by J D Jacobs
Maybe he’s bluffing. Maybe his threat is an attempt to keep me from finding out anything else about him. Even if he isn’t bluffing, I’ll still talk to Sabrina. I’m not going to let Ricardo dictate the rest of my pathetic life for me. If he was going to kill his personal Ribbon, he would’ve already done it.
I slowly drag myself out onto the balcony. I whisper Sabrina’s name over the wall between our rooms, hoping she’s already sitting out here. After a few minutes, her balcony door slides open.
“You shouldn’t be talking to me,” she wistfully tells me in her soft voice.
“Sabrina, I’m sorry. I couldn’t stand what he was doing to you. I had to find a way to stop him. I know you told me not to say anything, but I had to.”
“No, you didn’t.” Her voice suddenly grows strict.
“Yes, I did. He was raping you. I can’t just let him do that.”
“Yes you are. That’s my life now. Don’t try and stop him. He’s still going to do whatever he wants.”
“No!” I blurt out in a whisper. “That is not your life! You’re much more than a Ribbon.”
“Jesus, kid, you don’t understand,” Sabrina tells me with a sigh.
“Enlighten me then. What do I need to understand? Because it sounds like you’ve given up on any hope of getting out of that room.”
“The guy in that room before you was named Rob, not Poco Loco,” Sabrina tells me, annoyed with my stubbornness. “You’re just like him. God, you and Rob could’ve been brothers for all I know. Trapped in that room for basically the same reason you are. Miguel didn’t think twice when he threw Rob in the Arena for badmouthing him. It was a rough sight, Jaden. It was a brutal death; I was sick for months. Miguel bragged about it, knowing that Rob and I had become friends. He knew that I couldn’t stand to hear him talk about how Rob’s death was entertaining, well-deserved, whatever… The point is, Jaden, I don’t want that to be you. I can’t let that be you. If that means we never talk again, as long as you’re sleeping safely in that room next to me, I’m fine.”
“Sabrina… that isn’t the way I want to live. That isn’t the way you should want to live. We’ll find a way out of these rooms, I promise you. Ricardo is going to get what he deserves.”
“I’m glad you think so, but I can’t do it. I’m not causing anyone else to die like I caused Rob to. Nobody deserves to die like he did. Living in that room isn’t the worst option; at least you’re alive. If I have to get raped everyday for the rest of my life just so I don’t have to watch you get killed in that arena… so be it.” She then gets up from her seat and heads back into her room…
I probably sat in that chair for four hours and waited on that girl to come back out. I thought maybe she would at least tell me to quit waiting on her, but she never did. It didn’t take me long on that lonely balcony until I realized that I needed Sabrina to talk to me. I needed to hear her soft voice, because without it, I was left with only the sounds inside my head. Another voice is what I needed in Westwood, and if I wanted to avoid my sanity spiraling downward into another dreadful abyss like before, I needed to hear someone talk to me. But she stood firmly by her word.
Mrs. Margaret visited me again much later that day to bring me my dinner. I asked her if she had any word on Cody or if she had talked to Camila. She hadn’t for either. I then asked her about her life, because I genuinely cared. Mrs. Margaret told me she was an accountant before the Cozmin spread. Lived in Wisconsin. No kids. Was travelling with her husband to find shelter when she came across Avvil, but her husband never made it. After Ricardo killed Britt, the vibe of the city was uncomfortable, but everybody was happy they were alive instead of suffering on top of the amber glass. She told me that Ricardo made it clear that he wasn’t ruling over Avvil like an authoritarian–he just wanted to maintain peace. People who questioned his leadership skills or imposed the simple “why is the guy who killed the creator of this city in charge of us?” question was considered as a disruption of peace. Thus, the Atonements were born: to humble the city, entertain the people, blah blah blah. I’ve heard this spill before. Ricardo is vile, everybody is scared of him and of being thrown into the Arena, and there’s nothing anybody can do about it.
