hide my elbow.
Please don’t notice the cut echoes through my head as I walk past him toward the kitchen. He doesn’t notice the cut. Yay.
I set the bag down on the table. My mind keeps re-watching the kidnapping. I replay the scene how I would have liked it to go: me punching the military man right in the nose, cracking his sunglasses, maybe even taking his gun from his belt to defend myself. The scene ends with me returning the girl to her mother: victorious and saving another family from going through what I had to. That’s how today should have gone. But what could I do when put up against the military? Against the entire government? I’m barely eighteen.
I look up at Camilla, who stares at me with one eyebrow raised.
“What?” I ask, taking a step back.
“I said what happened to your elbow?” Camilla moves around to the other side of the counter and grabs my wrist, twisting my arm around to look at the cut.
I wince, trying not to pull away as she twists my arm like Mr. Buzz Cut did. My elbow is still bleeding. I should have washed it off with the hose outside.
“I, uh… fell off my bike,” I lie.
Camilla drops my wrist, shaking her head. She wets a towel and presses it against my elbow. A Special? What does that even mean? Michael… Michael had said he was a Special, but I can’t be… right? I focus on the sharp sting the wet cloth sends up my arm, hoping that it will distract me from my thoughts. It doesn’t.
“Fell off your bike,” Camilla repeats.
I give my best innocent smile. Camilla always knows when I am lying.
I watch her as she digs through a drawer for a bandage. The two of us couldn’t be more different. Her grey dress rests nice and freshly ironed over her small frame, never having seen a wrinkle in its life. Whereas I picked my clothes up off the floor this morning.
I start to ask Camilla how her day went, but I don’t get the chance. Maev is home.
I’ve told Camilla before that the only reason Father married Maev was because she went through the same thing he did. Her daughter was taken away, her spouse killed. There’s absolutely nothing interesting about her at all. She has dull brown hair, lifeless eyes, and no thoughts of her own. She gets everything she says either from work or from the news.
And she works for the government.
“Hello, Tegan!” she says in a sing-song voice as she closes the door behind her. She drops her bag on the table and collapses into her chair with a sigh. “Busy day at work today.”
She says that every day.
I roll my eyes in response, taking the wet rag from Camilla and sitting at the table as far away from Maev as I can. Father sits with us as Camilla puts a pot of soup on the center of the table.
Run home, Special. You’re next.
“Tegan,” Father says. From the tone of his voice, I can tell this isn’t the first time he has tried to get my attention.
Camilla offers me a bowl of soup. I straighten up and take it from her, wondering how long she held it out for me. Father gives a quick word of thanks for the meal, and then the others start eating. I don’t. I can’t get what happened out of my mind.
I could ask him. I’ve only asked Dad about the events of that night a couple of times. Each time, he got angry (at who, I’m still not sure), and he never gave me the answer I wanted.
What if I am a Special? Will the people from the government come for me like they came for Michael? If that were to happen, then Dad deserved to know.
“Dad,” I finally work up the nerve to say. “What does it mean to be a Special?”
Silence falls over the table.
Father leans forward, setting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together. I follow his gaze over to the basement door, shuddering involuntarily. Then Dad replies, “Camilla, will you pull up the dictionary for us?”
I groan, leaning against the back of my chair. This isn’t what I meant.
Camilla taps on the glass table until the holoscreen pulls up. A keyboard appears on the glass table top. Camilla types the word ‘Special’ into the search box.
“Distinguished from what is different and or ordinary,” she reads. “Extraordinary.”
“Does this answer your question, Tegan?” Father asks, satisfied as he continues eating his soup.
Why does he keep avoiding this?
I stare straight at him. “You know it doesn’t.”
“Tegan,” Maev hisses. “Show your father some respect.”
“I will once he gives me the answer I want,” I snap back.
“And what answer do you want, Tegan?” Father asks, a warning tone creeping into his voice.
For ten years, I’ve never pressed the question. Ever. I know it hurts him to talk about it as much as it hurts me. But I have to know. I glare at him and ask the question I know he’ll never answer. “Was Michael a Special?”
Silence.
Crossing my arms, I continue. “Am I a Special?”
Camilla looks at me like I just dumped a cup of ice cold water on Maev’s head again, which I didn’t. That was one time… and that was an accident.
“Tegan,” Father says, now looking concerned. “What happened?”
They all stare at me.
