Cecelia Ahern - Flawed

He doesn’t even look up. “Get back inside, girl.”

“What? I’m looking for someone.”

“I know who you’re looking for. Get back inside.” He looks up then, and I see warning in his eyes, so I slowly back away.

Then from behind one of the enormous recycling bins, a photographer jumps out and starts clicking, the flashes disorienting me.

Mr. Murray tells him to stop, starts citing laws and acts and rights, but the photographer doesn’t listen, he continues snapping away. He lowers the camera at one point, and I see a wide grin on his face. I suppose he can’t believe his luck that I’m so startled I can’t move. But his grin urges me back into action, and I disappear back inside the library and slam the metal door shut. I’m back in the silent library, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure the books can hear me.

It’s then that I wonder why the photographer was there. What did he see? Did he see Art go in and out that door? And then me appear at the door? I haven’t broken any rules, but it makes me feel panicky because there is one person who wants to see Art almost as much as me, maybe more, and will do anything to find out where he is.

Crevan will come for me.

THIRTY-SIX

“TELL ME ABOUT the last time you saw Art Crevan,” Pia says in the library of my house at the end of the horrible day that I lost Art. I’m drained and not in the mood to talk to her, but I have to be on guard, because of her questions and because I’m waiting for Crevan and his army to bang on the door and take me away to interrogate me about Art’s whereabouts.

I’m exhausted from my parting with Art, from my lack of sleep, from imagining Carrick’s searing over and over again. I’m afraid of being caught by the photographer. I’m just completely zapped. They’ve taken all the goodness from me. I am just a scarred shell. But this new question about Art makes me sit up. Pia notices my body tense, and I’m annoyed with myself for being so obvious.

“Everybody knows what happened on Naming Day. Art was at the courthouse, it was on TV. Anything you want to know about that you can watch for yourself.”

“That’s not what I asked you.” I think she’s like a cat, rubbing her shiny legs together in her too-tight pencil skirt. She leans forward, a sly smile on her lips. “I’ve caught you out on two lies, Celestine. One”—she counts it off on her manicured, peach-colored fingernail—“you met Art at school today. I’ve seen the photographs of him entering the library, where I know you both met, and I will keep it between you and me if you cooperate with me fully and give me the interviews that I need.”

My heart pounds.

“And two, you didn’t receive a sixth brand. There is no proof, no documentation, no record whatsoever of that event taking place. I checked the files.”

She sits back, obviously enjoying the stunned look on my face.

“You know, you scared me when you told me, Celestine, and I think that was your intention. Perhaps you wanted me to confront Judge Crevan about it, write an article, cause a stir. Talk like that can be very dangerous, Celestine. Those kinds of accusations could have the power to bring down Crevan and the Guild, not to mention myself, and I won’t let you use me to do that.”

I can tell that she’s annoyed that she feels used, that I tried to trick her. She is using the Art photographs as retribution. A part of my mind that never thought like this before kicks into gear; it whirls into action, spinning, plotting, planning. I had no idea that Crevan’s giving me a sixth brand would get him into so much trouble that it could bring down the Guild. How could it? If I’d known that, I would have thought about it more carefully. I wouldn’t have just blurted it out to her. I have power?

“Is it your intention to bring Crevan down, Celestine? Are you trying to bring Art into your plan? Turn him against his own father? Is Enya Sleepwell in charge of an attempt to set up Judge Crevan? Just what on earth are you planning, Celestine? Because everybody knows you’re planning something.”

She is so pleased with herself, as if she’s caught me out in my great big master plan. She waits for me to break down, to cry, to confess. Instead, I throw my head back and laugh. She has given me an idea.

Confused, she fidgets in her seat and readjusts her skirt, uncomfortable with my reaction.

“I bet you didn’t ask Crevan about the sixth brand, did you?” I ask.

“Of course not,” she says, slightly flustered.

“No, of course you didn’t. Because you’re afraid of him. Because you know he’s unhinged.”

“Judge Crevan is not unhinged,” she says, clearly as if somebody else is listening, as if I’m setting her up. “And I’m not afraid of him.… I simply wouldn’t ask him something so ridiculous. I would need proof first. I asked your mother about your sixth brand,” she says with another sly smile. “Even she can’t vouch for you. She wouldn’t even admit you have a sixth brand. She wasn’t even in the viewing room for your fifth brand, Celestine; none of them were. Your family was removed for unreasonable behavior. The reports say it all.”

The reports have lied.

No wonder Mom seemed nervous when I returned home from school. I thought it was because of Pia’s presence, but it was because she’d been asked about the sixth brand. She is afraid Pia will write about it, but what Mom doesn’t understand is what I now understand. Pia will never write about it because Crevan will never allow her to, because he shouldn’t have done it .

“Who wrote the reports?”

“The guards on duty.”

Tina, June, Bark, Funar. They lied for Crevan.

“So basically my grand master plan won’t work because there’s no proof,” I say.

“Not an iota.” She grins.

I think about it. I relive the moment it happened, the pain I felt and the strength I had in not giving in to Crevan by refusing to repent. The most painful moment in my life also became the moment I showed the most strength and courage. And I think of Carrick, his hand pressed up against the glass. I also remember Mr. Berry, with his camera held up in the air, recording the event. I never knew it was important before, but we have all the proof I need, and I’m not going to reveal that to her. For some reason, Mr. Berry has not come forward with that information. I should have that video in my own possession. That video is power, and maybe that’s why Mr. Berry is keeping it, for his own interests.

“I can show you proof right now, if you wish.”

She looks around the room, possibly thinking somebody is going to jump out of a hiding place.

“Before I share it with you, you have to promise that you will fully cooperate with me,” I say, turning the tables. “I know you’re not going to write about my seeing Art today, and I know you won’t publish the photographs. You’re just using them to threaten me. I know that because, if Crevan finds out that you knew where his son was today and you never told him, you will be in a world of pain. You knew where his precious son was, and you let him get away? Do you know how long he’s been searching for him? I could cross the road right now and tell him.”

That has worked. She is afraid of him.

“Fine,” she says, swallowing. “I’ll bury it. So where’s this proof?” She’s trying to act like she doesn’t believe me, but I can see her fear. She’s afraid of the sixth brand being true, afraid that the head of the Guild is a fraud, that everything she believed in isn’t true.

I stand up. I step closer to her, and she pushes her back firmly into the chair, hands on the armrests, and braces herself. I turn around and lift my T-shirt, lower the waist of my trousers so she can see the base of my spine. I can’t see her face, but I can hear her intake of breath. The brand on my lower spine is that disgusting. I squirmed when Crevan seared me. I felt the pain without the anesthetic, and ironically the F is not perfect at all, just red bubbling skin. I lower my T-shirt but don’t sit down again. Instead, I make my way to the door.