Fearscape

by Simon Holt

  “Until you have no control over your actions. I look at Macie, and it’s like staring at a mirror that reflects the future. I can feel the darkness around me all the time now, closing in like fog. Every day there’s a little more in my head.” She swiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry, Aaron’s usually the lucky one who gets to listen to my sob stories.”

  “I don’t mind,” said Quinn. “But would you rather be talking to him?”

  The question caught Reggie off guard.

  “No—I—I don’t know. I don’t know why I started telling you these things.”

  “He loves you, you know.”

  “Of course. I love him, too.”

  “I mean, he’s in love with you.”

  Reggie didn’t respond. How had the conversation turned to Aaron? She felt the color rising in her cheeks and was thankful for the black cover of night.

  “He and I have our differences,” Quinn continued, “and I get why he’ll never really trust or like me. He’s honorable, and smarter than all of us, but there are certain things that he won’t ever fully understand.”

  “That’s not his fault.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s how it is. He hasn’t been on the inside. And it’s good that he hasn’t, because at least one of us should have a clear head. But maybe that’s why you’re talking to me.” Quinn steered the car onto the exit ramp and left the highway. “I know what it’s like to live in a nightmare, to question what you’re seeing, what your brain is telling you is real, to wonder if you’ll ever be normal again.”

  “It’s a terrible way to live,” Reggie whispered.

  Quinn put his hand on top of hers.

  “But you don’t have to live it alone.”

  The car crunched on the gravel of the Waterses’ driveway, and the shape of the barn loomed ahead in the gloom. No lights were on in the main house, either; Quinn’s parents had told him they’d be out for the evening. Quinn turned off the engine and faced Reggie. She smiled ruefully at him through her tears.

  “So the best-case scenario is I just totally lose my mind and go insane, and… well… I don’t know about the worst-case scenario. I turn into a Vour? I turn into something worse?”

  “Or…” Quinn reached out his hand and touched her cheek, gently wiping the tears away. “You turn into something better. Maybe you become a new kind of being that’s stronger and better equipped to fight the Vours. Maybe you become the secret weapon the human race needs to survive. Maybe you become a superhero.”

  Quinn leaned toward her, and Reggie felt a chill start at the top of her head and race down her spine to her toes. Unlike many of the sensations she’d been feeling lately, though, this was a good kind of chill.

  “As long as I don’t have to wear a leotard and tights.”

  “I don’t think that’d be so bad.”

  He pulled her to him and kissed her tenderly, cupping her head in his hands. The thrill went through her like a firecracker, and for just a second she wondered if this, too, wasn’t some skewed vision. But his lips, warm and soft, were real enough. She closed her eyes and let herself fall into him, heart pounding, skin tingling, a fiery ball of delight building inside her. He tasted like coffee and something sweet. Gum, maybe, or candy? The image of a purple sucker flashed through her mind.

  Reggie abruptly pulled away, her head swimming.

  “I’m sorry,” Quinn said quickly. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “No. No, it’s not your fault. That was really… unexpected.”

  Quinn swallowed. “Okay. Not exactly the adjective I was going for…”

  “I mean, a good unexpected. A great unexpected.” Reggie felt like a complete moron. Was she still talking? Why was she talking when she could be kissing him? “I’m sorry, leave it to me to spaz and ruin the perfect first-kiss moment.”

  Quinn seemed to relax.

  “Perfect works. But what is it, Reggie? What’s wrong?”

  Reggie hesitated.

  “You taste like lollipops.”

  At this a laugh burst from Quinn’s lips.

  “Lollipops, huh? Yeah, I had one earlier. I admit it’s not very manly, but it’s probably better than the garlic pasta I had for dinner.”

  “It’s just that… when you were a Vour… you were always eating candy and chewing gum. Your breath always smelled sweet.”

  It was like Quinn wilted in his seat before her. He pulled away and avoided her eyes.

  “Right, no more candy, then.”

  “Quinn, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It just surprised me, and made me think—”

  “Made you think of me as the Vour,” Quinn finished. His voice was laced with disgust.

