He looked at his goose-bumped arms and stiffened. They were grimy, cut and smeared with blood, his plaid shirt tattered and dirty. When he looked down at himself in alarm, he saw that the white vest under it was the same, torn across the stomach, the skin under it raw and oozing red. The weirdest thing was, he didn’t feel any pain. Actually, he didn’t feel anything at all, except for the wind and the dampness.
A soft whisper rustled behind him then, making his head whip up. He whirled and saw a dark figure, half-covered by the mist. It was hard to make out who it was, until he heard the whispering voice again.
Chad.
He darted forward, cutting through the tall grass, his jeans soaking wet in no time. What was she doing here, at his father’s farm? The air was puffing out of his mouth in misty clouds, and now he was almost running, but it seemed like she was getting farther and farther away as he tried to reach her. The black figure didn’t seem to change, though. It didn’t move or get smaller. It just hovered in the gray infinity before him, a human-shaped beacon.
Chad stopped and leaned forward, hands on his knees, trying to restore his breath. Shivers went through him, and his hands trembled, prickling from the freezing air. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out, feeling his throat ache at the coldness, his pulse beat with overwhelming force inside him.
Chad.
His eyes flew open. She was in front of him now, as if she had just appeared there. Her black gear was covered in drops of water, and the hilt of her sword was visible above her shoulder. Chad froze in his spot, staring at her with bewilderment. It wasn’t her appearance that stunned him – it was the way she looked into his eyes, flatly, unanimated, her eyes piercing right through him. Like a doll. She didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. Her face was expressionless, white like a mask.
He drew a sharp breath.
“What are you doing here?” he heard his voice as if it were coming from someone else, distant and anxious.
She took a step closer to him and reached out a slim white arm, her sleeve pulled up to the elbow. He looked down, seeing the scars that covered her forearm: a white net of lines, entwining with each other, dotted with birthmarks here and there. Every part of her seemed already familiar to him, every detail memorized to perfection. He just stared stupidly, uncomprehending what she wanted from him. Until she turned her hand palm up, and he gasped.
It was covered in red, as if she had dipped it into a paint can. Chad felt a trickle of cold sweat on the back of his neck in spite of the freezing weather. He raised his astonished look at her face, which was still senseless and blank.
“What the hell, Pain??” he inquired, his teeth chattering. “What happened, why are you here?”
She blinked at him, and finally, a ghost of surprise appeared on her face.
“I came for you. I came to save you.”
*
“Chad, come on, we’re leaving.”
Someone shook his shoulder, and he choked, bolting upright on his bed. He whipped his head to the side, breathing heavily, and saw Jane, her face startled. Dizziness flooded in from the sides of his vision, and he made an effort to breathe and not to throw up.
“Are you okay?” Jane asked, worried.
He waved his hand at her, mouthing, “I’m fine,” and swung his feet off the bed. He ached to get away from it, to break every connection with his dream as fast as he could. Swaying, he staggered to the bathroom. Pain’s and Jane’s identically concerned looks followed him, while Dave was scrupulously packing his bag.
As the door slammed shut behind him, he ran the water and bent over the sink, breathing harshly. The dizziness was receding slowly, the nausea already gone, but all his insides were gripped by a cold fear that penetrated deep into his bones and made him shiver all over. With an effort of will, he made himself splash cold water on his face, his trembling hands spilling most of it on the floor. It helped a little, and soon the weakness was gone. When he raised his head and looked in the mirror, he saw that his face was gray and ghastly, unfamiliarly boyish. As his breathing returned to normal, he straightened up and wiped himself with a towel. Just a dream, he thought, just a stupid dream. If only that hollow feeling deep in his chest was gone along with it.
He hadn’t had nightmares since he was a hormone-haunted teenager. But considering the last events, it wasn’t surprising at all. Actually, he had expected them after what he had seen at that apartment downtown. But everything was as usual, peaceful, dreamless sleep every night, from eleven to eight. And now the stress chose to kick in, he thought sourly.
