Chapter Seven
Painfully bright, blinding, a searing white light beats against my closed eyelids, and I groan. If this is heaven… An unfamiliar pattern, the shuffling of sneaker-clad feet in my direction is loud in my ears. Caleb's feet don't move like that — these are confident strides, quick yet light, and I imagine that their owner walks with their chest puffed out.
"Beatrice?" a voice says, child-like, boyish. Staggered breaths are pushed from my lips, and desperate inhales follow them. His voice sounds far away, an echo, and there's a ringing in my ears. He says my name again, louder this time, and a hand touches my shoulder. I recoil.
Disapproving, another voice fills the room. "Hey, bro, she's a Stiff. They don't like to be touched."
"Sorry," the boy mutters, backing away from me. "I forgot, Zeke."
Turning my head, I press my nose against the tough pillow and open my eyes; I am too smart to face the light and be blinded. Once they come into focus, the walls of the room are antique-white, like the pages of an old book, and lined with smoky green beams that hold the ceiling up. Through the glass window of the wooden cabinet beside me, I can see rows and rows of syringes and clear bottles, and on the bottom shelf is a red bag with a plus on it, just like Mama's: ah, the infirmary. I've never been in here before.
An ache at the back of my head, right at the point where it curves in, reminds me why I'm here; it's a shooting kind of pain, where you get this disturbing feeling that if you touch the place, it'll feel like mush beneath your fingertips, like raw, tenderized meat. I can see my nose as well, which must mean that it's swelling nicely — it's discoloured to a subtle brown, as far as I can see. That's as far as I will see, too, unless I catch a fleeting glimpse in a puddle of melted snow.
"He got me good," I mutter, tapping feather-light touches across my face to feel for damage. I stay clear of the mush-injury. "Jerk."
"Jerk is right. He hit a girl, for goodness…" The voice of the younger boy startles me, and I swivel in his direction, an action that I immediately regret. Ouch.
"Who are you?" I ask, propping my palms up under me. I push into them, but my elbows buckle and I fall back — the boy catches me. In the back of my mind, the feeling that I know him clouds my memory… then I realize that he's the boy I saw before I fell unconscious.
His skin is dark like the cabinet's wood, eyes the same colour, and his black hair is cut almost exactly down to his scalp. Through his kind smile, his teeth shine white against the dark colour of his lips. He looks about my age, maybe Caleb's, and he's wearing Dauntless clothes.
"My name is Uriah," he says, setting me down against the headrest. He winces. "Sorry, I know you don't like to be touched."
"Yeah." Tobias' is the only touch I like, but in this case, I am grateful for Uriah's help. I smile, and he relaxes. "I heard the guy over there scold you." In the corner, the older boy's ears perk up when I mention him. "Caleb, my brother, does that too. Or, well, he used to."
"Used to?"
I shrug. "He doesn't do it anymore." The boy — Uriah — seems to want to ask more questions, but he catches his tongue. The Abnegation in me tells me to deflect the topic from me, so I turn to the older boy. He looks just like Uriah, only older and taller and more sophisticated, and he seems to have lost most of the youthful chubbiness in his cheeks. "Are you his brother?"
He nods. "My name is Zeke. I'm nine." Like Tobias… maybe they could be friends. Internally, I shake my head. To be friends, they would have to meet.
"I'm seven," Uriah interrupts, earning himself a glare from Zeke, to which he responds by sticking out his tongue. Yup, definitely seven. "You?"
"I'm seven, also," I reply. "Thanks for saving me."
He shrugs. "I didn't save you, really. I just carried you over here."
"Don't be so modest, Uriah," Zeke pipes up from his chair in the corner. "You punched the living daylights out of the Candor boy, first."
"He was a pansycake!" Uriah wails, turning a nice shade of pink. I think it compliments his skin tone — he's rather adorable. "I think he deserved it. Try taking on someone his own size…"
"What happened to him?" I ask, realizing that he's not in the infirmary. Pride flashes across Zeke's face as he gestures at Uriah.
"My little brother put him in the hospital."
I sigh. "Well, he deserved it." They both smirk at the same time, looking even more like brothers, but then Uriah's falls.
"That kid is pure evil," he grumbles. "Apparently, he does this a lot."
"Does what?"
"Picks fights," finishes Zeke, resting his knees on the arms of his chair. "And then lies about it. Of course, they all believe him. He's Candor, after all."
