Catching Ivy

by Eliza Tilton

  His speech is strange, and I try to decipher any hidden meaning behind his words. I finish my tea quickly and hold out the empty mug. Do I leave? It might be okay to stay for a little, right? Oh, Eric, I wish you were here.

  “Is everything all right, Miss . . . ?” he tries again to discern my name.

  “Bethany. My name is Bethany.”

  “Well, Bethany, you look like you could use some rest. Do you have anywhere to go?”

  I don’t answer.

  “We have extra rooms here, and you’re welcome to stay the night,” he solicits. “In the morning, I can introduce you to a colleague of mine who runs a women’s shelter. It’s managed by the church, and safer than the city shelters.”

  I meet his gaze, unblinking, but see nothing but genuine concern reflected there. A moment later, I provide a soft, “Thank you.”

  Pastor Luke locks the main doors and then shows me up the stairs to a bedroom with a small, connected bathroom on the second floor. He points down the hall and explains that’s where he sleeps, points to the other side of the stairs where there’s a stocked kitchen, and advises that I’m welcome to help myself to anything.

  Since BORAS hasn’t broken down the doors yet, I assume the jammer’s working. The green light blinks on the bracelet. The urge to call Eric is intense, but I know I can’t. It would be traced instantly, and everything he went through to get me out of the facility would be wasted.

  An old clock sits on the bedside table, reading eleven P.M. I set the alarm to go off in just a few hours. It’s all I need. Laying my head on the pillow, I breathe deeply, thankful for this reprieve.

  All our efforts rely on a farfetched hope; a hope that I’ll be able to find Eric’s brother, and that his brother can help me.

  FIFTEEN

  ~Damion~

  I can’t sleep.

  It’s real. I know it’s real.

  She’s real.

  Sweat beads at my hairline. I wipe it away.

  This can’t be happening.

  Every possible explanation runs through my head, including the whys, but the fact is that the only one who knows the truth about that vid is the BORAS tech who gave it to Jims.

  My sneakers are on my feet in five seconds and I’m out the door in less than twenty, taking the VRR with me. I order a cabbie from my watch and it’s already waiting for me outside by the time I get there.

  I drum my fingers on my knee during the entire cab ride. It takes an interminable amount of time to reach Jims’ complex, even though there’s barely any traffic. When the cabbie finally reaches his block, I catapult out the door.

  Jims lives on the fourth floor. In a hurry, I run up the stairs instead of riding the elevator. The complex is outdated and the stairwells are old, with flaky paint and musky. If Jims wanted, he could afford a nicer place, but he has a superstition about these decrepit buildings—he swears they’re safer.

  When I reach Jim’s apartment, the front door is ajar.

  “Jims?” I knock on the door, pushing it all the way open. “You here?”

  Computer tech is strewn everywhere. His single bed, ripped apart. The entire place is trashed. And there’s no sign of Jims.

  My stomach rolls and I stumble two steps back. There’s a possibility Candy might know where he is, but I find I don’t want to stay here a second longer.

  The time on my watch reads eleven twenty-three. Too early for him to be at Disturbia. There’s a Korean BBQ joint a few blocks down. Jims likes the short ribs. It’s my best shot at finding him.

  The streets are more crowded tonight than usual, and light from the ad screens splatters the inky avenue. Giant ads flash commercials about everything from perfume to sex. No one overtly watches me or even seems to care, but I still feel eyes on me and the weight of the VRR in my jacket pocket. Hats have never been my thing, but right now, I wish they were.

  A coincidence. This is all just a damn coincidence.

  Even as I ponder the words and try to force myself to believe them, I keep thinking of Ivy walking into the soup kitchen. The cloud of fear and uncertainty was palpable, and like a fool, I did nothing. I had the chance to help her, and I let it slip through my fingers.

  Just as I walk up, Jims is walking out of the BBQ joint, a tanked Candy glued by his side. He’s laughing and smoking.

  “Damion? What are you doing down here?” he asks good naturedly.

  I can’t talk in front of Candy. She’d sell anything for a drop of juice.

  “Candy,” I instruct, “disappear for a few days, on me.” I give her my chip card, one that’s not linked to my parents’ account.

  “What’s this?” She takes the card and flips it over in her hand.

  “My chip card.”

  She eyes me shrewdly. “I know that. What’s the catch?”

  “No catch. Just disappear.”

  Jims watches the two of us, puffing on a vape. The blue light brightens every time he inhales.

  Candy shrugs and puts the card in her tight pants pocket. “Whatever. See you guys later.”

  Once Candy is out of earshot, Jims whistles, “Your dad is going to be pissed.”

  “That’s the least of my worries.” I tap my watch and order us a cabbie.

  It arrives in moments and I open the door. “Get in.”

  Jims stares at me, taking another hit of the vape before putting the cap on and getting inside.

  “Fifty-fifth and seventh,” I dictate as the cabbie takes off.

  “Why are we going to the lot?” Jims questions while opening his food container.

  “No eat in my ride!” the cabbie barks.

  “I’m starving, man.” Jims sighs and rests his head on the backseat, staring at the ceiling. “What’s going on, Damion?” he asks wearily.

