Chapter 41

Darkness; that was all that seemed to exist as I opened my eyes and took in the new scene around me. The last thing I could remember clearly was the needle poking into my skin, and the metal chair that was once beneath me. After that everything was a blur.

Simulation; my brain provided after I struggled to grasp at the wisps of my fogged memory. Yes, that was it; I was in another one of my fears that had been brought to life. Momentarily, I wondered what new horror awaited me, and how exactly I would go about conquering it without being as obvious as I had been the previous day.

When is this going to start? I wondered absently.

There was absolutely nothing; the scene continued to be that of a vastly black expanse, without noise or any sign of life. No matter how furiously I blinked and rubbed at my eyes, I couldn't make sense of anything. It most certainly wasn't a fear of the dark, because even as a child I'd never been one to need a nightlight.

I was about to take a step forward in an attempt to find my way around the place, but almost immediately I heard my boot make a dull thunk. Holding my hand out in front of my face, I gingerly ran my fingers across the surface before me. It seemed to be a wall made out of solid wood, with sharp splintery pieces jutting out occasionally.

"Damn," I muttered quietly, yanking my hand back when I felt a splinter break free and dig into my palm. I turned to walk the opposite way. Surely, there had to be a door.

Thunk.

I'd only just turned around and shifted forward when I ran into yet another wall. I'd been so sure there was going to be more space I had actually smacked my nose before I'd realized what was going on. I held my hands out tentatively, and again I was greeted with a wall of wicked splinters, one of which had managed to work its way under my fingernail.

My pulse was steadily rising, and I could've sworn the air felt muggier. The door, where was the door? I needed to find a way out, I needed to leave.

Thunk. Thunk.

My pulse could no longer be considered merely fast, no, that would've been the understatement of the century. It was wild and frantic, nearly painful as it thudded against my ribs.

"Hey! Let me out!" I shouted, my growing terror clear in my voice. "Help! Someone!" My mind was no longer mine to control, all I could think was that I was trapped.

I'm in a box. I'm in a box. I'm in a fucking box. My subconscious screamed in horror.

To my left, to my right, everywhere I turned there was a wall. And even when I tried to jump and touch the ceiling all I could find was another barricade. I was about to try kicking my way out when suddenly my world shifted; I was no longer on my feet but instead laying on my back.

Angry slivers of the wood pricked and worked their way into the exposed skin of my neck and arms; it was as if they were alive and attacking me, angry that I dared lay on them. I wrapped my arms around my torso, hoping to stop any more splinters from digging in, and it was then that I realized my box was being moved. The sensation was clear, a steady too and fro; someone, or rather a group of someone's, were moving my container.

"Hello? Hey, help! Let me out!" I yelled, kicking my feet out at the wall above me.

There was no response though. The sound of my erratic pulse was deafening in my ears. I had to get out. There was a loud thud as my container was dropped, and I wondered if maybe whoever had been outside had taken notice of me.

The sound of rustling was heard for a moment, and was then replaced by a sort of plunking noise. I listened carefully, and as I lay on my back trying to remember just where I'd heard a sound like that, it all came rushing at me. My blood turned to ice, and I no longer had any doubts as to what this simulation represented.

The plunking sound continued, and through the dismal cracks I'd never seen came the occasional sprinkling of dirt. I knew the sound, how could I not. It had been branded into my heart and soul that fateful day my mom, Mara and I had had to bury the remains of my father. I was being buried alive.

"No, no, no, no, no!" I chanted in outright terror.

I remembered the abnegation volunteers burying his coffin. How the more the dirt covered it, the more panicked I got at the thought that I'd never see my father again. I remembered the smell of the wet earth as it enveloped him; wiping him off the surface of our world.

"Help!" I begged, my voice raw and feral. I didn't care about the splinters anymore. I clawed at the walls with lunacy; the way an untamed animal would fight against a trap.

I remember after the funeral, crying quietly and into my pillow so no one would hear. I remember my childish brain thinking that it was horrible, that even in death my dad would have to suffer. He'd have to be locked away under the earth in a tiny wooden box.

"Ahhhh!" I was no longer making sense; I just wanted out.

The screams ripping their way out of my throat sounded like those of a complete maniac. Splinters, long and sharp, continued to dig their way into my hands, my palms, arms, eyes, face, everywhere. I was thrashing and kicking and pounding with my fists.

