Creators (Entangled Teen) Read online

  I just couldn’t.

  Sharon turned back to the drawer and pulled out a saw. At the sight of it, my sister gasped and grabbed my hand. “I…I can’t. I can’t—” A frantic, high-pitched squeak issued from her lips and she fell to the floor.

  It was only then that Sharon saw me. Her eyes traveled to where my sister lay on the floor, stirring slightly. Her eyes fluttered as I gently shook her back to consciousness. Sharon placed her hand over her abdomen. “Oh, Tess,” she whispered.

  Her voice didn’t sound helpful. It only sounded sad.

  I gasped for breath, suddenly finding it near impossible to breathe. “You…you have to help her. Check her,” I begged. I didn’t care about the men behind her that were also calling for Sharon’s attention.

  Sharon nodded and pressed her lips together, pulling in air through her nose. I don’t know where in her mind she went during that brief moment of silence, but it certainly wasn’t with those in the room. When she returned, her eyes met mine. “One crisis at a time.”

  “Lazarus said you needed us?” Eric called out from behind me.

  “Louisa! What happened? Is she all right?” Lockwood called, clearly panicked.

  “Lock, take this girl into the other room. There’s an extra cot out by the dining tables. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Sharon turned to me. “I promise.”

  I blinked away tears and nodded as Lockwood bent down and scooped Louisa into his arms. My resolve, my control over the hurt and fear, was slipping.

  …

  Later that night when everyone was fast asleep, I scrounged up some paper and a pen and crept away from the group, calling back the skills I’d learned while sneaking around to see James. Back then, life had seemed so difficult. I was falling in love with a boy who was created to hate me. It was complicated.

  Now, I longed for the problems of those days. Because back then, those problems only affected me. Now there didn’t seem to be anyone left untouched by the darkness. Not even Al escaped from it; he had embraced it, claimed it as his own, and it had taken his leg.

  Sharon had yet to check in on Louisa. Hours after leaving her, she was still deep in the blood of Al and the other men shot during what felt like a part of some nightmare that never ended.

  Blood.

  Always so much blood.

  It continuously hunted me, and I didn’t know how to outrun it anymore. I needed the hope my father offered. His words continued to move about in my mind. There was a possibility that I could speak to James through letters. Words. It was words that had brought us together in the first place. Sitting on his bed reading the outlawed passages of Jane Eyre, our fingers aching to reach for each other in between the space of the words we read aloud. What would I write to him? What could I say? How does one put their very soul onto the page?

  I could only hope that the cool, brisk night air and the stars above would help me write my letter.

  When my father and his men set up camp in the dining hall, and I was sure Louisa was safe, watched over by a trio of personal guards—Henry, Robert, and Lockwood—I pretended to fall asleep. It wasn’t long before the others around me went to sleep, too. We had traveled far, further than any distance measured by miles. It felt like we were constantly traveling from one world to another. None of us sure which we were meant to live in.

  I welcomed the cool air that greeted me as I stepped outside of the dining hall. The makeshift command center had grown hot and stuffy. While living in the compound, I had gotten used to sharing cramped sleeping quarters with others, but there was something about sharing a space with a bunch of soldiers sprawled out on tables, their hands protectively around their guns even while they slumbered, that left me feeling antsy.

  I grimaced as I took a seat on the wooden steps of the building that had served as everything from mess hall to courtroom to infirmary. My side was still sore from the stabbing. I leaned my head against a post. It was only then, alone with nothing but the crickets and other mysterious noises that made up the night’s symphony, that it all truly hit me.

  Louisa. James. My father. McNair. Al.

  My eyes pricked with unshed tears. I tucked the paper under my leg, so I wouldn’t lose it, then squeezed the bridge of my nose with my fingers, hoping I could force the tears back down. It was hard to swallow. Even harder to breathe. I pulled my knees to my chest and rested my head against them, my heart pounding painfully against my chest. Like a beacon calling for some ship distressed at sea to return home, wondering if it ever would. I clutched onto the fabric of my shirt, hoping, willing myself to reclaim control.

  Even if my father could get my letters to James, they wouldn’t change our situation. We would still be apart. It would be easy to lose it, crumble. But I couldn’t believe that my destiny had already been written. Our last moments in the woods didn’t feel like an ending. The memory of him was almost enough to save me, but I wanted more than some idea of him.

  I wanted him back.

  I closed my eyes and searched my mind for something, anything that would quiet the fear that was screaming inside me. And then I saw him, the boy I now knew I would never stop loving. Even if I never saw him again, I would love James till my dying breath. If there was anything after death, I was pretty sure I would love him then, too.

  I remembered our time together in the woods. I let the memory sweep over me like the waves that McNair had once told me he dreamed of seeing, waves that moved and crashed, echoing the feelings that made life, no matter how difficult it got, worth living—passion and freedom.

  It had happened in the woods, the vast land of greens and browns that separated council-controlled territory and the settlement the community was so desperate to keep safe. We had made that bit of woods our own. We had always been able to do that—take a place and define it to suit our needs. The piano room. The closet after the party. The jail cell.

