Secret Aversion

Chapter 7

*Ari's POV*

          It had barely been three days, but I was beginning to miss working at the fields. I missed the hurried lunches with Crimson, casual but risky conversations with Florence, and spotting Evin now and then. We could know more about Platform members if we were on the fields, since the mansion hadn’t been a good source of information from my experience there.

          Though, three days wasn’t enough to make quick assumptions. The one thing that had changed from my routine in the mansion was walking there and getting back. Apsara and I found a way to meet in order to walk together in the morning, and the aching in my legs and the boredom was hardly noticeable with a companion.

          Whoever woke up earlier and was released sooner waited at a dirt pile near the Platform C board. It was the same location Arian had waited for me the other day under the large, crippling sign. I hadn’t seen him after our trip to the poison-looking pond, and I found myself missing everyone. I had to remind myself that this was just the beginning.

          After I was let out of my cell, I scuttled out to avoid making Apsara wait any longer. She had always been the first one out, and I berated myself for such untimeliness. By the looks of it, she didn’t seem to care about my late arrival when I joined her on the dirt road.

          “I wonder where the other maids are,” I said, surveying the cave of cells as we passed them. Now that I mentioned it, three days here really wasn’t enough to know much at all. I hadn’t even met the other maids yet.

          “Probably in Platform C,” Apsara replied, squinting at the dull April sun above. “They probably got rides to the mansion, if Emerson wanted to bring them there conveniently. He doesn’t hide his favouritism.”

          “I’m surprised he even has favourites,” I said. I could never see him as a positive person, or someone who’d support the needs of others. “It’s a pretty long walk, huh? At least we get to shower at the mansion.”

          Apsara nodded, nudging a dark tress off her shoulder. “There’s a time limit, but at least they’re private showers. I have to admit, Emerson can be considerate at times, but his actions create doubts and second thoughts about him…I wonder if he just uses us as marionettes to express the feelings he wants to see from us. He can easily make us angry if he took away the benefits, but I guess he…”

        I awaited talks like this with Apsara. It not only moved my heart, but stirred confidence and vigor by knowing more and more about the Donegans' tactics. We knew Emerson was taking his precautions by offering us comfortable things such as private shower rooms and clothing—that was somehow skimpy—so he didn’t anger or upset us enough to raise a riot.

        But his primary focus should be on the field workers. Maids were nothing of value to the Project, but that ground, that farmland was an asset. He should provide these comforts to those workers, rather than punishing them to gain their obedience. It saddened me. I was receiving better care as a talentless maid than those who got parched, b****y hands and sweaty foreheads for being out in the sun and rain all day.

        Emerson had potential to amend both cities and their historical issues, but he chose the wrong path: vengeance and selfish monetary power. The thought made me zone out until we reached the mansion doors. As we neared the agents guarding the doors, the courage to speak left us.

        Whether it was from experience or intuition, I noticed there were two types of agents. One was tied to the Project and had a possessed face lacking all emotion. They swore allegiance to the Donegans, and survived upon pure loyalty.

        The other type masked their disdain and sympathy by pretending to be emotionless. They were afraid to make a mistake and disobey the Project rules. All agents had a similar expression and behaviour. All the agents took the oath, and thus were forced to abide to the Donegans’ orders. Breaking the oath meant immediate punishment, whatever it might be.

        Being an agent must be difficult in this sense. I could only imagine how much Arian and Boston suffered to work for the Project, their enemy. Witnessing your best friend’s death, and supporting those who caused it was truly a painful thing to do. 

        With the glazed, strict look in the NR Agents’ eyes, I knew they weren’t safe to question or act a bit free around. Apsara and I silently followed them into the mansion and to our respective bathrooms. My maid uniform was hung behind the door and a timer had started after I was locked in.

