I
My car pulls into the car-waiting area of the Regent Retirement Village and finds a spot about 70 meters from the front door, under a grove of trees. The kind of spot I’ve selected among its list of rental preferences. A blast of hot air slaps me in the face as I step out and turn toward the building. I’m driving a massive grey egg on wheels. The whisper of the electric motor shuts down, and the door closes and locks automatically.
As I approach the front door of the two-story building, the tinted green glass doors slide open with a hiss barely above a whisper. There is a receptionist’s desk, but no receptionist. Instead there is a microchip reader that resembles a small notepad, and an LED screen. I make a fist and hold my wrist over the reader. A woman’s voice emanates from the screen.
“Resident’s name?”
“Elijah Keeper.”
“Your relationship?”
“I’m his granddaughter.”
“For security. What is the resident’s date of birth?”
“January 1, 2001.”
“Name of resident’s first partner?”
“Evangeline Keeper.”
A plastic badge silently protrudes from a slit under the reader. My likeness stares back at me. Underneath is my name, time and date of sign in: 3:47 p.m., Sunday, July 21, 2080. Another set of ghost doors slide open on my right. Pops, here I come.
The Regent Retirement Village is more like a holiday resort than a retirement home. Past the lobby area is a pair of glass doors to an atrium. Natural light filters through the glass-domed roof, from the entrance area, past the administrative offices, all the way to the rear and the first-floor suites. As I enter the atrium, to the left are two tubular elevators with glass doors. I take the first to the Level Two suites. The units open to a long balcony the residents use as a walking path that wraps its way all around the second level. Residents in groups of twos and threes chat quietly and look over the balcony down to the activity on the ground level. The second level is the envy of the entire complex.
Here it is. Room 2C.
There is a numeric pad on the door. I enter the visitor code.
“Come on in, Ayana.” Pops’ voice is now becoming thin and brittle. The door slides opens onto a small living/dining room. At the far end, through another set of sliding glass doors, Pops is in a flannel bathrobe sitting at a small table on the veranda. His cane is resting against the table. I pass through the living/dining room and open the veranda door. A blast of hot air practically pushes me back into the air-conditioned living room. Thank God I wore my shorts and a T-shirt.
“How are you, Precious?” He holds my hand as I throw one arm around his shoulder and plant a kiss on his forehead.
“That’s a question for you, Pops!”
“Oh, I can’t complain.”
“Never does any good anyway, right? They treatin’ you good?”
“Um, I guess.”
“You’d tell me if they weren’t, wouldn’t you now?”
“Um, I guess.”
“Why don’t you sit inside? It’s burning up out here.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the heat.” He looks away at the sky. “So many fancy new drones and AAVs nowadays. It’s getting to a point now where there are traffic jams in the sky. I can’t believe there aren’t more accidents.”
I reach into my purse. “Brought you a present.” I place a small cardboard box on the table. “Open it.”
“What’s this?” he asks eyeing the box.
“Open it! I printed it especially for you.”
He slowly reaches for the box and opens it. “A watch? What do I need another watch for?”
“It’s not just a watch. It’ll only work when it’s on your wrist. And if you just tap this button here, then this one, it automatically alerts me. It’ll tell me it’s more than a telephone call. It’ll tell me to come and get you right away.”
“Why? Why do I need this?”
“I want you to know you will always have me, Pops. I never want anything bad to happen to you. I’ll always be your Ayana.”
“Why all of this, all of a sudden? Who’s been talkin’ to you?”
My shoulders stiffen and a slight chill shocks my body. I could never hide anything from those all-seeing eyes. I tug at his chair and roll it out a bit. “Here, let me sit on your lap.” His 79-year-old eyes are as clear and bright as ever. He extends his hand. It is cold and clammy, even though it must be at least 30 degrees out here on the veranda.
“There’ll be coming for me soon, you know. I can feel it.”
“I know you didn’t mean what you wrote. We all do. Why don’t you just apologize? I’m sure you’ll be able to come home with me. I’ll take care of you, and you’ll be safe.”
“I hope you’re right, Precious. But my days are numbered. I’m sure of it. Whenever anyone has said anything good about Fallstead, bad things happen. Every time.”
“You just made a mistake. You know you didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t mean it. Just apologize, and sound like you mean it, and you’ll be okay.”
“Not sure that I can do that.”
“Why not?”
Just then there’s a buzzing sound and he pulls a phone out of his pocket. “Yes, Bess. Come in.” He turns to me. “It’s Bess with my medication.”
I clutch my bag. “Would you like me to leave?”
“No, don’t,” he says with a steel rod in his voice, but his old hands can manage only a gentle squeeze as he grasps my wrist.
The nurse approaches with a small bag. “Hello, Bess,” he says.
“I didn’t realize you had company. Hi, Ayana.”
I ask her how she’s doing.
Bess extends her hand and I take it. “I can come back later, if you like,” she says.
“No, no, no. It’s quite alright. Ayana doesn’t mind.”
I start toward the cool of the living room. “While you’re doing this I’ll get out of your way. There’re a couple of calls I’d like to make.”
Inside I close the door behind me. There are two ottomans in the living area. On one of them is a thin glass or polymer pane about 20 by 25 centimeters. Bess’ notebook. I shoot a quick glance out to the veranda. She’s talking to him, holding his right hand.
I can’t help myself. I slide over to the notebook. It’s open. There’s a long list of medical terms I don’t understand. It looks pretty good though – there are a lot of lines in green font. That has to be good. No red font anywhere. Good for you, Pops! You’re going to be around a long time. At the bottom of the screen, the page counter shows 2. I slide the screen to the right. The first page of his profile appears – a 3-D image of his unsmiling face, and general information. Birthdate, most recent address, closest relative – Madison Keeper. Occupation, yearly income, lifetime income, net worth, volunteer activities, length of stay at the Regent Retirement Village, key life accomplishments, and – oh, my God! This can’t be true! That PV score! That personal value score! How did you get such a low PV? This has got to be a mistake!
Outside Bess is still holding his wrist. Did Pops know about his score? Is this why he was so depressed? Pops, what’s going on here?

II
I’ve got to get to the bottom of this. How could he have gotten that score? As I approach the car, the engine automatically starts and the right side door, the one closest to me, pops open. As soon as I sit in the cheap cloth seats, the seatbelt automatically wraps around me. Even though it’s 30 degrees in the car-waiting area, it’s cool in the vehicle, the natural temperature in the car’s ergonomics program.
“Where to?” Siri asks.
