I grab the can and shove it into my backpack on the floor. I’m returning the lightbulbs to the bin, when I hear Silas’ voice: “Great work, Kalyb.”
Our signal.
They’re back.
I toss the remaining bulbs in as quickly as I can, praying they don’t break. I press my palm against the wall, and it seems like a lifetime as I wait for the door to close.
I leap for my backpack and the stool, but the door opens before I can make it.
Kalyb and Silas enter. Kalyb looks at me, then at the backpack on the floor.
Silas is still babbling, and Kalyb raises a hand to cut him off. “Leave us now.”
Silas says, “But I was a witness and you need––”
“You did well,” says Kalyb. “Don’t turn into a suck up.”
Silas gives me a look of great pity before he walks out the door.
I put my backpack on while Kalyb watches. “How disappointing, Mina,” he says. “We’ll have to go back to the courtyard.”
“I was tired. My back—”
“Let’s go.”
My head drops. Do I have the strength to face Solomon again?
The answer doesn’t matter. Kalyb takes me from the office and marches me to the courtyard, where I’m told to put my hands on the wall until Solomon arrives.
I’m so aware of the treasure in my backpack that I assume anyone can see that I’m carrying something of great value, as if the StickFoot were glowing like an enormous lightning bug. How do I keep Solomon from finding it? If I give him a wrong answer, he’ll open the backpack to put in another rock. If I give him a confession he likes, he’ll open it to take a rock out. How can I keep him from opening it at all?
When he arrives, I can’t read his mood. His expression is as unsatisfied as ever.
“Kalyb tells me that you took it upon yourself to remove your burden,” he says.
“Yes, Solomon.”
He nods, walking around the courtyard with his hands clasped in front of him. “Did you feel you deserved it? Had you done something or had some revelation that made you feel that your sins had been forgiven?”
My mind races. Is there a good answer to this question? Surely it is impudent to say yes. “I was, uh, exhausted by my sin.”
“Yes,” he says, as if expecting this answer. “Wickedness is a relentless bedfellow.” He walks closer. “But you understand the problem?”
“You told me not to take off the backpack, Solomon.”
“It is more than that, Mina. You attempted to unburden yourself of your sin without talking to God. Do you think you are better than God?”
“No!”
He stands right behind me. “Do you think you’re wiser than God?”
“No, Solomon.”
“I think you do. I think you’re arrogant, immoral, and have no respect for me or the Unbound. Do you agree?”
If I say yes will he remove a rock? If I say no, certainly he will add one. What can I do?
Before I can think about it too much, I twist around and throw up my knee, hitting him somewhere above the thigh.
He cries out in pain. “You woolie bitch!”
When he’s recovered slightly, he gives me a grin that chills me to the core. Grabbing my backpack, he drags me across the courtyard, the rocks scraping my arms and legs. He opens the metal door and throws me inside the building. I skid across the floor.
He heaves me along the hallway, the straps of the backpack cutting into my skin. I see the legs and feet of other inmates around me.
“Help!” I cry. “Help me!”
But no one does.
Solomon pulls me along until he reaches the room he wants, tossing me inside.
“I told the Dixons you were trouble,” he says. “They wouldn’t listen to me. You’re ALL trouble. Freaking woolies. Lie on the table.”
A silver gurney sits in the middle of the room. Terror crawls through me, and I lurch for the door.
Solomon blocks me.
“Don’t be afraid,” he says, no longer yelling. “I’m going to help you unburden yourself. Take off the backpack and lie down.”
I don’t trust his calm voice.
“Do it, Mina. Don’t make me get Kalyb.”
Shaking, I slide off the backpack. “What are you going to do?”
“It’s a very simple procedure. Don’t worry.”
I climb onto the gurney mattress, looking for something, anything, I might use as a weapon. How will I get the StickFoot to Juda now? What have I done?
As soon as I’m lying down, Solomon reaches under the mattress and pulls out several straps. He pulls two across my body and one across my chin.
I scream as much as I’m able.
“No one can hear you. And even if they could, they don’t care. They have their own sins to ponder.”
I scream louder.
“Mina,” he says, patting my hand. “Shhhh. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to help you. I promise. You’re only making yourself more miserable by screeching.”
He goes to the wall and places his palm on a tile. A door opens up, and he pulls out a bin of wires and cables. He places it on a small table by my head.
“I’m sorry I kicked you,” I say, struggling with the strap.
“I know,” he says. “This isn’t about that. I should have done this when you first arrived.” Taking a tube from the bin, he applies a cold gel to my temples. “This is a wonderful treatment. The best way I can describe it is like rebooting a computer.”
I continue to twist and turn, sure I can free myself.
He laughs. “You’ve probably never seen a computer. I should say, it’s like going into the deepest sleep possible and then waking up again. Throwing the off switch and then coming on again. It will give you a new outlook.”
“Please, Solomon. Please!” I cry. I don’t want a new outlook.
He holds two metal wands to my temples. The shock that runs through my body is like the one I felt from Mr. Asher’s taser, but times ten. I twitch and shriek.
Solomon says, “Where is Damon Asher?”
