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  "Arthur Mackenzie," she whispered to herself.

  Her finger traced the vaguely familiar name, as she frowned in thought. She lifted the page to scan the Introduction. Writing on the back of the Title Page caught her eye.

  "Property of George Mackenzie - 1826-1898."

  Directly below his name was another name and birthdate.

  "Henry Mackenzie - 1840-1900."

  The list continued for six more lines before suddenly ending on her uncle's name.

  "William Mackenzie - 1978-2022."

  She frowned. Her eyes moved back and forth between the birth date and the hastily scribbled death date for her uncle. The handwriting looked like her father's. She pursed her lips in thought.

  "If it's a family book..." her voice trailed off and she frowned in realization. "He just stuck it on the shelf with the others," she murmured to herself, unsure what emotion she felt the strongest.

  She gripped the book tighter. The answer to so many questions lay in her lap. Her mind spun, as she went over her interactions with the Dems. Her eyes dropped to read the first sentence of the Introduction page.

  "In the Dem society, respect reigns supreme."

  Her eyes moved over the words several times. In a larger type than the rest of the page, they stood out from the rest of the words on the page. A sinking feeling began in her stomach. She shifted on the lumpy mattress.

  "During my first year in The Corridor, I was attacked no less than five times. Always by the Dem in my charge. It was not until I observed the Dems during their semimonthly social time in the Main Hall, I realized my error. My many errors.

  In this book, I have outlined all that I have learned of the Dems. I suggest a through reading of the material herein. The first chapter is a through study of the respect protocol of the Dem society. It may very well be the most important chapter of the entire book. For once you offend a Dem, their eidetic memory will remember the slight for time eternal."

  Sarah let out her breath in a heavy sigh. She quickly flipped to the heading for chapter one and began to read.

  "The attacks on my person during my first year in The Corridor were due to my lack of understanding on one particular subject. The Dems give apologies very sparingly. In sixty years, I have witnessed precisely one. A grievous lack of respect is the only acceptable reason for an apology. To apologize for anything less is seen as a sign of weakness and will induce great offense."

  She stared at the paragraph until the words blurred together. Her mind repeated the same thought over and over in a loop. Her apologies offended him. In her mind's eye, she pictured Farran's face each time she said, "I'm sorry." The immediate flare of anger in his eyes suddenly made perfect sense. She dropped her face into her hands.

  She swallowed hard and pressed down the anger she felt at herself. She raised her head and focused on the words in front of her with a surge of determination.

  "In my eleventh month of service in The Corridor, I noticed the way the other Dems interacted with the Dem in my charge. The others always began the interaction with a bow of their head, only conversing after receiving a nod in return or a verbal allowance.

  I was able to overhear a handful of conversations during my time of service. Each one initiated by the Dem of higher rank. I shared my conclusions with the Dem in my charge and my assumptions were correct. All interactions are instigated within a strict social hierarchy."

  Sarah paused and reread the paragraph.

  "The Dem in my charge," she murmured to herself. Her eyes widened.

  She flipped through the next few pages, scanning each one until she found the Dem's name.

  "As the general of his company, Farran is the highest ranking member of the Dems..."

  Sarah quickly skimmed the rest of the paragraph and the one preceding it.

  "...in two places, after he brushed past one of the Dems. I have come to understand that such physical contact is seen as a breech of respect. Express permission must be given to enter the personal space of another. This appears to be especially true for humans, as..."

  Sarah stopped reading. She looked down at her hands where they gripped the edges of the book tightly. She slowly released her death grip on the fragile book cover.

  "...I had never heard. When I inquired about the term, Farran became highly agitated. For a moment, I feared for my life. It was not until 1873, I overheard two Dems discussing marked humans, once again. I have since realized why the concept may be highly charged for the general of the Dems."

  Sarah narrowed her eyes at the familiar term. She scanned the page for any other mention of the word, but there was nothing. She flipped to the second chapter heading and skimmed the first few pages. She shook her head and continued to the third chapter and finally the fourth, and last, chapter. Near the bottom on the second to last page, she froze. Her eyes jumped from one sentence to another, as her breath came faster with each piece of information.

  "...marked early humans when they first began to interact with us. It was only after their banishment and subsequent imprisonment, that the practice stopped..."

  "...called the Ator. From what I understand, the Dems are animated by an eternal energy. It is this energy which gives them their abilities and life span...

  "...transferred from the Dem through a mark that appears as a bruise on the skin of the human. Once the initial bruising fades, the marked is able to heal from physical trauma..."

  "...becomes the property of the Dem who marked them..."

  She began to feel lightheaded. She leaned back and let her head thump against the headboard. She saw the words in her mind, as if they were printed on the back of her eyelids.

  "Sarah!"

  She jerked upright at her mother's voice. She cleared her throat, before she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The book stared up at her, drab and unassuming. She flipped it closed and tucked it back under her pillow, before she hurried to the door. Her mother's footsteps thumped up the stairs, as she quickly slid the chair out from under the door and opened it a crack.

  "Why didn't you answer me?" Mary demanded, as she stopped in front of her door.

  Sarah watched her mother's gaze move over her shoulder to scan the part of the bedroom she could see.

