Citizen: Season One | Uncured Series Read online

  Citizen

  Season 1 | Uncured

  Maggie Ray

  Copyright © 2020 Maggie Ray

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 9798697375327

  Imprint: Independently published

  Cover design by: Maggie Ray

  Dedicated to those who have struggled, or are still struggling, with mental illness. You are not alone.

  "In an attempt to learn more about what happened during a lobotomy, Freeman tried performing them with the patient wide awake, under local anesthesia. During one of these procedures, Freeman asked the patient, while cutting his brain tissue, what was going through his mind. “A knife,” the patient said. Freeman told this story with pleasure for years."

  —Howard Dully, My Lobotomy

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

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  .1

  .2

  .3

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  X

  EXCERPT | SEASON 2

  HEALER | 1

  Acknowledgement

  About The Author

  Books In This Series

  Stay connected!

  X

  1. Do not resist government efforts to cure the sick of mental illness.

  2. Do not attempt to hide your symptoms of mental illness and always seek treatment immediately.

  3. Peacekeepers must be obeyed at all times for the good of the collective.

  4. Anyone suspected of sickness and exhibiting signs of unsafe behavior must be reported immediately.

  5. Citizens are encouraged to watch one another and report any unsafe or unhealthy behavior.

  6. Citizens must devote themselves to being of sound mind, hard-working, and cooperative members of the collective.

  7. No misconduct is permitted, such as disobedience towards peacekeepers, failure to perform societal duties at home and in the workplace, and/or unsafe relations between unmarried persons.

  8. Citizens must attend regular self-curing sessions.

  9. Citizens must comply to the mandatory, annual mental health tests.

  10. Those who violate these terms and exhibit signs of the sickness, or unsafe behavior towards themselves or others, will be arrested and administered the cure for mental illness.

  .1

  SABINE—

  The wind was strong that night, wrapping the fabric of my gown tight around my legs. I struggled to keep up with Rory as she strode confidently ahead, apparently unfazed by the possibility of getting caught.

  “Don’t be a coward, Sabine,” she reminded me. It was a thing she liked to say often, her eyes full of fire. “Just act natural and no one will suspect a thing.”

  I wanted to believe her. I wanted to be brave like her, a girl with eyes full of fire. Instead of the cursed girl I was, spreading bad luck wherever she seemed to go.

  We were too young to be here. The age of admission was nineteen, but we certainly weren’t the first underage teenagers to sneak into the Beaumont Gardens for the annual bride market. Plenty of people did it and got away just fine.

  At least, that’s what I told myself, as we slipped our way in through a gap in the hedges, a rogue twig snagging at my dress and scraping my leg.

  No one tried to stop us—no one seemed to notice. We blended into the crowd almost too easily. The ease of it is what made me nervous. Maybe I had been secretly hoping our plan would fail and we’d have to return home, where it was safe. Maybe I really was a coward, but I kept my head high and I tried to act like I belonged.

  I couldn't stand to disappoint Rory.

  She'd singlehandedly saved me from a childhood of solitude with her bluntness and beauty, and she'd never treated me like I was invisible—like I was my twin sister's less interesting shadow. Even though everyone else seemed more than content to do so.

  For that reason alone, I wanted to be a good sport tonight, for her sake. Even though I already knew I would hate every minute of it.

  But it was going to be her big night. Because Sofian had returned.

  Sofian who'd lived next door to her for years—the same Sofian she’d loved all her life and sworn to marry one day. Older and sophisticated, with amber eyes and rich bronze skin, he’d come back from school abroad just in time for this year's bride market.

  Rory wanted to snatch him up before it was too late, rules be damned. So what if she was a few months shy of nineteen? She wasn’t about to stay at home and let another girl have him.

  In the heart of the gardens the open courtyard was packed, almost impassable. Tents lined the perimeters, emanating the rich smell of tea, food, and alcohol, and the air was full with bittersweet melodies making promises they couldn’t keep.

  Our heels scraped against the cobblestones as we squeezed our way through, bumping shoulders in our eagerness to secure ourselves a spot. Eyes sought us out as we went, but I knew they weren’t looking at me. They never were, not with Rory standing near. The gown she wore tonight was a silky blue that moved on her body like water, and it was difficult not to stare as she breezed past, her minty eyes and blonde hair glowing as if shining from within.

  My gown, on the other hand, was a shapeless-looking thing. A thick fabric so black I looked like a cutout version of myself. I’d worn it as a sort of disguise, since it was sure not to stand out. It was already difficult enough being a natural redhead, in a society where the color red had grown to represent mental illness. I’m not even sure it had been intentional, or if it had just sort of evolved that way naturally. Whatever the reason, red had been virtually erased from our clothes and our homes.

  Just not from my own hair follicles—that resilient and shiny copper which sought to betray me since birth.

