The Divided Line: Elias [Part 2]

It began slowly—the plague, the greed, the riots. Revolutionaries rose up behind symbols, murals, and songs, while the masses were fed machinery and religion. In the wake of the destruction, politicians deemed art a dangerous thing—a worthless thing—and the masses agreed. They took away the paint, the books, and the instruments. But they could not wholly silence the artists. These are the stories they left behind.

---

Elias half-consciously tucked the book with its treasonous words behind his back. It was a futile effort. Markham watched him from every screen in the room.

“Forgive me, I—”

“Forgive you?” Markham laughed, jowls swaying with the effort. “No need to play it humble. Florian told me everything.”

“Did he?” Florian hadn’t said what he’d tell Markham, but his brother had a charm about him which could raise even the most horrid acts to reverence.

“We caught one of the vandals at the train yard.” Markham’s expression turned grave. “The people are scared. They need someone to look to for example. Someone dedicated to the cause. Someone willing to step in when not required. Someone who will do whatever it takes to foster safety and obeisance in our streets. Florian tells me he thinks that man is you. And after what you did the night of the robbery, I have to agree.”

Elias thought he might be sick again. 

They were watching him, testing him. He’d been too unpredictable, too emotional.

“I’d be honored,” he said. A lie spoken with a smile. That was how he’d always gotten by. 

“Good man. Florian will meet you at the precinct in an hour to debrief you.”

The screens cut off, and the room fell to silence. Elias took a long breath, steadying the rapid rhythm of his heart. He turned away from the screens and the books, washed his gin glass, and splashed his face with cold water. He checked his disheveled reflection and shrugged. There was nothing for it now.

Elias pours himself another drink in Part 1 of his story.

Illustration by Ethan Lee

The setting sun outside steeped the city in gold, and a pleasant breeze carried the scent of budding flowers. He remembered the open fields of Anna’s family home, breaths of summer wind rustling the curtains as Anna painted by the window. 

He never should have brought her to the city.

The tram rolled in with the electric whir of machinery. Elias walked on, and it took off again, zipping through gardened terraces and manmade falls which plummeted down through the various levels of the city. Militias patrolled the walkways, guns brandished.

He de-boarded at the station, flashed his badge to the guardsman at the door, and met Florian inside.

“The man of the hour!” said Florian, grasping Elias on the shoulder. He leaned in close, nose wrinkling. “Have you been drinking?” He dropped his hands and shook his head. “Never mind that. They’ve got the kid in the interrogation room. Come, take a look.” 

Elias didn’t follow. “Why?” he asked. Ever since they were children, Florian had always tried to pull Elias up, tried to make Elias the man he thought he should be, no matter how much Elias suffered for it. Through Florian’s will alone, Elias had become that man. But it had never felt right. Elias had never truly felt like himself. Only with Anna had he felt like that. 

Florian ignored the question. He took Elias into a side room with a glass window that looked out into the interrogation room. The boy sat in a metal chair, chained to a metal table, a defiant look in his eyes.

“He was with the rioters the night we caught your wife,” said Florian, breaking the silence that had gathered heavily between them. “He was too young to be executed alongside her and the others. He was put through the reformation program instead.” Florian shrugged. “Evidently it was insufficient.”

Elias shifted and glanced to his feet. “Will he hang this time?” 

“No,” said Florian. “They’re taking him to a new prison across the sound. Project Eikasia. It’s a reformation camp of sorts. A harsher method which has shown great promise, one I wish had been an option for your wife.” He was silent for a moment. “I know how much you loved her.”

Elias’ throat thickened, and his eyes burned.

“You asked me why,” said Florian. “This is your chance to make it up to her. This is your chance to make it up to your country. You can save him. You can help save any others who want to follow in his path.” It was all bullshit. “There are cameras out there, waiting to show the city what’s happened.” He handed Elias a folded script. “We want you to be the one to tell them.”

Elias took the paper in his hand and unfolded it. He saw none of the words, knew they were worthless, knew with great certainty that he would not say any of them anyway. 

Elias at a podium

Illustration by Ethan Lee

But they had given him a stage, and he was going to use it. For her. For the boy he’d killed when he’d tried to do the right thing. For the kid chained to the table just beyond the glass. He nodded, peace settling in his heart for the first time since that wretched day. He would see Anna soon.

---

The Divided Line is an original serial updated biweekly.