I can’t speak through the pain, which feels like it’s turning my skin inside out.
He repeats in a patient tone, “Where is Damon Asher?”
Somewhere a tiny part of my brain is telling me that if I can manage to speak, the pain will stop. I also have a small awareness that I shouldn’t speak, but the desire to end the agony is too great. “Dead!” I howl.
“Did you kill him?”
“Yes!” I say, hoping God will show me mercy for finally confessing the truth.
“Who? You and Juda?”
I don’t answer immediately, and he turns a dial that increases my pain.
“All of us! Everyone!”
“You and Juda . . . and the rest of the Manhattan Five? You all murdered Damon Asher together?”
“Yes!” I scream.
Immediately, Solomon lifts the wands and the current is broken.
I can’t breathe. My heart thuds—every other beat a battering jolt. My eyes are blurry with tears.
I was sure I was going to die.
“Very good,” he says. “The rods are so much quicker than the rocks, but Ram frowns upon them. Unless of course a child is being violent, so thank you for that.”
What have I said?
“You will feel so much lighter tomorrow. You have opened your heart to God. You have confessed your sins and He forgives you. I’m very proud.”
Smiling, he lowers the wands to my temples once more. My spine seems to rip apart as the current runs down my back and through my legs. “This will ensure you don’t remember our little conversation. I release you from the memory of this pain.”
I focus on his voice, trying to block out the torment in my body. As I near the relief of unconsciousness, he lifts the wands and steps away. The pain stops, but my body continues to convulse.
He returns the wands to the bin. He removes the strap from my body and head. When he has placed all the
supplies back inside the wall, he says, “You may return to the dorm when you feel ready.”
I can’t move. He’s letting me go? After I kicked him, I thought I’d never see the dorm again.
He walks out the door. I want to get my backpack and go, but I can’t convince my legs to step off the gurney. I lie there, shaking. My brain tries to focus on what’s next, but it can’t. My thoughts are fuzzy, like when I’m dreaming.
A minute later, I’m not sure how I got to this room.
Twenty-Six
“Mina, wake up. Mina.”
I open my eyes to see a girl with bright blue eyes and raven hair leaning over me.
“Are you okay? Wake up,” she says, shaking my shoulders.
“I’m awake,” I say with displeasure. I turn my head to look around. Mistake. I have a brutal headache.
“Want some water?” the girl says.
“I want to sleep,” I say, rolling over.
“You’ve been asleep for twenty-four hours already,” she says. “Solomon really did a number on you.”
“Who?” I say.
“Oh, Lord,” she says. “Who am I?”
I blink in confusion.
“I’m Mary,” she says, as if I’m a dope. “We’re friends.”
Is this girl crazy?
She frowns. “Do you remember where you are?”
I concentrate. I remember my apartment, and Nana, and Macy’s, and swimming through a subway, and coming to Queens. “Am I at the Dixons?” I ask hopefully.
She pats my hand. “No, sweetie. You’re not. Maybe it’s better if you don’t know.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” I sit up, but it makes the pain in my head pulsate, like the morning after drinking all that champagne with Mrs. Asher. What happened yesterday?
“Lie back down.” Mary pulls uncomfortably at her tan top. “You sure you don’t want water?”
“Where am I?” I say, growing frightened.
“You’re at the Forgiveness Home. Ring any bells?”
The Forgiveness Home. I shiver. “I don’t like it here,” I say.
“See! You do remember!” Mary says triumphantly.
“What happened?” I ask. Shadowy memories float by.
“I’m not sure, sugar, but Solomon scrambled your eggs pretty good. You wandered in like a beat dog, climbed into my bed, and lost consciousness for a whole day.”
Anxiety replaces my fear. “Something’s wrong.”
“Of course it is. You’re being held against your will by self-righteous, militant crusaders.”
“Besides that. I’m supposed to be somewhere . . . or something.”
“I think you need to just lie down for now.”
“No. It’s important,” I say, sitting up despite the pain. The vital thought flutters at the edge of my consciousness, a butterfly flapping in my peripheral vision.
“That can happen in here—a feeling like you need to do something—when there’s nothing to do,” Mary says. “You can’t meet friends, or go shopping, or return a book. It’s a life of no responsibilities, no schedule, and no joy.”
“It’s not like that . . .” I insist.
“Your boyfriend talked to me during lunch. He wanted me to tell him as soon as you were awake. Is that benny?”
This girl knows Juda? How can I not remember her? “I guess so.”
“I also think you need food. How about I bring you something from the cafeteria?”
I nod. “That would be nice.” I really just want silence. Maybe if she leaves, I can recover the last day.
But after she’s gone, all I can think about is the subway and how we escaped Manhattan—the blood pooling around Mr. Asher; rats circling us in muddy water.
My stomach convulses, and I scan the room for a trash can. Not seeing one, I race for the door, but before I can get there, I vomit all over the floor.
I’m still heaving when Mary returns. She holds a tray full of food, which threatens to make me puke again.
Seeing the mess, she says, “Great. That’s just terrific.” She plunks down the tray with anger on a small table in the corner. “I’ll be back.”
