Page 71 of The Order

Not once have I seen the sector. Other than Officials, only a select few Untouchables can travel that way. Glancing back at the doorway, I internally debate whether or not I should leave and forget everything I’ve seen here.

One look at the floor littered with papers is enough to guide my decision.

With three clicks, I have the file opened, unable to digest the sheer horror on the screen in front of me. People lie dead in the streets, children included. I watch as Officials haul bodies away from the busy streets, throwing them in piles to be carted off somewhere. Several Elders beg for mercy, seeing the flash of a pistol before meeting the ground in cold, limp states.

I grasp my father’s desk as I continue to take in the disease and murder that ravages the people on the other side of our community. Buildings are older, clothes are torn, and bodies are weak. Officials throw the Unfortunates around like rag dolls, some badgering children who are doing nothing at all. My hands shake as I watch the footage, my mind running through every lie our people told us about how the Unfortunates had been comfortable and well provided for.

People wail out in pain, begging for someone to stop the Officials torturing them. I recoil in my skin, leaning over to release a gag doing its best to break free from my throat. My eyes land again on the papers on the floor. I grab a smaller notecard and shove it into my pocket. I hear the sound of a light sensor prod whirring, followed by the loud groans of someone being delivered a lashing. The sound of the grunts feeling all too familiar.

With horror-stricken eyes, I look up again at the footage, seeing his pained figure cling to a pole while they tear his back to shreds. Fallan. His blue eyes are filled with distress, but he’s somehow managed to stifle the screams he wants to let out. I watch the Officials hit him as hard as they can, breaking down his muscular body and leaving him with gruesome lesions across his back. His voice is hoarse from yelling. A necklace dangles from his neck. On it is a single golden ring. Even in the footage, I can see the band has an intricate design, carved of vines and wrapping all the way around. The date on the bottom of the screen is from last year. A year ago, from when I first saw Fallen on the tram to school for the first time. All those scars on his back were fresh.

I watch the Official back away from Fallan, finally finished with his lashings. My heart hurts at the image of tears rolling down Fallan’s cheeks. My own tears begin to streak my face, filling my chest with a significant weight I can’t shake.

I hear the Official behind the camera laugh at his suffering. Each dirty Untouchable on the screen is added to my mental list of people I want in front of the barrel of a gun. I touch the screen above Fallan’s slumped figure, watching as he almost falls backward once the Official who delivered him the beating takes off his mask to grab the camera.

My father’s eyes look unrecognizable. His face is streaked with Fallan’s blood, malevolence filling his eyes.

“That should be enough footage to bring back to the big guy. There’s no way that deviant asshole tries anything again,” Adam says from behind the camera.

All my father can do is nod.

I quickly shut off the computer, feeling a tremendous guilt for what my father had done. It’s hard to look down at the man without scowling. I don’t know if I recognize him anymore.

How can he come home to us like nothing is wrong after doing and seeing something so vile? How can he knowingly commit so many heinous acts towards people without having his conscience tattered to shreds? Is it his chip? Or is it him?

I grasp my head, reaching into my mind space in a panic.

“I'm so sorry,”I cry down the hallway of my mind, feeling myself start to hyperventilate.

“I didn't know,”I say again, backing away from my father and this forlorn study.

“What did you see?”Fallan quickly asks, sounding more panicked than usual.

Real or not, he needs to hear this from me, even if it’s all in my head.

I take a shaky breath, staggering out into the hallway towards my room. I lock myself inside and slink to the floor.

“I saw what my father did to you. I saw what he did to your back,”I whisper, feeling the mental drain start to take effect.

“That wasn't the worst thing that happened to me, Forest. Believe it or not, that punishment saved me that day.”he says, his words more exhausted than usual.

“How?”I question, slumping forward to press my heated face to the cool floor.

“The scars remind me of one thing.”he says silently in my mind.

"What?”I question, letting his voice guide my breathing back to normal.

“That any of it was real, to begin with,”Fallan mutters, making my head pound to life.

“That any of what was real, Fallan? What aren't you telling me?”I push, feeling the pain swarm my mind.

“Get some sleep, Little Dove. I don't have any more energy to give you,”he whispers.

My heart drops at his statement, leaving me with nothing but the haunted images of him now painted on the walls of my mind.

“I won't let them hurt you again,”I whisper silently.

He whispers back. It's quiet, but it's there.

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