Poison Ink

by Christopher Golden

  Sammi began to scream.

  “Stop it! God, Letty, just stop!” she cried.

  Her awful paralysis broke at last and she rushed across the parking lot. Caryn looked up and gave her a dark, warning glance. Katsuko reached out to try to catch her, but Sammi darted past, bolting toward Letty.

  Sammi had never had a fight. She had never thrown a punch. As she ran at Letty, she could think of only one way to stop her from hurting Cori any further. At full speed, she slammed into Letty from behind, wrapping her arms around her and driving her to the ground. Letty twisted in the air and they hit the pavement side by side, rolling.

  “You little bitch,” Letty said, seething. She reached behind her, trying to pry herself loose, but Sammi held on as tightly as she could.

  Letty bucked and Sammi started to lose her grip. They were roughly the same size, but Letty was so much stronger. She began to shake Sammi off, shrugging herself free. Sammi struggled to hold on, her arms slipping down around Letty’s waist. The girl’s shirt rode up, baring a stretch of her lower back. Her skin glistened in the moonlight, goose bumps rising in the chilly September night.

  Pistoning her legs against the ground, Letty tore herself loose.

  “No!” Sammi shouted, and reached out, hooking her fingers into the rear waistband of Letty’s pants.

  Then she froze.

  In the golden glow of the moon, she stared at the tattoo Dante had drawn on Letty’s lower back. Dread spider-walked down her spine, and her skin prickled all over.

  The core of the tattoo remained just as Dante had originally designed it, just as it had been that night when he had engraved it in the flesh of her friends. But the five waves that came up from the heavy black circle at the center were no longer waves at all. They were black lines curling like vines in all directions, radiating out from that circle like veins from a heart. Like poison, they were spreading.

  “Let go!” Letty snarled, twisting around to glare at her.

  Sammi looked into her eyes and saw nothing familiar. It felt as though she were staring into the eyes of a stranger.

  With a grunt of effort, Letty pulled away from her again. Sammi tried to grab hold, but too late this time. They were both still sprawled on the pavement when Letty drew up one leg and kicked her in the face, one hard heel striking Sammi’s cheek. Pain shot through her, and she felt bone give way. The crack echoed in her ears.

  Sammi cried out, then tried to catch her breath as she dragged herself across a few feet of pavement. Letty rose, fury etched on her face, lips twisted into a mask of hatred. Sammi tried to get up.

  She staggered right into Caryn, who caught her by the arms. For a second, Sammi thought the girl might be trying to help her. But then Caryn hauled back and punched her.

  Darkness gathered at the edges of Sammi’s vision, and she went to her knees. Disoriented, she tried to rise again, looking around in search of some kind of help even as she attempted to back away.

  Katsuko came up behind her, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and forced Sammi to the ground.

  “Please,” Sammi said, tasting the copper tang of her own blood in her mouth and on her lips. One side of her face had gone completely numb save for the deep pain of broken bone. Even uttering that one word was like having shattered glass in her cheek.

  The pavement felt cold against her other cheek. The leather jacket she’d worn seemed to be weighing her down.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Sammi saw legs moving toward her. She kicked out, trying to do damage, to hurt one of them—all of them.

  T.Q. loomed over her, red hair glinting in the moonlight but falling like a curtain to hide her face in the deepest of shadows. From those shadows came a laugh that burrowed into Sammi’s skin and froze her to the marrow of her bones. Insidious and intimate, her laugh seemed simultaneously loud and a whisper in Sammi’s ear.

  The rest of them started to laugh with that same soft malice.

  T.Q. kicked her first. Sammi grunted, bones jarred by the blow.

  “Please, don’t do this,” she said, her cheek stabbing with pain as she tried to get the words out.

  They all moved in then, kicking her in the side and the legs. Every blow made her want to scream. She rolled on her side, but that was worse. Kicks struck her spine, her breasts, her belly, and she let out a roar of agony and frustration and sorrow.

  Tears slid down her face. The world had become a nightmare. These were her friends.