I’m surprised nobody has come up with the simple thought of ousting Ricardo. That solves that problem rather quickly. But then I remember what Ricardo told me when he dropped the gun at my face: “That’s the only gun in the city! There’s only one bullet, so make it count!” I then think back to the rubber bullets that the stairwell guard shot at us. Ricardo must’ve thought ahead and confiscated every single gun before the thought could cross people’s mind, then gave his men guns that shot rubber bullets, that way they could enforce power but not rebel against him. That gives him another level of power that fuels his thirst.
Mrs. Margaret didn’t stay around too long in my room. She didn’t want to raise any suspicions. Before she left, she said that she’d wash my clothes for me if I wanted to take a shower. I took her up on that offer, and soon had on nothing but a towel so I could hand my bloodied clothes over to her. I’ve went a couple of days without a shower and the smell of my own crusty body odor has gotten disgusting.
And here I am right now: the blistering water pounding the top of my head and rolling down my pulsating face. My fingers have pruned and my skin has blushed red, but it feels so good. The pain from the heat and the sound of the streaming water relaxes me.
When I finally decide to get out, I throw a towel around my waist and wipe the steam off of the mirror to examine my face. My right eye is badly swollen, nearly shut. The entire right side of my face is a grotesque purple and red fusion. My nose is stiff and tender, but I don’t think I broke it again. I’m lucky to be able to stand on my own and talk right now. I wonder how many more punches or headbutts I could’ve taken before I lost my life.
I walk out of the bathroom, hoping that my clothes are hanging up outside my door, fresh and rid of their blood stains, but they’re not yet. As long as Ricardo doesn’t decide to throw me into the Arena while I’m naked, I’m fine with waiting.
Being forcibly naked anywhere is, by definition, an inconvenient time to do anything. So I wasn’t too surprised when I saw Xander lying in my bed when I came out of the bathroom, the Spanish-to-English dictionary held above his face.
“You couldn’t have waited until I had clothes to put on?” I begin, too exhausted to be upset.
“Sorry. Couldn’t control myself, you’re so irresistible,” he tells me without looking away from the book. “On a much more relevant note, did you know that the word ‘burrito’ translates to ‘little donkey?’ That’s wild. I always thought ‘burrito’ meant ‘meat blanket’ or something.”
I sit down on the unoccupied bed, not even remotely curious on why Xander is here. I close my eyes and begin drifting off until he loudly slams the dictionary shut and tosses it on the carpet.
“Let’s go on an adventure!” he eagerly suggests.
“I would, but I left my adventure shoes in Tryton. I’m on a strict no-adventure routine without them,” I respond, uninterested. “You’re at the wrong place if you’re looking for something fun. You can either learn Spanish, sleep, or leave. Or let me out of this room and we can adventure until your little heart gives out. There’s your choices.”
“You’re such a buzzkill, I swear,” he says with a groan. “When I say ‘let’s go on an adventure,’ I meant like let’s do some flashbacks! Don’t you wanna have a flashback now that you know why you have them?”
“I don’t know if you’ve seen my face lately, but I don’t really want to do much of anything today. What do you want to show me, anyway?”
“It’s not what I want to show you, remember?” he asks, standing up from the bed. “It’s what you want. For the first time, I’m going to let you choose what moment in the past that you want to experience.”
Wow. This is definitely something new to me. I feel like I have some immense control now that I can basically choos
e any moment in human history to relive. But what should I choose? I can choose questions that I’ve wanted answered for a while now, such as what actually happened to Ryan and Scarlett after Jenkins threw them out of Tryton or perhaps find out who the third person that is immune to the Cozmin is, but what good does that knowledge do me right now? Those two answers definitely won’t help me if I end up dying in the Arena soon.
I need to pick a past event that will get me out of here. I’m not sure what specific occurrence there is that will give me the ability to unlock doors or teleport out of hotel rooms, though.
Wait a minute… There may not be any event that can give me the knowledge of getting out right now, but there can be a past event where I give the knowledge to someone else to rescue me. “I want to be on the roof of the hospital in Tryton. I want the day to be yesterday, and I want it at a time that Grant is there.”
