Darius tries to close the open back of his medical gown. His butt cheeks goosebump in the breezy doctor’s office. He fiddles his thumbs as he sits on the edge of the bed and waits for his doctor.
Darius isn’t pleased to be in this situation. One minute he’s in the Underground, the next, he’s brainwashed into thinking that sickness exists and “doctor” Aysa needs Mahlah’s paperwork to prove it.
Darius believes Mahlah is perfect. There is absolutely nothing wrong with her — the system must have just messed up with a Death Date.
The doctor comes into the small examination room. He glances over his clipboard notes and then eyes Darius. Oh great, another Anah kid.
“You made an appointment, Darius?”
“Yes.”
The doctor isn’t at his most patient. “And?” he presses. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I’m feeling more … aggressive these days.” Darius clenches his fists for added effect. Sicknesses of the mind are the only true things that Darius knows of that he can fake.
The doctor stares blankly at Darius. “Self-diagnosed defiance? It doesn’t measure up.” He shakes his head. “You know, Darius, time in this room is a precious commodity. Zalmon prides itself on every person’s unequivocal right to quick and reliable medical attention, but —”
“‘But shall not congest its offerings with puerile matters of insignificance.’ I know, Doc, I know. I agree to the terms every time I book an appointment.” Darius shuffles. His gown frees more ass cheek. “I just don’t feel right.”
“Your records show adequate hormone levels.”
Darius doesn’t know what hormone means. Before he can clarify, the doctor continues.
“Your Abaters are working just fine.”
“I tried to kill my mother,” Darius lies. He raises his bandaged hand for effect.
The doctor studies him then jots a note on his papers. “I’ll have to discuss the matter with my … mentor.” He rubs the small bump behind his ear. “Please sit tight and give me a few minutes.”
The doctor leaves. Darius smirks, stands up, holds the back of his gown closed, and tiptoes into the hallway. He notes the way the doctor turned then darts in the opposite direction.
In the file room, Darius rummages through a long row of stuffed manila folders searching for one with the name Anah. He grows impatient with the seemingly infinite array. High-heeled feet approach and break his concentration. His fingers flick through tabs at warp speed.
The door handle turns, and the door starts to open …
Darius throws his foot against the door and slams it back shut. The office assistant huffs and turns the handle incessantly. Darius locks the deadbolt.
The woman knocks. “What’s going on in there?”
Near the very end of the cabinet, Darius finally finds Mahlah’s file and tears it from its squished spot.
Another knock.
“Let me in.” The assistant’s voice cracks.
Darius tucks Mahlah’s folder under his medical gown and holds it tight against his belly. He whips open the back of his gown, unlocks the door, and falls forward.
The woman flies into the room.
Mostly naked, Darius shocks her silly.
“What in the world!” she shouts.
“I need a bathroom, please!” Darius rocks back and forth, his back arched and buttocks high and mighty.
“Please! Please get up,” the assistant begs him. “You should not be in here!”
“I’m going to crap myself!”
“This is not the bathroom!”
“I know that! But at least it’s private! I’m not going to make it! Get out!”
“No! Let me go get you something! Just … hold on!”
As soon as the assistant is out of sight, Darius whips upright, secures the hidden folder, and rushes back into his doctor’s room as if nothing ever happened.
The Underground bustles with rebels, but Darius is focused on Aysa, who sits in front of him, holding Mahlah’s records on his lap.
“How’d you get these?” Aysa asks.
“It’s moot. Nothing an ass couldn’t do.” Only he gets the joke.
“We need to talk about something,” Aysa says. “Noah tells me that your sister’s Death Date … passed?”
“Yes,” Darius confirms.
“Yet she didn’t check in to Quiet End?” Aysa scratches his bald head.
“She didn’t even know about it.”
“Stop being cryptic, punk!”
“No one knew, okay!” Darius shouts. “No one knows. I broke into the system just to cause shit, and I came across her Death Date. I … deleted it.”
“You what?” Aysa leans in.
“I didn’t want her to go there to die.”
“You got balls, kid.” He takes another look at Mahlah’s records. “I mean, I hate a lot of things, and I stand up to a shitload, but you … you knew you’d be exposing your baby sister to a Natural Death, and you still went ahead with it.” He bursts out laughing. “That’s pretty messed up.”
“I wanted to be with her when it happened.”
“What’s life like living just for you, Darius?” Aysa chuckles.
Darius stands up and rips the folder from Aysa’s hands. “Fuck you.” He turns to storm out of the room.
Aysa grabs Darius by the shoulders and heaves him back into a chair like a sack of potatoes. “Sit down, you little prick!”
Darius nurses his shoulders.
Aysa claws Mahlah’s folder back and sits down. He opens it and flips through the papers before he stops at one in particular. He looks up at Darius. “Says here your dad’s a Leaver and your mom’s Datura.”
“Yep.” Darius snickers. “Does that explain me for you?”
Aysa pauses. “Well, I’m sorry about your dad. We accept a lot of things down here, but even we don’t condone Leavers. Cowardly creeps. And unfortunately, I can’t do much about your mom — I never once treated a Datura. None ever find their way down here. I’ve tried to approach them countless times, and they run away from me the second I start talking —”
Aysa pauses as something on the paper strikes him.
“Says here that your mom has a Second Match. Now, that’s very rare for a Datura. She must be exceptional.”
That makes Darius laugh. “There’s nothing rare … nothing special about her. At all. She’s just an everyday, useless, piece-of-shit Datura.”
“So who’s her Second Match? It’s not listed here where it usually is.”
“Why? What does it matter?” Darius strikes out.
“I ask questions when things are odd.” Aysa is surprisingly patient. “Who is the Second Match?”
“My stupid manager. Abram Job. Walks like he has a pickle up his ass. Loser in a fancy suit all the time. He’s a nobody.”
“A nobody who gets to fiddle your mom.”
Darius holds back his reaction.
Aysa closes Mahlah’s folder and hands it back to Darius.
“As for your sister, here’s the deal. Her body can’t produce enough of a thing called a hormone —”
There’s that word again. Darius still doesn’t understand it.
“Specifically insulin. She has terminal blood sugar levels.”
Darius is confused by the word terminal. The only definition he knows is related to driving and the parking lots.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen something like this in a few of the much older junk-eaters around here,” Aysa continues. “But someone this young?” He shakes his head. “She will certainly die a Natural Death if something isn’t done quick.”
Darius is incredulous. “Wait a minute. Something can be done?”
“I think so,” Aysa says.
Darius bolts up. “You’re telling me that something can be done to make Mahlah better?”
“I’m telling you I think so. This isn’t my area of —”
“Then why is no one doing anything already?” Darius picks up his chair and throws it against the shelves. The urine samples smash to the ground, and the pungent smell fills the room.
Calmly, Aysa retrieves Darius’s chair, places it upright, and motions for him to sit back down. Darius does.
“You’re not going to like the sounds of this,” Aysa begins. “Zalmon prioritizes money over people. Although in all my years, I’ve never once imagined they’d stoop so low as to dispose of a little girl.”