Fear begins to set in as Mav disappears. It starts out as a thin plastic sheet, something I can easily poke breathing holes through. But as the silence grows, the panic is a flood of ice water drowning every limb, rising higher and higher until I’m choking. One hour. Tops. That’s all the time remaining in Mother’s life. Twenty minutes. Less now. That’s all the time I have to figure out if Mav is telling the truth. A matter of seconds. Each one more important than the last. That’s all the time I have to say goodbye. 

Forever.

My head is a carousel of fears. Everything inside of me is begging my brain to punch the biochemical reset button that will shut my body down completely. It’s either that or make a run for it, hiding out in the mountains until the dust settles or erasing my identity completely. But instead, I remain where I am. I even pick up the gun and hover my finger over the trigger. This fear is my demon to slay. The only way out is to demand answers—like I always have.

I just hope I’m able to accept them . . . that’s what scares me the most.

Biting the insides of my cheeks, I turn around for the first time. The room is more like a suite at a five-star hotel rather than a prison cell. Everything about it screams luxury. The walls are covered in gold paper, and the flooring is tiled white. The bed is king-sized and dressed in the finest white cotton sheets. Two end tables, each one holding a spiral-shaped lamp and a vase of fresh flowers, compliment an upholstered bed frame. On my left lies a full kitchenette composed of granite counters, stainless steel appliances, and an array of food spreads, while a leather couch, mahogany coffee table, and a projector display create a cozy sitting area off to my right.

While the prison cell itself offers quite the surprise, it’s Mother who captures my full attention as she appears out of a narrow corridor that most likely leads to a bathroom. 

Her emotions are not easily disguised behind the waves of dirty-blond hair that ripple over her high cheekbones and rest atop a slim blue blazer. Her anxiety is evident in the sour taste creasing her snub nose and inflaming the makeup-covered scar on her neck. But my mother’s eyes, they hold a truth she is ready to share with the world, one that will define her execution. She will not let my father break her. Sure, she could cry, but she would never let the system take her true self. She clings to it with devotion. Devotion that has turned her eyes into orbs of the brightest fire. 

 They cast a bright light across the entire cell and instill me with the hope I need to break the silence.

“Hi—Mother.”

“Hello, Easton.” The tone in her voice is calming, a striking contrast to the fear clogging my throat. “Please sit.” She gestures in the direction of the couch. “We have a lot to talk about.”

I comply with her request, fully expecting to dive right into the conversation that has grown exponentially more complicated than when first I exited Father’s quarters on the other side of the island. But there she goes, fiddling with the snacks in the kitchen, a common occurrence throughout my childhood. She never leaves satisfaction to chance when it comes to her family or guests of the Palace.

She pulls out two shiny white plates. “What can I fix for you?”

“It’s okay. I’m not hungry.”

As if she didn’t hear me, she prepares a plate of chips and various dips, a snack she knows to be my favorite. “Surely you didn’t eat lunch on the train.”

“I said I’m good, Mother.”

Her cherry red lips twitch at the anger in my voice. “Well, maybe it’s a drink you need,” she calls with her head inside the refrigerator. “I know how you are on days like today.”

Days like today? Is she serious right now?

The site of her holding a bottle of whiskey quickly tells me she’s as serious as ever. I’ve legally been allowed to drink alcohol ever since I turned seventeen, but I’ve never actually had it. Not even a sip. Mother always warned me that drinking was the coward’s way out of dealing with a problem. Because of my addictive personality, which I inherited from her, I always thought it was best to trust her and find an alternative prescription to my pain.

“Mother, I don’t think now is the time for my first drink.” What she doesn’t understand is that I’m not trying to forget today. I am trying to cherish it and uncover the answers to her execution before it’s too late. “Please sit with me. We have less than fifteen minutes.” 

She tosses a few ice cubes into two crystal glasses and opens the bottle of whiskey. “Nonsense—this drink is long overdue. I won’t be long.”

“Mother—”

“I’m almost finished,” she interrupts, returning to the plate of snacks she had initially begun to gather. “Now that’s some good chips and salsa. Are you sure you don’t want any?”

“Stop it already!” My arms and legs are trembling. “Stop pretending like you’re not about to die! I can’t take it anymore.” I slam the gun down so quickly that I forget to remove my finger from the trigger. The sound catches my mother off guard, causing her to drop the plates. Salsa smears like blood across the tile.

Mother doesn’t say a word. Completely ignoring the fact that a gun has gone off or that there’s now a small hole in the wall, she grabs a towel and turns on the sink.

I slide the gun completely off the table. What is wrong with me? “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to—”

“It’s fine, Easton. This will only take a second.” She rings out the towel and drops to the floor. But along the way, her elbow catches the whiskey. Shards of glass pop up into her face as the bottle shatters directly out in front of her. 

