Читать книгу Flawed / Perfect - Cecelia Ahern, Cecelia Ahern - Страница 37

The “fresh clothes” that Tina returns with turn out to be nothing more than a blood-red smock, like a hospital robe, tied at the back and a V-neck in the front to make room for my chest brand. It is what I’m to wear in the Branding Chamber. I recognise it from the Flawed man Carrick and I were forced to listen to as he screamed while his skin was seared.

Carrick’s jaw works overtime as he watches me take the gown, his black eyes deep pools of oil. He doesn’t ignore me any more. There are no more smart faces and sarcastic looks. I have his full attention now, his full respect. I can barely escape his looks. When I return from the changing area, I see that his cell has been utterly trashed and that he is being held down on the ground by Bark. He has not reacted well to my ruling. Perhaps this makes him more unsettled about his own. We don’t get to say goodbye. I can’t even see his face. It is beneath Bark’s knee, cheek pushed to the ground, his face facing away from me. Our contact is to remain for ever without words, not that we ever needed them anyway. I have no doubt that he will find himself wearing a similar smock and taking the same steps as I am doing now.

Before entering the Branding Chamber, I sit in a small holding room with Tina and June. They go through pamphlets of information with me about what is going to happen, what I will see, what I will feel, which is apparently nothing, since they numb my skin, and how to treat my wounds afterwards. They hand me so many leaflets for aftercare services, therapy sessions, emergency hotlines, all branded with the Flawed branding. I sign some paperwork – quick, short agreements accepting all responsibility for what is about to occur – agreeing the Guild will not be held accountable if any of the brandings go wrong or if ill effects result down the line. It is discussed clinically, calmly, as though I’m going for a nose job.

As I step out of the holding room and into the long, narrow corridor that leads to the Branding Chamber, I see Carrick sitting outside on the bench where we sat together, guarded by Funar. Funar has a sneer on his face, and I can tell he is happy about both my situation and the fact that Carrick will be forced to listen. Carrick will hear me scream. My family will hear me scream. I will scream.

No. I will not let that happen. I will not allow them to do that to me. I will not scream.

Feeling defiant, I believe this is the first time I have ever truly felt it. The first time on the bus was compassion, on the stand in court my admission was out of guilt and not bravery, but now I feel anger and I am defiant.

Our eyes meet. His are strong, and I feel the effect of his stare.

“I’ll find you,” he says suddenly, his voice deep and strong, and I’m surprised to hear him speak.

I nod my thanks because I don’t trust myself to say anything. He fills me with the strength I need to enter the room without freaking out, mostly because I don’t want to lose it in front of him. My parents and Granddad are already seated behind the glass, as though they’re at the cinema waiting for the reel to begin, but their faces display the terror I feel. They do not want to view what they are about to see, but they are here so I don’t go through it alone. On seeing them, I think I would rather be alone, an unfamiliar feeling for me, who only ever wants to be surrounded by family. The excommunication from society is taking effect already within me, feeling detached from my family already, a stranger who can only go it alone.

Mr Berry is here, too, which makes me uncomfortable, though I’m sure he must be here for legal reasons, and past the open door, around the corner, I know is Carrick. That gives me strength.

Tina places me in the chair. It is like a dentist’s chair, nothing unusual apart from the fact that my body is bound to it – at my ankles, wrists, head and waist – so I can’t kick and flail as I’m seared. They want to get a clear symbol on my flesh for all time, the irony of a perfect Flawed symbol not lost on me. Tina is tender as she buckles the straps. I even sense a halt in sarcasm from June. Now is not the time for that. I’m getting what I deserve, the punishment speaking for them all.

Bark is busy with the equipment, doing whatever he needs to do.

The motorised chair reclines. I wince against the brightness of the ceiling lights. My skin feels hot as they shine on me, in the spotlight and centre stage for all to see. This is it.

“It’s better not to look,” Tina whispers into my ear as she fastens the strap across my forehead. I cannot look now anyway; I can’t move.

They inject my right hand first with the anaesthetic. It immediately numbs. Bark picks up the hot poker, and I see it, with its cast-iron F surrounded by a circle at the tip. My hand is flattened out and my fingers are strapped down, too, my hand forced open so that my palm is ready. It is done simply and quickly. No modern equipment, just a cast-iron poker and a count to three by Bark.

“One, two …” Sear.

I jump, but I can’t feel the pain. A sensation at most. And the smell of burning flesh, which makes me nauseated. I don’t scream. I won’t scream.

“There’s a bucket here if you need it,” Tina says, by my side instantly like a midwife.

I shake my head. I can hear the internal whimpering inside, see the burn on my open hand. The raw wound in my smooth skin. Four more times. It is the tongue I fear the most. I know they will leave this until last, they have told me that already, because it must be the worst.

The skin on my right sole is injected with anaesthetic, and I lose all feeling instantly.

Bark moves towards my foot. He looks at my ankle and frowns, seeing my anklet.

“Where did you get this?” he asks.

“Bark,” Tina snaps. “I let her keep it on. Keep moving.”

“No … I … I just … it’s just that I made it. For a young man. For his girlfriend. He said she was perfect …” He looks at me, realising.

I recall Art’s telling me when he gave me the anklet that a man at Highland Castle made it for him. Bark is the man who branded me perfect, and the same man who brands me Flawed. We share a long look.

“Bark,” June says sternly.

Bark is momentarily human as his sad eyes pass over mine, and then he snaps out of it.

“Brace yourself,” Tina says gently, hand supportively on my shoulder.

“One, two …” Sear.

