Flawed (Flawed, #1)(16)
We sit in silence as Mom tries to compose herself, to put the mask back on. Dad rubs her back smoothly, rhythmically, and I sit there, stunned. My thoughts are barely thoughts at all as they hop unfinished from one to the other over what they have just told me.
They want me to lie. They want me to say that what I did was wrong. But to even tell a lie is to be Flawed. To gain my freedom, I must for the first time become Flawed. It doesn’t make sense. It is illogical.
The main door opens, and Mom and Dad bristle. Judge Crevan is coming.
FOURTEEN
I NOTICE THE boy in the cell sit up, too. I see the flash of red before I see him. Judge Crevan is like a winged man with his floating bloodred cloak. I see his sparkling blue eyes and his blond hair, and I think of Art and I feel at home. He smiles at me through the glass, his eyes crinkling at the sides as they always do, and inside I relax. I feel safe.
“Celestine,” he says as soon as Tina lets him into the cell. He flashes his perfect white teeth and spreads his arms, and as he does, he looks like he’s lifting his wings, about to take off. I run straight into them, and he closes his arms, the red robe wrapped around me. I feel protected. In his cocoon. It will be all right. Bosco will take care of me. He won’t let this go any further.
As he hugs me, my cheek is pushed up against the rough crest on his chest. I am face-to-face with the Guild’s crest and motto, “Purveyors of Perfection.”
He kisses the top of my head and releases me.
“Right, let’s sit. We have a lot to discuss, Celestine.” He fixes me with one of his infamous stern gazes, and just as I always felt before, it looks comical, cartoonish. This is not the man I’m used to seeing in his house.
I hide the nervous smile that is twitching at my lips. Laughing now would not be good.
“Things are going to be very difficult for you over the next few days, but we’ll get you through them, okay?”
He glances at Dad, who suddenly looks completely exhausted, and I think for the first time what he’s had to tell people at work. How can he run a news station when his own daughter is headline news?
I nod.
“You’ll have to listen to me and do as I say.”
I nod again, feverishly.
“She will,” Mom says firmly, sitting poker straight in her chair.
Bosco looks at me to respond.
“I will.”
“Good. Now.” He takes out a tablet and taps and swipes his documents. “This nonsense on the bus this morning.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Art told me all about it.”
I’m not surprised by this. Art wouldn’t have had a choice in the matter, and I am sorry again by how my actions have affected the people I love. I assume Art told him the truth. Art would never lie to his dad, but would he to protect me? I’m suddenly unsure of the story I am to tell, particularly after being told by my parents to lie.
“Unfortunately, already there are people using your connection to Art to take advantage and undermine the work of the Guild. The minority, of course. You may be used as a pawn in their game, Celestine.” He looks at my parents and then back to me. “This is just extremely bad timing in light of the Jimmy Child verdict this morning, where people think I was too lenient. But, Celestine, you have always been one of my greatest supporters. You’re going to be just fine.”
I smile, relieved.
“I have my notes, but I want you to tell me what happened this morning.”
I wonder what Art has said, but then I settle for the truth, hoping I’m not getting him into trouble. After all, there were thirty other people on the bus who will testify to seeing exactly the same thing. All I have to say is that I know I was wrong. That should be easy.
“There were two ladies sitting in the Flawed seats. One had broken her leg and sat there because there was room to extend her leg, and the other was her friend. An old Flawed man got on the bus. He had nowhere to sit. He started coughing. He could barely stand. He was getting worse and worse. I asked the lady who didn’t have the broken leg—”
“Margaret,” Bosco interrupts me, staring at me intently, his eyes moving from my eyes to my lips, narrowed in suspicion, analyzing my every word, every facial expression, every little movement. I concentrate on the story.
“Right. Margaret. I asked her if she would move so he could sit down.”
“Why?”
“Because—”
“Because he was disturbing the passengers on the bus, that’s why,” he interrupts. “Because his Flawed, disgusting, infectious cough was infecting the good people in our society, and you were concerned about them and yourself.”
I pause, mouth open, unsure of what to say. I look at Mom and Dad. Mom is nodding coolly, and Dad’s bloodshot eyes are focused on the table, not giving anything away. I don’t know what to say. This is not what I expected.
“Continue,” Bosco says.
“So she wouldn’t move, and eventually I called out for a doctor—”
“To stop his disgusting condition from spreading,” he says. “You were thinking of the people on the bus. Protecting them from the dangers of the Flawed.”
I pause.
“Continue.”
“So then I called for the driver to stop the bus.”
“Why?”
“To help—”