XXXIV

FORMER JUDGE MISSING; CONFESSED COLLABORATION WITH FACTIONLESS CONVICT; ESCAPED EN ROUTE TO ERUDITE COMPOUND.
A Statement Released by the Department of Media Integrity and Bureau of Investigation, Candor.

Former Judge Madullah Touma, 48, has gone missing after confessing to charges of conspiracy, fraud, and trespassing.

Touma was a part-time judge for the Juvenile Court and a professor at the Institute of Law and Investigation. She has been disbarred by the Justice Council.

Touma was arrested last Friday night. On Friday morning at 9:30 a.m., Touma was reported missing by the students of her family law class. Her husband, Adeel Touma, 49, had not seen her since the previous night and assumed that Touma had simply left early for work the next morning.

Security footage in the Merciless Mart revealed that Touma was present in Candor from 7 a.m. until 7:45 a.m. Touma first visited the evidence room of Major Crimes, removing a single set of Erudite clothing, before visiting the Department of Academic Integrity and making a copy of a confidential case file. Witnesses said that Touma seemed “in a hurry” and “hostile to questions”. Touma was not seen after leaving the Merciless Mart.

At 6 p.m., Touma was arrested in the office of Jeanine Matthews, head representative of Erudite. Touma had disguised herself as an Erudite secretary and broke into Matthews’ office. Dauntless police brought Touma back to Candor for questioning.

Under the influence of 38% veritarbital, Touma confessed to conspiracy with factionless convict Zackary Awl, 19. Awl had appeared in Touma’s court three years earlier for charges of aggravated assault against a Dauntless officer, but was acquitted for lack of evidence. Touma reconnected with Awl one week ago, after Touma’s sixteen-year-old daughter, Sajida, allegedly went missing. Sajida Touma had transferred from Candor to Abnegation and prematurely failed initiation. She is presumed to be living with the factionless.

Hoping to reconnect with Sajida, Touma asked Awl to look for her. In return, Touma agreed to help Awl gather information about the deaths of the factionless prostitutes known as “Lady Rose” and “the Angel Girls”. Touma was deceived by Awl, who claimed that the Candor and Erudite were hiding facts about their deaths from the public. Neither Touma nor Awl had come into contact with Sajida at the time of Touma’s arrest, and it is unknown if Awl had any connection with Sajida at all. Awl’s whereabouts are unknown.

Touma confessed to planning to join a factionless resistance group, hoping that the information about the deceased factionless prostitutes known as “Lady Rose and the Angel Girls” would secure her a spot in such ranks. However, according to Dauntless-Candor intelligence, no such resistance exists.

Following Touma’s questioning in Candor on Saturday, Jeanine Matthews requested a separate questioning held by Erudite authorities. Touma’s employer, Irene McCandless, Director of the Academic Integrity Office, denied the request. McCandless claimed that Erudite’s involvement was unnecessary and motivated solely by spite, then filed for arbitration by Chief Executive Director Jack Kang. Attempting to avoid a conflict of interest by all parties, Kang brought an emergency arbitration filing to the Abnegation Council. Chief Councilman Marcus Eaton decided in favor of Erudite.

At 9 p.m. on Sunday night, Touma was escorted into a Dauntless military vehicle and driven out of Candor, en route to Erudite. However, while passing through the factionless projects, the vehicle was attacked by a group of eight to ten masked assailants. Most of the assailants were unarmed, though four shots were fired by a sniper in a nearby building. Two Dauntless were injured. No assailants were captured, injured, or identified by name. The assailants freed Touma and fled.

Madullah Touma was last seen in a white prison jumpsuit, white hijab, and black shoes. She is not considered armed or dangerous.

All assailants of the Dauntless escort were seen in black Dauntless and Candor clothing, as well as dark masks or scarves to hide their faces. The presumed leaders are two women, both between 5’0” and 5’4”, races and ages unknown. According to a witness, one of the leaders walks with a severe limp and carries a cane. The second leader may be “barely a girl, probably as young as sixteen”. All are considered armed and dangerous.

Report any suspicious activity to the Dauntless or to the Bureau of Investigation immediately.

The report was released the morning after I broke into the distillery.

It made me nauseous. And that was just the Candor papers, the driest, most objective news to ever exist. The Erudite papers, much less reserved, were blowing up.

The worst part was that I knew exactly what had happened now. Sajida suspected that her mother might be trying to find her, so she gave me the letter to reassure Judge Touma. Two days too late. I didn’t know who had tipped Sajida off that her mother had gone rogue already, but at least that was good timing. The leaders of the mysterious assailants were Miriam and Sajida. They’d gotten Touma out of danger, and now she was with the factionless too.

It had all worked out. But I hated that I wasn’t satisfied.