Chad exhaled and opened the cabinet, swooping his shaving kit and toothbrush out of it and into his hands. Then he kicked the door open and left the bathroom, striding purposefully to his bag, which was still by the door. The girls’ stares were heavy on him as he squatted over the bag and began to take his clothes out, preparing some space for the fresh ones.
“Everything alright? You need a pill or something?” he heard Jane’s anxious voice from behind.
“I’m okay,” he said flatly, “Just a bad dream.”
She didn’t say anything else, and he was grateful for that.
The lunch passed almost in silence – everybody seemed to be lost in their thoughts. Chad tried not to be, so he just watched the room and people in it instead. It was much better than seeing Pain’s pallid face and hands dripping scarlet every time he closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear to look at her at the moment, so he tried to focus on the Ghosts inside the canteen.
Distracting himself with their looks wasn’t a difficult task. They were a lot to take in and a good reason to have nightmares, too. Most of them looked all alike to him: typical bouncers, tall and heavily muscled, their grace like that of a bull. Their faces were all like one, set and expressionless; their hair shaved or cropped short. Tattoos that covered their bodies and heads would make a fine skin art museum. Once he had seen a guy with a line of small skulls along his arm. Jane had explained that this was his way of keeping score of his victims. If Pain did the same, there probably wouldn’t be a clean spot on her body.
If he looked closer, each of the fighters was interesting – and terrifying – in their own way. Tattoos weren’t the only things that embellished their looks, if he could say so. Their scars, injuries, weapons, and even details of clothing bore their stories, and Chad wouldn’t even doubt that each of them was much more interesting than one of an ordinary citizen.
But not all of the fighters were that impressive. There were some that wouldn’t stand out in a crowd, like Jerry. A few of them were pretty short and no bigger than the sisters, though he doubted they had their skill and speed. He had already understood that the girls were something of a legend here and even all over the city. Everybody knew that to meet the girl with the katana was bad luck; at least, that was what Marco had once said. Chad couldn’t decide if it was true for him.
Finally, there were some people that looked like they didn’t belong here at all. There was a guy with long dreadlocks whom Chad hadn’t seen without his headphones yet. He didn’t seem to be an outsider, though. Every time they had a meal, different people joined him, talking in low voices while he sat there with his food tray and laptop, not taking his eyes off of it. Chad didn’t know what his trade was, and when he had asked the sisters about it, they only exchanged enigmatic smiles with each other.
Then there was another, a tall and lanky African-American guy who always wore a loose dark-blue sweatsuit, which made him look like a coatrack inside it. He wandered the building like an actual ghost, not talking to anybody even once in Chad’s presence. In rare moments when his face wasn’t hidden inside the hood, Chad could see that his black hair was made into African braids, and his eyes were dark and watchful behind the uncharacteristic glasses. The sisters had said he was mute, and it was all they knew about him.
But who actually crept him out was a middle-aged man whose right arm, shoulder, and half of his face were covered in burn marks. He lacked his right eye, t
oo, and the left one always stared into space inanimately, though Chad seriously doubted that the man was anything close to sluggish. There was something in the way he moved and behaved. His apathy seemed to be deliberate. It looked like he didn’t care about anything around him, like he was so confident in himself that caring for the others was too much bother for him. Fighters seemed to avoid him, and he always ate alone, staring sightlessly ahead. When he left the canteen or the training hall, they skirted him, clearly trying not to even touch him accidentally. Chad looked at him more closely, since he was sitting at the next table, right in front of him. The man wore a black vest, and there were two metal cuffs on his wrists. Chad wondered if they, too, were some kind of a weapon. His hair was red and cropped very short, and he had thick, muscular shoulders. A long gleaming knife lay on the table, next to his food tray; it was intricate, curvy and notched. Chad shifted his gaze to the man’s burns. They spread from his palm to the shoulder, from it to the jaw, from the jaw to his eyes… and the one that was left was staring right back at Chad now.
“Don’t stare,” Jane muttered by his side, noticing his expression, apparently. “He doesn’t like it.”
