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Twenty-three
I woke up, intentionally, a few minutes later to find myself rolling through the streets of my neighborhood. We’d left behind the wide open farmland, the stretches of suburbs and freeway, and entered the densely packed blocks of houses that had only a few feet between them. I lifted my head to find Hannegan looking around in all directions, as if he were expecting Wolfe to ambush.
“I don’t think he’s here yet,” I said with a hint of amusement. Not sure where that came from. Gallows humor, I assume.
“I don’t care; I’m not hanging around.” He kept up his searching pattern. “You may be ready to die but I’m not.”
“I’m not really ready to die,” I said. “But neither are any of the people he’s killing to get to me.”
Hannegan grunted in acknowledgment, but did it so neutrally I wondered if he’d heard a word of what I said. He came to a stop at the end of a driveway and I looked up at the house. Unlike last time, I was sure it was mine. I opened the door and pondered making a sarcastic comment to him or lingering for a moment, but I realized I was more scared of what was coming than vindictive about what had happened in the past.
I wordlessly shut the door and I watched him swallow heavily, the sort of action that might make a gulping sound had I been in the car to hear it. He looked at me with hollow eyes and I could see his fear at the thought of facing Wolfe. He looked away and stomped the accelerator, slinging muddied slush on me as he sped away.
I sat there, freezing, in disbelief for a moment, sopping wet. “Screw it,” I said and pulled my gloves off, throwing them into the gutter. I pulled my jacket off, also soaked, and tossed it on the ground. I took a couple steps toward my front door and faltered.
He probably wasn’t in there yet. Probably. I found myself in no great hurry to find out. He was either here or on his way.
The chill wind combined with the lingering wetness of Kurt’s spinout caused a frigid feeling that was eating into my bones. Still, I stopped at the edge of the driveway and scooped up a handful of snow. I felt the cold of it, the dull feeling of numbness that started radiating through my palm after I held it against my bare skin for a few moments. I couldn’t have imagined two weeks ago that everything would end up like this.
I thought again about Zack and I wondered where he was, if he was still in South America. It didn’t matter; I had no faith that M-Squad could take on Wolfe and win. I thought about his list of things, the things that I never got to do. That I would never get to do. Then I thought about the other list, the one I made after he left that night. Things he didn’t mention, like having a first date…getting my first kiss…
I felt tears stinging at the corners of my eyes and I looked back to the house where I’d spent every hour and every day of my remembered life up until a week ago. Those four walls enclosed my life like a grave, and they would likely end up being my tomb, the place where my body would lie, maybe forever.
The hell of it was, with Mom missing, there really wasn’t anybody else who’d care I was gone – care about me, the real me, not the supposedly super-powerful meta that everyone was chasing. Who’s so powerful she can’t even save herself.
I looked up past the trees that stretched into the sky. They’d been there for decades, growing in the ground here on this street. Clouds covered the sun, just as they had every day since I ran out the front door. I walked, slow, shuffling steps, each one an act of pure will, as I made my way to the door. I was going to die without ever even seeing the sun.
I remembered a few days before, when Wolfe first threatened to do what he’d done to this city. I recalled being so sure that there was not a soul that could stop him, but truthfully there was all along. The problem with being self-centered, as we humans are, is that sometimes we miss the obvious solutions when the effect on us is less than desirable. There was a person who could stop Wolfe. And it was me. I could stop him. And all I had to do was give him what he wanted most. And what I wanted least.
My hand felt the cold metal of the doorknob as I turned it, opening the porch door. I stepped inside and felt it slam shut behind me. I sat there in the semi-darkness, just breathing for a moment before I took my next step forward and entered the front door. I looked down, expecting to see the dead agent’s body that had been left here last time, but it was gone. There wasn’t a sound in the house, but outside I could hear a far-off police siren, probably answering the call of another person worried about Wolfe slaughtering them.
I looked around the living room as I shut the door behind me. It was still in scattered disarray from the battles it had seen in recent days. Wasn’t your life supposed to flash before your eyes before you die? Not that I had a life; just a thin, cardboard cutout version of reality that involved me waking up every day, eating breakfast, reading books, working out and, if I was good, sitting on the couch that was upturned in front of me and watching an hour of TV before I went to bed at night.
It wasn’t a life. My entire existence was circumscribed by the same walls I was looking at now, the walls of this house, and when I was bad, the walls of the box.
The box. That damned box.
I slipped down the stairs to the basement, leaving the wreckage of the living room behind me, replete with the smell of gore. The lights were still hanging overhead, the mats still bloody where Zack and I had left our contribution from the fight with Wolfe. I stepped over them and made my way to the corner to look at it.
