The Wicked We Have Done (21 page)

One Month Later

Washington, DC

Inside the limo, Valerie and I sit on either side of Casey.

We slow in front of the courtroom. I can hear the relentless crowd already.

Our elaborate argument is constructed upon our experiences. Three deviants. We will fight using the knowledge that the Compass Room was malfunctioning from the start, and that some deaths were the fault of a terrible, broken system.

If our plan works, then we may be able to stop the use of Compass Rooms for good.

I want to bring justice to Stella and Jace, but this fight runs deeper than the two of them. I’ve had months to think about every single inmate executed in my Compass Room. Each time my mind wandered back to the mechanics, I was left convinced that no one deserves to die by the hand of it.

Not even Gordon.

A human mind isn’t simple enough to be damned by a machine. And I will prove it. Somehow.

This trial won’t be like my last. I won’t go down without a fight.

Valerie’s the first to slide out when the car stops. She’s dressed in slacks and a jacketed blouse, unbuttoned so the bright color of her chest piece peeks through. With her aviators on, she looks a bit relentless.

Casey wears a suit that fits him perfectly. His sage tie brings out the green in his eyes. He’s gracious about taking the help Valerie offers him when getting out of the car. It’s going to take some time for him to get used to his permanently injured body.

I wear a gray blouse, a black pencil skirt, and pumps. My hair is tied in a loose knot and my big sunglasses hide any expression.

The three of us somehow fit together perfectly. When I stand upright on the sidewalk, I link my arm through Casey’s.

You’d think that after months of downtime, the protestors would have dwindled. But there must be at least two hundred people behind the gate in front of the courthouse. The scene is almost exactly like the one I witnessed leaving the train station four months ago. Neon signs wave back and forth through the air.

rebuke the cr

survivors are still criminals

1 peter 4:17

Photos of my victims are plastered on poster boards. People still want me to pay. But I was expecting this.

“Are you ready to start over?” Valerie asks, and we walk up the steps of the courthouse. Screams of haters and believers are a wall of noise as we move together, interlinked. Some of them want political justice. Some want a revolution. Others want the world to believe that God will rightly judge us when we die.

I don’t know what all of them think when they see us holding each other. But I know how strong it makes me feel.

Out of the chaos, I decipher one particular shout. “Daphne!” someone screams.

Somehow, with all of the police, the one person who breached the gate is a little girl. She must be Todd’s age, wearing a purple sundress and running to me with a daisy in her hand. Her mother screams her name as the police fail to notice her.

“Daphne! Get back here!”

I squat when she reaches me. She smiles, bites her lip, and hands me the daisy. Its roots are still dangling and dirt-covered—she must have picked it from a federal garden. She runs away, back to her mother, who seems relieved that I didn’t murder her daughter. She holds a Bible verse sign in her hands. I don’t know which verse it is, so I’m not sure if she has compassion for me or thinks that I should burn in the fiery depths of hell.

I stand, twirling the vibrant pink daisy between my fingers before snapping off the bottom of the stem. Casey and Valerie surround me.

“Put this in my hair,” I tell Valerie.

“Here?
Now
?”

I nod. She purses her lips but doesn’t question me, taking the flower. I turn around and stare at the crowd as her fingers work through my bun.

The front row witnessed the entire exchange between me and the girl. They’re evaluating what I’ve done with the flower. Over a year of the world evaluating every one of my actions. Two weeks where not even my brainwaves were safe from scrutiny. My time on the stage has only begun. There’s no going back. There’s no starting over.

There’s only continuing.

Valerie finishes.

“Looks beautiful,” Casey says.

I take his arm, and we climb to the doors of the courthouse.

Look for Sarah Harian’s next Chaos Theory novel

A VAULT OF SINS

Available from InterMix September 2014

Sarah Harian
received her M.F.A. from Fresno State University. She currently lives in the Sierra Nevadas with her husband and their dog and swears she’ll never live anywhere other than the forested mountains—they’re too inspiring. This is her first novel.