“Home.”
We glide out of the waiting area and onto the main street. Sometimes I wish Siri would speed up a bit. Can’t she tell I’m in a hurry? I have to talk to somebody about this, or this is going to drive me crazy.
Madison? My mother, his only daughter? She would be the obvious person to handle this. I’ve got to tell her. Somebody’s gone and screwed with her own father.
“Call Madison,” I practically yell at the center console. I pull a bottle of water with a twist of lemon out of my bag and take a long gulp.
The call goes through, but the voicemail returns. “Leave a message.” My mother was never one for words. “Yeah, Madison, it’s me. Listen, I –” I don’t know what it is, but something inside, that small annoying voice in my head – I don’t know where it comes from – tells me to hold on. Why, I don’t know. Just think about this for awhile, before you bring her into this. After all, she’s been acting kinda strange lately, ever since you started visiting him more frequently.
“Yeah, Madison. Just saw Pops. He says to tell you hi. Talk later. End call.”
Don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s 55 years old, looks 25, but sometimes acts like a five-year-old. I take another swig of lemon water. The scenery zips by outside the windows and the lower glass door panels. Inside the cabin is as quiet as can be. At times like this I’m glad for the silence.
Another five minutes and the silence is unbearable. I’ve got to talk to somebody.
“Call Ciara.”
The call goes through, and a static image of Ciara’s beautiful brown face, framed by her long black braids, appears on the center dash. OK, she doesn’t want to do a visual call.
“What’s going on, Ayana?”
“Ciara, pick up. I need to talk to you.”
“Kinda busy right now, Ayana. Can I call you back?”
Only a few minutes. I know it’s a lie, but so be it. “Just a few minutes, I promise.”
A brief silence and I feel compelled to break the awkwardness of it all. The exaggerated sigh on the other end of the line didn’t help either. But, thank God, I don’t have to.
“Okay,” she replies. “What’s up?”
“Pick up!”
“What’s up, Ayana?”
“Just went to see Pops –”
“Something wrong?” she asks quickly.
“I don’t know –”
“Tell me!”
“I saw his PV score.”
There’s a brief silence. “How’d you see that? Did he show it to you?”
“No, got it from the nurse’s notebook. His file was there in plain sight in his living room.”
“So. What was it?”
“I’m pretty sure it was 150.”
“What?”
“One-fifty, can you believe that? That man is nowhere near close to dying. Yet he’s got a 150 rating.”
“You’ve got to talk to Madison about this. She’s his daughter. If anyone would know how this could have happened, she’d be the one.”
“She’s been acting very strange lately. Bringing this up is just going to make it worse.”
“Ayana. Remember what you told me about him? He’s the only one who ever truly loved you. Well, if this is true, you gotta protect him now. You’ve got to figure out how this happened, and you and Madison’ve got to fix it. And if she won’t, then it’s up to you. Up to us.”
“You sure? You’d help me?”
“You know I will. You’re my girl. My sister. What happens to you happens to me. It’s that simple.”
“Thanks. You’re my girl too. Talk soon.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, sis. Got some news of my own. And it ain’t good.” A live picture of Ciara appears on the console. She’s wearing a pair of VR glasses. “DeAndre’s finally done it. He’s picked up and moved his crazy ass over to Fallstead.”
It was as if a massive bolt of electricity shot through my body.
“Yeah, I was pretty speechless too when he told me. The crazy little turd!”
“What happened?”
“Who knows? My man, my wonderful partner, is confused. Started listening to some crazy preacher again. Started downloading all kinds of old religious books and – well, that kinda stuff will screw you up pretty quick.”
“Tried to talk to him?”
“Course I did! Tried to reason with him. Why would a smart guy like that throw his life away with a bunch of psychos and fanatics?”
“Maybe you should go and see him in person. Reason with him.”
“Me? Go to Fallstead? No way. Absolutely no way. Me? Get myself mixed up with that kind of insanity? People who can’t bring themselves to the modern world? I mean, some of them still drive their own cars, for God’s sake! They even have sex to make babies! They’re gonna live their lives just like they did a hundred years ago – with all of the violence and all the wars, and all the rest of it.”
“Ciara –”
“Ayana, it’s a fact! These people are nuts! If you ask me, 300 kilometers away is not far enough. Move them 3,000 kilometers away, that’d be more like it!”
“So, what’re you gonna do?”
“I dunno, girl. Gotta do something.”
“Well, if you ever change your mind, let me know. I have a good friend. His name is Luca. He runs a small car and drone company. If you can persuade DeAndre to get outta there, I’m sure Luca could probably get him out.”
“Yeah. Talk later.”
“End call.” Ciara’s face dissolves into a map of the route home. The car has stopped for a traffic light. We’re heading back toward the city and the green of the trees and grassy fields is giving way to a stream of low-rise buildings. Above, two large drones fly by. Even from this distance you can tell they’re old and slow, and seem cumbersome. Delivery drones. Why can’t we have one day of the week where we can just sit back and relax? Instead of seven days a week, all the same?
The light turns green and the car starts moving again. I recline the seat as far back as it goes and close my eyes. Yeah, I’ll take a fifteen minutefifteen-minute snooze, the amount of time it will take for the car to drop me off at home.

“How was your visit with Pops?” Madison asks as I walk through the door. She is in the solarium working at her computer as usual. Eighty-two stories below the gray waters of Lake Ontario stretch toward the horizon.
“Hey, Madison. Same as usual, I guess. As I head over to the solarium, the squeaking of tiny wheels and the whine of a compact electric motor suddenly start in the hallway to the bedrooms. “Hey, Gini!”
“Hi, Ayana!” she responds, rolling along for a few steps. “Can I get you anything?” Madison bought this home robot just over a year ago to do the cleaning and act as a kind of in-home personal assistant. One meter tall and full of energy, she’s become more like a combination of a comfort pet, a personal confidant, and sometimes a drill sergeant all rolled into one. I can’t count the times after a bad day when her big, beautiful eyes – really two large orbs covering twin cameras – somehow make everything okay again. She’s always been there for me, knowing exactly the right things to say or the right thing to do to keep my spirits up.
“Talk to you in a few minutes. Gonna say hi to Madison.”
“Okay.” She turns and rolls back to the bedroom area.
I sit on a wicker chair facing the floor-to-ceiling glass wall and look out across the lake. Madison closes down her program and clasps her hands in her lap, looks at me and smiles.
“Madison, when are you going to see Pops again?”
“I saw him on the phone just last week. Why?”