Chad dropped his gaze, picking through his meal more meticulously than was necessary.
“Who is this?” he muttered back between one bite and another.
“It’s Phoenix.”
“And?” he asked, looking over the room just to make sure that Phoenix wasn’t staring at him anymore. “What happened to him?”
Jane looked at her sister, and Pain returned her look with a frowned face. She didn’t seem to be inclined to talk to him – like, ever, he thought sourly. When she remained silent, Jane answered for them both.
“I don’t think you want to know that.”
And that was it. For the first time Chad felt like he ought to, being an outsider himself. For the first time his question wasn’t answered.
After they were finished, they got their bags and headed to the ground floor. Peter was already there, standing by the lit hatch and gazing down thoughtfully. He turned to look at them when they came closer.
“Ready to go?” he asked, regarding all four of them with a concerned expression.
It was too hot outside, and the sisters had to discard their gear, wearing their black sweatsuits once again. They couldn’t go without weapons, though, and loose clothes provided enough space to hide them. More daggers and knives were stashed in their bags along with gear and other clothes. Chad and Dave didn’t have any weapons, but still had to hide their faces once they got outside, so they wore identical white Tshirts and gray sweatsuits. Chad was carrying Jane’s bag, too, and it was five times heavier than his one, filled with some clothes, his shaving kit and toothbrush. Dave, however, had only one bag in his hand. When he had offered Pain to carry hers, she only snapped, “Shut up, Forrester, I’m ten times stronger than you.” He didn’t understand her. Last time they were leaving the building, she shoved that bag to him with enough force to crack his ribs for not realizing that he should have helped. And now she didn’t want his help. Where was logic? It just didn’t exist in her personal mean universe, he guessed.
Peter handed her a white envelope and a plastic box with a new cell phone and a charger.
“Here’s your SIM and phone. Remember what I said about calls?”
Pain grimaced, turning the plastic-packed phone in her hand.
“Where did you get it, in 1995?” she asked instead.
“Pain.”
“Yes, yes, I remember everything.”
“And this is the key, don’t lose it.” He handed her a long, heavy key without a keychain. She tucked it under her hoodie, and Peter followed her movement with an incredulous look. “I said don’t lose it,” he muttered a little irritably.
“Right, ’cause that’s how I lost my breasts last time I wore them in my bra,” she snapped.
Peter only pressed a hand to his face helplessly with a nervous sigh.
“Okay,” he said after a moment and gave them a weak smile. “Good luck.”
Jane smiled back at him while her sister only sighed. As they walked to the hatch, Peter patted Chad’s back reassuringly and turned to leave. Slewing around to glance at him, Chad noticed how stiff he seemed, his usual relaxed and confident pace tainted with worry. He climbed down after Dave and saw that Marco was already there, jiggling on the spot with impatience.
“Could you be any slower?? I’m gonna miss the Knicks, thanks to you!” he complained.
“Chill, they won’t let you in,” Pain dropped in response and threw the tunnel door open.
She seemed to be in a perfect mood for making everyone miserable so she would be comparatively content among them. Marco only made a sour face and followed her outside.
The trip through the chilly black maze was short, and when they got to the surface, they turned out in some apartment building’s basement. There was a lattice door to their left, and Marco headed straight to it. Passing a flight of steep concrete stairs, they got to the first floor. It was a shabby whitewashed hall, empty at the moment, only distant children’s voices ringing in the silence. Marco led them through the doors and out to the porch. Hoods raised, bags in hands, they looked more than suspicious, but the yard and balconies were absolutely empty. They only had to make а couple of steps, because the car was already waiting for them by the porch. The shiny black van looked like another era’s envoy among the shabby buildings and cracked roads. The door slid open, and they saw Jerry flash his white grin at them from the inside.
Pain took a seat by a window as the others got inside. She turned her back to them and subsided into watching the half-destroyed playground outside. The yard in between four five-story apartment buildings was almost empty, spare a few kids playing in a sandbox. She could see the washing that hung from the old gray balconies, rickety and flaked benches around the playground, a rusting fence encircling a small parking lot. The view made her even more depressed. She sighed, but continued gazing out the window.