  Where Rory attracted stares of envy and admiration, I attracted looks of vague scrutiny. As though the world somehow knew I was cursed, just from one look at me.

  Thankfully, no one appeared to be looking me at all that night, so I assumed the dress was working.

  “I don’t see him,” Rory fretted, her head whipping from side to side as she scanned the sea of faces.

  I wondered how she wasn’t making herself dizzy. I was about to tell her to slow down, when she came to an abrupt halt in the center of the courtyard. I nearly crashed into her, catching myself just in time.

  Then my eyes instinctively followed her line of sight.

  There, only a couple of feet away, stood the unmistakable George Maize. His tall figure loomed easily above the crowd, and the powerful boom of his voice carried across the cobblestones, crashing against us.

  Rory shuddered with revulsion at my side, quickly snatching my wrist and dragging me into the opposite direction.

  I concealed my face so she wouldn’t see me blushing, as we cut a path through the crowd and ducked into one of the tents, pulling aside the cu
rtain to reveal a teahouse bathed in warm candlelight and scratchy music playing over old speakers.

  We sat on a bench and each ordered a cup of tea, while I forced aside any lingering thoughts of George.

  Rory wouldn’t stop fidgeting.

  “Stop looking over your shoulder,” I said. “Sofian will turn up soon. It’s still early.”

  “It’s George I’m worried about. I hope he didn’t see us.”

  “Even if he had, I’m sure he has no reason to talk to us today.”

  She nodded and let out a deep breath, visibly trying to calm her nerves, although I could tell it was a wasted effort. Even after our order came, she couldn’t keep her eyes off the door.

  I tried telling her not to worry. Sofian’s family already knew her well, and this was his first year at the bride markets, so the chances of him picking someone else were slim. But my words seemed to go right over her head.

  “I’m sorry.” She smiled sadly. “I’m not good company tonight, am I?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I get it.”

  I didn't mention just how badly I understood, since the thought of George finding someone tonight made me sick to my stomach. But I couldn't say that to Rory. It didn’t matter that George’s brown eyes were bottomless or that he towered taller than any other man, the sheer size of him dividing a crowd like a mountain. It didn’t matter that he commanded the attention of everyone around him simply by existing, with his undeniable charisma and charm. These things I had to keep secret, because Rory would probably knock me over the head with a stick if she found out.

  She’d never bothered to hide her dislike of him. Sometimes, I thought she might even have hated him.

  “Men like that are the worst kind of men,” she’d said about him once.

  “Men like what?”

  “Loud,” she’d said, scrunching up her nose, as though it were the worst possible thing a person could be.

  .2

  RORY—

  Sofian smiled at me as he left the teahouse, amber eyes shining, his hand reluctantly letting go of mine. At the last second, my fingers clutched air, and just like that it was over. The night was coming to a close.

  My eyes dropped to my hand, to the card now clasped tightly in my palm, the edges sharp. Sofian had slipped it there discreetly. I read the inscription over and over, not quite believing it was real.

  Sofian’s family name was embossed into the thick paper, and I ran my fingertip across, imprinting the words to memory.

  Sofian Hunt.

  This card was a silent promise. A promise I would belong to him. All I had to do was hand the card to my parents, and the transaction would be complete. Rory Renaud would be sold.

  It was exactly what I’d wanted, what I’d always dreamed of, and yet the longer I stared at the card, the harder it became for my lungs to fill with air. I swallowed, trying to force down the rising panic, all the while sensing the eyes in the room pressing into me.

  Sabine’s eyes, too, as she watched from her nearby seat.

  I didn’t dare look at her. This is why she’d come tonight. She’d broken the rules—she hated doing that—just so she could be here and witness all my dreams come true. How was I supposed to explain to her that I suddenly didn’t want them? How was I supposed to answer her questions? I couldn’t even answer my own.

  Uncertainty was an unfamiliar sensation. I was used to moving through life headstrong and sure of myself, and now here I was, choking on doubts. It made me feel pathetic.

  I was the girl who was never afraid, how could I suddenly be so terrified of something I was so sure I'd wanted?

  My feet inched towards the door of their own accord, my body craving distance.

  If only I could make it away from all these people and get a few seconds to think. If only I could get away fast enough, then I'd be out of sight before Sabine would have the chance to catch up to me.

  Somehow, facing her seemed like the worst thing of all.

  “Rory?” I heard her calling, her voice moving closer.

  Another wave of panic hit me, and I didn’t stop to think things through. I launched myself at the door. I heard Sabine behind me—a choked sound of surprise—but somehow it propelled me forward, instead of drawing me back.

  The night air hit my skin like a soothing balm, welcoming me in its grasp. The stars had vanished overhead, replaced by a thick blanket of humidity and electricity, and I wanted to get lost in it. To wrap it around my body like a comforting veil.

