This was the first time I’d seen Grant’s grounds in daylight. It was different to Este’s in a lot of ways. Still vast, open, and stupidly luxurious, but everything outside was sharp, softened only by the light covering of snow, which a servant was busily dusting off with a hand-broom. Spiky, inhospitable sculptures made from concrete and rusty metal were scattered around the lawn. They were beautiful and raw, but frightening in their harshness. I imagined if you touched one that you would cut yourself, and then I shuddered at the thought that Grant would probably enjoy watching me bleed.
“Ahem,” the guard coughed. I jumped. From here, I could see the outside world and my eyes, my heart, didn’t want to leave it.
“It’s alright, Harry,” a cool voice spoke behind me. “I’ll take her in.”
Harry, the guard, grabbed my elbow and steered me towards Grant’s son, Denis, letting him take me, or my reins I guess. Harry winked at me and said, “Enjoy your meal, miss.” I smiled awkwardly. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.
Harry walked briskly back the way we had come, disappearing around the curve.
Denis’ hand slid around my waist, barely touching me, just kind of hovering there with a millimeter of air between his hand and my body.
“Shall we?” he asked, looking down at me from his very tall height, his eyebrows raised in question. I noticed a scar wrapped around the end of his eyebrow like a crescent moon.
The earphones dangled from his shoulders again. I stared at them too long, and he noticed.
“Do you enjoy music?” he asked. For him, this seemed to be a very serious matter.
I wondered whether I should lie, but then I thought, What’s the point?
“It’s new to me, but yeah, I do,” I replied.
He tipped his chin. We hung around the door to the dining room. I didn’t want to go in.
He put a hand on my arm so gently he could have been a mosquito resting there. “Don’t worry. You have some time before…” His eyes moved to the tip of the painting next to us. A small camera buzzed on the frame like a housefly. Denis turned so his back faced the lens, his whole long body shadowing my own. “Don’t show fear,” he whispered.
His hand left my arm, raking over my skin like a breeze. His touch was so light but strong at the same time, like everything he did, he meant to do.
“Wait,” I hushed, my lips barely moving. “Why should I listen to you?”
His mouth turned up in one corner, a crooked smile almost there. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
I huffed and pursed my lips. My instincts pushed me to trust him. They were all I had left, and I needed to believe in something.
“Okay, tell me one thing,” I said, looking up into his strong face.
It creased momentarily with irritation, his hand clenched around the handle. “Quickly,” he hissed.
“What did you mean by replacement?” I said, leaning on my tiptoes to get closer.
His eyes closed briefly like he was remembering something unpleasant. When they opened, they were ringed with sadness.
“Let’s just say, I’m not the first Denis Grant,” he muttered impatiently. His words were quick and tinged with warning.
I blinked up at him. “That’s not an answer. I’m going to need more than a cryptic sentence and a look,” I whispered boldly.
He craned his head up to the ceiling and exhaled in exasperation. Licking his lips, an answer forced its way between his rigid, set mouth. “Dad has had several offspring ‘made’ as back ups. When one of us misbehaves or displeases him, we are ‘replaced’. I have many brothers and sisters I will never meet. The photos on the wall are a warning,” he said grimly, and sympathy sketched its way through my mind briefly.
Before I could respond, Denis turned the handle. When it coasted open, his demeanor stiffened. He bowed slightly and allowed me to pass through first.
Grant was in his wheelchair, rolling himself past a low bench laden with breakfast food. I tried not to drool at the smell of bacon and eggs.
When he heard the door close, he spun around slowly, a plate balanced across his knees. He didn’t look at me, only at his son.
“Leave us,” he ordered, holding up his hand.
No don’t, I thought. But before I could blink, Denis was gone.
Grant wheeled himself to the table and placed his plate on the glass tabletop with a clang. “Would you like some breakfast, Rosa?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Sure.” His face twitched at my response, but he nodded and wheeled himself back to the bench to serve me a plate.
“Sit down please,” he said with his back to me.
I sat down like an obedient dog. He had this power over me, and I hated it. I clenched my teeth, fighting the words that wanted to spew from my mouth. I hated his control, his weird politeness.
I knew it had to end soon.
“I suppose you’re wondering what you’re doing here?” he asked, drawing out his words painfully as he took his place at the table and placed my plate in front of me.
I stared down at the steaming plate of scrambled eggs, the crispy bacon shining with fat, and sucked in my bottom lip. All of a sudden, I felt nauseous.
“I know you want information,” I said, my voice as dry as cracked wheat, “but I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know what they’re planning.” I lied unconvincingly.
He smiled at me, and I wondered if he knew how to smile for real or if his smile was only used to unnerve and threaten.
“Oh, we’ll figure it out eventually. I’ll figure you out eventually too,” he said, winding his fork in the air at me. “The ‘how’ I figure you out is up to you.” I placed a hand over my stomach protectively. He eyed me like a present he’d like to tear open. “How about I let you ask me a question and in return, you allow me to ask you a question that you must answer truthfully?”
I picked up my fork, pushing the eggs around the plate. This was a game. I could play a game. Jabbing the fork in his direction, I watched as his jaw clenched. “How could you be so selfish? Do you really think you’re worth all those lives you took to get the healer?” I asked, my voice wavering with nervousness.
His fingers spread out and then clenched into a tight fist. “Yes. I’m worth ten times the number of lives I took,” he stated. It was a stupid question. Of course he thought that. “My turn.” He took a sip of his coffee and breathed in and out several times, making me wait.
“Do you really think your cause is worth all the lives I’m going to take in response to yours and your comrades’ actions?” His tone was mocking, as if my cause were a childish faze.
My chest felt like ice. I tried to breathe, but there was something in the way. Guilt.
“No,” I answered. “But the life you’ve allowed us in the Woodlands is not a real life. They’ll see that.”
He seemed extremely unsatisfied with my answer. His eyes rolled over me from head to toe, and found me lacking.
“You’re a foolish girl. You think you’re strong. You think I won’t win, but I will always win.” I was getting to him. The victory was small, but enough to fuel me, until he squashed it.
He composed himself quickly and said, “It is clear to me that you require a firmer approach.” He rang the bell by his coffee cup with a sharp twist of his wrist and picked up a document next to his plate, running his eyes over it, and ignoring me. We were done.
Red appeared in the doorway. She grinned at me in a sick kind of way.
“Rosa here has chosen not to do as she is told,” Grant said without looking up from his paper.
“Wait!” I said as Red gripped me under the arm and pulled me from my chair.
Grant raised his eyes to meet mine. My promise echoed in my head. I promised I would live.