It didn’t matter if I grew ten feet taller, I would still look at it as a huge, metal, imposing figure. The side that swung open hung off its hinges, moved from where I left it. The last time…I tried to put the hinges back together, tried to set it right again, to make it look like it wasn’t broken. It stood open, the darkness inside a silent reminder of days spent within.
I wish there was some brave, exciting reason why I tried to fix it, but the truth is that as irrational as it sounds, I feared Mom’s reaction when she saw I’d broken out. It was the act of a scared little girl that vainly hoped her mother wouldn’t realize that when she left the house, I was locked in a metal sarcophagus and when she got back, I was sleeping in my own bed and sitting on my own couch and going about my life unfettered by the metal prison she’d confined me to before she left.
Of course, she never came back, so it didn’t matter. I wondered what Mom would say when she found out what happened to me. If she found out. I wondered if Wolfe had caught up with her, as well. Mom was a fighter; way better than me. If he did, I bet she hurt him before the end. The thought of the pen sticking out of his ear, blood trailing down his face, came back to me, along with the thought of tranquilizer darts and the knife I had buried in him last time I was here. Yeah. Mom would have given him hell.
“Little doll,” I heard from behind me, turning to face the staircase. He strolled down, an idle man with all the time in the world. His nose was sniffing, as if he were savoring the meal he was about to eat. He paused at the last step. “So nice of you to call on Wolfe. I was beginning to question how many people I was going to have to kill before you’d pay attention…of course,” he admitted with a broad grin, worthy of his name, “Wolfe can’t take credit for all the kills the news has been giving to him…someone else has joined in on Wolfe’s good times…”
“Who?” A brief spark of interest crossed my mind as my brain scrambled for ways to avoid the fate I knew was moments away.
A shrug from the beast. “Wolfe doesn’t know. Wolfe doesn’t care.” A grin. “Wolfe cares about you, little doll. Wolfe knows from the little samples how good you taste…now he wants the full course.” He paused and wagged his finger at me. “Wolfe thinks you know that you can’t beat him. But before we start, he wants to hear you promise you won’t try.”
An involuntary shudder passed through me and I gave my full effort to blotting out thoughts of what was about to happen. “I can’t beat you,” I admitted. “And if I kept running, I believe you will keep killing forever;
everyone you could – men, women and children. It would never get better. It would be my fault. And that realization would sap every ounce of joy from my life – or what passes for my life – forever.”
He took another step closer. “Wise, for one so young, to know the Wolfe so well. Wolfe is amazed that one so cut off all her life can feel connected to this world…but it matters not.” He swept closer in one swift movement and I didn’t resist as he closed his hand around my neck. “Wolfe is going to hurt you now…and this will go on for quite some time…until you can’t resist even if you want to…and then, when you can’t move, but you can still feel…then we’ll start the real fun…”
He slammed me against the wall and it felt like the world ended. My ears rang as though someone had set off the planet’s worst rock band in them, and it hurt like hell. My brain was swimming and for a moment the world spun upside down and then righted itself. Wolfe was still staring back at me with those black, lifeless eyes, like I was an insect he was studying. “I don’t want you to move for your own good, little doll…dolls shouldn’t move themselves when Wolfe plays with them…so this is for your own good…”
He reached back for a windup and threw me across the room and headfirst into the concrete. I don’t know for sure that it fractured my skull, but the gawdawful cracking noise told me that either my bones or the wall had given. Blood covered my face, trickling over my eyes. I could only feel it, not see it, because my eyelids had snapped shut. He grabbed hold of me again and hauled me into the air. My hands twitched at my side.
“Wolfe wouldn’t be doing this if you hadn’t hurt him. He would have handed you over to his masters, like they wanted, all safe and sound, but you had to hurt the Wolfe…not once, not twice, but thrice…and now you’re in his blood, and he needs you…and you need to learn not to trifle with big men…bad men…”
My eyes were lolling in my head as I tried to brace for the next impact, but I relaxed myself. Then he started to choke me, hard. I felt the stifling as I tried for a breath, then attempted to will myself not to breathe, hoping to get it over before he started having his fun with me, but I couldn’t. My lungs strained and I began to panic.
I tried to gasp, but couldn’t. No M-Squad was coming to save me. No cops. No…Mom. I was on my own.
Completely alone.
My eyes opened and my gaze lifted over his shoulder and I saw the box in the corner, door still open, almost leering, as though it were taunting me. Now the flashbacks came, at the end, as my pitiful life waited in the balance and I remembered moments I had tried to forget. All those years, Mom had held me in this house, like Wolfe was holding me now, keeping me captive, slowly squeezing the life out of me – and I let her, afraid of the box. Years of helpless imprisonment, putting aside everything I wanted out of my life.
