Regress (The Alliance Chronicles Book 1) Page 5

  Zared quirked an eyebrow. “Have you looked at it?”

  “No.” My insides quivered. My mind raced with the possibilities contained in the notebook. “I thought we’d do it together.”

  “Well?” He pointed at the notebook.

  I opened the cover. It was a journal dated March 2020. I didn’t recognize the handwriting. I read an entry aloud:

  “They suspect us. Destruction of Intrepid is imminent. Without it, however, we’ll have no proof of their intent. One of us is safe. She can protect Intrepid.”

  I ran my finger along the symbols on the page. “Do you know what this is?”

  He took the journal and studied the entry. “It's Farsi.”

  “You read Farsi?”

  “A little,” Zared muttered.

  “Well?”

  “The translation is ‘it hides in the library of the truth.’”

  “What hides?” I gripped the sides of the crate. “What library?”

  “Intrepid. Three people created the software.” Zared ran his hand through his hair. “One of them was my mother. Another of the creators was Arabic, and she died along with my mother.”

  “Did you know the one who died with your mom?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure there were three creators?” I bit the inside of my lower lip.

  “Pretty sure. The third one is alive and in hiding.”

  “So, the last creator has the software?”

  Zared closed the notebook. “It’s my theory.”

  I looked at him.

  He averted his eyes.

  “This book does us no good.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said. “It gives us valuable clues.”

  I twisted a strand of hair. “What are you talking about?”

  “Think about the translation. My father’s journals mentioned your mother was a librarian. You live in the ‘A’ Towers. What’s your first name?”

  “You think my mother knows about the tech?”

  He nodded.

  I checked my phone. “Great! I can’t think about it right now. My mother is expecting me home on time. I have the ceremony in a little while.”

  “You can’t do it, Tru.”

  “I don’t want to do it. My parents want it.”

  “Then don’t do it. Skip it.”

  I shook my head. “It's not so easy. I still live at home. It's their rules. Not mine.”

  “But it's your life.”

  “You don’t get it. I don’t have a choice. I’m already late.” His concern made it even harder. I slid off the crate. “I better go. I’m in enough trouble staying out last night.”

  “Didn't you tell them you called?”

  “It didn’t matter. The Pratts showed up last night.”

  He shrugged. “I’m going with you.”

  “What good will that do? You’ll make matters worse.”

  “It’s not about the ceremony.”

  I jabbed my finger at Zared. “I told you—”

  “Tru, there are other people wanting the tech.”

  “Who else?”

  “The CHA and Riza.”

  My stomach knotted. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  I squeezed his hand. “I’ll be fine. Remember, I can take care of myself.”

  “Tru, there might be people following you.”

  “Now, you tell me!” I put my hand on my hip. “What do I do?”

  “You said you could take care of yourself.”

  I glared at him.

  He touched my arm. His warmth reminded me of an embrace calming my spirit. “Can you meet me later?”

  “I don’t know. No. I can’t. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I rushed out the door. Meeting him later would complicate the situation.

  “Tru!”

  “I’ll be fine Z,” I called over my shoulder. “Tomorrow!”

  Mom and I needed a discussion before the Pratts arrived.

  The savory smell of garlic and onions mixed with zesty, citrusy cilantro hit my nose as I entered the apartment. Mom made Dad’s favorite asopao de pollo, chicken soup. The power had been restored. Perfect opportunity to talk to her about Intrepid. But I couldn’t just walk up and ask where the person hid it. The journal never said who had the tech. The “library of truth” could be a code.

  “You’re late. The examiner wouldn’t wait.”

  Good. Something went right today.

  Mom wiped the counter down. “Shower and get dressed. The Pratts will be here soon. I pray our word will be adequate.”

  “Can we talk first, Mom?”

  “We don’t have time.”

  “I’ll be quick.”

  She followed me into the living room. “What’s so important it can’t wait?”