I sprint over to her. Sure enough, large glass fragments are lodged in the skin on her face, one in her cheek and the other in her lip. I try to let me help her, but she slaps my hands. She carefully removes the shards and returns her attention to the tile, blood running down her neck as she does so.

“Please, let me help you,” I say, grabbing a towel of my own. “It’s my fault.” She once again pushes me away. “Well, at least let me give you my healer.” A healer is a wand-like device that uses specialized medical cartridges to mend various pains, non-lethal wounds, or chemical imbalances within seconds. With all the advancement in the Union’s technology, though, Father’s subordinates have yet to solve the scarring issue the cartridges leave behind.

She refuses the gesture, opting to instead wipe her face with her blazer. “Please, son, just go sit back on the couch. We will begin our conversation in a second.”

“Why are you acting like this?” I grab her hand. “Mother, we aren’t just having a conversation.” I force her to lock onto my gaze. The light in her eyes is even greater than before. It’s as if I am staring into a galaxy of stars. “I’m here to say goodbye.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” she asks, pulling her arm from my grasp and turning on the sink. “Do you think I don’t know I’m about to die?”

“It sure doesn’t seem like it!” I bellow. “You’re acting like this is just a normal day, like none of this matters.”

She spoons a cup of water with her hands and gently presses them to her face. The site of red water rushing through the cracks in her hands foreshadows my biggest fear in all this. “I’m trying to make sure you remain as calm as can be—so that you’re prepared.” 

“For your execution?” I take a deep breath and begin ranting. “I just don’t understand. Why is he doing this? What did you do wrong? I’ve been searching all day, and haven’t found a single piece of evidence. Maybe if we go to him and plead, he’ll change his mind. You are his wife for crying out loud.” That could work. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll help you escape.” I plan the escape in my mind: quietly disarming the officials, sneaking out the back entrance, and taking the first chopper out of here. “The two of us could start a new life somewhere in the Uncharted. With our resourcefulness, there’s no doubt we’d survive.”

Mother takes the healer I had sitting on the counter and applies the tip to her wounds. They seal in seconds. A faint pink scar is left behind. “Easton,” she says, shaking her head, “we can’t leave. Your father would find us.” 

“We could go to those apartment complexes where you’ve realigned all those kids.” I shiver at the thought. There is so much I would miss about the Union. I would miss the comfort of rich healthy foods. I would miss the pink-orange sunsets out on the ocean. I would miss the music studio where I recorded some of my songs. I would miss seeing my best friends. I would even miss being the President’s son, at least the privileges that come along with the title. But Mother is probably the one person I’d give that all up for. “Sure, it wouldn’t be the life we are used to. But at least we’d be safe.”

“Keep your voice down!” She peers around the room in search for the surveillance cameras. “You know that would never last. Your father would have his best men on the case the minute he learns we have disappeared from this room.”

“At least you’d be alive!” I dump a glass of whiskey straight into my throat and shuffle across the tile. When the burning subsides, the taste of caramel popcorn is left behind. “We can figure out our next move once we’re there.” I slide the door ajar and peer into the hallway. “Come on—it’s now or never.”

She strolls over toward me with her chin held high and grabs the pistol I left lying on the ground. “I’m sorry, Easton. But we aren’t leaving.” She holds out her hands. “You must do what your Father has requested of you.”

“So it’s true?” I can feel the saliva thickening in my throat. “I have to kill you if I want another shot at competing for the Presidency.”

She nods.

An invisible set of hands wrap around my mouth. Adrenaline pierces my heart within an instant. I feel my ribs heaving as if bound by ropes. They prevent my lungs from gaining the necessary oxygen. “But Mother, I don’t want to compete for the Presidency. You know that. Father knows that. The world already knows that Mav is going to be the next President. The Chase is only days away.” 

She places her hand on my shoulder, loosening the hold on my lungs enough so that I won’t pass out. “You must do this Easton. You must walk into the stadium today and perform the execution.” She sighs loudly. “It’s the only way to guarantee the world’s safety.”

“Will you at least tell me why you’re asking me to do this?” Dread creeps down my spine like a spider. “Tell me why I have to be the one to pull the trigger and not Mav.” I tell myself that some sort of explanation would be enough to convince me of the truth, but my heartbeat tells me otherwise.

With each passing second, the more I have to believe this is all a twisted dream. With everything I’ve been forced to witness over the years, it wouldn’t be that hard for my mind to make something like this up. Wake up, Easton. Wake up!

“No,” she firmly states, shoving the gun into my chest and releasing what oxygen my lungs had left. “But I will show you.”

She turns on the projector display. It contains the same immersive technology as that of my watch. The prison cell suddenly disappears, and the deleted memory of the cliffside starts to play, all but confirming today’s events as reality. Dreams can’t consist of deleted memories from the Soul Card. Which means . . . I have no choice but to relive the pain I’ve been avoiding.

Next Chapter: Chapter Four