The Gender Game
Bella Forrest
The Gender Game
Bella Forrest
Contents
Map
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Also by Bella Forrest
Copyright © 2016 by Bella Forrest
Nightlight Press
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To my readers, for every kind comment, email and review.
I would not have come this far without you.
Map
Prologue
My sweating palms slipped against the handles of my bike as I cycled at a pace I hoped would not look suspicious. I tried to fix my eyes ahead on the perfectly even road and not keep glancing over my shoulder at the makeshift wooden trailer I was pulling behind me.
As the uniform townhouses on either side of me grew sparse, so did the light. By the time I arrived at the edge of town, the sun had set.
I had been lucky so far. I hadn't passed anybody I knew, and nobody had halted me to ask where I was going.
I slowed to a stop once I reached the end of the last concrete road on this side of the city. Catching my breath, I wiped my palms against my blouse. My lower back felt sticky with sweat. And I had run out of water.
But I was almost there now.
I repositioned my throbbing palms on the handlebars and my feet on the pedals of the bike when a voice called behind me.
"Violet? Is that you?"
I froze.
I knew that voice. It was one I’d grown accustomed to hearing every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Ms. Dale, my defense trainer.
What was she doing in this part of town at nightfall?
I forced a casual expression to my face and twisted around.
The fluorescent street lamps illuminated the tall, lithe brunette standing on the sidewalk outside Georgette's Laundry. She was clutching a bundle of white sheets.
"Good evening, Ms. Dale," I called back.
"What are you doing out here, Violet?" she asked.
My jaw twitched as she left the sidewalk and approached me.
"Trashing Ms. Connelly's old china," I explained, a response I had thought up long before leaving my room this morning.
"Oh, I see," she said, her eyes moving from my three-wheeled trailer and returning to my face. "Wish I had someone to run my errands." She grimaced at her laundry.
I managed a half-smile.
She lingered a few seconds longer before glancing back at the launderette. "Right, well… you'd better be on your way. You know the junkyard gets creepier the later it gets."
"Yeah," I murmured.
"See you Monday."
She turned on her heel and I let out a slow breath. Gritting my teeth, I faced forward again, my eyes focusing on the narrow cobblestone path that branched off from the end of the road. I cycled for another fifteen minutes down the winding route, past the suburban cottages and misted greenhouses until I reached a pair of corrugated iron gates— the junkyard's entrance. Pulling the gates open just wide enough for my bike to fit through, I rolled it inside. I gazed around the sea of color-coded trash containers, wide-eyed. Nobody was around. So far, so good.
The overpowering smell of artificial mint filled my nostrils as I wound around the containers toward the back of the enclosure. The chemical the hygiene department sprayed in here helped to mask the odor of trash, but had the tendency to cause a dull headache.
Arriving at the last row of trash containers lining the back wall, I stopped. I grabbed the handles of the container directly in front of me and slowly eased it forward to reveal the brickwork behind it. I hurried to the wall and sank to my knees on the ground. My fingers fumbled along the bricks, feeling for the tell-tale gap. Finding it, I gained a firmer grip and coaxed it out of place. Then I worked on the previously weakened bricks behind it and above it until I had created a hole just large enough for my frame to squeeze through.
I had to be quick now. Quicker than ever. If someone spotted me here like this, all my days of preparation, all my sleepless nights, would be in vain.
I darted for the wooden trailer hooked to the back of my bike and, clutching the clasp that was holding the lid securely shut, I unfastened it. My heart was hammering against my chest as I opened it.
Curled up in the cramped wooden crate, knees drawn to his chest, eyes tightly closed, was my eight-year-old brother, Timothy.
My eyes moved over the mark etched into his right hand. The mark of a black crescent.
The mark that had changed our lives forever.
It took a few seconds for him to unglue his eyelids and realize that it was finally time to climb out. His black hair clung to his moist forehead as he raised his head to look at me. His gray eyes shone with fear.
I leaned over and wrapped my arms around his midriff, helping him step out. He winced and groaned against me. It killed me to think of how much time he'd been holed up in that box.
But it wouldn't be long now.
It wouldn't be long.
"Come on, buddy," I breathed. "Cad will already be waiting for us."
I pointed to the dark gap in the wall. He glanced at me uncertainly before lowering to his hands and knees. He scurried through. I followed immediately behind him. A chill stole through me as we emerged on the other side.
I swallowed hard as I gazed around at the seldom-frequented surroundings. At least, what I could see of them. We were standing amid a slushy marshland, pale and glistening beneath the strip lights that lined the exterior of the wall. Fifteen feet away flowed Veil River, above which hung a dense gray mist. The river was wide, so wide that the opposite bank was a blur even in the daytime when the mist was thinner.