  Someone kicked her in the face, breaking her nose. Pain shot back into her eyes. Blood cascaded down over her lips and slid along her cheeks as she twisted and moved, trying to find a spot where she could best defend herself. But there was no defense.

  Nearby, people were yelling. She heard Zak’s voice. Rachael screamed for help. Someone stopped kicking long enough to stop them from interfering with the beating. Sammi heard adult voices and, in the distance, police sirens.

  A heavy shoe struck her in the temple.

  Consciousness fled into the shadows; darkness enveloped her.

  The last thing she heard was the sound of their shoes slapping the pavement as the girls ran away.

  Damage done.

  11

  S ammi had the sensation of floating, drifting in the ocean. Her skin felt cold. Somewhere in the distance she heard a steady beep and muffled voices. A squeaking wheel passed by. Someone swore, and she heard the chirp of rubber soles on linoleum.

  Floating. Drifting. For a while—how long she could not have said—she heard nothing. Instead she felt herself gently swayed by the currents eddying around her. Her fingers and toes were cold but the rest of her grew strangely warm.

  Arms outstretched, she floated.

  Drowning…

  With a gasp, she opened her eyes, dragging in a painful breath as though she had been suffocating a moment before. Inhaling hurt her chest. Breathing, she immediately discovered, sent small splinters of pain through her upper torso.

  It felt as though her brain were wrapped in gauze. She’d been hung over before, but this was no hangover. Her eyes opened only to slits. Every muscle felt slack and a terrible film covered the inside of her mouth. On her tongue she tasted the copper tang of blood. Lips twisting in disgust, she winced with fresh pain in her nose and forehead, and only then did she feel the deep, throbbing ache in her left cheek, as though some sadistic dentist had ripped out all of the upper teeth on that side with a wrench.

  Her tongue probed that spot and found that one tooth had been broken, but the others were intact.

  The pressure across the bridge of her nose and in a band across her forehead increased. The sudden urge to move made her try to sit up. She became dizzy and weak and slumped back to her pillow, disoriented. Sammi took a few moments to steady her breath and let the strange fuzziness of her thoughts clear. Experimenting, she lifted her hand, thinking to investigate her face and head for bandages. But the weight of that hand distracted her. She heard something shift, felt a pinch on her wrist, and when she managed to turn her head, she saw the cast on her right hand and saw the IV that had been hooked up to her arm. Moving around had made the needle shift where it lay jutting from her forearm.

  “Oh shit,” she whispered.

  “Sammi?”

  Her mother’s voice.

  “Sammi, honey? Are you awake?” Linda Holland said.

  Just hearing those words made Sammi want to cry with relief. Whatever had happened to her, whatever was wrong, at least she wasn’t alone. Her mother would be there to look out for her.

  Carefully, she let her head loll to the right. Her mom rose from where she’d been sprawled beneath a blanket on a large, soft chair. There were dark crescents beneath her eyes and she wore her hair pulled back into a ponytail, her clothes wrinkled, her face without any makeup.

  “Mom?” Sammi croaked. Her voice was a harsh rasp.

  “Oh, sweetie, I was so afraid,” her mother said, coming around to the other side of the bed and gripping her unbroken hand. “But I’m here. Mom�
�s here, Sammi.”

  The tiniest smile touched the corners of Sammi’s lips, sending a fresh jolt of pain through her face. Her mother was talking to her as if she were still a five-year-old. Normally it would have driven her crazy, but right now Sammi just wanted to be taken care of, and Mom knew how to do that better than anyone.

  “What…,” she started, then winced in pain. She forced herself to overcome it and studied her mother closely. “What happened to me?”

  The question drew curtains across Linda Holland’s eyes. Whatever her mother was really feeling, Sammi understood that she had determined not to reveal too much to her daughter.

  “Oh God,” she whispered, her voice a dry rasp. “Is it bad?”

  “No, no,” her mother said, shaking her head, touching Sammi’s arm. “I mean, you were pretty beaten up, sweetie. But you’re going to be just fine. You’re already on the mend. The doctor says you’re very tough.” Her mom smiled. “Of course, I told her I’d always known that.”

