The funeral director approaches. “Everyone should begin arriving soon.” He ushers them to the chairs set up in front of the casket, where they take their seats and begin to wait. …
“You haven’t slept in days, Mary. It isn’t good for you,” Anne says as she washes a casserole dish. Mom sits in our kitchen at her grandmother’s well-worn table. Dishes and platters of food cover every square inch of surface area. Doug is busy helping my dad find room in the fridge for all the leftovers.
“It’s been almost a week. You’d think the food would stop coming.” Dad looks into the crammed fridge. “There is no way we’ll be eating it all. Seems a shame to waste it.”
“Tell you what,” Doug says. “I’ll take whatever you don’t want down to the station. That’ll make it disappear.” He turns to my mom. “Mary, why don’t you at least try to eat something?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Honey, you have to eat,” Dad pleads.
She reaches in her purse and retrieves a prescription bottle. “Anne? Could you get me a glass of water?”
“Sure thing, Mar’.” Anne grabs a glass from the cabinet—she knows exactly where they are—and walks over to the fridge to use the water dispenser. She rubs Mom’s back as she sets the glass down on the table. “You going to go get some sleep now?”
“I’ll try.” She takes the pill bottle in one hand and the water glass in the other. It seems to take every last bit of her strength to get to her feet.
Dad kisses her cheek. “I’ll come check on you in a few minutes.”
“We’ll finish cleaning up,” Anne says.
Mom leaves the room without a word.
“Do those pills help her at all?” Doug asks.
“I don’t know. She hasn’t taken any yet.”
Anne takes Mom’s seat at the table, next to my dad. “Well, here’s hoping she sleeps tonight. She desperately needs it. How about you, Jim? Have you been sleeping any?”
Dad shrugs. “A little.”
Mom sits on the edge of the tub in the master bathroom, studying the pill bottle. She passes it back and forth between her hands, reading and re-reading the label. She dumps its contents out in her hand, counting the pills one by one.
“Fourteen could do it,” she murmurs. “Then maybe we could be together again, my girl. Maybe there is something after all, or maybe it’ll just be a merciful end to this pain—”
I pull back from DSR with a shout. The image of my mom and those pills is burned into my brain.
I need to stop her.
The glittering city shines through the picture window.
Crosby made me promise I wouldn’t ever go back.
But I have to. There’s no other way. And I have to go now.
Hannah. Should I wake her? It really isn’t fair to drag her down with me, and if I go to Nero’s, there will no doubt be hell to pay. As mad as Crosby was the first time, I could defend my visit as I had not truly known the danger. Deliberate defiance after his somber warning is a different matter entirely, and I don’t know if even a life-or-death emergency will grant me clemency from his wrath.
I crouch next to her bed and give her a gentle shake.
“Hannah,” I whisper urgently.
She mumbles, but doesn’t wake up.
I shake her a little harder. “Hannah!”
She finally comes to, but isn’t exactly coherent. “What? What time is it?”
“Two in the morning.”
“What’s wrong? Why are you up?” Her words are slurred with disorientation.
“I have to go.”
“What? Where?” She squints at me in the dim light. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s my mom. I … ” A wave of nausea hits me as the scene plays back in my mind. “She’s going to kill herself. I just saw her with a bottle of sleeping pills and she wants to take them all.”
Hannah sits straight up in bed. “We have to go get Franklin.”
“No, he’ll just stop me. I have to go back to the city. Right now. There’s no other way.”
“What for?”
“The pods. I can talk to her, tell her I’m okay, tell her to stay with Dad. I can stop her.” I hurry to my closet to grab some clothes. The rush of adrenaline and fear has my whole body shaking. “I just didn’t want you to worry when you wake up and I’m not here.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No. No way. I’m going to be in enough trouble as it is. I’m not taking you down with me.”
“I’m coming with you,” she repeats in a tone that doesn’t invite further discussion.
