Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Two days later, as I was getting ready for work, my phone began vibrating.
I froze in the middle of pulling my long, dark hair into a ponytail, unable to do anything but stare at the screen.
I didn’t register it when I dropped my hair or when my hands began to tremble or when my heart began beating harder, because I was too distracted by the sight of Hilary’s name.
This was it. I’d known it was coming, had expected it, but just like the morning I’d found the letter from the Department of Fertility in my mailbox, the knowledge hadn’t prepared me for reality.
I waited longer than I should have to answer the call, and as I pressed my finger against the screen, I could picture Hilary’s irritated expression, an image that was solidified when she snapped, “What took you so long?” before I’d even had a chance to say hello.
Ignoring her impatience, I said, “When do I have to leave?”
She huffed, and I wondered if she’d been looking forward to giving me the news. If so, I was glad I’d decided to face reality head on. I didn’t want her getting any more satisfaction out of the situation than she already was.
“Today,” she replied, her tone crisp. “You’re to report to the Department of Fertility by noon.”
Noon. Less than three hours from now. It wasn’t enough time.
“You’re to bring one suitcase and are encouraged to pack essential items only, although the Department of Fertility understands you may want to bring personal items such as pictures of family or other loved ones.
You don’t need to bother with any hygiene products since those will be provided for you, and rest assured, the facility you’ll be staying at will be stocked with things to keep you entertained.
Books, movies, games, and other items. Everything will be provided and anything you need to maintain your home while you’re gone will be taken care of, such as utilities, rent or mortgage, and upkeep, including yard work. Do you have any questions?”
My mind spun with so many questions I had a difficult time focusing, and I took a moment to organize them before deciding which to ask first. “Where will I be going? Will it be far?”
“A secure location,” she replied. “That’s all I can tell you.”
Unsurprised by the elusive answer, I went on. “Will I be allowed to contact anyone while I’m there?”
“That is a question for the people working at the facility, I’m afraid.”
I blew out a frustrated breath but chose not to debate the issue. “What about a new contract?”
For the first time, there was a note of surprise in Hilary’s voice. “New contract?”
“Yes, the terms have changed. I deserve to have a new contract outlining the changes, and I deserve to have legal counsel present when I sign it.”
“Miss Murphy,” she said, once again annoyed, “let me assure you that the Department of Fertility has your best interest at heart and that there is literally no reason for you to obtain legal counsel when we have the best attorneys on our side and ready to assist you if necessary. Which it is not at this juncture.”
“Not from my point of view. I’m about to be taken to a facility against my will, you refuse to tell me where it is, I have no idea how long I’ll be there, and I don’t even know if I’ll be able to contact my loved ones to fill them in on how I’m doing or make sure they’re okay.
Not a single part of that plan makes me feel like anyone has my best interest at heart, so excuse me if I’d like to make sure my rights aren’t going to be violated any more than they already have. ”
“You have no rights,” Hilary snapped, then sucked in a breath like the outburst had shocked her.
I was just as surprised, but also not surprised at all.
All the evasiveness and carefully worded assurances had never been able to hide the truth from me, and I wasn’t stupid enough to think Hilary actually believed any of it either.
She was one of the zealots, one of the people who thought all this was actually okay simply because I was fertile.
She knew I had no rights; she just didn’t care. It was all justified to her.
After a brief pause, Hilary exhaled, and when she spoke again, her tone was more controlled.
“There is no new contract, Miss Murphy. The original is enough because of the clause that allows the Department of Fertility to make changes based on extenuating circumstances, such as a new pandemic. We are completely within our rights as granted by the United States government under The Fertility Act. That is the last I will say about it, and quite frankly, I don’t have the time or patience to deal with it right now.
I have four other women to call and a lot to do before we head out this afternoon, and what’s more, I’m tired of your selfishness.
You have a duty, and you will perform it or suffer the consequences.
Noon. Not a minute later, do you understand? ”
I gritted my teeth against the words I wanted to hurl at her.
Selfish? She was nuts if she truly thought that.
The statement hadn’t been the worst part of her little speech, though.
It had been the we she’d thrown in there.
Hilary had said we, meaning she would be accompanying us to this secure facility.
As if the situation couldn’t have been worse.
“Miss Murphy,” she snapped when I said nothing. “Tell me you understand.”
“I understand,” I replied because I had no other choice.
“Good,” Hilary said. “Please make sure your name is on your suitcase before arriving and that you are on time. Goodbye.”
Like when I’d first seen the call, I was frozen in place when it cut out, only instead of staring at the phone, I found myself looking my room over.
I imagined returning to my apartment in a year or possibly even three, a layer of dust covering everything.
I didn’t have a lot, but what I did have, I treasured, and I couldn’t imagine being away from it.
This was my home; these were my things. I’d picked them out, bought them.
Secondhand, but still. They were mine. And the government was taking it all away from me.
Tears sprang to my eyes, which I blinked back.
I didn’t want to give in to the emotions, not when I had so much to do and so little time.
I had to call Teresa and tell her what was going on, had to pack my things.
I’d want to stop at my favorite hangout and say goodbye to Stormy, then I’d need to go to Trevor’s office.
I could stop there on the way to the Health Department building, that way I could get legal advice and say goodbye at the same time.
And I could see Sophia. She was old, in her seventies, and there was another pandemic.
She’d already beaten four, so the odds weren’t good that she’d make it through another one.
I hoped she did, though. Hoped she would be at the reception desk when I got back, smiling and ready with the same sassy anecdotes as always.
I made a mental checklist as I took care of the few household items that needed to be done before leaving.
Cleaning out the fridge and emptying the trash so I didn’t come home to the stink of rotting food and loading and starting the dishwasher.
I had no pets, but I did have a peace lily Trevor had given me for Valentine’s Day a couple years ago.
Its leaves were brown at the edges, but it was still hanging on.
I could take it with me, but decided instead to take it to Trevor’s office so he could look after the thing.
He was, after all, the one who’d bought it.
Once all that was done – and the plant was sitting on the kitchen counter so I could grab it on my way out – I got busy packing.
Hilary had said only one suitcase, which was fine since that was all I had.
The only problem was, I had no clue what to pack.
Clothes, yes, but how much? There would have to be laundry facilities, and if I needed replacements – or maternity clothes when I got pregnant – I was sure the government would provide them, but that didn’t prepare me for what I should pack since I had literally no idea what the climate would be.
Deciding to keep it simple, I grabbed two pairs of jeans – both worn and comfortable – a few pairs of yoga pants, pajama pants, and various casual shirts and sweatshirts.
I doubted I would need anything nicer. Then I stuffed in all the underwear and bras I owned, as well as an assortment of socks.
Other than that, I didn’t pack much. Charging cords and my ereader, a couple of my favorite books in hardback – Pride and Prejudice and The Stand – as well as an old photo album from my childhood.
Printing pictures was rare these days, but I had a handful from before Dad died, then some more after he was gone.
In a lot of those, Mom and I wore haunted expressions, her because she missed him and me because for years following my time at the farm, I was terrified someone would find out and lock both of us up.
There were pictures of Trevor and me throughout the years as well, and they made me smile as I skimmed them.
I had more recent ones on my phone, but treasured the images from our childhood and teen years and would never consider leaving them behind.
Plus, I had no idea if I would be allowed to keep my phone when I arrived at my destination. It seemed unlikely.
Once the album was in my bag, I zipped it closed and checked that a luggage tag was still attached to the handle from the last time I used it. It was, so I hefted the suitcase off the bed.