UnSouled (Unwind Dystology, #3)

by Neal Shusterman

They have elevated him on a pedestal, but Cam has come to understand that a pedestal is nothing more than an elegant cage. No walls, no locks, but unless one has wings to fly away, one is trapped. A pedestal is the most insidious prison ever devised.

It never ceases to amaze Starkey how far society will go to protect the children it loves and to discard the ones it doesn’t.

But he still won’t share with her exactly what he’s doing. Her only clue comes from his research assistant. Not from anything the boy says, but because he began his employment with three fingers on his left hand. And now he has five.

If there were any other option . . . It’s the first time Risa truly begins to wonder why there isn’t.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” says Una, still stinging from his jab. “Your legend might be larger than life, but you’re no bigger than the rest of us.”

It’s not that the emperor has no clothes. It’s that everyone’s placed him in their blind spot.

Una’s right—he’s no bigger than anyone else. Smaller really—so small that the world doesn’t even know he exists anymore, so how can he hope to make a difference? He tried—and where did that get him? The hundreds of kids he’d tried to save at the Graveyard are now in harvest camps being unwound, and Risa, the one good thing in his life, has gone as far off the radar as him.

“Unwinding—when you love them enough to let them go,” or “Corporeal division; the kindest thing you can do for a child with disunification disorder.”

That’s what they call it. “Disunification disorder,” a term probably coined by Proactive Citizenry to describe a teen who feels like they want to be anywhere else but where they are and in anyone else’s shoes. But who doesn’t feel like that now and then? Granted, some kids feel it more than others. Connor knows he did. But it’s a feeling you learn to live with, and eventually you harness it into ambition, into drive, and finally into achievement if you’re lucky. Who were his parents to deny him that chance?

“Make it mean something, Akron.”

What exactly did the shark mean by “it”? Did it mean Roland’s unwinding? Roland’s life? Connor’s life?

Roland’s fury at his parents had been far more directed than Connor’s. A nasty triangle of pain there. Roland’s stepfather beat his mother, so Roland pummeled the man senseless for it—and then his mother chose the man who beat her over the son who tried to help her, sending Roland off to be unwound.

Connor’s fury is as random as leaping flames in search of purchase. His fire isn’t fueled by their choice to unwind him, but by the unanswered questions surrounding that choice. Why did they do it? How did they make the decision?

And most important: What would they say to him now if they knew he was alive . . . and what would he say back?

So he furiously tosses and turns in a luxurious bed, in a Spartan room, emotionally unwinding himself with his own ambivalence.

“Cowards hide!” says Connor. “But warriors lie in wait,” Elina says. “The only difference is whether you’re motivated by fear or purpose.”

At that Elina smiles. “No true hero ever believes that they are one,” she tells him. “So you go ahead, Lev, and keep denying it with every fiber of your being.”

These self-important folk, wheeling and dealing, all begin to look alike after a while.

“Until last week you were the property of Proactive Citizenry. But they have sold their interest in you for a sizeable sum. You are now the property of the United States military.” “Property?” says Cam. “What do you mean, ‘Property’?”

“Now, Cam,” says Roberta, working her best damage control. “It’s only a word.”

“It’s more than a word!” insists Cam. “It’s an idea—an idea that, according to the history expert somewhere in my le...

“That applies to individuals, which you are not. You are a collection of very specific parts, each one with a distinct monetary value. We’ve paid more than one hundred times that value for the unique manner those parts have been ...

“So there you have it,” says the senator bitterly. “You wanna leave? Then go on; git outta here. Just as long as you leav...

Property! They see him as property!

His worst fear is realized; even the people who venerate him see him as a commodity. A thing.

“Tear up your contract with Proactive Citizenry,” he says. “Void it. And then I’ll sign my own contract that commits me to whatever you want me to do. So that it’s my decision rather than a purchase.” That seems to baffle all three of them. “Is that possible?” asks the senator. “Technically he’s still a minor,” Roberta says. “Technically I don’t exist,” Cam reminds her. “Isn’t that right?” No one answers. “So,” says Cam. “Make me exist on paper. And on that same paper, I’ll sign over my life to you. Because I choose to.”

“Sweatshop!” snaps Cam, and not even Roberta can decipher that one. “Your opinion means nothing, because you’re little more than the sweatshop seamstress who stitched me together.” Indignation rises in her like an ocean swell. “Oh, I’m a little more than that!” “Are you going to tell me you’re my creator? Shall I sing psalms of praise to thee? Or better yet, why don’t I cut out my stolen heart and put it on an altar for you?”

How can she not see that when you are defined, you lose the ability to define yourself?

