“I’m so sorry,” he said.
“I’m sorry too.” Like clouds after a storm, all my complicated hostility toward him had been whisked away. I could see him now for what and who he truly was. “I’m sorry this is the situation you’re in. I’m sorry for the situation Ash is in. All of us, really. It sucks. But it’s who we are. So let’s try to get some sleep.”
“You have to take her,” he said. “In the morning. Take Ash and run. They have spies everywhere. I tried to keep a low profile, but it’s not safe to stay in one spot. They’ll come for me—and for her.”
“Okay,” I said.
“You promise?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll go too. Somewhere. I don’t want to bring the heat to Radha and Connor.”
“Okay.”
I lay there until Niv fell into a fitful sleep, and then I scooted up into a seated position. I watched Ash, the way her chest rose and fell. I didn’t know what horrors lay ahead of us, or how much longer we’d have, or whether I’d be able to save her. But I knew that I would be there for her, all night long, and I would be there for her in the morning.
Thirty-Three
Ash
I drove as fast as I could. I was exhausted—I’d barely slept, I was so excited. It was the morning of my football team photo shoot and I wanted to get to the location well ahead of the rest of them. The streets were still coming awake, the whole town dressing itself up in blue and gold, the Hudson High colors, for the Halloween dance.
“If anything creepy goes down, just call my name,” said Solomon, fiddling with the car radio. He’d been asleep on my front porch when I woke up, and I hadn’t known until I saw him how badly I needed him to be there with me. I’m here for you, he’d said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. All night long, and into the morning.
“Where are you going to be?” I asked.
“In the movie theater, probably.”
“The movie theater is closed. Has been for years.”
He flexed his fingers. “No problem for a skilled criminal such as myself.”
I rolled my eyes. “Let’s not get arrested. Mmkay?”
“They’ll never take me alive,” he said, but not like it was a joke.
We pulled into the movie theater parking lot. Today was the day.
I would get to the Truth, complete with a capital T. I would capture these brutal boys on film. How they were flawed. How they were human. I would penetrate to the core of who they were. I would put all of Cass’s lessons and insights into action. I would find the secret unphotographable essence of each boy, and I would photograph it.
And the day was perfect. A gray blanket of cloud completely obscured the sun. There would be no harsh shadows, no tricks of the light to get in the way. The air was cold. The wind had a smoky edge to it. Each boy would stand before me in his team T-shirt, as I’d specified in my instructions, bare arms exposed and goose bumped, shivering. My sense of triumph as I came to a stop was complete.
And then I saw him. Sheffield. Standing beside his car, waving at me.
“Shit,” I said.
“Shit,” Solomon said.
“What the hell is he doing here so early?”
“Same thing as you,” Solomon muttered. “The first to arrive controls the space.”
“I’ll let him think that,” I said, and remembered that Sheffield had assigned Solomon as Connor’s target. “Don’t talk to him, okay? Like, at all. He’s a manipulative little shit and he’ll get inside of your head.”
“He’s a punk,” Solomon said, getting out of the car, smiling, waving at Sheffield. “And he’s smaller than me. He won’t do shit, not without his army behind him. He’s weak. That’s why he’s a bully.”
I nodded. Sometimes Solomon lived in a fantasy world full of horrors, and other times I could see that he understood our world way better than I ever would.
I got out, and took a picture of Sheffield, grinning, leaning on the hood of his car. His proud smile shrank, the slightest bit. Weird shapes swung through the air around him.
Past the theater, there were only woods. Walk through them far enough and eventually you’d come to the freight train tracks.
Sheffield shook hands with both of us. “Good to see you, Solomon. What’s shaking?”
Solomon glared down at the shorter boy, then made a low snickering sound. “Have fun, Ash,” he said, without breaking eye contact, then stalked off.
“Strange dude,” Sheffield said to me.
“Everybody’s strange, if you really get to know them,” I said, and busied myself with setting up my equipment. He tried chatting me up a couple more times in the hour until the rest of the team started arriving, but I deflected each attempt.
Where had Solomon gone? Into the theater, like he said? And what would Sheffield do about his being there—since he’d already hung a target around his neck? Would he tell the others? Would he tell Connor? Would he call off the shoot? Or—the more likely scenario—would he do something worse than anything I could think to anticipate?
But then I couldn’t think about it anymore, because the shoot was underway. I had light tests to do, sample shots to make. Finding the right balance of ISO and shutter speed and aperture. I decided to err on the side of a longer exposure, to allow a smaller aperture, which would give me greater depth of focus.
Because I wanted focus. Clarity. Perfect precision. Whatever was written on their faces, I wanted to capture it.
With sadness—and with relief—I noticed that only one of the thirty team members was missing. Connor.
For the best, really. He wouldn’t want to see me after the way we left things. After he told me he didn’t want to be my Friend with Benefits anymore. And after he spilled the truth about the whole football team’s conspiracy of vandalism and hate crimes.
I took shots of the whole group of them, chatting nervously, standing awkwardly.
Watching Sheffield interact with his teammates, the way they deferred to him, the Induction Ceremonies made perfect sense. And while now wasn’t the moment to bring any of it up, confront any of them about what they’d done, my eyes would be open for it when I looked through the lens.
