by Callie Hart
There’s no sound, but I can see the board Garrett’s holding in his hands, and I can guess well enough what’s going on between the man and the woman I love. He’s telling her a disjointed tale, explaining how he came to be tied to Lazlo. I’m so fucking far away. There’s nothing I can do to protect her from him. There’s no way for me to prevent him from hurting her. All I can do is stand here, trapped in the very bowels of the fucking earth, watching as my Firefly confronts this dangerous, unknown entity with a gun in her shaking hand.
I knew that bastard was trouble. I fucking knew it from the moment I set eyes on him.
“I did claim him. That’s a good way of putting it,” Lazlo says. “A long time ago, I went back to the church where Calliope left me, and I saw him there. Sullen, tiny little thing with a defiant look in his eyes. The nuns remembered me. They didn’t say a word when I said I wanted to take him. No one does that, y’see. No one ever wants to adopt the weak, scrawny, angry looking ones with the chip on their shoulders. Those kids just rot in places like that, causing trouble and sullying the other kids by sheer proximity alone. Those bitches were glad to get rid of him.”
I’m not concentrating on what Lazlo’s saying. I’m far too concerned with what’s going on on the screen. Zara’s in danger. She should have stayed with Seo-Jun, for fuck’s sake. She would have been safe there. She should have trusted me, and told me that she suspected Garrett was involved. I realize the irony of this thought, even as I brush it away; I didn’t tell her I was coming here to confront Lazlo, after all. This is different, though. I’m a fighter. I’m used to this world. I’ve been hurt and threatened more times in my life than I can even count. I can handle this. What I cannot handle is witnessing her get hurt.
“You don’t remember when I came back to live with the clan,” Lazlo says. “You weren’t even born. Garrett was sixteen, though. I’d taken care of him for six years. I’d molded him into a man. I’d shown him how the world worked. He resisted at first. Tried to rail against me. He broke the rules and paid the price, over and over again. In the end, he submitted, though.
Leaving him was difficult, but I wanted to cleanse myself of this poison inside me. I couldn’t do that if a single member of the Rivin Clan still existed. They needed to pay for what they’d done to my mother. So Garrett remained in New York, while I caught up with the Midnight Fair. I found them in Wyoming. Creatures of habit, Calliope always called her people. They were easy to find, if you knew their routes and their traditions. Killing Jamis took all of a second. I slit his throat while he was sleeping in his vardo.
“I was going to burn the entire camp to the ground. It would have been quick. It was summer, a hot summer, and the clan had chosen to set up in a field full of long, dry grass. Tinder everywhere. The wagons would have gone up in seconds. I was ready to do it. I had the lighter in my hand…” Lazlo’s eyes become unfocused. “But then I saw her.” He points at Kezia; she flinches away from his finger as though he’s just lashed her with a whip.
“You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but her hair was red, too. Red like Calliope’s. She spoiled it with all that bleach. I saw her running through the grass, laughing, the most…the most beautiful smile on her face. She reminded me of my mother, but she was so different at the same time. I wanted her right then and there, but I made myself wait. If she saw a stranger in the camp, she’d know I was responsible for killing Jamis once they’d discovered his body. So I left. I caught up with them two months later, here, in Spokane. Introduced myself to the clan. Your father had already been crowned king. He didn’t want to let me stay with the group, but Calliope had taught me all about the Rivins,” he spits. “I managed to convince him I was from another clan, and I wanted to travel with the new king. Archie had shown up around the same time, saying the same thing. Convenient for me. Made my claim all the more believable.
“So I stayed. Kezia and I started seeing each other. I would have to leave for a month at a time to check on Garrett, but when I came back, she’d be waiting for me. We kept it secret. She didn’t want her sister finding out until we were ready to get married. She did find out, though, didn’t she?” Lazlo calls out to Kezia. The woman just hangs her head, leaning against her restraints. She isn’t trying to free herself, though. From looking at her, it’s clear she’s accepted the bindings that tie her to the chair, and now they’re nothing more than a means of keeping her upright.
