The chaperone, p.1
The Chaperone, page 1
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2023 by M Hendrix
Cover and internal design © 2023 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Liz Dresner/Sourcebooks
Cover images © Ada Summer/Getty, Marko/Stocksy
Internal design by Laura Boren
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567–4410
(630) 961-3900
sourcebooks.com
Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.
CONTENTS
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part II
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Part III
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Stella’s Library
Acknowledgments
Author Bio
Back Cover
For all the young people out there who dream of a better world.
And in memory of my father, the first person to teach me the importance of equality.
EMBRACE PURITY.
NAVIGATE THE WORLD WITH CARE.
RESPECT YOUR CHAPERONE.
PART I
CHAPTER 1
I hear it while I’m in my room getting ready for Sunday Visitation.
A thump so loud it sounds like a piece of furniture falling to the floor. Did it come from the other side of my bedroom wall? Sister Helen’s room is on the other side of that wall.
In the annex.
But if the thump came from…that would mean…
I put my ear to the wall at the same time that my hand goes to the base of my neck. I’m still clutching my throat when a door slams so hard it shakes the windows.
I drop my hand and dart for the hallway.
CHAPTER 2
My mother comes out of her bedroom the same time I do. We meet on the landing above the marble staircase. I’m greeted by the smell of her vetiver perfume. She holds out her hands like she’s stopping traffic. I have no choice but to wait.
Everything about Mom is impeccable. Take away the fluffy white slippers, and she could be in an ad on the Freedom Channel. Her makeup is perfectly applied, highlighting her full lips and high cheekbones. And her golden-brown hair falls across her gray-blue eyes in the exact same way mine does when I follow her instructions. People always say we look like sisters, but I don’t see it.
“Did you hear that?” I ask Mom.
“Stella, why aren’t you dressed? Levi will be here any minute.” In Mom’s eyes, my V-neck and leggings seem messy. Unkempt. “And you really should take off that necklace. It draws too much attention to your…”
She doesn’t finish. But I know what she means.
Embrace purity.
Of course, Visitation is all Mom cares about. All she cares about are appearances.
“Mom.” I don’t hide the impatience in my voice. “Did. You. Hear. It?”
She nods an almost imperceptible nod at the same time Shea steps out her bedroom door, looking at us with fear in her eyes. Even at the age of seven, she’s thinking the same thing I am. Is someone in the house? Have they come for us? We live in a constant state of paranoia.
“What was that?” Shea says in her I’m-scared voice. I should be braver than Shea, but I’m scared too. I’m scared all the time, because every week another girl goes missing.
“Go back in your room,” Mom instructs Shea in a voice colder than necessary.
I put my hand on Shea’s shoulder, as tiny as a doll’s. “It’ll be okay.” The truth is, I’m not certain it will be.
Mom wags a finger at Shea. “And lock the door.”
Shea must be more frightened than normal because she doesn’t argue. She steps back and turns the lock when her door clicks shut.
Mom turns to me. “Where’s your father?”
“In the garage?”
That’s where Dad hides when he’s not at work. Mom shakes her head in frustration, a common response when Dad comes up.
“We should see if—”
“Stella, I’m sure everything’s fine. Your father will check when he gets back.”
Even though everything in me is telling me not to wait, she’s right. Dad is the only one with a gun. A Glock 9mm. It’s on his hip at all times. Women aren’t allowed to carry firearms. It’s the job of men to protect us.
Navigate the world with care.
I look her right in the eye. “Mom, please.”
That’s when we hear the scream.
It’s the kind of scream you hear in movies from Old America. The ones about a serial killer taking out teenagers. Before it’s all over, every single girl ends up dead.
And that scream definitely sounded female.
* * *
I start down the giant staircase, Mom right behind me. She must’ve kicked off her slippers.
“Stella, wait!” Mom whisper-yells as I reach the first floor, but I ignore her.
