by J H Leigh
Dylan and I shared a look before I said, “Jilly…have you been here before? Like as in, stayed here?”
Jilly shrugged. “A time or two. I like it. And no one bothers you here. It’s a safe place.”
Of all the shitty-ass apartments Carla had plopped us down in, with drug addicts loitering in the stairwells, screams echoing in the hallways, and pedophiles leering from every angle, each one of those places seemed like Mr. Roger’s neighborhood in comparison to this rotting hulk of broken faith. And Jilly felt at home here?
That said a lot about her childhood.
Not for the first time I was pretty sure sweet Jilly was a closet sociopath. Holy fuck, remind me to stay on her good side.
Dylan smirked, gesturing, “Lead the way” and Jilly skipped ahead, humming to herself as she went. As we entered the main hall, bats and other winged things rustled in the darkened alcoves, reminding us that we weren’t alone. We passed by disintegrating pews slowly being eaten by time and neglect, our steps echoing as they crunched on debris that ranged from broken glass to shards of wood.
Jilly opened the door to the right of the pulpit and made a grand gesture as if she were showing us to a luxury hotel suite with all the amenities. “Ta-da! Look at that. A nice squishy sofa, blankets, and the carpet isn’t too nasty.”
“It’s the goddamn Ritz,” Dylan remarked, glancing around as she let her pack slip from her shoulders. “I ain’t sleeping on that floor. That’s for damn sure.”
“We can all fit on the sofa if we get cozy. We’ll need the body warmth anyway,” Jilly said, shutting the door and placing a chair beneath the doorknob. At my questioning look, she said, “No sense in taking chances. I’m not the only person who knows about this place.”
“If you hadn’t done it, I was going to,” Dylan said, approving. To me, she said, “Break out the food. I’m starved.”
I dropped my own pack, rummaging around for some food. We’d raided the house in upstate New York for provisions so at least we had something to put in our growling bellies. I tossed bags of chips to each of the girls and then ripped into my own. I felt bad for robbing those poor people but what choice did we have? None. It was Madame Moirai’s fault for turning us into thieves.
It was late afternoon, the light filtering through the grime-crusted windows cast a yellowish glow on everything. Even in forgotten squalor, the stained glass windows in the highest alcove managed to whisper of a better time, when it was a new, shining jewel in the congregation’s crown.
“I wonder why the church is abandoned?” I asked.
“Oh! I know that answer,” Jilly said with self-importance, her eyes twinkling with excitement. She didn’t wait for our encouragement, starting in with a mini-history lesson whether we liked it or not. “Well, it was built in 1853 for like, thirty grand, which was a lot of fucking money back then.”
“Right now, I’d love to have about thirty large in my pocket,” I quipped, tossing a few chips in my mouth. “That’s at least half of what that bitch Moirai owes me.”
“Like we’re ever going to see that money,” Dylan returned and I agreed but Jilly was annoyed.
“Hello? In the middle of a story?”
I gave her some semblance of an apologetic smile, which she accepted, continuing with the same excitement.
“Anyway, so yeah, when it was built, it was like the grandest thing people had ever seen. It’s built with blue stone, sandstone trimming as well as Caen stone for the altar and font. It was legit pretty fancy.”
“All for sinners and hypocrites to gather around and feel good about themselves,” Dylan said, unimpressed. “Religion is a fucking scam.”
I agreed with Dylan but I didn’t want to rain on Jilly’s parade. “So why’d it close?” I asked.
“Over the years, it just fell out out favor. People left the congregation when bigger, better churches were built. Eventually, the repairs cost more than the archdiocese wanted to spend and it was closed down with the vague hope of refurbishing but it never happened. Last I heard, it was scheduled for demo but that obviously hasn’t happened yet.” Jilly shrugged. “Maybe some religious history nut is trying to save it, who knows.”
“Why do you have such a hard-on for churches?” Dylan asked. “Are you super religious or something?”
