Cecelia Ahern - Perfect

“Jason, can you come over here? Judge Crevan instructed me to go through this security manual with you all,” Tina says, and I see a Whistleblower at the end of the hall monitoring the security cameras abandon his station.

“We received that weeks ago,” he says, pulling up his trousers over his gut as he makes his way to the small group of Whistleblowers.

“Yes, well, apparently he’s not happy with how we’ve been following it,” she says, to groans from the others. “Let’s just get it over with. Why don’t we brew some coffee?”

“Good idea,” Jason agrees.

“Page one,” Tina begins.

I’m about to pull myself out to the corridor and turn right toward the exit stairwell when I hear Flawed TV blaring from the room across the way. It’s the much-talked-about live debate between all the party leaders.

“Compassion and logic is the Vital Party’s campaign logo, proving that ‘a good head and a good heart are always a formidable combination,’” Enya Sleepwell says from her podium.

“Which are words straight from the mouth of a Flawed, proving that Enya Sleepwell is in bed with the Flawed population,” Prime Minister Percy says.

“Interesting you should say that, Prime Minister. I was quoting Nelson Mandela.”

Score one to Enya.

I crawl across the hall to the room opposite and see armchairs. More people, patients, all in red gowns. More Flawed. They’ll be able to help me.

“Excuse me,” I whisper, pulling myself into the room. “I need help.”

Everyone has their backs to me, they don’t turn around. Perhaps I should leave, but if, as Carrick said, all you have to do is change one mind, then maybe we can help one another out of here. I don’t imagine I’m going to have much success driving with my legs as they are, though I’ll try if I have to, but assistance would be safer and quicker. I call to them again, louder this time, but they either can’t hear me or are ignoring me and don’t want to help. I pull myself up to the nearest armchair, the sweat from the effort trickling down my face and back.

“Excuse me, I need your—” I stop immediately.

The hairs stand up all over my body.

The man in the chair is Mr. Berry.

FORTY-THREE

“MR. BERRY.” I shake his arm lightly, trying to get his attention. His dead eyes don’t move from the television and I don’t think it’s because he’s engrossed in the live debate. He has that drugged look about him. He looks old; his face is younger than the rest of his body, but less so without his usual blush and concealer, and it’s like his neck can barely hold it up.

I look to the chair beside him and I see Pia Wang. Beautiful Pia Wang who was trying to help me, she has the same distant look, hair tied back and greasy, as if it hasn’t been washed in weeks. I’m afraid to look around any more, but I have to. I pull myself up to the next row, and I see the guards. Bark, who branded me; Funar, June, and the security guard Tony, who all witnessed it.

In the front row are the kids from school, Natasha, Logan, Gavin, and Colleen. I watch them in their red gowns, powerless, not at all like the last time I saw them, when they tied me up and stripped me to inspect my brands. The smell of peppermint in the air makes me queasy, that same smell that came from Crevan.

I’m ashamed of myself for the sense of satisfaction I feel looking at the kids who bullied me not so long ago and took photographs of my brands. It was that evil act that sealed their fate. I do feel something for Colleen, who I grew up with. She lived across the road from me all my life and was a family friend, someone I have memories of playing with as a child, up until the fateful day her mom, Angelina Tinder, was taken away and branded Flawed. On the last Earth Day gathering that changed all our lives. It doesn’t make what she did to me right, but Colleen targeted me from a place of hurt, not from pure menace, like the others. I’m grateful not to see Granddad, any other members of my family, or Raphael Angelo in this room.

None of these people can help me—they can’t even see me. I’ve stayed here too long. I hear the Whistleblowers’ voices in the corridor, telling Tina they refuse to listen to any more.

“He won’t know, Tina. We’ll tell him we read it again,” says one, while Tina desperately tries to win their attention back. She loses the battle, their coffee cups have been drained, the guards start to disperse.

I’ve run out of time.

FORTY-FOUR

THE DOOR TO this bizarre television recreational room opens and a guard steps in. I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the television, trying to mimic the others. My heart is pounding from the effort of climbing up onto the spare armchair, the sweat rolls from my temple and down my back, I’m not sure if I imagine it, but I think I feel it drip past my waist, tickling. Is the injection wearing off? I can’t test my legs to see, but I feel the beginning of pins and needles in my thighs. I’m out of breath from the effort it took to sit here and I hope they can’t see my chest heaving up and down beneath the red gown. I try to control my breathing and what I imagine is the wild look in my eyes, a stark contrast to the others, who are like couch potato zombies. What has Crevan done to them? How long have they been here, and what does he intend to do with them?

The guard gasps suddenly, perhaps seeing me, and she runs from the room.

“Stacey!” she calls down the corridor, keeping the door open with her body so that I still can’t move.

I quickly take a risk and wipe the rolling sweat from my brow, that single movement a danger. She returns with another guard. They’re whispering, heads close together.

“That’s her. Celestine North.”

“It’s not her, Linda,” Stacey says.

They come close to me, and I try to keep staring straight ahead as if I don’t notice them.

“She’s so young.”

“She’s prettier in person.”

“Probably lost weight, on the run.”

“The fugitive diet. I could do with a bit of that.”

One snorts and they laugh, then quickly shush themselves.

“I knew Tina was hiding someone in that room. And the arrival of that uppity doctor. And having to read through all those rules. I wonder what they’re up to.”

“Not our job to know or ask.”

“Take a photo of me with her, will you?”

“Stacey!”

“What? Just for me. No one will know.”

They giggle as Stacey fluffs her hair and crouches down beside me, arm across my shoulder as if we’re best friends on a night out.

Linda holds the phone up in front of us; I can feel Stacey’s breath on my skin, can smell her sweet perfume. I try to focus on the television, but …

“One, two, three … Goodness!” Linda says, taking a step back.

“What?” Stacey jumps away from me as though I’m a bomb about to explode.

“She looked at me.”

“She can’t have,” Stacey says. “They’ve enough drugs in them to last them a week. Look at her, from the TV.” She clicks her fingers in front of Pia’s face. “Pia Wang reporting live,” she imitates. “Not so peachy perfect now, is she?” She chuckles.

Linda isn’t quite so sure. I scared her, and I’m quite enjoying the power.

There are voices in the corridor. Official-sounding, lots of boots on the ground. Another gang of Whistleblowers. They arrive at the door, push it open. Five of them appear. All wearing helmets. Two guard the door; three come inside.

My time is up, they’ve noticed I’m missing.

They file into the room and one lifts her helmet. It’s Kate. I try not to react.

“We’re here under order of Highland Castle. I have a document for Celestine North’s custody officer.” Kate looks from one woman to the other.