According to Dauntless-Candor intelligence, no such factionless resistance exists. It was the biggest lie I’d ever seen in a Candor paper. The problem was, I didn’t dare think about what the truth could be. Was there really a resistance? Sajida and Miriam mentioned that there was instability. But a resistance ? The word sent a chill down my spine.

I didn’t like that Marcus Eaton was involved with this. I was terrified that I knew why—Sajida was poking around in the Abigail Eaton case, believed that Abnegation was corrupt, and was a liability to Marcus. If Marcus could pull Sajida’s mother as far away from a fair justice system as possible, then Sajida would also drift further away. But that also didn’t sound right. Abnegation and Erudite were hereditary enemies; neither faction would take this well.

That afternoon, when I had lunch with Ace on the roof, I mentioned this. She just grunted and said, “Nothing about that man sounds right”, then changed the subject.

“Final exams are in a week,” she said.

I involuntarily grimaced. I didn’t like to think about those and pretended to be very interested in my pasta lunch. “Oh, I guess. Hey, is that a new jacket?”

“Phoebe, I’m serious,” said Ace, turning to me. The skies were grey, an oncoming storm. Her dark eyes had a silvery tint. “I realized something today. I’ve been enabling you by taking you to Dauntless. I know there’s a lot going on right now and Dauntless helps you in a lot of ways, but you’re a Candor initiate. Do you understand what that means?”

“Yeah, that if I don’t study for the exams, I’ll fail. I know.”

I started rolling my eyes, but then Ace’s hand rested on my shoulder. That got my attention.

“Do you?” she hissed.

Irritated, I brushed off her hand. “I do, Ace, you’re not my professor.”

“Don’t have to be. I saw last year’s initiates do this, I have friends who’ve made it through initiation. Your midterm scores aren’t good news.”

“My midterm score was an error. Judge Touma said that if she’d been able to read my essay and grade it right, I might’ve gotten close to passing.”

“Well, close isn’t good enough, and Touma’s not here anymore. Bet my navel piercing that Morris will be grading your essay, and from what you’ve told me, he’s not going to be nice to you. Why aren’t you worried about this?”

“Why are you worried about this?” I deflected the question.

“Because every initiate in the building is stressed out of their shit except you,” said Ace.

“You want me to be stressed?”

“How much do you study a day?”

“Enough,” I lied. The answer was forty minutes, at most. Ten minutes per class, glancing over the notes. That didn’t even happen every day, but I gave myself the benefit of the doubt.

Ace snorted. “Yeah. You’re fucked.”

“Language,” I said.

“Have you even prepped for the Full Unveiling?”

“I’m not allowed to talk to Irene.”

“That’s a different problem. Have you decided which kind of questioning you’re taking?”

“The none-of-your-business kind. I’ll figure it out, okay? I’ll bring my books tonight; I can study on the way to Dauntless.”

“We’re not going to Dauntless,” said Ace stoutly.

I whirled to her. “What?!”

“I’ve made the executive decision not to enable your poor study habits. Tonight, I’m leaving through the front doors. You can follow me, but they’ll definitely see you, and you’ll really be in trouble.”

“You’re the worst girlfriend ever,” I told her.

“Thanks,” she said.

The worst part about this was that I knew she was right. I did need to study. I hadn’t turned in a Logic assignment since before midterms. I really was in hot water. That evening, I sat by my window and watched Ace leave through the front doors. At the statue of Themis, she stopped, looked up to my window, and smiled. I flipped her the bird. Only once she disappeared from view did I turn back to my computer and resume writing my Arguments paper about Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics.

The second primary criticism states that virtue ethics fails to hold people responsible for their wrongs. According to Aristotle, if people are not born virtuous and must be raised in a virtuous environment in order to develop virtue, the wrongs of a person can be blamed on a flaw in the environment, not on individual decisions. A premeditated wrong and an involuntary wrong are morally equivalent if both wrongs are committed as a result of a poor upbringing. In order to judge wrongs within a system of virtue ethics, a society must ensure that every member has equal access to food, education, shelter, care, and every opportunity to develop into a virtuous person…

It was a weird time. I felt like I was doing fine on the assignments. But in the classes, I was so lost that I felt guilty about attending. I didn’t raise my hand at questions. If I was called on, I could never find the answer. I stopped reading the chapter before class and instead just took notes the day after, picking up the information while everyone else was reviewing. I almost stopped going to Investigative Technique and Legal Procedure just to avoid Morris. But I knew he would see that as something suspicious, so I kept going, sitting in the far back with my head as far down as I could, wearing more black than white in hopes that I might blend into the shadows when the slide projector was on. It didn’t work.

The stress that everyone else was fighting was beginning to chew on me, too, and the only thing that had kept me sane before were my lessons with Ace. But Monday passed. Then Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday without a training session. I grew antsy. I couldn’t sleep well, so I wore myself out every night by going up to the roof and punching the air. I still said hello to Ace in the halls, and we ate lunch when we could, and on Wednesday, I pulled her inside my room and we made out for a half hour, which was awesome. But I began to miss the wind of the train, the chatter of the Hub, the thrill of exposing my tattoo.

