7. What Division Is

Carla did not see Roan until two weeks after his outing as a Cleaner-in-training with Percy. By that time, Roan had already been on one mission on his own, on which he did not throw up at all upon dissolving his target in acid. Percy talked him through it remotely, but found Roan did not need much instruction. In the privacy of his office, Percy smiled broadly. Roan had found his place at Division.

When Roan saw Carla again, he was oddly guilty over the secret he was keeping from her. She beamed at him, as he affirmed for her that he had a job at Division, although he was not an agent. The happier she got, the more annoyed he became.

Finally, prompted by her asking what he was doing, Roan said quietly, evenly, "I'm a Cleaner, Carla. It's a new position at Division."

Carla got the intonation, and her smile faltered. "And … what does that entail? Being a Cleaner?"

"I deal with the agents that fail the program or go rogue."

"Oh." Carla shuffled through her folder anxiously. Her tone was clipped, much too casual. "So, you take care of paperwork, get them situated in another identity, like I did when I worked at the-"

"I kill them, Carla."

The woman froze. Her smile faded like time-lapse photography. She closed the folder, set her hands down on the cover, and brought her eyes to meet Roan's. His glasses were reflecting the overhead light and showed little of his actual gaze.

"Division trains unbalanced young people that have usually already committed murder with the highest grade of combat and weapons training, espionage training, and endows them with the ability to escape any kind of detection, government or otherwise," Roan said measuredly. "We make them into weapons. That's a double-edged sword, Carla, and if it turns against the government, against the system, everything could collapse."

Carla said nothing, only stared at him.

"The Division agents are assets, tools, but without a steady hand to aim them, they're dangerous," Roan said. "Too dangerous to let loose upon an unsuspecting society."

Carla sat back in her chair, covering her mouth with a hand. "Jesus."

"It would be a crime against humanity to set them loose," Roan said. "The agents that are canceled out of the program …. they are, have always been, canceled out of existence. Percy was taking care of it personally, but the demand has gotten heavy, as Division expands. There is going to be a team dedicated to cleaning up the fallout of program failures, and I am going to head it."

"Cleaners."

"Yes." Roan cocked his head inquisitively. "You don't seem surprised."

"I wish I was." Carla stood, smoothing down her skirt as if she was wiping her hands of some dirty substance. She hugged her arms to her chest. "I wish to God I was surprised, but you're right, Roan. I'm not."

Roan looked up at her silently. Carla continued to surprise him by how savvy she could be.

"I got the insinuation the moment Percy spoke those words in front of me," Carla said. "I didn't want to believe it. I forced myself not to. But I knew. I know him, I know the system, I know the stakes."

"Most of us candidates for Division would have died, anyway," Roan pointed out. "I was on death row in a military prison, and most of the others were on death row in state prison, federal prison, or sentenced to life in prison, at the very least. This is …. a chance after all the chances have run out."

Carla turned on him. "You think I don't know that, Roan?" she asked loudly; it was the first time she had ever raised her voice with any patient. "I started this damn thing! I was the one in the prisons, in the system, maneuvering these people into last chances! I thought the whole fucking thing up!"

Roan refrained from comment. Carla paced, rubbed a hand over her face, looked at the ceiling.

"My God," she said, as if He were actually in the chic ceiling fan. "I started this."

"You've done good, Carla." Roan stood, came over to her awkwardly. He did not quite know what to do with her grief. "I would be dead now. I owe my life to you, and to Percy."

"Is this better than death, Roan?" Carla asked, looking up at him. "Is it?"

Without hesitation, "Yes."

"Even if Percy has made you into this?" Carla said quietly. She shook her head. "You were misguided, but there's good in you. I thought Percy could use that. But all he's used is your instinct to kill. He's sharpened your paranoia, encouraged your antisocial behavior, and made you into a thoughtless, unconscionable assassin."

"Carla." Roan put both hands lightly on her shoulders and bent to look her directly in the eyes. "I was a murderer when I got here. This isn't a reform school."

"I know, I just-" Carla put a hand on the side of his face. "I do not believe that is all you ever could have been. Just know that."

"You don't find me repulsive?"

"No, I don't," Carla said simply. "I never could, Roan."

Roan thought the poor woman was still somewhat delusional, but a part of him was warmed by her seeing something good in him. Carla touched his face, moved past him. He wondered if her professionalism might ever slip, as even the stoic Percy's had. He found it a bit amusing that these people were so attracted to him, as his cold-blooded demeanor had, until Division, always had the opposite effect on people.

This is a place for killers, he thought. It was a comforting thought.

"What has Division become?"

Roan turned to her. Carla was standing before the photograph of the desert flower.

"Is it a last chance, really?" she asked, staring at the picture. "A last chance for society's condemned, neglected, rejected, misunderstood? Or is it a way to train killers to become perfect killers? Is it a machine that chews up raw material and spits out death? What is it, Roan?"

Roan shook his head. He knew precisely what Division was, but he kept his thoughts to himself. She needed to figure this all out for herself.

"I used to be so sure of what my purpose was, and then of what Division's purpose was," Carla went on. "It's all … left me behind."

"No, Carla," Roan said. "It's just grown. You have to grow with it."

Carla turned back to him. "How do I know I want to?"

"You have to answer that."

Carla licked her lips. She paced and then sank onto her couch. "I guess I do."

Roan sat beside her. "For the record, I believe in Division. It's a hard truth, but not a new one. Throughout history, there have always been organizations like this, only not as polished, not as perfect. History isn't written by the newspaper-cover heroes the world sees. You worked in a prison. You know the machinations behind events, the truths that go unheard. You know the real world that teems beneath the calm, flat surface the public sees."

Carla searched Roan's eyes through his glasses.

"You knew better than to try to be a voice for those truths, because you knew you would go unheard," Roan went on. It was the longest he had spoken to her. "You took action. You broke the law and stabbed the system in the back to save the people left behind by it all. To save us."

Carla wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Maybe it doesn't always work out," Roan said. "But I am grateful to you."

"Roan." Carla laughed, wiping the rest of the tears. "See? You can be sweet."

Roan smiled, though it was a bit tight. Carla had a knack for finding the most incongruous adjectives to describe him: cute, sweet- what was he, a poodle? She was trying to compensate for his lack of identifiable human characteristics, no doubt, but it was still irksome.

"I have a lot to think about," Carla said quietly. "I know you won't mind our session being cut short."

Roan snorted in agreement.

"Percy told me that you have no obligation to continue any therapy sessions with either myself or Amanda," Carla said. "I … I hope you'll at least still talk to me, on the record, or off."

"I'll try, Carla."

"That's all I ask."

Roan stood, went to the door.

"As for Division."

Roan stopped, did not turn back.

"As for Division," continued Carla, "I … It may be premature, but I … I still believe in Division. I do know that none of this could be done without sacrifice. Hell, I suppose I've always known it. Don't tell Percy yet, but I think that I am willing to make those sacrifices."

"It would mean a lot to us all, if you continued the program, Carla."

"Can I ask you something, Roan?"

"Sure."

"What is Division to you?"

"To me?" Roan met her gaze. "Survival."

Carla smiled, nodded. "Yeah." She looked back at that favorite photograph of hers, the flower struggling its way through the arid desert. "… Survival."

Roan left her with that thought. He hoped she would come to terms with it all. He had done all he could for her. If she couldn't, well ….

He supposed someone would someday have to clean her.

. END .