World in Tatters Ch. 49

I can’t sleep the night before the trials. Honestly, I don’t know if anyone else can either. I try to avoid speaking with Alice and the others. Partially from anxiety, but mostly because I just don’t know what I would say. Any time they come near me, I just close my eyes and pretend.

Rachel paces the tent chewing on her nails, a nervous habit she’s had for years. After our talk this afternoon, I haven’t seen much of Jason. Chris sits quietly in the corner, cutting away at a piece of wood.

As for Alice, she set up a dummy outside. Despite how much pain she must be in, I can hear the repeated thuds from kick after kick. She grunts with effort, trying desperately to expel whatever pent-up emotions she has rattling around inside. With every pained sound, my heart breaks a little more for her.

When morning comes, we all go to get breakfast. As we sit down, Jason comes into the mess, joining us with a somber aura. I pick at my meal, not really eating much. I try to comfort her, but Alice is too wrapped in her own thoughts to pay attention to any of us. We sit away from the soldiers, but while we’re sitting there I overhear them talking.

“Those traitors,” One says, “I can’t believe a councilman’s own grandson would turn on us.”

“What?” Says another. “Richard’s no traitor. I’d wager that none of them are. I mean, you were there back then too, George. I voted for Falstrom. She was a ‘president for the people’ and all that.”

I see Rachel tense up at the mention of Aunt Nora.

“Yeah, sure.” Scoffs a third, “A president for rich a-holes maybe. Look, I’m all for democracy, and she was voted in by the people. But what did she ever do to help those of us living in the slums? The actual workers who made her city run.”

“Um, a dozen or so social programs for starters. Food supplied to the poor. Building hospitals and clinics. What more did you want?”

“Spoken like a true Midtowner. If you grew up where I did, you’d know better.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you knew anything about those programs, you’d know about the corruption. Administrators robbing the programs blind. You’d know about how pathetic the hospitals were. Over-packed, understaffed, miserably disgusting. Frankly, if Nora Falstrom had any direct hand in it, she should be on trial.”

Anger flares in Rachels eyes. When I see she is about to go off on these men, I place my hand over hers. A silent conversation passes between us. I know how she feels. I feel it too, but this is not the place. And these men are not worth it.

“They are ripping her a new one.” The first chimes. “Can’t wait for all of them to burn.”

“You’re sick. The trial’s been a sham from the start. You heard the kinds of things they’re claiming. They’re calling her a collaborator. It’s a kangaroo court at best. Not even half the council was there when I left.”

I shoot up from my bench, the revelation catching me wholly of guard. I rush the table with the soldiers, interrupting their conversation. Hearing it too, Rachel freezes mid bite.

“’Scuse me, gentlemen. I couldn’t help overhearing. Did you say the trial’s already started?”

“Yeah…” They all look at me like I have two heads. “Started hours ago. The square’s been packed since dawn.”

For the first time all morning, Alice stirs from her stupor.

“Shit. It wasn’t supposed to be until noon.” I spit under my breath. “Thanks.”

Alice and Rachel are already on their feet. I shove the remnants of my breakfast into my mouth and take off after the girls, Jason and Chris close behind.

By the time we get to the outskirts of the square, the crowd is dense and unyielding. I lose sight of Alice and Rachel as they push their way through the throngs. Over the sounds of the murmuring mob, I hear a voice—my mother’s voice— projecting out from the other end of the square. Just looking at these people, I know we won’t be able to get close enough.

“Mere weeks ago,” I hear from the square, “Elias Drum sent his spies into our camp in Birmingham to set fires and cause chaos in our ranks. Twenty-seven men, women, and children lost their lives in that attack alone.”

Her rhetoric elicits a powerful response from the increasingly outraged mob. I set my jaw, my knowledge of the truth and love for my friends urging me to end this absurdity.

I turn to Chris and Jason, “I’m going around. Maybe I can get to the stage from the back side.”

“Go. We’ll catch up.”

I break into a run, blazing down a nearby alley, cutting across to the next street. I do not hear what provokes it, but a mixture of jeering and gasps echo on the bricks behind me. I turn down two more alleyways before coming to the backside of the stage. Two men and a woman stand guard by the stairs leading up the makeshift dais.

I try to push past the guards, but they block my path. One of the council members—Regina, I recall from that first day in Birmingham—stomps down the stairs in a huff. When the woman sees me struggling with the guards, she recognizes me.

“Stop! Let that man pass.”

The guards shoot each other questioning looks, but eventually comply.

“Thank you, but why did you help me?”

Her mood shifts, darkening in the morning sun. She drops her voice so the guards can’t hear. “Because this isn’t a trial. It’s a witch hunt. And Charlotte is at the forefront. I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but there’s been no real evidence presented. The whole thing is a sham. I can’t…I can’t be a part of this anymore.”

“Then you should have put an end to it.”