We crept as quietly as we could through the sludge, toward the edge of the vaporous water. I continued to reassure Tim in whispers that Cad would be waiting in his rowboat, just like he’d promised. Only a little further up… but as we reached the river's border, neither Cad nor his boat were anywhere to be seen.
"Where is he?" Tim gasped.
"He… He's got to be along here somewhere. Let's move up the bank a bit more."
I led Tim further up the river through the marsh, knowing how much danger we were in now. My whole plan had revolved around Cad being here, waiting for us, so that Tim could immediately board his boat. We shouldn't be roaming in the open like this. Wardens could spot us at any second and the consequences would be catastrophic.
"Oh!" Tim hissed, making me jump. "There's a boat!" He jabbed a finger toward the river as Cad's competitive rowboat came into view.
Warm relief washed over me. Thank God.
Cad closed the distance between us, an apologetic look on his unsha
ven face.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, as he bumped the boat against the bank. "I had some, uh, unexpected complications. You know, with Margot. She started asking me where I was going and… Let's just get this done."
I turned to my brother and bent down. Wrapping my arms around his thin waist, I lifted him up. But before I could pass him to Cad, he struggled against my grip, forcing me to replace him on the ground.
"Wait, Vi!" he breathed. Tears moistened his eyes. "When am I going to see you again?"
My voice caught in my throat. How could I answer a question like that? What could I tell him? I didn't want to lie and say that I would see him next week, next month, or even next year. Because once he reached the other side of the river, I didn't know if I would ever see him again.
I cupped his face in my hands and planted a firm kiss against his forehead, his nose, then his cheeks.
"We'll see," was all I could think to whisper.
My chest ached as I thought of returning home to the orphanage tonight to sleep alone in my room. And tomorrow, waking up without him. How I would have to maintain complete ignorance as to his whereabouts to everyone in the city.
I pushed the thoughts aside.
"I love you, Tim," I said, hugging him tightly as I buried my face in his hair. "Don't forget it."
"I love you too, Ma," he whispered.
Ma. How I despised it when he called me that. And now of all times…
Gripping him firmly, I pried his arms away from my neck and rose to my feet.
"You need to go," I choked.
Tears streamed down his dirty cheeks as he finally let me pass him to Cad, who hauled him onto the boat.
Even as Tim left my grasp, every part of me remained holding on. As Cad sat Tim down and, with a grim nod of his head, began to row away, I couldn't let go.
My eyes stung as I gazed through the mist at their retreating shadows.
I had already imagined this moment in my head long before tonight. I'd pictured myself standing on the muddy bank, staring out over the water and waiting until the mist engulfed the boat. Until I lost sight of them completely. But now that it was happening, I couldn't handle it. It only made Tim's departure seem all the more final. All the more conclusive.
I turned and began wading back across the marshland, but after barely five steps, I stalled.
Three hunched shadows loomed near the wall. Three large, black dogs. Sniffers. And behind them, two tall, broad-shouldered women in deep green uniform. Wardens patrolling on their nightly rounds of the wall's perimeter.
I dropped down, flattening myself against the wet ground, the panic in my chest almost suffocating me.
It was too late.
They had seen and sensed me. Growls ripped from the dogs' throats as they closed the distance. But it wasn't the end of the world if I was caught out here. As long as—
"Watch out, Violet!"
Tim's scream.
My blood ran cold.
Stupid boy. Stupid, stupid boy!
The dogs' and wardens' attention instantly shot to the water, where the outline of Cad's boat was still visible.
Losing all interest in me, the five of them dashed to the water's edge. One of the women pulled out a whistle from her pocket and blew it before barking a command to the dogs.
"No!" I cried, stumbling after them.
In spite of its toxicity, the dogs leapt into the water, their powerful legs navigating the current twice as fast as Cad's oars as he attempted to speed up and escape.
Two of the animals reached the boat and leapt onto it, causing Cad to topple into the river. One of the dogs closed its jaws around Tim's shirt and tugged hard, pulling him over the edge and into the water.
My vision became tunnel-like. All I could see was Tim being pulled through the water, back to the bank. I attempted to swoop in and grab him as the dog arrived at the shore, but one of the women leapt at me. Tripping up my already shaking legs, she tackled me to the ground.
"Violet!" Tim screamed again. I gazed helplessly as the second warden locked his inflamed arms behind his back and began dragging him away.
Back toward the wall.
As the woman straddling my hips drove a tranquilizer dart into my shoulder, that scream would become the last memory I ever had of my brother: A marked boy.
1
Eight years later…
"Merrymount Mill," read the sign hanging above the entrance of the graystone windmill. "Facility for Convicted Juveniles."
I wrinkled my nose, flexing my fingers around the handle of my tattered suitcase.