I’m at the other end of the house—through the sprawling dining room and the massive kitchen—in seconds. The first floor is dead quiet. Everything untouched. There’s no sign of anything out of place.
Mom catches me when I get to the threshold that crosses into the annex, throws an arm in front of me so I can’t start up the back stairs. She leaps past me and takes the steps two at a time. I’m right behind her, remembering what we heard.
The thump.
The door.
“Hello?” Mom pushes open the half-closed door of Sister Helen’s room. That’s when I see her.
Sister Helen.
On the floor.
Clutching her neck like she’s choking.
CHAPTER 3
I rush past Mom into the room, dropping to Sister Helen’s side. Strands of white hair stick to her sweaty forehead.
“Sister Helen, are you okay?” Tears come to my eyes, but I fight them. She doesn’t look at me. “Sister Helen, it’s me. It’s Stella.”
It’s like she doesn’t even know I’m here.
I glance over my shoulder at Mom. “Mom, do something!”
Mom shakes her head, a hand over her mouth. “I can’t, Stella.”
“Mom, please!”
“Your dad will be here soon.”
I turn back to Sister Helen. “Will you look at me? Please?”
Sister Helen finally angles her head in my direction, her lavender scent washing over me. Only today it’s mixed with the unmistakable odor of urine. Has she wet her pants? In her green eyes, there’s a sadness I’ve never seen there before. Sadness and pain. For the first time I notice the many lines around her face, lines I’ve always missed because of her warm smile. But now they stand out, reminding me that, at sixty, she’s no longer young.
Sister Helen puts one hand on my face, cradling my cheek. Her other hand is balled into a fist. I choke off tears. I must stay strong. I must be brave. Sister Helen opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Sister Helen? What happened?”
Her eyes stare into mine as she lifts her fist to my hand. When she finds my palm, she opens her fist and drops something inside. It’s the white quartz pendant she’s worn since the day I met her.
Why is she giving it to me?
I look to Sister Helen for an answer. Her lips are moving, but I can’t hear anything. She wants to say something. She grips my arm, forcing me closer. I turn my ear to her mouth.
“Ain.” She croaks out one word at a time. “Jell.”
I glance at Mom, searching for the explanation she never has, before turning back to Sister Helen. “What did you say?”
She tries again. Almost no sound emerges. I read her lips. “Ain.” She mouths the words. “Jell.” She says it another time. This time faster. “Ain. Jell.”
“Ain Jell?” I ask her out loud. And then I understand. Ain Jell… Angel. “Angel?”
Her pupils go up and down.
I nod though I have no idea what she means.
Her eyes still, and something in them shifts. It isn’t sadness I see anymore. It’s terror.
“Sister Helen, what’s happening?”
Her gaze bores into mine. She’s trying to tell me something.
“Sister Helen, don’t leave me!”
I haven’t even gotten the words out when her eyes lose focus, moving from side to side like a metronome. A moment later, they stop and roll to the back of her head. A trickle of blood leaks out of the side of her mouth.
Now I’m the one who screams.
CHAPTER 4
Dad rushes into the room.
He doubles over, puts his hands on his knees. He’s breathing so hard his salt-and-pepper hair lifts with every breath. His shirt is soaked with sweat. “I got here as soon as I could. I was all the way out in the—” He pauses and looks around, as if seeing the space for the first time. The solitary wood dresser. The neat stack of books on the bedside table. The simple white quilt on the small twin bed. His gaze lands on me.
“Stella, my God.”
I flinch. He could get arrested for saying that word.
“Are you okay?”
“Dad, you have to…just please…help her!”
He takes in the scene. Me on the floor. Sister Helen in my arms. Blood all over her white caftan. Her head rolled back so far her body arches into a back bend. “My God. What happened?” He glances at Mom before moving to my side.
Mom shakes her head, completely mute.
“Did she have a heart attack?” Dad asks. “A stroke?”
I jerk my head up. “What do you mean?”
