The Merciless

by Danielle Vega

  “What were you doing, Sofia?” she asks. Grace crawls out of her hiding space and inches along the back wall to the alcove by the door.

  Brooklyn collapses against the beam, and her face slackens. The hope drains out of it, leaving her cheeks sunken. Her hair forms stiff blond spikes that stick out from her head like thorns.

  “Just let me go,” she whispers, digging her fingernails into the wooden floor. “Please.”

  Riley ignores her pleading. “You were going to untie her,” she says to me, taking a step closer. Brooklyn gasps, releasing jagged bursts of air that make her chest heave. A tear crawls down her cheek.

  The dark of the attic paints Riley’s face black and gray. Her cheeks and eyes look hollow, her skin ashen. I step away from her, but the wall with the window is directly behind me. I press my hands flat against the cold glass. Outside, the wind howls.

  “Riley, I . . .”

  “You were going to let her go!” Riley slaps me across the face. I gasp, and pain spreads through my cheeks. Grace cringes, staring at the floor. She won’t meet my eyes.

  “What did you think would happen?” Riley continues. “That you and Brooklyn would race downstairs and run off with your boyfriends?”

  “Please,” Brooklyn begs, and in that second I hate her. I want to cry and beg and fall apart. But instead I stare into Riley’s icy, empty eyes and try to be strong. Brooklyn inhales and mouths the word without making a sound. Please.

  Riley slaps me again. I cringe against the sting of her hand.

  “Do you think I didn’t know you texted them? That I didn’t hear you fumbling with the phone in the basement? I know everything, Sofia!”

  How? I want to ask. How do you see everything, know everything? I wonder briefly if she installed security cameras when she nailed all the windows shut, but even that doesn’t explain how she seems to see inside my head, how she knows what I’m thinking and feeling.

  “Riley,” I gasp, lifting a hand to my cheek. “I’m . . .”

  “Shut up! Don’t you see? God wanted this to happen. He wanted you to fail so you’d understand that the only way out of this house is through him.”

  Riley’s face crumples and she sinks to her knees. “I knew this would happen,” she says, her hands trembling as she lifts them to her face. “I tried so hard to keep us all strong, but I knew, I knew one of us would fall! Now it’s up to me to bring you back. ”

  I watch Riley for a long moment before I realize she’s crying. Brooklyn stares at Riley’s shaking shoulders, her eyes reflecting the same anger I felt moments ago. Riley doesn’t deserve to cry. She hasn’t earned it.

  A warm yellow glow appears at the door in the floor. The ladder creaks, and the glow comes closer. Riley straightens and wipes her eyes. Alexis appears at the ladder holding a thick white candle.

  “Where’s the knife?” Riley asks, her voice steady. The skin around her eyes is slightly red, but otherwise there’s no sign she was crying.

  “Downstairs, in the backpack.” Alexis puts the candle on the floor to the left of the ladder and starts to climb into the attic. The flickering light fills the room with shadows.

  “Go get it,” Riley snaps, pushing herself back to her feet. She starts to pace, and her stiff, bloodstained jeans sound scratchy, like dried paper dragging across the floor. She shoots a look at Grace. “Both of you. I need a moment alone with Sofia.”

  “Don’t go,” I say. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve made a mistake. Riley stops pacing and levels a glare on me that could burn through skin.

  “What’s going on?” Alexis asks, hovering near the ladder. She shifts her gaze from me to Riley to Grace.

  “Please,” I say, but I’m watching Riley now. I realize Riley could never feel pain. Riley doesn’t feel anything.

  “Get the knife,” Riley says again. Alexis frowns but heads back down the ladder anyway. Grace shuffles after her. I don’t realize I’m reaching for them until they’re already gone. My hand hovers in the air, grasping at nothing.

  “You’re letting the devil manipulate you.” Riley turns away from me, talking to herself now. “That’s why you texted Josh, why you were going to let Brooklyn go. That’s the only explanation.”

  “Riley . . .” I start, but she cuts me off.

  “The devil feeds on your weakness, Sofia! Don’t you see how Brooklyn’s working you? How she’s using you? This is what the devil does!”

