Change
The sequel to Lois Lowry's "The Giver"
Chapter 1
It began at the break of day, when the first sliver of light broke through the dark, starless night. Something in the air shifted, a ripple, like brief waves of heat. Then all was still, but not the same, never the same.
A dwelling, small and average as any other house in the Community, stood just on the edge of a street no different from any other street.
Inside this dwelling was a Family Unit; the Mother and Father respected, the children happy. All were still sleeping, and would until the scheduled morning.
The girl, just a Six, lay curled between pale sheets, her hands clutching an object known vaguely as a Bear. Her breathing was even, her hair spilled from its regulated braids and out onto the pillow. If there had been moonlight, it would have melted into the dark through the open window.
Suddenly, in the moment the Community changed, she stirred.
Her hands tightened around the Bear, her breathing slowing and rising in an abrupt, uneven pattern. She started to mutter uneasily in her sleep, rolling over.
In a single split second, her dark eyes snapped open with a wild fear. She flung forward in her bed, dropped the comfort object, and screamed into the quiet night.
Lights appeared, clicking on in every household down the street. The scream of a little girl could easily vibrate through an open window and thin walls into the domains of many close Family Units.
The doorknob of the little sleepingroom rattled, and in flew a man, a Father. He rushed to the bed and grabbed the wailing girl's small hands.
"Melanie!" He shouted over the sound. Unlike the frightful nature of the daughter, he sounded merely puzzled, rather than very concerned.
She wrapped her arms around herself, her screams dying to choking cries.
A woman, as average as any of them, appeared in the doorway. "Probably just a nightmare," She said uncertainly. "Is that it Melanie? Did you have a nightmare?"
"I don't know Helena," the Father murmurs, staring at the unfocused eyes of his daughter. "She looks sick."
"I'll go fetch the pills," the Mother said, and hurried off out of sight.
At the other end of town, behind a sturdy building known as the House of Old, an elderly man sat on a forlorn couch, gazing at nothing in particular. A large bookshelf covered one wall, and the single window in the room was shut, the blinds drawn.
The man's dry hands were tightly gripping his knees, tense and still. He looked as if he was waiting for something.
He stood up suddenly and approached the window, pushing aside the papery covering. He thought he could hear something… it was too faint to tell what. The scratch of a bicycle wheel on pavement? But it was still early. No one would be riding until later.
The man wheeled around and strode to the loudspeaker, pushing the button. A fuzzy crackling resonated in the room, and then a slightly startled voice.
"How may I help you sir?" She did not ask what he was doing up so early. Such a question would be rude.
"I believe I can hear some sort of commotion nearby, though it is hard to tell. I am in need of confirmation."
"Is it disrupting you, sir? Shall I send someone to stop it?"
"Not disrupting," he replied thoughtfully. "Merely puzzling."
"We will investigate right away, sir." The woman said formally, her voice muffled in the loudspeaker.
"Thank you for your services."
There was a sharp click, and the sound died. The man stood still, waiting.
Several moments later, the sound once again appeared.
"The commotion appears to be screaming, sir, from Dwelling number Thirty Six." The woman announced, sounding flustered. "A Six, in her room with the window ajar. It has been closed, and the Family Unit is attending to her, but she cannot be quieted presently."
The man tensed once again, throwing a glance at the window. "Please inform the Elders that I am on my way there."
He could hear her hesitate, but her smooth voice was devoid of resistance. "Yes sir. I apologize for the inconvenience of the female."
"I accept your apology Caroline." He said impatiently, slipping on the standard Community shoes and flipping the loudspeaker switch back to off. He fumbled with the doorknob, then pushed the door open and strode quickly through the receptionist room and into the night.
The sound was gone; the window must have proved efficient in closing.
"Just a Six," He whispered to himself. "What have I done?"
Dwelling Thirty Six was no different from every other dwelling on the street. Now that he was close, however, he could just hear the cries of a small child from the lower window.
There were lights all around; the entire Neighborhood had been startled out of sleep. Some had their faces pressed against the windows, though a few seemed indifferent and unperturbed.
The man stepped up to the smooth door, and knocked firmly.
He heard scattered footsteps, hurried whispers, and as the door slid open a crack the confused face of a Mother appeared. Beyond her, the screams were suddenly audible.
"Hello," she said, not unkindly but clearly unsure. She did not ask who he was. "Would you like to come in?"
He smiled reassuringly at her and stepped onto the threshold. "Thank you Miss. You can call me The Giver. I've come to see your daughter."
The Mother glanced nervously at a door, which must have held the sleepingroom of the Six. "Of course." She relented, raising her voice over the wails of the female. "I greatly apologize for the inconvenience of this commotion. She is unusually agitated tonight."
"I accept your apology, and assure you it is no trouble." The Giver replied, and turned to open the door.
There she was, her frazzled hair a wispy blonde and her hazel eyes wide – though these features were unknown to all but him. The female's cheeks glistened with tears and she huddled against the headboard of her bed, crying and clutching her stomach. On the floor, pills were scattered, as if the bottle had been thrown.
As The Giver approached, she glanced up, pained.
"It hurts," She whimpered. "I need…" she coughs.
"I know child." He murmured. "It will pass soon." He reached out and gently put a hand on her shoulder.
He watched as her arms relaxed, her eyes dimming. The memory hit him like a boulder, and he gasped as the gnawing hunger blurred his sight. The hand on the Six tightened, and she winced.
The Giver shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled as it passed. He could feel it, a space filled in his mind that had been previously relieved.
"Starvation is hard," He said soothingly to the girl, now shivering and staring. "But it's gone now."
He stood after a moment, his expression serious and his voice grave. "What is your name?"
"Melanie," she whispered.
"You must be strong, Melanie. If this happens again, remember. It isn't real. Can you do that?"
She nodded, trying not to look afraid. "I'll try."
The Giver smiled sadly. "Sleep now."
He left her clutching her Bear once again, and faced the Mother. Behind her, the Father had his arm around a boy, older than his sister. The Giver estimated around Ten.
"Your daughter is fine." He said to the bewildered woman. "She has merely experienced a memory."
"What do you mean?" She asked.
"These kind of memories are like dreams, but they can occur at any time. There is no need to worry; they are fleeting. She is in no real pain." His voice sounded troubled even to himself, but the Mother nodded and the Father said nothing.
As he made to leave, she called out suddenly. "These sudden memories wouldn't have anything to do with that missing boy would it?"
The Giver froze, his hand taunt on the doorknob. He was silent for a moment. "All will be explained." He said rather abruptly, and walked out.
His feet moved of no accord back to the Annex, his mind elsewhere.
It was beginning.
"Jonas," he whispered.
The boy had either successfully broken through the Community barrier or met his end. He couldn't stand to think of the latter.
Melanie had been only the first. He was grateful that at least the memories seemed to come in pieces; all at once could crush a small girl in an instant.
But she had been so young! And there were so many even younger in the Community who were vulnerable. He couldn't take all the memories, not again. Even the single recollection of hunger had been painful. He was too old. What he needed was help.
Curiously, the first person that came suddenly to mind was a female he only knew from the word of Jonas and the red of her hair.
And yet. He could feel it. Fiona was significant.
The Giver rounded the corner and stepped through the door into the building. He punched in a code and pulled open the second door.
As he stepped onto the cold floor, something shook through him, like a bolt of electricity. He dropped heavily onto the chair, and put a hand to his creased forehead as an image burned behind his eyelids.
An image of a bright red sled through a curtain of snow.
What had he done?