HELPER12, Jack Blaine [reading in the dark .TXT] 📗

Because as far as I know, that place doesn’t exist.

Thomas gets the door with one hand and holds it open for me.  I pass through it into a dark room.  I can’t make out much at first.  There’s a bench along one wall, and another door, which is closed.  Thomas walks over to the bench and puts the whizby down on it, and the gentle bump makes Jobee, who was just falling asleep, start to fuss.  Thomas touches a button set into the wall above the bench.  It doesn’t make any sound, but it must alert someone, somehow, because almost immediately I hear footsteps approaching from behind the closed door.

I go to Jobee and try to comfort him.

Chapter Sixteen

“Tommy!”  The man who bursts through the door is short and sweaty.  He pumps Thomas’s hand up and down in an enthusiastic greeting.  “Where have you been my friend?”

Thomas grins back at him.  “I’ve been around, Deen.”  He gestures toward me and Jobee.  “We need to get some food in us.  We’ve been walking a lot.”

Maybe it really is a restaurant.  The tension leaves my body and I wonder how long I can stand this sort of uncertainty.  I feel drained.

Deen notices us.  He walks over to inspect Jobee, a puzzled look on his face.  Then he looks at me.

“And who is this lovely?”

I feel myself blushing, warmth creeping into my cheeks.  I’ve never been called lovely, not even in that creepy way that some of the boys in the complex have, when they’re trying to touch some girl.  And the way Deen said it wasn’t creepy at all.

Thomas smiles.  “I don’t really know yet, Deen.”  He studies me.  “But you’re right, she is lovely.”

I feel my face get even hotter.  The way he’s looking at me seems a bit off.  I’m not his type, after all.  I put out my hand to Deen.

“Helper12,” I say, and Deen shakes my hand, more gently than he did Thomas’s.  “I’m Mr. Thomas’s brother’s Helper.”

Deen looks at Thomas.  “But I thought . . .”

“She means the baby.  Not Greg.”  Thomas looks sad again.

“Ahh,” says Deen.  He nods.  “So they replaced him, just like that, eh?”

Thomas is silent.

“Well,” says Deen.  “Let’s get your stomachs taken care of, shall we?”  He opens the door he came through, and after Thomas picks up Jobee again, we follow him down a narrow corridor.  There are doors all along it, and when we get to the fifth one, Deen opens it.

“This one’s just been swept,” he says.

“Thanks, Deen.”  Thomas waits for me to pass into the room ahead of him.  He follows with Jobee.  Deen shuts the door without another word.

There is a table, with two plush chairs covered in a blue fabric that looks soft.  I sit down in one of them, and sink about three inches.  It is soft.  The comfort makes me realize how tired I am.

Thomas sets Jobee’s whizby on one end of the table and adjusts it so that Jobee is reclining.  I take a bottle out of his bag and pull the heating tag out.  When the formula is warm, I give the bottle to Jobee.  He’s holding them all by himself now, with only a little help from the bottle props.  Soon, he is happily sucking away at his lunch.

The door opens and Deen appears, holding a carafe and two glasses.  He sets them all down on the table.

“Shall I just bring double your regular?”

“Two of the regular order will be fine, Deen, thanks.”

Thomas pours some of the liquid in the carafe into each glass.  He hands one to me.

“Some light wine,” he says.

I’ve never had wine.  I take a sip, and it’s good.  It tastes sweet, with a tangy bite to it.

Thomas sighs, and I notice the dark circles under his eyes.  He looks as tired as I feel, and I wonder why.

“Why did you help me today?”  I blurt this out with no forethought.  As soon as I’ve said it I’m afraid again.  It doesn’t seem wise to try to be honest.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

I watch him for a minute, and then I shake my head.  I guess I don’t have to worry about being honest.  I look away.

“You really want to know?”

I shrug, and keep my eyes on my glass.

“Look, I’m sorry.  I know that you have no reason to trust me.  But to be fair, I have no reason to trust you either.”

“What could I possibly do to harm you?”  My words are sharp; he has all the power.  Him and his Society member family unit, and all the people like him, have always had all the power.  And all the privilege.  Kris was able to put her head down and accept it, just keep going and get through the day, but I have always had a little trouble.

“Probably plenty, if someone paid you enough.”  Thomas’s voice had gained an edge too.

“Here we go.”  Deen came in with two plates, heaped with food.  He set them down before us.  The steam rising from them smelled delicious.  “Soy links, and onion fries.  Some fresh cheddar beans and a side of greens.”  He stood back, and noticed that we were glaring at each other.

“Oh,” he said.

“She thinks I’m one of the bad guys.”  Thomas didn’t look away from me.

“Ah,” said Deen.  “Well, you can’t blame her.”

We both looked at him, Thomas with indignation written all over his face, me with interest.

“You’re a Society member, Thomas.  She’s a . . . ”  He assessed me, taking in my skinner haircut, looking at my forearm even though my designation was covered by my sleeve, as though he could see the tattoo beneath.   “You’re a complex girl, right?  Just trying to get by, you’ve got some lower designation assignment, you mind your manners, maybe grab a touch with one of your complex boys now and again, maybe play a game of shads with your girls of an evening.  Right?”

“Right.”

“And here comes him,” Deen nods toward Thomas, “or at least his unit, and now suddenly