“I know what you’re planning here,” Xander says, impressed. “You’re only going back a day so you can tell Grant that you’re being kept hostage. That’s smart, but remember: when you talk, anybody can see you. If there is anybody else on that roof other than Grant, they will see you appear out of nowhere. You don’t need any more questions thrown at you or Grant, so make sure it’s just you two.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“You better.” He swipes his lower forehead, and I immediately lose my focus.
And I take over on the roof of Tryton’s hospital, exactly where I wanted to be. I look around the roof to see Grant, sitting in his foldable chair, facing the city. Despite being locked up when I left Tryton, Abbi is perched on the barrier that Grant’s feet are propped on. I quietly approach the two, knowing that neither of them can see me until I speak. I check Abbi’s eye to see if her camera is on or not, but the sepia world I’m in makes it hard for me to distinguish if her eye is green or red.
I squat down behind Grant and take one last glance around to make sure he’s alone up here. Well, here goes.
“Is Abbi’s eye turned off?” I ask him.
Grant jumps in his chair, falling over on the ground and alertly looking up to see who snuck behind him. “Jaden!? What are you doing here? Are you… are you in a flashback?”
“Yeah, but I need Abbi’s eye to be off so no one sees me up here.”
“Yeah, well she’s on right now. Abbi, conclude recording,” he answers with agitation still spilling over from my surprise. Abbi looks over at the two of us as her eye closes and switches colors, I assume. “What’s going on? Why are you visiting me right now? Is everything okay in Avvil?”
“I learned how to control my flashbacks,” I hurriedly begin, unsure if I have a time limit, “but that’s not the point. The leader of Avvil is a psychotic killer. He runs an arena where the entire city watches people fight the egotoned to their death. They already murdered Stewart in this arena. Right now, Ricardo is searching for Cody and Jenkins. I don’t know where they are, but I’m being kept hostage right now.”
“I gotta get you guys out of there,” he says, surprisingly gaining his composure as I throw him bombshells. “The only helicopter we have is with you in Avvil, but I’ll drive. Abbi can direct me; let’s hope she knows where she’s going.”
“How long do you think it would take for you to get here?”
Abbi hovers over and places her head on my thigh for me to rub her. However, her head passes straight through my leg, leaving Abbi completely confused as to what just happened. “I have no clue… Maybe a full day? I don’t know what to expect on the way there. I’m bringing another Scav with me.”
“Be cautious once you arrive to Avvil, though,” I tell Grant. “Ricardo will act friendly to you when you get here; don’t let him fool you. You do what you feel like would be best to make sure everyone is safe. Be on the lookout for a woman named Mrs. Margaret. She can help you.”
“But how do I know where to look for you once we get there? Do you know what building you’re in?”
“It’s a huge hotel,” I tell him. “It’s called the Grandsmont Hotel. It’s toward the back of the city against the concrete walls. There’s a crack in the glass roof right above the hotel. You can’t miss it. I’m on the top floor. The thirteenth floor, not the twelfth.”
“Oh, okay, I guess,” Grant stutters, trying to piece together my instructions to the city that he’s never seen. “But… how are you here? How did you learn to control your flashbacks? How far in the future are you?”
I look around for Xander, but he’s nowhere in sight. I guess since I’ve already told Grant what I wanted to, it wouldn’t hurt to stay and answer his questions.
“I’m only one day in the future, so hopefully you can reach me by, well, today, for me,” I tell him, afraid that if I elaborate on the time that I’ll confuse both of us even more. “And the talking Grim I told you about, he told me how to control them. The talking Grim’s name is Xander. He said he was your brother.”
Grant’s eyes widen, then sink to the floor of the roof. “Alex…” he begins in a low voice. He then chuckles. “Of course he wanted you to call him Xander. He tried to get people to call him that for years but it never caught on… I can’t believe you know him as one of those faceless things.”