“Shelta caught us naked in Kezia’s vardo. She wasn’t happy. Said she was going to tell the king, her husband, that she’d sullied herself. She was no longer pure and worthy of a true Rom husband. I left to check in on Garrett, and Shelta followed me, didn’t she? She threatened me. Told me not to see you again. Said she’d expose me as a gadje if I so much as looked at you again. I didn’t listen. I came back and fell straight back into your bed. We barely surfaced for air for three weeks, and when we did, Shelta was livid. There was a storm. We were camped at the glen, in the exact same spot your family are camped now, Pasha. Shelta dragged your aunt down to the river in the pouring rain. Had her by the hair.” Lazlo walks over to Kezia and curls a wave of her hair around his finger, almost lovingly. “I didn’t see her push you in, but she did, didn’t she?”
Kezia whimpers.
“She told everyone you were dead. I think she really believed it, too. For the longest time.”
I’m so fucking sick of listening to Lazlo’s masturbatory storytelling. If he wanted to tell his life story, painting himself as some kind of hero, then he should have written a fucking book and had done with it. I’d rather die an old man in bed, not knowing the reason behind any of this than have to listen to the sick fuck prattle on for one more second. “Where’s the key?” I growl.
Lazlo starts, as if he’s forgotten I’m even here. “What key?”
“The key to the mask.”
Lazlo grins, flashing crooked, yellowed teeth. “Right here in my pocket. No need to concern yourself with that, though. You just worry about what’s going to happen to Zara if I don’t call Garrett soon.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lazlo lets his head rock back. He reaches his arms high in the air, pointing the gun at the ceiling, groaning as he stretches, cat-like. “Oh. Well. Y’know. Garrett’s well aware that I’m watching everything that’s going on in that apartment. I’m a planner. I like to think things through from all angles and create contingency plans accordingly. This possibility—Zara figuring out Garrett’s involvement and holding him at gun point—wasn’t something I anticipated. But I did think perhaps she’d go to him for help. I figured there was a possibility she might end up in his apartment. I gave Garrett standing orders, should that ever happen. I told him he was to slit her fucking throat if I didn’t call and give him counter orders within a set time frame.”
“Hah. Bullshit.” It has to be. He’s so full of shit, there’s no way he’s telling the truth. “You’d let him slit her throat? After you spent so long cueing this whole thing up? She’s too important to you.”
“Important? Why the hell would she be important to me?”
“Because she reminds you of Calliope, just like Kezia did. God, you’re a sick fuck, Lazlo. Did you think you were gonna have her? Is that it? You saw her walking down the street in Spokane and you decided you were gonna stalk the shit out of her?”
Lazlo grabs a handful of Kezia’s hair and yanks on it, forcing her head back. The woman cries out in pain, and a tyrannical, terrible light flares in the black pits of Lazlo’s pupils. “Careful, Pasha. You don’t want me to hurt her, do you? Your lovely aunt?”
My stomach drops when I look down and I notice, for the first time, that every single one of Kezia’s fingernails is missing. I want to fucking throw up. “Looks like you already did that.”
“I’ve been very good to her so far, considering what she did to me.”
“What the fuck did she do, Lazlo? She was just another fucking victim to my mother’s spite!”
“SHE DIDN’T COME BACK FOR ME!!!�
�� he roars. “She told me she loved me. She swore she’d never leave me. She did, though. She took the opportunity that presented itself to her, and she didn’t fucking turn back.”
Kezia’s shoulders are shaking. I don’t see her tears streaking her face, thanks to the mask. I see them rolling down the column of her neck as they pour out from underneath the thick, heavy metal. Something snaps inside me. “My grandfather was right. You are prikoza. The very worst kind. Everyone you come into contact with pays the price. Everything you touch turns to ash. Three generations of my family have suffered at your hands. You’re filled with so much hate. Even your love is fucking corrupted. You’re tarnished, down to the roots of your soul, Lazlo. Calliope should have left you to fucking freeze on the side of that railway track.”