I can see my mum crying into a pile of tissues, her composure completely and utterly cracked, smashed and shattered. My dad is on his feet, pacing. A red-headed guard is near him, keeping a concerned eye on him, ready to step in if Dad crosses the mark. I can’t hear them, but they can hear me. It’s all part of the fear they place on the public. Let them hear my screams. Make a mistake, and you’ll end up like her.

So far I haven’t made a sound, and I won’t.

Bark’s hand comes into sight and injects my chest with the anaesthetic. Again, I’m numb. The red-hot poker comes towards me again. I can feel its heat. I feel the familiar squeeze of Tina and realise it has nothing to do with support and is merely procedure. She’s readying me, but by now I’m ready to pass out. The smell is unbearable. It is the smell of my own burning skin.

I feel a blast of air. June has opened a window or something, must be to get rid of the smell of burning flesh. They’re not used to this. I can tell from the anxious looks on their faces. The average Flawed person receives one brand, rarely two. One man in the entire history received three, but never, ever five. I am the only person in the world to receive five. I feel dizzy, but I know I’m not moving. I close my eyes and squeeze tight.

“One, two …” Sear.

I feel like I can’t breathe. I haven’t felt the sting on my chest, but it’s as though psychologically I do. Pressure on my chest so immense I want to escape the constraints. I battle against them, still not making a sound. I refuse. The floor is moving. It’s rising upward. It’s going to hit me in the face.

“Celestine? Celestine, are you okay?” I hear Tina, but I can’t focus on her, her face keeps moving. She’s saying something about the bucket, but I can’t concentrate. I keep thinking of the tongue. I see Clayton Byrne’s tongue as he coughs in my face. I don’t want my tongue to be seared.

Tina tells me to take deep breaths.

“This is too much for her,” Tina says worriedly to Bark, who surprisingly is viewing me with uncertainty, too. “We need to alert someone. Maybe take a break. Do the rest tomorrow.”

“Guys, I know this is hard, but we have to do it,” June says in a low voice. “The longer we chat, the harder it is for her. Let’s not drag it out on her any more. The family is watching,” she adds with a whisper. “Let’s finish this for everybody’s sake.”

An injection in my temple. Quicker this time.

A squeeze on my shoulder. I know that for all time, if anyone squeezes me on the shoulder, it will be the trigger that brings me back to this.

“One, two …” Sear.

I gag. I retch. Smelling burning flesh. My own flesh.

Bark is mumbling something.

“Sweet Jesus,” June says, suddenly changing her mind. “We should be tending to her wounds now. This is taking too long.”

“You’re doing great, Celestine,” Tina says close to my ear. “A real little hero, almost there now, okay? Hang in there.”

I half-laugh and half-cry.

I look up and see both of my parents and Granddad standing now, in a row at the window, lining up. Distraught, angry faces. Mr Berry is not pleased. He is pacing. He is on the phone. Probably hearing the guards’ concerns, he is trying to do something about it. Granddad is arguing with the security guard. I can feel the tension in that room from here. I take deep breaths; I will not scream.

“Here.” Bark appears in my line of sight with a bottle of water and a straw. It’s a trick; it must be a trick. Tina guides it into my mouth, and as I suck I think about my tongue being seared. It’s next. I retch again. I can’t hold down the water.

It is pandemonium in the viewing gallery. I can feel their energy, their erratic, angry movements. My eyes move from side to side. I try to focus, but I can’t. I know why I’m here, and then I don’t know why I’m here. I understand, and then I don’t. I think it’s fair, and then I don’t. I wish I’d never done what I’ve done, and then I’m glad I did. I want to scream, but I don’t.

Suddenly my family members scatter like a flock of birds, as though something was thrown at them, and then I see Judge Crevan in my face, a smug sneer twisting his mouth. Mr Berry must have gone to get him, tried to stop the inhumanity. Too late, but now he’s here in the Branding Chamber. He blocks my view of my family.

“Had enough, have we, Celestine?”

I groan. I will not cry. Not to him.

They say I’m numbed, but I’m feeling sensations on my wounded body. Tingling. If the anaesthetic wears off, it will turn to stinging, then burning. I don’t want it to wear off. Suddenly, this is my main fear. I wish I’d paid more attention to the information in my cell – how long does it take before the anaesthetic wears off?

“I warned you. I told you this would happen, but you didn’t listen.”

Crevan’s red robe is the same colour as the scar on my hand, and I’m guessing as my foot, chest and temple. My blood is on his robe. He did this to me. Him. I feel nothing but disgust for him. I used to think that I couldn’t be afraid of someone so human, now I realise it is his humanity that scares me most, because despite having all those traits, having shared the moments we’ve shared, he could still do this to me. Now I find him terrifying. I see the evil in him.

“Oh, Celestine, it hurts me for you to look at me like that. I’m not the winner, either, you know. Art says he’ll never speak to me again. Heartbreaking for me, as you can imagine. First, I lost Annie, and now Art. And you caused that.”

Don’t speak, I tell myself. One more branding and it will all be over. It will all be over.

“I’m here to give you mercy, Celestine. Say you’re sorry, admit you were wrong, that you are Flawed, and I will cancel the tongue. It’s the worst one, that one. Everybody says so.”

I try to shake my head. But I can’t. I won’t speak. Instead, I stick my tongue out, showing him that I’m ready for the branding.

I see the look of surprise on everyone’s face. Granddad punches the air in defiance, not happy, but bursting with anger. He won’t want me to give in. I’ve come this far, it would be illogical to stop now, I will have gained nothing. I feel tears dripping down the side of my face, but I’m not crying.

“Brand her tongue,” he says coldly, then steps back.