“You don’t have to be religious to appreciate pretty things. Churches are always beautiful. I could give two shits about the people in them. I just like the way they look.”
Legit answer. At one time, this place was probably just as awe-inspiring as Jilly thought it was. For me, churches weren’t sanctuaries and I was guessing by Dylan’s scorn, she didn’t think much of churches either but we were both judging the place by the people in them.
In my experience, die-hard religious people were just as rotten as the pews out in the great hall. I was willing to bet every single one of Madame Moirai’s buyers put on a good show of praying to a God they didn’t believe in just so they could buy a teenager to fuck and break later behind closed doors.
I released a pent-up breath, rolling my shoulders. To Jilly, I said, “How many times have you spent nights here in this old place?”
“Enough.”
“Was this your runaway spot?” I asked.
Jilly shrugged. “One of them.”
Speaking of runaway, I looked to Dylan. “What about you? When you going to meet up with your contact?”
“As soon as it gets dark,” Dylan answered. “Easier to slip in and out when it’s not blazing daylight.”
Made sense. I curled up on the sofa, tucking my legs beneath me. I didn’t want to think of the bugs or critters probably making their home in the dusty couch because I didn’t want to sit on the floor either.
Silence was the enemy for all of us. Too much quiet made us think of the shitstorm we were facing. I’d never felt so alone in my life. Even having Dylan and Jilly here with me was a small consolation when I wanted to bury my head in my hands and sob.
“How long do you think Madame Moirai has been buying girls?” Jilly asked in a small voice.
The fact that it was almost automatic that we all were thinking the same thing was a testament to the trauma we’d endured. Each of us still had bruises on our bodies from our time with our buyers that were slowly fading but the mental damage would last a lifetime.
“I don’t know,” I answered, resting my chin my knees. “Something tells me they’ve been doing it for a while. That morgue was set up like a professional business. They wouldn’t have that kind of attention to detail for a one-time thing.”
“What were they going to do? Kill us in our sleep?” Dylan asked.
Jilly supposed, “Maybe poison? Something slipped into our food? That seems easiest and less messy than like, shooting us, right?”
“Heroin overdose,” Dylan answered flatly. “If anyone found our bodies, they’d just assume we were junkies because kids like us…we’re all obviously drug addicts, too.”
“I’ve never done drugs,” Jilly said, offended. “Not even pot.”
“It doesn’t matter. No one asks questions when a girl in the system shows up dead. Easy to write off as a tragic statistic of a fucked-up childhood.” Dylan swore beneath her breath, anger painting hot spots on her cheeks. “Fucking bastards.”
I nodded. “I’m scared to think of how many girls are dead because of them. It makes me sick to my stomach that they’re going to get away with it. They know no one is going to listen to a bunch of kids with sketchy pasts. As fucked up as it is, there’s a level of evil brilliance to it.”
“Yeah, real fucking genius,” Dylan said, reaching down to grab her pack. “Stay put. I’ll be back.”
“I thought you said you wanted to wait until it got dark?” I said.
But Dylan was already out the door. Jilly replaced the chair behind the doorknob and returned to the sofa beside me, asking, “Do you think she’ll be back?”
Honestly, I didn’t know. Dylan was a wild card. I could easily see her walkin
g away from us as returning. There was nothing predictable about Dylan. All I could say was, “I hope so” because that was the truth. I didn’t like Dylan but we needed her.
Which made it feel as if our survival was tied to a snarling demon who’d just as easily slit our throats as attack our enemy.
I exhaled and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to think anymore.
Jilly followed my lead and snuggled against me, whispering with more confidence than I felt, “She’ll be back” and I could only hope that Jilly was right.
3
Dylan returned to the church sometime during the night when we were both asleep. I heard the soft knock at the blockaded door and after Dylan identified herself, I let her in.
She didn’t say anything, just found a spot to curl up with a blanket and fell instantly asleep.
The next morning we packed up, locked the car with the rest of our stuff, and hit the subway. Dylan wasn’t in a chatty mood — not that she ever was — but there was an extra edge to her disposition that made me nervous.
