Article 5 (Article 5 #1)(24)

The door creaked open finally, and a woman slid inside. My gut twisted.

Brock.

She had changed into a fresh Sisters of Salvation uniform. There was a bandage on her right cheek. The single yellow bulb overhead made her skin appear jaundiced, but it couldn’t hide the flush of rage still blanketing her severe features.

“Ms. Miller, I am very disappointed in you.”

“What have you done to Rebecca?” I stood, my legs trembling with fear or anticipation, I didn’t know. Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let her see me cry.

“You are a very bad girl. The worst kind. The wolf in sheep’s clothing. We shall need to shed that cover and remold your interior. I see that now.”

“What—” Even though I didn’t know what she meant, I was terrified.

“Guard, take Ms. Miller to the clean room.”

The clean room. The one that looked like a shower. One of the soldiers was already preparing the fire hose inside. Beside him, a pair of leather cuffs were chained to the floor beside his baton. He intended to strap me down and beat me, maybe even spray me with the hose. For a fraction of a second I saw Rosa, laid out across the floor, watching her blood twist down the drain while the force of the water pummeled her body.

My arms locked protectively over my body, fisting in my shirt.

“No,” I whispered.

Two guards moved forward. Dead eyes. Reaching hands.

“NO!” I shouted at them.

I spun to the wall, trying to hide my body from them. I could not go into that room. I could not let them touch me. They gripped my shoulders. My thighs. I screamed.

Just then there was a knock at the door.

The guards waited for Brock’s order. She flipped her head to the side, annoyed.

Randolph stuck his head in.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“Sorry ma’am. I thought you’d want to know there’s a Dispatch who just arrived from Illinois. He’s come to collect her for trial.”

Several beats passed before I realized he was talking about me.

Brock and I must have thought the same thing at the same time. There weren’t trials for Article violations anymore. It’s been over a month since a soldier came out here to pick up a witness, Rebecca had said. Could Sean have misheard?

My blood turned to ice. It seemed impossibly cruel for life to offer such an illusion. But if it was true there would only be one trial I’d be called to attend. My mother’s. I tried to sort through the mixed emotions—joy that I might see her, fear, because this meant that she was still imprisoned, pure relief at the interruption.

“I thought they were doing away with those,” said Brock, annoyed.

“They still do trials in certain cases, ma’am,” said a low, familiar voice from outside. My mouth fell open. My heart thumped in my chest.

A moment later Chase Jennings entered the room.





CHAPTER


5



HE seemed taller than before, and bigger, even since he’d become a soldier. Maybe it was the low ceilings of the shack or the company I kept. Randolph was only a few inches above my five four, and Brock was just between our heights. Chase towered over us at six three.

His face was blank, his eyes unreadable. After I got over the shock of his presence, I found myself hoping more than anything that his words were true. He had come to take me to a trial, to get me out of those gates and deliver me to my mother.

Chase removed a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Brock. She snatched it away, reading for what felt like several minutes.

“When must you leave?” she asked sourly. My eyes darted to the guards before me, and my arms hugged tighter around my chest. I needed to leave now. I couldn’t wait to see what they would do to me.

“Immediately. The trial is tomorrow morning, in Chicago,” Chase said.

I turned away then, fearing that my face might betray me. Of all the soldiers, of course they had to send Chase Jennings. The reason I was here in the first place. And if I looked at him now, surely one of them would see the betrayal, the questions, written across my face. And what was worse, my eagerness to get in the car with him. To get out of here.

Brock sighed irritably. “As an Article 5, Ms. Miller’s mere existence is enough to sentence the birth mother. Why the trial? Highly unusual for the offense.”

I forced myself to breathe. Why did the MM need me? Would my presence become the evidence they needed to condemn her? I had no idea what this trial or the sentencing entailed, but I was feeling the pressure to get there as soon as possible.

“All I have is the summons and order to transport,” Chase answered, his voice bland.

No one moved or spoke for a full minute. The only sound I heard was my heavy pulse, throbbing in my ears.

“Very well,” said Brock reluctantly. “But I’m only approving one overnight pass on account of Ms. Miller’s inability to stay where she belongs.”

For the first time Chase’s eyes floated over me. I still wasn’t looking at him, but I felt his impartial stare. I straightened, trying not to show I was afraid. I needed to maintain a cool head from this point forward.

“Is that why she’s here?” he asked, voice flat. “Her ‘inability to stay where she belongs’? I’m sure the Board will be interested.”