“Um, a… a man today,” I speak slowly, trying to figure out how to explain it. “He called me a Special.”
“Owen, that can’t be true, can it?” Maev looks panicked.
Father ignores Maev, choosing his next words carefully. “Who?”
“I…” I hesitate to answer. “He was with the military.”
“Are you certain?” He looks to Maev, then back to me.
“What does it mean?” Camilla asks, her voice overflowing with worry.
Standing, Father says, “Nothing. It means nothing.”
“What?” I ask, standing up as well. “Nothing?”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Maev sinks back into her chair. “To think: a Special in our house?” She lets out a single laugh.
I try not to glare at her.
“Children, go to your rooms.” Father runs his hand through his graying hair. He hasn’t called us “children” in a long time.
Maev stands at his side, her hand resting on his shoulder. Father pushes her away and pulls out his phone, dialing a number. Turning around, he sees that none of us have moved.
“Now!” he shouts.
Camilla jumps so high she might have been flying for a moment. She rushes to her room, gently closing the door behind her.
I take one last look at Father as he holds the phone to his ear before crossing to my own room. He catches my arm as I walk past him. “Listen to me,” he whispers, leaning in close. “I want you to stay home from school tomorrow, do you understand?” He casts a glance over at Maev, who’s cleaning up dinner. “It’s not safe anymore.”
Father releases my arm. I blink, my mind reeling, then go to my room. I would have slammed the door, but…
I’m no longer safe? Who tells their child that? Thanks a lot, Dad.
No longer safe. That… that has to mean I’m a Special, right? Whatever being a Special means.
Sitting on my bed, I glance at the mirror hanging on the wall. I have half a mind to punch my reflection. Camilla had gotten the mirror for my birthday last year, otherwise I wouldn’t still have it hanging there.
I run my fingers through my hair, trying to distract myself. Camilla says I have blonde hair, ‘just like Mother did’. The only difference is that my blonde hair looks like it was dragged through mud, then glued to the top of my head. I can’t blame her though—she was too young to remember her much. I have blue eyes, but I try to ignore them every time I look in a mirror. They look too much like Michael’s. Dozens of freckles scatter across my face, like broken constellations. I sigh. The distraction isn’t working. I’m overdue for another late night ride anyways. Standing up, I pull my jacket off of the door handle and slip it on, waiting for the noises to stop outside my door.
Finally, when not a sound comes from the other room, I slip out of my bedroom and tiptoe to the front. I pause to listen. Father and Maev are talking in the basement. It must be a serious conversation if he’s willing to go down there. Perfect. If I hurry, I can catch the sunset.
I run over to my bike, climb on, and start pedaling. It should only take me ten minutes to get there. Wind whips through my hair as I stand up to pedal faster, down the street through the rows of crowded houses. The grass in every yard remains nice and short from the laser trimming and bright green thanks to the automatic water recycling system.
We never have to step outside of our town, so we never do, but the small, perfect city isn’t what makes my home beautiful. It’s the empty desert wasteland that lays just outside its borders, with the strange orange earth, cliffs, canyons, and rivers that I love. It’s the place that nobody ever goes.
I shouldn’t be out here, especially after what happened today. I won’t go as far as I usually do, but I really need to see the comforting blue-green water of the river.
Slowing down, I slide off of my bike and drag it along with me to the cliff. Then I sit down, my feet dangling over the fifty foot ledge as I watch the sun set over the canyon river. The river makes a ‘U’ shape, carving out the cliff face that I now sit on. This place is my favorite, especially when the sunset lights up the river and turns it to gold. Just like right—wait for it—right now. I grin.
Why would we not be allowed to live here, on the edge? Here, I could watch the sun rise and set every day. Instead, we are locked in our little perfect dungeon of a city. There are seven of us scattered across the continent. Seven cities. The closest one is about a thirteen hour drive away. That is, if you have a car.
I watch the sun touch the crests in the distance before it fully disappears, turning the fiery sky purple. I stand up, trying to dust off. Once Father saw the orange dust covering my clothes and bike, he’d know I was out here again. But I don’t care. For all I know, I may never see this place again. The government might come and take me away tomorrow.
On that happy note, I grab my bike and ride back home.
Camilla waves at me from the kitchen where she has already begun preparing tonight’s meal. Father sits on the couch, staring at the holovision news cast. I go around the edge of the room. If I’m fast enough, maybe he-. Nope, he sees me.