  Sammi tried to return the smile, inviting fresh pain.

  “I know it hurts, honey. They can give you something more for the pain if you want.”

  “No,” Sammi said. “I just woke up. I’ll be okay for a little bit. I don’t want to zone out.”

  Every word hurt, but she tried to conceal her pain as best she could.

  “Okay. But when the nurse comes in, she’ll probably ask you again about the pain. And the…the police wanted to talk to you as soon as you were up to it.”

  The pain had begun to throb deep in her cheek and jaw. She hurt in other places as well. Bandages had been wrapped around her body just beneath her breasts and inhaling created a rhythmic ache. But her face was the worst.

  At the mention of the police, however, the pain receded.

  “I don’t understand,” Sammi said.

  “How much of the attack do you remember?”

  Butterflies fluttered in Sammi’s chest and stomach. Flashes of violence splashed across her mind, terrible images of her old friends savagely beating Las Reinas, and then turning on her when she tried to interfere. Worst of all, she remembered the grin on Letty’s blood-flecked face.

  And then one last thing—something that made her catch her breath and close her eyes. Burned in her memory was the image of the tattoo on Letty’s lower back, its five waves turned into black tendrils of poison that had spread like vines. The tattoo had changed. And in her memory—because it could not have been in reality—she could almost see the tendrils moving, the black etching now fluid just beneath Letty’s skin.

  “Sammi?” her mother said, worry in her voice.

  “Sorry, just thinking,” she lied. “Not a lot, I guess. I remember coming out of the gym and seeing the fight going on, then trying to stop it. After that, nothing.”

  What? a little voice said in her head. Why did you do that? Why lie to your mother, never mind the police?

  But Sammi knew. Deep down, she knew. If she tried to tell the story of what really happened, she would get to the point of that tattoo, and they would all just stare at her. Tattoos couldn’t change by themselves. They didn’t spread. And they certainly didn’t move of their own accord.

  “What are the police saying?”

  Her mother hesitated, obviously afraid to burden her with unpleasant news.

  “Mom, please. I’m going to find out eventually.”

  “Everyone has a different story. Your friends—”

  “They’re not my friends,” Sammi corrected.

  Her mother nodded, frowning as if to say, Of course. Of course they’re not your friends.

  “Letty, Caryn, Katsuko, and that Simone girl are claiming they were attacked and only defended themselves. Marisol Garces and her friends are saying they were assaulted and accusing the others of being on some kind of psychotic drug. Zak and the Dubrowski girls are sort of contradictory. Some people tried to say you were with your…with Caryn and the other girls, that you were a part of it. But the police have ruled that out because of the statements from your cousin and Rachael and Anna. Anyway, you’re not in any trouble, thank God. But the rest of them are all being charged with assault.”

  Sammi frowned. “The rest of who?”

  “All of them. The Reinas—or whatever you all call them—and Caryn and Letty and the others, too.”

  “Are they in jail?”

  “They should be, but no. Apparently the idea of holding all of those girls didn’t appeal to the judge. They’re all out right now. But the investigation is…Hey. Are you all right?”

  Sammi’s eyes had begun to feel heavy, pain exhausting her, sleep creeping up to take her unaware. She forced her eyes open.

  “Fine. Just sleepy.”

  Her mother got up. “All right. You rest. The doctor will be in soon and—”

  “Wait. You didn’t tell me…what’s wrong with me?” Sammi asked, raising her cast. “What’s the damage?”

  Her mother’s sadness permeated the room. “Nothing that won’t heal, honey. Your cheekbone is broken, but Dr. Morrissey says it will heal quickly. More of a crack than a break, she said. Most people who have a broken cheekbone also end up with a broken jaw or a broken—what do you call it?—orbital bone. Your eye socket. And that requires surgery. But you won’t need surgery, thank God. The swelling has gone down a lot since Friday night—”

  Sammi narrowed her eyes. “What’s today?”