We sneak into the common area, careful to make as little noise as possible.
“Wait,” I whisper. “We need a flashlight.”
“There’s a closet near the elevators that has sports equipment and stuff in it. I’m pretty sure there are flashlights, too.”
As we round the corner just before the closet, I stop and grab Hannah’s arm, pulling her back from the lounge. Charlie and Herc are sitting near a window, talking.
“Crap,” I whisper.
“Now what? We have to walk right by them to get to the closet.”
“Is there another place to get a flashlight?”
Hannah shakes her head. “I’m sure there is, but I have no idea where.”
“It’s too dark to make it without one.” I try to focus and think of a way to get by unnoticed, but all I can think of is my mom. “What are we going to do?”
Hannah hooks her arm through mine and walks us back around the corner. “The only thing we can do. We’re going to get that flashlight.”
Herc opens his mouth to speak as we approach, but Charlie gives him a dangerous look, and the message is crystal clear. Herc looks down at his feet, mumbles, “I’ll see you later, Charlie,” and makes a hasty exit.
“What are you guys doing up?” Charlie asks.
“Please, Charlie, no questions.”
He comes over to us, his brow knit with concern. “You’re shaking like a leaf. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to drag you into this,” I say. “It’s bad enough Hannah’s involved. We’re just getting a flashlight and then we’re out of here. Please don’t tell anyone you saw us, okay?”
“No, not okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
Hannah nudges me with her elbow. “Dez, he’s a big boy. He can handle it, and you know you can trust him.”
Between my frantic drive to stop my mom and my fear of dragging Hannah and Charlie into the giant pile of trouble this will bring, I’m stuck.
Herc sticks his head back around the corner. “What’s going on, Charlie?”
My hands clench into fists. “No. I don’t want him anywhere near this.”
“It’s nothing,” Charlie tells him. ”Just go do DSR, okay?”
“I might be able to help,” he says.
“Right,” I snap. “Like you’d ever help me. Just stay out of it.”
Charlie takes my hand. “I’ve got this.”
“There’s no time. I have to go.”
“Just go back to our suite,” Charlie tells Herc. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
Herc finally slinks off, mumbling something incoherent.
I squeeze Charlie’s hand, drawing strength from his calmness. “I saw my mom. In DSR. She had a handful of sleeping pills, and I think she’s going to take them all. I have to stop her, if it’s not too late already.”
Charlie nods. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Charlie, Hannah, and I race across the park, through the woods, and up Bobby’s path toward the city.
Their ability to ignore the surroundings and focus on getting me to the pod is amazing. They don’t seem to notice the remarkable sights as we rush by, and don’t even flinch as I lead them down the dark, winding alley toward Nero’s Fiddle.
My fist pounds on the door with thunderous resolve. The iron bar slides open, and Nero peers out at us.
“Ohhhhh, no.” He drags out the words, his voice wary. “Not you again.”
“Nero, please,” I beg. “I’m sorry I didn’t come with Bobby. There was no time. I know I made trouble for you before, but this is an emergency.”
“Trouble? You have no idea, girlie. That Crosby drove off all my customers for days. Not good for business.”
“Business?” Charlie asks. “We’re dead, so there’s no money, right?”
Nero glares at him. “Not talking to you, boy.”
“Come on,” Charlie persists. “You on the barter system? What do you trade for? Maybe we can make it up to you.”
“You really want the answer to that, kid?” Nero sneers. “We got all types here, so be careful what you offer.”
I put my hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, Nero. I really am. I promise I’ll be quick. Please.”
“Get lost.” The little window slams shut.
“Nero!” I scream as I pound on the door. “It’s my mom … please!”
“Don’t care!” he shouts back. “Now get out of here, or I’ll call Crosby myself.”
“Come on,” Hannah whispers. “Maybe there’s another way in.”
