Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Finally, his feet reach my door and I fight to control my breathing. I don’t know if it’s my own paranoia making it sound like each inhale and exhale is so loud, but I swear my father can hear each one through the door. I hear the creak of the doorknob turning and force my body to go utterly still. I don’t even think I breathe as the light from the hallway shines through my closed lids.
He does the same thing every time, and simply stands there for a few seconds, his heavy breaths filling my room with their tension. I release a steadying breath as I count the seconds that he watches me. Always twelve seconds before he closes my door and leaves. When I reach fifteen seconds, my jaw clenches as I realize something is different this time. His actions confirm it. He doesn’t close my door and walk away like any other time. I don’t hear his footsteps fading as they get further from my bedroom. Instead, I hear them coming towards me, and his shadow blocks the light as he gets closer.
My breath feels like it seizes in my chest as the bed dips from him sitting beside my legs. And then nothing. No movement. No words. Just the threatening bore of his eyes on me, and I try my best to appear like I’m sleeping when my heart beats so hard, I can feel it.
“Selina,” my father speaks, not softly like he’s trying to rouse me, but like he demands me awake.
I blink my eyes open and groggily ask, “Father?”
His nostrils flare for a second, and knowing that expression means danger, I brace for what’s to come. Maybe he got bad news at the meeting and I will bear the brunt of his anger about it. But instead, he blows out a hard breath and looks at me squarely.
“Recite the speech tenants.”
My brows furrow in confusion, but I don’t even need to think before I begin speaking.
“My tongue shall not utter words against The New Order. My lips shall not let gossip pass them. My tongue shall not allow lies to escape it.”
“My tongue … shall not … allow lies to escape it,” he repeats slowly, deliberately. “And what happens when we do not adhere to these tenants, Selina?”
“We become a threat to The New Order and the peace they have established.”
He leans closer and I have to swallow the fear threatening to choke me.
“And what happens to those that threaten The New Order?”
“The New Order e-eliminates them.”
“Yes.” He smiles that smile that I loathe. Full of arrogance.
Then, he stands and walks to the door. I watch him, my body shaking with the anxiety of waiting for him to turn and reveal the true meaning behind all of this. But he simply walks out of my room, closes the door behind him, and his footsteps fade down the hallway.
What was that all about? It couldn’t have been because he knew I was in the basement, because he would not have hesitated to punish me for it. He never has. I can think of no other offense that would have brought him into my bedroom. It must have been something from his meeting. Some liar caught or a traitor exposed.
When I go to breakfast the next morning, and he’s acting like his usual distant self, just a few words spoken before he bids me to have a day full of gratefulness, and productivity, I try not to be suspicious. But throughout the day, all I find myself grateful for is that I was not caught in that basement. I’m not as productive as my father wants because all I can seem to think about is the alien just one floor beneath mine. His eyes, his hand on the glass, and especially his look as I fled the library. They all haunt and intrigue me, but I can’t help but feel fear, too. Not of the alien, but of what my father wants with him, and what my father will do to him.
*
“Dinner is served, General Lockett.”
It’s another cold dinner by the time my father joins me at the table later in the evening. I make myself try not to stare at him too hard as he greets the servant the same way he always does as his food—undoubtedly warm unlike mine—is placed to the table, and he waves unceremoniously in my general direction. Given the fact he likes to make me wait to eat with verbal permission, I stifle the surprise at how fast he is to tuck the provided cloth napkin into his neckline before grabbing the utensils and digging into his food.
“A long day?” I dare to ask.
Very politely. I’m careful about that.
I don’t miss the noticeable silence from down the table “Pardon?”
“I worry you didn’t stop in your work to eat today, that’s all.”