“Where are we going?” I asked, following Dylan down a darkened stairwell that pulled us deeper underground, the sound of the city above us slowly becoming muffled and distant. Urban graffiti covered the cement walls displaying colorful commentary on anything from corruption, gang wars, to incredible artwork splashed in defiant paint across the platform.
My skin puckered with goosebumps beneath my hoodie as the subterranean chill tap-danced on my bones.
Dylan, our foul-mouthed and brusque guide, didn’t answer, just motioned for us to follow and to be quiet.
Secrets lurked in the shadows from past and present, whispering of an era when the subway was new and created with the promise of cutting edge technology. Time and neglect had eaten away at the former grandeur of the abandoned station, turning a once-grand dame into a wizened old lady covered in battle scars.
But this place teemed with renegade life from young to ancient. People huddled around burning barrels for heat, wrapped in ragged blankets and covered from head to toe with mismatched articles of clothing, trying to stay warm.
I’d lived in New York most of my life. I knew the stories of the abandoned subway stations but I never realized how an entire segment of society made their way down here to carve out a space of their own amongst the refuse. I was out of my element but Dylan looked right at home.
What kind of rabbit hole had we slid down?
Jilly crowded me, unnerved by the dank oppressive air in the cement tome. “It’s like a graveyard for subway trains,” she murmured with a mixture of awe and fear. “Who lives here?”
“Aside from sewer rats and killer clowns? No clue,” I whispered out of the side of my mouth.
Dylan answered, “His name is Badger and he runs The Runaway Club. You gotta have Badger’s permission to be down here or else you’re gonna disappear and ain’t no one gonna find your corpse.”
“Sounds like a great guy,” I muttered. “And you know him how?”
“Let’s just say we have a history.”
Jilly trailed behind Dylan, asking with worry, “Is it a good history?”
“Depends on how he remembers it,” Dylan said. “I guess we’ll see.”
“Hold up,” I tugged on Dylan’s sleeve, causing Dylan to turn with annoyance. “I thought you said we’d be safe here?”
“We will be…if he allows us to stay…and if he doesn’t hold a grudge.”
Fuuuuuck. “Damn it, Dylan—“
She jerked her arm out of my grasp, her voice a harsh hush, “Look, we’re screwed topside anyway so what difference does it make? We take our chances either way. I happen to think we have slightly better odds with Badger than Madame Moirai so shut up and keep walking. Not everyone down here is friendly and you’re drawing too much attention.”
That was some cockeyed logic but what could I say? Dylan was right. Our lives rested on the edge of a knife’s blade and no matter which way we fell, it was going to cut. I could only hope this Badger was the lesser of two evils.
Good-fucking-God, why couldn’t anything be easy for once? I didn’t want to die in the bowels of a forgotten subway tunnel nor did I want to be chased down like a dog by Madame Moirai and her Avalon squad. I didn’t have a choice but to follow Dylan and hope for a fucking miracle.
As my gran would say, “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
Dylan rounded the corner and pushed open a heavy steel door that led to a large space illuminated by an orange-tinted light, giving everything an antique look. A forgotten railway car sat among the broken and haphazard remnants of a former life, resting where it’d died, its faded bones still clinging to its identity. Bright light blazed in the car along with the distinct sound of…classical music and I was officially bewildered.
She sighed, explaining quickly, “Badger has eclectic tastes.” But she tacked on with all seriousness, “If he asks, you prefer Tchaikovsky over Mozart and you think Beethoven is an overrated hack. And do not even mention Vivaldi. On second thought, don’t say anything.”
All I could do was nod. Nothing made sense down here.
As we got closer, I realized the railway car had been turned into a residence and it was definitely occupied.
Two teenage thugs with hard eyes and jaded souls blocked our entrance to the railcar. Dylan scowled. “Get the fuck out of my way, Roach. I need to talk to Badger.”