  Reggie placed her hands on either side of his face and forced him to look at her.

  “I was reminded of time I spent with a Vour. I never confuse that monster with you.” And now she leaned toward him and pressed her lips to his. She had no idea where this rush of confidence was coming from, but she figured she’d go with it. Within moments Quinn was kissing her back, and that feeling of warmth and giddiness returned as they remained locked together.

  After a few minutes they slowly pulled apart but stayed inches from each other’s faces. Reggie giggled.

  “I think if you had asked me an hour ago how I thought I was going to end my night, this would have fallen somewhere after ‘reality dating show marathon’ and ‘sprout wings and fly to Tahiti.’ I mean, what are we doing here?”

  Quinn smiled and brushed away a piece of her hair that had strayed across her nose.

  “I honestly don’t know. But I’m okay with it.”

  “You and Nina aren’t—?”

  “No. She wants things to be the way they were and they just aren’t. They can’t be. You and Aaron?”

  “Oh, no. He’s my best friend in the world, but…” Reggie suddenly felt guilty. She didn’t want to be thinking about Aaron right now. This had nothing to do with him. She wasn’t betraying him, not this time. Was she?

  “Come on, let’s go in,” Quinn was saying. They got out of the car, and Quinn grabbed her hand, squeezing it as he led her to the side door of the barn. Before turning the knob, he leaned down and kissed her again. Reggie thought she might melt into those strong arms wrapped around her. When they separated, she stared at him, wide-eyed.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I just don’t think I’m allowed to be feeling this happy when the world’s probably coming to an end.”

  Quinn laughed and put an arm around her shoulder, then pushed the door open. They stepped into the dark guesthouse.

  The lights flew on and there seemed to be a hundred people standing in the room.

  “SURPRISE!” they all yelled.

  19

  Reggie nearly bolted out the door, but Quinn, in his shock, had instinctively pulled her closer to him. They stood huddled together, and for a split second Reggie’s bewildered brain thought she was facing a Vour army, but then she began recognizing students from school and Quinn’s parents. Balloons floated on the ceiling, and the card table was stacked with gifts. And, of course, there had been the jubilant shout of Surprise! that had just as quickly died on the lips of the shouters. Indeed, they all seemed as surprised as Reggie and Quinn, and everyone gaped at each other. Reggie disengaged herself from Quinn’s arm as quickly as possible, took a few steps away from him, and prayed for a hole to open in the earth and swallow her. It didn’t.

  “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday,” she muttered at him through her teeth.

  “I didn’t want to make a big deal of it,” he muttered back. “Guess that didn’t work out so well.”

  Mrs. Waters was the first to react. She stepped forward and hugged her son.

  “Happy birthday, darling!” she exclaimed.

  “You threw me a surprise party?” Quinn was apparently still catching up.

  “I know you said you didn’t want to do anything, but really, Quinn, you only turn eighteen once.”

 
“That’s right.” Mr. Waters strode up and shook his son’s hand. “So don’t get upset with your mother. Besides, Nina thought it was a great idea.”

  “She did most of this, in fact.” Mrs. Waters cast a suspicious glance in Reggie’s direction. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

  Every pair of eyes in the room had been glued on Reggie with various degrees of astonishment and uncertainty. Quinn’s parents might not have recognized her, but all her old classmates did.

  “Um, sure,” Quinn stammered. “Mom, Dad, this is Reggie.”

  Mrs. Waters started.

  “Reggie? As in… Reggie Halloway?”

  Reggie could practically see the rumor mill scrolling through Mrs. Waters’s mind: Reggie Halloway, the loner girl from the dubious family, the crazy girl who’d been shipped off to an asylum, and now, the slutty girl who’d just been making out with her darling son.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She remained pinned to the wall, and then, upon reflection, stuck her hand out. Mrs. Waters took it.

  “It’s… er… very nice to meet you, Reggie. Glad you could make it to the party.”

