Chapter 3

The Following Saturday

I grinned at Jana’s excitement.

Jana, jumping up and down in place, her face glowing, bubbled, “This is going to be so cool, Grant!”

Grant smiled back. “I know. I remember my first show.”

I always felt a little amused at seeing the first-ever underclass girl to have a crush on Grant. Every student in school was in awe of him, but the degree of that awe kept them at a distance. Jana’s feelings were much more personal. I gave Jana a big-sister look. “Jana, just keep remembering this is Garrett’s day.”

Jana looked slightly hurt. “I know, Amy, I know. I’m trying to get it all out of my system now so I can just be cool when the time comes. I’m not going to take any attention away from him at his own hanging.”

Beside Jana, Melissa closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s like the air ... I don’t know, tastes different out here.”

I laughed. “I remember how it felt, my first time out. There’s this whole world out here you’ve almost forgot about.” Graduation, last week, had been a big moment for the Second Years, but today was a still bigger step for Jana and Melissa, being allowed off the campus altogether. It wasn’t as if they’d been cooped up in the building—all of the students had plenty of time for tanning and jogging and outdoor games in the Academy’s inner courtyards. But I had to agree, it seemed different out here.

Garrett, for his part, had that other glow—the one that always suffused the face of a Noosemeister on the day of his show. He was the first of my class to be sold for hanging, and he was immensely proud. The arrangements, in fact, had been made the week before graduation—the boys from Larry and Laney’s class were all departed now, and the client had only the near-graduates to choose from, with the understanding that the sale would not be final until after the ceremony.

I set down my bag and hugged Garrett tightly, barely touching my cheek to Garrett’s, trying not to spoil his hair. I had already said goodbye to Garrett earlier, after breakfast. This was more in the nature of a good-luck hug.

Garrett was dressed to impress, just as Miranda had been when she had arrived at my house so long ago—black silk shirt that seemed to mold itself to his chest, matching shorts, white leather boots with “elevator” heels, all of it looking gorgeous against his dark skin. His collar, likewise white, read in flowing blue script, “Garrett, Property of David Madison.” I was tempted to think everyone at the pre-hanging party would stare at nothing but Garrett’s long legs, but the outfit did draw the eye to his other attractive features as well. And of course, Garrett was highly trained in making people admire everything about him. I whispered, “You’re going to do a fantastic job, babe. But I’ll miss you a lot.”

Garrett sighed and let go, and chuckled. “Just don’t make me cry, okay? I spent so much time on my face this morning.”

I laughed. “Okay, I won’t say how much I love you.”

Garrett grinned back, “Deal. I love you too.”

I gave Shawna a hug as well. She was dressed for her role as executioner in a black leather halter top that left a deep V opening between her breasts, very tight black leather pants that ended just below her knees, black spike-heeled boots similar to Garrett’s white ones, black Academy collar, and the requisite eyewear, nearly opaque-looking shades. As I released him from the hug, Garrett let his hands drop down to take both of Shawna’s. “Have you worked out who you’re going to stay with after you get back?”

Shawna nodded. “For now I’ll go back with Jackie and Erland.” Shawna had moved in with them after I had volunteered to take her place as Grant’s roommate.

I smiled. “That’ll be nice. Remind you of the old days.” I thought about asking Shawna to come by some night for a movie, but decided to wait and sound her out when we were alone. Shawna appeared to have forgiven Grant completely, and she and Grant had worked together closely as teachers of the essential techniques now used by all of the students. They had not, though, in all this time, been together in a purely social way.

Jana and Melissa were dressed in slightly less eye-catching outfits, though still perfectly appropriate for parties, each in green half-tops and short skirts. I looked over Melissa’s outfit. “You look really nice, hon. You did get to practice with them, right?” I felt a need to make sure Melissa and Jana were prepared for their roles. Garrett was doing the Runaway Slave show, which now included one or two extra slaves, and I had recommended that he take Jana and Melissa along, for their first experience in a real show. I felt a certain degree of responsibility for their performance.

Melissa sighed in exasperation. “We hardly have to do anything, Amy. You know that. We’re just a couple of naked slave girls in a cage, and we don’t have any lines. Just moan in horror and cry when they drag in Garrett to hang him and ‘teach us the penalty for trying to escape.’ And yes, we know to quiet down when the hanging actually starts.”

Jana’s eyes glowed. “And we’ll be in chains!”

I laughed. I’d known Jana would love that part.

The limo pulled up in front. Garrett, Shawna, Melissa, and Jana, all in high spirits now that their adventure was underway, tossed their bags in the trunk and piled in. Rolling down the window, Jana called out, “You’ll be back tomorrow night, Grant?”

Grant grinned and nodded. “Tell me how everything goes.”

“Oh, for sure! See you!”

From beyond Jana in the seat, Melissa waved enthusiastically. “See you Sunday night, Amy!”

I waved back, grinning. “Take notes!”

Melissa started to say, “I won’t have...” and laughed as she realized I was joking. “Have a great weekend!”

As the limo pulled away, another rolled to a stop where the first had been. Orson emerged from the driver’s seat and opened the near door for Grant and me.

I felt suddenly odd to be so casually dressed while getting into an Academy limo. I’d been off campus for a variety of reasons in the last two years, but nearly always for formal occasions, for which eye-catching attire was demanded. This was my first family visit, admittedly not my own family. I wore denim shorts and a polo shirt with the Academy logo, of the sort some of the students wore instead of their uniform t-shirts in the summer when the building’s air-conditioning was overly enthusiastic. Much as I hated parting with my red collar, I decided it didn’t quite go with the outfit, so I chose a dark blue one matching the shorts. Grant was even more casual, in a white tank top and cut offs. But Grant was eye-catching regardless of what he happened to be wearing.