  I tossed my purse and jacket on a chair. Butterflies flooded my stomach. I pushed past the sensation. “Any word about Eden yet?”

  “No, minha filha. Your brother is very upset. But no worry. We'll find her.” Mom always called me her darling daughter in Portuguese. It made me feel special when she said it.

  “I was being considerate. I—”

  “Tru, be nice.”

  “I was being nice. I don’t want to talk about Eden.”

  Mom leaned back on our saggy, cracked-leather sofa. We used to own gorgeous furniture. “Should I be worried?”

  “No, not at all.” I moved closer to Mom. I needed a creative fabrication. A little white lie never caused any harm. If it serves a purpose, it’s not all bad. “I've got this friend—”

  Mom narrowed her eyes. “If you’ve done something, own it.”

  “No!” I put my hands up. “I'm serious. I have a friend who's working on a world lit paper. He ran across something in another language. He called it Farsi.”

  Mom fingered her necklace. “And?”

  “Being a librarian, did you ever run across it?”

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  I might have shared too much. If my suspicions were wrong, she’d never forgive the intrusion. And if I were right, what would I do with the knowledge?

  “Well, he came across a phrase and wondered if it was a place or a location.”

  Mom continued playing with her necklace.

  “It was something like truth’s library or library of the truth. Ever hear of it?”

  Mom flinched, pursed her lips, and shook her head. “No.” She stood. “He may have translated it wrong. I should finish dinner, and you should get ready.”

  The front door opened, and Dad walked in with the Pratts on his heels. Well, I could forget about speaking with Cris any time soon. Maybe if I refused to leave my room, the Pratts would go home.

  “In an effort to maintain a peaceful society, the New Order and its affiliates may use any method of search and seizure necessary without provocation.”

  —Bill of Trust, the American Republic, 2020

  My parents considered sealing myself in my room a deal breaker. So, I donned the hideous knee-length white lace dress and a pair of white flat-heeled pumps. I pulled my hair into a ponytail. I didn’t care about makeup. If Holden didn’t like what he saw, too bad. Maybe he would change his mind.

  I took my place alongside the geek. He quirked an eyebrow and smiled down at me. I shuffled my feet and looked over at the Pratts standing like toy soldiers next to my parents. Dvora Pratt had folds of skin falling into multiple chins. She loved fashion but it didn’t love her. Nothing would hide her tendency to overindulge including a bright green floral print dress. Holden was a spitting image of his father, Hayden Pratt. The man was all elbows, knees, and right angles. His tan suit hung off him, making his pale complexion look yellowish and sickly.

  A city official, an emaciated, elderly woman, declared she needed to start the ceremony. Holden nabbed my hand and held it over an old cream-colored Bible.

  The woman, dressed in a white ceremonial robe, cleared her throat. “Romans 13:13 tells us, ‘Let us live decently as in the daytime, not in carousing and
drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and sensuality, not in discord and jealousy.’”

  Just what I didn’t need to hear, a Sunday school lesson. My parents were not religious fanatics yet they allowed this righteous psycho into our home. I watched her lips chant on about piety and chastity all the while thinking of Zared. He wanted to come with me, but I insisted he stay put. Mistake. Getting out of this farce wasn’t happening.

  “Tru, we’re waiting.” Mom’s voice grabbed my attention.

  They needed me to sign the documents declaring my chastity. I scrutinized the paper, the pen on top of it, and then my parents. Mom crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Dad gestured to hurry up. I rubbed my sweaty hand on my dress. I dawdled for a moment longer before scribbling a signature. Holden signed his name with enthusiasm.

  The elderly woman spoke up again. “The ring, please.”

  He pulled out a beautiful silver ring with an infinity symbol encrusted in small diamonds. Stunning. But I wouldn’t wear it.

  “Truly,” Holden whispered. My hands were glued to my sides. He paid no attention to my stubbornness and grasped my trembling left hand.

  I looked up. He seemed so relaxed with a goofy smile plastered on his pale, freckled face. I exhaled as he slid the ring on my finger. My heart cracked.

