Folsom (End of Men, #1)(57)
I’m escorted into the house, and a small group stands in the foyer, presumably to make sure I won’t do a runner. When my mother sees me, she looks at me resignedly and backs out of the room. Governor Petite and Langley stand to my right, both smug. My eyes narrow on them and I hold myself as tall as I can. Why is Langley here? None of this feels right.
Sophia is given the task of leading me to my room. Always ready to play the big sister role. I remember following her when we were little girls, playing school and store and doctor and lawyer. Two years younger, I was the one who came up with the ideas, and she always played the most important role. I never minded so long as she was playing with me. I wanted to please her, but my very existence was an underlying aggravation for her. I learned early on that I would never be able to do things quite right for her, and eventually that need to please eased into independence. It seemed to annoy her further when we were in middle school and I no longer trailed behind, wanting her attention. By the time I went to high school, I stayed out of her way, and we’ve maintained a shaky peace for the past decade. That seems to be over. She’s blatant with her disdain today. I’m kind of glad to finally have it out in the open.
“You’ve embarrassed this family. Keep your head down, Gwen.”
“Which family?” I jump in. “Pandora’s or ours? Because it seems to me a lot of things have changed lately, including you and Mother.”
“You’re the one who’s changed,” she shoots back. “It’s like you care about those men more than the rest of us. The rest of everyone,” she emphasizes. “Don’t forget, Gwen, that these men you love so much are the ones responsible for this mess we’re in. They had control of this world for thousands of years and they didn’t do anything but take from us, use us, and suppress us. ‘The age of women,’ as you call it, is finally here. And most of us couldn’t be happier about it.”
“You can’t hold twelve men responsible for an entire gender, Sophia.” Our faces are close now, our eyes trying to kill each other, though our bodies remain composed.
“We are. All twelve Regions and the rest of the world. They will give back what they took from us. Every single one of them, your precious Folsom included.”
“What about my son? Your nephew?” I place a hand on my stomach to emphasize my point.
“You know this is the way it is. When the time comes, he will pay the price of being born a man.” She begins to walk to the door. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I hear they’re compensated quite nicely. Laticus has chosen black for his jet, just like his father’s.”
I stare at her, keeping the expression from my face. I don’t want her to know how much I care. They’ll use it against me.
“He will be taking over his father’s appointments, by the way. Since Folsom is non-compliant, they’ve had to strap him to that harvesting machine.”
I’m shaken. I feel like I need to sit, but I can’t move my feet. All I can hear are Sophia’s cruel words, meant to hurt me.
I stare around the room I’m to be a prisoner in, not really seeing anything. My mind is filled with Folsom. The machines, I’ve heard of the machines. They were experimental, used in the early days to check the remaining males for live sperm. They were deemed inhumane by all twelve Regions. I can’t bear to think of him strapped to one of those.
“Why do you hate me?” It’s meant as an honest question. Sophia stops, her hand on the door. I don’t expect her to answer me, but then she does and her answer gives me chills.
“Because everything comes so easily to you. It’s just not fair.”
The door clicks closed and I’m left in my prison. Me and my son.
TWENTY-NINE
GWEN
During the next three months my son saves my life. A tiny unborn savior. I eat because of him, I sleep because of him, I do not throw myself from the roof of the mansion because of him. My stomach has swollen to a small round bump, evidence that the last five months have not been a dream. The torment of not knowing where Folsom is, or if he’s okay, is almost too much to bear. I check the daily news reports for word of him, but they’ve restricted my Internet use so that I’m only able to view without commenting. Pandora wants me to see what people are saying about me after the fire. And some have said I’m guilty, they’ve called me all manner of names, and have accused me of being obsessed with Folsom to the point of endangering my baby. But, there are others, others who suspect the Society and the President have framed me. Websites have popped up, blogs, where people are still talking about both me and the End Men, calling for change. Sometimes at dinner I catch Pandora staring at me, a thoughtful expression on her face, like she’s trying to figure out how to handle me. They thought that if they made me disappear, the uprising would disappear with me, but it has not.
I am treated as a prisoner, watched all hours of the day and night, if not by my sister and mother then by Langley, who clings to the walls of the Governor’s Mansion like a house fly. I overhear my mother and Pandora talking about her as I pass the living room one evening, their voices thick from the wine they drank during dinner. Three glasses each by my count. Langley’s night with Folsom did not end in a pregnancy. Pandora recounts this to my mother with sadness in her voice and I don’t know if it’s real; she is whoever she’s expected to be. I feel sick when my mother tuts her sympathy. Langley is a snake; a baby increases her social standing. My relief that she’s not carrying Folsom’s baby whooshes out of me, and I shove a hand over my mouth, afraid they’ve heard. I’ve wondered at Pandora’s attachment to Langley for a long time.