I frown. "Uriah, did he get you in trouble?" He hesitates, but nods. Guilt claws at me, leaving trails of aching skin along my churning stomach. "I'm so sorry! You did this for me, and…"
"Beatrice," he interrupts, placing his hand beside me on the bed, not touching; his knuckles are bruised, one of them cracked and caked in dried blood. Bile rises to my throat, but I swallow down the bitter taste. In the last few weeks, I've seen more blood than in a lifetime. "I don't regret it for a second. He got what was coming for him — I was just the one to give it to him."
I give him a weak smile, shuffling closer to the headrest so my neck is under less strain. The three of us sit in silence for a moment, before… "What's a pansy cake?"
Zeke howls with laughter, startling me in the best kind of way. Playful, a pout forms on Uriah's dark lips as he complains loudly. I've never been in such a lively place… and this is the infirmary. I am hit by the sudden desire to be around these two more often, the desire to be a part of this liveliness.
"It's an old Dauntless insult," Zeke explains through fits of roaring laughs, head tossed back so I could barely hear him, even with his thunderous voice. "Uri is trying to bring it back." I giggle a little bit, but stop when a sharp pain strikes the back of my head.
"It's going to catch on!" Uriah insists, pumping his fist into the air; just then, a woman walks through the double doors.
Her hair is like mine, blonde, but softer, a pale yellow instead of thinly sliced gold; it makes me think of the yolk of a boiled egg. She's dressed in the same colour as the bedsheets, an angel white, and a sweet smile graces her lips. She looks kind. There's a patch of blue, the symbol of an eye, sewed into her pointed hat — Erudite.
"Beatrice," she says, eyes bright with amusement. "You've woken up."
"How long was I out?" I ask, because I don't know. Believe it or not, I've never been unconscious before.
She smiles reassuringly, and I am suddenly calm; I feel she should be Amity. "Not long. A half hour, tops." That seems like long to me; I've just lost thirty minutes that I will never get back. Or I've just taken a nap during the day. "Your mother has been notified… as has your father. They'll be here any minute."
"What?" I shout at the nice lady. "You called my father? Why would you call him?"
Surprise darts across each of their faces and hardens like clay. Then I realize that they don't know about Andrew, that they can't know about Andrew. I just wish Mama would tell me why.
"Sweetie?" The nurse looks upset, like she genuinely cares about me. "Why wouldn't I call him? Is everything alright?"
Even though I hate doing it, I feign my innocent expression. My eyes grow watery, and I stick out my bottom lip, letting it quiver. "I just don't want to interrupt Papa at work for something so minor. He works for the city council, you know."
She smiles, convinced. I am Abnegation, of course; this is just me being selfless.
"Oh, yes. He's very important," she says, sympathetic. "But this is not minor, I'm afraid. Your nose is only bruised — no fractures — but you have a small concussion. Plus, you strained some of the tendons in your left wrist when you fell." A quiet, buzzing noise comes from her pocket, and she pulls out a small, square device with a dark green screen; words flash across it, contorted to fit the 0 based pattern on which the system is based. I watch, enthralled.
"It's a pager," Uriah whispers. Having grown up Dauntless, I am not surprised that he is familiar with medicinal technology. He's probably been here his fair share of times. "They use it to send messages from far."
Blue-patch nurse's eyes absorb the coded words, reading them as plainly as she would a children's book. She mutters: "Emergency call, D-C, Room 12." A frown plays on her lips, which are painted bright red like a stop sign, and she sighs. "Sorry, sweetie, but I've been called to the hospital at the Dauntless Compound. They're short-staffed at the moment." A pause lingers in the air. "Your parents should be here soon."
After slugging a light blue backpack over her shoulder, the exact colour of the lighter spot in Tobias' eyes, she hurries out, the double doors swinging behind her like the blonde ponytail she wears.
Zeke catches my gaze from the corner of my eye; his expression is skeptical, concerned, curious at my outburst — sometimes I forget that others are allowed to be curious. "Beatrice…"
As the doors bounce open again, a dark shadow approaching draws my attention, clad in grey, and my chest tightens in anticipation — I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as the figure is hit by the light and my mother's golden hair locked in a bun glimmers beneath it. Then my heart quickens again; Tobias is with her, holding onto her fingers like a life boat, ears burning a deep red colour.