I want to lie back down, but I don’t want to be sick in Mary’s bed. Is one of these beds mine?
She returns with a mop and bucket.
I stand to take it from her.
“Don’t be stupid,” she says. “Lie down.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
“For getting sick,” I say, feeling that this is obvious.
“I’m not mad you got sick. I’m mad that Solomon screwed you up so much that you can’t remember where you are, you can barely stand, and you needed to blow chunks in our room. What a dook-wad.”
I almost smile. “What’s a dook-wad?”
“Oh, uh, hmmm. I guess it’s someone who has so much crap to say that it’s like their mouth is wadded up with their dook.”
Now I do smile, which makes my whole head hurt. “I understand why we’re friends,” I say.
“We’re friends,” she says, “because I am cleaning up your barf. And don’t you ever forget it.”
“I won’t,” I say, and I mean it.
After she finishes mopping up, she leaves to empty the bucket. When she returns, she offers to take me to a bathroom where I can brush my teeth and rinse out my mouth. She insists that I must first put on the one-ton backpack that I was sleeping next to.
Is she out of her everlasting mind?
“You’re being punished, and you’ll be punished a whole lot worse if you’re seen without it. Trust me.”
She has to tell me all about Solomon and how the backpack is my burden before I agree to put it on. Even then, the whole thing seems insane, but when I put the rocks on my back, I can tell from the way my back and shoulders scream, that I’ve worn the backpack before.
I freshen up in the bathroom while Mary waits. I can’t remember the last time I was so grateful to someone.
When we reenter the dorm room, a group of girls has entered.
“Why does it smell like butt in here?” asks a pretty girl with long hair.
“Calm down, Connie,” Mary says. “It’s all taken care of.”
“Oh, did you change your clothes, Meatball? That would definitely explain the stench.”
The other girls snicker.
Mary, not flinching, says, “No, but it’s no surprise you picked up on the bad smell first, Connie, with that super schnoz of yours.”
Connie’s smile disappears. The next thing I know, she’s throwing herself at Mary, who’s caught totally off guard. Connie is slight in stature, but her surge was intense, and the two of them go tumbling to the ground. Connie starts pounding on Mary’s stomach. “I’m going to kill you!”
“I can’t even feel that!” Mary laughs. “Because I’m SO FAT!”
“You disgusting bitch!” Connie takes her fingers and scrapes her long nails down Mary’s face.
Mary is no longer laughing. Blood oozes from the scratches.
Before I know what I’m doing, I drop my backpack and dive on Connie, knocking her off Mary.
Connie lands hard on the floor, and then I’m on top of her, slapping and hitting. “Leave her alone, you Saitch!”
I’ve never hit anyone like this before, never thought I could, but I am SO ANGRY and releasing my anger on Connie feels good and right, because she is a terrible person and she deserves it. I want to keep slapping her until I don’t have any anger left.
Hands behind me try to pull me off of her, but I keep hitting. One of Connie’s friends screeches, “Stop!” while yanking my hair.
“Mina?”
The voice makes me freeze. Looking at the doorway, I see Juda. His eyes are huge.
I look down at Connie, who’s squirming like a trapped animal. She’s covering her face with both hands. Both my arms are now being held by her friends, and Mary is grasping my shoulders. She was trying to pull me off Connie, too.
“What’s happening?”
Juda asks.
“You can let go now,” I whisper, going limp. “I’m done.”
The girls release me, and I crawl into the corner.
Connie rises off the floor like an old lady. Her face is swollen and pink.
“I’m sorry, Connie,” I say. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m going to kill you,” she says. One of her friends tries to get a closer look at her face, but Connie waves her away.
Juda comes inside the room, kneeling beside me. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. I am not okay.
“She’s totally fried,” Mary says.
He touches my cheek.
“We should get her out of here,” Mary says.
Juda helps me to my feet. As we near the door, Mary grabs my backpack from the floor.
“Mina and I can finish this later,” Connie says.
Mary says, “She’ll be with me if you need her.”
“She’ll be with both of us,” says Juda.
Connie watches us leave, pure hatred on her face.
Juda says nothing as we walk down the hall. What have I done? I think I’m losing my mind.
Twenty-Seven
Juda suggests we walk toward the community room. In the hallway, outside of the entrance, he says, “Are you okay? What happened?”
Before I can answer, Mary says, “She’s loopy as a racetrack. She’s had her brain short-circuited.”
“What do you mean?” he says, eyebrows knitting. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “How do you feel?’
“Sick,” I say, because it’s on top of a long list of feelings.
“Can I get you anything? What do you need?” He looks so worried it makes me want to console him.
“She already hurled,” Mary says. “I imagine she’ll be sick a few more times before the day is done.”
“How do you know?” he asks her with suspicion.
“I’ve only heard of them doing this two or three times the whole time I’ve been here. Your girl must have done something to seriously tick off Solomon.” She adjusts her top. “I can’t say exactly what happens, but people disappear, and when they come back, it’s like they got hit by lightning.”
“Will she get better?” he asks in a small voice.
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