by Rae, Nikki
Setup
Chapter 14
“I play dead. It stops the hurting.”—Bjork
It doesn’t feel like morning when I’m awake. I haven’t slept much the past two days, but I’m practically relieved at that fact. Not that I feel any better about myself, but at least I know I can’t do bad things and then sleep through the night.
My phone is ringing, the sound slamming right into my head. The bite on my waist feels tight when I reach over to my nightstand to unplug it from the charger so I can answer it.
Myles has kept his distance, so I know it’s most likely not him. I guess he wants to give me space after the combination of finding out about Michael and then . . . everything else. I force myself to stop thinking about it as I hit the answer button.
“Hello?” My voice is hoarse.
“What are you doing?” Boo is yelling. “You were supposed to meet me at ten!”
Slowly, I hoist my aching body upwards so I’m leaning against the headboard. I have to rub my eyes so I can read the time on my alarm clock. Twelve.
“Sorry,” I say.
“I woke you up, didn’t I?” he accuses.
I stretch in an effort to ease the tightness in my waist. “What? No.”
“Well,” he says, unconvinced. “If you’ve been up a while then I’m sure you’re dressed and ready to leave.”
“Sure,” I bluff, throwing the covers off of me and slowly standing up to open drawers for some clothes.
“Good,” he says. “I’m at your door.”
Then he hangs up.
I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands as I shuffle to my front door.
Boo already has a hand on his hip when he greets me. “And you’re not even dressed,” he complains.
“Good morning to you too,” I mutter as he lets himself in.
“Okay then,” he says eagerly when the door is shut. “One of the guys from the band dropped me off so they could take the gear over to the apartment,” he explains, running a hand through his slick black hair. “Go get dressed. We have to meet them in time to help them unload.”
Boo got invited to play drums for another band at a basement show tonight. I completely forgot that I offered to help him set up instruments. It’s better than sitting at home and trying to avoid Myles. At least this way, I have an excuse as to why I’m too busy to see him.
Instead of rushing, I fill the coffeemaker and set it to brew. I remember what Myles said the morning after he bit me, that I should eat healthier until I feel better.
There’s no need for my body to feel better when my mind is so messed up, so I settle on just having the coffee for breakfast.
“And how are we getting there?” I ask Boo, more to just take my mind off of things than anything else.
He smirks when I look at him. “We have to walk, Sunshine.”
***
“So, how much further, Boo?” I ask after we’ve been walking for about ten blocks. He had said the building wasn’t that far, but I’m seriously doubting that we’ll ever get there. Sweat clings to me underneath the protective layers of clothing. My chest aches, my head throbs, and I feel like I’m going to be seeing that cup of coffee I gulped down again really soon.
I adjust my coat and my glasses. The umbrella I’m holding only seems to trap in the heat rather than shade me from it.
“We’re almost there,” Boo says. Despite his tank top and shorts, he looks like he’s sweating even more than I am.
We walk for a few minutes in silence aside from huffing and puffing.
“So, are you and Myles taking a break or something?” he asks.
“What?” I wipe sweat from my chin with my free hand. “No. We’ve just both been busy.”
He snorts. “Yeah, I know how much you like setting up equipment.”
I have no response.
Thankfully, Boo doesn’t push the subject any more than that.
“How’s Jade?” he asks instead.
I shrug. “We talk on the phone a lot more now,” I offer. “He’s. . .”
I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that question. Am I supposed to tell Boo that whenever I hear my brother’s voice, I can hear that something in him is broken? That we haven’t talked about the hospital, the funeral, or Stevie once?
“Yeah,” he says like I finished my sentence. “It’s going to be rough.”
We round a corner that leads us onto a street of multicolored stone apartments. They’re all identical, old, rectangular shapes except one’s yellow, one’s white, and one’s pink.
Finally, Boo and I stop walking when we’re in front of them. “Give you one guess which one I’m playing at.”
The pink building is on the corner, and I recognize Boo’s van parked on the side of it. “Nice,” I say.
I follow him to his van and he slides the door open. He lets me climb around the drum kit, guitars, and amps so I can hand him stuff and not have to worry about the sun.
“Where’s the rest of the band?” I ask, lifting the snare and handing it off to Boo; he’s lining up all of the instruments against the building.
“We were supposed to meet at ten,” he reminds me. “They loaded up everything from the club and brought it here, so I agreed to bring it all inside.”
I pick up the last amp and scoot it over to him.
“Okay,” he says once it’s in line with everything else. “Time to lug it inside now.”
I whip a sweaty section of hair out of my face. “Awesome.” I slam the door to his van shut with more force than needed.
“Hey are you okay?” he asks suddenly.
It catches me off guard. I’ve been dizzy and slightly weak since . . . Evan, but I thought I was doing a good enough job at hiding it. “Yeah, why?”
“Like, you don’t need to take a break or anything?”
I stare at him as a response.
“Okay, okay.” Boo turns toward the door of the apartment, struggling more than a little to toss me the keys so I can open it for him because he’s trying to juggle his cymbals. “You just look pale is all.”
