Rise: Populations Crumble, Book 2 by Gandy, A. (read book .txt) 📕

She taps a slim finger on the table, thinking about what I’ve confessed. “Did he tell you himself?”

“Sort of? He was caught out, and then fessed up.”

“Hmm, it’s a toss-up, then. Liars will always lie. But an honest man will make it right. The question is, which is Patrick? I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Actions don’t lie, even if handsome men do.” She shakes her head, “Well, I should get back, and I’m sure you should, as well. Thank you for talking with me, Sadie. I don’t have any friends here, and it means a lot that you were willing to listen.”

“You’re wrong, Odette. You have a friend here now—me.” I give her a warm smile, meaning every word.

Her return smile is timid, but it’s a start. She takes the plate with her single pastry, and heads out of the dining room. I follow behind her, and find Patrick waiting on a tufted bench in the hallway.

“Everything good?” he asks, as he stands and we walk towards the back door.

“Yeah, actually it is.”

“Want to talk about it?” He reaches over and twines his fingers with mine, and the simple contact melts my heart.

“Nah, it’s girl stuff,” I say lightly.

“Okay. Are some of those for me?” He sounds hopeful, so I pass him the plate.

“Go nuts. But the cheese Danishes are mine,” I warn.

Unrest

Patrick and I spend the rest of the day in our cottage, playing board games and reading, as has become our routine. We don’t discuss the meeting further, even though it hangs in the air between us like a heavy curtain. Our living room is still filled with unpleasant blinking pink light, so we spend the majority of the day in our room, lounging on the bed.

Finally, the knock comes on our door that signals our dinner’s delivery. Patrick meets the delivery man, and I hear them exchange a few muffled words as I make my way to the kitchen. We’ve taken to eating our fancy dinners at the island bar stools, so I wait there as he brings in the tray and sets it down. I notice immediately, however, that there aren’t just silver cloche domes on the tray tonight, as there were the last few nights. There is a baby pink box tied with a matching ribbon nestled at the center of the tray.

“What’s that?” I ask Patrick, pointing to the small box.

He frowns. “I was told it’s for you. They didn’t tell me what’s in it, only that Melissa sent it.”

That can’t be good. I pick up the box as he starts removing the shiny silver cloches from the food, revealing platters piled high with ribs, greens, and mac and cheese. The final dome hides a basket of pillowy-looking yeast rolls and mounds of whipped butter. I stare, momentarily distracted from the box I’d yet to open.

“Did you seriously track down the chef? This is nothing like the food they’ve been sending us, but it smells amazing!” I reach for a roll and take a small nibble of the corner before setting it down and returning my attention to the box.

“I didn’t track down anyone in the kitchen, although I was discussing the lack of barbecue with Teddy last night at dinner. I guess one of the staff overheard our conversation.” His frown deepens, despite the delicious spread in front of us.

I reach out a hand for his and twine my fingers between his larger ones. “Hey, I’m sure they were just trying to be accommodating. The staff here seem very eager to please.”

He meets my eyes briefly and nods before turning to grab blue plates from the cabinets. “I’m sure you’re right, it’s just disconcerting to think someone was eavesdropping on our conversation.” He turns back around with plates and starts filling them. “Are you going to open that thing, or use it as a paperweight?”

I sigh, and tug on the ribbon. It falls away easily, and I lift the lid from the small box. Inside is a folded piece of paper. When I open it, feminine script fills the small page.

Sadie, there is no reason to let anxiety stop you from doing your duty to society. Take these with dinner, and let Patrick do the rest.

—Melissa

My jaw hits the floor as I set the note aside, and nestled into a bit of jewelry padding is not, in fact, a gift, but two small purple pills. My hands start to shake as fury rolls over me from my head to my toes. I grip the box so tightly in my hand that the corners start to crumple in on themselves.

Looking up from the plates he set in front of our usual seats, Patrick asks, “What’s in the box?”

I wordlessly shove the note at him, and walk over to the kitchen sink. I turn the water on full blast, and then start the garbage disposal with a flick of one finger.

Patrick reads quickly and says, “You’ve got to be kidding me. What’s in that box, Sadie?”

I hold up the box, showing him the two purple pills nestled inside. Before he can comment, I pick them up and drop them, one after the other, right into the angry maw of the garbage disposal. The grinding sound rings hollow in my pounding ears. I flip off the disposal after it’s returned to its normal hum, and brace both hands on the countertop.

“This is ridiculous. They can’t seriously prefer you to drug yourself than to wait a month or two. How is that supposed to be keeping you in good health, exactly?” His rant falls on deaf ears, and my vision grows tunneled as I just stare into the stream of water flowing out of the shiny faucet. My knuckles are white on the countertop.

I feel like screaming or hitting something. But the people who deserve it aren’t here, and the message is clear. Get in line, or we’ll put you in line.

Arms gently encircle my waist from behind, and my mind