  Knowing full well that death was a possibility, I had given myself to James in those woods. I hadn’t wanted to risk missing out on anything. Not when I knew that our meeting with George could mean the end of it all.

  But it wasn’t the only reason I had had sex with James. I’d done it because it was what I wanted to do. Want. Desire. All the things the council programmed us to think were dirty and wrong.

  But it hadn’t felt wrong.

  I didn’t have sex just because I could, either. I knew what it meant for me, and I knew what it meant for him. Whatever the council wanted to make of it was up to them. Even Sharon had changed it to suit the needs of the community. For me, it had been about intimacy.

  It had been everything.

  It was the first time I had ever completely and utterly trusted anyone in my whole life.

  “You don’t have to be careful with me,” I had whispered.

  “Won’t it hurt?” he’d asked, moving closer to my lips, his hand running up and down my back.

  “Yes.” I’d nodded. “But don’t worry, I won’t break.”

  James had hesitated, and, to be honest, it drove me a little mad. I bit on my bottom lip and tugged on the waist of his pants. His breath caught and he looked down at me. His face flashed red as the heat traveled down his neck. I unbuttoned his pants.

  And then he had been helping me shed my clothes. It was as if we were both taken over by a frenzy, a fiery fit of emotions. I hadn’t been able to help but giggle. Both naked, we just sat there and stared. My eyes traveled across the body science had perfected, and when his eyes moved across mine in turn, I didn’t feel embarrassed by the randomly flawed construction. The way James looked at me left no room for mortification. His eyes only carried awe.

  James had licked his lips as he reached for me, placing a gentle hand on my hip bone. His fingertips grazed my skin, and my whole body erupted into goose bumps. His hand traced its way up my torso. Ever so slow, ever so adoring.

  James cleared his throat. I couldn’t take one more second of waiting. I closed the very small distance between us and pressed my hungry lips ag
ainst his. James, who had always been so careful with me, wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him with a force that left me breathless.

  His tongue pressed against mine, moving not like a teenager afraid of the voyage he was about to take, but, instead, like a man who didn’t worry if he made a mistake. Because no matter what happened in these moments, we had chosen to share them together. Once I realized that, I didn’t feel nervous anymore. We would always be each other’s first. No one, not the council or the community, would ever be able to change that. As we fell to the ground, moving and shifting together, becoming one with each other and the woods that protected us, I knew there was nothing more natural, more human in the world than this.

  Maybe sex could mean all the things the council said. Betrayal. Lust. Weakness. But it didn’t mean that’s what it had to be to us.

  For us, it felt like hope and love and promise.

  …

  “Tess, you should come inside. Your neck’s going to hurt like hell if you sleep like that.”

  I reluctantly opened my eyes, letting free the weighty breath I held trapped in my throat. I left the comfort of that moment—the moment that would forever only belong to James and me.

  Henry reached down to help me up.

  “Do you mind sitting here for a bit?” I asked, nervous for the conversation I was about to have, knowing I owed it to the boy in front of me to attempt it.

  When I’d thought that I would never see James again, I had allowed myself to feel something for Henry, something I had never been able to completely define. He was my first friend, and when we lived together back in the compound, he had distanced himself from me because we had been taught that love was wrong, But together in the wild lands of the Isolationists, we had grown close. Closer. Henry had always been sure of the way he felt, but I never had such clarity. All I knew was that the shared kisses between us never stirred my soul like the ones I shared with James.

  “Of course not,” Henry replied, taking a seat next to me. “But why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like it?”

  “Because you won’t. I need to talk to you about James,” I said softly.

  Henry sighed. “We don’t need to have this conversation tonight.”

  I reached over and took my best friend’s hand in mine. “Yes, we do. We should have had this conversation a long time ago, but I messed things up.”

  “Let’s not go feeling sorry for yourself.” Henry rolled his eyes. “We both messed things up.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess you’re right.”

  “I usually am,” he said. He paused, looking at the night sky above us. “Actually, I never am. I don’t know what I’m talking about,” he said, and then he started to laugh, too.

  “It’s time I make things right, and that means talking about James. And me. James and me. I know that George took him back to the council—”

  “Would it be a waste of my time to explain to you that the likelihood of ever seeing him again is slim?” he asked.

  I offered a small smile. “Yes, it would. That’s where I went wrong before. I convinced myself that I was never going to see him again, and I didn’t let myself feel the weight of that. At least not completely. So, I tried things with you. I wasn’t ready. I tried to be, but I wasn’t.”

  Henry pulled his hand from mine, turning his face from me. “Don’t sit here and tell me you didn’t feel anything for me. I remember the way you kissed me.”

  I swallowed, knowing the next thing I said would destroy him. But it would be a temporary destruction, like burning down a forest so it could grow again. “I did feel something for you. I’ll probably always feel something for you. But even in those moments when I convinced myself I would never see James again, I was still more in love with the memory of him than I was with you.”

