Let Me Go

by Chelsea Cain

  “Now,” she says.

  Archie flings an arm out, feels blindly for the Taser on the bedside table, and finds it. She is writhing on top of him, half mad, and his body is consumed by pleasure, her fist in his hair, his neck jammed back. He can hear the snapping sound of his hair severing from the roots. His head is twisted at an angle that allows him to look at her. He never let himself imagine he would be with someone who looked like Gretchen Lowell. Every part of her is perfect. He holds the Taser a few inches out, pointed at the dip of her waist. She makes another sound, a gentle mewling.

  Archie’s eyes move to the Taser. The gun-shaped grip, the yellow safety logo. The laser sight glows red on Gretchen’s flesh.

  She curls over him then, her eyelashes brushing his Adam’s apple. Then she lets go of his hair.

  The sudden absence of pain is almost disorienting.

  “Do it,” she pleads.

  Archie pulls the trigger.

  All of her muscles seize as the two darts make contact, sending fifty thousand volts of electrical current coursing through her body, incapacitating her. As her muscles contract, her pelvis and legs tighten around his cock. He comes instantly, and powerfully, inside her. She jerks and falls against him, and he pulls her into his arms, staying inside her as she twitches. He clings to her, counting down in his mind, waiting for the thirty-second energy burst to pass and her central nervous system to come back online. Slowly, her color returns and the rigidity of her body softens. When she lifts her head, she is out of breath and he can feel that her heart is beating as furiously as his. But she is grinning at him, a sheen of saliva on her chin, her eyes bright with pleasure.

  He can never stop, he realizes. Everything has changed. It is like having sex for the first time.

  He can never have enough of her.

  He wants to snatch the moment back, to undo it.

  Then, somewhere, far away, he hears something crash and break against a wall. He pulls away from Gretchen, sits up, and turns his head toward the sound.

  “Archie?” Gretchen asks.

  * * *

  “Archie?” Gretchen’s voice was a hoarse whisper. Archie blinked and his head jerked up, and she came into focus. Her blue eyes met his gaze and then moved over his face, a small frown line appearing between her eyebrows. He had passed out for a second. Now she was examining him, Archie realized, her eyes roving over him, finger on his pulse, medically assessing him to see how much time he had left. Not long, he figured. But his interest at this point was purely academic. He only needed long enough.

  Gretchen took his hand in hers. The gun was somehow still in his fist. Gretchen peeled off his fingers one by one from the grip. He let her do it. It was like he was watching it happen to someone else. It didn’t occur to him to resist. He couldn’t have, even if he’d had the presence of mind to want to.

  It was all so slow, so foreign. His fingers were stiff and sticky with blood. When she had the gun free she ejected the magazine and held it up in front of his face. “You’ve got two bullets,” she told him. She caught his eye. “You hear me?” she asked. “Two.” She waited for him to manage a nod and then she reinserted the magazine into the handgrip. It fell into place with a familiar metallic click. Then she disengaged the safety and handed it back to him. This time, as he folded his hand around it, he could feel the weight of the metal. He was no longer numb. The grip of the gun was electric against his flesh.

  “You want to save her?” Gretchen whispered. She smiled encouragingly.

  He did want to save her. He wanted Susan to stay alive. Right now, it was the most important thing in the world to him.

  Gretchen stepped back. “Then save her,” she said.

  Something else crashed beyond the door. Archie felt the pulse of the impact through the wall. Then he heard Susan gasp loudly in pain.

  “Wait,” Archie whispered to Gretchen. His vision was too blurry. He blinked, trying to clear it. He cared too much. This wasn’t going to work. He was going to fail. Gretchen stepped back in front of him and came into focus again, that beautiful face of hers. She raised an eyebrow. He was too weak. He needed some intensity, an internal switch to be thrown. He was desperate. There was no one else. Karim would kill Susan by the time the others found a way in. Susan was counting on him.

  “Hit me,” Archie said.

