He fought with his chest and waist against the tape. It didn’t loosen. The belt chugged along. Closer. Closer. Closer.
His head was again lifted off the belt. I wondered if he could see what was ahead now. That was when the muffled screams reached a new pitch and I was sure that he could.
I counted down in my head. Three. Two. One.
His feet hit the auger and the sound was of shredded leather first. It was like a bird caught in a plane propeller. I could hear when the sharp, twisted metal found the bone, chewing it methodically.
At the same time, his limbs must have jammed the machine because it stopped working. I didn’t have time to fix it because Alex had managed to yell so hard that the duct tape broke free of his mouth and he was now shouting and cursing and crying.
The air smelled like sweat and blood. I ran my tongue over my lips, tasting the sharp flavor that clung there. I made a quick promise to come back later before silently disappearing around the bend.
There was a rush of movement. I saw the bulb of light from the lantern bouncing. A cough and a sputter.
From Alex an “Oh god! Man! No! Don’t—is it—don’t look—god—are they? Help me.”
“What the hell, you psycho bitch!” Tate hollered.
Over the walkie-talkies, Jessup came on the line. “Everything okay over there?”
“Alex lost his foot, man.” Cue: Alex screaming. “Where are you?”
“Shit, I’m not saying now,” Jessup said. “Not on here.”
Tate cussed. Hide and seek, hide and seek, in the dark, they all will shriek. I hummed the notes to my little ditty.
Crouching down, I pulled out the monitor and scanned the frames for Jessup. I saw him climbing a ladder, up and up, to the third story. I grinned, returned the monitor to the backpack, and began scaling a different set of rungs, beginning to fancy myself a bit of a ninja.
I could already feel the sting of the tattoo needle on my arm. Two more tally marks, then a diagonal cross over the top to make five. And then and only then would I deserve her. Keres. With her tattered faerie wings and blood-soaked scythe.
The closer to the top I got, the slower I made my approach, careful not to let the cold metal under my hands and boots creak. I heard a clang from above.
“Oof!” a voice said. Once on solid flooring, I jerked my head to see Jessup, both arms out, feeling his way around in the dark. The sound of the machinery was more muted here. “Who’s there?” Jessup hissed, sensing my presence.
I didn’t respond. I moved in a wide arc around him, circling, beginning to close in.
“I know you’re in here. I can see you.” But he kept whipping his head back and forth. His long hair kept getting stuck to his lips and his eyes were wide as saucers. “Don’t try anything. I’m trained in karate.”
Doubted it.
I tapped my fingernails against metal siding. He jumped and turned in the direction of the sound. He was standing precariously close to one of the open silos. I circled back the other way, then I sprinted the last few steps to him. His hands flew up protectively. I came to a hard stop an inch away from him. “Boo,” I whispered. He lowered his hands from in front of his face, a look of surprise. Then I pushed him.
He fell without a scream. At least until he landed on a pile of grain.
“What—what is this stuff?” He was beginning to fight it. He was swishing his hands and feet through the grain in the silo like a swimmer and as he did so, the grain began to swallow him.
He thrashed harder.
“Did you know,” I said, “that eighty percent of workers buried in grain up to their knees are unable to get free without assistance?” I peered down the barrel at him. The grain was already up to his waist and rising. He stared down at the grain creeping up his body.
He began to jerk, trying to wrench himself free. “That’s not true,” he shouted. “That can’t be true!” But he pushed at the grain, trying to sweep it away from him. But that only opened up a larger hole for him to sink into. “Relax, Jessup. Chill out. It’s not a big deal. Besides, don’t you know that grain is like quicksand? The more you struggle, the faster you’ll suffocate.”
“Wait!” he screamed. He punched at the grain that was pushing against him on all sides. He struggled to yank out a leg at a time. “Wait! Don’t leave me here! Where are you going? Help!”
