UnDivided (Unwind Dystology 4)

Risa takes a deep breath to calm herself. “Tell me. I’m listening.”

“The plan is . . . you stay whole, and I get unwound.”

“That’s not a plan!” she yells.

“Shh!” Argent says. “The whole plane’ll hear you!”

As if in response the whole plane shudders and emits a mechanical grinding.

“Risa, it is a plan. Not much of one, but at least it’s something. Argent knows the details. He’ll fill you in.”

“The nose cone is closing!” Argent whines. “Divan will be back on board any second, if he isn’t already. I can’t be caught in here!”

But Risa can’t leave yet. Not without saying those words that come so hard, but mean more than anything now. The words she fears she may never get to say again. “Connor, I—”

“Don’t!” Connor’s lower lip quivers. “Because if you say it, it’ll sound too much like a good-bye, and I don’t think I could take that.”

And so Risa doesn’t speak it aloud, but it’s there between them, more powerful than anything either of them can say.

She leans over, kisses him, then hurries to the door where Argent waits, his half-face red with fright. It’s just as they leave that Connor breaks down and utters the words he couldn’t bear to hear himself.

“I love you, Risa,” he says. “Every last part of me.”

53 • Connor

“I hope you’re hungry.”

Connor cranes his neck to see Divan coming into the room with a tray. Connor answers him with a glare.

“No, I suppose you’re not,” says Divan, “but I wish you to have this meal anyway. And I wish you to enjoy it.”

Divan sits in the room’s only chair, depositing the tray on a small desk and removing its silver dome, releasing a plume of steam toward the ceiling.

“Fine,” Connor says, “and then you won’t be able to unwind me for twenty-four hours, isn’t that right? I can’t be unwound on a full stomach.”

“Ah yes,” says Divan, unrolling silverware from a napkin, “the many rules and regulations of the Juvenile Authority. Well, we do things differently here.”

“I’ve noticed.”

The room now smells rich with butter and garlic. Connor finds his mouth watering in spite of himself, and he despises Divan even more for making his own senses rebel against him.

“Have you ever had lobster, Connor?”

“I thought they were extinct.”

“There are still private farms if one knows where to find them.”

Through the corner of his eye, Connor sees Divan perform surgery on a red shell, removing a fist-size lump of steaming white shellfish meat.

“You’re going to have to free my hands if you want me to eat.”

Divan chuckles slightly. “Freeing your hands would give you ideas, and ideas would give you hope in a hopeless situation. It would be cruel to give you hope at this point, so no, your hands remain as restrained as the rest of you.” Divan cuts the meat, then with a small fork, he proceeds to push a piece of the lobster toward Connor’s mouth. “I will feed you. Your only responsibility is to enjoy the experience.”

Although Connor keeps his lips pursed, Divan patiently waits, with the fork just above his mouth, saying nothing, just waiting. Like the unwinding itself, Connor realizes this meal is inevitable. After a few minutes, he opens his mouth, and allows Divan to feed him the most expensive thing he’s ever eaten.

“You need to understand I am not your enemy, Connor.”

That’s much harder for Connor to swallow than the lobster. “How do you figure?”