  There was a noise that was halfway between a sob and a cry of rage from the middle of the room, and Reggie caught sight of the figure of Nina Snow pushing back through the crowd. She disappeared and there was the sound of a door slamming.

  There was an awkward silence, then Mrs. Waters clapped her hands.

  “All right, everyone, don’t worry, the adults aren’t staying. There’s cake and refreshments in the kitchenette. Everyone be safe.” She winked at Quinn, hugged him again, and kissed him on the cheek. “Have a very happy birthday, sweetie,” she said, then she and her husband left the barn.

  Within moments music was blaring from the speakers, loosening up the dumbfounded party guests. Red plastic cups filled with beer began to appear from the patio outside, and kids swarmed around Quinn, wishing him a happy birthday. Reggie recognized most of the members of the football, basketball, and baseball teams, as well as the majority of the cheerleading squad (except for Nina, who had not returned).

  Reggie was about to disappear herself amid the reveling—where to, she wasn’t sure—when Kip Larson, the Cutter High shortstop, handed her a beer.

  “Reggie Halloway, no shit,” he said, cheersing her cup with his own and sloshing some of his beer on the ground. “Were you really in a mental hospital?”

  “Um, yes?” Reggie took a sip of her beer to avoid having to answer any more questions.

  “That is so cool. Rodney!” he called across the crowd. “She totally was. I told you! You owe me a burrito.”

  “What was it like?” asked Shelley Amberson. “Did they do, like, tests and stuff on you? Like, electroshock therapy?”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Shelley, this isn’t the nineteen hundreds,” said Michaela Flowers. She leaned in toward Reggie conspiratorially. “My therapist has been wanting me to go to this retreat thing that’s like half Eastern philosophy relaxation techniques, but with a specific focus on meditation to reduce my stress levels. Was the place you went to like that?”

  “Kind of. I did spend a lot of time in a dream state.”

  Michaela nodded.

  “I knew it had to be something like that. You have to tell me all about it.”

  “Yeah, sure. But, uh, we’re not really supposed to talk about what happens… doctor/patient confidentiality…” Reggie sputtered. Michaela gave her a quizzical look, and Reggie was thankful that Quinn chose that moment to appear at her side again. They seemed to be surrounded by kids dying to hear about her stay in the loony bin.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered in her ear. Reggie nodded, a fake smile plastered across her face.

  “So, are you guys a thing now?” Shelley asked doubtfully. Reggie remembered that she and Nina were best friends. “How did you even know that she was back, Quinn?”

  Quinn and Reggie glanced at each other, neither ready with a good cover story. This was not a scenario they had prepared for. But luckily, at that moment a shout went up, and then Kip was dragging Quinn toward the door. Quinn grabbed Reggie’s hand and pulled her along with him through the crowd.

  “Quinn, man, you’ll never guess who’s here!”

  Reggie felt a blast of cold air as the door opened wide, and suddenly she and Quinn were face to face with Mitch Kassner.

  They just stared at each other for a moment, until Mitch’s old teammate Rodney Perez came up and slapped him high five.

  “Mitch, you made it. Good man. Hey, how’s your brother?”

  “Doing well. Couldn’t make it out tonight, unfortunately, but I’ll tell him you said hi.”

  “Definitely. Beer’s out back.”

  Rodney moved on, and Mitch turned his stony gaze back on Reggie and Quinn.

  “Happy birthday,” he said.

  “What do you want, Mitch?” Quinn asked.

  “I need a smoke. Why don’t we talk outside?” He held the door open for the two of them. It was the front entrance, and Quinn’s car was on the other side of the barn. Mitch seemed to guess Reggie’s thoughts. “Don’t do anything stupid. There are others watching this place, and if I give the signal, they’ll burn it to the ground.”

  “And you’d let them? What happened to you?” she asked.

  “You know what happened to me,” he answered simply.

  They walked out into the frigid air, and Reggie huddled in her coat. Luckily she hadn’t had a chance to take it off inside.

  “How could you become a Tracer?” she asked. “After you saw me save Keech—you know there’s another answer, but you became an assassin anyway?”