I brushed my hands together, enjoying the show. He was tossing his head. He was pushing his elbows out, fighting against an opponent that was too strong for him. His chest and neck were already disappearing beneath the collapsing surface. He twisted. His long hair fell into his eyes. Within a few seconds, I couldn’t hear him at all.
Back down the ladder I went. Come out, come out, wherever you are, I thought, while at the same time telling myself to be cautious, to be careful. I was so close to perfection. I couldn’t get sloppy now.
“Jessup?” Tate’s voice crackled. “Jessup, are you there?” No answer. Jessup was gone. “Shit.” A pause. “I’m going to kill you, little girl,” Tate said. “Just you wait. I’m going to kill you.”
Not when I kill you first.
The sound of Alex’s intermittent screams rose and fell through the mill. I didn’t know if he was still bleeding out freely or if Tate had managed to tie a tourniquet. On the second story, I knelt and fished through the remaining supplies in my bag, finally pulling out the rope. I stretched it out between my hands and gave it a sharp tug. The rope snapped with tension. The perfect strings for the group’s puppet master. Now look who was in control.
I pulled out the monitor, checked for his whereabouts. I didn’t see him the first several glances. And then I did. Back pinned into a corner. His chest rose and fell. With fidgety fingers, he was unfurling his belt from his waistband. He was looping the end through the buckle, testing its strength.
Points for improvisation, I thought drily.
Tate picked the lantern back up and began treading his way through the maze of grain bags and silver silos on the ground floor.
I pressed the button on the side of the walkie-talkie and sang to him, “Hide and seek, hide and seek, in the dark, they all will shriek; seek and hide, seek and hide, count the nights until they’ve died.”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Tate shouted. He held his hands to his ears.
I went down to join him.
The grain dust floating in the air smelled sweet and old and tickled my nose when I breathed it in. Tate was easy to spot by the light of the lantern he was carrying like it was the thing that could keep him safe. That and his belt, apparently.
I bent down and scooped up a pebble that I’d stepped on. I threw it and it pinged against one of the silos. Tate spun and the lantern bobbed wildly.
“Show yourself,” he demanded. Because he was used to being the type of person who could make demands and people would listen. I wasn’t listening.
A system of cables and pulleys with steel hooks hung from floor to ceiling. Puppet master on a string. I ran my fingers up the length of one of the taut cables as I glided past. I picked up another pebble from the floor and chucked it at another silo, enjoying how he jumped at the clang.
I remembered how he’d laughed, how he’d encouraged the other ones, told them what to do. I remembered how he wore a smug look on his face like he was untouchable. I remembered it and I hated him.
Slowly, I reached into the front pocket of my hoodie until my hand closed around a thick, solid object. I pulled the Taser gun out and flipped it over. Can you believe you don’t need a license for one of these? I mused.
I would hang Tate high until the last breath was squeezed from his neck and his eyes bulged and his tongue fell out of his mouth.
Tate turned just in time. We were both bathed in the glow of the lantern. I shot the Taser at him. The lantern banged against the cement floor. He hit his knees, muscles convulsing. It was a good look for him.
I wasted no time, though. I stuffed the Taser back into my pocket. Then I wrapped the rope twic
e around his throat, twisted the ends together, and hooked it onto one of the iron claws hanging on a cable cord. He squirmed like a worm on a hook. I wrapped my hands around the cable and pulled with all my might.
There was a crank and the hook moved up. The rope tightened around Tate’s neck. His feet dragged on the ground. He wriggled to try to get them underneath his weight for support. His time was short and the flashes in his eyes told me that he knew it.
“Pop quiz,” I said, keeping my hands gripped around the metal pulley system.
“Go…” He struggled. “… Screw … yourself.”
“Wrong answer,” I said, and pulled the cable again. He lost his balance and struggled against the rope to right himself. “Let’s try this again. First question. What was the date on which you assaulted a high school girl named Cassidy Hyde?”
The pupils of Tate’s eyes flitted from one side to the other. I tapped my toe on the floor.
