The Prior

POV: Elliot Foster

The sun wakes me up in the morning. Cassidy lays peacefully beside me. I watch her for a moment. She’s so beautiful. I resist the urge to just kiss her over and over and over again. I slip out of bed and move to the coffee maker on the other side of the room.

The coffee brews painfully slowly. I wait impatiently for it to finish. Sunlight peaks through the window. I appreciate the warmth of it for a moment. New found appreciation for everything fills my heart. I’ve been on the verge of death so many times, but today it feels different. I’m not just on the verge of death. I’m okay with the fact that I’m on the verge of death. Weird.

I sip my coffee, just as I hear Cassidy stirring from behind me. She sits up in bed, squinting at me. I pour a second cup of coffee and bring it to her. She accepts it gratefully. We don’t speak. The fears surrounding tomorrow keep us from talking about anything else. I change quickly. She moves slower, taking her time. I don’t mind. I’m always mesmerized by her. Last night, she slept in my tee shirt and her underwear. As she brushes her hair in the mirror, I can’t help but watch. My shirt rises up with each stroke, just barely showing me what I’m looking for.

She puts on her fresh clothes––Max’s outfit––and twirls around, giggling. Man, I love her. Just as she slips on her shoes, there’s a knock at the door. I get up to open it. Max awaits, dressed and ready for the day. I let him into the room. He glances at the bed situation, one made and the other recently slept in.

“You’re telling me I could’ve slept in here instead of with chatty Peter?” he grumbles.

“You can sleep here tonight, Max,” Cassidy reasons. He accepts the offer, to my annoyance. Max grabs Peter and the four of us set off.

We hop the Subway gates at take the N train to NYU. I people watch for the entire journey. A college-aged student vomits. An elderly women offers her a muffin (in exchange for $2). The man beside me clips his toenails.

The announcer calls our stop and the nerves begin to hit me. Cassidy takes my hand as we walk up the stairs. I attempt to orient myself, walking to the apartment solely by memory. Things look different now, too. We walk arond block after block for a significant amount of time. Cassidy asks if we might be in the wrong place. I don’t reply.

I turn around, slamming into something behind me. Another pedestrian backs away from me.

She raises an eyebrow, “Lost?”

I strain my eyes at her face. That’s her. That’s my mom. The others stand there in ignorance. I found her.

“Yeah, actually, I’m going to see my childhood home, but I think I got turned around. I can’t remember the address, but it’s this beautiful gray-blue apartment building with a white door and pillars,” I elaborate. My mother’s face changes immediately.

“I know where that is,” she says, “I’m going past there anyway, come with me.”

I turn to Cassidy and nod. She mouths something at me, but I don’t catch it.

“Thanks for helping us, ma’am. What was your name?” Max inquires.

She turns her head back, to face him, still walking ahead, “Isi, soon to be Isi Foster.” she flashes a diamond ring back at us.

Cassidy squeezes my arm, I nod in silence. Peter doesn’t seem to notice, but Max does. He points and I just nod. She leads us to the house I was thinking of.

“Do you know the people who live here?” I ask, “I just wonder what they’ve done with the place.”

She nods and unlocks the door to the home. Max plays along, acting shocked that she lives there. We take the steps up to the apartment. Upon entry into the apartment, a scent fills my lungs. I’m immediately ricocheted into my childhood. The smell of Chocataw cooking. The smell of my dad’s menthol cigarettes. My mother offers use tea. We accept. My father’s not home. He must be working. Other nostalgic items appear. A mirror hangs in the hallway; I used to practice my picture day smile in it. A handmade blanket is draped over the couch; I used to let my friends borrow it during sleepovers. My tea is served in painted tea cups; I was never allowed to use these as a child.

She asks what I think of the place, I tell her that it hasn’t changed much. She touches my face, “You look a lot like my brother. Sorry, it’s hard to stop looking at you.” I didn’t know she had a brother. I didn’t know I had an uncle. I wonder what happened to him. Hm.

I ask her if she’s Chocataw. I tell her that I am. She is stunned, laughing. Her arms wrap around me in an instant. The warmth of her hug cures my sole. At 13, all I wanted was one more hug. Here I am.

She breaks the hug up quicker than I would like for her to. We talk a bit in Choctaw. She eventually inquires about Cassidy, Peter and Max. I explain that Peter and Max are my friends. And, that Cassidy will be my wife soon. We still speak in Choctaw, certainly Cassidy has no idea.

“She is certainly a beautiful girl. She suits you well,” My mother says. I fight back tears. I never thought I would see this day. Cassidy has to be the one, now. I’ll never get an opportunity for my mother to meet another girlfirned ever again. I wish I could tell her about Ava. And what happened to my sister. Maybe I could shape the past. Maybe I could keep her from marrying that asshole. But, I don’t. I wouldn’t want to accidentally make myself non-existant. This is already risky.

Behind me, Cassidy and Max whisper about something. I tune them out, training my eyes straight on my mother. She’s young still. I process now, just how young. She’s already engaged to my father, at just 18. Sitting here at 23, I realize just how young 18 really is. My heart breaks for her. I wish I could warn her about my father’s temper. I wish I could tell her to get out while she can. But, that’s a certain way to get myself un-existed. Cassidy and Max are still whispering, but now she taps me on the shoulder.

“Look how beautiful these coasters are,” she cooes. I glance over. Painted in them is a symbol. A wave of sickness rushes over my body. The symbol on my back, on Cassidy’s leg, on the offical Congressionalist cards… is here. Inked onto that coaster. I dig my fingers into the skin of Cassidy’s leg. My vision goes blurry. My mom was a Congressionalist? Oh, god.

