I need to do this, consequences be damned.
“Mom?” I call out, soft and hesitant. “Dad?”
There is a rush of static followed by a high-pitched squeal. I struggle to concentrate as a chorus of voices comes through, distorted and distant, speaking a multitude of languages. Their words crackle and quaver, but as I focus I can hear them drop away until only two remain. They become clearer, closer, louder, and finally I hear their words and recognize the voices.
My mom and dad come through as clear as if they were sitting right next to me. Tears begin to stream down my cheeks. I sit in silence, afraid to make a sound.
“I don’t know. I don’t know!” my mom moans. “Why do we have to do this now? Can’t it wait?”
“We have to, Mary,” my dad tells her, his words heavy with pain. “The funeral is in two days. We have to do this.”
Another voice comes through. “I am so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Donnelly. I can only begin to imagine your pain, and I wish these details weren’t necessary, but we must proceed in order to put your daughter to rest.”
Dad lets out a deep sigh. “How about this one? The cherry finish looks nice.”
“I can’t do this,” she whimpers. “You cannot expect me to pick out a casket for my girl. I just can’t.”
“Why don’t we take a little break?” the man suggests. “I’ll give you some privacy and you can talk it over.”
“This can’t be happening,” my dad whispers. Whether it’s to himself or my mom, I’m not sure.
“I’d give anything, Jim. Just one more day, to see one more smile on her face. Anything.”
The grief spills out of me like a river running over its banks, dangerous and wild, sweeping me away in a current too strong to fight. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“Dez? Jim, did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Dez! I heard her!”
“You’re just tired, honey. You need—”
The pod door flies open with a crash. The soft blue light turns bright white, and my parents are gone. A hand reaches in and drags me out of the pod.
“Wait! I need to go back in there!” Rage and tears pour off me in equal measure as I spin around to face my assailant.
It’s Crosby.
“Wh-what are you doing h-here?” I stammer. A feeling of dread sets my skin alight.
“What am I doing here?”
I search the room, hoping for support, but we’re alone.
“Bobby can’t save you.”
“Where did he go?” I ask above the rising threat of bile at the back of my throat.
“Forget him. What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I … I mean, we were just—”
“You know what? I don’t even want to hear it.” He closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his nose.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“Not one more word. You got me?” He paces back and forth like a caged animal. “Nero!” he shouts through the door. “I’ll deal with you later!”
He turns back around to focus his ire on his single remaining target. “You. Follow me.”
My fingers twist the end of one of my braids—my go-to nervous tic—as I follow Crosby down the hallway. He doesn’t even look back to see if I’m managing to keep up with his angry pace. When we reach the main room of the tavern, he leans against the bar, red-faced and fuming.
The barkeep ducks into a back room and a customer scurries to the exit. I long to flee, but fear, anger, and sorrow leave me paralyzed.
A dark-featured man with close-cropped hair and a short, powerful build sits at the table in the corner, watching us. The gaze of this stranger, his very presence, even, makes this bad situation worse.
Crosby pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the hell were you thinking?” He slaps his hand on the bar. “You know what? Don’t answer that.”
“Crosby … ”
“I already have one source of trouble on your floor, and I don’t need a second.”
His words lash and sting. “How could you even say that? I am nothing like Herc. He’s a cruel, manipulative little jerk.”
“Come on.” Crosby kicks aside a barstool on his way to the door. “We are not having this conversation here.”
The wake of his fury carries me out of the tavern and into the night.
We arrive at a shack at the edge of the train tracks not far from where Bobby and I crossed on our way in. Crosby punches a code into a keypad next to the rickety door, his fingers mashing the buttons. He holds the door open, finally looking at me, and I wish he hadn’t. Disappointment and anger are a bad combination on him, and scary enough to make my legs go wobbly.
The shack is not much bigger than my closet. There are no windows, no beautiful views, nothing but the two of us and his rage. A small ratty couch and a wooden chair are the only furniture. The unfinished wood panel walls are devoid of any decoration. A bare lightbulb hangs from the ceiling, adding harsh shadows to the stark space.
Great, he’s brought me to an interrogation room.
And Charlie’s here.
He’s leaning against the wall at the back of the room, looking guilty and scared. But he doesn’t look surprised to see me.
“Sit down,” Crosby tells me. “You too, Charlie.”
We both take a seat on the couch, silent in our fear.
“Neither one of you better move an inch while I’m gone. I’ll be back in a few,” Crosby says. He crosses the room and the door slams behind him.
“Are you okay?” Charlie asks.
His face is an open book of pain and sorrow, but I don’t care. My humiliation, fear, anger—all of it—explodes in a venomous attack. “What are you doing here? Spying on me for Crosby? Is that how he found me?” I am too furious to say anything else.
“Is that what you really think of me?” he asks. “I followed you and got caught, okay?”
“All I know is I was going off to have some fun and see the city, and I got an amazing chance to … ” I can’t finish. Getting that close to talking to my parents and then failing is too painful.