“I confess that I am humbled by your question. How can I speak to whether or not you carry a divine spark?” “A simple yes or no will do.” “No one on earth can answer that question, Mr. Comprix—and you should run from anyone who claims they can.”

He wonders what the general’s response would have been had Cam not accepted. Certainly they would come for him anyway. Forced him into submission. After all, if he’s their property, it’s in their right to do anything they want to him.

Cam should be furious, but instead he feels vindicated. Exhilarated. He had no hope of battling a ghost for her affections, but Connor Lassiter is still flesh and blood—which means he can be bested! He can be defeated, dishonored—whatever it will take to kill Risa’s love for him, and in the end, when he has fallen from Risa’s favor, Cam will be there to keep Risa from falling as well.

It’s three a.m. when he slips out of the town house, leaving his semblance of a life behind, determined not to return until he has Risa Ward under his arm and Connor Lassiter crushed beneath his heel.

This is why Connor despises downtime. All that thinking can drive him mad.

“You’re kind of like Humphrey Dunfee. We both are. Torn apart by everything that’s happened to us, then put back together again. Who you are now is nothing like who you used to be.”

“Why is it that it’s easier for me to deal with a sniper shot than to deal with what I said at the table tonight?” “Because,” offers Lev, “you’re good in a crisis and you suck at normal.”

It makes Connor laugh. “ ‘Good in Crisis; Sucks at Normal.’ That about sums up my whole life, doesn’t it?”

“You, little brother, are the harbinger of doom,” she tells him. “And I know, just as sure as we’re sitting here, that because of you, something much worse is coming.”

His mother always said, “When life gives you lemons, squirt ’em in someone’s eyes.” Argent knows that’s not the actual expression, but she was right. Turning your misfortune into a weapon is much more useful than making lemonade.

They haven’t actually broken the law. They never do! Instead they mold the law to encompass whatever it is they wish to accomplish.

In the bedroom, he draws the shades, and as he buries himself in the covers, in the dark, he thinks back to the time Austin broke into their home and hit Janson in the head. Now Janson wishes that the blow would have killed him. Because then Austin might still be whole.

“Starkey won’t stop there,” he tells Lev. “It’s only going to get worse.” “Which means there are three sides in this war now,” Lev points out, and Connor realizes that he’s right. “So, if the first side is driven by hate and the second by fear, what drives us?” “Hope?” suggests Lev. Connor shakes his head in frustration. “We’re gonna need a lot more than that. Which is why we have to get to Akron and find out what Sonia knows.”

Connor realizes that everything has now changed, and their lives have become infinitely more complicated.

Lev isn’t exactly sure what she means, but he senses that she’s right. He’s not a clapper anymore, but neither is he the model of stability. He’s not sure what he’s capable of—good or bad. And it scares him.

How can she answer that question? That piece of music wasn’t just for her; it was her. Somehow he distilled every ounce of her being into harmony and dissonance. He might as well ask if she likes herself—a question that has become just as complicated as the tonal qualities of the song.

Cam smiles. “You see? You’re damned no matter how you answer. By playing both sides, Proactive Citizenry keeps people focused on choosing between two different kinds of unwinding, making people forget that the real question . . .” “Is whether or not anyone should be unwound at all.” “Nail on the head,” says Cam.

Wrap it all together, and Starkey has achieved exactly what he wanted. His name has eclipsed the name of Connor Lassiter.

“I’m keeping a journal of my time here. That way, when it’s our turn to hang for the things we’re doing, there’ll be a record of what really happened. I’m calling it ‘Starkey’s Inferno,’ although I’m not quite sure which level of hell this is.”

“The Egyptians were the first to think of shelling. Did you know that? They mummified their leaders to preserve their bodies for the afterlife—but before they sent them on their unmerry way, they sucked their brains out of their heads.” He pauses to consider it. “Geniuses, those Egyptians. They knew the last thing a pharaoh needs is a brain of his own, or he might do some real damage.”

me—I’ve been toying with the idea of an appropriate Stork Lord salute. It’s like a heil Hitler thing, but with just the middle finger. Like so.” He demonstrates, and it makes Bam laugh. “Hayden, you really are an asshole.” “Coming from you, I take that as a compliment.” He gives her a hint of his condescending smirk. She’s actually glad to see it.

“You’d be a better leader than Starkey, Bam.” There’s silence between them. Bam finds she can’t even respond to that. “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought of it,” Hayden says. He’s right; she has thought about it. And she also dismissed the idea before it could take root. “Starkey has a mission,” she tells him. “He has a goal. What do I have?” Hayden shrugs. “Common sense? A survival instinct? Good bone structure?”