This Strange and Familiar Place

by Rachel Carter

  He nods slowly. I watch as his face changes, his eyes getting brighter. “We’re forgetting something.”

  “What is it?” I stand up again.

  He spins around to face the desk and picks up the sheet of paper he scribbled on earlier. “This. The serum. How does it fit in?”

  “You said it was like a medicine,” Wes says.

  “Yeah, and the Resister sent us the same exact formula. It must be connected.” Most people would have fallen apart at the news that a secret government conspiracy was after them, but LJ just hunches over the numbers, staring down at his paper with wide eyes.

  I look over his shoulder. The letters and numbers blur together. “He sent it to me. He wanted me to put it together. The serum has to be a part of the mark of the traveler.”

  LJ looks up at the computer and rereads the entry on himself, his voice only slightly faltering. “You said the D could stand for ‘detained.’ But what does the I stand for?”

  I turn to Wes. “You have no memory of getting the scar?”

  “No.” His voice has changed; it sounds deeper than normal. “But that first day was a haze. I spent most of it drugged or unconscious.”

  LJ starts popping his knuckles again. A low, hollow sound.

  “So we have a scar, and a serum that looks like a medicine.” I push my bangs away from my forehead. The room is hot, stifling almost, and sweat gathers on my skin in tiny beads. “What if it’s related? What if we were injected with the serum for some reason and that created that scar?”

  LJ nods. “The I could stand for ‘injection.’”

  “Or ‘inoculation,’” I say. “Like against a virus.”

  I look at Wes to see his reaction. He is staring down at the rough surface of the desk. I realize it has been several minutes since he last moved.

  “What do you think?” I ask him gently.

  No response. I step toward him but stop when his hand spasms against his side. He immediately balls his fingers into a fist.

  “Wes? Are you okay?” I touch his arm lightly.

  He turns to me, and I take a step back at the look on his face. “How can you ask me if I’m okay when you’re the one who just received a death warrant?”

  “I’m not—”

  “You always have to play the detective, don’t you?”

  My mouth falls open. Why is he angry with me?

  “Are you sure we can trust this Resister person?” LJ asks tentatively.

  “No,” I tell him. “But he’s clearly trying to tell me something. And it adds up, especially since I met him in the future. I think he wants me to help him with his rebellion.”

  LJ looks confused. “Even if you’re in the past?”

  I shrug.

  “It’s possible that someone is trying to mess with you,” Wes snaps.

  “We got the disk from my grandfather. We weren’t even supposed to have it. All this Resister did was help us make the connection between the serum and the mark.”

  “He could be working for the Project. This all could have been orchestrated to make you fear them. To put you on edge.”

  “They aren’t even supposed to know about me, remember? It doesn’t make sense that I’d be a target.”

  Wes doesn’t answer.

  I feel like I can’t breathe, but I force the words out anyway. “Well, I guess we’ll know after I get kidnapped.”

  Wes scowls. “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “Even if it is, the date is in the future. Twenty years from now.”

  “So I go home, then get taken. Why should I even bother trying to get back to my own time period? I should just turn myself in to them now. Or hide out in the eighties for the rest of my life, praying they don’t find out I’m here.”

  His eyes darken until they’re almost black. “Stop talking like that. You don’t know what this means. This is just some random theory you have. It could be nothing.”

  We square off, a few feet separating us. LJ backs away, moving closer to his computer and farther from us.

  “It’s a plausible theory, you know it is,” I say. “You just don’t want me to be right.”

  “Why are you so ready to believe this?”

  “What choice do I have? We have to believe that this list is real. If we don’t, something might happen to me or to LJ.”

  He takes a step toward me. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “How will you stop it?”

  “I don’t know!” He shouts the words and I freeze.

  “Guys . . .”

  I tear away from Wes’s gaze and turn to LJ.

  “What?” The word comes out shorter than I mean it to.

  Wes spins around until his back is to me. I see his shoulders rise and fall quickly.

