Chapter 18
Shantarius
As I open the front door to go to work, an envelope falls to the ground, catching my eye. It lands face up, and I see in bold, red letters the phrase, Read this now! It can’t have been there long. Philantrius just left a few minutes before to catch the bus, and she would have told me about it. After making a quick scan around to see if the person who placed this letter is still close by, I go back inside, locking the door as a precaution.
Back in the kitchen area where Greg is cleaning up from breakfast, I take off my helmet, placing it on the counter, and then open the letter.
Tam is in trouble.
He’s been picked up by the police, and they are interrogating him. The police intend to make a case to a judge sometime in the next few days—maybe today—to begin phase two interrogations. This includes what amounts to electrical shock torture.
YOU NEED TO ACT NOW!
Go to the police precinct and demand to see him. Get your lawyer to petition the court to set him free. Tell your story on social media and call the local news outlets. Stir up as much publicity as you can, any way you can.
Tam’s done nothing wrong, and he needs your help. He’s told me about you, about how you really love him. So, prove it.
My heart stops as I read the words. Surely it can’t be true.
“Greg.”
“Yeah, hon?”
“You need to read this.”
He turns around from where he’s wiping off the counter and takes the letter from me. Without another word, he speaks to the wall-mounted communicator and calls Tam. It goes to voice mail.
“Maybe he’s in class.”
“But this makes sense, Greg,” I say, struggling to keep my voice calm. “It would explain why he didn’t call when he got to school, why he hasn’t texted us or returned our calls. If this note is right, he’ll be in jail right now.”
“Hey, hey,” Greg says as he puts his hands on my shoulders and applies some gentle pressure to reassure me. I’m sure he can feel the tension. “We’ll check it out. Okay? Hopefully, it’s just some prank. I’ll call the police, and we’ll see.”
“Okay. Right now. Let’s do it right now.”
Greg turns to the communicator once more and tells it to call the local police precinct, and soon we’re routed to the desk sergeant. As soon as the sergeant answers, I start talking.
“Hello, my name is Shantarius Usarian, our child, Tamika Usarian . . . well, he was supposed to be at school, but he hasn’t responded to any of our calls or texts, and we just received a . . .“ my voice hitches and I’m about to cry, but I force myself to stop.
“Someone just told us that he was picked up by the police,” Greg finishes, covering for my pause.
“And you are?”
“I’m Tam’s father, Greg Usarian.”
“Confirm your identities please,” comes the much-too-calm voice from the other end of the conversation. We each hold the back of our hand up to the phone scanner. It beeps as it reads the data from our implants.
“Thank you. Let me check.”
There’s silence for a few moments, but it seems like several minutes. Finally, the sergeant speaks.
“I’m allowed to confirm that he is in custody, but I’m not allowed to tell you anything else because the case is labeled classified. If you want to know more, I’m afraid you’ll have to come down to the station.”
“But I’ve heard there’s some sort of hearing scheduled. Aren’t they supposed to contact us first since Tam is a minor?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you anything else over the phone. If you want to know more, you’re just going to have to come down to the station.”
“We’re not going to get any more information out of them on the phone, Shan. Let’s just go down there.” Greg faces the phone and adds, “Thank you for your help, sergeant.”
“You’re welcome.”
I click the ‘end call’ icon in a daze.
“I’ll back the car out,” Greg says before heading off to suit up.
* * * * *
I watch from across the street, hidden behind a small copse of trees, as the front door opens and Thomas’ mom picks up the note that I left. She disappears back inside. I don’t wait to see what will happen next. Hopefully, they’ll follow my suggestions and do everything they can to stop Thomas’ interrogation.
I hike down to a local coffee shop, connect to their wireless internet, and use the clean laptop I have to communicate with my mom. I ask her to reach out to a local human rights activist group she has contacts with and see if they can help by organizing some sort of demonstration. I spend the next three hours setting up accounts on every social network I can think of and posting information about Thomas’ arrest and the planned phase two interrogation, trying to stir up support. I even create a virtual news video and post it to three different streaming services.
Over the next two days, I create several more fake online identities, using them to respond to the posts I’ve made and trying to generate the appearance of interest. The video I posted gets noticed by a news commentator channel with 150,000 followers and it has seven-thousand views by Sunday afternoon. I was hoping it would go viral. I just hope it’s enough.
Now it’s time for part three of my plan. Time to take the biggest risk yet and meet directly with Thomas’ parents.
* * * * *
I’ve been waiting for an hour in Thomas’ front yard for his parents to return. Hidden from view, I’ve positioned myself between a row of Leyland Cypress trees and the privacy fence running along the property line of the house next door. Finally, I see their car pull into the driveway. One of Thomas’ parents gets out of the car and starts walking up the walkway. As they get closer, I can see the nametag on their equality suit. It’s his mom, Shantarius.
I wait a few minutes after she goes inside before I walk up to the front door and knock, giving them time to take off their helmets so that I’m not captured on video when I meet them. I disabled my own camera along with the helmet’s wireless internet connection before I came into town, but theirs will still be connected and streaming, so I have to be careful. Shantarius answers the door.
“Hello?” she asks, a confused expression on her face.
“I’m the one who wrote you the note about Tam.”
She looks surprised but recovers quickly. “Come in,” she says, stepping back to let me come inside. I hold out a piece of paper towards her on which I’ve written in large letters the words, put your helmets in another room and close the door, then we can talk.