  The corners of Gretchen’s mouth twitched up in a smile. Then she raised a hand and slapped Archie hard across the face. He felt a dizzying slash of pain and the impact turned his head to the wall. His face stung. His head buzzed. His eyes teared. But a burst of endorphins cut through the fog in his brain like a knife. The heat on his cheek where she’d made contact burned. He took a few long breaths, his head still turned toward the wall, feeling lighter with each inhalation, as if he had been given more access to oxygen somehow. He was seeing things more lucidly, more surely. He was still alive. He turned back to face Gretchen. Her eyes were spirited. Her nostrils flared with anticipation. She liked to cause people pain. Now she looked at him, her eyes inviting him to hit her back. Archie’s hand itched to do it, too. He could break her nose if he wanted to. He could shatter that exquisite bone structure, leaving her swollen and deformed, bleeding into her mouth. No one would blame him. He let that desire live in him for a moment, using it to nourish his strength. He summoned every bit of energy and nerve he had, and then, cheek still hot from her touch, he propelled himself off the wall. He staggered past her without looking back, raised his weapon, and pushed open the door.

  CHAPTER

  43

  Susan’s dislocated shoulder pulsed with pain. Her wrist ached from Karim’s viselike grip. Every time he yanked her arm, jamming bone into the nerve tissue around her hollow shoulder socket, she gulped back a gasp of agony.

  Karim kept one hand on her and one around the knife. She’d thought he’d have to put that knife down at some point, but he never did. The knife was like an extension of his hand. He pulled another drawer out of a desk, rifled through it, and tossed it against the wall. The wood split against the concrete and the drawer’s contents bounced onto the floor—papers, a plastic calculator, thumbtacks, pens, an orange rubber Super Ball that bounced joyfully across the room before rolling under a copy machine. Susan flinched and Karim twisted her wrist to bring her to him. The pain made her knees buckle and hot tears well in her eyes. He pulled her close and brought the knife to her face. His breath was sour. His face smelled like pungent aftershave. She didn’t want to look at him, so instead she kept her eyes fixed on the knife. She could see a sliver of her reflection in the blade, a wet, red eye.

  “Are you scared?” Karim asked. His British accent made the inquiry sound almost genteel.

  Susan knew better than to answer. Instead, she eyed the gun in Karim’s waistband, inches away from her free hand. But she’d done this math before. If she went for the gun, he’d cut her throat; if she ran, he’d shoot her. With one arm hanging limp and useless, she didn’t stand a chance at overpowering him.

  “You’re not scary,” a voice said from the door.

  Susan looked over, hardly daring to trust her ears. Archie stood in the doorway, with a gun in his hand pointed at Karim. But her elation deflated as she took in the rest. Archie’s pallor was corpselike, and he was soaked with blood from his ribs to his knees. He was braced against the doorjamb as if he needed the support to stay standing.

  Karim reacted instantly, moving her in front of him and lowering the blade to the center of her throat, wrenching Susan’s shoulder in the process.

  “You okay?” Archie asked her.

  Susan took a few breaths as the pain subsided. “I think my shoulder’s dislocated, but yeah,” she said. He had lost a lot of blood. And he had still come after her. “How about you?”

  “Fine,” he said. He gave her a weak smile. “Why?”

  “You’ve just come to chat, have you?” Karim asked, sounding irritated.

  “Thanks for reminding me,” Archie said, his eyes flicking from Susan to K
arim. The instant Archie looked at Karim, Susan saw all the warmth in Archie’s face evaporate. “You’re under arrest,” Archie told Karim. “You have the right to remain silent.” He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. Susan could tell he had tried to do it casually, but he was clearly wobbly on his feet. Archie cleared his throat. “Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney one will be provided at no cost.” Archie’s gun started to drift toward the floor. Susan saw Archie notice it and jerk the weapon back up into the general range of Karim’s head. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you?” Archie asked Karim.

