Across

by Elizabeth Edson

  Chapter Eighteen:

  The world had gone mad. It was the only explanation that made sense. How could SpiritStar do something like this? And the government: They just stood back and accepted it? Barnabas, Mabel, Joseph—all these amazingly smart people, people whose IQ stunned Marie—they saw nothing wrong with it? Just okay, go with the plan, we’re going to topple an empire and make some money? Of all the arrogance, of all the short-sightedness—and—and! Marie was so furious she couldn’t see straight. Just what made everyone think they had the right to come in and destroy Maretzian society? What would happen to Rheidan, to Terrah, and all the innocent people who lived in Maretzia?

  Sure, Maretzia had a lot of problems. Marie hated slavery, and the death fights disgusted her, but who was she to judge? Earth had its own problems. Granted, none of them were as systemized as Maretzia’s, but they existed nonetheless. Besides, Earth had once been very similar to Maretzia. Rome, anybody?

  Marie ran her hands through her hair. SpiritStar had to be desperate. She whirled on Cristaña. “The other people SpiritStar sent here—do they have a CD?” Hope flared briefly. She might still be able to find a way home.

  But Cristaña shook her head. “No. That was another reason to send us over here. To provide a CD for everyone trapped here. And now it’s gone.” Her mouth twisted in satisfaction.

  “Then why—?”

  “I won’t tell you,” Cristaña interrupted coldly. “My reasons are my own.”

  “You think I would tell Barnabas?” exclaimed Marie incredulously. “After all he’s done?”

  “Not willingly, no. But he could make you. You are not accustomed to pain, Marie.”

  The implication sent a sick feeling through Marie’s gut.

  “You’re going to die,” she said hollowly. “Aren’t you?”

  Cristaña inclined her head. “As are you. Eventually.”

  Marie met her eyes. The two stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then Marie turned away. “I have to think,” she muttered. “I have to decide what to do.”

  What she could do, she didn’t know. But she had to do something.

  Her hand found the door handle, and she stared back at Cristaña, swinging it open. She stepped outside and slowly broke her gaze, her head turning, her eyes falling to the empty sitting room in front of her.

  Except the sitting room wasn’t empty.

  She froze. Her heart leapt into her throat.

  Not five feet away, Pamela smiled at her. “Hello, Marie. I’m so glad I finally get to kill you.”

  Of course Marie struggled. Of course she tried to scream. But Pamela sprung two armed soldiers on her, so it wasn’t a fair fight. Marie found herself gagged and bundled up like a very unhappy present.

  “Blu-gah-da-nah!” She glared at Pamela.

  Pamela smiled mockingly, but said nothing.

  Marie thrashed and squirmed as the men carried her down the hallway. She managed to kick one man in the chest, and he grunted and glared at her. She snarled, glaring back.

  They carried her to her room, where Pamela quickly had her chained with her arms behind her against the bedpost. Marie didn’t give them an easy time about it: The two men left with more bruises than they had coming in. But no matter how many bruises she gave them, it was a losing fight, and they all knew it. The men left chortling, and Marie glowered at them as they went.

  Pamela smirked and leaned down. “Well, my dear,” she said, “I’ll give you credit where it’s due. You actually figured it out…or at least, you figured out enough to go to Cristaña. I didn’t even think you’d get that far. I admit I am disappointed—I had really wanted to know what your face looked like when you figured out we were trying to kill you.”

  Marie narrowed her eyes. What was this woman—a psychopath from a bad action movie?

  Yeah. Kind of.

  Pamela’s smirk widened, and she tugged the gag out of Marie’s mouth. “Now—”

  A wad of spit landed on her cheek. Pamela closed her eyes and clenched her jaw, wiping away the spit. Her eyes burned when she opened them again. “Listen, sweetie, and listen well.”

  Marie sucked in her breath and opened her mouth.

  Pamela’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think of screaming. There’s no one that will hear you that will help you.”

  Marie closed her mouth and glared. Then she burst out, “What you’re doing is insane! Do you honestly think you can take over Maretzia? That everyone back home is going to be okay with this?”

  Pamela snorted. “A bunch of soldiers with bows and arrows fighting against tanks and machine guns? We’ll have the country in a week. Now—”

  “And what gives you the right do that?” Marie hissed furiously. “You’re so arrogant, not even thinking—!”

  Smack! Marie’s cheek burned. She fumed and glared at Pamela.

  “Shut up! I didn’t un-gag you to listen this! What did Cristaña tell you about the CD?”

  Marie was defiant. “Other than it’s the only one you SpiritStar people have on this whole damn world? Nothing. Genius move, by the way.”

  Pamela stood abruptly. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I can’t change that. But that’s all she told me.”

  “We are going to kill you.”

  “I know.”

  “I am going to watch.”

  “I figured. Psycho.”

  They glared at each other.

  Pamela’s lip curled. “Tonight I will take you into the city. I have friends there. They will kill you and dump your body in some nice, abandoned place where no one will ever find it. How quickly they kill you is up to you. Keep that in mind.”

  “Oh, why bother hiding the crime?” Marie asked sarcastically, her temper flaring. She was so furious her limbs trembled. “Why not just string my body up on the palace gates?”

  Pamela arched an eyebrow. “As much as I’d love to, we can’t risk someone coming up with proof you’re actually dead. You need to be ‘missing’—neither dead nor alive—for SpiritStar to be able to avoid paying your grandmother any money, as stated in the will you made.”