  I braced myself for Henry’s reaction. Instead of arguing, he sighed and ran a hand over his face. I realized he was probably just as tired as I was. “I know,” he said.

  I pulled myself to my feet and placed a hand on his arm. “I wish it could be different.”

  “You know what’s crazy? There’s a part of me that doesn’t care that you’ll never love me as much as you would him.”

  “You say that right now, but you would mind one day. And then you would hate me. I can take you being mad at me now, but I could never handle you hating me,” I said.

  Henry nodded and walked off into the darkness without another word. I stared after my best friend as he moved further and further away from me, and despite his slumped shoulders and bowed head, I knew I had done the right thing.

  For once.

  Chapter 7

  Tess,

  There are no words to express the utter astonishment I felt at receiving your letter. I never even let myself hope to see you again; it didn’t feel fair. You were alive. You had your sister. What else could I ask for? And then your letter arrived, handed to me by one of the creators under my plate at dinner. Effortlessly. The smallest of gestures with the greatest of impact.

  Despite half of your letter being crossed out, no doubt by someone to keep hidden any fact or detail that might lead them to you, I lost myself in every word that crawled across the page.

  I have always moved through life blindly. I have always stumbled, reaching my hand out, searching for the wall, needing something to help me along. This is the way it has always been with me, and I sometimes think it’s the one part of my being that will never change.

  You have been my guide since that first day in the piano room. When I think back on you, our times together, I don’t want to change. The council is wrong. Kendall was wrong.

  Needing someone isn’t weakness.

  The council is trying to change me. When George returned me to them, taking me right to the center, the headquarters, he was welcomed back a hero. It was almost as if the man who processed us was expecting George to show up with me. The things he knows, Tess, are enough to make any man tremble with fear. Every dark thing that has ever whispered seductively in my mind, he has recited back to me.

  I believe George used his ability to gain acquittal for his crimes. It probably didn’t hurt that he had me as well. Once I went through de-briefing (don’t worry, I said nothing of you or the community, I swear it. I would never tell them. I would die before giving them a way to hurt you more than they already have) I told them I had left the compound because I sought to find out what lay in the woods. I was curious. Once they were done questioning me, George and I were both assigned to different creators, and I have only seen him once since.

  That’s what they do with chosen ones here. Each one of us is assigned a job based on our ability. You were right when you guessed that I would be selected as a bodyguard for someone important. Once they ascertained the extent of my ability from George, they assigned me to a man named Scott Harper. He is the son of Abrams, one of the original creators of the first batch of chosen ones presented to the public. No one dares to call him by his first name, though. Just Harper. I suspect they are afraid of showing disrespect. Even his two sons call him sir.

  I believe the council has been making genetically engineered humans for quite some time, much longer than they have let on. I have only been given a little bit of information because I am still rather new, but things are worse than either of us ever knew. There are whispers of things I shudder to write down, not out of fear that someone will read them, but more from a deep-rooted nervousness that by writing them, they will be true. No denying the rumors anymore.

  Needless to say, when they assigned me to Harper, they forgot one important detail. When Kendall created me, he wired me so that I could only sense when someone was in trouble when I cared for them deeply. So, while I followed Harper for days, I was unable to prevent him from receiving an injury while awakening a new batch of chosen ones. One of them bolted straight up and attempted to strangle him. It was the oddest thing I have ever witnessed. Once everyone had regained their composure, they looked to me, won
dering why I hadn’t foreseen the event and stopped it.

  I am not certain, but I believe they spoke with George, who decided to share what he left out about my gift. No doubt he gives and holds information in ways that suit his personal agenda.

  He told them about you.

  Not about the community or even meeting in the woods. I still don’t understand why he kept those things secret, but he did. He told them I had fallen for a Templeton girl, and since meeting her, meeting you, my loyalties have been shifting.

  That is when they decided to get to work on re-programming me. As you must remember from your time at Templeton, while we are incubating, the creators flash images into our brains that depict naturals in the worst possible way. Images of war, betrayal, wanton lasciviousness. So, when we wake up and begin our training, our minds are more apt to listen to the propaganda—the countless history lessons on how time and time again the naturals, due to their emotional weakness, turned on each other and their governments.

  Chosen ones are not created to rebel, let alone think for themselves, so the creators have decided that I must be re-programmed. Every morning they tie me down and make me watch those films, the images that made up what I can only call my childhood. At first, I struggled against the ropes and tried to keep my eyes shut. But without scaring you, they have ways to make me watch, Tess. They have ways.

  In the afternoons, I sit with a creator, a man so old I sometimes foolishly wonder if he was there at the start of time itself. He talks to me for hours and hours about the council, their beliefs, and even you. I don’t mind talking to him of the council. I have millions of questions that I want answered, but when he brings you up, I cannot speak. I cannot say your name in this place.

  You are the brightness.

  This place is the darkness.

  And I don’t want to risk it destroying you. So, I say your name a thousand times in my head and write it here, knowing they cannot take it from me if I don’t give it to them.