  The ceremony ended. Hayden slapped his son on the back. Mom and Dvora beamed. Dad nodded his approval. They all seemed so happy. My chest hitched as the walls started closing in on me. I needed air. I grabbed my jacket off the sofa and ran out the apartment.

  I stepped out on the roof of the ‘A’ Towers and inhaled. The shaking ceased, and my thoughts cleared. Being up there liberated me. I pretended to be a princess looking out over her kingdom wishing Prince Charming would rescue her. Instead, I got Holden Pratt tapping me on the shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” I crossed my arms and stared at his stupid face.

  “Joining my fiancée.”

  “I’d prefer it if you wouldn’t call me that.”

  Holden flinched. He backed up as if I physically assaulted him. Seconds later, he regained his composure and rested his arms on the short wall. I entertained the idea of pushing him over the edge. Would anyone accept that he lost his balance?

  “What name should I use?” He tilted his head sideways.

  I tapped my foot. “Quit the BS! You’re buying into this nonsense?”

  “Why not? Our match gets you out of this hellhole. If you’re smart, your parents can achieve a little status boost, too.”

  I propped my hip against the wall. “What do you get out of it?”

  “Play nice.” Holden reached over and removed the band from my hair running his fingers through it. “We can be good together. Take care of each other. I get the pleasure of your company.”

  I removed his hand from my hair. “I don’t think so, Holden. I’m not interested.”

  He grabbed my wrist and pulled me close. “You don’t have a choice.”

  With his free hand, he cupped the back of my head and kissed me. I thought about Zared. A guy with such kissable lips most likely had tons of experience. Holden, on the other hand, kissed like someone who practiced on his pillow. Sloppy. Messy. He stepped back grinning like a proud child. “Get with the program, fiancée. You’re mine.”

  I wiped the spit from my mouth. Then, I noticed the ring. I yanked it off and threw it at him. “I’m no one’s property.”

  “I think a whirlwind romance is in your best interest. We wed at the end of the month.” He blew me a kiss before he turned and walked away.

  The end of the month? Not. Happening.

  Holden Pratt crept me out. There was something undeniably sinister about him. You know, like the cartoon character bent on destruction, intimidating all the other characters. Holden put me on edge. I didn’t trust him. I wondered what he wanted other than the fact a match with me saved him money on dates.

  Thou shall not commit crimes for all crime is punishable.

  —10 Commandments of Personal Conduct, Thaxton Bible, 2021

  The Pratt Circus was gone when I returned to the apartment. My parents were in their bedroom. I shed the lace shroud and climbed into bed with my sketchpad, picked up my iPod, and tuned into Liquid Extinction—a banned jazz-rock group. Drawing helped me think, and I had a lot on my mind. My ridiculous engagement, the conversation I had with Mom, and the notebook plagued my thoughts.

  The phrase from the notebook might have been translated wrong, but how to find out? I didn’t speak Farsi. I didn’t… Wait a minute. The learning center… There had to be an instructor or student who knew what it meant. I might find someone there tomorrow.

  Mom’s reaction still puzzled me. She was the most honest person I knew. So why did the mere mention of Farsi unnerve her? It was a language. No big deal. Right?

  I scrutinized my drawing. Zared’s eyes stared back at me. I tossed my sketchbook aside, lay back, closed my eyes, and turned the volume up on my iPod. He had me captivated. Most guys I’d met didn’t like girls who took charge. I took over his plans, and he didn’t care. A strong-willed girl didn’t unsettle him. My type of guy. I couldn’t recall if he was the same way as a kid.

  Zared said something last night I couldn’t figure out. Her actions got your family reclassified. It’s punishment. I never considered why we moved to the ‘A’ Towers. If he spoke the truth, we didn’t belong in New Jefferson.

  I remembered the night we moved.

  Mom came home upset about something. She demanded I end a phone call with a friend.

