No Rest for the Wicked

by Krystal Jane Ruin

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  “That’s a start.” She picks at her nails. “So maybe in six years, when I’m your age, I’ll get to have a life, too.”

  “You won’t have to wait that long. I’ll sneak you out before I let that happen.” Assuming she still has a life when this is over. Because I will end this. Even if I have to die for it.

  Gretchen almost smiles. “I fantasize about sneaking out sometimes, but I don’t know where I would go.”

  Kalin bounces up the stairs and into my room. “All right! What can I talk you two into watching?”

  I check my phone for the eighteenth time, at least. The movie’s been over for almost an hour, and Kalin and Gretchen have filled that space with boy talk. I’m not trying to get there too early, but I’ll need a few extra minutes to compose myself.

  Of course, I’d rather not go at all. But given how easily Shepard slipped unnoticed into the house last night...well, unnoticed by everyone except the cat...I don’t even want to think about it. Not that I can stop the onslaught of thoughts once they start.

  Was the door not locked when we got back? I don’t remember.

  I check my phone again. Why am I even worried about being rude? I haven’t spoken since the movie started, and I have nothing at all to contribute to this conversation. I missed every single one of my awkward dating years.

  I’m halfway to my feet before I realize what I’m doing.

  The conversation stalls as they both look up at me.

  “I’m just going to step outside for a bit,” I say. “Maybe walk around a little. I need to clear my head.”

  Suspicion lines Kalin’s eyes. “Do you want us to come with you?”

  “No. I’m…I’m good. I just want to stretch my legs. Take advantage of my newfound freedom and all.”

  Kalin still looks suspicious. “Well, don’t have too much fun out there doing nothing.”

  “Watch out for zombies,” Gretchen says.

  I smile. “Will do.” Relief spreads over me.

  I step out of her room and head down the stairs. Tessandra is cleaning up in the kitchen and turns away from the sink right as I’m passing by, almost as if she can sense me.

  “You girls having fun up there?” She dries her hands on the apron around her waist.

  “Yeah. I’m just going outside for some air.” Some cold, biting air.

  “Outside?” Tessandra checks her watch. She looks back at my face, her own a wall of calm, but I know her well enough to know she’s near to bursting with questions behind it.

  “Yeah.” Blood bumps slow and hard between my ears, and my palms grow sweaty. She’s going to take it back, isn’t she? She’s going to force my curfew back on me and kill us all.

  “Okay,” she finally says after several of the most drawn-out seconds ever. “Take a jacket. It’s cool out.”

  I nod and hurry away to the coat closet before she can say anything else. I grab the first thing I see, an obnoxiously bright aqua windbreaker with black stripes wrapping horizontally down the sleeves. Not exactly the kind of thing a person wears when they don’t want to be seen, but I don’t want to tarry too long, so I pull it on and slip out of the house before anyone can stop me. Or join me.

  Emmerick’s truck isn’t outside again. That’s the first thing I notice. Not that he has to be here all the time, and I’m kind of relieved he’s not. If anyone would try to join me, it would probably be him.

  There’s a little ball of warmth in the pit of my stomach at the thought of him, but I push those thoughts away and trot off down the street, keeping my phone tucked in my pocket while I’m still in sight of the house.

  A light breeze brushes against me, and I hold my arms in close and keep my eyes trained to the patches of light along the road.

  Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.

  The wind blows bits of my hair into my face, so I focus on that, and how much I regret taking my hair down during the movie. I left the tie on the floor by my feet.

  The scent of damp grass and rain stick to the air. My eyes graze over the old, comfortable homes on my street. I take in the vines growing up the brick and vinyl exteriors, the dark, slanted roofs, the sloping hills and driveways, the windows that glow like fireplace embers. Everything looks so at peace. So normal.

  I train my thoughts on random, pointless things until my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out. It’s telling me to turn left.