  "I'm sorry," Sarah quickly apologized.

  "Mmhmm." Mary's dull, green eyes slowly moved to meet hers.

  "Did you need anything?"

  Mary's eyes narrowed.

  "Help with dinner?" Sarah tried again.

  "You're acting funny."

  Sarah looked down, scraping the toe of her boot against the worn floorboards.

  "Your father-" her mother started, before she stopped herself.

  Sarah peeked up at her. An uncomfortable look crossed her mother's face.

  "I wanted to talk to you, Sarah." She licked her lips and pressed the door open all the way.

  Sarah watched her gaze move around the room, as if she were looking for something. When her gaze landed on her, she gestured toward her bed. "Do you want to sit?"

  After a moment of obvious indecision, the petite woman walked over to sit beside her pillow.

  "What did you want to talk about?" Sarah asked quietly, perching at the foot of her bed.

  "You know your father didn't get along well with your uncle." At her nod, her mother continued. "Bill was very..." she pursed her lips, as if trying to find a word that was not offensive.

  "Eccentric?" Sarah asked.

  Her mother frowned, but nodded. "Yes. He was very eccentric. He had...ideas. About the Dems." She shook her head. "It was very embarrassing for your father. And for me. We were always worried that he took such an interest in the two of you..."

  Sarah nodded, as if she understood, and her mother continued.

  "And then when John started spending so much time in his old house after he died..." she let out a strained laugh. "Well, you can imagine the concerns we had. Then, that horrible fire."

  Sarah glanced at her, taking in her tense posture.

/>   "And we still don't know who set the fire or why they would want to-" Mary broke off looked down at her lap.

  "I'm worried about him, too," she whispered.

  Her mother's head jerked up immediately. "Yes, well, that's a nice thing for you to say, but I think we both know you were always jealous of your brother. He was the favorite. We all knew it. Let's not play pretend."

  Sarah looked away, before her mother got a chance to see how the words affected her. She blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling.

  "He'll be right as rain in no time," her mother continued. "We just have to hope you don't mess up in the meantime." She cleared her throat and stood.

  Sarah nodded, keeping her eyes on the floor. She flinched slightly at the awkward pat her mother gave her shoulder.

  "This suspension of yours can't happen again. Your father and I don't expect much from you, but we do expect you to try."

  …

  She hurried across the crosswalk with the crowd, hustled along by the press of bodies. Her eyes rose to look at the string of flags the hung between the light poles. Dyed the colors of the city, the small triangles flapped in the cold wind. She pulled her coat tighter around her neck.

  The crowd split at the curb, the majority continuing toward the business section of the square. She struggled against the flow, shouldering past the taller people until she broke through to the other side. Her eyes fastened on the hospital half a block away. She shoved her hands deeper into her pockets.

  "Vote Keane! Vote for respect!"

  She glanced at the small group on the sidewalk ahead and sighed. Her eyes moved over their signs, as she approached them.

  "Make 2024 the year we gain freedom," the closest sign proclaimed in large, block letters.

  She ducked her head and made to go around them.

  "Hey, you! Have you decided who you're gonna vote for?"

  She grimaced and looked up into an eager grin.

  She slowly shook her head. The woman's smile widened. "Well, then give Keane a try!" she almost yelled, thrusting a stack of papers at her.

  She struggled to catch it, before the woman let go.

  "Have a nice day!"

  She forced a smile and walked away quickly. The doors of the hospital slid open in front of her and she hurried into the lobby, glancing around. Spying the trashcan in the corner near the front desk, she casually walked across the room and dropped the handful of papers into the garbage. A twinge of satisfaction went through her.

  "Here to see your brother?"

  She forced the smile from the face and turned to face the desk clerk. She gave her a small nod.

  "Alright. I'm sure you know the drill by now, but I have to tell you." The young woman paused until she nodded, again. "Wear the visitor pass at all times while on the third floor, do not attempt to make any adjustments to the patient, and remember to sign out when you leave."

  "Thank you." She took the offered name tag and pinned it to her coat.

  "You're welcome," the woman replied with a soft smile.

  She returned it and walked toward the elevators. Her eyes widened when the elevator opened and Keane stepped out.

  He raised an eyebrow. "Handler Mackenzie."

  She fought not to scowl at his smirk. She gave him a jerky nod and made to step around him.

  "Here to visit your brother?" he asked, stepping into her path, again.

  "Yes. Please, excuse me." She tried to walk around him into the elevator, but his arm shot out to block her way.

  "How is your brother?"

  Something in his tone made her eyes narrow. "Stable."

  "Oh, well that's good, I suppose." He looked toward the lobby, as if he were thinking. "Remind me, how did the fire start?"

  She felt her hands curl into fists in her pockets. "An accident."

  "Right. Of course." He glanced at her. "Because why would anyone try to kill him." His words came out as more of a statement than a question.

  Sarah ground her teeth.

  "Though, I have heard some rather disturbing rumors."

  She stared at him hard.

  "Some people seem to think he may have followed in your uncle's footsteps," he said offhandedly. "Bill had an unhealthy...affinity for the Dems."