Charlie gets up and moves a few paces away. I don’t bother to remind him of Crosby’s orders. He puts his hands on the back of the wooden chair and leans forward in an interrogation stance. “Why do you think I followed you? Because I wanted to get you in trouble? To what? Win some favor with Crosby? With Franklin?”
“I have no idea. Why else would you spy on me like that?”
“You really don’t know?” he asks, his voice growing fierce with anger.
I stand. “If you’ve decided I’m such a lost cause, why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“Don’t you get it? I’m doing this because I care about you! I’ve never met anyone like you, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to just sit back and let you throw your future away.”
“What future?” I demand. “We’re dead, Charlie.”
“There’s still a future, but you aren’t going to find it in this city. We have eternity, Dez, and you seem determined to destroy it!”
He throws the chair across the room. It crashes into the wall and I flinch as if it hit me.
His angry outburst is the last straw. It’s all too much, and I can’t fight the tears. I’ve been trying to hold back the ocean with a beach towel, and I can’t do it anymore. Shame, weakness, and fear are ganging up on me. I begin to sob as I collapse onto the couch, pull my knees up to my chin, and wrap my arms around my legs. Try as I might, I can’t make myself disappear.
Charlie sits down next to me, quiet and cautious; all signs of his anger are gone. I feel his hand on my back. Despite the pain and betrayal I still feel, I lean against him, desperate for comfort.
“Dez,” he whispers. “I would never do anything to hurt you, but I won’t just sit back and let you make mistakes that could cost you everything.”
The door opens and Crosby comes in, looking every bit as mad as he did when he left. Another man, tall and muscula
r with dark hair, walks in behind him.
I wipe away my tears with hurried, clumsy hands.
Crosby motions for Charlie to stand. “This is Mack. He’ll make sure you get back to the dorms in one piece. We’ll talk later.”
“But—”
“Out. Now, Charlie.”
Charlie lets go of me with reluctance, but doesn’t dare question Crosby’s authority further. I can’t say I blame him. He follows Mack, glancing back over his shoulder at me before the door closes behind him.
Our unfinished moment, left hanging on a parting glance.
“You and I are going to have a little talk.” Crosby grabs the overturned chair and sits down, facing me. Too close. His breath is hot on my face.
“So, it was Hannah who ratted me out, huh?” I say through the lump in my throat, trying to sound defiant. “How did she even know where we were going? Is that why you made us roommates, so she can spy on me, or—”
“Stop right there. Hannah didn’t say anything.”
“Then how…” No more tears, I silently scold myself. I can’t let myself make things worse.
“It doesn’t matter how.”
Defiance is my best defense strategy. I try to steady my trembling hands by putting them on my knees. “What exactly have I done that’s so terrible?”
Crosby’s stare turns from stern to worried. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
What I’m getting myself into? How is it any of his business? “I’m so sorry I’ve committed such a horrible offense. I’ll try to rein in my evil ways.”
“Enough!” His voice cuts right through me. He leans forward in his chair.
I try to lean back, but have nowhere to go. “Crosby, don’t.”
“No. You need to hear this, and I don’t know how else to get through to you. Nice isn’t working.”
“You haven’t even tried nice,” I whisper.
“This is too important to screw around.”
“I don’t understand what the big deal is. We ate at a diner. We went to Nero’s. Nothing happened to us.”
“My job is to help you and to keep you safe.”
“Safe? I’m dead. It’s a little late for safe.” I choke back the bitter disappointment.
Air escapes Crosby’s lungs like steam from a kettle. He rests his elbows on his knees and rubs his face. “If you think there is no danger here, you’re wrong.”
“I thought the city is where the staff lives. Why would they have you stay somewhere dangerous?”
“It is where I stay, but it’s not that simple.” He sits back, finally giving me a bit of space. “I’ve seen a lot of kids come through here, Dez. You’re the kind who worries me. You’re smart, you’re strong, and you question everything. I’ve seen it too many times.” The anger in his voice seems to be ebbing; softness and worry are creeping in.
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” I mumble. “I just wanted to see it for myself.”
“It’s no place for you.”
“Bobby comes here all the time, so I was in good hands.”
“He what?” He sucks in another fuming breath as he steadies his temper. “I see I’m going to have to have a little chat with him, too.”
“No, please, Crosby,” I beg. “It’s not his fault. I’m the one that asked him.”
“Doesn’t matter. He should know better.”
My heart sinks with the guilt of betraying Bobby. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t mean to. The damage is done. “What are you going to do?”
“With Bobby? That’s none of your concern.”
“Please, Crosby. Don’t do this.”
“You’ve done this to yourself.”
“Charlie didn’t do anything wrong, either. He was just worried about me.”
“And you should be worrying about yourself. Forget Charlie and Bobby.”
Who is Crosby to order me around? Why is he the end all and be all of what’s what in this limbo-verse I’m stuck in? “I don’t get what I did that’s so terrible. I don’t understand why you’re being this way.”