“Hey, Sweetie.” Dad smiles.
His face smiles, but his eyes don’t. They never do anymore.
“Hi, Dad,” I reply, turning a bit to the side to further hide my elbow.
Please don’t notice the cut echoes through my head as I walk past him toward the kitchen. He doesn’t notice the cut. Yay.
I set the bag down on the table. My mind keeps re-watching the kidnapping. I replay the scene how I would have liked it to go: me punching the military man right in the nose, cracking his sunglasses, maybe even taking his gun from his belt to defend myself. The scene ends with me returning the girl to her mother: victorious and saving another family from going through what I had to. That’s how today should have gone. But what could I do when put up against the military? Against the entire government? I’m barely eighteen.
I look up at Camilla, who stares at me with one eyebrow raised.
“What?” I ask, taking a step back.
“I said what happened to your elbow?” Camilla moves around to the other side of the counter and grabs my wrist, twisting my arm around to look at the cut.
I wince, trying not to pull away as she twists my arm like Mr. Buzz Cut did. My elbow is still bleeding. I should have washed it off with the hose outside.
“I, uh… fell off my bike,” I lie.
Camilla drops my wrist, shaking her head. She wets a towel and presses it against my elbow. A Special? What does that even mean? Michael… Michael had said he was a Special, but I can’t be… right? I focus on the sharp sting the wet cloth sends up my arm, hoping that it will distract me from my thoughts. It doesn’t.
“Fell off your bike,” Camilla repeats.
I give my best innocent smile. Camilla always knows when I am lying.
I watch her as she digs through a drawer for a bandage. The two of us couldn’t be more different. Her grey dress rests nice and freshly ironed over her small frame, never having seen a wrinkle in its life. Whereas I picked my clothes up off the floor this morning.
I start to ask Camilla how her day went, but I don’t get the chance. Maev is home.
I’ve told Camilla before that the only reason Father married Maev was because she went through the same thing he did. Her daughter was taken away, her spouse killed. There’s absolutely nothing interesting about her at all. She has dull brown hair, lifeless eyes, and no thoughts of her own. She gets everything she says either from work or from the news.
And she works for the government.
“Hello, Tegan!” she says in a sing-song voice as she closes the door behind her. She drops her bag on the table and collapses into her chair with a sigh. “Busy day at work today.”
She says that every day.
I roll my eyes in response, taking the wet rag from Camilla and sitting at the table as far away from Maev as I can. Father sits with us as Camilla puts a pot of soup on the center of the table.
Run home, Special. You’re next.
“Tegan,” Father says. From the tone of his voice, I can tell this isn’t the first time he has tried to get my attention.
Camilla offers me a bowl of soup. I straighten up and take it from her, wondering how long she held it out for me. Father gives a quick word of thanks for the meal, and then the others start eating. I don’t. I can’t get what happened out of my mind.
I could ask him. I’ve only asked Dad about the events of that night a couple of times. Each time, he got angry (at who, I’m still not sure), and he never gave me the answer I wanted.
What if I am a Special? Will the people from the government come for me like they came for Michael? If that were to happen, then Dad deserved to know.
“Dad,” I finally work up the nerve to say. “What does it mean to be a Special?”
Silence falls over the table.
Father leans forward, setting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together. I follow his gaze over to the basement door, shuddering involuntarily. Then Dad replies, “Camilla, will you pull up the dictionary for us?”
I groan, leaning against the back of my chair. This isn’t what I meant.
Camilla taps on the glass table until the holoscreen pulls up. A keyboard appears on the glass table top. Camilla types the word ‘Special’ into the search box.
“Distinguished from what is different and or ordinary,” she reads. “Extraordinary.”
“Does this answer your question, Tegan?” Father asks, satisfied as he continues eating his soup.
Why does he keep avoiding this?
I stare straight at him. “You know it doesn’t.”
“Tegan,” Maev hisses. “Show your father some respect.”
“I will once he gives me the answer I want,” I snap back.
“And what answer do you want, Tegan?” Father asks, a warning tone creeping into his voice.
For ten years, I’ve never pressed the question. Ever. I know it hurts him to talk about it as much as it hurts me. But I have to know. I glare at him and ask the question I know he’ll never answer. “Was Michael a Special?”
Silence.
Crossing my arms, I continue. “Am I a Special?”