“All right, assholes,” Sheffield called. “Ash is ready to get started.”
“Thank you, Winthrop,” I said, pleased to see him wince at the sound of the first name he hated so much. Other boys giggled. “You first, Justin.”
For the portraits, I had picked out a stretch of wall where the paint was perfectly clear and even. No graffiti, no cracking or chipping or bullet holes. A plain white background for each boy.
Justin stood there, and gave me the grin you give to the photographer for school pictures. Broad and dumb and childish. I took a picture, just to set him at ease.
“No smile,” I said.
“Yeah, Justin,” somebody yelled. Six different conversations were going on behind me. They were uncomfortable, bored. Getting rowdy.
“Tell them to be quiet,” I told Sheffield. And, after a second, he did. And the feeling of power I got from ordering him around—ordering all of them around—was like electricity all through me.
“You’re still smiling,” I told Justin. “Give me nothing.”
He gave it. The swirling ink blots behind him were calm, modest.
I felt the tiniest beginning of a tingle up my spine, and then I reached for it. Grabbed hold. Focused on it. Felt it swell. Watched the shapes change, clarify.
“Good,” I said, after taking twenty different shots of Justin. “You can go, now.”
I was on my third football player when I heard a car pull into the parking lot.
“Connor!” someone called.
“Hey,” he said, and I shivered at the sound of his voice. Connor got into line and if he looked in my direction, I didn’t see, didn’t look back.
“You’re up, Will,” I said.
The shiver in my spine was getting stronger all the time. I could feel it, an energy pulsing through my eyes a
nd into my fingertips.
And this time, when I looked through the lens, I really looked. Focused on the swirling black ink in the air around him. Blocked out everything else, until the shiver of my spine was all I felt. Watched the ink expand, take on concrete shapes. His damage, his demons. His darkest moments. I could use what I saw.
Night. Ski mask on his head, gloves on his hands. Spray-painting a line of dark blue swastikas along the back of Judy Saperstein’s house.
“Hey, have you seen Judy lately?” I asked.
His jaw dropped. Panic filled his eyes, and then was replaced by anger.
I pressed the shutter. Click.
“No,” he said.
“Got the shot,” I said, and waved my hand dismissively. “Your turn, Hector.”
And so on, down the line. By the eighth player we had hit a groove. Their awkwardness was gone, replaced by a kind of impatient boredom. Which was good. A place of frustration to start from, when they stepped in front of me.
I could see so much more, now. Which ones were monsters, and which were just scared little boys trying their hardest to be men. The shiver in my spine—the visions through my lens—they were under my control.
They all left, when I was done with them. The crowd shrank fast. Connor was the very last in line. It was only me and him and Sheffield—and Solomon, somewhere. Watching us, I felt certain.
“Hey,” Connor said, taking his place before me. The first word he’d said to me, since I left his house that night. I had been angry before that, at his complicity in the Induction Ceremony scheme, and then ashamed of how I might have hurt him. Now I felt only sadness for him. Because he was such a sweet and kind person—now. But Sheffield was already at work on him, and so was the whole horrible world. Sweetness and kindness were so easily broken. Crushed into oblivion.
“Hey,” I said.
His smile was weak, thin. Forced. Proud. Sad. I took a single shot of him. Trying my hardest not to tap into my ability. It switched off easily, and I saw only Connor. “That’s perfect,” I said, and smiled back. My smile broadened his, made it real—wide and happy.
“Goodbye, Sheffield,” I said, turning to him.
He blinked, startled at being dismissed, and then recovered. Sheepish, calculated grin. “Later, Ash. Seems like it was a success, yeah?”
“You did good. Thanks for your help.”
We eyed each other, for a second or six, before he saluted and turned to go to his car.
“Why are you helping me?” I called.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he said, his voice sounding different—lower, sadder—and for a very short second I felt like I was getting the real Sheffield, a boy with no schemes or plans or power plays. A boy who wasn’t good at sports, who wasn’t strong or creative or funny, who developed the art of manipulation out on the elementary school recess field from sheer, sad loneliness.
“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who does anything that won’t benefit him in some way.”
He frowned, and then nodded. “I guess I get that. Maybe I wanted to help you out. Maybe you asked me for something and I could help you, so I did. Or maybe I just one day, maybe, want to call in a favor.”
They all felt partially true.
I watched him drive off. Neither Connor nor I said anything right away.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should never have gone along with them.”
“I know,” I said, and I smiled, because I really did understand, but I also didn’t have anything else to say to him. I got into the car and after a few seconds he walked back to his own.
“I want Indian food,” Solomon said, startling me. He was laying down in the back seat.
“How long have you been back there?”
He shrugged.
“Indian food sounds really good, actually,” I said.
I watched Connor’s car pull out of the parking lot. Midafternoon, and already the shadows had swallowed us up. Soon the sun would set. We’d be alone in the dark. Winter was halfway there.
“It was me,” I said. “I called Child Protective Services, told them where you’ve been sleeping.”
“I know,” he said. “Of course I know that.”