  This wasn’t good. Susan could see in Archie’s eyes that this wasn’t good. She glanced behind Archie, expecting Henry to appear, or Leo or Sanchez or … anyone. But there was no one else. Archie had come alone. What had happened to those sirens they had all heard approaching? Susan felt a knot of dread like a fist in her chest. Archie was bleeding badly. His face looked like her father’s had in the hours before he’d died, like he knew, like half of him had already gone.

  With a terrible sinking feeling, Susan realized that Archie couldn’t save her. He couldn’t even save himself.

  “Can I ask,” Karim inquired of Archie, “have you ever been shot before?”

  Susan watched Archie, riveted. His hand was now clawed around the doorjamb, supporting his weight. He blinked slowly at Karim. “Interestingly enough, no,” Archie said.

  “You’ve lost half your blood, mate,” Karim said. “You’re in shock. You can barely walk. Your brain’s not getting oxygen. Your organs are going to start shutting down. You think you can shoot straight? If you’d stayed immobile and received treatment you’d probably have made it. But now?” Karim made a show of checking his watch. “Your golden hour is almost up.”

  Susan swallowed a sob, and the blade stung at her neck. “Archie,” she said. She tried to smile through her tears. “It’s okay.” She didn’t want him to die, not because of her. “You can go,” she said. Her voice cracked as she said it. “Go back and get help.”

  Archie gave her a small, sad smile, like he knew something she didn’t. Then his eyes lifted back to Karim.

  Karim tightened his grip on Susan’s wrist, pulling painfully at her dislocated shoulder. Her eyes burned with tears but she didn’t cry out, she didn’t make a sound. She swallowed all of it.

  “I have something that you want,” Archie said to Karim. He took his hand off the doorjamb, put his full weight against his shoulder, and dug his hand into his pants pocket. He wavered slightly on his feet, like someone who is drunk but doesn’t want anyone to catch on. Susan willed him to stay upright because if he fell she had the feeling he wasn’t going to be able to get up.

  Archie extended his hand and jingled a large set of keys.

  Susan felt Karim lean forward.

  “Jack’s keys,” Archie said. He indicated the damage-strewn room. “That’s what you’ve been looking for, I assume? The key to the exit?”

  Karim was breathing loudly through his nose. The keys glittered. Archie jangled them again like someone teasing a cat.

  “Toss them to me,” Karim said.

  Archie opened his hand and let the keys fall. They landed a few feet from his toes. His eyes stayed on Karim. “Oops,” Archie said.

  Karim let go of Susan’s wrist and she felt him reach behind her back and pull the gun from his waistband. The gunmetal scraped along her spine as he drew the weapon and pointed it at Archie. He kept it trained on Archie as he switched hands, exchanging the hilt of the knife to his off hand and the gun in his right. The blade itched at Susan’s neck, and she tried not to swallow, her bad arm now hanging limply at her side.

  Karim pressed behind her, forcing her forward, his body pushing her, the blade biting at her skin. Susan managed to take her bad arm by the wrist with her other hand to try to keep it steady, but she still winced each time they took a step. Her throat stung where the blade had nicked her flesh. She concentrated on Archie. Walking to Archie. If she made it, she told herself, she got to go home. She got to go home to Jefferson Starship and cherry incense and Bliss and her caramel apples. She got to sleep on her futon bed, and she’d take life more seriously, write a real book, and maybe she’d finally learn how to play guitar. She’d choose a direction, like Bliss had said. Susan didn’t mind Jefferson Starship, really, she’d always secretly liked that band.

  Archie nodded at her, coaxing her toward him. She wanted to believe that he had a plan—that he was stronger than he looked—but the closer she got, the direr his condition seemed. Karim was right. Archie could barely stand. If she made it to him, Susan told herself, she’d hold him up. That was all he needed, someone to lean against. They would both get to go home. The knife nicked her flesh again, and Susan winced, feeling a thread of blood trickle down her neck. Karim pushed her forward another step. They were still a few feet shy of Archie when Karim jerked to a stop, wrenching Susan’s shoulder again. She bit her lip from the pain.