  I ran into the night as fast as my legs could carry me in my platform shoes. Around me, the courtyard blurred, the tents and the trees reduced to shadows. I didn’t stop moving until the chaos of the bride market was behind me, and I found myself standing at the entrance of the famous Beaumont Labyrinth, its wrought iron gates calling.

  It wasn’t recommended to go in alone, especially not at night, but I pushed through anyway. I was the girl who laughed in the face of fear.

  Or at least, I had been, until tonight.

  I found a spot to kick off my shoes so I could run freely through the grass. The paths were lit by the soft glow of lanterns, casting jagged shadows across my face, and the labyrinth felt so welcoming—so deserted and peaceful.

  No one would bother to venture in here at this time of night, not on the day of the bride markets. There were more important things to be done, wives to be bought.

  I felt grateful for the solitude as I raced through the winding maze, holding up my skirt with white-knuckled fists. I didn't slow down until I was good and lost—until I felt like nothing could catch up to me here. Not even that horrible feeling I’d felt in the pit of my stomach as I’d held Sofian’s card in my palm, the sensation that I’d done the wrong thing. In the labyrinth, all that mattered was the rapid drumming of my heartbeat, the delicious burn in my muscles, and the gentle presence of shadows brushing against me like friendly ghosts, as though offering encouragement.

  I stopped running once I felt like my lungs might burst and like my heart might beat its way out of its cage. Which, coincidentally, happened to be the exact moment when the sky opened, and a loud crack split the night. A violent downpour came crashing down, soaking through my gown in the seconds it took to find cover under a tree.

  “Rory?” a familiar voice called.

  I whipped towards the sound, startling when a large figure materialized and loomed above me in the dark. I hadn’t heard him approaching. The downpour must have drowned out the sound of his footsteps.

  George Maize.

  I gaped up at him. He really was a giant. It wasn't often that I needed to crane my neck to look people in the eye, especially while wearing heels.

  He said nothing at first, and only the sound of the storm filled the silence, that thick blanket of rain hitting the soil all around.

  My initial reaction was shock, quickly followed by an inexplicable rage. I braced myself, expecting the worst. It was no secret we’d always hated each other.

  George pinned me with a pair of dark eyes, his hair dripping with rain, his chest rising and falling rapidly from his run. He looked wild.

  “Did you follow me in here?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  He took a step forward. I took one back. I was afraid again, although I didn’t know what I was afraid for. My life? Or was it something else?

  I clenched my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms, trying to stop the shivering. My whole body felt like it was vibrating, and I wasn’t convinced it was from the cold.

  “Do you want me to leave?” he asked, voice clapping like thunder.

  I winced. He was always so loud. That was one of the many reasons I hated him, he was always just too damn loud.

  And I did hate him, didn’t I?

  “No,” I said, although as soon as I said it, I couldn't believe that word had just come out of my own mouth.

  He leaned closer. “Are you really going to marry him?”

  Was it his close proximity that shocke
d me, or the question? Maybe both.

  I instinctively shrunk backwards, losing my footing against a root in the ground. In a rush, George's arms went around me, saving me from the fall and leaving us awkwardly entangled, pressed up against the tree like a pair of ridiculous lovers.

  Under different circumstances, I would have laughed.

  Just not this circumstance.

  George's arms held me upright, and yet I had the sensation I was still falling—crashing—spiraling down some long, forbidden path. My hands crashed against his chest, as though trying to keep him at a distance, in more ways than one, but he was like a stone wall against my palms.

  He made no further move. I knew I was free to step away. And yet his eyes bore down into mine, and he looked… what? What was I seeing? Anger? Desperation?

  “I don’t want to end up married to a stranger,” I said, but it sounded like a poor excuse, even to my own ears.

  “But we’re not strangers, are we?”

  A new kind of panic raced through my bloodstream. We’d never acknowledged anything aloud before. It was the unspoken agreement between us, and it seemed wrong of him to suddenly change the rules.

  “You’re going to marry someone else, too.” I lashed out in anger, since that emotion felt safer, more familiar. “Isn’t that what you were doing here tonight? Getting your family to buy you a wife?”

  He smiled, a flash of perfect white teeth in his dark face. “And that bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  My hands faltered against his chest, as though they had a mind of their own, caught between pushing and pulling. George’s arms tightened around me, and all at once, I was helpless. Helpless in the face of his helplessness. One of his hands grazed a patch of bare skin at my back—a caress, a gentle assault. I didn’t stand a chance.

  I hated that he was right—hated him more than I could possibly say—hated him so much that I was breathing hard and couldn’t think straight. My thoughts felt disjointed and nonsensical, and the whole world had disappeared, everything reduced to a single instinct.