He can't be here.
"Mama!" I call as she bursts through the door, cradling Toby into her side. He's half-hidden in the coat we got him, the hood pulled down over his face, hiding his beautiful eyes. Mama's eyebrows are knit together, and she searches the room as if for a threat. From the anxiety painted on her expression, it's clear that bringing him was not her idea.
"Beatrice!" she calls back, dashing over to me — or being dragged, more accurately, by a worried Tobias. He stops at the foot of the bed, bouncing impatiently, and he waits.
"Head, nose… left wrist," I reply, knowing from the look that he's asking what hurts. Nodding, he embraces me gently, wary of the places that I listed. Closing my eyes, I let myself forget for a second the tension that is making its home in my forehead. A soft hum breaks through my lips as I hug him, resting my hands lightly on his healing back. Then I remember, and panic strikes me like lightening in a storm. I push him back. "What are you doing here?"
"I had to come," he says. "Mama tried to stop me…"
"And you still came?" I cry out, stricken by terror. They don't know that Andrew will be here soon. "You have to go! It's not safe here, T—" I cut myself off, remembering Zeke and Uriah — they can't know his name. I peek at them, and Mama notices, following my line of sight.
They scramble to their feet and, noting her grey garb, nod politely. Stepping forward, she shakes their hands, the Dauntless greeting, and shock etches across their faces. My mother is so selfless that she adapts her greetings to make others more comfortable — oh, and she was Dauntless-born.
"Natalie Prior," she addresses them, her grip firm and adept. "Beatrice's mother."
"Ezekiel," replies Zeke, the first to gather his bearings. "This is my brother, Uriah."
He smiles shyly, suddenly losing his confidence. Mama's eyes shine with recognition. "You are the boy who saved her, aren't you?" He nods, a warm blush settling over his cheeks, and she takes his hands again, emanating gratitude. "Thank you."
"Of course, Mrs. Prior," he replies nervously. Something flashes across Mama's face, and she examines him.
"Are you…" She pauses, as if entertaining a twisted sort-of theory, something unbelievable. "What is your mother's name, Uriah?"
He looks puzzled. "Her name is Hana, ma'am. Hana Pedrad."
"So it is," she murmurs, lost in her thoughts. "She's raised you both well. Thank you again, Uriah, for taking care of my daughter." It's an odd compliment, but we do not dwell.
Tobias' grip tightening around my hand reminds me of Andrew's impending arrival. Although Zeke and Uriah might figure our secret out, it is more important to keep Toby safe. "Mama, he is coming. We must hide…" I jut my chin in Tobias' direction, not wanting to compromise his identity just yet.
Mama's eyes widen, and her chest rises quickly in a shuddering inhale. Shaking me to my core, she curses under her breath as she pulls Tobias into her arms again. "How could I forget? I shouldn't have brought you here, Baby. I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," he replies, his voice wavering like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, the wind rushing through his hair, clothes, pushing him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. "I needed to see Bea." His hand finds a stray tendril of my golden hair and twirls it between his fingers. There is a slight pressure at my scalp as he does so that makes me sigh.
An idea springs to my mind. "Uriah!" His spine straightens, head up, as if he's a military man. Curiosity seems to be drowning him and Zeke, but more than that, worry. They are good; they will help. We can trust them. "Have you been here before?"
"Yes. Many times."
"Is there anywhere we could hide him?" I point at Tobias.
For a moment, he thinks hard. "How about there?" Looking like a bed sheet, a white drape hangs from above, bound to a metal rod just inches below the ceiling by clear, plastic rings, like a shower curtain. Mama pushes it aside, and it seems heavy by the way she leans her body forward. Behind it is another cot like mine, empty.
"That could work," she says. Toby presses a kiss to my forehead before rushing over to her. He climbs into the cot, and Mama pulls the sheets up over his head. Just as the curtains fall back and Mama stands beside me, the doors swing open again, and a lean man storms into the room. The expression on his face does not betray him, but his posture does; his muscles are taut, fists clenched, and a vein is protruding from his forehead because of the strain he is putting on keeping himself neutral.
"Hello, Beatrice," he says through gritted teeth, when he notices the boys. Consciously, he loosens his jaw and rubs it between his thumb and index finger, ready to give a performance. A worried looks spreads across his face as he rushes over to me, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Zeke and Uriah tense. "My, my, I was so worried when the school called that I left work right away! Are you alright, sweetheart?"