  Riley’s voice rises to a hysterical scream. It bounces off the walls of the attic. She stops walking and lifts her hands to her head, running her fingers through her hair. The hair comes loose from her ponytail and frizzes around her face.

  “Riley,” I say, edging toward the ladder. I try to make my voice as soothing as possible. “Riley, I’m not possessed. You have to calm down.”

  “Calm down?” Riley stumbles over Brooklyn’s leg to dart in front of me, blocking my path to the door. Brooklyn doesn’t even flinch but watches us with wide, curious eyes. “How am I supposed to calm down, Sofia? We tried everything. Everything! None of it has worked. And you were just going to let her go.”

  The ladder creaks, and Alexis climbs into the attic again, Grace behind her. She’s carrying a box of granola bars, the black backpack looped over one shoulder.

  “Give me that.” Riley yanks the backpack from Grace’s arm and rips it open violently. The silver zipper pops off and clatters to the floor. Grace backs away from Riley, rubbing her shoulder. Riley pulls the butcher knife out and lets the bag drop. Hand shaking, she holds the knife in front of her. The blade trembles in her grip.

  “Sofia betrayed us.” Her eyes meet mine, and cold dread creeps up over my bones. She takes a step closer, gesturing with the knife while she speaks. “She tried to let Brooklyn go.”

  “Riley, wait.” I raise my hands in front of my chest, stumbling back against the wall. I can’t tear my eyes away from the knife. It looks different somehow, like it’s watching me. It’s the same knife Riley used to cut off Brooklyn’s finger, the one that sliced open her skin and spilled her blood onto the floor. It has a taste for blood now.

  “What are you doing?” Grace whispers. Riley pushes the point of the blade to my chest. I picture her thrusting it into my body, and my head spins. I place a hand flat against the wall behind me to steady myself.

  “I don’t know. What do we do to sinners?”

  The knife winks at me, or maybe it’s just the light reflecting off its blade. I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m just scared, imagining things. But then I open my eyes and Brooklyn is staring me, her eyes glowing red. She runs her tongue over her lips, smearing blood across her mouth. Her voice echoes in my head: Now you’re reborn.

  I blink and Brooklyn’s eyes are normal again; there’s no blood on her mouth. Her lower lip trembles as she watches me.

  Riley lowers the knife from my chest and places it just below my wrist. “In the Old Testament, when God’s people sinned, they’d cut off the part of their body that failed him,” she says. “This is the hand that failed your God. Would you sacrifice it, if it’s what the Lord commanded?”

  The blade pricks my skin. Brooklyn clenches her hand into a fist, but all I see is the bloody stub where her finger should be. Fear bubbles inside me.

  “Riley, no. Please.” I squeeze my eyes shut, and tears leak onto my cheeks. I remember Brooklyn screaming in the basement and the sick sound of flesh dropping to the floor. I try to breathe, but it’s as if someone’s hands are wrapped around my lungs, squeezing them. I struggle to inhale, and my tears quickly become ugly sobs. “Don’t, please, don’t.”

  Suddenly the cold blade is no longer pressed against my wrist. Something clatters to the floor, and then Riley’s arms are around my neck, pulling me close to her. She rubs her hand in circles on my back.

  “Shh, Sofia, it’s okay,” she whispers, hugging me tight. “It’s okay, I w
on’t hurt you.”

  I wrap my arms around Riley without thinking and lower my head to her shoulder. Relief spreads through my body like a salve, calming the hysteria in my head, erasing the crazy things I thought I saw. Riley moves her hand to the back of my head and pats down my hair.

  “You have to fight the power of Satan,” she begs. “I need you with me on this. We can still help her, Sofia.”

  “How?” I say into her neck. I pull away from her and wipe the tears from my cheek with the back of my hand.

  For a moment no one says a word. I look from Riley to Grace to Alexis, but their faces are all blank.

  “You didn’t humble yourselves,” Brooklyn’s voice cuts through the silence. Riley turns, and Brooklyn smiles at her wickedly. I picture her glowing red eyes, her mouth dark with blood, but force the image away. That wasn’t real, just a trick my fear played on me.

  Alexis takes a step away from the ladder. “What are you talking about?” she asks.

