Perfect Ruin

7

THE BUILDING IS SHAKING, FOR ALL THE footsteps fighting to get down the stairwells at once. Our fascination is as great as our horror, as though knowing the name of the person responsible will explain what has been done. As though it will bring us peace.

I hold Basil’s hand, and when we make it downstairs, the broadcast room contains what I’m certain is everyone in the apartment complex.

Even my brother, who never comes down for these. I spot him standing along the wall with Alice. He’s most comfortable when he can be near a wall or sitting on the floor; he’s told me it’s the only way he can keep from feeling like he’s falling through the sky. In the first months, when he was still adjusting to the permanent darkness, he used to crawl.

Alice waves us over.

“They found the murderer?” Basil asks.

“That’s what we’ve heard, too,” Alice says.

Lex mumbles something I don’t catch. I touch his arm, to let him know where I am and to console him before he starts to get angry. He has never had a kind thing to say about the king, or his announcements. Especially since Alice’s ordeal. He could get us all arrested for treason.

I stand on tiptoes to reach his ear. “It’ll be okay,” I say.

“It’s already plenty not-okay, Little Sister,” he says.

Alice shushes him. A patrolman is shaking the screen, trying to get it to work. There are a few seconds of static, and then the king appears, wobbly and distorted on the screen.

Everyone in the room has gone quiet. When the roar of the static reduces itself to a faint crackling, we can finally hear what the king is saying. “—are appalled by our findings early this evening that after a thorough investigation, based on extensive evidence, there is reason to believe that Judas Hensley is responsible for the murder of Daphne Leander, his betrothed.”

My blood runs cold. Basil squeezes my hand.

“No,” Lex murmurs beside me.

Rather than an academy image, there’s live footage of the accused, his arms shackled behind him, his head down, and his face half-covered by blond hair as he’s lead up the steps of the courthouse by several patrolmen. I’m uncertain what awaits him on the other side of those heavy wooden doors. Many generations before I was born, crimes were a routine part of Internment. Jealousy and greed bred most of them, and it was determined that arranged betrothals and assigned housing would diminish many such crimes. Things will never be perfect, of course. With free will comes inevitable error and misjudgment. There are still disputes and accidents that are resolved in the courthouse. If it’s an involved case, people are selected to serve as part of a jury.

But a murderer? What sort of trial would have to take place? Where would they keep him in the meantime?

Alice has her finger to Lex’s lips now, because he just said something I didn’t hear. What could this possibly mean to him? In the last moment before the image switches back to the king, I see Judas Hensley in the courthouse lights. I’ve seen him at the academy; we’ve had classes together, but I don’t think we’ve ever spoken.

“Do you know him?” I ask Basil.

“I’ve seen him,” he says.

The king is still speaking, telling us there will be more updates to follow, but I’m distracted by Alice, who is pulling Lex out of the room and trying not to make a scene. I don’t understand why he’s so upset by this. What does he have to do with a murdered girl’s betrothed from the academy?

The broadcast ends, and the room reaches a crescendo of chatter. Lots of speculation, but no answers among the lot of us.

All night, my dreams are pervaded by my brother’s furious pacing overhead. I fear the floorboards will splinter and break.

The cafeteria is filled with morbid, fascinated gossip. Judas is the name of a hero in the history book. The right-hand man to the king, he penned the first page of The History of Internment. The sky god favored him, and when Judas died, Internment experienced its one and only water storm. To think a boy named after Judas could commit such a crime.

Pen pulls excitedly on my sleeve. “It’s all like a tawdry romantic horror,” she says. “Can you even believe it?”

It’s all anyone in the cafeteria is talking about. I know because I overhear pieces of conversation—“Did anyone know them?”—“always a little strange”—“pretty girl”—“stuck up, if you ask me.” But I don’t find myself among them. I’m not interested in the gossip. I’m more worried about the aftermath.

“Wonder when the trial will begin,” Basil says.

“They’ll have a difficult time finding a jury, I imagine,” Thomas says. “It’s supposed to be unbiased. Who can be unbiased about murder? It’s clearly wrong.”

“Unless he didn’t do it,” I blurt, surprising myself. Everyone’s eyes are on me. “I mean—that’s what the trial is for, isn’t it? To determine innocence?”

Pen shrugs. “Guess we’ll see. Is there a math exam this week?”

And the topic of Daphne Leander and Judas Hensley dies away.

“Lex?”

“What is it?” he says after a pause. I knocked, but he won’t open his office door to me. Lost in his brilliance, I suppose. He was always like that—going off by himself. But his blindness has intensified it.

“I wanted to talk to you,” I say.

“Talk about what?”

“Things,” I say. “That’s what sisters do. You know, because you’re my brother and I care about you?”

“You bug me,” he says. “That’s what sisters do. How do you know I’m not trying to nap?”

“You aren’t,” I press. “The ceiling is practically crumbling over my bedroom.”

He ignores me. Alice, standing at the end of the hall, frowns in apology. Lex has even begun to elude her. I worry for him, alone in all that blackness.

I sit on the floor and lean against the door.

“Who was that little girl at your jumper group?” I ask. “She had a bow in her hair.” Too late, I realize a physical description won’t do my brother any good. “She can’t be more than eleven or twelve.”

No answer.

“The day of the fire, I caught her putting up papers in the ladies’ room at the theater. I think she put them up at the academy, too. They were copies of a paper Daphne Leander wrote about the gods being a myth.”

The door opens, and I tense to keep from falling backward. Lex reaches out for me.

“Where are you?” he says.

“Down here.” I hold up my hand and he takes it, feeling his way until he’s on his knees across from me.

“That girl is none of your concern,” he says.

“Is she really a jumper?” I say.

“Yes. And you have no business talking to her.”

“She’s Daphne Leander’s sister,” I say. “Isn’t she?”

“I’m not kidding, Morgan. You stay away from her.”

He’s in a miserable mood, and there’s no sense pressing him for more, but all he’s done is pique my interest.

“Since you’re out, come on and eat something,” Alice says. “I made berry cobbler.”

Later, when Lex has retreated to his office once again, Alice is washing the dishes and I’m drying them.

“He is right,” she says. “It’s best if you stay away from that girl.”

“Who is she?” I say. Alice takes her husband’s side about most things, but she’s always had a soft spot for me.

“You were right,” she says, handing me a dripping plate. “She’s Daphne’s sister. She may be a little girl, but she’s got a lot of demons. It’s best if you let her alone.”

I’ve heard that saying used to describe my brother. “A lot of demons.” That’s what my father said while we all kept vigil at Lex’s bedside in the hospital. I didn’t know what he meant. But now I’m thinking of Amy Leander, and what it must have been like to learn her sister wouldn’t be coming home. It was the most awful thing I could imagine, watching my brother fight to breathe in that sterile room. But at least he was breathing.

Alice starts talking about frivolous things—greenhouse vegetation and silver earrings in jewelry shop windows that she thinks will make my eyes sparkle—and I play along, but she isn’t fooling me. There’s something happening to Internment. That’s as certain as Daphne Leander is dead.