I had no idea why it was called Merrymount. There were no "mounts" around here, or anywhere in the flat land of Matrus—mountains were a luxury enjoyed only by our neighbors in Patrus. And nothing about this towering brick building, or the shriveled brown fields that surrounded it, could be described as merry.
But I ought to start getting used to it. This was to be my residence for the next two years, assuming I behaved myself.
This would be my third home—if a detention facility could be called that—in five years. A textiles factory deep in the countryside, about twenty miles from here, had been my first, and a sewage plant on the other side of the city, by Veil River, had been my second. A flour mill certainly beat the latter.
If I managed to keep myself in line here for the next two years and successfully complete my seven-year incarceration period, I would be on track for reintegration into the city a few days after my twenty-first birthday… whatever life the Court expected a girl with no family to live after having spent her adolescence locked away from society.
And I had better not slip up. I'd already rebelled against the Court at the age of eleven by committing obstruction of justice, and after being convicted of womanslaughter (albeit involuntary) via the use of a weapon (even if it was a dinner fork) a few years later, there would be only one fate left in store for me if I didn't get through these next two years without first-degree infractions. It would be straight to the city labs, where I would be put painlessly to sleep without further trial or consideration.
There would be nobody to miss me, I supposed. I no longer had my younger brother. He'd been flagged as "excessively domineering" in the matriarchy's screening lab when he was eight and consequently deemed an unfit member of Matrus' peaceful society. A score of five out of five for both aggressive tendencies and insubordination was essentially the kiss of death for any Matrus-born boy. Tim was a slave in the coal mines in the Deep North now. Or so I’d been told. I hadn't seen him since the day I’d failed to smuggle him to Patrus.
After I’d been caught and sedated by the riverside, I’d been forced to spend the next two weeks in isolation—my first taste of imprisonment. The more I begged to be sent to the mines with my brother, the more I was ignored. I even tried to locate the aircraft that transported the boys to the North once I got out, but I was caught near the hangar and thrust back into isolation with the stern warning that if I stepped out of line again, I would be locked up long-term.
Over the years, I’d eventually managed to see the futility in pursuing Tim, but the day I gave up looking for him was the beginning of a steeper downhill slide. A slide that I still struggled to find reason to fight against. And my anger simply fueled my rebellion.
But I had to fight it now, and keep my head down, unless I truly did have a death wish.
My aunt, uncle, and cousin Cad might miss me if I was gone, though I almost never saw them as they lived on the other side of the river in the patriarchy of Patrus.
Then there was the owner of my old orphanage, Ms. Connelly. She had always been kind to me, though she'd probably be senile by now, assuming she hadn't died already. The few childhood friends I'd had would have moved on with their lives. None of those friendships had been deep.
"Keep moving, Ms. Bates," my escort said to me, nudging me in the shoulder. She was a green-uniformed warden armed with a crossbow; a stocky woman nameless to me and about half a foot short of
my height.
The warden ushered me through the doorway and we emerged in a small reception room whose walls were lined with lockers and hanging white aprons. An oval desk stood opposite the doorway, behind which sat a plump middle-aged woman with cropped brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses.
"Violet Bates," she said, glancing up. Her lips, lined with plum-colored lipstick, pursed. She rose to her feet with a black registry book and wound around the table to approach us. She paused a few feet away, eyeing me shrewdly. "Nineteen years old."
I nodded curtly.
"Almost a clean record for the past four years," she went on. "Two minor incidents of violence against fellow inmates, involving punching."
I nodded again, swallowing. Those punches had been well-deserved.
She furrowed her brows before concluding, "Right, I know where we have space for you. Follow me. My name's Ms. Maddox."
Ms. Maddox led me through a back door and we arrived in what I could only assume was the main place of work in this mill, a vast circular room filled with aisle upon aisle of grinding and sifting machinery. I sneezed. Everything in here was dusted with white particles.
She led me across the room to a staircase. By the time we'd reached the top, my calves were burning and Ms. Maddox was positively wheezing. I'd counted eight floors in total.
"You're right at the top," Ms. Maddox explained, panting as we turned into a dim, worn gray-carpeted corridor lined with wooden doors. She stopped at the sixth door to my right and turned the handle. She pushed, but the door didn't budge. She huffed in frustration. "Josefine!"
There was a span of silence before a vague voice replied, "Yeah?"
"You have locked your door again! Were you not reprimanded just last week for this?"
A bed creaked. Light footsteps sounded. A chair scraped and the door slowly drew open.
A waifish girl who looked no older than nine stood barefoot in the doorway, wearing a checkered brown dress. Her face, splashed with freckles, was round and framed by a ginger mop of short, yet wildly curly hair. The apples of her cheeks were high and plump, her small lips pursed and heart-shaped. She had a look of righteous indignation in her large—almost bulbous—green eyes.