  Marie’s lip curled back. Utter disdain filled her. SpiritStar was set to make billions, and it was getting picky about five million dollars?

  Pamela smirked, leaned down, grabbed the gag again, and shoved it into Marie’s mouth. She turned to leave, but froze abruptly.

  “What is he doing here?”

  Marie’s head whipped around, and she would have laughed out loud if she hadn’t been gagged.

  Max stood in the corner of the room, his hands clasped patiently in front of him, awaiting instructions. Marie felt a flicker of hope. If she could just somehow signal Max…

  Pamela ran an anxious hand through her hair. Her face suddenly looked a lot less smug. Then she relaxed and chuckled. She turned to Marie and explained, “Oh, I am always so afraid the laewins are spies.” She patted Marie’s head. “But not to worry. Everything I said was in English, was it not?”

  Pamela turned and approached Max. She brought his hand up to her lips and ordered him in Maretzian, “You are dismissed. Leave immediately. Marie will not need your services today.”

  Max inclined his head in deference and slipped out of the room, and with him went Marie’s last flicker of hope.

  Pamela turned back to Marie. “Have a good day, sweetheart. It will be your last.”

  Marie’s heart had never beaten so hard. She had known, intellectually, that she was going to die soon, but she hadn’t yet reconciled herself to that fact. She wasn’t ready to die. What would it feel like? Would it be like going asleep? She shuddered. The world would go on without her. People would live and grow and die, live and grow and die, and it would be like she had never even existed. Marie had never felt so terrified. Her heart hammered in her chest. She longed to see a friendly face.

  Then she shook her head. She couldn’t give up. Not now. If she gave up now, she’d have no chance of surviving the night.

  The
first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, and Marie strained against the chains holding her. Her arms ached. Her shoulder burned. She twisted her hands, trying to make them as small as possible, but the cuffs holding her were too tight. At last she slumped back against the bedpost, trying to think. Her wrists ached, and she had a feeling she had rubbed them raw in a few places.

  So I can’t get out of the chains. Don’t give up yet. Think. What else can I do? Her eyes darted across the room and fell on her dresser, not four feet away from where she stood. Lying on top of it was the dagger she had bought in the marketplace.

  Marie tugged on her chains. They had a little leeway. She could scoot away from the bed by about half a foot. It would be enough. She slid as far as she could to the ground and stretched her feet all the way across the floor till they pressed against the dresser and she formed a right triangle with the floor and bed. She slid one foot up the side of the dresser; her back and leg burned from the effort.

  Her boot clanked against the mirror sitting next to the dagger, and she froze, her eyes darting towards the door, her hips killing her. When no one came in, she smiled grimly and slid her boot further, till it rested against the dagger.

  Now the tricky part. Carefully, her leg straining, her back burning, her arms torturing her, she slid her boot back. The dagger scraped against the dresser, but the boot dragged it forward, and it fell to the floor. She retracted her feet immediately, gasping. Her legs felt like limp noodles.

  She stood gingerly and climbed awkwardly onto the bed. She needed her shoes off for this.

  After a few minutes of awkward scrambling and twisting her body into positions she hadn’t known it was capable of being in, Marie succeeded in taking off her combat boots. After another few minutes of awkward maneuvering she managed to grab the knife between her toes and slide it toward her. Using the same positions she had used to get her boots off, she succeeded in getting the blade in her hands, and after a few more minutes she had it tucked beneath her belt. Then she had to go through the process of putting her shoes on again.

  The entire time she was attempting to hide the blade, she was terrified someone would walk in on her, but she didn’t heard so much as a whisper. She doubted she had guards. Barnabas probably had everyone outside of the city restoring order to the camp. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t get loose of her handcuffs, so there would be no escape attempt. Her eyes slid over to the panel Max always popped out of, and she snorted. Not that she would actually use the door in an escape attempt.

  The day passed agonizingly slowly. After a few hours, terror was replaced by utter boredom, and Marie amused herself by reciting poems she knew, making lists of her favorite books, movies, places to eat…She ranked the other members of expedition on an evil scale: 0 was newborn baby innocent and 10 was Disney villain evil. Barnabas had a 10 just on principal, Pamela a 9.5, and Darius a 9. She gave Jennifer a 10 as well, just because it was pretty darn slimy of a girl to pretend to be someone’s friend and then stab her in the back.

  But no matter what she did, Marie refused to think about what would happen that night. She had promised herself she wouldn’t cry, and so she didn’t. And she didn’t think about what she might miss about life, because she was determined not to die. Not tonight. Her eyes turned steely.

  As the hours passed, Marie grew hungry. It felt like her stomach was eating itself. No one came in to give her a meal, but she hadn’t expected them to. That didn’t prevent hunger from gnawing at her. By mid-afternoon it was all she could think about. Numbness settled over her limbs. She hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours.

  The light in her room started to fade. Marie felt a flicker of panic, but she squashed it. The room fell into a state of semi-darkness.

  But Pamela didn’t come. Marie didn’t know how long she stayed there, the room cast in shadows. Her shoulder throbbed. Her wrists burned. Her head pounded from lack of sleep and food.

  The moons had shone for several hours when the door handle finally clicked. Marie’s eyes shot up. Her pulse leapt. The door opened. Pamela entered. She had a dark rag in her hand. Marie tried to back away, but Pamela grabbed her head and covered her nose with the rag.

  Marie felt the rough brush of damp cloth—smelled something sweet—and everything faded into blackness.