  “Not now. I’ll tell you when we get to the lot.”

  I know what Jims is going to say when I tell him—I’m crazy, the meshing has mushed my brain—but I’m not, and it hasn’t.

  The cabbie drops us off at the lot. It’s where Jims’ ride is. We need our own vehicle if we’re going to find Ivy and help her. Jims punches in his code and the iron gate slides left. Jims’ black sedan is the last car in the lot, on the far-left side at the back. He unplugs the charger and checks the battery gauge.

  “Full,” he affirms.

  A full battery charge equals twenty-seven hours. Enough time to find her and get out of the city. My sister has a house upstate, about an hour out of the city. Once I find Ivy, we’ll head there until I can figure this all out.

  Jims unlocks the doors and we get in. “Are you going to tell me what has you so spooked and where we’re going?”

  While he eats, I tell him what I know.

  “It’s real, Jims,” I insist. “It’s not just a vid.”

  “Impossible,” he scoffs between bites. “You’ve been meshing too much.”

  “I know how it sounds, but I’m not crazy. Here, I’ll prove it to you.” I take out the VRR and turn it on. The screen turns white.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Scole,” my video assistant’s voice purrs.

  “Play.”

  White turns to black. I wait for something to show on the screen, but nothing. It’s not working again. Flashes of muted colors fade in and out of the darkness, but nothing solid.

  One, two, fifteen minutes go by and the screen doesn’t change.

  Why isn’t it working?

  “This is fun and all, but I really need to use the can,” Jims interrupts.

  I take off the VRR, staring at the sleek surface. “Go to the hotel.”

  “No problem; I’ll just swing by my apartment first.”

  Emotionless, I add, “Your apartment is trashed.”

  Jims’ eyes widen, and he spurts out a piece of BBQ that nearly misses my face. “What?” he asks, his face twis
ted with confusion.

  I cringe away from his missile food and grab one of his napkins to clean it off the seat. “I stopped there first. Someone broke in.”

  With all the underground trades he does, he’s well-liked and protected. Jims and Buzz have been tight since Disturbia got into the VRR scene, and no one’s stupid enough to mess with Buzz—except BORAS, perhaps.

  “What do we do now?” Jims asks as he switches the car to manual drive and veers out of the lot.

  “I don’t know. The vid’s black. I’m not sure what we’re going to do, but I know I need to find her first.”

  “So … we just drive around?”

  “No, we go to the hotel. We can stay there until the vid starts working.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “It has to,” I say, and put the visor back on.

  SIXTEEN

  ~Ivy~

  A cold breeze blows through the foggy halls.

  Lights flicker from above and my bare feet tap against the cold ground. I’m alone in a corridor of doors. I try the first one, locked. The second won’t turn. The third and fourth doors don’t have knobs.

  Crackling sounds emanate from a speaker hanging in the corner of the hall.

  Hugging my arms to my chest, I search every door until the hallway ends.

  Light beams from underneath a door.

  Before opening the door, I press my ear against it.

  Silence.

  I twist the metal handle and white light floods out.

  It’s him.

  The boy from my last dream lays in a metal hospital chair, similar to the ones at the facility. His eyes are closed and his mouth is partially open. When I step closer, I hold my breath in fear he’ll wake and something terrible will happen.

  He moans.

  I stand closer, watching the way his mouth moves in subtle ways, like he’s talking in his dreams. I dare to poke his arm.

  He shifts to the left and his dark hair grazes his cheekbones.

  The lights flicker.

  “Ivy.”

  I step away as he whispers my name.

  How does he know me?

  Why is he here?

  Are we at the facility?

  Did they catch me?

  Loud buzzing accompanies the lights which flicker fast.

  “No, don’t.” The boy whimpers, and I’m too afraid to move.

  “Please, I need to save her.”

  The hairs on my body go rigid. “Who do you need to save?”

  Lights blink and blink, the buzzing getting uncomfortably loud.

  He opens his eyes which are now a breathtaking blue. “Ivy.”

  The alarm beeps and I slap the button, turning it off.

  Sweat coats my skin and a dull ache travels from the front of my head, all the way around to my neck. I hang my head in between my legs.

  Dr. Hecks talked about dreams being a window to the soul. If we could harness the power of our subconscious, humanity would have no bounds. I overheard him once discussing the possibilities of dreamwalking—entering another’s mind and communing with them.

  My mind has been through enough.

  I’m tired, but it’s not a good idea to stay here any longer, no matter how comfortable I am. Leaning over, I pull out a chip card from my sock. It’s the only form of payment I have. Eric told me to only use it if no one contacted me, and to go to a place called Disturbia.

  Our plan was simple. I’d escape the facility and Eric would send his twin an encrypted message through a vid, which would then be able to locate me. Even if I hid in one spot the whole time, his brother would find me.

  But no one has come except BORAS.

  With soft steps, I sneak down the stairs and to the front door. I glance back at the stained glass, thanking whomever watched over me that I was able to steal a moment’s rest, and lock the door behind me.

