I want something quiet, serene…maybe even ironic.
“Madman wants you dead,” Locket whispers.
When I recognize his voice I feel curiously relieved, as though he isn’t the cold killer that I know him to be. When I relax he slowly lets me go, allowing me enough room to turn around.
His cold blue eyes drive into mine.
Straightening his six-foot-five frame, he glares down at me. “You go into hiding and he’ll send me after you.”
“Bull shit,” I rasp. I can’t stop shaking…I feel like I’m about to cave in. “I’m nothing now. If you’re a General he won’t waste you on me.”
“You’re more of a threat than you realize, Sewer Rat.” He uses my old nickname because he knows it pisses me off. Leaning towards me, he presses his body against mine and continues to stare hard into my eyes. “You can’t hide from me.”
The warmth of his skin calms my shaking, but I’m still terrified. If he were lying I would feel a warning in the back of my head. My instincts would tell me not to listen. I desperately wait for it to come, to release me from this trap, but it is cruelly silent.
Locket is right—I can’t hide from him. No matter what I do, I’m dead.
We silently stare at each other, neither of us willing to move first. That’s when I notice how close he is. This stall is a tight fit. I can’t move without touching him, can’t shift without getting closer. His warm breath brushes over my forehead, making my blood pump faster through my veins. There’s something intoxicating about his effortless strength. Caught in this bizarrely intimate moment, I’m intensely aware that I’ve hardly been touched in the past two years.
Great, this is great. I’m attracted to my would-be executioner. I am seriously fucked up.
Locket shifts, bringing his strong, warm body closer to mine. Hating my traitorous hormones, I breathe in the musky scent of his skin and clothes. It’s bringing new life to my ruined world, convincing me that this man isn’t a threat.
I have to get him out of this stall.
“What’s it like being Madman’s new pet?” I ask.
My vicious words would cut to the quick of any independent’s ego. Locket winces and moves away, but he’s only damaged for a moment. A superior, yet captivating, smile spreads over his face.
“I think we should make it look like we were having a good time in here,” he decides.
To my astonishment, he unbuckles and unzips his pants. Unlocking the door, he steps out into the noisy bathroom. Deliberately making eye contact with a tough-looking woman, he slowly walks past her, brazenly closing up his pants and fixing his hair. He shoots her a charming wink before walking out of the bathroom. Admiring his muscular body, the woman watches him leave before turning to me.
“You’re Daryl, aren’t you?” she asks. She eyes me curiously. “And that was…Jace Locket…wasn’t it?”
I’m not in the mood to make a friend. Still reeling from my lust, I close and bolt the stall door.
7
Like they promised, Hyde and Lily are waiting for me at the bar. Thankfully, Theo’s nowhere to be seen, so I can avoid that little drama. Just when I think I can get out of this place unscathed, Beck steps out in front of me.
He stares down at me with arrogant zeal. “Place your bets!”
The crowd around us roars in anticipation. I glance around, too stunned to move, as they clear a space for us to fight. Lily jumps to her feet, ready to grab me and run. She starts pushing her way through the crowd, but Hyde takes her arm to stop her from getting in the way. He shakes his head gently. The crowd will tear me to pieces if I back out. It’s fight or die.
This is the day that will not end…I’m moving past the point of exhaustion. I watch Beck dance around on the balls of his feet, his muscles jumping with anticipation, eagerly awaiting his chance to destroy me in front of the crowd. Compared to him, I’m a wreck, a starving kitten thrown into a pit with a rabid dog. I don’t stand a chance and there’s no way out.
All of this suddenly strikes me as incredibly funny. Even if Beck doesn’t kill me, I’m still caught in Madman’s web. There’s no way to get into Cop Sector and I can’t hide from Locket. No matter what, I’m dead. Eyes filling with desperate tears, I start cackling and snorting with laughter. Catching Beck’s confused expression, I try to wipe the smile off my face, but it’s impossible. I’m about to go into hysterics.
“You really want this, Beck?”
