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I smile, hoping to make her feel safe, to coax her into speaking to me.
She bares her teeth.
“Mom,” I say again, this time more sternly. Ironically, I’m channeling how she used to sound when I was being reprimanded.
She closes her lips back over her teeth and then she starts to crawl toward the bars. This was a horrible idea. Why did I want to see my mother like this? What does it matter if they terminate her? This woman is nothing like the parent I lost.
When she reaches the bars, she uses them to pull herself up. And then she brushes off her pants and turns her eyes to mine. I notice a scar, thicker than the rest, glinting silver-white on her forehead.
“Adelice,” she murmurs, but it sounds more like a hiss.
It’s not my mother’s voice. Still, she remembers me.
“I’m not sure why I came,” I admit. My words bounce around the mostly empty room, leaving a faint echo.
“You came to see your mother,” she says, “but we both know I’m not really your mother, Adelice.”
I’ve seen Remnants attack, and the amount of destruction they can inflict, and yet, listening to her speak so coherently shocks me. She’d howled when we took her into the safe house.
“You thought I’d be some kind of zombie,” she says.
I nod.
“You assume that because we attack you, we’re animals, but we’re not,” she says angrily.
“Then what do you do with the people you take?” I ask. “Why attack at all?”
She looses a hollow laugh. “Survival, child. We can’t all make it here.”
“We’d stand a better chance if we worked together,” I say.
“An idealistic dream,” she scoffs.
It’s in the way she says it. The way her eyes seem to lock on mine but still look right past me. There’s something missing, something vital. Never has Remnant seemed like such a fitting term.
“How do you know who I am?” I ask.
She stares at me and her lips curl up at the corners. “You’re hoping I’ll admit to some latent memories, I assume. That deep down I remember being your mother.”
I back up a few steps. Each of her words stings a bit more than the last.
“Rest assured, I do remember my life before,” she says, keeping her eyes on me. “I remember getting coffee and making dinner and wasting every night trying to rescue you. What I don’t remember is why. Why I did any of it. But that’s not the only reason I know your name, Adelice.
“We were prepped to look for you,” she admits with a wicked smile. “We were shown pictures, told about who you were and that we must retrieve you at any cost.”
“Retrieve?” Nothing about what she’s telling me is a surprise except this.
“Or kill,” she coos.
That’s more like it.
“I remembered you, of course. I could foresee every stupid move you would make. Coming to rescue your friend. It was my idea to snatch him. I would be embarrassed by how predictable you are—how much you let those boys influence your actions—if I cared. If I was still trapped in Meria’s pathetic mind-set. But I’m not. That’s why he put me in charge of the troops. Because I’m perfectly in control of myself. And because I know you.” She turns her eyes from mine and the scar comes into harsh relief, cutting across her cheekbone. Her clothes prevent me from seeing how far it goes.
“He?” I ask, even though I don’t need to know who she’s talking about.
“Your jilted fiancé,” she mocks. “Cormac misses you desperately. Tell me, Adelice, would you have invited me to your wedding?”
“Probably not,” I say coolly, although invisible screws twist my insides. “Maybe you can come to my funeral.”