  I’m at the edge of the neighborhood, under a street lamp. My eyes lock on the shadows around me automatically, out of habit. It would be faster if I cut across people’s yards. But to do that I have to walk into the shadows.

  My throat closes up. I dig my nails into my palms and force my feet off the road. There’s nothing there. Don’t be stupid. When is the last time I’ve even seen anything move?

  Two days ago.

  No. I didn’t.

  Yes, you did…

  I focus on my hair again as it blows into my mouth. One more hour. Just see what they want. Everything will be fine.

  Everything will be…

  Chapter Fourteen

  It isn’t hard to figure out where they want me to meet them. A boarded up warehouse and a series of forgotten storage units are the only buildings that sit along the crusted road. The diffused light squeezing out of the slats gets swallowed up by the night.

  The last street lamp was about a half of a mile back. It’s twelve minutes until midnight. I slide my phone into the jacket pocket and scoot up closer to the warehouse.

  Three vehicles are parked in the overgrown parking lot to the left: a silver convertible, a black SUV, and a white, family-friendly minivan.

  I wade through the waist-high grass, ignoring the fact that this place is probably crawling with snakes, and press in close to the rusted metal siding.

  Reaching out with my mind, I get a feel for four bodies inside. Fragmented images of garbage tells me one of them is Shepard.

  A door facing the parking lot scrapes open and keys jingle.

  I sink down into the grass, though there’s probably no point in trying to hide, given how dark it is.

  Moments later, an engine purrs to life, and the silver convertible speeds out into the street, a broad-shouldered man with a thick head of wavy black hair behind the wheel.

  I creep around to the front of the warehouse. A man stands in front of the peeling red door smoking some kind of pipe.

  Wait…it’s that guy from the club last night. Why am I not surprised to see him here? I can just picture a whole fleet of guys like him, milling around the club, looking for someone to take advantage of. Which, in this case, could mean almost anything.

  His back straightens all of a sudden, and he turns to peer in the shadows with dark eyes. They find my face almost immediately. This guy has night vision like a cat.

  He smiles and slides the pipe into his front pocket. “You’re early.”

  It’s too late to run. I wouldn’t make it far.

  I still my breathing and step away from the building.

  “We burned women like you alive back in my day,” he says as casually as someone might talk about the weather. He spits into the grass, still grinning. “Now we’re practically kissing your ass.”

  “You call threatening me ‘kissing my ass?’ That’s nice.”

  He laughs. “Well, considering the alternative.” He smiles wider and makes a slicing motion across his throat. “But we did try to ask you nicely.” He nods to the dimmed interior of the warehouse. “After you.”

  Before stepping into the muggy hallway, I sweep my eyes around the shadows lurking near the road, the building, and the parking lot. Nothing moves, and I’m almost surprised to find myself disappointed.

  The hall stretches out in both directions, and the darkness conceals aged walls caked in dust and mildew that fills my mouth and lungs. The unnamed guy shuts us inside. The ceiling is low enough for me touch it without straining. But I don’t touch it. There’s no telling what’s up there, a
nd who knows, the entire thing may come tumbling down on my head.

  The guy leads me to the right, towards an opening several feet down on the left. Pale orange light reaches out from the interior. For a moment, my heart stills, and images of my sister collapsing to the floor fill my vision.

  I squeeze my lids together and try to push the memory away. I take an involuntary deep breath and immediately cough up the particles of neglect that race into my throat.

  “To be human, huh?” the guy says.

  When I look up, he’s grinning at me again. That amused, wolfish grin. He motions for me to step into the room. I slide past him, taking care not to brush against him or the wall.

  The room expands for several yards in all directions, mostly empty except for shadows, dust-covered debris, and a few piles of useless, abandoned crap. A partition stands in the center, some kind of half wall made of crumbling stone. The light in the room comes from an oil lamp that sits on top of the wall. In front of this is an old, soiled mattress. And in front of that is a folding chair with peeling beige paint.