Suddenly unsure of himself, my opponent takes an uneasy step back. It’s not just my laughter that’s unnerving. An absurd grin is spreading across my face. I move towards him and he steps back again.
“Come on, let’s go!” I bring my fists up, inviting him forward with a wave of my hand. Still smiling, eyes glittering with amusement, I relax into the Cop fighting stance. “I’m ready when you are. Make the first move.”
Beck tentatively hops into hitting radius. His left jab flashes through the air. For a moment, it all seems like slow motion as I duck underneath and ram my knuckles into his throat. Shocked, Beck bends over and starts coughing. Taking my opportunity, I grab his head and smash my knee into his nose twice. Blood gushes to the floor as Beck stumbles backward.
“Fucking bitch!”
The sight of the blood forces me back to reality. My knuckles throb from the punch to his throat. Circling each other in the small space, the crowd screaming and jeering at us to kill each other, we recognize that we are fighting to the death. I don’t want to live if I lose, and I’m not letting him walk away if I win. There’s no rule that says we have to kill each other, it’s just what’s going to happen…whether or not that was Beck’s original intention. He probably only wanted to humiliate me. He should have learned a long time ago to leave me the fuck alone.
Beck is having difficulty breathing because of the strike to his throat. The blood from his broken nose is making matters worse. He may have taken my hits, but he’s suffering. He continues to jab but I dodge easily. The object of my fighting style is to never get hit or grabbed. I can’t take the battering that Beck has already survived. I have to be quick enough to get away from him and sneak in my attacks while he’s still recovering. Optimally, I should keep him off balance to create more opportunities for myself, but he’s improved and now he’s fighting for his life. He won’t be making many more mistakes.
One hit pops me a little on the nose, but I manage to back out of the strike before it can do any real damage. Sinking down to strengthen my stance, I wait for him to attack. I want him to come at me with everything he has.
“You must have a lot of fun having a woman kick your ass,” I mock. A look of intense humiliation invades his focused gaze. “I already have your balls. What do I get when I beat you down this time?”
Growling, Beck takes an uncontrolled swipe at me. I evade it easily. I dance around the floor while dodging his blows. Risking a glance over my shoulder, I take note of what’s behind me.
“Come on, shouldn’t you at least have hit me once by now? People are waiting for you to do something.”
His intense roar of fury makes my hair stand on end, but I welcome his crazed battle charge. Reaching out with his hands, he tries to take me down. I step nimbly to the side. A guy with an eye patch gets clipped as Beck careens past him. They both go flying. The bystander spins around and falls to the floor; Beck’s head smashes into the solidly built bar, leaving a deep impression in the scuffed wood. The impact is too much for his cranium. He goes down hard.
All muscles ready for action, smiling wickedly and wanting more, I wait for my opponent to stand up. His body is still moving; his hands are grasping for something to help him. Groaning, he shakes his head, grabs onto a bar stool and somehow pulls himself to his feet. He can’t quite focus and he’s reeling from the impact, but he’s standing. The fight’s not over until one of us doesn’t get up.
The bar has suddenly gone quiet. Everyone is watching Beck stagger towards me. Ablaze with excitement, I settle back into my fighting stan
ce and wait for him to get close enough for the last hit. One shaky step into my strike zone and my boot crashes into his face. Blood spatters across the crowd as he falls to the floor.
Straddling his prostrate form, I put my hands around his head. He’s lying unconscious on his stomach, unaware that he’s taking his last breath. All it takes is one quick jerk; the small pops in his neck satisfy a base and desperate craving.
It’s like taking a breath after being underwater for too long.
I cradle his head for a moment, savouring the juice that comes from taking somebody’s life. I was never this vampiric before the Prison. It’s something new…something wholly unsettling.
Beck is dead. The crowd roars.
I can barely hear their shouts of excitement. People I don’t know are clapping me on the shoulders, yelling their congratulations as I study my victim’s motionless body. One of the bartenders grabs Beck by the feet. His worthless corpse is dragged into the back of the bar. By tomorrow afternoon, he’ll be drying out somewhere in the Desert.
