The Torturer's Daughter Read online

  The Torturer's Daughter

  Zoe Cannon

  When her best friend Heather calls in the middle of the night, Becca assumes it’s the usual drama. Wrong. Heather’s parents have been arrested as dissidents—and Becca’s mother, the dystopian regime’s most infamous torturer, has already executed them for their crimes against the state.

  To stop Heather from getting herself killed trying to prove her parents’ innocence, Becca hunts for proof of their guilt. She doesn’t expect to find evidence that leaves her questioning everything she thought she knew about the dissidents… and about her mother.

  When she risks her life to save a dissident, she learns her mother isn’t the only one with secrets—and the plot she uncovers will threaten the lives of the people she loves most. For Becca, it’s no longer just a choice between risking execution and ignoring the regime’s crimes; she has to decide whose life to save and whose to sacrifice.

  It’s easy to be a hero when you can save the world, but what about when all you can do is choose how you live in it? THE TORTURER’S DAUGHTER is a story about ordinary teenage life amidst the realities of living under an oppressive regime… and the extraordinary courage it takes to do what’s right in a world gone wrong.

  Zoe Cannon

  THE TORTURER’S DAUGHTER

  For Kylen

  who never doubted I would make it here

  Chapter One

  Becca’s steps slowed as she approached Processing 117. The floodlights of the parking lot shone down on her, exposing her. Past the lot, the darkness threatened to close in. There was no other source of light nearby except for the dim glow of the streetlamps, nothing but trees for at least a mile in every direction.

  The concrete structure loomed taller than its five stories—maybe because of the invisible presence of the underground levels, or maybe because in a moment Becca was going to have to walk inside.

  Heather can’t have been arrested. If she were a prisoner, they wouldn’t have let her call.

  But when Becca remembered the panic in Heather’s voice, the thought wasn’t all that reassuring anymore.

  Becca took the last few steps across the not-quite-empty parking lot. The windows of the upper floors glowed in a patchwork of lights, showing who was working another late night and who was at home sleeping… or down on the underground levels. Becca knew that in one of those dark offices, a phone had been ringing off the hook for the past half-hour, its owner oblivious to Becca’s pleas for her to answer, to find Heather for her, to fix this.

  Becca reached the double doors of the entrance—and froze. Her heart thudded against her ribcage.

  Heather is in there, she reminded herself. Heather needs me.

  She pulled the doors open and stepped inside.

  The doors slammed shut behind her, the noise echoing off the stark white walls. Security cameras stared down at her from the ceiling. The guards, one to either side of the metal detector, pinned her to the floor with their eyes, but said nothing.

  Opposite the metal detector from Becca, the room was bare except for a huge metal desk with corners that looked sharp enough to cut. Behind the desk, a dark-haired woman with a headset clipped to her ear stopped mid-yawn and jerked up to face her.

  Becca held her breath and stepped through the metal detector. Its light flashed green, and one of the guards waved her forward. She let her breath out and stepped up to the desk.

  She eyed the woman’s crisp gray suit, and the desk that gleamed like it had never seen a speck of dust in its life. Then she looked down at her own clothes, the jeans and wrinkled t-shirt she had grabbed from her dresser after hanging up with Heather. She crossed her arms around her stomach.

  The receptionist’s bleary surprise had vanished, replaced by a stone mask. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for…” Becca bit back the name on her lips. No. If she were in her office, she would have answered the phone. Anyway, Becca could imagine her reaction at finding out about this midnight walk to 117. Becca was on her own.

  “…Heather Thomas,” she finished. “She called me half an hour ago and told me she was here.”

  The receptionist’s expression didn’t tell Becca anything.

  “She’s here… somewhere… she called me…” Becca’s voice trailed off. I’m not doing anything wrong, she told herself. I’m not a dissident. Heather’s not a dissident.

  Which led Becca back to the question that had been circling through her mind since she had gotten Heather’s call. What was Heather doing here?

  The receptionist turned away and tapped something out on her keyboard. It only took her a few seconds to find what she was looking for. She typed in something else and touched her earpiece. “We have a detainee in temporary holding,” she said to someone Becca couldn’t see. “Last name Thomas. Her file says she’s waiting for a relative to collect her. Right, that’s the one. Someone forgot to collect her phone, and she called a friend.” A pause. “No, that won’t be necessary. Just confiscate the phone.”

  She turned back to Becca. “Heather Thomas is waiting for her guardian to arrive. Are you Lydia Thomas?” She gave Becca a skeptical once-over.

  Becca considered saying yes, but even if the receptionist weren’t going to ask for proof, there was no way she could pass as Heather’s… aunt, she remembered after a moment. Aunt Lydia, the one who always looked at Becca and Heather like being in high school was catching.

  The receptionist took her silence as an answer. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Becca wanted nothing more than to do just that. But she couldn’t leave and let this place swallow Heather. “If she’s waiting for her aunt to get here, I can wait with her until she shows up.”

  “I’m sorry,” said the receptionist, already turning back to her computer. “The policy is clear. The detainee will remain in temporary holding—alone—until her guardian arrives.”