  Now the fear practically sparkled in her mother’s eyes. “Sunday.”

  Ice spread through Sammi. “I lost a whole day?”

  “You weren’t in a coma or anything. The trauma did you in, and then they had you on serious painkillers all through yesterday and last night. You might not remember anything, but you were awake sometimes. You were just…”

  Lifting a shaking hand to her forehead, Linda Holland dropped her gaze. Tears began to well in her eyes and her lip quivered.

  “Mom?”

  Smiling weakly, she wiped her tears away. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I was just so afraid. Seeing you like that, disoriented and all bandaged and bruised. No matter what the doctor said, I couldn’t help fearing the worst. It was like I was holding my breath the whole time, and now, talking to you, I can exhale for the first time.”

  Sammi felt her own eyes beginning to well up. “I’m gonna be okay, Mom.”

  Linda Holland nodded. “I know.” Then she raised her eyes and studied Sammi more closely. “So your face will heal. It’s going to hurt to talk for a while, and you’ve got to be really careful. Percocet is going to be your friend. Yogurt and ice cream and soup, too, because solid foods are pretty much off limits for a couple of weeks. I guess chewing works against the crack in the bone closing.

  “You’ve got two broken fingers under that cast. Three cracked ribs. And a concussion. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but Dr. Morrissey says you were really very lucky. None of the ribs gave way.”

  Sammi closed her eyes. On the screen in her mind she saw the faces of her former friends gathering around her, smiling and sneering and even spitting at her as they kicked. She flinched at the memory of the kicks that had landed on her sides and back and breasts and skull.

  “I must be bruised all over,” she said, opening her eyes.

  Her mother nodded. “Bruises heal, Samantha. So do bones. All that matters is that you’re still here with me.”

  Me.

  Sammi studied her for a moment, then looked around the room. Her gaze landed on the door out into the hospital corridor. Exhaustion had begun to pull at her again. The throb in her face had grown worse, and she thought that some painkillers would be very welcome at the moment. She looked at the clear bag and the long tube that led to the needle stuck into her arm. The IV drip probably had something in it besides nutrients and water, but she needed a little more. “Where is he?” she asked.

  Her mother did not need to ask whom Sammi meant.

  “We’ve been taking turns sitting with you,” her mom said. But the tone revealed so much. Sammi understood
immediately that her father had visited, but not as often or for as long as her mother thought he should have.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I really think we should talk later. You should rest some more. Get your strength back.”

  “Mom.”

  Linda Holland sighed, then nodded slowly. “Your father is moving out. He’s going to stay at a Residence Inn for a while, until he figures out his next step. Right now, we’re both just focused on getting you well, and soon.”

  Sammi stared at her, eyes burning as tears began to spill down her cheeks. Her throat seemed to close. Barely able to move without spikes of pain in her side and chest and face, she hardly shook at all as she cried.

  There would be no more Sunday-morning pancakes. No more family dinners.

  Hell, no more family.

  “Son of a bitch,” she hissed.

  “I shouldn’t have told you,” her mother said.

  “I wanted to know. Needed to. It’s done now, right? All that’s left now is living with it.”

  Her voice was filled with such bitterness that she did not even recognize it herself. Sammi winced, hearing her own pain. Those words could apply to so many things. Her betraying her friends’ faith in her. The way they’d banished her from their lives. The violence that had put her into this bed, all blood and broken bones.

  All of it was in the past now. All that remained for her was to live with it.

  “We’ll get through all of it, Sammi. I promise,” her mother said, taking her unbroken hand. “And your father isn’t gone from your life. We’ll all get through it.”

  Sammi sighed. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too, honey.”

  For long minutes they sat together in silence. Sammi closed her eyes and drifted in and out of fitful sleep, the pain in her face and her ribs flaring any time she inhaled deeply or shifted on the bed.

  When the nurse came in and asked how she was feeling, she told the truth. Whatever they had attached to her IV, it worked wonders. The nurse touched a machine that beeped softly beside the bed, increasing the flow. Within minutes, the pain had abated somewhat.