I’m still laughing. I don’t know how I won but I’m happy that I did. Even with Madman’s powerful grip slowly squeezing me, I’m happy to be alive. That’s good to know. Yesterday, I wouldn’t have been so sure.
Hyde and Lily don’t say a word when I walk up to them. Taking Hyde’s drink from his hands, I toss back the sugary liquid, and brush the back of my hand over my mouth. The adrenaline rushing through my veins is staggering. Bubbling with glee, I place the cup on the bar and stare at my hands. For now, all my fear is gone. The sweet ecstasy of gaining victory over impossible odds has me enthralled.
“You just made me an extra two thousand credits,” Hyde says. He leisurely brushes a spot of dust from his suit.
Lily’s eyes are as wide as saucers. Awestruck, she studies my exhilaration. She’s never seen me fight before and I can tell I’ve frightened her.
“A Legend,” she breathes. “The Whisperers will be telling stories about you.”
“Whisperers,” I echo. I slam my hand down on the bar with excitement. “That’s where we’re going tonight. We’re going to see a Whisperer. Do you guys know where any are performing?”
Hyde nods distractedly: he’s picking a hair off one of his lapels. “Marietta is in her haunt. If we hurry we might catch the show.”
“Perfect.”
I smile at Lily and she nods her agreement. The three of us make our way through the crowd. Opening the front door, I usher my companions into the night before taking one last look at the noisy bar. Another fight has broken out somewhere at the back. My victory is a distant memory.
Somewhere in the mass of people, I see icy blue eyes staring out at me.
Locket.
I don’t hold his gaze this time. He’s reminded me that I only have three days to enjoy this feeling of resurrection.
8
Every Cop dreams of arresting a Whisperer: they’re worth a fortune in the Prison. They aren’t aggressive or violent; they don’t incite riots or abuse the system. In fact, they live in every sector and have no Criminal background. Why is it so lucrative to haul one in? Despite their passive ways they violate the first universal law of the City—only appointed lecturers are free to tell stories about the past.
Sectors create their own laws. They have to obtain the Court’s approval, but more often than not they’re left to find their own balance for their citizens. The universal laws are the ones that no sector can overrule. The law criminalizing Whisperers is considered the most important.
What’s so scary about history that only certain people can teach it? I don’t know. History is boring: the City born from the ashes of a ruined world, humankind working together for survival, blah blah blah. From what I’ve seen, Whisperers are harmless; mainly, they embellish stories about dead people who were somewhat interesting in their day.
Marietta is probably the most harmless of all. She’s a fiery old woman with wavy grey hair and twinkling, mischievous eyes. But tonight, gaining access to what Hyde calls her haunt is a painstaking affair. She performs in B Sector, so we don’t have far to go, but it doesn’t have any community light. We have to pick our way through the dark streets using our mediocre flashlights. Once we get there, a stocky fellow informs us that the Whisperer hasn’t invited us. Like all good doormen he is completely deaf to Lily’s pleas.
“She knows us, Klem. You know us! We’re not people walking off the street, we’re almost family.” Klem, an impressively muscled man, can’t help but smile at Lily’s desperation. Her hands are flying dramatically in all directions as she makes her case. “I’ve been coming here ever since I was a little girl, and this is Daryl! You know that Marietta would want to see her.”
“She didn’t give me your names, sweetheart.” Klem acknowledges my presence with a quick look in my direction. “Good to see you again, Daryl.”
I nod back respectfully. The adrenaline from my victory is beginning to wear off. I’m not so sure of myself anymore, and Klem is an intimidating guy.
When I went into the Prison he didn’t quite have the testosterone to grow a full beard. Now he’s a full-blown giant. Despite his intimidating shoulder width, however, I can still see the characteristic gentleness in his eyes. This doorman is still the orphan boy living on the streets who gives his hard earned food to the people who can’t fend for themselves.