“You’ve got balls of steel showing your face down here,” the one on the right said without budging. “You know there’s a bounty on your head?”
“It’s nice to be wanted,” Dylan said, not the least bit cowed. “Move before I make you regret ever leaving that group home in the Bronx.”
“Still the salty bitch,” Roach said with a smirk. “I’ll laugh when Badger throws your ass into the pit.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. Jilly and I shared anxious glances as we waited for which way the wheel was going to turn on this fucked up scenario.
“What say you, boss?” he called out.
A long pause followed. Sweat beaded my hairline despite the chill. Dylan held her ground. If she was scared, she didn’t show it but I was about to shit my pants. Jilly looked ready to faint.
A tall, lanky 20-something man with a shaved head, worn leathers, and a vivid pink mohawk appeared at the entrance, grabbing onto the poles, a sardonic but hard smile on his face. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he drawled, using the poles to lean forward menacingly. “I never expected to see your face again. I figured you were smarter than that.”
“No one’s ever accused me of being smart. I was your No. 1 once, remember? I’d say that was probably the dumbest move of my life.”
My eyes bugged. What did that mean? His No. 1?
Badger chuckled, considering his next move. The thick tension in the air coiled around us like a noxious fog but Dylan didn’t shake or drop eye contact. The stakes were high in this game and Dylan came to win or lose big.
Which was all well and good, except she brought us along for the game with front row tickets to the sudden death championship and I didn’t agree with her choice of entertainment.
“What to do with you…” Badger said, dropping down the steps as his thugs parted to make room. He stood before Dylan, towering over her. “Protocol dictates I should toss you down into the pit.”
“But you won’t.”
Badger held Dylan’s gaze as he asked softly, “And why won’t I?”
Dylan stared. For a brief moment, it almost seemed as if Dylan were struggling but not with fear. She exhaled a shaky breath, saying, “Because I know who took Nova.”
Everything changed in a heartbeat. I stared in confusion. Who the hell was Nova? What the hell was happening? My gaze darted from Dylan to Badger, trying to figure out why they both looked stricken.
Badger stiffened. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Either Dylan was totally bullshitting to save our asses or there were things Dylan hadn’t shared about how she
ended up signing with Madame Moirai.
Important things.
My head was spinning. Jilly was just as stunned. Wisely, we kept our mouths shut, too afraid to say anything.
“Don’t lie to me,” Badger warned, crowding Dylan’s personal space. “You better start talking real quick.”
But Dylan pushed Badger out of her space with a glower. “Shut up and listen. Nova signed a deal worth a lot of money with a woman named Madame Moirai. She wouldn’t give me details but she made me promise not to tell you, saying it was all going to be worth it in the end. I was supposed to pick her up in five days when it was all done but she never showed up and her phone kept going straight to voicemail. When a week went by and she still hadn’t contacted me, I knew something had gone wrong.”
“What do you mean, gone wrong?”
“You know Nova would never be without her phone,” Dylan said, searching his gaze. “If she wasn’t answering, something bad had to have gone down. I tried to find her but it was like she disappeared off the face of the planet. I almost gave up. Then, I got a call from an unidentified number, claiming to be an emissary for this Madame Moirai. It was the only lead I had. I had to take it. I had no idea what was going to happen next.”
Badger’s bewilderment was almost palpable. “I don’t understand. Are you telling me someone shook Nova down? Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
“There are a lot of things she never told you, Badger. You wouldn’t have let her go if you knew and she was determined to make it happen,” Dylan said. To my added shock, Dylan’s eyes started to water as she said with a catch in her voice, “And knowing what I know now…I wish I had stopped her. It was all a scam. The big pay-out was bullshit.”
Badger paled, like someone had just kicked him in the nuts with a steel-toed boot, lodging a vicious ache in his gut. “Where’s Nova?”
Dylan looked Badger straight in the eye and answered with undisguised anguish, “I’m pretty sure she’s dead.” Dylan gestured to me. “If it weren’t for her…I’d be dead, too.”