  "Please, excuse me, Handler Keane," she bit out.

  He gave her a tight smile and stepped aside. She felt his eyes on her, as she stepped into the elevator. She did not look at him.

  "You have a nice day, Handler Mackenzie. I‘m still considering that favor you owe me," he said, as the door closed.

  As much as she wanted to forget she had seen him, Keane's words rolled around in her mind. Certain parts of the conversation repeated and she frowned in thought.

  "Rumors?" She bit her lip. "What kind of rumors?"

  The elevator let out a soft ding and she stepped out onto the ward. The nurses ignored her when she walked passed the nurses station. She paused outside John's room, when she heard a familiar voice.

  "He did? Yeah, I'll take it."

  She took a step back and glanced toward an open doorway a few doors down.

  "Do you need anything else, Mr. Williams?" a soft voice asked.

  "No, thank you. Not right now," she heard Luke answer.

  A moment later, a nurse strode from the room. Sarah watched her until she returned to the nurses station. She slowly moved to stand outside Luke's doorway. He did not look up from the unfolded piece of paper in his hand. She coughed lightly. His gaze jerked to the door. She thought she saw a vaguely guilty expression cross his face before he smiled.

  "Hey! You scared me. Come on in." He waved her toward his bed, carelessly tossing the paper onto the table beside him.

  She returned his smile. "I thought I heard your voice."

  "You mean you didn't come all this way to just see me?" he asked, with a teasing smile.

  "I..." she glanced away.

  "I'm joking, Sarah," he assured her, reaching out to grasp her hand. "I'm just happy you stopped by."

  She nodded and swallowed hard. "I'm really sorry about what happened, Luke. I-"

  "It's not your fault," he cut her off. She looked up in time to watch him scowl out the window.

  "I should have done something to-"

  "Seriously, Sarah, it's not your fault." He stared at her, as if willing her to agree with him.

  She sighed.

  "So, how is your brother doing?" he asked suddenly.

  She tore her eyes away from their joined hands and forced a smile. "The same, I think. I haven't gotten to see him today."

  "Oh, did I interrupt?"

  She shook her head. "No, it's fine."

  He smiled, at her soft words. His eyes moved passed her, a moment later.

  "Mr. Williams, your uncle is on the phone. He said he has something to add to the note he left," the same nurse spoke from the doorway.

  Sarah looked over her shoulder at her. The woman's smile faded when she caught Sarah's gaze.

  "Sarah, would you mind if I take the call?"

  She shook her head. "I need to go anyway. I want to make sure I visit my brother, before I have to get back home."

  He nodded, already reaching for the phone beside his bed.

  Her gaze followed his hand and landed on the paper. She squinted to make out the words, but after she did she frowned in confusion.

  As she let the nurse shoo her out of Luke's hospital room and pull the door closed, she went over the five words on the paper in her mind. Fix it, or I will.

  ...

  He glared at the bars of his cell, the oppressive silence of Corridor One compounded by the slight pain in his abdomen. He rubbed at it absently. His mind replayed the events that leading up to his punishment. His inner voice sneered at the term. As if anything the humans could do would affect him. He scoffed. Pathetic.

  His eyes moved from the bars to glance at his chest, as a tingle began in his skin. It slowly dropped to his abdomen. His spine snapped into an agonized arch, as he collapsed b
ackwards onto his bunk. He choked back a surprised yell. The ceiling moved in and out of focus and he blinked hard.

  His hands slapped at the stone, until he gripped the thin blanket. It ripped with a quiet gasp of torn fabric, barely audible over his heart pounding in his ears. His breaths came fast and harsh, as he clenched his jaw against the pained growl that tried to escape. He swallowed hard and glanced to the bars of his cell.

  The halls of Corridor One were silent. The pain sharpened and he bit back an agonized groan. Like a jagged knife, it speared into him. His eyes dropped. He almost expected his suit to be saturated by his blood. It was the same dingy grey.

  He finally let out a stuttered breath when the agony faded to a dull ache. It tapered off slowly, easing with each exhale. His fingers slowly uncurled from the edge of his bunk. He inhaled carefully. When the pain did not immediately increase, he forced himself into a sitting position.

  His mind spun, clouded by confusion and the echoes of agony. He propped his shoulders against the wall, allowing himself a moment to breathe. His eyes snapped to the corridor at the soft scuff of a boot on stone.

  Keane swaggered into view, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips.

  "So, Dem, how are you enjoying your solitary confinement? Is it everything you remembered?"

  Farran snarled.

  "Oh, how silly of me." Keane tipped his head to the side, as he stepped forward to press the override button on the control panel.

  The dark screen dropped with a shimmer. His smile widened when he saw Farran's expression.

  "You look a little under the weather, there. I do hope you are feeling alright."

  "T'han hin abad," he growled in his native tongue.

  Keane's smile widened, as he clearly read his lips.

  "Now, that's not very nice. Why such hostility?" Farran watched him reach for the sound screen.

  "When I get out of here, I will be sure to tell you in precise detail," he said through clenched teeth.

  "We'll see," the handler tossed carelessly, moving back to sit on the bench facing his cell.