It taunted me, in that corner. Years of being stuck in it, trapped, helpless.
Emotions poured over me like the icy water that had hit me earlier, a sudden, sharp shock. I remembered the last time I was stuck in that metal coffin, days without getting a breath of fresh air, and my fear built and built until I exploded, anger and hatred and sadness all rushing out. I pounded on the metal of the door, put everything into it and felt something I had never felt in all the times I had been in there.
It moved. The door moved, just a little. I hit it again and again and it budged a little more, and a crack of light from the outside peeked in. I hammered at the door, kicked, pushed at it, screaming, grunting, my weary and cramped muscles crying out to get free. The corner bent enough that I could stick my fingers through, and I pushed and the metal bent as I applied more and more pressure. With a final kick and punch I heard the top and bottom hinges strain and break and I ripped the door free, sucking in the breaths of life and falling to the basement floor, the cold concrete and breathable air letting me know that I was alive, and for once…I wasn’t helpless.
I wasn’t.
I stared back at Wolfe’s soulless eyes and the same fury washed over me, the same desperate hunger for air and life. He held me at arm’s length and my bare hands came up of their own accord and surged forward, wrapping themselves around his hairy neck. The black eyes looked at me in surprise and a smile found its way to his lips. His grip tightened on me as mine tightened on his neck. There was no way I would be able to kill him before he killed me, I knew that. And I didn’t care. I would not die without him knowing that I wasn’t a helpless, defenseless little doll just here for him to play with.
My fingers dug into his throat and he laughed. “You’re going to have to squeeze much harder than that to make Wolfe feel it, my little doll. All you’re doing is giving Wolfe a case of the tingles.”
I gripped him tighter and he squeezed me so hard my head pushed back. I worried for a moment it was going to pop off, but I maintained my furious hold on him. I could feel a tingle of my own in my hands, likely from the fact that he was depriving my brain of oxygen. I dug my fingernails into his skin and I saw faint trickles of blood well up beneath them, even as I started to feel a sensation of lightheadedness percolate through my being.
“What…what are you…doing…?” Wolfe’s words were choked, his eyes wide. I felt his grip slacken on my neck. I didn’t dare loosen mine, and the lightheadedness I had experienced was growing into something more. The light in the room seemed to be brightening, amplifying.
“It…it BURNS!” He let out a howl of pain and batted at my hands. His claws dug into my wrists, scratching at them, drawing more blood that trickled down his fingers. I looked down to see it pooling in little drips on the concrete and then looked back to his face, awash in agony, and felt his weight start to drag me down. My hands were clutching his throat; my skin was hot and my head was throbbing, rushing with blood. I felt a heightened sense of…everything.
I suddenly realized the room reeked of blood and fear, and I drew in another sharp breath. Faint thumping noises upstairs were audible to me for the first time, and I could hear noises in the pipes and sirens blocks away, and all this over the whimpering and screaming of Wolfe. My skin was on fire with the heat of his throat in my hands, and I could feel the veins in Wolfe’s neck pumping blood past my fingers.
“PLEASE!!” His voice shrieked, begging, pleading, filling the air in the basement. It was at that moment that I realized that if he could speak, I wasn’t choking him – at least not effectively. “It hurts…SO…MUCH!” His words came out in a whimpering shriek. “Wolfe is sorry, little doll, please let him go, pleasepleaseplease…”
A few more wails of agony, one last whimper, and a death rattle filled the air. I held Wolfe by the neck and there was a bitter taste in my mouth as he went slack; his black eyes rolled back in his head, now truly lifeless. The lightheaded sensation filled me and I felt like I was floating, then flying, but not like I had when I went unconscious…instead it was like I was flying at a hundred miles an hour, even though I was still there in the basement, looking at Wolfe’s dead eyes.
Though he weighed several hundred pounds, I held him up by the neck for several minutes, afraid to let go and empowered by the rush of whatever it was that was causing my head to spin. I finally let him slip from my grasp, and his body fell back, knocking over the box, which landed on the ground with a horrendous crash. Wolfe’s body rolled off the side of it and slid to the floor, unmoving.
I took two steps back and slumped against the wall. My head felt like it was about to explode. My mind was so jumbled I couldn’t control it; leaping in every direction, thoughts I could not have conceived of just a few minutes earlier were dashing through my head so quickly I couldn’t even track them all.
I looked back at the two objects of my greatest fear and a heady feeling settled over me. I kicked Wolfe’s shin with an outstretched leg. He didn’t budge, didn’t blink. He was dead.
And I was free.
Alone: The Girl in the Box, Book 1 Page 24
