Prodigal Schemes

3. Jude

3 Jude

“Who are we picking up today?” Ophelia asked Teacher.

They sat next to each other in a public tram. It soared over the skyrises of New London, the biodome bubble overhead, the rooftop gardens below. Ophelia loved the window seat, watching the outside world scuttling about its life below. Teacher always took the aisle seat, scanning the faces of the passengers.

This was a routine trip for the two of them, though sometimes Teacher went without Ophelia. They were going to save a child from slavery. Maybe the little one was locked up in a warehouse peeling shrimp or trapped in an underground cave network mining lithium or working the fields at gunpoint gathering coffee beans. Ophelia narrowed her eyes. Or maybe they were locked in a hotel room as she had been.

After today a child would no longer be used and abused. Though every visit, Ophelia wished she could free every person enslaved at the different locations. Prisons come in many shapes and business models.

The hovertram continued its journey out of the city and through a tunnel to a smaller dome. This must be a poor dome, tiny and forgotten, where warehouses could operate however they wanted without the interference of local police.

The tram entered the small dome, and Ophelia sat upright. Nice houses, large lawns, neat landscaping.

“Why are we here?” she asked.

“To pick up a child,” Teacher answered. “I thought you already knew that.”

Ophelia looked out of the window again. “Here? Is it a child forced into servitude or something?”

But how would they get a child away from a wealthy family? Normally Teacher paid the business owner or warehouse guards, and they let him take away whoever he wanted. No questions asked. One slave wasn’t more valuable than the next in their eyes, so a little money took care of the transaction.

But a wealthy family wouldn’t be so easy to impress. How much would Teacher have to pay to rescue this child? And how many other children could they have saved with that money? Ophelia hated to put a price tag on lives, but this location felt wrong.

The tram landed on a clean, unbroken landing pad, and many well-dressed passengers disembarked. Ophelia and Teacher exited, as well, earning looks from the affluent families waiting at the stop. Her wardrobe, stained grey t-shirt and worn jeans, did not fit in here. Some companies might charge top price for distressed jeans, but her clothes smacked not of fashion but of hand-me-down.

She fell in line behind Teacher, diverting her eyes from the stares of the neighborhood. Her cheeks warmed. Why were they here?

Teacher strolled comfortably down the sidewalks as if he owned the place. He nodded to a few passersby with his calming smile. Maybe they thought he was some sort of priest with his dark robes and white collar?

After a few turns, Ophelia stood before a house that looked like all the others up and down every street. A person could get lost in this suburbia of cloned maroon brick houses and gray roofs, with hedges lining every house and the same flawless sidewalk lining the roads. Even the trees stood at even intervals, all the same height because they’d all been planted the same day—when the dome activated.

Teacher knocked on the door, then stood back with his hands clasped before him.

“Coming,” a high-pitched voice answered from within.

A plump woman, with wrinkles where her eyes and mouth smiled, answered the door. She had curly brown hair that had to be laser dyed and the happiest eyes Ophelia had ever seen.

“May I help you?” she asked, and her British accent lathered over every word, rich and thick.

“I’ve come to talk about your grandson, Jude,” Teacher said. “I understand that he’s adapted?”

“Oh, of course.” And the sweet old lady opened the door wider and let them in.

Her eyebrows bunched momentarily at Teacher, obviously curious and confused by his wardrobe, but then she dismissed her stare with a welcoming smile for Ophelia. Ophelia’s chest warmed, and she couldn’t help but return the smile.

The woman led them to an airy living room where a young lady, probably her daughter, played with blocks on the floor with the grandson, Jude. An older gentleman, probably the lady’s husband, sat in an old comfortable chair, playing a hologame that involved numbers in a grid. The chair was proudly out of place surrounded by all the other fine trimmings. Sweet knickknacks lined the walls and covered the tables, but that ugly brown chair with seams popped and stuffing hanging out sat unapologetically in the middle of it all. Even from the couch across the room, Ophelia could smell its dusty memories of a previous life.

The young lady on the floor gave Teacher a concerned gaze but returned to her child and smiled reassuringly. It’s alright. I’m here. Little Jude hid behind his momma, sucking his thumb and peeking around her only occasionally, mostly to check out Ophelia. Ophelia smiled at him and waved, but Jude only ducked back behind his mom.

“I’m afraid that I’ve been terribly rude,” the lady said. “I’ve skipped introductions.”

Ophelia blinked. That was the politest way the woman could have said it. Because Teacher had been the one to barge into their house without telling them who he was.

“I’m Eileen Winward.” She tapped her chest with her fingertips. “This is my daughter Ashleigh and her son Jude, my grandson, and this is—oh for Pete’s sake, stop playing that game.”

Her husband grunted in response and continued playing that game.

“This is my husband Geoffrey,” she said in a disapproving huff.

Geoffrey finally glanced over his game at Teacher with a calculating stare that cut through all the bullshit. Eileen might be welcoming, but this man knew Teacher wasn’t here for some recruiting trip. He already knew there was trouble, and Ophelia felt that this Geoffrey also already knew what he was going to do about it.

