“Any idea what they did to you?” Tilda asks, gently placing my hands back in my lap.
“I don’t remember any of it. How did I even get back here?”
“I can’t tell you,” Tilda says. “We weren’t released until a short time ago. Brink was passed out in the common room, so a couple staff members carried him up here.” She stands, brushing her skirt. “I’ll be back in a moment. I have some burn cream that may help.”
I lay back down, shoving my feet under my blankets. Tilda applies a heavy ointment to both my hands. It stings at first, but then feels cooling. She slips a pair of gloves on me to protect the skin, and orders me to stay in bed. She says she’ll have Brink take care of the carriages when Vernon arrives. Brink helps tuck me in, a concerned look on his face.
“No sexist comments today?” I ask, trying to break the anxiety that has enveloped the room.
“No, Max, that won’t happen anymore. I’m sorry I acted that way. I’ll bring you breakfast.” He closes the door behind him.
What happened that changed Brink so much? This isn’t like him. He’s been harassing me since I became of age, when I turned sixteen. I wish I could remember last night.
Tilda is the one who brings me breakfast. She has to hand feed me since I can’t hold anything. Brink is outside tending to Vernon. It’s now that I remember the supplies I need. Tilda says she’ll send a message to Vernon later in the day about it. I don’t like lying around not being able to work. It’s been a long time since I wasn’t occupying myself with some sort of labor out in the grove. After a couple of hours, I can’t take it anymore, and attempt to get dressed. It’s painful, but I manage.
The others are grouped around the display when I reach the bottom step. Several staff members are milling about, but I’ve never understood exactly what they do. Tilda isn’t in the kitchen, which I’m glad about, since she would be scolding me for being out of bed. I put my coat on, try to get my hat over my head, but I leave my gloves in my pockets. Brink is fiddling with another broken down carriage. Luckily there is only one today.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he asks when he sees me.
“I’m bored.”
“So? It’s not like you can do anything out here.”
I squat down on my knees next to him, looking at the door panel of the car Vernon dropped off. “You’ll need to scrape that rust spot before you patch it.”
“You know, I’ve done this before, believe it or not.” He sets down the wrench, picks up a wire brush, sits on the cold ground, and begins to scrub the small spot. “How are the hands? Is the ointment helping?”
“A little. The pain has subsided some, but it still hurts to bend the fingers.” I walk around the carriage, checking for other spots that may need tending to. “Do you really not remember last night?”
He continues to work as he answers. “I just didn’t want to worry Tilda because I know she’s close to you.” He stops and looks up at me. “They threatened to kill everyone if I gave any hint to you that the Aedox were there. The staff and everyone else were already secluded when they said that to me, so none of them know.”
“Did they say anything else?”
“Only that they were looking specifically for you.” He begins scrapping again, then stops, but doesn’t look at me. “They knew who you were. Where you were. They didn’t ask us any questions, just ordered the others to their rooms and kept me in the common room. It was not the usual raid. There was something different about it.”
I’ll say. Normally those they remove aren’t ever returned. Why was I?
I go over to a workbench by the carriage, my hand hovering over the tools. I bend my fingers slowly. They’re not as stiff or sore as earlier, but the flesh still burns when I attempt to grasp my screwdriver. I shove my hands in my pockets to keep me from temptation.
“Why the change, Brink?” I ask, turning towards him.
He’s in the midst of spray painting the freshly scrubbed spot on the door. He lifts his mask up, placing it on the top of his head. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, it does.” I fold my arms, waiting for his response.
“Why, Max? You’ve always had disdain for me, so why would you suddenly care if I actually behave more civilized to you? Is there something so wrong with me showing some kindness and consideration?”
“I guess not.” I kick the ground in front of me as he returns to working. “I was just wondering since it’s a complete alteration to your normal personality. Sorry I asked.” I go back into the house and spend the rest of the day lying in bed.
Tilda applies more cream to my hands just after lunch, then again after dinner. The burns have almost healed and the pain is substantially less, but the joints are still stiff. She has me do some exercises to prevent the fingers from completely hardening on me. I turn in early, but I can’t sleep. I’ve tried not to think about what happened last night, keeping it as far from my mind as possible. But now that I’m trying to sleep, it’s all I can think about.
Why would they do something like this to me? What purpose is there? I’m the only one who works hard in this place, and they choose to maim me?
Sleep finally finds me, but it seems like moments later my bed is shaking. I try to open my eyes, but they’re covered. I begin