“Well, sometimes the phone is just not the same as being there in person.”
“What’s wrong now?”
“Well, he seems a little lonely sometimes.”
“When I saw him last week, he seemed fine to me.”
This conversation’s going nowhere. Just like every conversation recently – well, at least for the last year or so – ever since she landed that executive position at a social marketing firm. Better change the subject to something neutral so she won’t get pissed off at me again.
“So how’s work?”
“Something’s bothering you. I want to know what it is!”
I start toward my bedroom.
“Are you gonna tell me what’s on your mind or not?”
Okay, if that’s the way you want it. I turn and face her. “Madison, how does someone get their PV score?”
“What?”
“How does someone get a real PV score? The score that no one wants to talk about.”
“I knew it! You’ve been talking to your grandfather way too much recently. He’s been filling your head with those crazy conspiracy theories again! You’d better straighten up and stop listening to that crap! Or else you’re gonna be as out of it as he is.”
I turn toward the bedroom again. “Later, Madison!”
“You’d better start listening to me for a change, girl. I love your grandfather, but he’s becoming a very sick man. You’ve gotta –” The rants become muffled after the door slides shut hard behind me.
I throw my bag on the floor and collapse on my bed. Why can’t I have an old-fashioned life like when Pops was a kid?
After a few minutes I pull out the tablet Pops gave me for my 11th birthday. It’s nine years old now, but still works, one of the few things that works for more than two years. I love it because he taught me to write longhand on it. We downloaded a calligraphy program and wrote letters to each other in longhand. Since then I’ve written all my diary entries in longhand.
Sometimes I feel like I’m living with a stranger – that Madison is some alien being from another planet. Someone who has absolutely nothing in common with me. She is a mix of African, from her mother’s side, and American Indian and African from Elijah’s. Sometimes I think of the old movies and stills with Pops, Madison and me. I always stood out. Elijah and Madison with their dark skin, and me, light skinned with brown hair and hazel eyes. I fantasize about who Madison’s donor was – the man who in the old days would be called my biological father. I saw his bio once. Originally from one of those northern European countries, tall, athletic. A scientist of some sort. Madison had to save up for years to afford his sample – even after the discount for her own eggs. She said she wanted a bright girl, a successful girl, worth every dollar she paid. I’m pretty sure she is disappointed in me, the way things are turning out. I know she feels she isn’t getting her money’s worth.
Oh, Pops. Where are you when I need you? Like I needed you when I was three and four years old? When you took care of me? When you loved me, when no else did?
“Monitor, on! Elijah!” A listing of folders with movies and stills of Pops appears on the wall facing my bed. My favorite movie is the one where he took me to the mall and we got separated. Let’s play that one again. The movie is from his point of view, shot from his camera glasses. The image is smooth as he walks along, looking to the left, to the right, going into stores, stopping almost everyone and asking if they had seen me. One after another they shrug, shake their heads or say nothing. A few actually say no, they haven’t. After about five minutes there’s a squeal to the left. As he turns I come running toward him, arms outstretched. He scoops me up, my chubby, crying face filling the screen. I’ll never forget that moment! Ever!
“Where were you, Precious?” he asks.
I couldn’t answer. Crying and relieved all I could do was hold him as tight as I could. There are so many times like that, Pops. You are everything to me.
“Monitor, off!” I barely hear myself speak. “Lights off –” The darkness descends and covers me like a warm blanket. The pillow is so soft and puffs around my face, enveloping it. I need a couple of tissues.

It’s two in the afternoon the following day. The digital classroom sessions are over and I switch the monitor to videophone and call Ciara.
“I’ve gotta know what’s gonna happen to Pops, Ciara. I’ve got to figure out what a 150 score means. Will you help me?”
“But what can we do?”
“Okay, so I got up early this morning and did some digging. Everyone over 16 has a personal value score. Basically what it does is use IoT to gather tons and tons of information about you. Everything. Where you live. What you do. Where you shop. How much you spend on salad or a steak, and where. When you go to sleep. How many times you get up in the night. Who your friends are. Medications you’re taking. If you’ve taken your medication. Online behavior, of course. Everything. It takes all that info and builds a profile, then assigns a score of between a hundred and a thousand. The big lie is that the score is just used by companies to give you things that would make your life better. They say it can even predict if you are going to get sick, get a disease or even commit a crime. Most people have a score between 550 and 850. They say it captures your value to society. How much you contribute, how much you can take out. Couldn’t find out how they come up with the score though. There’ve been rumors that when it’s calculated, you automatically get 200 points. Everybody gets 200, no matter what. And if you then go below that, then you’re contributing nothing. In fact, you’re taking out more than you’re contributing. You’re a drain on society. And from what I could find, these are the people that just tend to disappear – they go for a walk and never come back, for example, or they’re sent off to some asylum somewhere and never heard from again.”
“So what’re you saying? These people are being killed?”
“I don’t know. That’s what we gotta find out.”
“You found all of this out this morning?”
“Well, not quite. I’ve been thinking about this for awhile. Madison has access to all of this kind of data since she works in social marketing, and she’s given me limited access to her account. She wants me to follow her into marketing, and gave me access so I can play around with fake data.”
“So if anybody knows for sure how this PV score works, or if it even exists, she’d be the one.”
“Well, she’d be one of them.”
“Couldn’t you just break into her account?”
“Too secure. And she’d never give me full access. She’d lose her job in ten seconds if the software figured out I wasn’t her. And that would be real easy for it to do.”
“So, how’re we gonna figure this out for sure?”

It’s the following weekend and I still haven’t figured out how to gather the info I need. Every night Madison comes home and works until ten or eleven. She’s pleasant enough, but barely says a word to me. I’ve tried peeking over her shoulder as she’s working, or sneaking into the solarium when she takes a break to see if I can steal any info on the PV score, but no luck. One time she actually caught me and shot me one of her poison dart glares. I need someone to talk to. Ciara? No. Come to think of it, I really don’t want someone to talk to. I just want someone to listen.
“Hey, Gini!”
Whining wheels and electric motor, and Gini rolls up to me. “Yes, Ayana.”
“Come talk to me. I want someone to talk to.”
“Talk or listen.”
“Listen. You know me too well.”
“I’ll listen.”
“Elijah is in trouble, Gini. And I don’t know if I can help him.”
“He was not well when you saw him last?”
“No, no, no. At least I don’t think so. He looked fine. But there was something in his file. I’m afraid for him.”
“Why won’t you just ask him what’s wrong?”