Camilla looks at me like I just dumped a cup of ice cold water on Maev’s head again, which I didn’t. That was one time… and that was an accident.
“Tegan,” Father says, now looking concerned. “What happened?”
They all stare at me.
“Um, a… a man today,” I speak slowly, trying to figure out how to explain it. “He called me a Special.”
“Owen, that can’t be true, can it?” Maev looks panicked.
Father ignores Maev, choosing his next words carefully. “Who?”
“I…” I hesitate to answer. “He was with the military.”
“Are you certain?” He looks to Maev, then back to me.
“What does it mean?” Camilla asks, her voice overflowing with worry.
Standing, Father says, “Nothing. It means nothing.”
“What?” I ask, standing up as well. “Nothing?”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Maev sinks back into her chair. “To think: a Special in our house?” She lets out a single laugh.
I try not to glare at her.
“Children, go to your rooms.” Father runs his hand through his graying hair. He hasn’t called us “children” in a long time.
Maev stands at his side, her hand resting on his shoulder. Father pushes her away and pulls out his phone, dialing a number. Turning around, he sees that none of us have moved.
“Now!” he shouts.
Camilla jumps so high she might have been flying for a moment. She rushes to her room, gently closing the door behind her.
I take one last look at Father as he holds the phone to his ear before crossing to my own room. He catches my arm as I walk past him. “Listen to me,” he whispers, leaning in close. “I want you to stay home from school tomorrow, do you understand?” He casts a glance over at Maev, who’s cleaning up dinner. “It’s not safe anymore.”
Father releases my arm. I blink, my mind reeling, then go to my room. I would have slammed the door, but…
I’m no longer safe? Who tells their child that? Thanks a lot, Dad.
No longer safe. That… that has to mean I’m a Special, right? Whatever being a Special means.
Sitting on my bed, I glance at the mirror hanging on the wall. I have half a mind to punch my reflection. Camilla had gotten the mirror for my birthday last year, otherwise I wouldn’t still have it hanging there.
I run my fingers through my hair, trying to distract myself. Camilla says I have blonde hair, ‘just like Mother did’. The only difference is that my blonde hair looks like it was dragged through mud, then glued to the top of my head. I can’t blame her though—she was too young to remember her much. I have blue eyes, but I try to ignore them every time I look in a mirror. They look too much like Michael’s. Dozens of freckles scatter across my face, like broken constellations. I sigh. The distraction isn’t working. I’m overdue for another late night ride anyways. Standing up, I pull my jacket off of the door handle and slip it on, waiting for the noises to stop outside my door.
Finally, when not a sound comes from the other room, I slip out of my bedroom and tiptoe to the front. I pause to listen. Father and Maev are talking in the basement. It must be a serious conversation if he’s willing to go down there. Perfect. If I hurry, I can catch the sunset.
I run over to my bike, climb on, and start pedaling. It should only take me ten minutes to get there. Wind whips through my hair as I stand up to pedal faster, down the street through the rows of crowded houses. The grass in every yard remains nice and short from the laser trimming and bright green thanks to the automatic water recycling system.
We never have to step outside of our town, so we never do, but the small, perfect city isn’t what makes my home beautiful. It’s the empty desert wasteland that lays just outside its borders, with the strange orange earth, cliffs, canyons, and rivers that I love. It’s the place that nobody ever goes.
I shouldn’t be out here, especially after what happened today. I won’t go as far as I usually do, but I really need to see the comforting blue-green water of the river.
Slowing down, I slide off of my bike and drag it along with me to the cliff. Then I sit down, my feet dangling over the fifty foot ledge as I watch the sun set over the canyon river. The river makes a ‘U’ shape, carving out the cliff face that I now sit on. This place is my favorite, especially when the sunset lights up the river and turns it to gold. Just like right—wait for it—right now. I grin.
Why would we not be allowed to live here, on the edge? Here, I could watch the sun rise and set every day. Instead, we are locked in our little perfect dungeon of a city. There are seven of us scattered across the continent. Seven cities. The closest one is about a thirteen hour drive away. That is, if you have a car.
I watch the sun touch the crests in the distance before it fully disappears, turning the fiery sky purple. I stand up, trying to dust off. Once Father saw the orange dust covering my clothes and bike, he’d know I was out here again. But I don’t care. For all I know, I may never see this place again. The government might come and take me away tomorrow.
On that happy note, I grab my bike and ride back home.
