by Patrick Ness
That she had been brought to an apartment made it clear exactly how things were going to go, at least at first. Returning to be an entertainment contained all the humiliation she would need, and Thomas would know that. He would do here in the bedroom whatever it was he had in mind, though she had some good guesses, and then who knew? Her future, not for the first time, was completely open. What would go on after this evening was blank, for now, a clean slate.
And yet, she wasn’t nervous, which surprised her. Surprised and delighted. There was even some small part of her which looked forward to the coming ordeal, confrontation, whatever it was going to be, a part which had to have come from the new Jacki because the old one, may she rest in peace, would have been up the walls with fright. But she had kicked Forum. She had seen her sons. She had been tested and found herself resilient. No, fear was there, absolutely, but it was manageable. Let Thomas come and let things proceed as they may. Her breasts had dried up during withdrawal. She would never work for him again as an accountant. He would, after all his trouble, have no more use for her.
I am facing my death, she thought. But I’ll be able to see it clearly.
The door opened. Thomas Banyon stepped into the room. He was smiling, a cigarillo dangling from his lower lip.
—If it isn’t the prodigal Jacki.
—Hello, Thomas.
—'Thomas'? Whatever happened to ‘Mr Banyon'? You are an employee here after all.
—Not any more. Even you don’t believe that.
He moved slowly, edging his way towards her, easing himself into a plush armchair just opposite where she sat.
—Don’t I?
—If I was just an employee, why all the trouble to track me down?
—You’re of great value to this company, Jacki.
—I can’t give milk, Thomas. The wells have gone dry.
—Now that is a disappointment.
—For us all, I assure you. Now why don’t you just let me go? Why can’t you just let me leave in peace?
He leaned forward and raised a hand to touch her cheek. She began to flinch but forced herself not to. Instead, she raised her own hand and pushed his away.
—So she’s got a new fire, huh? I like that. It could be useful.
—I’m not sure I’m making myself clear here, Thomas. I’m not going to be ‘useful’ any more. Not for you. Not ever again.
—Big talk from someone who returned here finally with so little fuss.
—I had to face you sometime, didn’t I? What would my life be like if it was spent running from you?
—What, indeed? And what do you plan on doing if I don’t want to let you leave?
—You don’t scare me, Thomas. You can do your worst, and you’ll still never win. Never. I may be here, but I’ve already escaped.
She held his gaze steadily, her growing surprise at her words pleasing her all the more. His eyes were bloodshot and watery, no doubt from the noxious cloud of brown smoke he was breathing into the room. Beyond the pungent tobacco mixture, she also thought she smelled alcohol on him. Drunk and stoned. In a flash realization so breathtaking she nearly allowed it to show on her face, she wondered why on earth she had ever been afraid of him in the first place. It was difficult to keep herself from smiling. Whatever happened, she had won. How great was that?
—What’s so funny, Jacks?
—Just … things.
—Things.
—Mm-hmm.
Thomas inhaled and blew out a few smoke rings.
—I’m going to be Mayor.
—You?
—Yes, me. It’s all sewn up. I’ve got my victory party tonight.
—You’re going to be Mayor of Hennington?
—Yeah, what’s so fucking funny about that?
—Mayor of the ash heap that’s currently burning to the ground around us? Have you looked out a window lately?
—A few minor squabbles, nothing more. Things’ll change when I take over.
—I can see that.
—What’s with all this attitude, Jacki? Do you know why I brought you back here? Do you?
—I can guess.
—No, not any of that, not any of that entertainment bullshit. I don’t want that.
He paused. Jacki wondered if she was being cued.
—So what do you want here, Thomas? Why drag me back against my will if you’re not going to press me into service again? If you’re only here to kill me, why not just get it over with so we can both get on with our individual destinies, okay?
—Kill you? Are you out of your mind? Why in the hell would I want to kill you? I’m not that kind of monster.
—Yes, you are. You’re exactly that kind of monster. And worse.
The slap came so quickly, it almost didn’t hurt. She felt a throbbing red glow spread across her left cheek. Then something astonishing happened. A face that nearly resembled anguish took over Thomas’ features. Could this actually be Thomas Banyon apologizing, feeling bad about his actions? Jacki found this thought even scarier than further physical violence.
—Oh, Jacki. Jacki, Jacki, Jacki. Why did you run? Huh? Why did you leave? Why did you leave me?
—Leave you?
—We could have had something. We could still have something between us.
—You and me?
—Yes. I’m willing to let the past go if you are. I didn’t even realize what I wanted until you had left. It didn’t even come to me fully until just now, seeing you again, here in the flesh. I want you.
—You want me.
—Yes, I want you. I have to have you. You have to be mine. You have to be at my side when I’m Mayor and forever after that.
—What?
—Listen. Forget the past. Forget all that entertainment shit. Forget it. Just stay here. Just be mine. No work, no clips, nothing. Just me. Just be here for me.