I couldn’t have imagined a worse way to get them again.

Friday came. There was a storm. There had been really bad ones, on and off throughout the week. It was so bad that it was dark as night by the time Investigations let out at four, the rain coming down in sheets. Which was unfortunate, because I had made plans with Ravi to study at Antigone’s. Instead, here I was, waiting in an ungodly long line to the cappuccino machine in the dining hall. It was just my luck that when I got to the front, the machine ran out of the almond milk option, so I had to wait by the window and watch the rain while the kitchen staff worked to refill it and the non-lactose intolerant people happily went away with regular cappuccinos. It was that kind of day. I wasn’t happy.

When I rode the elevator up to my apartment floor, I stepped off just as Oona got on. She was dressed very nice, even for Candor standards, in high heels and hair in a perfect coif. I tried to meet her eyes. She avoided mine. We didn’t speak.

Suddenly nervous, as if she’d yell at me for looking, I hurried past her and down the hall. What was her problem? I’d been home for the whole week. If she wanted to study with me, she could just tell me now. I couldn’t be at fault anymore; I had suffered enough of a cold shoulder already. The burden of apology was on her now. I fumbled with my keys at the door, spilling a couple drops of coffee on my white shirt, and I cursed. The day couldn’t get worse.

That was when I heard the crying.

It was a cry like a wounded animal. Unbridled, inhuman, high and keening. It was muffled behind the door, but unmistakable.

Of all the Candor I knew, I cried the most. I couldn’t help it. I had a lot of emotions. Oona took a neat second place. But she wasn’t home and Katie had dropped out to become factionless.

Slowly, I opened the door and stepped inside. Other than the crying, the place was silent; all the bedroom doors were open except one. I hesitated, took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Aletheia?” I said softly.

The crying stopped.

“Go away.” Yes. That was her.

“Did something happen?” I asked.

My mind conjured images of Aletheia twisting her ankle on one of her six-inch high heels, getting trapped under a fallen bookshelf, or burning her neck on her hair straightener. The only reason Aletheia could be crying was because she was in pain, since Aletheia didn’t have emotions. Especially not sadness. I didn’t want to admit that I heard the mourning in her hitched breath.

“No,” she sniffled. “Go away.”

The handle was unlocked. I pushed the door open slowly. Before me was a sight I never could have imagined—Aletheia was crumpled at the foot of her bed, legs pulled to her chest, her face and blouse wet with tears. The cord of her phone was pulled so tight around her skinny wrist that it looked as if both would snap. When she saw me, her shoulders jerked in another sob. She buried her face in her knees.

“Don’t look at me. I’ll kill you.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. I didn’t know what to say. I almost wanted to do it, turn my back and let her suffer through whatever this was.

But it was one of those rare times that I wasn’t such an awful person.

I knelt. I untangled her wrist from the cord and hung the phone back on the wall. I pulled her hair out of her eyes with a clip. I ran a towel under warm water to wipe the snot, tears, and saliva from her face. All the while, she kept crying and cursing at me, but when I got a fleece blanket from her bed and draped it over her shoulders, a greater burst of tears came to stop the obscenities.

I led her to the living room, where she curled up on the couch. Then I put the teakettle on. Candor generally preferred coffee, but tea was cheaper, and it was one of a very few things that all of the factions shared in common. Every morning before we left Dauntless, Ace made me a strong black tea that smelled of a spice she called cinnamon. In Abnegation, whenever one of us got sick, my mother made a kettle of chamomile with a careful ration of honey. Here in Candor, ginger tea was popular. We had a tin because it helped soothe my stomach if I accidentally ate dairy.

As I poured a single mug, Aletheia whispered, “I lost my best friend.”

My hand froze. A drop of hot water splashed on my skin and I winced, rubbing it on my shirt.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But she chose to leave. She might be happier now.”

“Not her. Not Katie.”

I brought her the mug, but had to hold it for a while as she cried. Finally I sat next to her and helped her drink. She had trouble swallowing and hiccuped the first sip, so I had to get the towel again. She was like a young child. It was almost hard to believe that it was Aletheia, the coldest person I knew.

Finally she managed to breathe. She drank the tea. “It was Albert,” she said. “He was my boyfriend. He—he killed himself last night.”

A pit formed in my gut. That explained the crying.

“He transferred to Dauntless this year. I—I broke up with him a week before the Choosing Ceremony, I knew he wanted to go to Dauntless, I didn’t want him to stay here just because of me. I told him to do what was best for him. He wanted to go. He told me his aptitude result, he was so happy. But—I got a call from his parents—he wasn’t doing well in initiation—he was going to fail, he was so scared, and—”

Aletheia fought back another sob and retreated deeper into her blanket. “I killed him,” she said softly. “I loved him. I told him to go even though he was scared.”