“He will never tell me. He wouldn’t want to worry me. Besides, he’ll just say he’s feeling fine.”
“You can ask to see his data.”
“He wouldn’t agree to that. There’s no way he’d agree to that.”
“Just say that you’re worried, and would like to sit with him and look at his files.”
“Well –”
“I’m sure he’d agree.”

III
The following evening I’m back in my bedroom and can’t wait to see his records. Madison, as usual, is in the solarium working. Should I wait until she’s out of the house? I can’t wait. It’s like she is in another one of her creative trances. She might be in this state – really, a state of suspended animation – for hours.
“Hey, Gini. I did it. He gave me the passcodes today. And it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.”
“I told you so.”
“I just casually said I was concerned about him, and that Madison and I had a fight again, and she wouldn’t tell me how he was doing. And since he and Madison are the only ones who can see his medical records, I was in the dark. That kinda did it. Madison hasn’t visited him in over three months. I don’t think he’s too happy with her right now.”
“So what’re you going to do now?”
“Well, this is where I need your help. I’ll give you the codes and you go in and gather as much data as you can. I especially want you to search for his PV score and what drives it. That’s the most important thing. Can you help me do that?” She replies that she can and I give her the codes.
In five minutes Gini has logged into Pops’ medical account, downloaded his files, and scanned and cataloged a massive amount of the data. Data going back over 20 years.
“Okay, Gini. I need you to stand guard. But first, come closer. I need to talk to you and I don’t want Madison to hear.” She rolls over next to me and the door quietly clicks. Locked. “You’ve got to let me know if Madison gets up from her desk, okay? If she finds out I have these files, we’re both in trouble.”
“Yes, I understand.” Gini locks onto the surveillance camera over the condo’s front door, the camera that has a clear view of Madison’s position. She then relays an image of Madison in her grey and pink yoga tights slumped over her tablet to a small section on the wall near the foot of my bed.
“Are you going to use the data visualization program, Ayana?”
“Yes, Gini. Going through data is way too boring otherwise. I don’t know how people researched data before visualization.”
The program is initiated and events in Pops’ life appear large on the bedroom wall. Like a virtual reality game, we start flying through them as if flying through the dark expanse of space, weaving through planets and stars that represent events in his life.
Globes of different sizes, all with short headings, float toward us. The spheres are color coded, green, amber and red. We’re at 2060, 20 years ago. I use my clicker to zap one of the spheres. The program freezes and the details in that event fill the screen. Results of medical tests. Nothing interesting here. I click again and we continue flying. Twenty-sixty-six. Slight increase in blood pressure, but the spheres are still green. Sixty-seven, nothing. Sixty-eight, nothing. Sixty-nine.
Purchase spheres roll toward us. Small spheres. Large spheres. Every purchase he has made in the past ten years. Pops stopped using cash just ten years ago when stores stopped accepting it. Date and time of purchase. Amount of funds available. Purchase exceptions – purchases that seemed out of character, investigations of unusual purchases and the result.
Globes of social media posts and contacts. Subject of the posts, the point of view adopted. Messages to friends and acquaintances.
Employment history. I know what his employment history was. Professor of philosophy and biblical studies at Drysdale College, a small Christian institution. Tell me something I don’t know. Come on, come on. Where’s that PV score? Wait, hold on. Here’s something I didn’t know. In the security monitor image in the top left corner of the display, Madison is still locked in her trance. Yes, here’s something new. Ten years ago, his last year as a professor. “Investigated for one lecture that was reported to border on hate speech.” No details of what the lecture was about.
The planets bouncing toward me are now turning amber. Zap! Twenty-seventy. Something about cognitive function. There was no change in Pops’ behavior ten years ago I can remember. What’re they talking about? Seventy-one and ’72, a few red planets, but still mostly amber. Twenty-seventy five. Yes, 2075. Monday, September 9, 2075. That was the day the woman and man from the hospital came to Pops’ apartment and took him away. They said their tests showed he was about to become a danger to himself, living all alone like he was. He would be better off in an “elder care” facility. At first Madison was reluctant, she said. But after seeing the latest medical results, she felt she had no choice. So they took him away and he was never able to return to his home again.
But that didn’t make any sense. I didn’t notice any change in Pops’ functions in ’75. Oh, wait a minute. Here’s one very red little planet rolling toward us. “Publications.” Zap!
“Hate speech” was the title of one report. “Oh, my God.” Then two, three, four more reports. Almost all these subjects are related topics the government said were “subversive,” at least according to modern standards. One of the essays defended people were arrested for “hate speech.” They had since disappeared from public life. Two of them had been convicted for unrelated crimes, one for fraud, the other for sexual assault. Both were tried, but neither convicted. Why would Pops support such a bunch of criminals?
The planets bouncing toward me now are almost all red. Zap! Something about cognitive function. There was no change in Pops’ behavior five years ago that I can remember. What’re they talking about? There’s data on “physical wanderings.” Clicking on one there appears to be surveillance footage of Pops walking along the street. The camera pulls back. He’s being followed from a long distance away. The camera zooms in again. Pops looks around and then enters a small café. The next shot is of him leaving the café alone. Soon after another man leaves. I recognize him. I’ve seen him in the news. He was put on trial for hacking into a political party’s database, if I remember correctly. Pops said he knew the man, and that the charges were all made up to keep him quiet about his views.
But where’s the info about the score? Is there anything on this screen that can help me?
There’s a little white icon at the bottom right of the screen I hadn’t noticed before. When I zap it, nothing happens. Then it turns red for a few seconds, then to its original white.
Gini starts beeping and says, so quietly that only I can hear, “Madison approaching.” Madison has left her work and is walking toward my bedroom door.
I switch to a display of a VR drone-racing game. There is a knock on my door. “Unlock!” The door opens.
“What’re you doing?”
This is strange. She’s never asked this before. “Nothing. Just drone racing.”
“Are you winning?”
“Well, I haven’t started yet.”
“Uh-hm. Ayana, when you spoke to Elijah last, did he say anything about his medical records?”
“Nope.”
“I just received a warning about an unauthorized attempt to access his data. Do you know anything about that?”
“No, why would I?”
“Because he tells you everything. If someone was trying to hack his account, I’m sure he would’ve told you.”
“Well, he hasn’t. Sorry.”
“Do you know anything about anyone trying to hack into his account?”
“Why are you asking me? I don’t know anything about his records. Only you and he have the passcodes, remember? That’s what you wanted.”