She held her hand to her inflamed cheek. His look, impossibly, was imploring and she thought, at least for this brief stretch of moments here in this back room, sincere. Time had stopped. This moment would last an eternity in its complete unreality.
—Thomas—
—Wait, wait, before you say anything. I brought you something.
He reached into an inner pocket in his jacket and pulled out a small satchel. She recognized it immediately. He spoke as he removed the paraphernalia.
—I know you’ve been off it for a bit, not being able to get a hit of this quality, so I brought you the best there is to be found in the city. Premium stuff. You can have all you want. For free. Forever. I can get you top-notch all the time.
He inserted the syringe into the vial of golden liquid. He pulled on the tap until it reached the 50cc line. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. For these weeks, these difficult, horrible weeks, she had not so much as seen a drop of Forum. Out of sight, but not out of mind. The new Jacki watched in clinical horror as Thomas tapped the syringe and squeezed a small droplet out to clear the air bubble. The old Jacki, not dead yet it turned out, whispered in her inner ear. If she had to go, was this the road she should take? One last shot of Forum, pure, grade-A, top-notch Forum, a shot so large that her deprived system would overload? Was that her destiny? To at least die of pleasure?
Thomas moved over to the bed beside her. Her eyes never left the syringe. She actually found her mouth watering. She made a decision.
—More.
—What?
—I need a bigger hit than that.
—Really? But it’s—
—When you withdraw, you need more to get your proper high.
A lie. Any more Forum in that syringe, especially if it was the high grade that Thomas promised it was, would be enough to fell a rhinoceros. So be it.
—All right, Jacki. Whatever you say.
He smiled, almost gratefully. He stabbed the needle through the opening of the vial, filling the syringe up to 100ccs. He repeated the tapping and squeezing and moved the syringe over to her.
—Wait.
She leaned
, unbuckled her pants, and pulled them down until her thigh was exposed. She extended her hand.
—Here.
—Oh. Do you want to do it, or shall I?
—I will, Thomas. No offense, but I’m an expert.
—None taken.
He handed her the syringe. She lifted it up so that the overhead light caught the amber glow resting in the syringe well. She ran her free hand idly over her lips. Could it be this easy? Was this the moment? Clear your mind, Jacki. The only way out is through.
Thomas put a hand on her back and another on her leg where the Forum was going to go, caressing it lightly. He leaned forward and kissed her shoulder.
—Oh, Jacki. Jacki. I’m so glad you’re back.
—Me, too, Thomas. I’m glad, too.
She brought the needle down, swiftly, professionally, into the back of Thomas’ hand, emptying the plunger in the same motion. The Forum spread quickly under his skin, forming a small dome between his wrist and knuckles.
—Ow!
Thomas pulled his hand back reflexively. It took him a few seconds to realize what she had done, but that was enough. By the time he raised his other hand to strike her, the willingness to do it was already leaving him.
—Jacki …
She stood quickly away from the bed, pulling her pants up. The look on Thomas’ face was one of distant hurt, but she could see it beginning to waver. Terrific stuff, Forum. Fast-acting. Bliss came swiftly.
—Why?
His voice was thick, his tongue tripping over the single word.
—I don’t have time for explanations, Thomas. I have to go.
She went to the door and found it unlocked. A good omen. She left the room without a parting word, without even a look back. She would get a car somehow. She would get out of the city. She would get to Morton and Tucker. In under three minutes, through a mixture of adrenaline and desire, she had already left the grounds of the Hennington Hills Golf Course and Resort for the last time, not even permitting herself to spare a thought for Thomas Banyon. The opportunity to move forward was finally here. She wasn’t about to lose it through hesitation.
Thomas watched her go but seemed somehow not to feel too bothered by it. He leaned back onto the bed until he was lying down. Vague, troubling thoughts hovered around the edges of his mind but only briefly before vanishing altogether. Warm molten gold filled his veins. He could never remember feeling quite this good before. He closed his eyes, and as the Forum reached his brain and his liver in a dosage so pure a quarter of it would have killed a newcomer like Thomas, he died. Euphorically, happily, perhaps unfairly so, but dead nonetheless.
And somewhere out in the still-smoldering city, Jacki was on her way to her sons.
115. To The Faithful Departing.
—I think we might finally be clear of it.
Jarvis could still see Hennington burning behind him, but the streets surrounding the moving car were empty. The drive out of the southeastern corner of the city had been touch and go, at one point almost over when a lit fire bottle hit the windshield; but it bounced free without causing any damage. They had made it. Peter spoke from the back seat.
—It’s a miracle.
—Why not? A day full of them, it seems.
Jarvis looked in the rearview mirror again to reassure himself once more that Luther was actually alive. There he was, pale, shaky, naked still, but definitely, incontrovertibly there. A non-stop prayer had run through Jarvis’ head for nearly the entire day. It had first asked for protection and safety, but somewhere along the way, it had turned into one of thanks. Thanks for the miracle of Luther’s return, thanks for their safe passage out of Hennington, but thanks most of all for being allowed to witness it all. Jarvis realized the extent of the luck and divine favor he was experiencing. He was seeing with his own two eyes a tangible, irrefutable result of faith. Despite the horrors of the day, despite running for his life, despite it all, Jarvis had never felt so happy, so humbly, utterly, thoroughly joyful.
