Chapter 4
Escape
I don't sleep. I can't sleep in the closet. I never have.
Adrenaline races through me, panic tightens my chest. I feel like I can't breathe and all I can do is count over and over again.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.
I'm pretty sure I've been here several hours, but I just don't know.
The closet smells like my father. His coats are kept in here, along with his shoes and his winter gear. Mine are all in a box in my room, ready to be donated, but his live here permanently. The smell makes me nauseous.
Our closet is smaller than most because of the bookcases he keeps in here. I'm pretty sure he keeps them hidden so no one finds out he reads them — volumes on computer technology, on military strategy, on Faction History. They're all pretty standard books. The shocking thing about them is just how many he has. There are 214 books on the shelves. I know because I counted them a few times. It's too dark to read, but I can feel them. I can feel them against my shoulder blades and my hips and my toes.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.
I can't sit in the closet. I can't see in the closet. I can barely hear in the closet. I can't sleep in the closet. Pretty much all I can do is cry and smell and stand and count and panic.
It must have been a few hours. It must.
I risk turning the doorknob. It turns, but the door only opens about two inches before the chain stops me. He's locked me in for the night. Great.
I scrounge around until I find the refrigerator magnet I stashed behind the fifteenth book from the left on the third shelf. I hold it up to the door at the level of the lock and slide it slowly away from the door jamb. It's a delicate process and carries with it the potential of being caught. I can't imagine the beating I would get. I probably wouldn't survive it.
I barely survived the one I got tonight. Every movement shoots pain down my limbs and through my spine.
Finally, I hear the lock clatter against the outside of the door as it swings.
I push the door open experimentally, checking down the hallway.
I creep out of the closet and decide to just work on getting out of the house. Stopping to grab anything is far to dangerous. I know my shirt is ripped, but right now I'm more concerned with escape than I am about hiding our secret.
I take off my shoes and glue myself to the walls as I tiptoe down the stairs. I make it to the bottom and glance at the kitchen clock. 4:15a.m. It's still dark out. Good.
And then I'm outside. I'm free. I never, ever will set foot in this house again.
The relief that washes over me is unbelievable. I take a quick moment to breathe.
One, two, three, four.
I run across the street to the Prior house and knock quietly on the door. They're not likely to be awake, but since Natalie and Andrew are the only ones I know, that means they're the only ones I can trust.
"Please, please. Be awake," I urge the door.
After what feels like an eternity, the door flies open and I'm pulled inside by my upper arm. My shoulder wound protests and I scream out as Mr. Prior closes the door behind me. His eyes are wide with shock and concern.
"Good god, what happened?" he whispers, leading me to the kitchen.
"I fought back," I murmur. "I shouldn't have fought back."
He calls for his wife, who comes down the stairs a moment later still in her nightgown. I remember my mother had the same one.
"Can you try to clean him up, Natalie? I think he needs stitches, I'm going to get my first aid kit. Get him one of my clean shirts. And he'll probably fit Caleb's shoes. Give him the new ones, they're bigger."
They help me to my feet and then she leads me to the upstairs bathroom. Quietly we ascend the stairs then turn right. The first bedroom, the same as mine, is a boys' room — Caleb. I remember him from my Faction History class last semester. He was the only advanced placement Abnegation in the class. He was a sweet kid.
His mother popped into his room to grab the shoes. While I'm waiting, I take a couple steps farther down the hall. The closet on the right under the stairs gives me a shiver. I open the door, but it seems so spacious, not nearly as claustrophobic as our own. It smells like winter.
The door across the hall stands ajar. I close the closet and inch toward it. This is the same room as my father's office — my torture chamber. I peek inside, terrified.
There's a girl sleeping. She glows silver in the moonlight and I feel myself drawn into the room. I pad softly inside and stand at the foot of her bed. She seems so peaceful. This must be what it's like to sleep without fear. Without pain. I'm completely mesmerized.
"Tobias?" I hear Natalie call from the hallway.
The girls stirs and sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes. She stares right at me and I stare right on back. I feel a warmth pass over me like a soft blanket.
We hold each other's gaze for a long moment until her mother touches me softly on my elbow, drawing my attention. She leads me out of the room and I steal one more glance before she shuts the door saying, "Go back to sleep, Beatrice."
After Andrew finishes my stitches, he leads me upstairs to the living room downstairs. His wife brings us all some black tea and we sip quietly for a few minutes before he speaks.
"Tobias, I want you to know we are here for you and I'm so sorry we didn't see the signs sooner. I should have known. Marcus has always been cruel."
My brows furrow.
"That's not why you asked me here, is it, Mr. Prior? To give me your sympathies?"
"No, Tobias. I wanted to talk to you about your Divergence," he says.
He exchanges a glance with his wife.
She continues, "Normally, we recommend that anyone we find who is divergent choose Abnegation because it's the safest. We're not particularly curious and many Divergent people live here without problem." They smile sadly at me. "But your situation," she hesitates. "Your situation with your father makes this a dangerous place for you to remain as well."
I nod into my teacup, tears stinging my eyes.
He speaks again. "You align with both Abnegation and Dauntless. I think you know that Dauntless has the most dangerous initiation process."
I hadn't really thought about it that hard, but I suppose it makes sense.
"If you choose to go to Dauntless, they'll administer a number of simulations over the course of your initiation similar to the aptitude test you took yesterday," he says. "It is critical that you keep your head about you. Think about what the expected response would be and do that. Don't do anything that alters the world of the simulation. If you do, they will likely kill you."
I gulp. Staying in Abnegation is starting to sound appealing. Almost.
"Whether you choose to stay in Abnegation or not, though," Natalie says. "We will make sure Marcus stands trial."
"No," I blurt out. They stare at me. "No one can know."
"But Tobias," she starts.
"No. I know he's key to the government. If it ever came out what he's done, the entire faction would be held responsible. It's better if I just leave. Then he can't do it again and it doesn't matter anymore." I shudder. "What's done is done."