After fastening his seat belt, Grant closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, his hand over his chest. I rubbed Grant’s back. “It’s your own family, hon! Everything’s going to be fine.”

Grant muttered, barely loud enough for me to hear, “Hope so.”

Orson opened the limo door; I got out and took in my first sight of Grant’s house. The idea that Grant had ever lived anywhere other than the Academy was still, somehow, startling. It was a nice, roomy-looking house, not as large as the one I’d grown up in, but a good size more than was needed for a family of four.

At the front door, Grant tried the doorknob, but found it locked. He sighed. “Probably forgot I don’t have a key.”

“Hope they remembered we’re coming.”

Grant snickered and, with another sigh, rang the doorbell, obviously a little put out at having to do that at his own house.

A girl opened the door, and I blinked in surprise. She appeared to be about nineteen or twenty, much too old to be Kathleen. She wore a white t-shirt partly covered by an open, sleeveless brown leather vest, with slightly darker pants, and sneakers on her feet. The only clue to her identity was the beautiful silvery chain-link slave collar. This, obviously, was Maya, the servant Grant’s father had mentioned having bought a few months ago when he’d grown tired of getting by on twice-weekly maid service and cooking his own meals. Somehow I’d visualized a woman closer to thirty or so. Maya’s casual attire must be something Grant’s father found attractive or cute—he would have set the rules for her wardrobe. Or possibly he had left it to her to decide how to dress. Maya was very pretty, with bright eyes and straight, nearly black hair cut nearly shoulder-length. She glanced briefly at me, then smiled at Grant.

“Hi, I know you’re Mr. Grant. Mr. Sadler has pictures of you all over.” She gave a small bow, and turned to face me. “And you’re Miss Amy, then.” She repeated the bow, and backed away. “Please come in. Mr. Sadler is in the back yard, doing some gardening.” She looked down at the bags we were carrying. “Please let me take those. May I show you your room first? And then I’ll go find him.”

As we stepped into the house, I heard Orson put the limo in gear, with a brief beep from his horn. I turned and gave him a quick wave, then followed Maya, realizing with a slight start that this was the first time in three years that I’d been away from the Academy with no staff supervision. As unobtrusive as the bodyguards usually were—often to the point of invisibility in another room—I discovered I missed the eyes of the Academy, and felt vaguely as though I were playing hooky.

We followed Maya into the house and down a short hallway. Grant seemed a little bemused. I’d ask later whether Maya was what Grant had been expecting.

Maya stopped just beyond the first open door on the left, and turned to look back at us. “Mr. Sadler thought you should be in your old room, Mr. Grant. He thinks the bed is big enough for Miss Amy too. Is that okay?” Maya stood waiting as Grant looked in through the doorway. The girl obviously hoped the sleeping arrangement would be satisfactory. If not, I had no doubt she would cheerfully rearrange the furniture.

Maya had obviously been through a servant training school, usually a nine-month program of cooking lessons, cleaning methods, servant etiquette, and instruction in all of the standard sexual techniques. Students usually entered the school at 18. It appeared Grant’s father must have bought her immediately after her graduation. I assumed Maya shared a bed with Grant’s father—there seemed only to be three bedrooms I was standing in one, another was presumably Kathleen’s, and one on the other side of the hallway: almost certainly the master bedroom.

Maya had stepped back to let Grant and I enter the room first. My jaw dropped open. A moment later, I nearly burst out laughing, only able to choke it back at the last second. When I trusted my voice, I said, “So, Grant. Is it ... the same as when you left?”

Grant took a quick glance around and said absently, “Been dusted, I guess.”

My first thought was, Grant lived here?? After a moment of reflection, it had occurred to me that nothing in the world could possibly better represent Grant.

The room was done primarily in baby blue, with other pastels in various spots. The bedspread, a darker blue than the walls, was covered in soft pillows and stuffed animals, the latter also occupying the top of a dresser with a blue gilt-bordered mirror. There were posters on the wall of talking animal cartoon movies, and one of a boy band rock group from more than a decade ago whose primary appeal had been to pre-adolescents—I remembered being nuts about them for a time, along with my classmates.

Overall, three quarters of the room looked like an eight-year-old lived in it.

The fourth wall of the room was entirely different. It was filled from one end to the other with wooden bookcases, packed with books and videos. The bookcases were four-feet high, stacked on top of each other from floor to ceiling. On the bookcases were texts on physics, chemistry, anatomy, physiology, the cardiovascular and pulmonary systems, and hanging. The videos included movies and game shows with hangings in them, and instructional hanging films of the sort aimed at amateurs interested in being snuffed by hanging who wanted to prolong the experience as much as possible. (I wondered briefly whether Laney’s brother Emil had found any of these.) There was a smaller collection of texts on mathematics, writing and language arts, history ... Grant’s other studies during his days of home schooling.

It was as if Grant had completely lost all interest in the decor of his room at age eight, making no changes as he grew older, except to add to his collection of books, studying hanging to the exclusion of almost everything else.

I couldn’t hold back the smile. I really should have expected this.

I hadn’t seen Kathleen’s room yet, but I was willing to bet that any visitor to these rooms would assume she was the older brother. Except for the books. Those would leave the visitor scratching his head in puzzlement.

Maya said, “If everything looks okay, Mr. Grant, I’ll go get Mr. Sadler now.” She waited to be dismissed.

Grant had a quizzical smile of his own. “Maya, ummm ... You are Maya, right?”

Maya smiled. “Yes, Mr. Grant.”

Grant sighed in amused exasperation. “Look, you don’t need to call mr that.” He rubbed his own collar with his finger. “You know I’m a slave, right? Just like you. I’m not your master or anything like that.”