“Yeah, he’s pretty cool,” I tell Grant, even though “cool” wouldn’t necessarily be the first word I would use to describe Xander. “He’s helped me out a lot along the way. It’s not too far of a stretch to say I owe my life to him.” I think about Xander listening off in the corner, sporting a flattered, invisible grin that would somehow make him look like an idiot.
Grant’s hands clasp together in front of his mouth as his index fingers touch the bottom of his nose. “I’m glad you know him. He was a great guy. A great brother. Last time I saw him, we were–”
The door under The Spot opens. I see a foot step out from the door, but before the person can stride out into view completely, I quickly hop over the barrier on the edge of the roof. The lack of hesitation in my action scares me much more than the mammoth drop I’m currently taking. It seems to take forever to pass by the rows of windows as I fall, and for a second, I’m not sure if I’m going to wake up before I hit the ground. Dying in a flashback isn’t like dying in real life, right? Right?
“Uhh, Xander? Any day now,” I call out. Perhaps this wasn’t the best place for me to hide, either, as now everybody within eyeshot of the hospital is currently watching an unidentified man fall to his presumed death. As I zoom pass the fourth and third floors, my vision finally spirals back out of focus.
“Jesus Christ, you cut it a little short there, didn’t you?” I bark at Xander as soon as I gain my consciousness in the real world, panting for breath as if I just ran away from my death.
“I told you that if you were going to talk, then to stay hidden,” he angrily reminds me. “But what do you do? You jump off the tallest building in the entire city. You can’t do anything I ask you to!”
“Why didn’t you take me out of there earlier then?” I respond, reflecting his attitude. “As soon as I jumped off the building would’ve been a marvelous time.”
“Screw you!” he yells back, emphasizing each word. “Taking you out of flashbacks is a lot harder than you think, especially when you allow yourself to be spotted. That’s why I hate it when you or Grant talk in your flashbacks. You can seriously mess things up by talking in them, so it’s best not to say a damn word! I knew you would find a way to ruin things.”
For the first time, I can read Xander like an open book. “You’re not mad at me for talking in the flashback. You’re mad at me for mentioning you to Grant, aren’t you?”
Xander remains silent for a few moments. “Grant’s my brother. He always will be. And while I was alive, he was my best friend. But things are different now.”
“What do you mean ‘things are different?’”
Xander peers up at me. “I know his secrets. Secrets that I didn’t know about him when I was alive. That’s all I’m saying. They don’t concern you.�
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Saying that in itself makes me completely concerned about it. “Tell me Grant’s secrets. That’s something that I desire, and since it doesn’t concern me, then it’s something that I can handle. Send me in a flashback because I want to know.”
“I don’t care what you want to know. I can veto any desire you want. I have control over what you see; it’s not like I have to send you into a flashback if the criteria are met. I’m the dictator, not you.”
I can tell that the more we talk about it, the more bothered he becomes. “Okay, I’ll drop it. But if we ever make it back to Tryton, I want you to tell me what you know.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we reach it,” Xander tells me. “If we reach it.” Xander pulls his hand up to his nonexistent eyebrow and swipes himself away.
26.
And that was my second day in captivity.
My third day was rough.
Not physically. Actually, it was the only day so far where my face wasn’t pounded in by someone else, so there’s a positive with day three. But mentally, it was tortuous.
I anticipated Grant’s arrival the entire time. Giving him a day to travel to Avvil, that meant that he should arrive on my third day of imprisonment. And when he never did, I assumed the worst. Maybe he and his team got lost. Maybe, for some reason, he wasn’t allowed to leave Tryton. But perhaps the worst possibility was that maybe Grant’s team did arrive, but they’ve either been exterminated or held captive, just like me. Grant is my last lifeline. If he doesn’t save me, I don’t stand a chance. And if he ends up dead because of me, I won’t be able to stand myself.
It’s late into day five right now, and he still isn’t here.
I tried talking to Sabrina on the third day, but she was determined not to talk to me. Mrs. Margaret brought me food, but she refused to stay too long. Ricardo was apparently keeping an eye on her. Even worse, she still hadn’t heard from Cody or Jenkins. They could already be dead, for all I know.
