There is a plain white envelope under the front door when I return home on Wednesday. My name is on it. I pick it up and turn it over. No other writing or marks distinguish it. I can't think of anyone who would need to write me a letter. It might be too much to hope that whoever delivered it knew that this was the one day of the week Marcus would be sure not to see the envelope before I did, but I hope anyway.
I lock the front door behind me and open the envelope.
You need to know the truth. You'll know it soon.
The letter is typed, giving me no opportunity to recognize anyone's handwriting. If my name weren't so clear on the outside, I'd wonder if the note were even for me. I can't think of any truths I need to know. No one confides in me. No one has reason to lie to me about much of anything, so who would need me to know the truth?
I hide the letter inside the sleeve of my winter coat, not risking Marcus finding it in the trash. Thoughts of it keep me awake that night, but as days pass I forget about it. If someone has a truth to reveal, it must not be that important if they're taking this long to get it to me.
Already I'm noticing that it's dark earlier in the evening. If Dauntless hasn't finished their initiation by now, they will soon. I wonder if Caleb will become a part of the city patrol, or if he'll somewhere he can use his math and computer skills.
More than this, I wonder how long it will take him to forget me. If either of us will live long enough to forget the other.
I still attend religious services every Sunday. I would have stopped going when Caleb left, but Marcus wouldn't allow it. Most of our new initiates attend, so I reason that for the short amount of time I have left in Abnegation, I can think of my attendance as a way of supporting them. Malcolm, I notice, has taken on the role he talked about having in Candor, making sure the prayer books are available and in good condition. He waits at the entrance to the chapel on Sundays to help older members to their seats. Already he is making a life for himself here. He belongs in Abnegation in a way I never have. Never will. He makes the other initiates laugh, but he does it without making fun of anyone else. Watching him is like poking at a sore tooth. I shouldn't, and it hurts, but I can't stop. I see him light candles and bow his head to pray, and I hate him for not being Caleb.
I recite the faction manifesto along with everyone else during the service, adding "And only God remains," because it's automatic, not because I mean it. I think about that final line and start to wonder how much Marcus believes it. I think he must, because he believes in the ways of Abnegation if nothing else, and no one would fault him for not being religious. Not all families are. It makes me wonder if Marcus has been religious since he was young, or if it's something he developed when he got older. Then I look at Malcolm and think of Caleb for the thousandth time, and my thoughts coalesce.
If Marcus has the same curse I do, is God what helps him keep it at bay? He was evasive when I asked him, and I can't see him being anything but straightforward unless there were something he didn't want me to know. The idea pricks like hot needles under my skin. Maybe this is part of what he meant when he said Caleb didn't have the curse. If living free from the curse means having a little more faith, I could try that. Caleb was always faithful without question. Marcus is also the only one who knows the truth about me. And if I plan to leave Abnegation, I want to know that truth before I do.
Marcus is sitting reading a book when I approach him later that afternoon. I sit at the opposite end of the couch and take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. "I've been thinking about what you told me. When you said that Caleb was not cursed the way I am."
"Yes?" His tone is suspicious. He does not like me asking questions. I should back off, but he is the only person I know who can give me the answers I want.
I haven't quite figured out how to ask him what I want to know without stoking his anger too much. I fold my hands in my lap, squeezing my fingers together. "I thought… If you know about this curse, if…maybe you know of someone who was helped by God."
Marcus shakes his head. "We are not having this discussion."
"But I—"
"How dare you ask God for help when you do nothing to fix your own flaws!" I flinch at his sudden shout. "If you want to ask God to help you with your deficiencies, you can do that on your own. God sees everything. We attend those services not to better ourselves, but to learn how we can best serve others. Don't be so selfish and take up God's time and attention when you should be working past your shortcomings." For a second, I think he's going to throw his book at me.
I should shrink away from his admonishments just like he expects me to do. But I am overwhelmed with curiosity, my constant downfall. "How?" I ask. "How can I overcome my own flaws when the thing inside me that causes them might be something I can't overcome on my own? You're the one who called it a curse." I stand, looking down on him, and I shout too. "What is it? Why are you so afraid of it?"
