Post Mortem

I hate Tobias. Sometimes I think he's the one to blame. That he coaxed her into being what she is. Was.

I hate Beatrice. For being so strong and brave and goddamn stubborn.

I hate my parents. For leaving me.

Most of all, I hate myself.

True colors are something only to be glimpsed at once in a while. They are not meant to be bared openly for all to see. And this, it seems, is my greatest fault. That I cannot put on bravery so easily, as though it were the black jeans and shirt of a Dauntless, cannot etch it onto my skin like a tattoo. My cowardice stands alone and unaccompanied by virtue. I show myself for who I really am.

And I am Caleb.

Caleb ('ka-lʌb) noun:

1: coward; idiot; monster; traitor; vermin; etc.

2: a person who is despised by many; hated one

She's dead.

Oh god, she's dead.

After all that, after Jeanine and the Erudite and the Allegiant I've finally gone and done it. I've killed my own sister. She wasn't even supposed to die. She . . . I . . .

I'm crying again as I stare out the dormitory window, running my fingers through my hair. My hand becomes tacky with grease – I haven't showered in days.

There is movement from Peter's cot in the corner of the room.

"Why are you crying?" he asks pleasantly, as though none of this had ever happened, like Beatrice is still alive and not dead because I let her take my place in that god-awful room.

And then I remember that he's relatively clueless about everything that's going on.

He's not really Peter, is he? Not without snide remarks escaping every time he opens his mouth, or a permanent sneer frozen on his lips. I kind of miss him. Peter was something familiar in the hurricane of new events and new information. He was a pillar of cold cruelty I knew would never change.

"I'm not crying." I sniff, wiping my hand on the back of my sleeve and turning to face him, though I know my face is red and my eyes are wet.

"Oh." Peter seems a bit confused, "Would you like a tissue?" he holds out the box of tissues from beside my cot.

I take one while he says, "You're Caleb, right?"

"Yeah."

It's a bit of a surprise not to see him recoil slightly at the name, like most people do. But Peter only nods. "I'm Neopeter."

"Neopeter?" I ask, unable to suppress a small laugh. New Peter. It fits.

"That's what the blond girl who sleeps over there calls me." Peter gestures towards the opposite side of the room. He must mean Cara.

"You mean Cara?"

He shrugs. "I don't know but she's pretty cute."

Oh boy. I'm going to have to get used to this new Peter thing.

….

"You need a shower."

I can only blink as Christina sits down across from me, her dinner tray preceding her.

"And a shave." Tobias adds gruffly, sitting beside her. He could use both himself; he smells awful as he lifts a hand to scratch the coarse fuzz on his cheek.

"You've been avoiding me for days." I say. "Look, I just want to explain –"

"Yeah. That's why we're here." Christina interrupts. She shares a glance with Tobias. "We're ready to hear what happened."

I resist the urge to point out that I've told both of them already, but that neither of them wanted to hear anything I wanted to say.

"Without the excuses and blithering idiocy you usually get by on." Tobias adds. He's exhausted, and his eyes seem to have sunk further into his head, which makes the glower he gives me all the more piercing.

"Christina," I start, "Tobias."

"It's Four." He snarls.

"Don't shrink away like that." Christina scoffs, "You know, cowardice really doesn't become you, Caleb."

"On the contrary, I think it suits him very well." Tobias still hasn't stopped glaring at me. Neither has Christina, though less obviously.

"Four." I correct myself, "I-I can't even begin to express how horrible I feel. I-I mean I'm her brother. You don't think I'd willingly send her to her death after all this do you?"

"Was that a joke?" Four is clutching the edge of the table and his knuckles are white. Presumably, he's stopping himself from lunging across and strangling me. "Because it wasn't funny."

"Look, I was supposed to die, I get that."

"Yes." Christina purses her lips. "You were."

So why didn't you?

It's the unasked question that hangs in the air like a lead weight. I can almost see it hovering right over my own head, ready to crash into my skull at any moment.

"Something went wrong with the experiment!" I hear the desperation in my own voice. "There weren't supposed to be people shooting at us!"

"Tris wasn't supposed to die!" Four screeches. People at the neighboring tables turn to look at him, but he doesn't seem to notice.

"She told me to give her the backpack so I did! I didn't know she was gonna go into the death serum without protection!" I all but wail. Well, half of it is true.

"What did you think she was going to do? Abandon the mission?!"

"I didn't think she was that stupid!"

That's it for Four. I can't help but notice that Christina doesn't stop him leaping over the table. Then again, I'm not sure her efforts would have any effect anyway.

Four's rough hands are on my collar and he's dragging me out of the mess hall, half running.

He slams me against the wall so hard I'm left gasping for air. I know I look like a gaping fish, but that probably shouldn't be my main concern right now.

"Don't you ever." Four hisses. "Don't you dare call her stupid. She gave her life for your miserable ass, and that's more than you deserve."

Don't I know it.