  “Your sins,” Brooklyn says. She leans forward, pulling at the ropes binding her to the beam. “None of you told the truth about your sins, did you?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “No one lied,” Riley says, too quickly. Heat climbs over my face, and I shift my eyes to the floor. I lied, but I can’t admit that now. Riley nearly cut off my hand for trying to untie Brooklyn. I can’t imagine what she’d cut off if she found out I lied to God.

  “Guys, tell her,” Riley hisses. Alexis stares at her feet to keep from meeting our eyes. Grace backs up all the way to the wall, pulling her sweatshirt sleeves down over her wrists.

  “They’re not the only ones who lied, Riley.” Brooklyn’s face stays blank, but her voice seems almost amused.

  Riley’s face hardens. “I didn’t lie,” she insists.

  “You didn’t tell the whole truth, though,” Alexis says. She clenches her hands in front of her, and the tips of her hair brush against her fingers. “None of us told the whole truth.”

  “Does that mean you want to start?” Brooklyn asks. Alexis winds a strand of hair around one finger, saying nothing. “How about you, Riley?”

  “Shut up,” Riley says, staring down at her knife on the ground. But she doesn’t move toward it or threaten Brooklyn. “I told the truth,” she insists again.

  “What about Grace?” Brooklyn searches the shadows in the corner for Grace. “Did you admit the whole truth about your little addiction?”

  Grace’s eyes shift first to Alexis, then to Riley, and finally to me. She hunches up her shoulders, nearly disappearing into her oversize sweatshirt. “I told you I had a problem with drugs and I did,” she says.

  “Ritalin,” Brooklyn corrects her. “Is that all you’ve ever tried?”

  “No.” Grace’s voice breaks. She picks up the backpack off the floor where Riley dropped it and pulls out a bottle of wine. She yanks out the cork and swigs it back.

  “What else have you tried?” Alexis asks. Grace takes another drink of wine.

  “It was only Ritalin at first,” Grace admits. “I was only going to take a few to study, just like I said. But the high felt so good. It was like my brain went still, like everything fell away except for the thing I was doing. Everything just got so . . . easy.”

  Grace pauses for a beat and shifts her eyes back down. Brooklyn taps her combat boot against the floor.

  “Well?” Brooklyn says. “Don’t stop now. You were just getting to the good part.”

  Grace weaves her hands around the wine bottle nervously. Her electric-blue nails stand out against the dark glass. I stare at them, remembering when I first met Grace, when she seemed impossibly exotic and cool. Now she’s vulnerable, naked.

  “You don’t have to tell us this, Grace,” I say.

  “We all have to come clean before God,” Riley murmurs. She stares blankly at the wall ahead of her. “She does have to tell.”

  “You all do.” Brooklyn looks at me when she says this, and now I’m sure I hear amusement in her voice. Her eyes seem to peel away my skin and see directly into my brain, to the things I’m most ashamed of. I turn back to the wine bottle, focusing my attention on Grace’s chipped blue nails again.

  “I should’ve stuck with Ritalin,” Grace says, almost to herself. “But I found Xanax in my mom’s bathroom one morning. That was even better. After that, I tried my dad’s Ambien and some X from a girl at school.”

  “Grace, the Lord forgives you,” Riley says in a hushed voice. She takes the bottle of wine from Grace’s hands and drinks. “We all fall. All of us.”

  Grace smiles through her tears. The candlelight flickers, reflecting the lines they made down her face. From behind her, Brooklyn starts to cackle.

  “Are you kidding me?” she says. She leans her head against the pillar, laughing harder. “You’re still lying!”

  “Grace, just tell her. Let’s get this over with,” Alexis says. Grace grabs the bottle back from Riley and raises it to her lips. This time, she drinks deeply. A red drip oozes out from the side of her mouth and dribbles down over her chin.

  Gasping for breath as she lowers the bottle, Grace continues. “When my brother broke his leg this summer, he left his Oxy pills in the bathroom like they were nothing. I had to stare at them every morning while I was brushing my teeth.” Grace hiccups and takes another drink of wine. “What would you have done?”

  Alexis takes the wine bottle out of Grace’s hands. “It’s okay,” she starts, but Grace shakes her head.