“Well, the only way there could be an unauthorized attempt is for him to have given the codes to someone else, and they made a mistake.”
“Maybe it was someone on staff at the home.”
“Maybe. You sure you don’t know anything about this?”
“No, I don’t.”
I look straight at the wall monitor. An intense glare burns into the left side of my head from the doorway. Keep looking straight ahead at the monitor. Don’t you dare look in her direction! Don’t you dare!
The door slides shut with a whisper. Three high-pitched beeps float from Gini’s direction in the corner, followed by a slow winding-down moan like the sound of an electric motor being turned off. “Yeah, Gini. She scared me too.” I exit out of Pops’ records. “We’ll have to wait a few days to get back to this, Gini. She’s suspicious right now and she’s going to be monitoring his records closer than ever.”
“Ayana!”
What now? What’ve I done now?
“Ayana!”
“Yes, Madison.”
“Come on out here. I wanna talk to you.”
She’s sitting on the floor as if she’s about to do yoga.
“Come. Sit down here next to me.”
“What is it?” I sit down next to her. There’s a slight tinge of her favorite perfume. She’s worn this brand, and only this brand, ever since I can remember. She wears it so consistently, I’ve come to call it “Madison’s Delight.”
She puts an arm around my shoulder. “It’s about your grandfather. Look, he’s very sick. He’s been sick for the past ten years. But now it’s getting worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s starting to say threatening things again.”
“I don’t believe that. Who’s he been threatening?”
“Just about anyone in a position of responsibility. He’s become a definite threat to himself and everyone around him.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I wish I was wrong, Ayana. I sure wish I was wrong. But there’s no underestimating what your grandfather might do. His dementia is getting worse by the day. The longer this goes untreated, the worse he’s gonna get. He needs to be treated. We all want him to get better.”
“Really? And how long will that take?”
“Who knows? Months, but more likely years. It all depends on the kind of treatment he needs. We’re gonna have to transfer him to another retirement home. One that cares for people like him. It won’t be like Regent, but he’ll be getting the best care money can buy in this town.”
“I don’t believe you. There’s nothing wrong with my grandfather.”
“I really wish that was the case, Ayana. But it isn’t. Your grandfather is very sick. He needs our help now. That means you too, Ms. Ayana.”

IV
Pops’ alert came at about three the following afternoon. Two hours later I am sitting next to him in his living room. I’ve never seen him like this before. His clothes are all rumpled. He is not the neatly dressed, distinguished gentleman I’ve so admired. He’s wearing the watch I printed for him. When I hold his hands, they are cold and clammy, and when he speaks his voice quivers, barely more than a whisper, and it sounds as though his words are not directed at me or anyone or anything.
“The gardens are beautiful, now, Ayana. Let’s go take a walk among the flowers.”
“I was just going to say the same thing.” I grab my bag with one hand and hook my other arm into his. “Let’s go.”
“You can leave your bag here. You can pick it up when we get back.”
I squeeze him arm. “I’d rather keep it with me, Pops.”
He shrugs, picks up his cane and leads me into the garden.
The flowers are now in full bloom. The grounds of the Regent Retirement Village, though small, are landscaped like a professional botanical garden. Every weekend residents are taken out to have pictures taken with their loved ones. We walk along the pathways for awhile, in silence – the violets, the deep reds, the bright yellow and white roses by our side. As he looks at me, his dark eyes shimmering cast a blank stare in my direction. He tugs and pulls his hands away from my grasp, but then holds my hands in his.
“I’ll be going away, Ayana. And I’m pretty sure that I won’t be able to see you again. Two men came by yesterday. They asked me about a letter I wrote to the editor of that magazine.”
“What did they want?”
“They asked me if I really believed what I said. Did I really believe the innocent people were being relocated to Fallstead.”
“What did you say?”
“I said yes. I personally know of good people who’ve been sent there.”
“You didn’t. Why did you say that?”
“I said it. I believe it. Then they left. Now your mother, this morning, the nurses and the doctors, they all said the same thing – ‘He’s becoming a danger to himself and to others.’ And so they decided, right then and there, to send me away. She is now my legal guardian, and so she can do whatever she wants as long as the doctors agree with it.”
“But you’re not a danger to yourself. Look at you! You can dress yourself, clean up after yourself. And you’re not a danger to anyone either. You just wait. I’ll talk to Madison.”
“No, Ayana. You can’t do that.”
“Oh, yes I can.”
“No, you can’t. Listen to me. Listen. There’s something I have to tell you. Something your mother found out, which is causing all of this.”
There’s a thumping in my chest and I have to breathe deeply to catch some air.
“Here’s why. You’ve heard of a group called the Dissenters?”
“You mean that crazy group that wants to destroy our society? That group of bigots who hate everyone and want to take us back to the stone age?”
“Well, I know that’s what some people think of us.”
My heart crashes against my chest. I try to lick my dry lips and swallow, but I can’t. There’s nothing there. “What do you mean, ‘us’?”
“I mean, I’ve been one of them for almost ten years now.”
“But you can’t be. You’re full of love for me. You always were. You can’t be one of them.”
“I’m afraid I am. I’ve had a secret account since ’70. A secret identity no one knew about. I’ve had it ever since I was lecturing. Don’t ask me about the technical part of this account. I couldn’t tell you. But we – I – have friends in other countries who can take what we write, unencrypt it and then publish it. That’s what we’ve been doing all along. But they’ve found me out. Just last week it happened.”
“How did they find out?”
“I don’t know. I think it happened when I gave up my passcodes.”
“You mean when you gave me the passcodes?”
“Looks like someone’s been monitoring my account all along. And they were able to hack into it with this new login.”
“Pops, I’m sorry.”
“It was bound to happen sooner or later, Precious. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I should’ve been more careful.”
We walk in silence for a few minutes, then arrive at a fork in the path. “Let’s go this way, Pops.” I gesture to the right.
“That’s not going to take us back to my apartment.”
“It’ll take us to the front of the building, past the car-waiting area.”
“You’re up to something, little girl. I know you.”
We enter the car-waiting area, and my rental swoops around right in front of us and pops open the right side door. “Get in, Pops!”
“What’s going on?” A gentle shove and he stumbles toward the front seat. I hold onto his arm and steady him as he gets in.
When I’m in the left hand seat, the car accelerates toward the exit.
V
“Loveland!” A route to the town of Loveland appears on the center console.
“What! Where are you taking me?”
“I’m sorry, Pops. I love you too much. I’m not going to allow her to get rid of you.”