"You, Caleb Prior, are a piece of shit. And if you don't grind that fact into your head I'll do it myself."

There are not words to describe his anger at this moment. I see that flicker in his eyes, and I know he's almost there. Tobias Eaton is teetering on the brink of madness.

And just like that, it's gone from him. I slump to the floor, gasping.

I am almost surprised when I see Four's fingers trembling and the glint of water in his eyes.

"We're going through the same thing, you and me." I tell him from the floor, "I'm grieving for her too."

"No . . . you have it far worse than me, Caleb." I see his jaw clenching and unclenching. "I'm not suffering from the guilt that you are."

We are silent for a moment before Four turns to stalk off. It's not until he's almost at the end of the hallway that I think to tell him what really happened.

"Tobias."

He stops but doesn't turn.

"It wasn't my choice that Beatrice should die." I hate how pleading my voice sounds, even to myself. "It was hers."

"My name is Four." He says after a moment. "And hers is Tris."

Four turns the corner and is gone.

….

The glowing display on my watch reads 3:14 AM. I've been awake for hours, and with Peter snoring the way he is I've abandoned any hope of sleep. So I throw off the meager covers and get to my feet. As I pass Tobias's cot, I notice his breathing is light and quick. I can only hope he won't follow me because honestly, I'm sick of dealing with him.

At any other time, I might label myself insane for creeping into the morgue at three in the morning, but at this moment it feels right, and I don't know why.

The lights come on with a buzz as I flip the switch, and in front of me there is a sea of white sheets and wheeled beds.

The smell hits me like a brick wall. It's one I'm familiar with, the smell of cold silence and sadness and defeat.

I walk among the bodies until I find the one labelled Beatrice Prior near the westernmost wall. Dare I fold the sheet back and look into her face?

I bite my lip and uncover Beatrice's face, and it feels like I've been stabbed in the heart.

My sister looks so small in death. She is small, I suppose, but once she was larger than life. Tris Prior, the most powerful Divergent of them all.

Her face is ashy gray, and her hair is ashy blond, and her lips are ashy rose. That white sheet is too sterile for Beatrice, too clean to really belong to her.

As I sit and watch my sister, watch how the sheet does not move up and down with steady breathing, I wonder what she saw in her final moments.

Was it David in his wheelchair, finger on the trigger? Was it the green button? Did she focus on that button with all her might?

If I had to guess, I'd say she saw our mother. Maybe the death serum induces hallucinations, maybe it was wishful thinking, I don't know, but as I think it I am sure of it. That for a few short seconds, Beatrice and Natalie Prior were reunited one last time.

I hear soft footfalls that I have come to recognize entering the morgue, and I quickly stand and cover Beatrice's face before he can get here. This time was hers and mine alone, not to be intruded upon. It was, after all, the last time I'll get with her as my sister.

Goodbye Beatrice. I love you.

I should have known Tobias would follow me here. He wouldn't trust me to give him the time of day. But maybe . . . maybe he can help me.

"Fancy meeting you here." He says warily. His eyes shift to the spot I was sitting. "Is she over there?"

"Yes." I reply. Then, "Four . . ."

"What?"

"Well . . ." I squirm, suddenly uncomfortable, "I've been thinking . . . did Peter drink all of the memory serum you had?"

Four narrows his eyes. "No." he says slowly, there's still some left."

"I want it."

"Because you're a coward who can't deal with the pain or because you're a bastardly asshole who would forget his sister to satisfy his guilt?"

I sigh. "Both."

"Good." He says, "That's a step in the right direction."

"What is?" I ask.

"Admitting it."

"So are you gonna give it to me or not?"

"Not." He relishes the word too much.

I hesitate, then grab for his jacket where I know he keeps the serum. Quick as a flash he catches my wrist and twists it behind my back.

"Idiot." Four says, "Do you think I sleep with it?"

"Why won't you give it to me?" I breathe, "I'll be out of your way for once."

"Listen." Four lowers his voice as he twists my arm tighter. I bite my lip at the pain. "Personally I think you're a scabby lunatic who doesn't deserve to live, let alone get away guilt-free. More importantly, Tris let you live for a reason. That reason is that she believed you could turn yourself around. You've been a coward all your life, Caleb. This is your chance to be brave for once."

And that opens up a window.

Ever since I saw my own sister give me that look. The one that says I hate you with everything I've got. Ever since I saw it I've wanted to break free from this prison I've created for myself. This prison of cowardice and isolation and self-hatred.

If I drink the serum, I'll have welded the lock to the prison bars. I will never break free.

But if I make it through this. If I can be Dauntless. Then is there hope for me? Then will I finally be freed from my own self?

The pressure on my arm disappears and we are both silent for a moment, each waiting for the other to speak.

And then at the sheer giddiness of it, at 3:31 in the morning in the middle of a morgue that contains my dead sister, my face breaks into a grin. And I laugh for the first time in months.