This is a dangerous play. It’s going to pay off, though. It has to. Baiting’s a common tactic in a cage fight. Taunt and mock your opponent to the point that they’re incensed with rage, dropping their guard and leaving themselves wide open for you to step in and knock them the fuck out. I’ve never done it before. Never needed to. I’ve always considered it a weak, dishonorable trick, but like Lazlo said…what about this situation is fair?
Lazlo freezes. Doesn’t react. A tide of red creeps up his neck, letting me know just how furious he is, though. “You really are brave, Pasha. I’ll give you that. To risk her safety by saying such things to me… If you’re not careful, I might decide I don’t want to call off my attack dog.”
I ready myself. Glancing at the screen out of the corner of my eye, my heart stumbles in my chest, momentarily paralyzing me with fear. They’re not there anymore. Zara and Garrett. They’re fucking gone. I have to swallow down my own screaming panic, forcing myself to trust my own instincts. Zara’s okay. She’s fine. She’s not dead. “You didn’t tell him to kill her, you lying piece of shit,” I growl.
“You’re sure? Are you one hundred percent positive? If you’re wrong, will you be able to live with the consequences? Will you be able to live with yourself?”
He’s so fucking arrogant. I’m going to enjoy making the motherfucker scream. “Yeah. I’m sure. You’re not the type to give away a prize after working for it for so long. And besides…even if you had told your little stooge to cut her from ear to ear…he’d never fucking do it.”
“Oh?” Lazlo cocks his head to one side, puzzled. “I’ve known Garrett a hell of a lot longer than you. I built him, Pasha. He is an extension of me. If I tell him to do something, he does it without fail.”
Shaking my head, I begin to move forward. “Yeah, but you missed something during all the time you spent watching Zara on those monitors, you fucking psycho.” Every molecule of my body is vibrating with energy. Every nerve ending is firing. Every scrap and fiber of my being is demanding that I do it, that I act, that I end all of this now. I take a shallow breath, reining myself in, and a deadly quiet suddenly settles over me. The killing quiet.
“Enlighten me, please, Pasha. Tell me,” Lazlo sneers. “What did I miss?”
“The moment when your attack dog fell in love with the girl.”
I launch myself, and Lazlo reacts. He lifts the gun and fires, but I’m not where he’s expecting me to be. I’m to his left, ducking around a chair, half shoved underneath a desk, and I’m throwing the wrench…
I don’t try to hit him with it.
I hurl the heavy piece of metal upward, and it hits the single strip light mounted to the ceiling. The light shatters, sending sparks showering down on us…and the room plunges into darkness.
FOURTH
The man is angry at the boy. Tired of him, he says.
The boy doesn’t know how to make it better. So long as he swears not to make a peep, the man lets him sit in the living room with the sound turned down on the television, or sometimes he’ll let him read a book, but the man rarely comes to visit the boy in the night anymore.
Another boy lives in the box. Archer. Archer is an older boy with bright red hair, and whenever the man goes into the box with Archer’s food, there’s always a lot of banging and shouting. Most of the time, when the man comes back out, there’s blood on the crotch of his jeans, and his eyes are wild and rolling like the mad dog that lives in the apartment below us.
The world outside the window of our apartment is blanketed in snow. Across the city, sirens wail at all hours, competing with the early morning birdsong and the rumble of the evening delivery trucks making drop-offs to the deli on the ground floor. The boy wants to go outside and play in the snow more than anything, but the man has forbidden it.
He tells the boy he has to stay inside, warm by the fire, or there will be trouble.
The boy doesn’t like making the man angry, and so he does as he’s told. The man leaves the boy on his own in the apartment now. He goes to the park alone, and the boy is sad. He misses walking beneath the trees, and watching the birds, and getting cotton candy when he makes the man happy.
At the end of the week, the man opens the door to the box, and he says he’s taking Archer to the park. Archer doesn’t want to go. The red-haired boy is kicking and screaming, and the man hurts him and makes him go to sleep.
The boy watches out of the window as the man carries Archer down the steps to the building and puts him in the back of the van, feeling slighted that the man chose the other boy. Why should Archer get to go to the park? Hasn’t the boy done everything that’s been asked of him?
