Free Because It Is My Blood by Gabrielle Zevin Page A

the terms of your release.”
    “What violations?” I demanded.
    The officer said that he didn’t have that information—just instructions to bring me back to Liberty. “Please, ma’am, we need you to come with us.”
    I told him I would come out, but that I needed a moment to change.
    “Five minutes,” the officer said.
    I closed the door and walked down the hallway. I tried to consider my options. I couldn’t run; there was no other way out of the apartment, except suicide. Besides, I didn’t want to run. For all I knew, this could have been some sort of clerical error. I decided to go with the police officers and figure out the rest later. Imogen and Natty stood at the end of the hallway. Both seemed to be awaiting my instruction. “Imogen, I need you to call Mr. Kipling and Simon Green.”
    Imogen nodded.
    “What should I do?” Natty asked.
    I kissed her on the head. “Try not to worry.”
    “I’ll say a prayer for you,” Natty said.
    “Thank you, sweet.”
    I ran to my bedroom. I took off my necklace and changed into my school uniform. I went into the bathroom, where I took a second to brush my teeth and wash my face. I looked at myself in the mirror. You are strong, I told myself. God doesn’t give you anything that you can’t bear.
    I heard more banging on the door. “It’s time!” the officer called.
    I returned to the foyer, where Natty and Imogen looked at me with shell-shocked faces. “I’ll see you soon,” I said to them.
    I walked to the door, unchained it, and pushed it wide open. “I’m ready,” I said.
    The officer was holding a pair of handcuffs. I knew how this went. I held out my wrists.
    *   *   *
    At Liberty, I wasn’t brought to the intake room as I had been the previous two times I’d been there. They didn’t even have me change into the Liberty jumpsuit. Instead, I was delivered to a Liberty guard, one I didn’t recognize, then led down a hallway.
    A hallway that led to several flights of stairs.
    I knew this route, and it could mean only one thing.
    The Cellar.
    I had been there once before and it had nearly killed me, or at least driven me crazy.
    I could already smell the excrement and the mold. Fear crept into my heart. I stopped short. “No,” I said. “No, no. I need to talk to my attorney.”
    “I have my orders,” the guard said without emotion.
    “I swear on the graves of my dead mother and father, I haven’t done anything wrong.”
    The guard pushed me and I fell to my knees. I could feel them scrape against the concrete. It was already so dark and the stench was terrible. I decided that if I didn’t stand up, then they couldn’t make me go down there.
    “Girl,” the guard said, “if you don’t stand up, I will knock you out and carry you myself.”
    I clasped my hands. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.” I was begging now. “I can’t.” I grasped the guard’s leg. I was past having dignity.
    “Assistance!” the guard called. “Prisoner is noncompliant!”
    A second later, I felt a syringe go into the side of my neck. I did not pass out, but my mind went blank, and it felt as if my troubles were behind me. The guard tossed me over her shoulder like I weighed nothing and carried me down the three flights of stairs. I barely felt it when she placed me in the kennel. The cage door had only just closed when I finally did lose consciousness.
    When I awoke, every part of me hurt, and my school uniform was ominously damp.
    Outside my tiny cage, I could see a pair of crossed legs in expensive wool pants attached to a pair of feet in recently shined shoes. I wondered if I was hallucinating—I had never known there to be any lights in the Cellar. A flashlight beam moved toward me. “Anya Balanchine,” Charles Delacroix greeted me. “I’ve been waiting near ten minutes for you to wake up. I’m a very busy man, you know. Dismal place here. I’ll have to remember to have it shut down.”
    My throat was dry, probably from