She scans the message, then nods. Just then, Thomas’ dad comes up from the basement, helmet in hand. Shantarius takes her helmet off of the rack by the door and walks over to him, motioning for his helmet as she greets him.
“Hello, sweetheart, let me take that for you.”
Now it’s his turn to look confused as he sees me standing by the front door. She waves a hand in front of his eyes to get his attention, then holds a single finger up to her lips to indicate he should be quiet. He relinquishes his helmet, and she looks back at me, motioning with her head for me to follow. We walk down the hall to what I realize is Thomas’ room, and we place the helmets on the bed before she closes the door, and we head back to the front of the house.
“What’s going on?” Greg asks as we enter the front sitting room.
“This is the girl who wrote the note.”
“Oh, I see. Charlie”, he says, looking down at the nametag on my suit.
“Yeah,” I reply, “I need to fill you in on what’s really going on.”
Over the next fifteen minutes, I tell them the story of how I met Thomas –Tam, I mean—leaving out the part about how it was me that recruited him to join the movement . . . and the part about how I’m his girlfriend. I just say we’re good friends and talk about the work we do together in the freedom movement. This is the make-or-break moment. They could out me right now, and I’d be done for. They know my real name and what I look like. They could call the police and turn me in, and I’d be put in a cell just like Thomas and subjected to the same treatment. I’m taking a huge risk, but we need to work together if we’re gonna save him.
They just stare at me for a few seconds after I’m done. Shantarius’ mouth is slightly open, and she has a blank expression on her face. Greg’s eyebrows are drawn in, his lips forming a tight line that makes him look super-serious.
“Okay,” Greg finally says. “I get why you left the note. You obviously want to help Tam. But why come back. Why risk meeting us now?”
“Because we need to work together to organize a protest in front of the courthouse tomorrow, right before Tam’s hearing. The only way we’re gonna stop this is to generate enough public support to pressure the judge and the police to do the right thing.”
“So, you think . . . you think that if we don’t that they’ll . . . they’ll torture Tam?” Shantarius asks, her voice trembling. Greg puts his arm around her and squeezes her gently. They obviously love each other. Thomas is lucky. I’m happy for him.
“Yeah. I think they will,” I say, “Just like they tortured my mom.”
Greg looks at me with a mixture of surprise and shock.
“Your mom?”
“She got busted for counseling her clients without wearing her helmet. It was years ago. They took her away, used electric shock therapy to temporarily repress her memory so it would be easier to brainwash her in re-education camp. There’s still some parts of my childhood she can’t remember . . . and sometimes she has these horrible dreams and wakes up screaming. . . .”
I realize I’m starting to cry and quickly brush away the lone tear that’s escaped to run down my cheek.
“I’m so sorry,” Shantarius says, reaching across from where she’s sitting to put a hand on my knee. Her act of kindness threatens to unleash a floodgate of emotion, and I can’t have that right now. We need to stay focused. So I stand up quickly and walk to the other side of the room before turning around to face them again.
“So, we need to get this protest going, or the same thing could happen to Tam.”
When I say this, I can’t stop the tears. They just start coming down my face. I thought I could be strong, but it’s just too much to keep it all inside. I put my hands up to cover my face and begin to sob. I’m pretty sure they know now that Tam and I are more than just friends. I feel an arm around me and then hear Shantarius’ voice.
“Hey, hey, we’re not gonna let that happen to Tam. And I’m sorry they did that to your mom.”
She rubs my shoulder up and down as she pulls me into a side-hug.
“Come here,” she says, pulling me into a full-on hug, at which point I just lean into it and let her hold me while I cry.
“I just can’t . . . I just don’t want to lose him,” I manage to say between sobs.
She guides me back over to the couch where she and Greg were sitting as Greg gets up.
“I’ll go make some tea,” he says and leaves the room.
A few minutes later, I’ve stopped crying, and I’m holding a cup of what tastes like raspberry tea.
“Thanks for taking such a risk to help Tam,” Greg says.
I nod.
“So, we went down to the police station, but we weren’t able to see or talk to Tam,” he continues. “He’s being held in some special status that prevents him from having visitors until after the hearing. We’ve contacted a lawyer, and we’re scheduled to meet with them tomorrow morning to see what can be done to stop this. In the meantime, what can we do to help with getting a protest going?”
“I’ve contacted a local human rights activist through my mom,” I say. “He’s agreed to help organize a protest. He has about ten regulars who will show up, but with such short notice, it’s going to be a challenge to get a large crowd. We need as many people as we can get. If you can contact your friends, neighbors, your church—anyone who will come out and show up—the more, the better. We should make as many signs as possible to hand out to the people who show up saying stuff like, ‘Free Tamika’ and ‘Stop the torture.’ You get the idea.”
We spend the rest of the evening making homemade protest signs. Philantrius—Thomas’ sister—pitches in, adding her artistic talents to make the billboards stand out more with peace signs and other images. The Usarian’s call everyone they know to try and recruit them, and I post the details to several online forums. I didn’t mention to them that since we didn’t apply for a permit, the protest could lead to some of them getting thrown into jail. But it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make to help free Thomas.
By midnight, we’re all exhausted. They graciously let me spend the night in the guest bedroom. I fall asleep thinking of Thomas, wishing I could talk to him and tell him it’s all going to be okay, and wondering if it really will be.