  “This name. I know this girl.” LJ points at someone on the list. “Maria Hernandez. She lives in a squat down the street.”

  “LJ, I think you’ll know a lot of the names on that list,” I reply softly.

  He makes a frustrated sound. “No, look at the date she’s taken. August tenth, nineteen eighty-nine. That’s today.”

  My heart sinks. “That means she’s probably already gone.”

  He turns wet eyes up at me. “She’s fourteen, Lydia. She’s . . . I can’t let them take her too.”

  I stare at him for a minute, then sigh. “Okay. Okay. What do you want to do?”

  He looks down at the battered plastic watch on his wrist. “It’s almost nine. She deejays at a club a few blocks from here. If they haven’t gotten her already, that’s where she’ll be.”

  “So let’s go.”

  He gives me a grateful look and stands up from his desk.

  I hear the front door open. The three of us all turn toward the sound. “Hey!” Tag’s voice calls out. “Anyone around?”

  I reach out and grab LJ’s arm. We’re about the same height, and I lean in close to his ear. “You cannot tell anyone about this,” I hiss. “Not Tag. Not Nikki. No one. Ever. You’d be putting them and yourself in danger. Promise me.”

  He nods curtly.

  Tag pulls back the curtain and pauses in the doorway. “Whoa.” He takes in the tension coming off of us. “What’s going on in here?”

  I force myself to relax and smile at him. “Nothing. We were just talking about tonight.”

  LJ clears his throat. “We’re going to Sinners.”

  “Cool, I’ll tell Nikki. She’ll want to come.”

  “We should go now,” LJ says quickly. “I’m supposed to meet someone.”

  Tag holds back the curtain and makes an elaborate gesture with his hand. LJ smiles tightly and walks into the main room. Wes and I follow.

  Nikki is standing near the dining-room table. “So, Sinners? Who are you trying to kid?” She gives LJ a look. “We all know why you want to go. Maria’s the deejay tonight, huh?”

  LJ visibly swallows. “Yeah. I hope so.”

  “Okay. Well, just let me get changed. I’ll be two seconds.” Her gaze travels over me. “Lydia, you better come with me. You can’t wear that yuppie dress. I’ll give you some jeans.”

  “We need to be quick,” I say when I see LJ’s pleading eyes. “Really quick.”

  Tag laughs. “Yeah right. I’d like to see that.” He turns to Wes. “You need a clean shirt or something?”

  Wes is silent.

  He had been staring down at the floor, but he suddenly lifts his head. His eyes find mine immediately. His face is still cold and hard, though there’s something fierce in his expression. It’s like he’s a storm about to hit, and the clouds are circling faster and faster.

  “I can’t do it.”

  “Wes . . .” I whisper.

  “I just can’t.”

  I’m the only one who doesn’t jump when the front door slams behind him.

  CHAPTER 16

  The beat inside the club is so strong that I feel it throbbing in my throat. I lean back against the wall and stare out at the d
ance floor. In the darkened room I cannot tell where one person ends and another begins; they move together like an angry mob.

  The deejay booth is set up in a corner, and I see LJ leaning over a pretty, dark-haired girl. Maria. The Project hasn’t found her yet.

  Nikki approaches, wobbling slightly on her heels. The Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling turn her face first red, then purple. “You don’t drink much, do you?” She yells over the music.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because we’ve been here over an hour and you haven’t even taken a sip.”

  I shrug, swirling the cheap vodka around in the clear plastic cup. She’s wrong: I did take a sip. It tasted like kerosene. “I guess I’m not really in a drinking mood.”

  One of the dancers bumps into her, and she stumbles forward. I put my hand out to help her, but she waves me away. We are in the depths of an old, abandoned church, and the smell of sweat and perfume can’t quite hide the musky odor of long-ago worship. “Did Tag tell you my parents were murdered?” she asks suddenly.

  I look over at her, surprised. “I heard him telling Wes.”

  “It’s the anniversary. Four years ago today.”

  “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.

  “Sometimes . . . sometimes I wish they had killed me that day.”