“How did you—”
“Ash,” he said, and Don’t be stupid was implied in his tone of voice. “There’s no one else who cares enough about me to snitch.”
He chuckled. I couldn’t tell if he’d had to make himself do that.
“You’re not mad?”
Solomon shrugged. “I was for a little while. When I found you on that beach, I was fully intending to curse you out. But when I saw that asshole about to hurt you, I realized my anger wasn’t meant for you. I love you.”
I breathed in, out. Relief flooded me, and shame. “I’m so worried about you, Solomon. That’s why I did it.”
“I know.”
“I’ll go with you,” I said. “To CPS. So you won’t be alone.”
“Maybe,” he said, his voice shrinking, and I could almost hear the fear pressing down on his chest. “I’ll think about it.”
“We’ll have to drive down to Red Hook,” I said. “For Indian food.”
“That’s cool?” he asked. His hands were behind his head and he was smiling.
“That’s cool,” I said, excited already at the thought of the strong, sweet milky tea that would provide badly needed caffeine at the same time as it soothed my frazzled nerves.
Thirty-Four
Solomon
We drank sweet milk tea, and ate soft fluffy idli. Radha had packed us two little breakfasts, when we woke up at dawn and told her that Ash and I had to go. Niv had given us the last of his money. Enough to paddock Maraud in a safe place, and get a hotel room if we absolutely had to.
He’d hugged us. And I kissed him, in front of Radha and Ash. His smile was like the last gulp of air you take before diving under water, when you don’t know how soon you’ll be able to breathe again.
Logistics were worked out. Ways to get in touch. Worried looks were hidden away. We all kissed sleeping Connor on his forehead. And then we headed out, and went our separate ways, and Ash and I were alone.
And now we sat along the riversea, miles away from home, with no clear idea of where we were going. Drinking tea and pretending like we weren’t scared shitless.
“How do you feel, Ash?” I asked. All morning long she’d been present, saying little but responding in ways that made it clear she was aware of what was happening around her.
She nodded, then reached out her hand for mine. “I’m okay.”
“Better today than yesterday?”
“I can see and hear things . . . better.”
“Excellent.”
“What happened?” she asked. “Last night. The attacks, during my mother’s speech?”
That was the old Ash, all right. Concerned for everyone else’s safety. Worried more about her city and her people than about herself. I told her the little that we knew, from the news reports on the radio. Thirteen people were confirmed dead. Fifty-seven known instances of sabotage and terrorism. Monsters slaughtered, all over the city. DPD had made no arrests.
I took both of her hands in one of mine, and pressed them together. “There’s something I need you to remember. Something that I think will help. Will you let me try something?”
Ash nodded.
I shut my eyes. Breathed in, straightened my spine, focused on the sensations there. Tried not to try. Tried to just let it happen, like it had with the brontosaurus. Tried to feel happy, stable, strong. Things that would help her out, lend her the power she needed to break through the spell she was under, access her own ability. But where do emotions like that live? Wherever happiness and stability and strength were, I couldn’t snap my fingers and summon them up.
A breeze came in from down the shore, bringing with it the smell of the riverfront laundry vats, and I had my answer.
Because I thought of Connor. The day we met. When he was two and I was twelve. The clea
n-clothes smell of him. The happiness, coming off of him in waves, so strong that my sadness about being cast out of the Palace blew away like raptor feathers in the wind.
Memory can make you feel things.
“Shut your eyes,” I told Ash.
She did.
“Do you remember the time you found out your mother was going to let you attend a meeting of her governing council?”
“Yeah,” she said, and my eyes were shut but I could feel the smile in her voice.
I let myself drift back into the body of the boy I’d been. Only a month or so before my banishment. I could smell the familiar interior: stuffy like a bank, safe like a church. Summertime; thick stone walls kept the inside of the place a solid ten degrees cooler than the rest of the city.
I saw us, in front of a long line of mirrors. Because of course the queen had an entire room just for getting dressed. Ash stood there, holding a dress in each hand. One gray and one mauve. I was sprawled on a massive round blue velvet couch.
“They’re both awful,” I said.
Ash threw them both on the ground. “They are.”
We wore the simple tunics used by Palace guards and soldiers for their training. Ash had just come from there—the nine guards stood outside in the hallway, dressed identically—they’d spent hours drilling martial arts, but she still only had the one move, where she grabbed an attacker by the wrist and by the elbow and bent the arm the wrong way.
“You should wear that,” I said, sticking out my leg to touch the tunic with my toe.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said. “This is a very big day for me. I don’t want to meet them dressed like a soldier-in-training.”
“Why not? Is it better to meet them looking like a duchess whose mother is trying to marry her off? Go in there as the princess that you are, not the one your mother wants you to be.”
She nodded. Of course I was right. I was only repeating stuff I’d heard her say before. Ash understood things in a way I never would.
She tried on several more gowns, but I knew the argument was over. I’d won.
I let it swell and grow inside of me, the same pride I’d felt back then. In that moment I’d believed that I belonged in the Palace, that I was part of that world, that I had something to offer. That Ash and I would change our city, fix everything that was wrong with it.
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