Rise An Eve Novel - By Anna Carey Page 0,11
if I had to.
“Why do you have a knife?” Clara asked, stepping back. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t explain it now,” I said quickly, as I went to the door. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when my father finds out, and I need protection.”
“So you’re bringing a knife . . . to do what?”
“I don’t know what my father is capable of,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just in case.”
Clara nodded once before I turned out the door.
I kept the bag tucked tightly under my arm as I went down the hall. The soldier’s footsteps were somewhere behind me, coming closer as I moved toward my father’s suite. I took a deep breath, imagining what it would have felt like if things had been different, if I had found out about the pregnancy in some other place and time. I could’ve been happy, had Caleb been alive, had we been out in the wild, at some stop on the Trail. It could have been one of those unclouded, perfect moments, a quiet realization shared between us. Instead I felt only dread. How could I raise a child by myself, especially now, in the midst of all this?
My father emerged from his suite. “Perfect timing,” he said. He turned toward the elevators, gesturing for me to follow.
As I approached the door to his suite, I slowed, swallowing back the sour spit that coated my tongue. I pressed my hand to my face, wiping at my skin, and took a deep breath. This was it.
I held one palm to my mouth and gestured toward the door. “Please, I think I might be sick again.” I didn’t meet his gaze. Instead I rested my shoulder against the door, waiting for him to let me inside.
“Yes, of course,” he said, punching a few numbers in the keypad below the lock. “Just one moment . . .” He pushed the door open to allow me through.
My father’s suite was three times the size of ours, with a spiral staircase that led to the upstairs sitting area. A row of windows overlooked the City below, with views stretching out beyond the curved wall, where the land was riddled with broken buildings. I turned, taking in the miniature models that sat on the credenza beside the door. There were elaborate wooden boats in glass bottles, all different colors and sizes, their canvas sails raised. I’d been in the suite only four or five times, but every time I studied them, trying to understand why my father spent his free time putting together miniature ships. I wondered if he found it satisfying to contain them all, these tiny worlds always in his control.
“I’ll just be a minute,” I said, starting toward the bathroom. It was shared with the master suite, but the second door was nearly always locked. I pressed one fist to my mouth, as if struggling to keep my composure. Then I rushed into the marble bathroom, thankful when I was finally alone.
five
I TWISTED ON THE TAP, LETTING THE COOL WATER RUN OVER my fingers. I let out a few loud coughs and started on the narrow set of drawers, searching through the tiny plastic boxes and canisters. The writing on some of the labels had worn off. I picked over tall bottles filled with white liquid, a pair of thick metal razors, a horsehair brush and hard soap used to make shaving foam. There were folded white towels that smelled of mint. Then, in the top drawer, I found two amber-colored bottles. A handwritten label was on each, with the doctor’s signature scrawled across it.
The extract felt heavy in my pocket. I emptied the shiny white capsules onto the marble counter and began the work, popping open three of them and spilling their insides into the sink. The powder clumped together and was swept away, floating above the drain for a moment before it was sucked under.
I emptied some of the extract on the counter and pressed it inside the hard capsule, careful to keep it away from my face, as Moss had instructed. I pinched one side and slid the cap on, dropping it back into the bottle. I was halfway through the second one when my father knocked on the door. The sound echoed in the hollow room, raising tiny bumps on my arms. “Is everything all right?” he asked. The knob turned but locked in place, refusing to open.
“Just one moment,” I called.
I moved quickly, finishing the second pill,