I see the apartment through new eyes now. The symbol is etched into the corners of the mirror, as if it was a pattern. My whole childhood it was there. I never knew. I glance down at my own tea cup. Disguised within the painting is the curves of pattern. My hand begins to tremble as I put it down. My mother pays attention Cassidy’s comment. She shifts next to Cassidy, which spurs Cassidy to whisper something into her ear. My mother nods enthusiastically, almost saying something aloud. Cassidy quickly grips the sleeve of her shirt and whispers something else. My mother glances briefly at Peter and nods. Why did we have to bring him?

Max and Peter whisper behind me now. My body jumps as he places his hand on my shoulder. I inhale, getting my heart rate down and glance at Max.

“Peter and I are going to find a hotdog cart, but you and Cass should stay as long as you want,” he says. I nod at him, gratefully.

“Thank you,” I mutter, making eye contact with him. He releases the hand on my shoulder for a moment, before patting it twice. I turn back to my mother and Cassidy. I don’t know what words have already been exchanged. I glance at them fearfully. The apartment door slams, confirming Max and Peter’s exit.

My mother talks at a normal volume now, “How long have you been members?”

“Just under 3 years, now,” I say. Cassidy nods.

She asks if we had already gotten our marking. My mother was a tattoo artist. I knew that. But, she’s the tattoo artist. Cassidy pulls down the collar of my shirt, tracing the black ink with her fingers. Then, she explains that hers is on her leg. My mom doesn’t reveal her own, but I know where it was. By the time I remembered her, she had hundreds of tattoos. But her and my father had a ‘matching set,’ on their backs. That makes me sick to my stomach.

“Is your husband a Congressionalist too?” I inquire, already knowing the answer.

“Of course. He got me to join,” she says. Of course he fucking did. Steam must be spouting from my ears. Cassidy must know. She squeezes my arm, softly.

“Good,” Cassidy says for me, “What have they had you working on here?” My mom doesn’t reply, at first. This gives me a chance to calm down.

She sighs, “Mostly fundraising. I work in banking, so I’ve been helping with financial efforts.” I feel my muscles tighten. When I was a little, she got fired. I remember my father screaming that she was lucky they didn’t arrest her. This had to of been what it was. I can’t take this much longer. Cassidy continues to talk, but I cut her off.

“We have to go,” I spit. They both look at us in confusion. I gesture to the clock on the wall.

“Remember, we have to run the errand, for tomorrow’s project,” I explain. Cassidy takes my hint.

She nods, “Right,” then turns to my mother, “There’s something happening tomorrow. We have some things to wrap up. It was nice meeting you. We should have lunch sometime.”

“You know where to find me,” My mother says.

We leave. Cassidy clutches my arm, steadily and leads me to the subway station. On the train, I finally am able to speak.

“How was I so oblivious?” I mumble. She rests her head on my shoulder.

“You were a child, Elliot,” she reasons.

I sigh, “I knew the symbol looked familiar. I don’t know how I didn’t put that together. I should have known.”

“I don’t think Max knew, either,” she whispers. Internally, I question the relevance of Max. Then, when I realize what she meant, I think she’s pulling at straws.

“Max’s parents too?”

“Everyone’s. I think.”

—

“W-wait. So, you think we were chosen because our parents are Congessionalists?” Max stutters, “Like even mine?”

Cassidy glances around the room, “Yes. That’s the current suspicion.”

“But…” Max starts.

“Belle’s were. Now we know Elliot’s were. It makes sense. The Congressionalist have to guarantee our parents would still exist after all the changes. The best way to do that? Choose people with Congressionalist bloodlines,” Cassidy explains.

“Cassidy. We’ve concluded that I’m, at least temporarily, safe, but do you think we’ve already terminated the Congressionalists from you and Max’s bloodlines?” I ask. Max stares off into space, beside me.

“It’s not out of the realm of possibility,” she mutters. We stand in silence, for a moment. Oh, god. What did we just do?

Max sighs, “Do we have to kill our parents now? If we haven’t already?”

“We’d die, Max,” I spit, not intending to be quite so rude. Cassidy runs her hands through her hair repetitively.

She clears her throat, “That’s why what we do today is so important. 9.11 disabled the Congressionalists because it sparked the war on terrorism. And, the Congressionalists are a terrorist group.”

“But, 9.11 happened in the original timeline and the Congressionalists still existed. With this new information, I don’t think that we have weakened them quite as much as we thought,” Max reasons. My chest is tight. I dig my toes into the soles of my shoes. This is bad. How did we not see this sooner? How did I not? I’ve seen this symbol my entire life.

Cassidy sits down on the hotel bed, “I have a plan.”

Max and I freeze, staring straight at her.

“We keep the same plan. Save as many people as we can. But, we need to incriminate the Congressionalists as an Al-Qaeda partner,” she explains, “Let’s go right now and pick up some spray paint. All over the sidewalks and nearby subway stations, we can paint the symbol. We’ll have to do it tonight, overnight, so that Peter doesn’t know. We can write “Al-Qaeda-Congressionalists” even. We can’t eliminate Al-Qaeda’s participation, but we can claim responsibility of the Congressionalists. And hope that our parents still decide to have children in jail or prior to their death penalties.”

I can’t form the words to respond. It’s the only choice. I just hate the idea of it. I hate this entire goddamn mess.

Max finds the words for me, “Let’s go.”

We find a hardware store and buy 9 cans of spray paint. Three colors: red, black and blue. Cassidy ditches the stolen wallet from this morning. The last thing we need is for our purchases to be tracked before we can even make a move. Cassidy hides them in the hotel, and we prepare to fill Peter in on tomorrow’s plan… or at least half of it.