  I shift until I’m facing her. “Don’t say that.”

  She tips back the drink she has in her hand, chugging until it’s gone. “God,” she gasps. “Why the hell am I telling you this stuff? I must be really drunk.”

  I want to reach out to her, but I’m not sure how she’ll take it. “If you had died, who would look out for LJ?”

  She stares down at the dingy floor near our feet. “When I came home and found them, and there was all that blood, I thought that my life had hit rock bottom. That having my parents murdered was as low as it could possibly get. And then we lost the house and had to go on the streets. And then Chris disappeared. That was when I realized that there is no such thing as rock bottom. Life can always get worse, no matter what.” Her mouth falls open a little, as though she’s shocked she just said so much.

  “I hope that’s not true.”

  “That’s why I like you, Lydia.” Her words come out slightly slurred and I realize she is drunk. Very drunk. “You’re all sunny and happy.” She flings her hand toward my head and drops of vodka from her empty cup fly out and hit me on the cheek. “Not like us. Not hard like me.”

  “You’re not hard.”

  Nikki laughs, but it’s a damaged sound. “Yeah, I am. I’ve been hard since I walked into the living room and saw pieces of my parents splattered on the walls.”

  I wince at her words, but she just tries to take another sip from her cup, even though it’s empty. “If I didn’t have Tag and LJ, I don’t know what I would do.” Her voice is quieter. “People like me need people like you. That’s why you can’t give up on Wes.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  She drops her cup. “I mean it, Lydia.” She leans into me, and I pull back against the wall as the smell of liquor surrounds us both. “He needs you. You’re soft where he’s hard.”

  I bristle at her words. “I’m not soft. Just because I didn’t grow up on the streets doesn’t mean I’m not strong enough to handle myself.”

  Nikki shakes her head in a scattered movement. “I’m not saying you’re weak. But you’re innocent. I envy that. It’s why I acted like such a bitch at first.” She smirks. “Be glad you’re not like the rest of us. You haven’t had to shut yourself off in order to survive.”

  “I don’t think I’m innocent.” For some reason I feel like I’m going to cry, and I turn away, staring at the pulsing bodies on the dance floor. “Maybe I used to be. But I can feel myself getting harder every day.”

  “It’s not a bad thing to be tough, Lydia. And you are tough, even if it’s a different kind of toughness from what I have. But it’s not the same as being hard. There’s a difference.” Her words are slurred, but I’m surprised at how articulate she’s being. And also curious about why she’s chosen me to confide in.

  “That’s what Wes sees in you.” She laughs again. “You pried into my shit—now I’m prying into yours.”

  “But Wes isn’t like that,” I respond. “He’s not as damaged as you think.”

  She gives me a strange look, and her body melts into the wall next to me, like she no longer has the energy to hold herself up anymore. “Wes is cold, Lydia. And kind of scary. You’re the only person who sees anything else in him. That’s what I mean, when I say you’re soft. But it doesn’t make you weak. It makes you able to see stuff the rest of us can’t anymore.”

  “Tag still sees that in him too.” I feel like she’s just insulted Wes somehow, and the need to defend him rises up inside of me. “He can look past the front that Wes puts up.”

  “Tag used to know him and love him. And besides, Tag’s a lot like you. Able to find the good in people.” Nikki hunches her shoulders like she’s trying to hide behind them. “Wes and I are the broken ones. You and Tag are the ones who keep trying to save us from ourselves.”

  “Wes saves me too. All the time.”

  “Because he loves you. Isn’t that what love is? Saving each other from the shit that life keeps throwing at us?”

  I smile a little. “How poetic.”

  “Just . . . give him a chance. If he’s anything like me, he’ll keep testing you and trying to push you away and shit. But he loves you, I can tell. And I don’t think he’s someone who gives that away easily.”

  I cock my head at her, wondering if she’s advocating for Wes or herself. Maybe she thinks that if I can love someone like Wes, then there’s hope for someone like her. She pulls away from the wall, and I watch the bright lights play across her dark hair. “No matter what you do, don’t let him push you away,” she repeats.

