Burn (Pure #3)(36)

Long-Term Prognosis: We believe that Ms. Mertz will likely never be able to transition back into normal society. Her prospects of finding a mate—in light of her psychological deficiencies—are remote. We do not believe she will ever return to the level of a fully participating and contributing member of the community. We will suggest—subject to later review—that she be rendered unfit for partnership. We strongly urge that she not be given the right to procreate, as we see her psychological weaknesses as possibly stemming from a genetic source on her paternal side.

Final Determination: Lifelong institutionalization.

Lyda puts the folder down, steps back from the desk. She feels trapped again, like she did in the rehabilitation center. She remembers the shadows of fake birds flitting across the square of light that was supposed to make patients remember the sun. She wants to call to Partridge, to show him the folder, but she can’t. There’s some old shame inside of her. Professionals thought these things about her—unfit for partnership, not be given the right to procreate… She wants to hide this from Partridge. Why announce that this was once a determination, her deadened future?

Why is this on Foresteed’s desk?

She whispers, “Ms. Mertz will likely never be able to transition back into normal society.” And she wonders if this is the truest thing she’s ever read. Now that she’s been out in the wilds, could she ever survive here—even with Partridge at her side?

She walks toward Partridge. Does she need him in here in a way she didn’t out there? She used to be so fearless, bold, and strong. She misses her spears. She misses the mothers and the smell of the forest and the way the ash spun through the air. “Partridge,” she says.

He turns and looks at her, his face both anxious and weary. “What is it?”

And then the door swings open and Foresteed—lean and tan—strides into the room. “Sit down! Make yourselves comfortable.”

“Not really possible,” Partridge says. “We need the new count on suicides. Still rising?”

Foresteed sits at his desk. He looks at the folder as if he knows that it’s not exactly in the same spot he left it. He glances at Lyda.

She looks away, takes a seat in one of the leather chairs.

“The numbers have only gotten worse,” Foresteed says. “And we’re overloaded in all facilities, trying to care for those who’ve just botched the whole thing.” He almost laughs.

“I’ll do anything I can to help the situation,” Partridge says. “Except, well, you know where I stand on taking it all back. I can’t do that.”

“Of course not,” Foresteed says. “Damage done. Right?”

Partridge looks down at his hands. He’s been racked with guilt. Lyda’s tried to tell him that there’s no way he could have known that people would start killing themselves, that it’s not his fault. But nothing has helped.

Foresteed knocks on the desk, his knuckles like a gavel. “I think there are things we can do.”

Partridge sits down and leans forward. “What’s the plan?”

“You have to offer them some part of the truth, Partridge. You have to let them feel like there’s something that’s going to happen that they were promised, something they recognize. And it’d be great if it was also something that could distract them, give them a little something to celebrate.” Foresteed picks up the folder holding Lyda’s psychological evaluation, tapping it on his desk. “Purdy and Hoppes have a great suggestion, and they want me to ask you to consider—”

“Purdy and Hoppes? They’re supposed to be reworking the story so that Lyda and I can be together.”

“As you can imagine, all of that’s on hold.” Foresteed looks at Lyda. “Now is not the time.”

Lyda feels a flush of shame. She’s the unwed mother again, an embarrassment for her family, her school. She reminds herself quickly that she’s proud of who she is and how strong she’s become, but shame doesn’t listen to logic. Where does it come from? Why is it so uncontrollable and sudden? Foresteed seems to know just what to say to trigger it. “It’s okay,” Lyda says, trying to sound confident. “We’re in no rush. The first priority here is to save lives.”

Foresteed barely acknowledges her. “Things are serious, Partridge. Purdy and Hoppes want me to ask you if you’d be willing to reverse course a little. There’s much to be gained from a public persona that’s more in line with what was promised to the people. Romantically speaking—”

Partridge seems to know exactly what Foresteed is suggesting. “No,” he says.

“No to what?” Lyda asks Partridge. It’s like he’s cutting her out of the conversation. “He hasn’t even asked you anything yet.”

“I know what he’s going to ask and the answer is no.”

“Partridge,” Lyda says. “People are killing themselves. They’re dying. Children are finding their parents in blood-filled tubs. If you can do something without going back on the truth, you should. You have to.” She grabs his hand.

“Lyda,” Partridge says. “Don’t you know what he’s going to suggest?”

“No, I don’t.”

“The people were told a fairy tale,” Foresteed says. “They want a happily ever after. They want something that seems like things will go back—even if they don’t.”