  “It’s not okay!” she yells. Tears fall down her cheeks, faster and faster. She hiccups again. “I want to be cured. I want to be better. But . . . but I . . .” She can’t talk now—she’s crying too hard. She lowers her face to her hands, sinking to her knees. “I want to be better,” she sobs.

  Alexis crouches next to Grace, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “It’s okay,” she murmurs into her ear. Even Riley crosses the attic to kneel next to her. She closes her eyes, and her lips move in a silent prayer.

  I move toward Grace, but Brooklyn lifts her head before I can crouch next to her. Her eyes widen, and she leans her head toward Grace. She’s trying to tell me something.

  All at once, it clicks. Grace is an addict—addicts have drugs.

  No wonder Brooklyn was egging Grace on. Drugs mean freedom—escape. If Grace has pills with her, I can find them and put them in the wine they’ve all been drinking. If I add enough, they’ll pass out.

  Riley whispers “Amen,” and her eyes flicker open. She picks up the wine and takes a deep drink, staring at me over the top of the bottle.

  I twist my face into what I hope is a sympathetic expression and stoop beside her, looping one arm over her shoulder and the other over Grace’s.

  “Amen,” I whisper.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Who’s next?” Brooklyn asks. She’s trying to distract them. If they keep admitting their sins, they won’t pay attention to me. And I’ll have enough time to find Grace’s pills.

  “How do you know all this?” Grace wipes her tears away with her palm as she turns to Brooklyn. Alexis pulls away from her, pushing her hair back behind one ear.

  Brooklyn smirks. A wild thought flies through my head—maybe she reads minds. Maybe Brooklyn already knows everything we’ve done.

  “Grace stares at the floor when she lies,” Riley says before Brooklyn can answer. “Anyone can see that.”

  Grace blushes and pushes herself to her feet. She backs into an alcove just off the main area in the attic and presses her body against the wall, like she’s trying to disappear into the wood.

  Brooklyn’s eyes linger on her. “It’s almost worth the fire, the drowning, and the brutal torture to hear about how shitty you all are,” she says.

  “Do we need to gag you again?” Riley motions to the duct tape on the floor, but she leans over to pick up the wine bottle instead.
>
  “What’s the matter, Riley?” Brooklyn groans, struggling to move beneath the layers of rope binding her in place. “Afraid what your friends will think when you really admit your sins?”

  “I already admitted them,” Riley insists. She pushes a sweaty lock of hair off her forehead with the back of her hand, then drinks deeply from the wine bottle.

  I scan the attic while Riley drinks, wondering where Grace stowed her pills. But Brooklyn’s words stay with me. Afraid what your friends will think when you really admit your sins?

  I push the question away, and my eyes fall on the black backpack sitting by the stairs. Grace was the one who brought the bag up here. It would’ve been easy for her to slip a bottle inside.

  “Or maybe you should go next, Lexie.” Brooklyn shifts her eyes to Alexis. “You could tell everyone why your sister’s really in a coma.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alexis hisses.

  “I know more than you think.” Brooklyn’s wolf grin deepens.

  Riley lowers the wine bottle. “What’s she talking about?”

  Alexis leans back on her heels and grabs a lock of hair, winding it roughly around her finger. I think of the way she looked standing in that empty room with wispy locks of white-blond curls piled at her feet, like a fairy-tale princess stuck in a horror story.

  “She’s just making things up,” Alexis says. The skin around her fingernail starts to turn blue, but still she winds the hair tighter.

  I edge my way closer to the staircase and the backpack. Nerves pull at my skin like tiny, pinching fingers and my heart jackhammers in my chest. I move slowly toward Grace, inching my feet across the floorboards. She hums a pop song under her breath, her eyes fixated on her shoes.

  “You said you hoped she’d never wake up.” Brooklyn allows each word to hang in the air for a beat before she continues. “That’s not the first time you wanted her dead, is it?”

  Alexis shakes her head. “I never wanted that!” There’s a faint sound, almost a rip, and the hair drifts away from her fingers. Alexis pushes herself clumsily to her feet, nearly stumbling into me as I inch along the wall behind her. Before she reaches for another lock of hair, Riley takes her hand.