“Ready for the journey?” Marco asked with enthusiasm, looking over his companions.
Jerry was the only one who returned his smile. The others just gave him moody grimaces. He shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Let’s go, Ryan! Drive us to that damned barn!” he boomed through the van’s interior.
Ryan, only partly visible from behind the back of his seat, nodded and started smoothly.
The seats in the van were positioned along the windows, facing each other. The guys gathered all bags in a heap in the center and put their feet on it, lounging in their seats. After a few minutes of watching the road, Jane took a magazine out of her bag, put her feet on Dave’s gangly ones, and started reading in the van’s dimness.
Marco and Jerry were chatting about something, snickering and gesticulating like two teenagers on vacation. For some time Chad listened to them, trying to get rid of the depressing thoughts in his head, most of them depicting scenes from the brutal fight with Pain. He gazed out the window behind her, trying to feel that road’s spirit, the peace it always brought to him. Every month he drove upstate to visit his father, and the time on the road was already a pleasure for him. But the more he stared at it, the more he found himself watching Pain, who had lowered her hood and leaned her head against the back in a weary pose. The tinted windows didn’t let raging sun rays inside, but there was just enough light for him to make out her face, pale in contrast with the black hair that fell on her shoulders freely in straight sheets. Chad watched the look on her face thoughtfully – scowled, with a small frown just above the bridge of her nose; the dark eyelashes that stood out against the background of her skin; the tense line of her shoulders. She looked down at her hands, worrying on her lower lip. She had this little habit, he knew, to bite her lips when she was thinking about something unpleasant. This was his way to know about her mood and never bug her if her lips were red and bitten. It was kind of silly, but it worked every time.
He watched he
r gaze at her hands musingly, and he thought he could see the girl she had been once. Too serious for a child, always thinking too much, laughing too little. Losing her parents when she was barely a teenager, having only the little sister left of the whole family. Peter seemed to adore her – otherwise he wouldn’t put up with her behavior – but Chad couldn’t imagine two kids living among that tattooed, shaved, leathered gang. How in the world was she supposed to grow up any different, any nicer than she was, in such a place? She had every right to be harsh, mean, and independent. Every damn right. And yet he had a feeling that she needed care more than anyone else in the world.
Or maybe he was wrong, and she was nothing like that at first. Maybe she was an ordinary girl, carrying joy and light with her wherever she went. Maybe she used to be sweet and kind and gentle before the tragedy of her family changed her. He couldn’t know, and the realization of it made him sad. The first person he was truly interested in, and he couldn’t even ask anything personal, because in the best case scenario he would crawl away leaving bloody tracks; and in the worst she would hate him forever and stop talking to him at all, if it wasn’t happening already.
Somewhere between these musings he fell asleep with his head leaned back on the seat. He was uncomfortable there, and his face remained strained even as he slept, but for a change, this time he napped dreamlessly.
Pain watched the streets go by, unable to sleep or read or focus her mind on anything. She was faintly aware of the music that sounded quietly from the speakers. It was one of Ryan’s favorite bands. She had heard him listen to it so many times that she knew all the lyrics already. It was beautiful and kind of sad, suiting her mood perfectly and not breaking her out of her thoughts. She tried not to think of her fight with Chad, of that expression on his face, shocked and confused at the thought that she really blamed him for what was happening. She didn’t; not unless they found a proof of his guilt. And yet she played that card. It was just so unbearable for her to admit that not telling him the truth the moment she got back from Eugene’s office was wrong, wicked. But it was her responsibility to make sure he wasn’t playing against them. And now he wouldn’t even look at her, she had noticed that much, and the realization was gnawing on her insides against her will. She tried to distract herself with the music, but it was too quiet.
Sky Ghosts: All for One (Young Adult Urban Fantasy Adventure) (Sky Ghosts Series Book 1) Page 20