“Aw, come on, Tate. You can do it. Here, I’ll offer a reminder. She was about this tall.” I held my hand even with my scalp. “She had brown hair.” I slipped my hood off and flipped my hair over my shoulders. “Pretty. Very pretty, if I do say so myself.”
Tate’s Adam’s apple bobbed against the rope.
I frowned. “No? Well, that’s a shame.” I tugged on the pulley cable and the rope tightened again.
He worked his fingers into the rope at his neck and tried to loosen it. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
“Are you ready for the next question?”
He twisted and fought against the rope. It began to creak. He had his fingers in between his skin and the rope. “You’re not giving me much of a choice here, Tate.” His eyes bugged. I reached into my pocket for the Taser gun again.
But out of the corner of my eye, I saw a scrap fall from my pocket and land on the toe of my boot. I blinked and glanced down. I bent and picked it up. For a second, I was lost in the satin texture. It felt familiar. Instinctively, I brought it to my cheek and rubbed it against my skin. Soft.
I took a deep breath and touched it to my nose. “Mmmmm…” I closed my eyes for just a moment.
Strawberry shampoo. Laundry detergent. Maybe a hint of something else …
TWENTY-THREE
Cassidy
I came to like a person breaking the ocean surface having held her breath for too long. My lungs welled up and I gasped. My first thought was of Honor. I looked down at the scrap of blanket clutched between my fingers and clasped it to my chest. I was back. But where was I back to?
“What…” I startled at the anger in a voice so close by. “… question?”
And then I saw him. Him. The boy from the dining hall. The boy from Dearborn. Tate.
Or at least it was a version of him.
I took two steps back.
He was dangling from a noose. Sweat bubbled at his brow line. Fury raged in his eyes.
“W-W-What question…?” I stuttered. My fingers worked in the swatch of blanket.
My gaze skirted the strange factorylike place in which I found myself. I whimpered at the sound of soft moaning coming from a distance.
The contents of my stomach surged up my windpipe, choking me before I vomited.
“What’s going on?” I pointed to Tate.
He gurgled. Tears were leaking from his eyes. “You … are … insane.” His cheeks puffed out and sucked back in. “You know that?”
I felt my lower lip begin to tremble. I covered my mouth. “I—I tried to warn you.”
Tate struggled to keep his feet underneath him. “Warn me? What kind … of warning was … that? You said nothing.” His words were a growl. “Nothing!”
“I—I—I—you didn’t even see me!” I shrieked. Hair flew in my eyes. I peeled it off. “You didn’t know who I was!”
He sees you now.
I felt feverish. “Please…” I pushed my palm against my forehead. “I didn’t want this.”
You wanted all of it.
“I just need to think.” Coward. I shook my head.
Kill them. End it.
“No!” I shouted.
“You will pay for this. You hear me? My father is a congressman.”
This is what you want. Justice. Make him pay.
I plugged my ears. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!”
They’ve ruined your life.
I screamed. “You’re ruining my life!”
The Taser gun was a dead weight in my hand. All around me was terror. “This isn’t me,” I muttered. “This isn’t me.” This is you. This is us. We are. “No, no, no, I’m good.”
Kill them. Do it.
She was taking over, strangling the Cassidy out of me like a boa constrictor. I took a final look around the horror she’d created. I couldn’t fight evil with evil without being consumed in the flames. There was only one way to stop her. I pulled out the cell phone in my back pocket—Disgusting, weak, spineless, he laughed at you—and hit three numbers.
I had to if I wanted to preserve anything of myself. Time seemed to freeze over. When I could no longer convince the demented alternate being that was living inside me to stand still, I turned the Taser on myself, pressed it against my thigh, and pulled the trigger.
I collapsed to the floor and writhed there. The wait for sirens to approach stretched infinitely long until suddenly the blare of them was roaring in my head and panic warred in my chest.
It’s too late.
Too … late.
The voice said.
TWENTY-FOUR
White walls. White mattress. No sheets.
