Taken (Erin Bowman)

of a male, so soft I can barely hear it.
    “Nothing out of the ordinary,” Maude says.
    I peer around the doorway and find Maude’s back to me, the rest of her facing an oddly illuminated section of her bedroom wall. I lean forward to better hear who she is talking to, but my foot steps on a squeaky floorboard that cries out under my weight.
    Maude spins around and her eyes narrow as she sees me. She stands up quickly, far quicker than I’ve ever seen her move before and slams closed the cabinet housing the light. I step away from the room, ready to bolt for the door, but she marches right at me and I know it’s no use.
    “What are you doing here?” she wheezes, leaning on her cane as she moves into the kitchen. She does not look angry but terrified.
    “I came to talk to you. I had a question.” My eyes search the room behind her. “Who were you talking to?”
    “No one,” she says. “I was preparing my notes for a meeting with the Council Heads tomorrow and sometimes I like to review them out loud.”
    “But I heard a man’s voice.” Again I crane my head around her, searching the bedroom.
    “You heard nothing of the sort,” she says bluntly.
    But I did. I know what I saw, what I heard. Suddenly, I no longer trust her. Maude, who always seemed to guide our people, show us the way. She has become another element that feels unnatural, and so quickly.
    “I’m leaving,” I tell her.
    “Good. It does not do to enter others’ homes by force.”
    “No, not just your house,” I explain. “Claysoot. I’m leaving.”
    “Don’t be rash. You know there is nothing beyond the Wall.”
    “I’m not being rash. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust this place. So much about it is wrong and if I can’t find answers to my questions here, I’ll find them elsewhere.” I back away from her, feeling my way toward the door, but she grabs my arm. Her grasp is surprisingly strong for such frail hands.
    “Don’t be stupid, Gray,” she says slowly. “You won’t find any answers beyond the Wall because you’ll be dead.”
    “But I’m eighteen! It might be different.”
    Maude’s fingers tighten around my wrist. “Eighteen? What are you talking about? Have you lost your mind?”
    “We were twins . . . are twins,” I say, twisting my arm free. “I can’t stay here anymore. I just can’t.”
    I find the doorway and stumble into the rain.
    “Wait!” she cries, but I don’t. As I tear through the waterlogged streets, she calls after me. I can’t quite make it out, but it sounds like “stay.” And “please.”
    I run straight to Emma’s house and pound on the door. I promised to let her know if I came up with any stupid ideas, and while this doesn’t exactly feel stupid, I know it is risky. But I have no other options. My only hope for truth now lies beyond Claysoot.
    “Gray,” Emma remarks when she opens the door. “It’s the middle of the night. Are you okay?”
    “I need to talk to you.”
    “Okay,” she says, yawning. “Come in.”
    “No, I need to talk to you.” I draw the words out, but she looks at me blankly. “Come here,” I grunt, grabbing Emma’s arm and pulling her outside so that our conversation will not wake Carter.
    “Ow, Gray. What’s the matter with you?” she says, rubbing her wrist.
    “I have to leave.”
    She looks at me, bewildered. “Leave? Why do you have to leave? Where are you going?”
    I tell her about Maude, the voice, the blue light coming from her room. I tell her how Maude has become another mystery, like the Heist and Wall, that is too unnatural to trust.
    “Please go home and sleep on it. We can talk in the morning,” Emma says. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
    “I’ll feel the same way tomorrow. I can’t stay here any longer, Emma. It’s all wrong and I need answers. If they come in the form of death beyond the Wall, at least I’ll know for sure that nothing exists outside this place.”
    “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” She’s close to tears now.
    I analyze every aspect of her. The way those large eyes pinch together in the corners, the exact angle of her eyebrows, the placement of that mark on her cheek. I want to remember these things. It’s the last time I’ll see them. More lasts.
    “You don’t have to understand,” I say. “I’m doing it for me, because that’s what I do. We talked about this on our very first trip to the lake. I think about myself, my needs, and I act on them. I need the truth,