He began to cry.
—You all right, Jarvis?
He nodded and pulled the car into the car park of a deserted playground.
—I think we’re safe.
—For now.
—No, I have this feeling that we’re okay. I think we’re out of whatever’s been happening.
Luther’s voice rose so quietly from the back seat that Jarvis had to turn to hear him.
—What’s been going on? Why is the city burning?
—No one knows. I mean, at least, Peter and I don’t. Listen, may I …
He stopped.
—What is it?
—I know you hardly know me, but may I touch you, Luther?
—Of course.
Neither Luther nor Peter asked why. Jarvis reached his hand into the back seat and ran it lightly across Luther’s face, running his fingers over Luther’s bald head, touching both his ears, feeling the curve of his neck.
—A miracle.
—Yes.
—Impossible yet so. The definition of miraculous.
—Yes.
—Where have you been, Luther Pickett?
—I’m forgetting it, like you do a dream. I can only remember bits and pieces. It’s hard to describe. I knew that I had to wait, and then all at once, I knew it was time to stop waiting. That’s really all.
—I think that’s probably more than enough. I know what my own two eyes saw, and I know what they’re seeing now.
Luther took Jarvis’ hand, squeezing it tightly. After a moment, Peter spoke.
—So what’s next?
—We should get some clothes on Luther.
—I don’t think we should go back to the city.
—I’d agree.
—There’s nowhere for us to go back to, anyway. From all the smoke, I’m sure my old house is gone. Luther’s too, probably.
—Same with the parish. In fact, I have a horrible feeling it was probably the first thing to go.
Luther spoke again in his low voice.
—We should move on.
—What do you mean?
—We’re out of the city. We should keep going.
—To where?
—I want to go to Tishimongo Fair.
—Where’s that?
—Due south in the Molyneux Valley. It’s where I grew up.
—I know where that is. I could take you both there.
Peter interrupted.
—Jarvis, we can’t ask you to do that. We have nothing to go back for, you’ve got—
—No, no, I could take you. I’ve got some money on me.
—So do I, but—
—We could get Luther some clothes on the way. It’s only a day’s drive. We could be there by tomorrow morning.
—We can’t ask you to do that.
—I have to make sure the two of you are safe. Truly safe. Try to understand me. I have to. I don’t know why I know, but I do. I’ll see to it that you get to Tishimongo, and when you are—
He paused. Luther caught his eye.
—When we are, then what for you?
—I don’t know.
Jarvis looked out at the horizon, at a sky filled with smoke.
—Is it my imagination or is the smoke thinning?
—Could be.
—Will you be needed back there?
—Part of me says yes.
—And the other part?
—The other part tells me that my time in Hennington is finished, that I have some new destiny, and that I should just stay out of its way.
—Come with us, then. We’ll get back on our feet together.
Jarvis turned around and faced them once more.
—I’ll take you to Tishimongo Fair, and I’ll make sure that you’re safe, like I promised.
—And then?
—And then. And then I think I’ll drive to Mackettsville, on the coast.
—Why?
—I think I want to catch a ship.
—A ship? Where are you going?
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—To see if I can find someone from my past who sailed across the ocean a long, long time ago.
—Lost love?
—Something like that.
—There’s no better reason.
—It’s probably impossible, it’s been so long, but—
—But.
—Yes, I know.
Jarvis looked at the two men in his back seat.
—Miraculous.
He turned back to the wheel of his car, starting the engine. He said it again.
—Miraculous.
He put the car in gear, pulled out of the car park, and began the long journey south.
116. Ashes, Ashes.
After an endless night, the sun rose again over a damaged city, some pockets still smoldering, one fire in the northwest corner even still burning brightly as the morning light poured in from the east. Max Latham was already awake. He had slept for just an hour and only that because Talon refused to lie down unless he was there with her. They were in the back room of someone’s house, a man named Richards or Richardson. Max didn’t know for sure, but he would find out in the day ahead. Richards/on’s house sat in a rare pocket of the city that had escaped the destruction, and he had offered it as a ‘command center’ (as he called it) for Max to use. There was much, much work to be done.
Max sat on a chair in Richards/on’s living room, considering the daybreak. The mass hysteria – perhaps typically, though it seemed far too grave a thing to ever be called ‘typical’ – had turned out to be a tenuous, shimmering thing held together by its misdirected passion, and like all passions, blunting it was only a matter of finding the correct dowser. Standing on the roof of that car, Talon in his arms, facing down a crowd of strangers who were about to kill them, Max had instinctively seen the means to end the madness. He had simply, intuitively reached for the lever and flipped it. Thankfully, luckily, amazingly, it was the right one. He could just as easily have been wrong.