But then Eileen’s last name hit Ophelia full force. Winward. This was the family of Douglas Winward, CEO of Caravan. What were they doing here? No child was captured in slavery. No kid needed saving. As for Jude, he was perfectly happy and loved by his mother and grandparents. Not to mention the boy was the nephew of the powerful Douglas Winward. A sick feeling started rising from Ophelia’s stomach.

“This is Ophelia.” Teacher motioned to her with his hand. “And I’m called Teacher.”

Eileen did her downright best not to let his “name” faze her. Geoffrey’s right eyebrow flicked up, but he didn’t take his eyes off of his game. Ashleigh’s face went from concern to stern. This was the look of a momma prepared to scratch the eyes out of anyone who threatened her cub.

Then a smell enveloped Ophelia, and her eyes about rolled into her head in pure bliss.

“Oh, the tea’s ready,” Eileen said and hurried to the kitchen, yet managed to be graceful.

She returned holding a tray with an adorable antique tea pot and matching empty cups. Could the woman be a more perfect hostess? Eileen set the tray on an end table next to Opehlia and poured some heavenly tea into one of the cups. Ophelia accepted the cup, then closed her eyes as she inhaled. She took a sip, and it didn’t disappoint. The sickness completely subsided, smoothed away by the miraculous drink. If only Ophelia had the resources, she would give something this wonderful to all her brothers and sisters.

Teacher waved off the tea with a tight smile. Eileen smiled back, but his refusal had hurt her. She took some to her daughter and then her husband. Then she gave the plastic cup, decorated with superheroes, to her grandson. He took it and hid back behind his momma to drink his juice. Eileen settled into her rocking chair, which accepted her soft frame with a sigh, and sipped her own tea.

“There now,” she said. “So how can we help you?”

“You act so polite, but at least one of you knows exactly what’s going on,” Teacher said, looking towards Geoffrey.

“We’ve noticed the unknown visitors to the neighborhood, if that’s what you mean,” Geoffrey said. “Though they didn’t stick around long.”

“They didn’t have to,” Teacher said.

“What did they do, dear?” Eileen asked. She said dear as others might have uttered the words dead man.

A chill ran down Ophelia’s spine. She’d witnessed Douglas Winward pull his mask on and off. He could smile as if he was a person’s best friend and then quietly fire them with a few strokes on his digiscroll and keep on smiling. Now she knew where he’d learned the skill.

“There are bombs in key places around your abode. And there are other visitors you do not see guarding your house.”

Eileen sipped her tea at that moment, but Geoffrey and Ashleigh didn’t react at all. Jude stuck his face around his mom and stuck out his tongue.

“If you try to escape,” Teacher said. “I’ll know. If you call for help—”

“Save the speech,” Geoffrey said, still concentrating on his game. “We got it. Don’t leave the house. Don’t contact anyone. Blah, blah, blah.” He entered two numbers that cleared several rows on his game and grunted.

Teacher stiffened at that, and Ophelia swallowed too much tea. She stifled any coughs, but her eyes watered despite her efforts. No one spoke to Teacher that way. No one.

“I’ll be back later to pick up Jude, for his training at the finest school for adapted children in the galaxy.”

The cup in Ophelia’s hand started shaking. She put it down on the end table next to the ceramic chicken and scented candle. Teacher was going to kidnap a child from a happy, healthy family. Even Eileen’s perfect tea couldn’t calm Ophelia’s upset stomach.

Still the family looked utterly calm. Had Eileen already known exactly who Teacher was when she’d invited them in? Could it be that they wanted to know his plan, and he’d just obliged?

“My uncle will stop you!” Jude yelled, then stuck his thumb firmly back into his mouth.

Teacher rose and gloated down at the little boy. “Your uncle can’t bribe or blackmail me, my little one, and that’s all Douglas knows how to do.”

He swept from the room to the door. Ophelia stood but couldn’t move. She opened her mouth to apologize, explain, something. But no words came out. For the first time, Geoffrey lifted his eyes from his game and winked at her. Winked. Somehow he knew Ophelia didn’t approve. He was actually calming her, letting her know We know what we’re doing.

“Ophelia,” Teacher called.

Ophelia nodded to them all. “Thank for the tea; it was…” But again words failed her.

Eileen’s eyes crinkled into her motherly, sweet smile. “Why, thank you, dear.”

And that time, she spoke the dear as if Ophelia was the kindest young woman Eileen had ever met. Ophelia almost ran to Teacher and had to blink repeatedly to keep the tears at bay. Teacher left the house, but Ophelia had to look over her shoulder one last time at the family.

Ashleigh cut her eyes at her father. Geoffrey gave his daughter the barest nod, letting her know everything was going to be alright. But Eileen was having trouble swallowing her tea. They all hoped Douglas would save Jude.

But they weren’t certain he could.

Ophelia closed the door behind her and followed Teacher to the tram. The trip passed in a blur. Teacher would lean over from time to time and whisper to Ophelia explanations of his plan, why he had to do this, justification for ripping a child from a healthy home. Ophelia would nod. “Of course,” she would say. Her face, like the Winwards’, wore a mask of approval.

But a storm raged in her insides.