“Stop this car! Now! You’re gonna get us both killed!”
“No I’m not. I’ve got it all planned out.”
“Oh, really! Stop this car, Ayana. Before it’s too late. My time is up. And if you don’t stop this car now, yours will be up as well.”
“No, it isn’t. Not after I prove that you’re no threat to them. They’ll have to clear you. And I’ll be okay. Trust me, Pops!”
“Stupid girl, you don’t know what you’re doing.”
There’s a beep on the center console, and a gaunt white face with blazing orange hair and a full beard appears.
“Luca, you ready?”
“Just one second, baby. Just . One. Second. Okay. I got you. I got you. Got your vehicle ID. You give me permission to take control of the vehicle?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Beautiful. Now I got you. Now when your mom hears that you’ve taken off with your old man, I mean your grandfather, she’ll try to commandeer the vehicle. But now she can’t. You’re safe.”
“Thanks, Luca.”
“Don’t thank me yet, sweetheart. We still got a long way to go before you get to Loveland.” The display changes back to a map, different from the first. “Here’s the route you’re gonna take. I’m gonna get you off the highway as soon as I can. Maybe about an hour or so. Then I’m gonna take you through Fallstead. There we’re gonna switch cars. I’ve got a good friend there who’s got something they’ll never be able to track. Then I’ll take you to Loveland. It’ll take another couple of hours after that. It’s a longer route, but it’s safer.”
We’re on the freeway now and we’ve picked up speed, ten kilometers over the limit, the maximum allowed without triggering the roadside sensors.
“Why Fallstead? I don’t wanna stop in Fallstead.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ayana. I’ll take you straight to my friend. She’s not a kook. She’ll take care of you. I guarantee it.”
“Luca, if she’s not crazy, why’s she living in Fallstead? This isn’t what we agreed to.”
“Ayana, I’ve done this many times before. You’ve gotta trust me.”
“I do trust you. I don’t trust Fallstead.”
“Listen to the man, Precious,” Pops says quietly. “I know some people in Fallstead as well. They’re not all crazy religious creeps.”
“Thanks, old man,” Luca says.
A sharp burst of anger seizes my body and my shoulders contract against the cloth seat. “His name is Elijah Keeper, Mr. Luca!”
“It’s okay, Precious.” Pops’ cold, bony hand touches my forearm. “It’s okay.”
“So you’re good for now. Just sit back and relax. Want some music? Waddaya –”
“You little shit! Stop that car! Now!” Madison’s face suddenly fills the display, eyes blazing. “Stop it now!”
A wave of defiance floods my chest. “You’re not going to hurt him, Madison. He’s coming with me and he’s gonna be safe.”
“Look, I’m not playing with you, child! You pull that car over right now! You hear me?”
“Leave the child alone, Madison. What does it matter to you where I go?”
“You stay out of this, old man. You don’t know what you’re sayin’.”
“Don’t talk to him like that! What kind of animal are you? He’s your father! How can you do this to him?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? He’s sick! He’s been diagnosed! I’m sending him to a place where he’ll be taken care of!”
“No. You’re going to get him killed. I know all about your little plan. We both do.”
“Trust me. You don’t know nothing. But I can tell you one thing. You don’t pull that car over, it’s not going to end well for you. Either of you.”
“So you’re threatening us now. Your father and your own daughter.”
“This is not on me, girl. This is on you. And him.”
“Then it’s on me and him.”
“Elijah, speak to your granddaughter. She’s going to get you both killed.”
I’ve had enough of this woman. “Goodbye, Madison.”
“Wait!” Pops says. “Madison. I want you to be honest with me. Can you promise me that if we end this right now, Ayana will not be harmed?”
“Look, you’re not going anywhere anyway. I don’t have to deal with you. You two will be in jail before I’m in bed tonight. If you want to do yourselves a favor – well, you know what you have to do.”
I shoot Elijah a quick glance. He slowly looks down and clasps his hands in his lap. Outside the lush green countryside races by in a blur. I take his hand in mine.
“That’s right. Take his hand, girl. Do it now ’cause you’re never going to do it after tonight.”
“Classical music. Space.” The display changes and my favorite classical piece Bach’s “Air on the G String” starts. The display changes to time-lapsed illustrations of galaxies exploding and contracting.
My phone buzzes. Luca appears on the display. “You’re going to have to pull over. You’ve got a police car gaining on you.”
Shit! Madison must have called them. So be it then. But hold on. Hold on one minute. On the rear-view camera’s display, the image of the police cruiser slowly fills the screen. But there are no lights flashing. “Stay below speed limit.” The car glides to the limit. The police car pulls up alongside and I can feel the officer staring at me. I keep looking straight over the steering column. The police car slowly pulls ahead.
“Okay, you got lucky,” Luca says. “Now listen to me. There’s a small field coming up on your right. About five kilometers. I’m gonna pull over when you get there.”
“Why? Why do you want us to stop in the middle of nowhere?”
“Relax. I’m sending you an AAV. It’s already on its way. The road is just too dangerous. It should be there in about 15 minutes. You’ll be in Fallstead in less than an hour.”
In a flash my face is hot. “Man, why didn’t you say this before? We could have avoided all of this!”
“Simple. You couldn’t afford it. You’ll be working this off for the rest of the year. No problem. You can thank me later.”
Fifteen minutes later Luca comes on again. “The field is coming up. Just before you get to it, on the right you’ll see a dirt road. I’m gonna take it and drive under a clump of trees. Wait there until the AAV gets there. Don’t go toward it immediately. When it lands, it will look around for you. When it sees you, it’ll flash its lights. You flash the car’s lights twice every time the AAV does so.”
Surely enough in about ten minutes a white AAV with yellow trim arrives. It circles a couple of times and lands about 20 feet from the car.
“Autonomous Aerial Vehicle,” Pops reads from the side of the craft. “My first time in one of these things. After 80 years.”
“I’ve never been in one either, Pops.”
“Take everything you can with you. Try not to leave anything in the car,” Luca says.
In a few minutes we’re off. The grassy pasture falls away, and we’ve turned toward the distant hills that have always separated us from the anarchy that is Fallstead.
We’re skimming over a wooded area. Kilometers of lush green cotton balls slide below us. The central console displays information about our flight. The little AAV buzzes along steadily, businesslike, toward the bright green label, FALLSTEAD. We’re moving at just below 200 kilometers an hour. We are just over 200 meters high. The countdown clock unwinds by the second: 39 minutes, 16 seconds. Fifteen seconds. Fourteen.