“She was getting older, Stella.”
“She was in perfect health.”
“We don’t know that.”
He’s right. Sister Helen seemed healthy—she did crow pose with me every afternoon at yoga, and we often hiked fifteen miles on weekends like it was nothing—but what if it wasn’t nothing? What if she was struggling, and I didn’t know it?
“But, Dad,” I plead, “someone was here. A door slammed. We all heard it.” I glance at Mom for support, but she doesn’t even return my gaze. “Whoever it was got away.”
Dad waves a hand at me. “It was probably just the wind, Stella. Do you have any idea how strong the wind is today?”
“I have no idea.” I’m not allowed outside alone, but I don’t dare voice that frustration.
“Stella, we need to get you out of here.”
I’m supposed to obey him. That’s how a proper daughter acts, that’s how I act, but for some reason, I don’t move. I can’t leave her. I just can’t.
Give obedience.
Dad drops to one knee. I smell his strange mixture of aftershave and hospital. “You have to leave, Stella.” He puts two fingers on Sister Helen’s neck.
What is he doing?
I take a deep breath and try my best to hold in the tears. “Dad, what’s happening?”
“I’m sorry, Stella.”
This can’t happen. Sister Helen cannot be dead. Because there is no way I can live without her. My chest tightens so much I feel like I’m choking on my own lungs. I wipe tears away, but they keep coming.
I don’t even realize how hard I’m crying until Dad says, “Please don’t cry, Stella.” Dad lifts his hand to my back, his touch as shocking as a slap. What is he doing? He’s not supposed to touch me. Not ever. I can’t remember the last time we were this close. It’s been years.
“Stella,” he says, making me look into his gray eyes. “You have to let her go. She’s in God’s hands now.”
His voice is too calm. Doesn’t he understand what’s happening?
“We have to call the constables. The police too.”
“The police?”
Everyone knows the police don’t know what they’re doing. They haven’t solved a crime in months. The Minutemen are the ones with real power. Their party controls everything in New America. From the top branches of government liberty, purity, and security—all the way down to the military constables. Even the prime minister is a member of the Minuteman Party.
“You can’t be here,” he says.
“I don’t care.” I look directly at Dad. “I’m not leaving her.” I’ve never talked back to him before. Hearing my defiance out loud is terrifying.
“Stella, honey.” He pats my back the same way he did when I was little. I look into his face but see no sign of recognition. Does he realize what he’s doing? Ever since I became a woman, Dad hasn’t been allowed to touch me. It’s against the rules. “You feel that way now, but later…you’ll understand. You have to say goodbye.”
Mom hovers in the doorway. Mouth flat, arms crossed. She doesn’t say a word. This is how it always is. Dad doing, Mom watching.
“Go ahead, Stella,” Dad says. “Take your time. We’ll wait.”
I wipe my nose on my sleeve.
Dad flips a crisp, white handkerchief out of his pocket. He passes it to me before returning his hand to my back.
The warmth of his touch is reassuring. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything from him besides judgment. Too long. It’s Sister Helen who holds me when I cry. Sister Helen who offers me encouragement when I need it. How can I say goodbye to the person who knows me better than anyone in the world? When we read Emily Dickinson together, Sister Helen made me memorize one line. That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet. She taught me not to fear death, but she never showed me how to let go of the dying. I got incredibly lucky when Sister Helen was assigned to me. She never wanted to control me the way some chaperones do. She wanted me to be my own person. But the truth is, I have no idea how to do that. I have no idea who I am without her by my side. How can I possibly go on alone?
That’s when it hits me.
I won’t be alone.
After Sister Helen is gone, after I sit through my Days of Grief, they’ll send another.
CHAPTER 5
Dad tells Mom to take me back to my room, and she does exactly what he says.
Shea peeks out when we pass her bedroom. “Mommy?”
Mom shushes her. I want to offer Shea a smile, but I can’t summon a brave face.