We sneak around the side of the building, trying our best to conceal ourselves in the shadows, but our frantic pace and my desperation hinders our attempts at stealth. The bar’s solitary window is too small to fit through. Accessing the bar won’t do us any good anyway. Nero will toss us out the minute we get in.
We make our way to the alley running behind the building. Charlie shines the flashlight against the back wall and finds a door. It’s locked, and doesn’t budge an inch.
“I have to get in there!” Feelings of futility and defeat flood my brain.
Focus. Find a way in. Help Mom.
“What’s the matter, beauties? Did nasty old Nero kick you out?”
The three of us spin around in the direction of the strange voice coming from the shadows. The flashlight’s beam falls on a middle-aged woman in a Victorian dress. Her graying hair is pulled up in a bun.
“His isn’t the only game in town,” she purrs. Her low, throaty voice has a slight hint of a French accent. Her harsh features are sharpened in the narrow light of the flashlight’s beam, making her smile all the more disturbing as she approaches, her heels clicking on the cobblestones.
“We’re fine, thanks,” I say. Charlie, Hannah, and I step closer together in a defensive posture.
“Is that so? Because the way it appears to Delphine, you lovelies are, how do you say? In a tight spot?”
“What do you want?” Charlie says.
“Oh my, a boy who is direct. I do like that. So young and so bold.” She looks from Hannah to me, then back to Charlie. “Strange company you keep, chéri.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Is that so? Well, let me tell you, there is more than one way”—she looks at me with amusement—“to skin a cat, no?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, desperate enough to talk to this woman whose presence and appearance is setting off alarms in my mind. “Are you saying there are pods somewhere else?”
She narrows her eyes. “I guess they make them smarter than they used to.”
“I don’t like this,” Hannah says. “There has to be a better way. Let’s try Nero again. Maybe he’ll change his mind.”
Delphine throws back her head and cackles. She steps up to Charlie and runs her fingers down his cheek. “Scared little birds fallen from their nest,” she coos.
Charlie bats her hand away. “Come on, Dez. Hannah, you’re right. Let’s go.” He and Hannah turn to leave.
“Suit yourselves, but if that one wants to help her sweet mama, you’d best come with Delphine. You want to do more than listen? More than talk? You want to see?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, wary.
“Come. You’ll see.”
“I don’t have time for riddles. What exactly are you trying to say?”
A devilish smile spreads across her face. She points a crooked index finger at me. “You want to say goodbye? You want to say sorry?” She clucks her tongue. “Such a thing, to spend eternity with regret. But you come along and Delphine will show you the world.”
“What’s in it for you?” Charlie asks her. He takes my hand.
She bows her head. “To help those in need is its own gift.”
“Dez, don’t,” Hannah says. “We’ll figure something else out.”
“I have to. There’s no other way.” We huddle together and I whisper, “You guys should go back. Tell Franklin. You know, just in case.”
Charlie glances over my shoulder at Delphine. “And leave you alone with her? No way.” His voice is low and urgent; his grip on my hand is tight.
“We’re in this together,” Hannah whispers. “Wherever you’re going, we’re going."
“I really don’t like this. I never should have dragged you two into my mess.”
“We came willingly, and we’re not leaving you,” Charlie says, ending the discussion.
Turning back to Delphine, I ask, “How far is it? We need to hurry. It might already be too late.” I swallow back the fear, refusing to let my mind go any further down that path. It can’t be too late.
“Not far, lovelies. Not far at all. Come.” She waves her hand, beckoning us to follow her down the alley and away from Nero’s.
“We stay together, okay?” Charlie whispers. “Nobody goes anywhere alone with her, no matter what she says.”
Hannah and I nod in agreement, following a safe distance behind Delphine. Confident she has us hooked, she strolls ahead. She’s caught us in her web, luring us deeper into the unknown, and I can only hope we get back out.
“I don’t trust her for one second.” I remember all too well Crosby’s warning about the people who lurk in the city, preying on the weak, the trusting, and, in this moment, the desperate.