Luca’s face appears on the console again.
“Now, Ayana. Listen carefully. When you get to Fallstead, I’m going to put you down in a car-waiting area of a school. It also doubles as a church for a bunch of groups on the weekend. There’ll be a woman there waiting for you. Her name is Ida. I want you to do everything she asks you to do. If you do that, you’ll be safe. If you don’t, sooner or later you’ll probably be captured. It’s that simple.”
“Why would they capture us? We’re on their side.”
“There are spies everywhere. All outsiders are suspect unless you’re with someone they know. Without Ida you will be dead. You hear me?”
Before I can answer my phone buzzes and Madison’s face appears. “They’re dead anyway. You should have given up when you had the chance, girl. Now you’re both going to have a very unfortunate accident.”
“We’re going to Fallstead. And you can’t stop us.”
“Put the vehicle down now,” comes a voice from the central panel. A voice I’ve not heard before. It sounded like it came from the bottom of a bottomless pit – cold, stark, robotic as if programed to destroy you if you did not immediately comply.
Pops was looking back. “We’ve got two nasty-looking characters just behind and above us.”
He’s right. Two large drones with laser turrets were following us less than 50 meters behind.
“See that?” Madison says. “I’d do what the man said, if I were you.”
“But we’re not flying the vehicle.”
“Don’t play stupid with me, girl. Give us the code and my friend’ll land it for you.”
“Ayana,” Luca says. “Just relax. I’ve got you. I’m gonna have you guys follow the road real close. They’ll never shoot you down on the road and risk killing innocent motorists. Even for them that would be tough to explain.” The AAV banks sharply to the left and swoops down toward the road. Just ahead there is a ghost-white sedan heading in the same direction. I’m pushed back into the seat as the AAV surges toward the car. Soon we’re just behind it and about 50 meters above. The whir of the engine drops away to barely more than a whisper and we slow to match the speed of the sedan.
The drones chasing us have slowed as well and appear to be monitoring us, one on either side, about 50 meters above. The hills of Fallstead seem so far away now. Still at least 15 minutes. What if they get a clear shot at us before we get there? Will we be able to save ourselves?
Oh, no! In the distance a long line of cars have come to a stop. There is another line of backed-up cars coming toward us from the other direction. Two police cars are parked on the side of the road where the two lines meet.
“They’ve jammed the cars’ electronic systems,” Luca says. “They couldn’t move even if they wanted to.”
What’re we going to do? The minute we lose the protection of the sedan and other cars below, they’ll be sure to shoot us out of the sky. I won’t allow that to happen to Pops. To my right he’s looking at his palms again. Why doesn’t he just say he made a mistake, that he won’t do it again? That’ll put an end to this right now.
“Luca –”
“Yeah, I see them. Just keep going. I’m with you.”
We pass the police cars. The lineup is now on the other side of the road, facing us. The AAV’s rear cameras show the drones have backed away about 100 meters.
The line of cars is getting thinner now. In the distance there is nothing but a clear roadway, perfect for our pursuers to start shooting. Suddenly the AAV starts climbing steeply.
“Luca! What are you doing?”
Twin red beams pierce the sky on either side of us. A scream escapes my throat as two more red lines race past us. Pops grabs my arm as the AAV continues climbing.
“Luca! Stop!”
“Just hold tight, sweetheart. I’ve got you. If they really wanted to shoot you down, they would have done it by now.” The AAV is now leveled off and slowing a bit.
“Then why –”
“Look,” Pops says pointing straight ahead.
Two dots appear over the hills, flying toward us. It’s deathly quiet in the cockpit.
“They’re from Fallstead,” Luca says. “Looks like some kind of patrol.”
“What do you think, Pops? Are they going to shoot us down?”
He just shakes his head.
“Do you want me to try to lose them?”
“It’s no use,” Pops says. “We’ve run out of choices. Looks like we’ve come to the end of the road. You’ve done your best. You’ve done good, girl.”
The dots have grown into helicopters. Two-seater helicopters that make an incredible racket, with faded paint and parts that look patched together from different machines. They circle around us, one on either side. To my right the pilot gestures us to follow her.
“Luca?”
“I’ll do as she says. It looks like you’re gonna be safe now. Look behind you.” The console display shows nothing but empty sky behind us. It’s as if the drones have disappeared into nothing.
Pops holds my hand. For the first time since the drones appeared, I feel I can breathe. Thank you, Luca.
But what are they going to do to us in Fallstead?

The sun is setting as the AAV touches down in a scraggly football field on the perimeter of Fallstead. A thick, heavy heat descends on me as I get out of the vehicle. There is a group of three men and two women who meet us. Two men and a woman are holding long guns pointing downward. All are deadly serious.
“This way,” says the woman with the gun. “She grabs me by the arm and starts marching me toward a small one-story building at the end of the field.
“He can’t walk very well! He has a cane!” I yell looking back at Pops. One of the men is pushing Pops along behind us. “Be careful with him!”
When we get to the building, they place me in a small room with a fluorescent light and a floor fan. It’s bare except for a small table and two chairs. There’s no air conditioning and the fan is not turned on. One man questions me, asking my name, where I live, who my family is, where they are now, how I was related to Pops, why were the police chasing us.
After an hour my clothes are drenched and my mouth is so dry, I can barely speak. Even so, they will never see my fear. I pound on the table. “What are you doing with Elijah Keeper? Why are you doing this? We’ve done nothing to you!”
The door finally opens and another man leads me into a room next door. This is equally hot and stuffy. A man and woman are standing over Pops seated at the table.
“Pops, are you okay?”
“Yes. Just do as they say, Ayana.”
“Can he have some water?” I ask. “Can’t you see he’s about to faint?”
The man standing next to Pops barely blinks. He says to the woman standing next to him, “We have no use for these two. Send them to Gutiérrez.”

VI
It’s now dark, about 9 o’clock. We’ve been driven in a small van from the football field into what looks like a slum. The van comes to the corner of a main street and an alleyway.
“Come with us.” The driver, a large heavy-set man in beige and brown battle fatigues, beret and dusty army boots gets out and leads Pops and I down the alleyway. The woman and man who were with Pops at the football field follow close behind. I can make out plastic bottles and cans, cardboard cartons, and garbage bags partially ripped open, littering the alleyway and the narrow sidewalk.