  “Get them,” Karim said.

  She looked at Archie. He gave her a slight nod. The ring of keys was on the floor. There were maybe forty keys affixed to a black horseshoe-shaped charm. Karim lowered Susan forward, the blade still at her neck, his gun still trained on Archie. Again, Archie gave Susan an encouraging nod. She extended her good arm, fingers straining for the keys. She recognized the horseshoe charm. It was Hermès. Jack had probably spent three hundred dollars on it. She told herself that if she could just touch it, she could keep it. It was a horseshoe. It would bring her luck.

  She had to battle for every inch. Karim held her uncomfortably close, folding his body over hers as she leaned lower for the keys, his armpit at her ear, the knife at her throat. The smell of his aftershave had turned sour with sweat. As she bent over, her T-shirt and pants parted and she felt the bare flesh of her lower spine touch the buttons of his shirt and she flinched at the intimate sensation. She strained for that horseshoe. It was still beyond her fingertips and she stretched as far as she could, as Karim slowly extended the knife forward to allow her more movement. She sobbed, despite herself, and he laughed and pushed into her from behind, and she could feel the hardness of him pressing between her legs. She kept her head down, not wanting Archie to see her face. Her fingers touched the horseshoe. It was black rubber, with four little white squares along each side and a white squiggle at the top of the hump. It was the kind of squiggle that kids use to indicate a bird in a drawing. The white bird’s wings were open. It was flying right at her. She just needed another millimeter and she’d have it. The blade pressed against her throat and she heard the chilling sound of the sharpened metal scraping against her own flesh. She felt something wet crawl down her collarbone under her T-shirt and into her bra, but she didn’t know if it was blood or sweat. She had the keys in her hand. As her fingers closed around the horseshoe, she felt Karim’s right arm brace against her shoulder. It was a tiny movement. Nothing anyone would have noticed. But their bodies were so close that Susan could actually feel him plant his stance, and adjust his shooting arm ever so slightly.

  Susan didn’t have time to think. She jammed her elbow back hard into Karim’s solar plexus the instant before he fired. Karim grunted in pain and the knife dropped a fraction of a centimeter, but it was enough. Susan was able to duck out from under his arm. She lifted her head, to see if Archie had been hit. Archie was still in the doorway, gun raised. The moment she was out of Karim’s reach, Archie fired. The gunshot reverberated off every concrete surface. Susan dropped to the floor. She was still on her hands and knees, her bad arm dragging on the floor, when Karim swooped behind her and wrenched her upward. She struggled to free herself but he took hold of her wrist and twisted her arm so hard she put her head back and yowled. She was still whimpering when Karim pushed her, face-first, into the wall next to the door, and held her there.

  She glanced frantically to her left and saw Archie stil
l in the doorway. He was even paler now, almost waxen. His gun was still trained on Karim—the end of the barrel close enough that Susan could have touched it—but Archie’s arm had sunk from a ninety-degree angle to a seventy-degree angle. His eyes were anguished. Susan could see him straining to raise the weapon, but he didn’t seem to have the strength.

  “The gun’s getting heavy, isn’t it?” Karim asked Archie, his voice smug. “Your head’s swimming. You don’t have the strength to pull the trigger.”

  Archie fired again.

  Susan closed her eyes and braced herself. Karim’s body jerked. But the knife didn’t leave her throat. Then she heard the sickening sound of Karim’s laugh. She forced herself to open her eyes. Archie was sinking to the floor. He’d used the last of his strength to shoot Karim, and he’d hit him—Susan had felt the impact. She strained around to see Karim, and he rotated her roughly so that they were face-to-face. Karim lifted his arm and showed her the tear and streak of blood where Archie had managed to graze Karim’s bicep. Susan hated him. She could feel the contempt form on her face and she didn’t try to hide it. She looked toward Archie. He was trying to stand again, then stumbled sideways, and leaned back against the wall to the left of the door and started to slide to the floor. The gun fell from his hand onto the concrete.