The buildings become increasingly ramshackle as we wind into the city. The brightly lit façades and mismatched architecture have been replaced by dilapidated shacks and neglected, seedy storefronts. Rundown souls in tattered rags lurk in the shadows, watching us as we pass.
“Who are all these people?” Hannah whispers as she looks at one particularly desperate man.
“I don’t think we want to know. Hopefully it’s not much farther.” Charlie calls ahead to Delphine. “Are we almost there?”
She raises an arm and waves her hand. “Not far now, chéri. Then you will see.” We round the corner into a residential section of the city. Delphine spins around to face us at last, an alarming grin on her face. “Bienvenue, children. Welcome to Royal Street.”
The name would no doubt be hilarious if we weren’t in such a dangerous situation. Shabby houses and apartments crowd into each other and push up against the street. We’re left with little space to navigate; it’s a claustrophobic mess of bad architecture and filth. Royal, indeed.
The click of Delphine’s heels leads the way into a small courtyard up a path of cracked and uneven concrete to a bizarrely out of place—even by Atman standards—geodesic dome. It seems barely large enough for the four of us to fit into and casts an eerie glow, bathing the courtyard in a pale green light. There is just enough room between the dome and the adjacent buildings for a person to walk through, although I have no idea why anyone would want to. The courtyard is devoid of any greenery; the ground is hard-packed dirt with a pile of rocks to one side of the dome that seems to serve no functional or decorative purpose.
Delphine strides up to the narrow door and enters the dome without knocking and with no instructions to us.
“Are we supposed to follow her?” Hannah asks.
“I guess,” Charlie says. “The alternative is staying out here, and I definitely don’t want to do that.”
We hurry up the steps to the door and inside. It’s a tiny space, with two wooden chairs positioned in front of a trapdoor in the floor. Charlie, Hannah, and I stand elbow to elbow in the
close confines.
An extremely obese man with a blond buzz cut and a ruddy complexion is sitting in one of the chairs. It ought to be collapsing under his weight, but since we’re dead, I guess the laws of physics and structural integrity don’t apply. Behind him is a small woodstove with a whistling kettle on it. Neither he nor Delphine seems to care.
“We have visitors, Louis,” Delphine tells him with a sly smile. “This one”—she nods at me—“needs to help her dear mama.”
Louis grunts and looks up at me with black, beady eyes. He begins the slow process of getting to his feet, making it clear he’s not a man who does anything quickly.
He lumbers to the trapdoor and grabs the large metal ring at the bottom, pulling with a strained, groaning exhalation. The door creaks and grinds under its own weight. Once past the halfway point, Louis lets it fall open. It hits the floor with a thunderous crash.
“Just you,” he tells me with a thick French accent. He points down at the stairs and into the darkness.
“No way,” Charlie says, stepping forward. “We all go.”
“You got a problem, boy?” Louis asks, taking a menacing step toward us.
“Stop,” I say, holding my hands up as I turn to Charlie and Hannah. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” Assessing the rickety stairs that lead to who knows where, I’m not sure I believe it.
“Dez, no,” Hannah says. “Let’s just get out of here, okay?”
Delphine slinks over to Hannah and strokes her hair, delighting in the cringe it induces. “There, there, child. Your friend, she’s in good hands. Delphine takes care of everything.” She kisses Hannah’s cheek, and Hannah jumps back. Delphine cackles with glee.
“Enough!” I lock eyes with Delphine. “Either you’re going to help us, or you’re not. Enough with the games, and leave my friends out of it. C'est entre nous.” This is between us. I’m sick of her crap.
Surprise flashes across her face. “Well, well, my little bird … très impressionnant. I think I like you.”
“We’re wasting time,” I say.
“Be a darling and make some tea for our guests,” she tells Louis. She turns her saccharine smile my way. “Follow me, child.”
Life, A.D. Page 19