Oh no. I hope how crappy I feel on the inside isn’t that noticeable.
When the door opens up, there isn’t much to look at. It’s a dark, cramped space with old, dirty couches with cigarette burns and various other stains on the cushions. “Jesus, this place is a dump,” I say to change the subject.
I turn and grab onto the kick drum before shutting the door with my foot.
I follow him through what should be a kitchen, but there isn’t any furniture in it besides a rusty white fridge.
Boo grunts, stopping at the door that must lead to the basement. He turns the knob and begins walking down the stairs, wobbling a little.
It’s dim inside, but there’s enough light to see. The basement is completely empty except for a coffee table, a less grody couch, and makeshift stage area that’s marked by a red and green flowered throw rug.
“Just set it wherever,” Boo says.
I place the kick drum on the ground and he arranges the cymbals on the floor next to it. Then we head back up the stairs for more instruments. We don’t say much to each other because we’re too out of breath.
When all of the equipment is finally in the basement, Boo and I set to work reassembling his drum kit.
Boo wobbles a little when he stands upright again.
“You okay?” I ask now.
He spreads his arms out to steady himself. “I think so,” he says after he’s sure that he’s not going to fall over. “It’s just so hot.”
“Yeah,” I agree.
He leans his hands on his knees, staring at the ground and catching his breath.
“You want some water or something?” I ask, starting to get a little worried that he might actually pass out.
He shakes his head and sits down at the drums. “I’m okay,” he says. “Just need a break.”
There’s the sound of footsteps coming from upstairs. “You think they’re back?” I ask.
Boo shrugs. “I hope so.”
I hear heavy boots on the bare stairway. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Boo put his head in his hands. Before I can ask him if he’s okay again, the person who’s coming down the stairs distracts me.
“Sophie,” a male voice says.
It sounds familiar. Like it was once deep but now the vocal cords are stretched too tight. At the sound of it, I’m cold, like I’m running in the woods as it snows.
When I turn around, the person the voice belongs to is standing there.
He’s wearing a suit and tie like he’s going on a date, but no amount of nice clothing can hide how thin he is. He also has short blond hair, sunken in cheekbones, and dark brown eyes.
No.
“Boo,” I say because I can’t think of anything else to do and I can’t move.
“Do not worry about him,” Michael says, finally standing at the foot of the stairs. He crosses his arms. “He will not be able to move for a while, but if you cooperate, no harm will come to him.”
I turn to Boo, who has his head in his hands, his eyes closed. He’s not moving at all. I gulp. I take a step forward, foolishly thinking I can get away.
“Do you really think that is wise?”
My back is against the wall before I can get so much as a foot from the stairs. My breath leaves my lungs too fast, and I find myself trying to catch it long after it’s left my mouth. I stare down at the cement floor beneath my boots. I can’t look into his face. This can’t be real. It’s another nightmare. Someone else’s memory. Anything but this.
“Do you know how long I had to wait in this filthy house?” Michael asks. “How much time it took to arrange this meeting?”
His hand grazes my chest then, right where Myles bit me. “Ah,” he says to himself. “Someone has been busy since I saw her last.”
I manage to back away an inch more, but he only pushes into me harder, using his other hand to grasp onto the healing wound at my waist.
A small squeak escapes me.
Michael laughs to himself. Then he lets go.
“Look at me,” he says.
It’s so stupid, but I shake my head no like a child, keeping my eyes trained on the grey surface under my shoes.
Then I have no choice. Something slams into the side of my head. I don’t feel pain when it happens. It’s just like last time.
Last time I ended up with a bottle of pills down my throat and a broken rib.
Last time I got stabbed and almost died in the hospital.
Last time he promised he would be back.
And now he is.
My head moves upward without my permission, slowly taking in Michael’s heavy black shoes, his black pants, his white shirt and shiny, red silk tie. Then his chin, his bony jaw and protruding cheekbones. Until I’m finally eye to eye with the monster that is Michael.
“This was easier than I thought,” he says. “I would have thought someone would be keeping an eye on you.” Michael smiles to himself. “Do you like the suit?”
“Why?” is all that leaves my mouth.
“I wanted to look nice for the occasion,” he says. “And since I couldn't attend your friend's funeral, I thought I could wear it for yours.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
He laughs. “Come now,” he says. “You could not have honestly believed you were safe.”
I did. For a short amount of time, I thought so.
Like I’ve answered him but he didn’t hear it, Michael moves his face close to mine. His breath smells like rust when he speaks.
“I tried to be reasonable the first time,” he says. “It was not my intention to make you suffer.”
Hands around my throat. I can’t breathe.
“But Myles has made it clear what I must do in order to be taken seriously.”
And that’s the last thing he says to me.
My head is hit again, and this time, it hurts. It really hurts. Red and black spots form behind my eyes. My knees buckle and I try to stay up, leaning against the cold cement wall for support, but it’s no use. I’m sinking.
“That should be them now,” I hear Michael say from above me. “Will you survive this time?” he asks himself. Then he laughs. “Well, we know now what will happen if you do. Don’t we, Sophie?”