The boy knows where the man keeps a key to the front door. A secret key, hidden in a tin in the cupboard, behind the dried spaghetti and the molding bread. Determined to go outside, he takes the key and makes his plan. An hour to play in the snow. There’s nothing dangerous about that.
The conjured dream quickly becomes a reality. Outside, the world is white and strange and wonderful, and the icy chill of the wind on his skin makes the boy feel like he’s coming to life. The boy runs and slides and skids and whoops. He makes sure to be back inside long before the van skids to a halt outside the building, and the man comes running back into the apartment. Alone.
The boy wonders where Archer has gone.
The man doesn’t tell him. He grabs hold of the boy by the throat and smashes his head against the wall. “Did you think I wouldn’t know? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? That crazy bitch downstairs told me what you were doing, running around out there with no shoes on. You saw her, didn’t you. You spoke to her”
The boy denies both charges.
“Lies! Fucking lies. All you do is lie,” the man rages. He drags the boy into the living room and forces his mouth open, jamming his fingers inside.
It’s difficult to pinch hold of the boy’s tongue, but the man manages in the end.
The edge of the knife isn’t as sharp as it could be, but the man makes do with the tools at his disposal. “Can’t tell any lies if you can’t speak at all now, can you?” the man spits.
The pain is furious and unrelenting.
When the man is finished and the task is complete, the man throws the meat onto the fire. He makes the boy watch it as it burns.
Twenty-Seven
ZARA
“I saw what he did? That makes no sense. I’ve never met Lazlo before. I’ve never even seen him before. I don’t have the slightest idea what he even looks like.”
Garrett shrugs.
You’d know him, if you saw him. No one ever forgets.
I want him to explain. I want more information. I want…shit, I want to face Lazlo in person and get these answers from him directly. More than anything, I want to find Pasha. He didn’t want me going with him to find the murdering fuck because he was worried about me. Well, I’m worried about him, too. We should never have come back here to the Bakersfield. I don’t even know why I told Garrett to bring us back here. It made sense at the time, but now? Now it’s time to face this thing head-on.
“Just get up, Garrett. You’re gonna take me to him.”
Garrett’s eyes go wide. He shakes his head.
“
Yes, you are. You’re gonna take me to him, and then you’re going to help me stop him.”
For a second, he just stares at me blankly. Then he throws his head back and laughs. A deep, throaty, gargled sound floods the apartment, and I am rooted to the spot, winded and heartbroken when I see inside Garrett’s mouth.
He has no tongue.
The bulb of flesh at the back of his mouth is horrific, and obviously nowhere near long enough to enable him to speak. Most troublingly, the stump is uneven, twisted, as if the rest of the muscle was actually hacked off. This is the reason why Garrett is silent. I gasp, and Garrett stops laughing, clamping his mouth closed. His cheeks color with embarrassment, and despite everything, regardless of the fact that he threw Sarah in the back of a van and handed her over to a psychopath, I regret reacting so blatantly to his disfigurement.
I train my features into a neutral, calm expression and I do something really stupid: I lower Seo-Jun’s gun. “He did that to you, didn’t he?” I ask.
Garrett looks away, out of the window, the muscles in his jaw working.
“Garrett. Come on. Friends are not weakness. I know you don’t believe that. You could have hurt me so many times over the last three years, but you didn’t. You’ve done the opposite, in fact. You’ve looked out for me. Protected me. If you didn’t think of me as a friend, you wouldn’t have done that.”
Without looking, Garrett picks up the white board and the pen and holds the two items in his lap. He’s still staring out of the window, but his mind is working furiously, I can see it on him. On the surface, he is a still, flat lake. Below the surface, he’s a roiling, seething, churning whirlpool of confusion.
“Garrett, please. I don’t know the whole story, but I do know this. You do not owe that man anything. Do you like that he hurt that kid? Do you like that he made you take Sarah? She cooks you Sunday dinner every week, Garrett, just like she cooks for me. She’s a good human being. She cares about you. She loves you. Do you want her to die?”