        It was not a bad bathroom. Of course, what else should I expect from a mansion? It was entirely white-walled, had a marble sink, and a wide tub. I quickly got into the tub and sunk into the water. This was quite peaceful, even though I tried to deny it. Staying like this in the warm fog created the illusion that everything was alright and I was back home.

        But the sheer reality that this was the Donegans’ bathroom knocked me out of that illusion. Apsara and I had to be back at the kitchen before the timer went off and Emerson showed up. It was discouraging to see his cunning face every day, but we had no choice.

        “He’s not here yet?” I asked when I joined Apsara in the kitchen.

        She raised an eyebrow. “You want him here?” I shook my head. It was Emerson’s routine to walk by the kitchen and check if we were here in our spots. He’d fondle Apsara or violate our personal space sometimes. He kept his distance from me, though, for whatever reason. Either way, I was upset over the way he treated his maids, and especially Apsara. There was simply nothing we could do about it.

        Dread filled my body when I saw his tall figure walk down the hall and approach us. I pretended to ignore his dark, intimidating presence by focusing on the cooking.  

        “Where’s my breakfast?” Emerson demanded, and I heard clinking as Apsara prepared his coffee and toast. It was only natural for us to cook for the Donegans’, and we’d joked numerous times on secretly poisoning them. I heard footsteps and Emerson loom over me from behind. “You, Cordell. Turn around.”

        Hesitantly, I turned. His icy eyes narrowed at me, and I wished Arian was here to temper them. I was defenseless without Arian, and Emerson knew it, too.

        “Your cooking is interesting,” he said. My breath was trapped in my throat. “What’s your secret?” In other words, he liked my cooking.

        “Um, my mom taught me how to cook. I used to cook for my parents so…” With the amused smirk forming on his face, I knew I was babbling nonsense.

        “Aw, how sweet? Why don’t you cook for me now?” I had been up until now. He began to walk away with his coffee and toast, but halted. He looked over his shoulder, grinned, and said, “But no poison, please. That’s not on the menu.”

        Apsara and I exchanged looks of horror once he left. Did he known all this time? The fact he didn’t punish us for talking behind his back was even more frightening. Whatever we had said in the mansion must’ve been heard by someone else, but how?

        “I’m kind of scared to talk now,” Apsara said with a small chuckle. She didn’t have to worry; she was always quiet. I was the one who tended to ask a lot of questions and bring up dangerous topics.

        “Apsara, are you…?” I began. The question had been on the tip of my tongue for a while now, but I didn’t how to word it. “Are you alone?”

        She dropped a spoon in the sink. “Alone?” I nodded, and she lifted the spoon to wash it. “My parents were killed during the last evacuation. It’s just me and my younger sister.”

        “Oh.” My heart weighed like rock. How much pain must she have been through? How traumatized must her sister have been? “Do you know where your sister might be?”

        “The last time I saw Maya was the day we crossed the border,” she replied, her voice becoming monotonous. Her hands stilled and she stared ahead. “I just hope she’s getting more food than she used to. I wish I could protect her, but I guess it's best for me to stay here.”

        “You say it like moving here was a good thing,” I said. I remembered her say the life she had before was worse than this, but I couldn’t possibly…

        She pressed her lips together. “I really don’t care.”

        “But Emerson...doesn’t it bother you that he’s taking advantage of you?” I asked.

        Her expression repeated her answer: she didn’t care. She didn’t have the luxury to be picky, because anywhere was home for her. I never thought there were people like that, people so adaptable that Hell was even bearable.

        “You wanted to meet the other maids, right?” Apsara said, wiping her hands. I’d always been amazed by her carefree attitude despite the tension around her, and her ability to swiftly dismiss the topic.

        “Yes,” I said.

          This was my first time going to the second floor of the mansion. It was an extended version of the ground floor, equally large and decorated. Towards the end of the hall, there was a gold-plated door—I wouldn’t be surprised if it was actual gold. Upon closer look, I saw another glass door blocking the gold-plated door, and a security check-in box engraved into the wall next to it.