  Becca was losing ground. And somewhere in this building, Heather was waiting for her. “I’m not trying to take her home or anything. I only want to…” To make sure she wasn’t locked away underground. To make sure they hadn’t gotten her mixed up with somebody else, some dissident slated for execution. “…to let her know I’m here. I promised her I’d—”

  “Your refusal to leave the building when instructed will be recorded.” The receptionist placed her hands on her keyboard. “May I have your name?”

  “At least tell me what happened. Why is she here? Is she all right?”

  “Your name, please,” the receptionist repeated.

  If she stayed much longer, the receptionist would order the guards to drag her out—or worse, in. She could end up in one of those underground cells… She shivered. They couldn’t do that to her just for asking about Heather, right?

  “Your name,” the receptionist repeated again, with a glance toward the guards.

  Becca slumped. “Rebecca Dalcourt.”

  The receptionist blinked.

  “Well,” she said, her voice suddenly warmer, “I suppose we can make an exception.”

  * * *

  The room looked like somebody’s afterthought. The walls were painted a flat gray that matched the worn carpet. Two folding chairs had been shoved together along one wall, leaving the rest of the room empty. The smell of sweat and carpet cleaner hung in the air. Heather sat in the chair furthest from the door, rocking slightly. She didn’t show any sign of having heard the door open.

  The guard stepped out of the room and pushed the door shut behind Becca. It closed with a click that made Becca suspect she was now locked in.

  “Heather?”

  Heather didn’t look at her.

  “It’s me. Becca. I told you I’d come.”

  He
ather raised her head like she was moving through water. She stared past Becca with mascara-smeared eyes. Her hands trembled in her lap. This wasn’t the Heather who had tried to talk Becca into a makeover at the mall this afternoon—or was that yesterday afternoon by now? She could still hear Heather laughing as she tugged Becca toward the makeup counter. Come on, Becca! Do something fun for once. The girl in front of her looked as if she had never laughed in her life.

  Becca sat down next to the trembling girl who didn’t look nearly enough like Heather. “What are you doing here?” Her voice came out as a croak. She cleared her throat. “What happened?”

  On the phone, Heather had only managed disconnected phrases through her sobs. Took them. Told me to wait. Please come. Please. And then the words that had chilled Becca’s blood and brought her here—I’m at 117.

  Now Heather dug her nails into her legs as she spoke. “My parents.” She swallowed, like she was trying to take back the words before she could speak them. “Internal took them.”

  “What do you mean, took them?” Stupid question. That only ever meant one thing. But… Heather’s parents, below them in one of the underground cells? No. Heather’s parents had worked for Internal Defense longer than Becca had known them, longer than Heather had even been alive. For them to be arrested… how could Internal have made a mistake like that?

  Heather sank bonelessly back against the chair. The back of her head thunked against the wall; she didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t know why… I don’t know why they…”

  “Tell me how it happened.” Maybe Heather had gotten it wrong. Impossible, to get something like that wrong—but more likely than Heather’s parents being dissidents.

  “I heard footsteps. After Mom and Dad were asleep. I was still up.” Heather dug her fingers deeper into her jeans, until her nails went white. “I thought it was a burglar or something. But it was… them.”

  “Enforcement?” Becca tried to imagine Enforcers in Heather’s apartment, with their faceless helmets and black body armor, dragging Heather’s parents away like dissidents in the middle of the night. She couldn’t.

  Heather nodded. “They walked past me like I wasn’t there. They got Mom and Dad out of bed. I didn’t know if I should warn them, or… It didn’t make sense. None of it made any sense.” Heather paused to catch her breath. “Mom tried to fight. They slammed her against the wall a couple of times. I think her nose was broken, after. I don’t know.”

  Heather stopped, blinking back tears. Becca waited.

  After a moment, Heather continued. “She tried to say something to me, but they wouldn’t let her. Dad… just went with them. He didn’t argue. He didn’t say anything. I kept trying to tell the Enforcers they had the wrong people, but they wouldn’t listen.” Her last word broke off into a sob.

  What could Becca say to any of that? She placed her hand over Heather’s and tried to ignore the thoughts creeping into her mind, the voice telling her that Heather’s parents wouldn’t have been arrested if they were innocent.

  “It has to be a mistake.” Heather’s eyes dared Becca to contradict her.

  Earlier, when she had thought Heather was the one in trouble, Becca had told herself the same thing. She had worried over all the possible scenarios. Someone could have misinterpreted what Heather had said about not wanting to join the Monitors. Or there was that Monitor who thought Heather had stolen her boyfriend last year—she could have decided to get a horrible kind of revenge. Or Internal could have gotten Heather confused with somebody else.

  But all those scenarios applied to Heather. Heather hadn’t been arrested; her parents had. That changed everything. No one would arrest two Internal agents without double-checking. No one would dare.

  Becca had taken too long to answer. Heather’s gaze hardened. “You don’t think it was a mistake,” she accused. “You think they’re…” She stopped short of saying the word.