  “What's up, Mom?”

  “No questions, minha filha. I need you to pack.” She walked past me.

  “Pack?"”

  Mom grabbed me by my shoulders. “I said, no questions! Just do it!”

  “But—”

  “Eu disse ahora!” Her forehead glistened with sweat. She didn’t need to tell me to move twice.

  I held back my tears and rushed from the room. I figured we were taking a short trip. Imagine my surprise when I found empty boxes in my room. Mom said I should pack the things most important to me. How would I get my entire life into a few boxes? What she requested would take me hours. Cris got the same instructions. Dad came home while I sorted through my stuff. They argued in Spanish and Portuguese for hours. And then, they stopped speaking. A few days passed before they spoke again…

  I waited in the bitter cold watching my family pile boxes into a black van. We took no furniture with us, just the so-called important ‘bits and pieces’ of our lives. We were beginning a new life.

  Moments later, we arrived at the ‘A’ Towers.

  I buried my head in the pillow. I didn’t welcome the trip down memory lane, but I had one more thing on my mind. Zared’s mom, some deceased woman who spoke Farsi, and a third mystery person created Intrepid. Did he think my mother had something to do with Intrepid? Librarians don’t create technology. They use it. My mother was just a librarian.

  But, if pressed, I couldn’t prove Mom had been a librarian. I never visited her at work. She worked while we were in school. Her day ended when ours did. And the “Bring Your Kid to Work” crap died off years ago. Could Mom have been a computer programmer? No. I didn’t even think she knew how to use a computer.

  My mind wouldn’t let go of my concerns about Zared. He had too much info on us, and I didn’t believe it was all public knowledge. Furthermore, why was he so interested in my family? Did he believe we had something to do with the hidden tech? If that was the case, why did he pretend it was lost? I also contemplated why he pretended to be a street kid. Zared was too clean, too polished for me to believe that lie. Yes, I was being judgmental, but I didn’t care. I knew one person who could help me sort out all this information.

  Thou shall remain faithful to our esteemed leadership at all times.

  —10 Commandments of Personal Conduct, Thaxton Bible, 2021

  The next day, I awakened before my parents. If I waited too long, one of them would talk me out of my plans. I grabb
ed a bizcocho filled with dulce de leche, one of my favorite pastries, from the kitchen and ran out the door. I had two places to go—the learning center and the Riza Military Academy.

  I entered my code at the glass door of the learning center and stepped into the red-brick building. Located behind a glass wall on my right was the media lounge. I passed through the detector and searched the room. My eyes landed on a student working on a computer—Nia Ahmad, an Arab African-American Hybrid with short blonde hair. We had issues the first day we met, but she was the best translator I knew.

  “Morning, Nia. Hard at work?”

  “I was.” She stopped typing.

  “I won’t keep you long. I sort of need a little favor.” I dumped my bag at the next station and removed the journal. “I need something translated.”

  She squinted at me. “Why should I help you?”

  I pulled out a chair. “Okay, Nia, I’m desperate. What will it take to get your help?”

  Nia frowned. “You assume I care to help.”

  “I don’t have all day.” I tapped my fingers on the desktop. “What do you want?”

  “Do my humanities project. Get an A on it. Then, I’ll help.”

  I slammed my hand down. “How about I not tell anyone about your hacking the system and changing your grades?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Fine.”

  “It won’t take long.” I flipped the pages until I found the phrase.

  Nia yanked the notebook from my hand. She viewed the page. “‘It hides in the library of the truth.’ What is this? A game or something?”

  So, he was right. “Yes. It’s a book of clues.” I didn’t care what she assumed. I held my hand out.

  She ignored me and flipped through the rest of the notebook. “You do realize most of this is in Farsi?”

  “Yes.”

  “How will one translation help you?”

  “Trust me, it will.” I wiggled my fingers in her face. “Can I have it back?”

  “Not so fast.” Nia studied each page before turning it. “Want to know more?”