          “Don’t ever go in there,” Apsara warned. I didn’t think I could with the security system. “There’s an agent there, if you haven’t noticed yet.” She nodded to the wall coated entirely in black on either side of the doors. Upon closer look, I spotted an NR Agent camouflaged into the wall with his black uniform and shades. “This way.”

          We left the area and towards a more spacious hall to the left, separated by columns and long, velvet curtains. The lighting was spectacular here, as large windows stretched from the second to the third floor. There were sofas and coffee tables here and there, and glossy tiles.

          A maid was cleaning the windows at the far end. Brown hair stopped at the middle of her back and pink highlights faded at the tips.

          “Elvira,” Apsara said, “I have some here you should meet.”

          The girl turned and her chestnut eyes moved towards me. My eyes, however, snagged to the piercings crowding both her ears and the tattoos on her neck. She smiled and approached us with the cloth still in her hand.   

          “Hi,” she said. “Apsara told me she and you work together in the kitchen. Lucky you.”

          “Thanks?” I said. “I mean, it isn’t so good since Emerson comes to see us every day.”

          Elvira chuckled in pity. “Yeah, that’s a bummer. It’s pretty dangerous working up here, since a lot of agents roam around. Lola has it even worse. She works in the third floor with Jemma.” My ears perked up to the unfamiliar names when Elvira leaned over to whisper. “Jemma’s kind of the weird one. She doesn’t talk at all.”

          Before I could ask to meet them, heavy footsteps interrupted me. Loud voices approached us, and two figures stopped behind the curtains. The voices seemed to be arguing.

          “What could the bratty children possibly do?” I heard a scowl. This voice had to be Emerson’s. “Give them candy. Punish them. Do something! If worse comes to worst, find their parents and bring them to Platform A. We can’t afford to have any disputes.”

          “Yes, yes…I know,” the other voice said. Elvira leaned towards me and told me it was Roscoe, Emerson’s father.       

          “And what’s with the agents?” Emerson continued to bicker. “Why aren’t they there when I need them? Seriously, I need to hold another meeting. If one of them doesn’t attend, I got my g*n ready.”                   

          “Emerson—”

          “I have loyal agents,” Emerson said. “But they’re not strong enough. They can’t put their weapons to intelligent use, except shooting people unnecessarily. They’re all dumb and blind, and I have no need of such people.”

        What I believed, more so now, was how despicable and hypocritical Emerson was. He reprimanded his agents for being nothing but robotic, hasty servants, but he was no different. He was ready to pick up a g*n and shoot his own people. Wasn’t that haste? Regardless, innocent people were dying and no one was allowed to know about their deaths. How many people were exactly killed by these agents?

          “So what you really want is someone like Arian,” Roscoe concluded, somewhat with loathe. My attention rose, as it always did to know more about Arian’s mysterious background. 

          “Arian. Exactly,” Emerson spat, and punched the curtains. The hooks rattled violently and we, maids, bundled together in fear. “In fact, he’s the only one that fits my requirements, which disgusts me.”

          “Force him to train the other agents,” Roscoe suggested. “Use him.”

          “You know nothing, do you? You’re just too stupid.” What great respect he had for his father. “Arian is a powerful weapon. Don’t you think I’ve tried using him? He’s too intelligent and taciturn. That’s what pisses me off.”

          “Arian is the least of your troubles now. Your personal grudges will only slow you down,” Roscoe reminded him. “We have to resolve the conflicts in Platform A first.”

          Personal grudges? I’d known from the beginning that Arian and Emerson were opponents of an invisible battle, but was it only a battle of the wits? They seemed nothing alike, yet Emerson was bothered by it.

        More surprisingly, the way the Donegans talked about Arian revealed how important, and almost iconic Arian was. The Arian I knew of now was nothing but a small fragment of his whole being. I wondered about the life he had before, after Archie’s death, and the day he met Emerson. Would he ever let me discover things like that about him?