  “No!” The denial leapt from Becca’s mouth; whether it was for her benefit or Heather’s, she didn’t know. She lowered her voice. “I’m sure it’s a mistake,” she lied. “Processing probably figured it out as soon as your parents got here. They’ll probably walk in here any second now and explain everything.”

  The door opened.

  Becca and Heather both jerked to their feet. But the woman who stepped into the room ahead of the guard wasn’t Heather’s mother. She was tall and bony, with a pinched expression on her face. She aimed her gaze at a point above Heather’s head like she was afraid to look directly at her.

  “Aunt Lydia.” Heather’s voice was flat.

  Heather’s aunt turned to the guard. “I assume you’ve made sure she’s… safe.”

  The guard frowned. “Safe?”

  “I’m not bringing a dissident into my home.”

  “We’re not in the habit of releasing dissidents,” the guard said stiffly. He gestured to the door. “We have some paperwork for you to take care of, but then you’ll be free to take Heather home.”

  Heather filed out of the room behind her aunt, casting a panicked look over her shoulder at Becca. Becca tried to follow, but just outside the door, a second guard held her back with a hand on her shoulder. “Your friend’s aunt is here to take her home. It’s time for you to leave.”

  “But Heather—”

  “Will be taken care of. Go home. Get some sleep.” He tightened his grip. “I’ll escort you to the exit.”

  It’s just a mistake, Becca wanted to call after Heather. They’ll work it out. It’ll be okay. But Heather was already gone.

  * * *

  The creak of the apartment door woke Becca from her half-sleep. She raised her head to see her mom slip into the apartment. She stood up from the couch, causing every muscle in her body to protest.

  Her mom closed the door behind her, then leaned against it and groaned in exhaustion. Only then did she look at Becca.

  Her gaze sharpened; so did her voice. “I would have thought you’d be asleep, after your visit to 117 last night—or was it this morning?”

  Her mom had found out. Of course she had. But despite her mom’s disapproving tone, Becca relaxed at the sound of her voice. Processing was her mom’s world; if anyone could fix this, she could. Becca could lay the problem at her feet and go to sleep knowing Heather would be okay.

  “Heather called me,” said Becca. “I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer your phone. Heather’s parents—”

  Her mom interrupted. “I was on the underground levels all night.” She gave Becca a stern look. “You should have waited. I don’t like the thought of you walking down that road in the middle of the night—let alone going to 117. If you had waited a couple of hours, I could have told you everything was under control.”

  “Then you know what happened?” More of the tension slipped out of Becca’s muscles. Her mom was handling it. Becca didn’t have to do anything else.

  “With Heather’s parents? Yes.” She looked like she was about to say more, but stopped.

  The doubts that had wormed their way into Becca’s head during her talk with Heather started whispering to her again. She shook them aside. “Why were they arrested? It was a mistake… right? I mean, it had to be.” Even she could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

  Becca’s mom crossed the room to where Becca was standing and sat down on the couch. She motioned for Becca to join her. Becca did, although she wasn’t sure she wanted to. A cold knot started growing in the pit of her stomach.

  “I knew this wouldn’t be easy for you.” She had her mother-face on; her voice was heavy. She hadn’t sounded like this since the day ten years ago when she had told Becca about the divorce.

  She stared ahead of her out the window, where the sky was beginning to show the first glimmers of sunrise. The light glinted off the half-finished new apartment building next door. From what Becca could see so far, the new building would look just like the one she lived in, except maybe a little bigger. In an hour or two the construction noises would start up aga
in.

  “We all learn this lesson, sooner or later,” she continued. “A neighbor or a friend or a relative is arrested, and we find out we don’t know the people around us as well as we thought we did. I wish you didn’t have to find out this way.”

  Not a mistake after all. But how could Heather’s parents have been… The cold in Becca’s stomach started spreading through her limbs.

  Becca shook her head. “You have to tell me more than that. This is Heather.” Becca’s best friend for ten years, ever since Becca’s dad had moved across the country and her mom had moved the two of them to Internal housing—to the apartment next to Heather’s.

  The day Becca had moved in, Heather had distracted her from her tears by showing her around the building and doing funny imitations of all the neighbors. Before long, they had been over at each other’s apartments every day, Heather getting Becca into trouble and Becca getting Heather out of it. Now, ten years later, they were still inseparable—Heather with the spark that drew everybody in, Becca the anchor that held her to the earth. Heather was the one person in the world who knew Becca better than her mom did… and out of all Heather’s friends, Becca suspected she was the only one Heather trusted enough to really confide in.

  And now Becca was supposed to believe Heather’s parents were dissidents?

  “All right,” her mom said heavily. “You know Heather’s parents worked in Surveillance.”

  Becca nodded. “So they can’t be dissidents. If they were, how could they have worked there for that long without anyone knowing?”

  “They were very careful,” her mom answered. “For most, if not all, of that time, they’ve been working with a dissident group we thought we eliminated a couple of years ago—a group that had several people inside Internal. Heather’s parents have been altering transcripts, deleting data, and passing warnings to suspected dissidents.” The weariness in her voice increased with every word. “I know this isn’t the answer you were hoping for, but they are dissidents.”