I can’t really see anything but once every few blinks, my vision clears for a second and I can get a view of what’s going on, like a snapshot being taken over and over.
Michael smiling above me. Boo hunched over and unmoving to my left.
My head spinning.
My arms shaking as I try to stand.
I hear footsteps now, but I’m not sure if they’re going up or coming down the stairs.
Then Michael begins laughing again. That’s a small grace. It’s horrifying, yes. But I can hear that the sound is fading away. He’s going up the stairs. Probably to get whoever or whatever he was talking about. I don’t have much time before I find out.
Now everything is plunged in darkness.
But I have to fight.
I can’t think about anything else. If I let those thoughts in now, I won’t get away.
I hear the cymbals on the drum kit go off when my elbow hits them, startling me as I begin crawling around, groping for a weapon just in case. I can't leave Boo here, like this, and even if I wanted to, Michael is probably coming back.
As far as weapons go, there are only the guitars, so I grab one, holding onto it with everything I have. The neck is thick and heavy in my hands. The strings bite into my fingertips as I try to lift it and fail.
Tears spring up in my eyes. God, of all times to cry, not now. I realize I’m fading. The ground is coming up toward me even though I can’t see it. My head is spinning. My hands are shaking and I can’t stand up.
There are more footsteps now. Dragging, slow footsteps.
I’m tired. So tired.
But my cell is in my pocket.
I dig into the front of my jeans to take out my phone and I fumble around with the screen, hoping I’m hitting one of the contacts on my list. I can’t bring the phone to my ear, but the volume is just loud enough so I can hear the person on the other line.
Jade.
My brother is there.
“Hey, Sunshine,” he says in the forced happy tone he’s been using since the accident.
“I . . . Jade. I need. . .”
“Sophie?” Now his voice is concerned. “What is it?”
“I. . .”
Too bad I can’t finish that sentence before everything is swallowed up in darkness.
***
Noises. Soft, underwater, noises. Talking.
“Where did you find her?” a woman asks.
“Downtown,” an accented voice answers. Evan.
Then pain, pain, pain.
My throat, my chest, my legs. All of them throbbing and stinging and warm and wet. Hands on me. Voices. Talking to and about me.
“It’s okay, Sophie. Stay still.” Myles. Myles is here.
The woman: “Give her more.”
More what?
Dizzy. Why am I so tired and heavy?
Finally, I open my eyes.
My sight is blurry, but Myles is by my head, holding onto my shoulders. And Phyllis is here, her hands concentrated on my upper legs. I don’t see Evan, but I heard him before.
The room is so bright that I have to squint, and there are dark blue paper sheets covering my body. I’m suddenly aware that I’m not wearing clothes.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice sounding like broken glass.
Myles places a hand at my temple, and it begins to feel tingly and warm. He’s trying to make me go to sleep.
“No.” I swat him away and I become aware of all the blood on me and around me. It soaks into the sheets, coats my hands. I shut my eyes.
“It’s okay,” Myles says, gently pressing me into the surface I’m lying on. I think it’s a mattress, but I can’t find the nerve to look down at my body.
“Tell me,” I plead.
“You were bitten,” he says quietly. “You need to go to sleep so you’ll heal. Okay?”
I try to take that in, try to remember exactly how I got here like this, and my mind draws a blank. “Am I dying?” falls out of my mouth.
“No, Sophie.” Myles breathes out. “You’ve just lost a lot of blood. It’s okay.”
My eyes shut for a few long minutes where I cannot open them. I can’t shake the feeling that I should be staying awake. I shouldn’t be letting myself slip into the dark, warm glove of painlessness, but I drift.
Not far; I hold on enough to leave and come back.
My hearing cuts in and out. People are in and out. I feel nothing.
No pain, no fear, no questions.
But it isn’t long before my eyes are open again.
At first, I can’t really tell where I am, but I’m aware of two people in the room: Evan and Myles.
They aren’t talking. I can see fuzzy outlines of them standing at the foot of the bed, staring back at me. Then the taller of the two walks out of my field of vision. I hear a door open and shut softly before Myles is in front of me.
Weight. The weight of clothing on my body. Long sleeves. Sweatpants. I can’t really move, but it’s more from just being weak and exhausted than anything else.
Myles sits down on the bed, his body barely touching my right side. I can’t see much besides his eyes. They are a beacon, guiding me to him. His voice.
“Close your eyes,” he says softly, and from his tone, I can tell it isn’t the first time he’s told me.
“What—” My voice is gravel. Sandpaper. I want to know what happened. What’s going on. Where we are. Where Boo is. And Michael…
A million other things rush through my head, swimming in my tired mind.
“Shh.” The sound is static.
His hand is still on my face with his thumb lightly stroking my cheek.
My eyelids are so heavy that it takes a lot of effort to open them once they’re shut. A few times, they stay closed for minutes, but I will myself to stay awake.
“Come on, Sophie.” His tone is warm, tinged slightly with something close to relief when he takes in that my personality is somewhat still intact. “Don’t fight me.”