There's a moment where I think I've stunned him into silence. He looks like he's thinking, a line forming between his brows, and I feel a glimmer of hope. He will tell me now. Everything about the curse and my awareness during simulations and my always feeling so restricted by the customs of our faction will make sense. He will explain. Then I will know how to fix myself, be the person Caleb is, that I wish I could be.
The book falls to the floor when Marcus stands. Instead of talking, he takes two long steps to my end of the couch and closes his hands around my neck. I grab at his wrists, trying to pull him off, panicking that I am going to die, that this time he won't be able to stop.
"I fear God alone, Tobias," he says as he chokes me, "as should you. God can see your shortcomings just as easily as I can. God will judge you." He lets me go just as I start to see black spots. I crumple back into the corner of the couch as he heads upstairs for his room. We do not talk for the rest of the day, and I am not allowed dinner. Once I'm sure Marcus is asleep, I steal bread and cheese and an apple out of the fridge.
It may be God who judges me, I think as I rub at my neck in bed later that night, but it is my father who will bring me to my end. I am not scared of dying, for whatever significance that may have. I have accepted the idea that I will most likely die young and of unnatural causes. That acceptance has brought me to a place beyond fear. I do not fear God. I can only be angry at Him, if He is real, for letting me live like this.
But there is one thing I can do. One thing to remove this constant weight of Marcus's rage at my own imperfections. One thing that will show everyone else that Marcus Eaton is not the person they think he is, and neither am I.
Late on Tuesday afternoon, I sit at my desk, staring into the back yard. I regret destroying the garden only because I want something to do right now. I think of Malcolm's complimenting my vegetables and wish for a minute I'd saved some plant clippings for him. Idly, I pull a book out of the stack on my desk and flip through it. It would take months of effort to rebuild the garden. I'm not sure that's what I really want, anyway.
The plan to kill Marcus and leave Abnegation comes together all at once. The answer to everything, a solution so simple I can't believe I hadn't already thought of it, appears in a glossy color photograph on page fifty of Easy-to-Grow Annuals: a sure, easy plan that will raise no suspicions. Most importantly, it's a plan won't hurt anyone but Marcus. I will grow one more plant, the last one I plan to grow for anyone in this family. I tie my shoes as fast as I can, grab my canvas shoulder bag, and head out to the shed. From a shelf, I take a pair of gloves and some clippers. I add them to my bag and start walking, keeping my eyes at the edges of yards and grassy lots. Amity won't send what I need, but I'm not concerned. It grows wild. Shouldn't take me very long to find.
I walk through the edge of the Abnegation sector, the sun at my back. I smile at the little kids out enjoying the warm weather, jumping rope and throwing balls back and forth. I know I'll miss the small moments like this, watching other Abnegation enjoy simple pleasures. Selfishly, I feel sad about how I'll never have little nieces and nephews to play with, to give advice, to slip them candy when Caleb isn't looking. Then I stop being sentimental and get angry. I can't blame Caleb, only Marcus. And Marcus is why I'm on this mission.
That first attempt, I run out of daylight before I have to turn around and go home. I don't want to try searching for plants in the dark, and using a flashlight will make me look suspicious. I'll try a different path tomorrow. After dinner, I head to my room and pull out my gardening books, just to double check that I'm looking for the right plant. I stare at pictures, memorize details, and plot a different path. I'm more likely to find what I need away from the clusters of houses, where people might recognize the plant and cut or get rid of it. There's an old trail along Bloomingdale Avenue. Abnegation keeps it trimmed enough so people can use the sidewalk, but no one ever goes beyond the edge of it. It could be perfect.
After community service the next day, I head east. I fight my way through the edges of the overgrown trail into an equally overgrown park at Milwaukee. Stepping carefully over vines and fallen branches, I search deeper, keeping an eye out for any small flowers that are pink or red or white. I was right when I assumed it wouldn't take me too long to find. The tall bush has thick branches, an indicator that the plant is healthy. Dark green spiky leaves dot the bush, and it bears clusters of pink flowers, each with five petals.
Oleander.