I'm not dead. I'm not dead! My mind shrieked.

The air felt thick, and I could feel my chest shuddering with every breathe I tried to pull in. Everything inside of me seemed to squeeze and contract, tighter and tighter. I couldn't breathe. There was no air. This was too much. I wasn't dead, why was I in a coffin? I had to get out.

Something tickled at the back of mind, something important. But what was it?

I tasted something slick and salty; blood. I'd bitten down on my lip so hard I had practically sliced it open. I was gagging as I felt it slide down the back of my throat, thick and warm. I didn't want to swallow, but I had no other choice. No, I wouldn't cry, I wouldn't lose it. I didn't want-

Who don't I want to see me cry? My brain prompted.

Ignoring the pain, I continued to bite down on my lower lip to keep from sobbing. I was not a coward. I had to think, but I couldn't, it was impossible. I stopped slamming my hands against the wall in front of me and instead wrapped them around my chest. I wanted to curl into a ball and just disappear. How long had I been in here?

How long? Time, what did time have to do with this situation?

I stopped shuddering and felt the muscles in my body relax. My heart, though still beating at a hundred miles an hour, was slowly catching up to the path my brain was taking. Then, like a wave crashing into the shore, my memories came flooding back. Overwhelming and strong, I suddenly felt like I'd just had a bucket of ice water poured over me.

My questions suddenly made sense. I wasn't dead, because that couldn't happen here. I didn't want to cry, because I didn't want Amar or anyone else to see me as some sort of weak child. And the time, yes the time; how long had I been in this simulation?

Too long. My subconscious snarled.

I didn't want to be in here; so I wouldn't stay in here. I shut my eyes and then with a breath, I held my hands out and tapped on the walls of the coffin. Once was all it took.

The sound of something being up rooted, the smell of damp earth, the feeling of needles raining down on me. It was all so real, yet at the same time unreal. I was both there and not there. Like a storm; it was all at once turbulent and irate, and then just as fast, it was silent. There was nothing.

I gasped, but this time stayed still as I blinked my eyes against the light. I was in the metal chair with Amar next to me. Once again, I was safe and in the real world. I swallowed loudly, forcing the lump in my throat to go down, and then shuddered as I felt the ghostly prickles of splinters still buzzing on my skin.

"I knew it," Amar said, staring at me with wide eyes and his mouth agape. Without any further questioning I knew exactly what he was referring to.

My heart skipped a beat, and then picked up double time. Could it be that I was still in a fear simulation? I discreetly pinched myself. No, it couldn't be. How had I slipped up? Should I confess? Could I trust Amar? I didn't want to put him or myself in danger. No, it was best to act casual.

"What?" I lied; putting on my best confused-beyond-all-hell look on my face.

"Don't play stupid Sage, this is not the time."

"I'm not playing, I really don't know what you mean," I protested weakly; my voice rising in pitch as I spoke. Geez, the lie was painful to my own ears.

"No? Then tell me, how did you do that?"

"Do what?"

I swear if Amar had been a different man he might've already punched me in the face. Not that I would've blamed him. I could practically see the waves of frustration and anger radiating off of his body. He ran a hand through his short hair, and I could visibly see him mouthing the word relax to himself.

"How. Did. You. Get. Out." He said in short clipped words; each annunciated sharp and clearly. "And don't even think about lying to me. You're candor roots show every time you try to spin a story."

"I don't-" I started to say before he suddenly jerked out of his chair and strode up to me. I must've tried his patience for far too long. Was he going to hit me now?

I was still sitting in the metal reclining chair, waiting for the blow, when I realized his expression had changed. Sadness and compassion had replaced his earlier ire, and rather than swing, he held his hand out to me. I took it without hesitation and swung my legs over the side so that I was facing him.

"You're divergent," he stated; absolutely no sign of doubt in his voice.

I stared at him, my mouth open in shock. Fear sent a new surge of adrenaline through my veins, and I felt as if I were buzzing with electricity. He knew. How? How had he figured it out?

"I suspected it last time when you snapped the rope, but this time it's blatantly obvious."

Could I trust him? He wasn't pulling a gun out, and he looked completely calm. Hyperaware of his every move, gesture and emotion, I realized with shock that I had complete and utter trust in him. I relaxed; this man, who was both brave and noble, would not harm me.

"What made it obvious?" I asked after a long pause; simultaneously admitting the truth with my words as well as voicing my concern.

