The System

“Daddy said you were coming soon,” Harper said. “Daddy said you and Ethan were coming.”

“Is Ethan here too?” Malcolm cried out with excitement.

Maxine swooped in and began peeling off her children, chastising them for intruding upon Lucy’s space, but Lucy didn’t mind it at all. She sat on the floor motionless, still holding Harper, finding comfort in the child’s small frame and the way she fit like a puzzle piece into the crook of Lucy’s arm.

“We talked about that,” Maxine said with authority. “Ethan’s not here.” Then after a beat, she added, “Yet.”

“Wa

“Wa

“It’s actually pretty cool here,” Galen told her with a shrug.

“Why did you stay behind?” Harper whispered.

Lucy looked at the faces of her brothers and sister, her eyes wide, a pain in her chest growing and throbbing. And then she began to cry. She put Harper on the floor and scrambled to her feet. She spun this way and that—looking at the foreign furniture, her family in clothes she didn’t recognize. Her breath began to grow noisy and ragged. From somewhere next to her, she heard her mother say her name in a warning tone. She caught a glimpse of her father, leaning against the wall. Lucy couldn’t tell if he was worried for her or for himself, and she wanted to scream; her desire to run, flee, escape was powerful. She burst away from her congregating family and toward the door. Bypassing outstretched hands and calls of worry.

All she had wanted for weeks was to see her mother and father and brothers and sister again. All she had dreamed about and pined for was to find them alive and wanting to see her too—the entirety of her family waiting with baited breath for her triumphant return. Of course, she had been worried to find them dead, worried to find them gone.

But this was something else entirely.

She had found them changed, altered, different. They felt foreign to her, as if these people were merely impersonators of her family and not the real thing.

She reached the door before her mother could grab her and she flew out into the hallway. Right and left were identical: huge metal doors flanked either end. And the hallway was dotted with doors, like theirs, with silver plaques broadcasting the names of tenants.

“Lucy King,” Maxine called down the hallway—saying her name with the clipped cadence someone reserved for disobedient preschoolers. “You will return to this room immediately.”

Slowing down, Lucy put her hand against the metal walls and felt the coolness against her skin.

“This must be very difficult,” her father called down to her from their doorway. He had his hand on his wife’s arm, presumably to prevent her from flying down toward Lucy and dragging her back by force.

Always the voice of reason—always the ying to her mother’s yang. Always entering conversations with calmness and clarity, with doses of humor.

A door five feet away from Lucy opened a crack. Peeking out from behind the frame was a girl her own age with long black hair combed around her shoulders. She stared at Lucy a long time, unblinking. She was dark and beautiful and for a brief second Lucy thought of asking to come inside; then she shook the notion free and realized that no one in the System could be trusted. Lucy stared back, until the girl offered her a sad smile and shut the door; the click echoing down the hall.

“Grant,” Lucy said. Then she turned back toward her parents and raised her voice. “I want Grant.” She felt the futility of her desire as she said his name; and she was filled with such longing and sadness. Lucy hit her fist against the metal and then drew her hand to her side, cradling it against her stomach.

It felt so wrong to explore this place without him. She wanted her parents. Now she wanted Grant. Nothing would feel whole again.

Maxine shook off her husband’s grip and walked into view. She put her hands on her hips, her legs wide. Then Harper sneaked around their father and clambered up to Maxine, hanging on her pants leg, and staring down at her sister.

“There are some things beyond our control,” Maxine said. “But we will discuss it when you come back.”

“Come inside,” Scott added.

“No,” Lucy said and she felt like she was going to throw-up. “I want to see him. He deserves to be with us. It’s not fair.” She wiped her eyes.

“I have waited for you! Cried for you every night.” Maxine called as she took two giant steps forward, lumbering under the added weight of Harper’s body. “I will not lose you. Do you understand me?” Her voice trembled with rage.

The metal doors at the end of the hall closest to Lucy slid open. And Lucy saw one of the armed guards from before enter and stand at attention across her escape path. With her mother and father at one end and the guard at the other, Lucy knew she was trapped.

“He’s my friend. He doesn’t deserve this. I brought him here. Don’t you understand? I brought him here! It’s my fault. It’s my fault.” Unsure of what to do next, Lucy fell to the floor in the hallway, her back against the wall, her legs splayed out in front of her. After a moment, she tipped herself over and let her body shake against the ground. Then she felt hands lift her up and hold her. As if she weighed nothing at all, her father picked her up off the ground and cradled her in his arms.

“No Lucy,” her father said. “It’s my fault. Don’t waste time blaming yourself. Blame me. Blame me, child.”

Tears stained her father’s shirt and Lucy couldn’t stop them from flowing. She cried for her lost friend, her confusion, and her shift in expectations. Lucy wanted to tell him this; wanted to say something, anything, but she found herself mute. Slobbering and hiccupping into her father’s chest.

He shifted and turned past Maxine, hushing her impending storm with a single look. Then walking right past the twins and Galen, huddled and whispering where Lucy had left them, he took Lucy into a bedroom and shut the door with his foot, the slam echoing behind him. There he set Lucy down on a bed. It was fully made—its comforter smooth, and there were three floral accent pillows. He deposited her down and Lucy curled herself into a ball.

“You left me,” she said.

It was the first thing that came to mind to say.

Her father buried his head in his hands for just a second. “Lucy…” he paused and then stopped. He tried to rub her back, but she pulled away.

“I don’t want to leave my friend. We were a good team. We fought hard to be here. Can’t you see that?”

“Okay,” Scott replied. “But—”

He sighed. Rubbed his temples. And then he simply said, “Okay.”

“Who are these people? They tried to kill me, Dad. Don’t you see? They tried to kill me and they are going to kill Grant. You have to stop them, please? I’m begging you. Stop them.”

His face went ashen and he looked to the floor.

Then Scott stood up. “You’ve had a shock,” he said weighing his words. “It’s reasonable to be upset and confused.” He walked to the bedroom door and put his hand on the knob. “But let’s get something clear here, Lucy. When I heard that you had missed the flight. When I heard that you and Ethan weren’t at home…when I begged them to wait, to stop, to go get you from the school…and they didn’t? Then my worst fears were realized. That I sacrificed everything to save you and it wouldn’t matter.”

“You did this to us,” Lucy mumbled without accusation. She shook, like she was freezing, her limbs quivered against the bedspread and she was unable to stop them.

“I did this for you.”

She didn’t turn to look at him; instead she kept her eyes fixated on a framed picture of a tree—a towering oak in the center of a huge field, a piece of nature that didn’t exist down here in this place. Its image was unsettling; like a piece of hotel art, trying to trick you into believing you were somewhere, anywhere, other than where you actually were.