It wasn’t too late to turn back.
She watched the blinking cursor for a second, then typed in the six numbers displayed on the thin silver fob’s small display. She held her breath as the window disappeared. The code changed every sixty seconds; what if she had missed the brief window of time when it was valid? Would some alarm go off in Processing if she entered the wrong code? She didn’t breathe again until a seemingly endless list of files appeared on the screen.
Each file was labeled with nothing but a date and a long number, with the most current files at the top. Becca’s relief gave way to frustration as she scrolled through the list. How was she supposed to find what she was looking for? After all that, she didn’t even know where to start. What was she supposed to do, search for “false confession”? Assuming there was even a way to search at all.
She scrolled through yesterday’s files, and the ones from the day before, and the day before that. Watching the dates count down to the night that had started all this. The night Heather’s parents had been arrested.
The night her mother had killed them.
If she went just a little further down the list, she could—
Bile rose in her throat. She scrolled back to the top and hurriedly opened the first file on the list.
Her eyes glazed over as she scrolled through page after page of information. Internal knew everything about this dissident, from his pets’ names to where he had gone to kindergarten. So much information, but none of it helpful to Becca.
Maybe she couldn’t find what she was looking for because it didn’t exist. Maybe her mom had told her the truth after all.
Maybe she should just assume that was the answer and go back to bed.
She was about to close the file when the next paragraph caught her eye.
Matches 80% of criteria for Public Relations request 10843-A. Requirements: police officer, male, 30 to 45 years old, unmarried. Necessary role: Part of a conspiracy within the local police force to help dissidents escape the notice of Internal Defense. Purpose: The rivalry between the police force and Internal Defense, particularly the Investigation division, is impeding our ability to find and apprehend dissidents. If police officers are concerned about being seen as part of this conspiracy, they will be less likely to interfere with our efforts.
Becca might have stayed frozen there forever if she hadn’t heard a key in the lock.
She closed the file and shut down the computer. The security fob was still lying on the desk; she grabbed it and shoved it back into the drawer. She made it to the doorway and flicked off the light just as the apartment door opened.
How would she explain it if her mom caught her in here?
She peeked her head out as far as she dared. Her mom didn’t look Becca’s way as she massaged her temples. When her mom turned around to lock the door, Becca took her chance. She hurried across the hallway as silently as she could. She counted the seconds—one, two, three, four, five and she had made it. But had she made it before her mom had turned back around?
She drew her bedroom door shut and waited for the knock, for her mom’s questions about what she had been doing.
The knock didn’t come.
Her mom hadn’t seen her.
She crawled back into bed and lay there, heart racing. Trying to forget what she had read.
Chapter Six
Heather avoided Becca all day at school. Becca saw her once in the hall, but she ducked into a classroom before Becca had a chance to say anything. Becca was pretty sure Heather’s next class was at the opposite end of the school from that room. In Citizenship class that afternoon, Heather’s desk stayed conspicuously empty, prompting the Citizenship teacher to make a few pointed remarks about dissident families.
Becca needed a chance to apologize. To make things okay between them.
And, more importantly, Heather needed to know what Becca had found.
So when she left the school that afternoon, she passed her own bus and got onto Heather’s instead.
She practically tiptoed past Heather on her way to her seat, afraid that Heather would tell the bus driver she didn’t belong there. But Heather, intent on scraping a piece of dirt off the window, didn’t even look her way.
Becca slipped into a seat two rows back from Heather and across the aisle, where she could watch Heather without much danger of being spotted. Not that she needed to worry about that. Heather stared out the window for the entire bus ride, barely moving except for a slight twitch whenever someone said her name.
If Becca hadn’t been watching her so closely, she would have missed the stop. Heather had lived in Internal housing for as long as Becca had known her. Becca had a hard time imagining her living on a quiet street like this, in a little house in a row of little houses, each with its own yard and metal fence.
She squinted. This street looked familiar somehow.
If she didn’t move now, she would have to find her way home from the next stop. She hurried after Heather. Heather glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes widened when she saw Becca, but she didn’t say anything as they left the bus.
As soon as Becca stepped out onto the sidewalk, she remembered. Of course. That was why it looked familiar. She had spent the first few years of her life here—if not on this exact street, then somewhere in this neighborhood. Her dad had insisted on it. He hadn’t wanted to live in Internal housing. Becca could still remember the fights—although the ones about the house hadn’t been the worst ones, not by a long shot. Becca could almost see a younger version of herself sitting on the sidewalk with her chalk, driven out of the house by her dad’s yelling and her mom’s icy words.
Heather’s voice jolted her out of her memories. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.” First things first. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about your parents as soon as I found out.”
“You didn’t know what to say. I get it.” Heather unlatched the gate and stepped into the yard.
“Wait!” Becca pushed through the gate after her before she could close it. “There’s something else I need to talk to you about.”
Heather waited.
Having this conversation outside, where anyone could hear them, was a bad idea. But going inside would be worse. At least Internal couldn’t bug the yard. Becca glanced around; she didn’t see anybody nearby. She stepped closer to Heather so she could talk softly.
Heather stepped back. “So? What is it?”
“I looked in my mom’s work files last night.” Becca lowered her voice even further, until she was almost whispering. “The stuff in your parents’ note… it’s true.”
Heather’s face hardened. She took another step back. “I thought you were done with this.”
“You don’t understand. I saw it.” Becca cast another furtive look around. “The dissident’s file had instructions from Public Relations about what kind of confession to get. They wanted him to confess to being part of some conspiracy inside the police force, so the police would—”
Heather cut her off. “I don’t have to listen to this.” She turned around and started for the door.
Becca followed her. “This isn’t some kind of trick,” she said, remembering Heather’s earlier fear that she was testing her. “I’m just telling you what I saw. I didn’t want it to be true, but it is.”
Heather didn’t stop. She was almost to the front door. Another couple of steps, and Becca would lose her.
“There’s more.” Becca started talking faster. “A couple of days ago, I asked my mom about what the note said. I told her I heard it from Anna—she knows what Anna is like, so I figured it was safe. The next day, Anna was gone.”
Heather paused with her hand on the doorknob.