  A dark-haired man slouches over in the seat, crying audibly.

  Shepard turns away from him as we enter.

  “You’re early,” he says.

  I shrug.

  The slouched man lifts his head and brings his blood-shot and tear-stained eyes to my face. Recognition prickles through my veins.

  It’s that distressed guy from Renali’s office earlier today. What is he doing here?

  Before I can stop myself, I’m thinking about Evangeline and what I saw in her head. All three of the men watch me closely, as if they’re waiting for me to do something.

  I focus for a moment on the guy to my right and reach inside of his head for a name—Darnell. It doesn’t mean anything to me, but I’m glad I have something to call him all the same. I pull away from his mind before I see something I’ll regret.

  I turn to face Shepard. “What do you want? Why am I here?” If they wanted to kill me, they certainly wouldn’t have to go through so much trouble.

  Chills climb down my back. I remember how casually he was waiting for me in my room last night. It feels like a lifetime ago.

  The man’s sniffling breaks the silence in the room. “I just don’t understand…She didn’t even leave a note.”

  Shepard rolls his eyes. “His wife is missing. She ran off two days ago.”

  “You said you would help us,” the man says, accusation lining his dark, watery eyes. “She came to you for help, and now she’s gone.”

  Darnell lays a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder. “Patience.” He locks eyes with me. “We need you to poke around in his head. Find his wife.”

  “But he doesn’t know where she is,” I say.

  “He doesn’t need to know,” Shepard says.

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t work that way. I can’t just dive in there and latch onto his wife.”

  “You can find her.” Shepard smiles. The sight of it frays the ends of my nerves.

  I start to protest again, and he cuts me off.

  “You can find her.” The words are encouraging enough, but the way he says it and the way he smiles makes them feel like a threat.

  Never in my life have I been able to do what he’s asking. I know I’ve been able to pick up on things. Like with the girl from the other day, the one with the multi-colored hair. I knew why her father was giving her a hard time about college. But that was more me picking up on the energy in the house and hearing the echoes of conversations that have taken place within those walls. What they want me to do now is completely different.

  “Please,” the man says, his voice wavering with the effort it’s taking him to hold back the rest of his tears. “Please, try.”

  I let out a heavy breath and pull myself inside of his head.

  There’s darkness. The man, Walden, strolls through the empty kitchen, squinting into the shadows.

  “Marissa?”

  He opens the fridge and light plays across his face, revealing tired features twisted with worry. Her car is outside. A red SUV. Her keys are on the kitchen table.

  “Marissa? Cotessa?”

  He moves to a staircase and takes the steps two at a time. “Hey, baby, it’s me.” He steps into their bedroom. Their bed is empty. The bathroom is empty. He moves down the hall to another room. Gifts of balloons and flowers and teddy bears cover the twin bed against the wall, the dresser, a desk, every available surface.

  He scratches the back of his head and pulls out his phone. He’s called her three times already. He calls her again.

  It goes straight to voicemail. Her friendly and lightly husky voice twists his face even more. “Marissa here. Leave a message if you want me to call you back.”

  “Baby, where are you? Someone from your work called and said you didn’t show up today. Then I called the hospital, and they said you checked her out already? I thought we were going to do that together. Is everything okay? Did something happen? Please call me. I’m starting to worry.”

  He hangs up, and his arm falls limp and heavy to his side. He moves over to the dresser, light oak with jeweled handles sprinkled down the front. Squeezed behind a vase of pink flowers is a photograph, taken outside. He and a tall, slender woman with a short cut of white blonde hair sit close together on a bench. A girl of about ten years old, with dark hair like her father, stands behind them, smiling brightly for the camera.

  “Please be okay,” he whispers to the silver frame. “Please just call me back.”

  I push towards the woman in the picture. Marissa.

  I meet with resistance, like pushing against a locked but brittle gate. But after a moment the rusted latch breaks away, and I find myself near the ocean.