  Even though it’s very late, people are still milling around, cars streaking through the city. There are two people at the corner, and one of them holds out their hand. After a moment, a bright yellow and black car hovers to a stop and they get in. I run to the same spot and hold my hand out the same way they did.

  After a few minutes pass, a similar car stops for me.

  “Where to?” the driver voices.

  “Disturbia.” I step into the car and shut the door. There’s a console in front of me with a ‘Pay Here’ sign next to it. I insert the chip card into the slot, just like Eric taught me. The screen beeps, and a running number starts counting up on the screen.

  The car speeds off, hovering over the road in an invisible lane. I hold on, peering out the window, unable to take my eyes off the speeding scenery. Unlike the car Rob picked me up in, this one isn’t driven manually. I glance out the other window, confirming that only the black and yellow cars seem to hover above the road.

  Fascinating.

  The name Disturbia flashes brilliantly pink on a dark building. There is a large group of people dressed in bright colors and flashy outfits standing in a line that already wraps around the building. The car lands with barely a bump, and I open the car door and step into the night.

  A beefy, well-muscled man dressed in all black blocks the entrance. Steeling up my courage, I walk up and say in as strong a voice as I can muster, “Excuse me, sir?”

  “Back of the line,” he replies in monotone, briefly sparing a dismissive glance before turning his view back to the assembled line of people.

  “I’m here to see Louie,” I offer.

  He snorts. “No one here by that name.”

  “It’s really important. His brother sent me.”

  The man sneers. “Listen, little girl. You’re not getting in wearing those rags, so why don’t you turn back around and go home?”

  I glance at my dirty sweat suit, hearing the nearby girls in line giggle, each one is dressed in a form-fitting bodysuit, tight enough to resemble paint, that flickers when they move and leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

  “Sir, I must see Louie,” I insist.

  “Go away or—” He stops mid-sentence and puts a finger to his ear as if he’s listening to something. A moment later, he stands aside and presses a button on the divider. “Go in, straight upstairs.”

  Without questioning this turn of good fortune, I rush in.

  Once inside the dim surroundings, I’m lost in a sea of gyrating dancers. The music is too loud and the bass rattles my brain. People are shoving and colliding together; my breaths come faster as the rush of sound and heat consume me, and my chest tightens. I need an exit out of this pulsating mob. Pushing arms and shoulders aside, I find an opening and run through.

  I breathe a little easier on the other side.

  A girl walks through a black door in front of me, and I assume it’s a bathroom by the little image painted on the door. I go in and turn on the faucet, splashing cool water on my hot face. Looking in the mirror, I now see why the man at the door didn’t want to let me in. Dark circles rim my eyes and brown stains cover the front of my shirt, spots of dried blood splattering my chest.

  Fear causes the pounding of my heart to skitter and jump.

  There are too many people in this place. More people than I’ve ever been around at once. Panic claws my skin like an unstable itch that begs to be released.

  How can I make it upstairs when I don’t have the courage to leave this spot?

  SEVENTEEN

  ~Damion~

  Hushed voices wake me. I crack open my eyes. I’m on the couch with a blanket around me, the TV screen on. Jims is passed out on the other couch, snoring.

  I blink back the grogginess. I must’ve fallen asleep. What time is it?

  “You shouldn’t go by yourself,” Mom admonishes.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  Heari
ng Dad’s voice gains my interest. The time on my watch reads one forty-five A.M. Where could he be going at this hour? With most of his clients in different time zones, his hours are always weird, but if it were just a conference call, he wouldn’t need to leave the hotel, and Mom wouldn’t be nervous about him leaving.

  She sighs as the front door closes. I listen to her walk across the floor and into her bedroom. I want to go talk to her, but it’ll have to wait.

  I slip the VRR back on, wondering if the screen is still black. It’s not. “Jims,” I hiss as I take the VRR off.

  When he doesn’t answer, I punch his leg.

  “Ouch,” he groans. “What, Damion?”

  “I found her.”

  Jims yawns and stretches. “Where?”

  Standing, I grab my jacket and crane my neck to see if Mom went to bed. The light in the hallway is off which means she hasn’t been walking in it for a few minutes.

  “Disturbia,” I whisper and nod my head toward the door.

  Still yawning, he drags himself off the couch and we head down to the basement where his car is. We speed walk to his sedan, my heart hammering like a damn rainstorm. By the time we pull out of the garage and make it to Midtown, my gut is a twisted knot of worry and anticipation.

  “Drop me off here.”

  “Here?” Jims scrunches his face.

  “Try to find a spot close by. I’ll call you when I find her.”

  Before the car comes to a complete stop, I open the door and step out. As soon as I close the door, Jims speeds off.

  The line in front of Disturbia is massive, wrapping around the stone structure and disappearing down the block. Figures–I’m not on the list since it’s sector night. It’s the one night a week where being in the Court doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to wait in line. Luckily, I always carry unmarked chip cards.

  A bouncer I don’t recognize stands at the front, arms folded. Big guy, at least six feet, four inches and three hundred-ten pounds.

  “Hey, man,” I pronounce and give a wave.

  He glances at me briefly, disdain on his face.