White elastic pants. No drawstring. White cloth shirt. Scratchy.
A metal door. Glass, submarine window set into the thick door. An untouched tray. On it, a whole apple and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that had been sitting out since last night.
I wasn’t allowed shoes … or socks. My toes were cold enough to be miserable but not cold enough to feel numb. I sat on the squeaky mattress that felt like it was made from flimsy foam poster board and tucked my feet underneath my knees. My back pressed into the bare cinder blocks behind me. I didn’t know what time it was. There were no windows to the outside and I’d lost track … hours, days, weeks ago?
Down the hall there were clangs of doors and the uneven roll of wheels down tiled floors. I estimated that it was morning and didn’t think I’d slept at all.
If I was right, my breakfast would arrive soon. Three strips of bacon, dry toast with a fried egg served on top. Since I’d left my dinner untouched, they’d make me eat it. Hold my mouth open. Force me to swallow.
They’d be here soon. They were coming for me.
Two knocks sounded at the door. Never three. Why not three? Two was unnatural.
“Go away,” I said. “I’m not hungry.” I pulled my knees into my chest and buried my face in them. Stringy hair fell in straight curtains around me. I didn’t know how much weight I’d lost since I’d been in here, but my ribs poked through the skin on my torso.
A lock slid. I felt the cool manufactured air flow into the room without looking. “Cassidy?” The woman’s voice was melodic. “Cassidy, your parents are here to visit.”
I pulled my knees tighter and rocked.
“Cassidy, we’re going to take you to see them. Okay? They’re very much looking forward to it. We’re coming in now.”
I drew my chin out of the hollow between my knees and forearms. Dr. Blanche was a slender woman with a slick ponytail parted down the middle and red-framed glasses. She took out a pen from her lab coat and jotted something down on my chart.
An orderly filtered past her, pushing a wheelchair.
“I can walk,” I said to the man whose hand was stretched out to help me into the chair.
“Standard procedure, miss.”
I rolled my eyes and scooted off the mattress without taking his hand. I planted myself roughly in the leather sling of the wheelchair and lifted my feet onto the stirrups.
“I’ll be back this evening
with a new prescription,” said Dr. Blanche. “But you’ll need to eat something. It’s important to your recovery, Cassidy.”
I glowered at her as the orderly wheeled me past. The halls of Maven Brown Psychological Treatment Facility were a labyrinth of bleached color and gave me an instant headache. I stared down at my lap as the orderly whisked me through a series of right turns.
“Patient for the visitor center,” he said, pulling us to a stop at a sliding glass window. Something was exchanged. The orderly then lifted my limp wrist and buttoned a plastic hospital bracelet around it.
The window slid shut again and I was greeted with the whoosh of automatic doors that split down the middle to let me through.
“Enjoy your visit, Miss Hyde.” The orderly parked me in front of a square table where pieces of a jigsaw puzzle were scattered.
“Hi, honey.” My mother smiled wanly from across the table. A few pieces of the jigsaw puzzle were stuck together. They formed the eye of a kitten. The tip of a tail. Half of an ear.
“You look…” My father laced his fingers through my mother’s and their hands disappeared under the table. “… good.”
I scoffed.
“You know, we’ve been checking in more than once a day, Cassidy. This is the first time they would let us in to see you. You’ve had a friend here, too, from school. Lena, I think?” My eyes flitted into focus. “She keeps insisting she should be let in to see you, but it’s only family for now, I’m afraid.” I offered a curt nod. “Sweet of her to care so much.” Mom tilted her head, the crow’s-feet around her eyes stretching clear to her temples. “Are they treating you well? Are you getting enough to eat? No one’s being mean to you, are they?”
“It’s a regular Disneyland,” I replied.
My father frowned. His face was exhausted, but I could still spot our resemblance. “I’m afraid they’re only giving us a short time together so early … in your treatment. So we’ll have to get right down to the reason they allowed us to talk in the first place.”
Teen Hyde Page 21