"Just fine, Father," I reply, stone-cold. Mama grips my hand.
"Andrew," she acknowledges with a nod. "I hope you didn't have trouble getting out of work?" I hope he did have trouble. I hope he missed the bus and had to walk all the way here. I hope he almost got hit by the very bus he missed…
He moves his jaw around, and I hear a click. "Not at all. Marcus, as you know, is very understanding when it comes to matters of a child's health." I freeze, imagining poor Tobias listening under the covers, smothered by the heat, especially in his new coat. He's scared of small spaces, too. Mama squeezes my hand, reminding me to keep myself in check, and Andrew catches the movement. "Why, Natalie, don't you think that holding her hand is embarrassingly self-indulgent?"
"For me or for her, Andrew? Because right now, our daughter is injured in a hospital bed." Her tone is challenging, dangerous almost, and the image of his blood staining the carpet at the base of the stairs comes back to me. It seems he remembers too, as he moves away from us.
He sets his stare on the boys in the corner, who nod at him but make no move to approach. Then he turns to Mama, something flaring in his eyes. "You know, they look like—"
"Andrew," she cut him off, glaring intently. This was a final warning. She looks down at me. "Beatrice, would you like some medicine for your head?" I nod, suddenly overcome by the throbbing pain that I had forgotten about in the drama.
"Yes please. Thank you, Mama."
She turns to the boys. "Ezekiel, Uriah, would you go find a nurse, please?" They nod, fear and confusion clear on their faces, and set off, the doors swinging behind them, and I realize that Mama has just sent a message to Andrew: mess with us, and that nurse will be for you. She doesn't say it out loud, but the words still ring in the air like our school bell.
Seething with anger, Andrew glares at Mama; as I look at his hands, I see that there is blood seeping from them where his nails dig in. Mama didn't even have to touch him to spill his blood. He spins on his heels and makes for the door.
"Don't forget," he says, gripping the handle in his bloody palm. "Treason is not a crime easily forgotten." Mama blanches at his retreating figure, but only for a moment. Then, she grabs a cloth from the cabinet and wipes Andrew's blood off the handle. It gleams, copper, once again.
She spins around with purpose shining in her eyes just as Tobias crawls out from beneath the curtain. "I'm going to train you both."
Tobias voices our confusion: "Train us for what, Mama?"
She beams, twinkling like the star from my nursery rhymes as a baby. "For Dauntless."
"What?" Surprise engulfs me like an ocean wave. Toby seems the same, frozen mid-climb into my cot — perhaps his wave was too cold. He unfreezes and climbs in, wrapping his arms around me. His coat is gone, and he is in a grey t-shirt and slacks. I move closer to him.
"Both of you want to transfer to Dauntless, correct?" She puts emphasis on transfer; she will not call it defect. When we nod, Tobias a bit more hesitant to admit it, she continues. "Well, the initiation there is very vigorous and demanding, and, while I am not saying that you wouldn't be able to handle it, I think we should start training now so you have an advantage." Something flashes in her eyes, burning, as she stares at me. "And there is no way that I am this happen to you or Tobias ever again."
My mind swirls in every direction, imagining the thrill of jumping off a train, the pride of sinking a knife into the bullseye of a target, the rush of wind in my hair as I run through the forest… it seems too good to be true. "Really, Mama? But we'd be… we'd be leaving you behind."
Mama takes my hand and places it over her heart. I feel it beat beneath my palm, slow, steady. "You wouldn't be leaving me here. I love you, Baby, and you, Tobias, if you pick Abnegation or Dauntless, or Amity, or Candor, or even Erudite like your brother." Her nose wrinkles up at the last one, but the smile is still on her face, and I know she is joking.
"Where is Caleb?" I ask.
Her eyes soften. "He's in class. There are still two hours left of school."
I pout, playful. "You know, if you'd just have let Tobias come to school with me in the first place…"
"Bea wouldn't have felt the need to hurt herself to get my attention," he finishes, smirking at me. I gasp, smacking his arm.
"You egotistical—"
"Okay, okay," Mama interrupts, laughing. "That's enough of that. Believe me, I have no intention of letting anything come between you two again. Now, let's get back to training."
Currently, there is only one question left: "When do we start?"
Mama grins.