Women and men sit in the doorways talking and laughing. A few have pistols stuffed into their belts. As we pass one storefront with bars on the doors and windows, the smell of urine is overpowering. A mangy, emaciated dog limps by. A few more buildings and our leader turns right and enters a narrow doorway. Inside is dark and musty. One of the light sockets has been ripped from the ceiling leaving bare wires exposed. He leads us down a flight of rickety stairs, down another hallway, past a door on the left and on the right, straight to another at the end. As we approach the door opens, and a girl of about 14 gestures us in. Our leader stands aside. I clutch Pops’ arm even tighter and stand my ground.
“It’s alright,” Pops whispers. “Let’s go on in.”
As we enter there is a sweet smell of cinnamon. There are six people in the room – a boy and girl who appear to be teenagers, two women and a man who appear middle aged, and a young man in his 20s, a dark-skinned man with a shaved head and full beard, and – oh, my God!
“DeAndre! Is that you?”
“Welcome, Ayana.” He steps forward and gives me a hug. Then he turns to Pops. “Professor Keeper. It’s an honor, sir.”
Behind us the door closes and our escorts are gone.
DeAndre introduces us. “This is a good friend of mine, Ayana. And you’ve all heard of Professor Keeper.” He then introduces the group, finishing with one of the older women. “This is Pilar, Pilar Gutiérrez. She leads our Bible study, as well as being the spiritual leader of our group.
“Welcome,” Pilar says. “DeAndre has told us about you, Ayana.” She pumps my hand. “And of course we know so much about you, Professor. Please, let’s go into the other room. I’m sure you must have a lot of questions.” Pilar and DeAndre lead us to one of the two doors we passed on the way in. The girl at the door follows us with a tray of cinnamon buns and cookies, and the older man brings a pitcher of juice and cups. After they leave Pilar says. “I’m sure you must be wondering why the secrecy.”
“Well, yes, the thought did cross my mind,” Pops says with a faint smile.
“Fallstead is a dangerous place,” Pilar replies. “Unfortunately not everyone believes what we believe. And because we don’t believe in violence, we have to be especially careful who we allow into our group.”
“A lot of care and a lot of prayer,” DeAndre says with a chuckle.
Pilar passes the plate with the baked goods. “Cinnamon buns?”
“I’ll have some juice,” I respond. “How about you, Pops?”
“Same.”
DeAndre pours cups for both of us.
“We believe there should be no greater law than what we believe to be God’s laws,” Pilar says.
“What does that mean – God’s laws”? I ask.
“Basically what we read in our Bibles. We’re trying to make it meaningful for our lives.”
“Well, there’s stuff in the Bible I like too. Pops has shared a bunch of passages with me when I was a kid. Like the one in Corinthians, the love chapter. That’s my favorite, really poetic.”
“Yes, 1 Corinthians 13. Don’t know of anyone who doesn’t love that chapter.”
“So what’s the problem then? There are lots of people back home who believe in that stuff as well. There are still some churches around town where people attend. Why can’t you go to those churches?”
“That’s all well and good,” Pops says. “But they – Pilar and her group – believe where there’s a conflict between the government’s law and what they believe to be God’s teaching, they – and I – believe we should follow God’s teaching.”
“Like what?”
“Like we don’t believe we should have to put a microchip in our bodies if we don’t want to,” Pilar says.
“But what’s the big deal? I hold up my wrist. There’s a tiny scar where the chip was placed when I was born. “It’s just a security tool. It makes buying and selling and accessing stuff so much easier – and more secure.”
“And that may very well be the case,” Pilar replies. “And God bless you for it. My son has one himself, but that was his decision. I don’t believe people should be forced to have them in their bodies, and if they don’t, the government should make exceptions for those who don’t want it. But that’s just one thing. We believe we were made by God, that we’re not just some random collection of particles. We believe we are all God’s children made in His image. That doesn’t sound too radical to me. How about you?”
“Well, never really thought of it that way.”
“And if you don’t want to believe that, that’s fine for you,” says Pops. “But why should those of us who think differently than those in power, why should we be pushed aside and called crazy or subversive? That’s what my article was about, the one that caused me to be diagnosed as ‘losing my cognitive ability’ and ‘being a danger to myself and others.’ It was after that article was published that they came and took me away.”
“That article literally changed my life,” DeAndre says. “I had to ask myself if I was truly making decisions for myself or just letting others do my thinking for me. And after thinking about it for awhile, I didn’t like the answer.”
“That article impacted all of us,” Pilar says.
“You can be free to believe whatever you want to believe, but why can’t we have that right as well,” DeAndre says.
“Well, a lot of people think you guys are a bit crazy.”
“Well, that’s the problem,” DeAndre says. “There are a lot of people out there who claim the same God as us, but when you look at what they’re doing – well, maybe they really are crazy. As you know there are a lot of people in Fallstead who talk about freedom and would use violence to protect their beliefs. We disagree with that.”
“But those outside your faith don’t see the difference.”
“And that’s really the problem,” Pops says. “In all my writings I say people should be given the right to express their opinion. But your mom and her friends have lumped me – and people like DeAndre, Pilar and a bunch of others – in with the militants.”
“So what do you think, Ayana?” Pilar asks. Are you convinced?”
“I don’t know.” I’m searching for words, but can’t find anything that truly says how I feel. I’m more than confused. “I just need a little time, I guess.”
“Take all the time you need,” Pilar says. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”
I touch Pops’ shoulder. “What’re you gonna do, Pops?”
“I like it here. I believe this is where I want to be.”
“But you saw what it was like upstairs. Everyone’s walking around with a gun in their belt! They’re nuts!”
“You’re right, Ayana,” says Pilar. “There are lots of crazies out there, but at least they leave us alone. They think we’re crazy too. But at least they leave us alone.”
“So, Pops. Are you saying you don’t want to go to Loveland after all?”
“I never said I wanted to go to Loveland, remember? And I’m pretty sure I don’t want to go there right now. What say you and I hang around Fallstead for a few more days? Waddaya say?”
“I’m gonna have to go back home though. I can’t live here.”
“Well, it’s up to you,” Pops says. “Your PV score is probably shot right now. You might not have much choice.”
“I can’t live here, Pops.”
“You can’t go back home either,” say Pilar and DeAndre.
I look at Pops. “What am I gonna do?”
He looks at me with those gentle eyes, those eyes intended for me, and only me, ever since I can remember. I lean against his shoulder. He strokes my hair and whispers in my ear, “You’re a big girl now, Ayana. I’m always here for you. Whatever decision you make, I know it’ll be the right one.”
© Weldon Turner, 2016, All Rights Reserved.