  I open my mouth, but then Tag is there. He slides an arm around Nikki’s waist. “You’re drunk, babe,” he says.

  “No, I need more vodka.” Her eyes are glassy and she’s having a hard time holding herself up.

  “I think it’s time to get you home.” Tag pulls her toward the entrance. “We’ll see you guys back at the squat,” he yells to me.

  I nod.

  Nikki turns around and points one red-tipped finger at me. “Remember what I said, Lydia. It can always get worse, but that doesn’t mean you give up.”

  The music has changed from techno to old-school rap: a guy talking in slow tones over a catchy melody. I glance toward the deejay booth, and then push myself up off of the wall. LJ and Maria have disappeared.

  I frantically look around the club. But I can’t see anything: it’s too dark in here, with too many people. I knew we should have taken Maria and gotten out of here, but LJ didn’t want to worry her. He said he would watch out for her during her set, and I agreed, confident that the Montauk Project wouldn’t try anything around this many people. But maybe I was wrong.

  I head for the nearest exit, but a boy with a shaved head steps in front of me. His lip ring catches the light even in this dim basement. “You’re too fine to be sitting in the corner all night,” he says. “Let’s dance.”

  “I can’t, I’m in a hurry.” I try to move past him, but he blocks my path again. “Move,” I say.

  “Don’t be like that.”

  “I said move.” I shove at his chest and he takes a step back. But he grabs my arm before I can get away.

  “And I said don’t be like that,” he snarls, and squeezes my skin hard enough to leave a bruise.

  Suddenly he’s ripped away from me and knocks into a crowd of people. I hear a shout as someone spills their drink.

  Wes is standing in front of me, glaring at the punk kid. His hair is messier than usual, as though he’s been running his fingers through it.

  “Wes.” I ignore the commotion and focus on him. “We have to find LJ and Maria. They disappeared.”

  He nods, and we push
through the crowd. We find the exit and run up the dusty stone steps. Kids are sitting on them, some drinking and talking, some making out, and we weave around them. Outside, the air is humid, but at least it’s not as oppressive as it is in the club. We’re on a side street, and there are people everywhere, waiting to get inside or smoking cigarettes.

  “I don’t see them.” I sound panicked.

  “There.” Wes points to an alley next to the church. We run over to it. A white van is parked on the far end. As I watch, a flash of dark hair disappears into it, and I hear the jagged sound of the door sliding shut.

  The van pulls away with a squeal of tires.

  “Maria!” I scream and run down the alley. By the time I get to the end, the van is nowhere in sight.

  “We have to do something,” I pant at Wes. “We have to go after them.”

  Wes puts his hand on my back. “She’s gone, Lydia. They have her now.”

  “But—”

  “We need to find LJ,” he says.

  “LJ,” I repeat, and turn and run back to the club. I hear Wes follow me.

  LJ is not outside. He’s not on the steps. He’s not near the long line for the bathroom.

  “Please let him be okay,” I murmur under my breath as we push our way through the dance floor.

  I feel someone touch my shoulder. “Lydia.”

  It’s LJ. I throw my arms around him. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” I chant into his ear.

  He pulls away from me. “Have you seen Maria? I can’t find her anywhere. She said she had to go to the bathroom. I was waiting outside the door, but she never came out. I even went in there. It was empty.” He spins around in a circle, wildly searching. We’re blocked on all sides by people moving to the rhythm of the music. “We have to find her.”

  “Let’s go somewhere we can talk,” Wes says.

  LJ’s eyes look huge under the tiny lights. “She’s gone, isn’t she? Oh god, they got her.” He buries his face in his hands. “I thought I could save her. I thought I could keep her safe.”

  He suddenly grabs both my shoulders and shakes me so hard my teeth rattle. “We’re next. They’ll get us. They’ll kill us. We can’t run.”

  I pry his fingers off me. “LJ, we can. Maria didn’t know they were coming. But we have a chance.”