  Mitch pulled out a pack of Camels and lit one.

  “There’s one of you. Millions of Vours. You do the math.”

  “So you would rather Keech had been murdered?” asked Quinn.

  Mitch took a long drag on his cigarette and contemplated Quinn.

  “You look like you’ve readjusted pretty well to human life.” Reggie caught a hint of disdain in his tone.

  “I have good days and bad days,” Quinn answered, equally coolly. Glancing from one to the other, Reggie felt like she was missing some kind of invisible macho signal that was transmitting between them.

  “Keech just has bad days.” The smoke Mitch exhaled mingled with his steamed breath. “He’s pretty much a raving lunatic when he’s not catatonic. He spends twenty-three hours a day in a padded cell in a hospital in Boston. The other hour he gets meds, and doctors look in on him. One time a brain-dead med student wasn’t paying attention, and Keech got hold of his pencil. He stabbed out one of his own eyes before they got it away from him. So, you know, I think maybe death wouldn’t have been so bad in his case.”

  Reggie knew the horror she felt was palpable. Mitch’s sentiment was not foreign to her—she had asked the same question herself early on, when she had wondered if Henry could recover from his experience in the fearscape. And now Keech had tried to blind himself to block out the terrors he still saw in his mind. Was dying really mercy for these victims? For some of them, maybe, yes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Mitch shrugged.

  “It’s done. I was emotionally involved then, but I see things more clearly now.”

  “You mean you see the things the Tracers implanted in your head,” said Quinn.

  “What about the things this one implanted in yours?” Mitch gestured at Reggie with his cigarette. “You’re going to stop the Vours from taking over? Save all the Vourized humans? How? You’ve got one soldier. Our solution may be messy, it may be hateful, but it’s scalable. It’s tactically sound. And it has a chance in hell at success. In war there are casualties, and you have to think about—”

  “If you say the greater good, I’m going to ash that cigarette on your face,” said Reggie. “Look, this is ridiculous. We should be pooling our resources, working together. We’d have such a better chance at defeating the Vours.”

  Mitch laughed, a mirthless chu
ckle.

  “Reggie, you don’t even understand the extent of your powers, or what will happen if the Vours use them to their advantage.”

  “What do you mean, ‘what will happen’?” Quinn asked. “What do you know, Mitch?”

  But Mitch only shrugged, keeping his gaze on Reggie. “I’m sorry. You risked everything to help me last summer, but we’re talking about saving the human race now. You’re too big a risk.”

  “So you’re taking me in?” Reggie asked. “This is a kidnapping?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Quinn. He shuttled Reggie behind him protectively and stepped between her and Mitch.

  “Don’t do this, Quinn,” Mitch warned. “We don’t want you. You can go back to your life.” He nodded toward the noisy partiers laughing and drinking and dancing inside the barn, oblivious to the potential danger lurking in the dark outside.

  “My life’s not in there anymore.”

  They each tensed, then dove at each other. Mitch got in the first punch, striking Quinn in the jaw. Quinn doubled over, but it was a feint; when Mitch went in for another blow, he left his lower half exposed, and Quinn sprang at his midsection, knocking him to the ground. He kicked Mitch in the groin, and the Tracer growled in pain, but he started to get up again almost immediately.

  “Reggie, get out of here!” Quinn cried.

  But Reggie stared intently at Mitch, concentrating. More experienced now, like the Vours themselves, she didn’t need physical contact to enter his thoughts. Slowly the tunnel between her mind and his began to open, as it had with Dr. Unger in his office. But this time Reggie knew what to do. She accessed the deep parts of his brain, the places where the horrors lay buried. What she saw there almost snapped her back to her own body: The scene was so realistic, and so terrible. Had this actually happened?

  She forced herself to focus and lassoed the image.

  Mitch had recovered and was on his feet, ready to attack again. Quinn’s nose was bleeding and he was panting, but he still put himself between the Tracer and Reggie. She heard a whistle somewhere in the darkness and knew that the signal had been given: The rest of the hunters would be on them in moments.