  Hmm. Interesting. I wonder if this is what Renali meant when she said that facing my past would make me stronger.

  Marissa’s in someone’s house—her older sister’s house. She stands by a sliding door, looking over a sandy backyard that disappears into a swelling ocean. She bites down hard on her lip, phone in hand. Her husband’s name is pulled up on the screen, but she won’t press the button to call him.

  “You’re so lucky to have found a donor so soon,” her sister says, coming into the small, brightly lit living room from the kitchen. She hands Marissa a glass of iced tea and posts up beside her. “It’s a miracle.”

  Marissa swallows hard and buries her strained smile in the glass of tea.

  “I’m so glad you brought her here. The fresh ocean air will do wonders for her recovery.” She scrutinizes Marissa. “And Walden will be here in a few days, you said?”

  Marissa nods, mouth still locked on the glass.

  “Good. You guys need and deserve a good vacation. I can’t even imagine how tough it’s been for you. I wish you had told me.”

  Marissa lowers the glass. “I’m here now.”

  Her sister smiles, tears shining behind her eyes.

  I pull away. Shepard, Walden, and Darnell come into focus. They’re all watching me intently. Shepard greedily. Walden hopefully. Darnell with a smug and arrogant grin on his face.

  I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Triumph glitters in Shepard’s eyes. He knows I saw something. He won’t believe me if I lie. But I hesitate a minute longer, weighing the consequences of my words.

  “What do you want from her?” I ask.

  “Payment for a job well done,” Shepard says. “She pays. It’s over. And her and hubby here live happily ever after.”

  “Everyone?”

  Shepard licks his lips. “Yes, everyone.”

  An iron band closes around my heart.

  The man, Walden, stands. “Do you know where my wife is? Please, did you…see something?”

  My jaw tenses. “Does she have family nearby?”

  “Family?” Confusion further tightens his face. “There’s her sister, Miranda. She lives on the East Coast, but they haven’t spoken to each other in almost five years. Why?”

  Shepard leans in
.

  “How much does she owe you?” I ask Shepard.

  “Not much,” he says.

  Darnell snorts.

  “Not much,” Shepard repeats, ignoring everyone else around him.

  “We can pay,” Walden says. “It’s already been discussed. Please, tell me. What did you see?”

  “She’s at her sister’s house,” I say, giving in. It’s not like I can drag this out forever.

  Walden shakes his head. “She wouldn’t go over there.”

  “Call Gage,” Shepard says to Darnell, whose phone is already halfway to his ear.

  “On it.”

  Walden turns around to look back and forth between them. “No, no. You don’t understand. That is the last place my wife would go. They had a falling out. You don’t just start talking to someone again out of nowhere. If they were speaking again, she would have told me. This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “We have a read on a Miranda Di Impor,” Darnell says into the phone.

  Walden turns back to me, his gaze pleading. “Why would she go over there?”

  I draw my shoulders up and take a step away from him. “I don’t know. But that’s where she is.”

  Walden shakes his head. “But why?”

  Shepard slides up behind him, silent as a shadow. “She really didn’t tell you what the payment was, did she?”

  Walden turn’s his confused gaze to Shepard. “It wasn’t money?”

  Shepard lets out a little laugh. “No. Far more valuable than that.” He cups a hand under Walden’s chin and squeezes his jaw until his lips part.

  Walden struggles to speak in the immovable grip, his hand floating weakly up and down again as he decides what to do about it. “What do you want then?” he manages, his face reddening from the pain.

  Shepard pries Walden’s mouth open some more. “Your lives.” He catches the small glass bottle Darnell tosses to him, rounded bottom, long neck, just like the one I saw in Evangeline’s head.

  Dread climbs down my back, leaving a trail of icy pain in its wake.

  Shepard raises the bottle to the man’s opened lips and draws out a vibrant orange mist. It twists down into the bottle, filling it from the bottom up like sand.