And it’s my fault.

My breath caught in my throat. Before I could stop myself, I hugged her, letting her lean against my shoulder. I didn’t say what I meant with the embrace, but I think she knew. Her cheek pressed against the ridge of my scar. There are some things that don’t need to be said between the survivors, the catalysts, the last ones standing.

“Do you remember,” I began, “what you said last week in Arguments?”

She sniffled. “No.”

“It was the Ethics unit. You were asked about act utilitarianism. The theory that actions can only be judged by their outcomes. They’re good if the benefits outweigh the harms, and they’re evil if the harms outweigh the benefits.”

“I said that’s horseshit,” she murmured. “ ‘Cause the moral luck problem.”

“Right. Moral luck. Like if you’re an Amity farmer, and you develop a type of seed that will feed twice as many people, but the fruit of the seed turns out to attract pests, and all the surrounding farms are destroyed. You said the farmer should take some responsibility for the mistake, but we can’t call him evil. He didn’t know. He had good intentions.”

“Yeah.”

I drew back and brushed Aletheia’s hair out of her eyes. Up close, I could see where her tears had smudged up what looked at first like paint—the thinnest layer of makeup. Underneath, her pale skin was red and splotchy. I wondered if she wore makeup all the time. It was the worst betrayal of Candor values, literally putting on a second face for people to admire. But I couldn’t even be mad at her.

“You didn’t kill anyone,” I told her. “That’s horseshit.”

A small laugh bubbled from her throat and she ducked her head. “I guess.”

“No. I know .”

I hugged her again. When we pulled apart, she reached for the tissues.

“I—wish I could have seen him again,” she said. “I don’t know if you know this, but—when someone has to die in Candor, we try to mourn before they—before they pass. Or we all go to their side to be with them, to watch the death. For closure. To come to terms with—the truth of them leaving us. When—when someone—when they pass away without warning, somewhere you can’t even say goodbye, it doesn’t feel real. It’s—awful.”

I nodded. I didn’t understand the full depth of what she meant. But the hurt in her voice told me all I needed to know.

Then I thought of something. It wasn’t really a good something. But it couldn’t be bad.

“Is he having a funeral?” I asked.

She nodded. “In Dauntless. Tonight. Outsiders aren’t allowed, not even family.”

I bit my lip. Here went nothing.

“You remember when I told you that I went to Dauntless?”

“You were joking—”

“No. I wasn’t.” I unbuttoned the top buttons of my shirt, revealing my rose tattoo. “I really went, and this tattoo is real. I’ve been back three times and I’ve never gotten caught.”

“What? How? Why?”

“That’s all a very, very long story,” I said, “but in short, I’m kind of crazy. If you’re willing to also be a little crazy...I think I can help you get closure.”

Aletheia looked at me, fear in her eyes. She knew what I meant. Then she nodded.

+ + +

Ace did not like it at all, but it wasn’t like I was expecting differently.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she grumbled. “You can’t be serious.”

“You skipped out on dinner. You said you’d do anything to make it up,” I said. But it wasn’t in the mischievous way that I normally said these sorts of things to her. I was very, very serious, and she could tell. “Please.”

Her gaze darted. I hadn’t brought Aletheia to the Dauntless office, but Ace was still as wary as if she was here. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“The only reason I took you to Dauntless is because I know you can lie,” she hissed. “Do you understand that bringing an initiate to another faction is a crime? If I take her there and she blabs about it, I will be arrested. End of story.”

She wasn’t just bluffing. She was scared, I could see it in her eyes. I looked at my shoes.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “I understand.”

“Wait,” said Ace.

I turned back to her. Her good cheek was red, and her hands had gone into her pockets.

“I can’t take you, but I still owe you,” she said hesitantly. “You’ve been to Dauntless three times now. You know the way. If you’re confident enough to do it on your own—and if that Albright girl trusts you—I’ll switch some of the cameras off for you. And there’s a late train on Fridays, so you shouldn’t have to stay the night.”

I straightened up. “Right,” I nodded.

“You know when we usually leave for the train. Take the Albright girl up ten minutes early, so she can take her time over the buildings. She’s not Dauntless, and she’s not The-Other-D-Word either. I’ll take the next train after that one, I’ll be at the funeral. But don’t let me see you.”

“Because if you did see us, you’d have to tell Morris.”

“Yeah.” Ace took my hand again, then kissed my cheek. “Be safe. Be smart.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

I meant it. We locked gazes and did not break them for a while, and a million unsaid things passed between us. It felt like something I could not quite identify. The crossing of a threshold. The beginning of a change without a name. I kissed her lips, and she held my face between her hands, and our foreheads pressed together for a moment before I pulled away.