“Why? Because you’re too confident for your own good, and for some reason, you have it in your head that the rules don’t apply to you. You think because you’re dead, the bad stuff is over. Well, there’s plenty of bad stuff left here.”
Death may have been my fault, but it wasn’t my choice. I’m getting tired of being ordered around and treated like a child. “I can handle myself just fine.”
“A scrawny, sixteen-year-old loudmouth is nothing compared to what’s on the other side of that door.”
“Nothing happened. I’m fine.”
“Nothing happened?” He straightens in his chair. “Do you have any idea what you were doing tonight? In that pod?”
“I miss them. I miss my life.”
“I know you do, but you can’t ever do that again. Ever. Do you understand me?”
My heart aches at the thought of conceding the point, but I know I have no choice. “Fine, but staying out of the city completely? I don’t see what the big deal is.”
His eyes darken again. “What do you think happens to criminals when they die? You think it’s straight to hell with them?” He shakes his head. “It’s not so simple. Most of them wind up here. They get a long evaluation period where we hope they can understand what they’ve done and move forward in a positive direction.”
“So you’re saying murderers, rapists—they get a second chance?” The defiance is returning to my voice as I shake my head in disbelief. I can’t let him see how scared he has me.
“Most of them, yes. We keep them segregated here in the city, which is precisely why I don’t want to hear one more word about coming back. You have no idea what some of them are capable of. What could happen to you. There are worse things than dying in a car crash. Things you can’t imagine.”
No longer able to stand the confines of the room or the lecture, I stand up and move toward the door, my fight or flight instinct choosing flight. “I can’t do this.”
“Sit. Down.”
“Why? So you can lecture me some more about what a disappointment I am? You think I don’t know that? Four days ago, I did something stupid, and a whole lifetime of doing things right and working hard was tossed out the window. So go ahead, Crosby. Tell me what a loser I am.”
“You are not a loser.” The pain in his voice is clear. “I never spend this kind of time and energy on the kids here. I give them pep speeches and send them on their way. But there’s something about you, Dez, and I’m going to do what I have to in order to keep you safe.”
I have nothing and no one left, I realize. Not Charlie, not Hannah. Not my friends, my parents, my life. All I have is Crosby.
“I’m sorry,” I finally admit, ashamed.
“I can only help you if you let me. You need to listen and follow the rules, okay?”
I nod in surrender.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
It’s amazing how a little earth-shattering shame can give perspective to a disagreement among friends. Yesterday’s fight with Hannah, spilling over into one with Charlie, seems silly and pathetic in the light of day.
Hiding in my bed seems to be my only option. After the humiliation of Crosby’s lecture, and getting both Charlie and Bobby in trouble, I can’t face anyone, and I can barely deal with myself. Gossip is a form of currency around here, and I can only imagine what everyone is saying about me.
How long can I stay here before someone drags me out of bed? I have every intention of finding out.
My first rebuff is aimed at Hannah, who shows up not long after I’ve slunk back to our room, a mess of humiliation and tears.
The door opens, and I’m quick to build a blanket and pillow fortress around myself.
“Dez?” I can hear her creeping across the room, as though she’s approaching a cornered animal instead of a devastated roommate. “I know things have been rocky between us, but I’m here if you want to talk, okay? You don’t have to go thr
ough this by yourself.”
“Please leave me alone,” I moan.
“Charlie and Crosby told me what happened.”
“Please, Hannah. I just want to be by myself.”
“Crosby feels bad about how things went down. He didn’t tell me much, but I know it wasn’t how he wanted it to go.”
She would have made a great … what do you call those people who talk other people off ledges? She’d have been good at that. She has the perfect voice for it.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about anything. All I want is to go home.” Two steps forward, fifteen steps back. My new reality.
“I hope you know you can trust me. If you want to talk, I’m here to listen. Okay?”
“Is this what it’s going to be like? Forever?”
“Absolutely not.” Her voice gets closer. “They push us from the start, drilling us with the schedule and the rules, but eventually we all wind up right where you are now. You are having a normal reaction to the most intense experience you’ll ever go through. Think of it like you’re in rehab. You’re going through life withdrawal. Kicking the habit. Once you get over the hump, you’ll feel better.”
I let out a soft, exhausted whimper. Hannah shows mercy and leaves me in peace.
How much time has passed? Hours? Days? It all runs together, and, at this point, I don’t care. Between the regret, the humiliation, and the longing for home, my schedule is full. It’s gotten dark and light again, maybe a few times, maybe not, but I refuse to check my bracelet, and have yet to give in to DSR. The side effects Bobby warned me of—disorientation, drowsiness, nausea, and tremors—come in waves, ebbing and flowing like the tide.
Hannah has come and gone, but I’ve long since lost track of how many times. She tries over and over to talk to me, but I’m a wall of stone.
Life, A.D. Page 16