“What was I supposed to do? Charlotte has spent all morning working the crowd into a frenzy. Nothing I could say would calm them down.”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

“I—” I brush past her, heading up the stairs to the stage. As I reach the top, she shouts after me, “Good luck.”

We make eye contact for only a brief moment more before she disappears into the alley. I steel my nerves and stride into the square.

Awaiting me is exactly what I fear.

Nora, Kiera, Richard, Jarvis, Artemis, Apollo, Ren and Peggy are lined up on a lower platform in front of the main stage. Each is shackled on both wrists and both ankles and secured to a post on the deck. A handkerchief is tied around each of their mouths preventing them from speaking. Judging by their expressions, I doubt they would say much anyway.

As though decided beforehand, each sits silently, perfect posture, stoically bearing the weight of the verbal mud being slung at them. In the crowd’s frenzy, someone throws a pebble, nailing Jarvis on the chin. Despite the trickle of blood dripping down his neck, he sets his jaw and fixes his glare on my mother.

My mother stands at the edge of the stage, megaphone in hand. “This woman has betrayed her own people. Once president of a great and thriving city-state, turned collaborator for the very tyrant who felled her regime.” Echoes of approval ricochet through the mob. Men and women, soldiers and laborers alike call for Nora Falstrom’s head. “Those who aid and abet her treachery are no better than the villain herself! I think it’s time for a ver—”

I hesitate for only a moment before pressing onward. I grab my mother by the shoulder, spinning her to face me. “Mom. Don’t do this. Please.”

“Steven? What are you doing here?” Fury flashing at the interruption.

I keep my voice low, so none of the gathered mass can hear me. “I came to support my friends. And Aunt Nora.”

“But I—”

“Gave me the wrong time? Yeah. Worked that one out, thanks. You thought you could have this farce wrapped up before I ever arrived.”

“This is a trial, and if you had been here, you would know that we’ve presented incontrovertible proof of her misdeeds.”

“Oh, yeah. Then show it to me.”

“That’s enough, Steven. Just because you missed that section of the trial—”

“Why don’t you tell them the truth?” I raise my voice so as many as possible can hear, echoing the words of Charlotte’s last scapegoat. “About how you orchestrated this sham just to get some of your competition out of the way. There can be no evidence of Nora Falstrom’s crimes because she hasn’t committed any.”

The crowd begins to murmur, then shout, “Traitor!”

“Put him with the others!”

“He’s one of them!”

A pebble flies through my field of vision, narrowly missing my face as it whizzes by.

“QUIET!” I turn a searing glare to the gathered masses. “I’m speaking to my Mother!”

The mob turns near silent again, confused whispers trailing through the square.

“Nora Falstrom has committed no crime,” I address my mother directly, but project my voice for the audience. “But you have.”

“This is preposterous, Steven. Sit down and be silent.”

Flashes from my childhood echo in my mind. The pressure of her presence almost knocks me back. My mother may be a force of nature, but so am I.

“Tell them, Mother. Tell them about Birmingham.” My hunch solidifies as I speak it. “Go on. Tell them how you planned the whole thing. How Elias Drum had nothing to do with it. Tell them how you and you alone are responsible for the deaths of their families.”

“That…” A dozen thoughts flash across her eyes, as the crowds murmuring escalates.

I’m right. I can tell. My heart drops.

“Is that true?!”

“My mother died in that attack!”

“Monster!”

I can see the calculating strategist trying to think her way out of this. I see panic start to set in as she realizes she has few moves left to play. Objects begin flying at the stage as the crowd presses forward. My mother’s soldiers try desperately to keep them at bay, but to little avail.

“This is absurd!” My mother spins on her heels toward the prisoners, pulling an object from her waistband.

I barely have a chance to register the gun in her hand before my body moves. Without thought, without intent, I feel my fingers wrap around an object of my own. The world slows down around me as. In one motion, my arm strikes out.

A gunshot rings in the air as the world freezes.

I feel a hot liquid dripping down my hand.

The a dull thud on the stage deck forces everything to collapse in on me. As the world begins to move again, I look down at my hand, the hilt of my knife still clutched tight with the blade buried to the guard.

My breath catches as the look of betrayal dies with the light in my mother’s eyes. I catch her lifeless body as we collapse to the deck. Shocked tears stream down my cheeks.

By the time Alice and Rachel push their way onto the stage, I’m only vaguely aware of the world around me. I feel hands tugging at me, trying desperately to drag me away. Rachel yells to me over the crowd, but I can’t understand her words. When Jason and Chris finally join the fray, they’re able to drag me away from my mother’s body. Kicking and screaming I fight to get back to her, but they force me away from the stage.

When Alice and Rachel see that I’m under control, they rush to release our friends. The crowd surges, anger prevailing over reason. Soldiers loyal to my mother attack others in the mob. Fights break out throughout the square as Jason all but drags me back into the alleyways.

The echoes from the square fade as the horror of my actions sets in.