Amar nodded, seeming to unwind with my admission. "You manipulated the simulation when you splintered the wood, only someone who is divergent can do that."

"What am I?" I asked quietly. "Please, help me understand."

"In simple terms, you are someone who is aware. During the simulations, haven't you noticed that your mind eventually informs you that what you're going through isn't real?"

I nodded. "But I thought everyone was like that?"

Amar shook his head once. "No, not at all. The fact that you are aware isn't even what the problem is. Someone who is like you, well, they have the power to manipulate or even shut down the simulations just by willing it with their mind," he pointed to the screen on his computer where it showed me fragmenting the wooden box with my fingertips, "there, do you see that? That should not be possible?"

I gulped loudly, my hands clammy and shaking. "What can I do?"

"Hide it," he said immediately, "I'll delete the footage, because if anyone else see's this, you'll surely end up dead at the bottom of the chasm."

"I'm going to die?" I repeated numbly; I'd suspected it, but to have it said by someone other than myself was a whole different scenario. It made it that more real.

"It's not completely unavoidable," Amar reassured quickly. "The dauntless leaders don't know about you yet, and I'm going to try and help keep it that way, because if they discover what you are they will kill you. But-"

"But what?"

The silence between us was long and excruciating. Just when I felt like I was ready to throttle him if he didn't speak, he pointed at his watch.

"How long do you think you were in that simulation this time?"

I considered it; yesterday I'd spent two minutes, according to him, and this time around I felt like I might have actually taken longer. Trying to be smart, I figured I'd spent at least double the time.

"Four minutes?" I guessed.

"One minute," he stated, "way too fast for it to go unnoticed."

A heavy weight settled into my stomach, like each word he said was already a death sentence. Tension was building in my chest and I could feel the lingering effects of the claustrophobia I'd experienced start to leer their way into my psyche.

"What can I do?" I repeated meekly, holding my hands out as if somehow the answer to everything could be hidden within them.

"For one, though I know you're going to hate it, you are going to have to bear the simulations for as long as you can. You're cutting through them much too fast, you understand? You need to actually gain time, even if you want out, you can't give in and let yourself break free of them."

I nodded; it made sense. It was something I was going to have to work on though, because the moment I'd realized I could get out of the box, I hadn't stopped to consider much else.

"Okay, so spend more time in the simulations, got it. What else?"

"You have to learn the proper way to get out," Amar pointed back at the screen. "I can't tell you specifically how to get out each time, since I don't actually know what your fears represent, but I can give you some pointers." His fingers danced over the keys, and then the image of my coffin showed up. "Here, what you're going to have to do is either lower your heart rate, or find some way to break the box with a tool or something."

"Where do I get the tool?"

"I can't tell you that kid, because I don't know. You're going to have to figure it out your own way."

"I-I just don't get it," I said in exasperation. "Why the fuck does it matter that I can manipulate a simulation. How can that be dangerous enough to take someone's life?"

"Beats me, if I knew I would've told you by now," Amar shrugged. "I have a theory though, and it's that they don't actually care about the fact that you can change the simulation."

"What do they care about then?"

"Don't know, but manipulating the sim is just a symptom. There's something else they're worried about."

"How many people know about divergence?" I asked after I'd sat and mulled over all the new information. "Are there many?"

Amar's eyes seemed to get a far-away look to them, and I could've sworn he was struggling to hold back tears. "Two kinds of people know, ones that are out to kill you, and ones that have experienced it themselves; either because they are divergent, or they know someone who is."

"What are you?" I asked before I really had a chance to consider my word choice.

Amar smiled his wry yeah-right-amigo smile, and then shook his head slowly.

"Not important right now." He peered at his watch and then shifted to his computer where I saw him click a series of numbers and then a little red button. "Okay, today's footage is gone, but I need something to show or else it will only draw attention to you." He began to draw up another syringe of the orange liquid. "We have time, so I'm going to put you through another simulation. Remember though, stay in as long as you can."

"Thanks," I said gratefully. Then, I turned my head so that he could get a clear shot of my neck.

I didn't think of the needle, or of what lay ahead. Would it be the same fear or a new one? It didn't matter though; all I had to do was stay in for as long as possible. As my vision began to blur around the edges, I made myself a silent vow; no matter what horrors I saw, no matter what happened to me, I would make myself bear it all.

I had to be strong, because of course; none of it was real.