Shrugging apologetically at the three of us, he continues to bar our way. Our destination, a horribly scarred and dented steel door, is beckoning at us from the alleyway. Klem decides the conversation is over and stops acknowledging our presence.
Lily stomps her foot and groans in exasperation. Tossing her hands in the air, she paces aimlessly for a few minutes. Then her eyes suddenly brighten with a plan. She returns to Klem’s side and fixes him with a haughty stare.
“Do you like Lenny’s food, Klem?” Her words hit home and the doorman throws her a suspicious look. “You know, there are lots of people he won’t serve these days. It’s too bad, too, since you can smell his food half way across this sector. Not to mention, he knows all the other cooks. Credits don’t mean much to him where family is concerned. You’re one of our best customers, but when he finds out that you got in my way you won’t be able to step foot in any restaurant, least of all ours.”
I can see tears in Klem’s eyes.
“Just imagine all those pancakes and pies, the rich cheesecake, grilled steaks and fresh vegetables. You’ll never taste them again. You’ll walk by hoping for just a glimpse, a whiff of his freshly brewed coffee, but Lenny has cut you from his clientele. He’ll never let you back in.”
With every mention of the succulent dishes Klem’s eyes cloud over. His lips smack absent-mindedly as though he can taste every dish, every mouth-watering morsel. Remembering Lenny’s food isn’t strengthening his resolve. Losing his job might very well be worth a serving of mashed potatoes and gravy.
Watching Klem wrestle inwardly with her threat, I sympathize with his predicament. After his family died he hardly ever had enough to eat. Being an orphan is illegal in the City; it’s a harsh universal law. I can tell you for a fact that Cops don’t take them to the Prison. I don’t know where they go. There are specialized Cops in A Sector who pay well to have orphans delivered to them. And then…who knows? My point is that Klem couldn’t register his name for his ration of nutrient bars.
Lily isn’t willing to wait for Klem’s answer. She gives him five seconds and turns on her heels.
“Fine then,” she calls blithely over her shoulder. “It’s not like Lenny’s freshly baked bread is all that delicious.”
Klem’s will snaps like a dry twig. “You can’t let her see you.”
Did I mention that Lenny and Lily are unofficially the most influential people in B Sector? Never underestimate the power of a delicious meal. This is the first time I’ve seen Lily use access to her restaurant as a bartering tool, and I’m impressed.
“Pulled out the big threat,” Hyde remarks to Lily, holding t
he door open for us to pass through.
“He pissed me off,” Lily growls. Stalking into a dark hallway she heads for Marietta’s haunt.
“Any bite to that bark?” I ask, thoroughly amused.
“Only if she doesn’t get her way.”
Marietta’s haunt is a windowless, dimly lit room decorated with mismatched chairs. The people have already taken their seats and they all have their backs to us. Normally there’s only standing room for one of Marietta’s performances. The chairs confirm that this night was invite only.
Our entrance goes unnoticed as the people talk politely to one another from their seats. Motioning to a corner, furthest from any curious eyes, Hyde leads Lily and me into the darkest shadows. From a somber perch on a small wooden shelf in a corner, the Whisperer’s favourite seat presides over the haunt’s cramped interior. A tall, ancient lamp, sitting forlornly next to the chair, is the only source of light.
“I hope she tells the Legend of Kyle and Rosa,” Lily whispers. Leave it to her to want a love story. She grips my sleeve as she nearly bursts with anticipation. “I always want to faint when Rosa gives up her life in K Sector to join Kyle in Q. But then her father finds them and threatens to have the Cops throw Kyle into the Prison, forcing Rosa to go back home.
“Kyle can’t stand not having her in his life, so he pays a crew of Criminals every credit that he has to find her, but she won’t go because she’s afraid of what her father will do.” A dreamy expression spreads across her face as she puts her head on Hyde’s shoulder. “But the crew convinces her to go back and all the citizens of Q Sector help hide them from the Cops!”
“You might let Marietta tell the Legend,” Hyde teases, but Lily is lost in her own world.
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