It smells surprisingly good, a little like fruit, though I don't allow myself to get close enough for a deep inhale. Oleander is deadly poisonous and I shouldn't get close to it without wearing safety gear. Some of the branches have seed pods, but I don't want them. Growing from seeds would take too much time, and it's not the right planting season anyway. I study the plant until I find greenwood. My book said the fastest way to grow oleander was to cut just below a leaf node and plant it. I pull on my gloves and tuck my sleeves into them, because handling oleander with my bare hands is dangerous. Then I snip a length of greenwood with long leaves and place it carefully in my bag. I don't have much time before it gets dark, and I want to get back to the lit sidewalks.
I hurry home and leave my bag and gloves on the back steps before I enter the kitchen. I get through dinner with speed and silence, hoping Marcus can't tell that I'm distracted. All I can think about is the oleander sprig in my bag and the instructions I read for planting it.
When I've washed and dried the last dish, I slip out the back door. There's an extra terra-cotta pot on a shelf in the shed. I hadn't destroyed everything in my rage, only what was outside. I bring it to the center of the yard for maximum sun exposure and add some soil. Then I pull on my gloves. As I dig into the soil with a trowel, I make myself slow down and move in time with my breaths. I want to get the plant in as fast as possible, but going too fast will make me careless, more likely to damage it. I could get another cutting of oleander, but I want to get this right on the first try. I keep my eyes on the pot in front of me and don't allow myself to look at the rest of the garden. I hate to admit that Marcus is right. Caleb may as well be dead to me. He made it pretty clear at Dauntless that I mean nothing to him, and I have no proof he wrote that letter, only hope. But it doesn't matter. Caleb or no Caleb, Marcus is going to get what he deserves. Revenge instead of forgiveness goes against everything I've ever learned in Abnegation, but given the choice between living with that guilt for the rest of my life or living a lie because of Marcus, I'll take the guilt.
Once I've laid a bottom layer of soil, I add the oleander and backfill dirt around it. Everything I've read says oleander is best planted in the spring, but it likes hot weather. It should be ready to harvest right around the time of initiation, give or take.
My plan is simple: I'll see the class through. The initiation ceremony will be done in the afternoon. That night, I'll add oleander to Marcus's dinner. With the amount I plan to use, his death will be ugly, but relatively quick. He'll be dead before the sun rises the next day, and I'll be long gone. I'll lose myself among the factionless. Maybe other members of Abnegation will find the lone plant in the back yard and figure out what I did. I don't care if they do. Now that I have this plan in place, I fear nothing.
I usually have about an hour to myself before Marcus gets home in the evenings. Not ten minutes after I walk in on Wednesday, our doorbell rings. I'm chopping vegetables in the kitchen and take a moment to put the knife down and dry my hands before answering the door.
No one is there, but there is another white envelope at my feet, my name typed on it. I pick it up, but instead of opening it I walk out the front door to the street. No one appears to be running from my door. Someone rang the bell, walked away, and blended into the other Abnegation coming home from work or community service.
Or it was delivered by someone who's a fast enough runner to be gone by the time I could get to the door.
Someone Dauntless.
I know it's too much to hope that Caleb would reach out to me. He made it abundantly clear that I was the reason he left Abnegation. But my hope in this moment is stronger than my loneliness.
I give up on figuring out who delivered the note and go back into the house. For a minute I think about not reading it at all. Whoever wrote the first one hasn't done anything about it, and I have no reason to believe this one will be any different. Curiosity gets the best of me, though, and I open it.
I'm going to fix this. I'm sorry. There's a lot I need to tell you. I promise everything will get better soon.
The letter is typed again, but there's only one person who would have reason to write those words to me. Maybe it wasn't too much to hope after all. I turn the words over in my mind while I make dinner. No one but Caleb, I'm sure, has much of anything to tell me. No one else knows the reality of what goes on in my house. But why doesn't he just do what he promises he will? I don't understand why he sends me notes instead of talking to me.
Still, for the promise of seeing Caleb again, of talking with him and learning what he wants me to know, I'm willing to wait. At least until the oleander plant matures.