Sing Me Your Scars (Apex Voices Book 3)

by Damien Angelica Walters

  “Raimondas? No, he wouldn’t do something like that. He wouldn’t. He is a good man.”

  “He is a scared man, like all of us, and scared men do foolish things sometimes.” She touched his arm. “You must be careful.”

  Andrius raked his fingers through his hair. “I am careful”

  She took his hands and gave them a small shake. “No, you need to be careful. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  A sick feeling twisted inside his belly. “If something should happen to me, will you…” He cleared his throat. “Will you care for Laurita?”

  She nodded slowly. “I will do what I can.”

  After she left, he stood in the doorway to Laurita’s bedroom and watched her sleep. Her breath was too shallow, the movement of her chest, too slight. Tears ran down his cheeks.

  Daina must be mistaken. Raimondas would not turn anyone in. Maybe it was just coincidence. Gedrius’s wife had been a pretty woman. The soldiers liked pretty women. He shuddered.

  He should have made Saulė stay home. She had been beautiful.

  §

  Once, the small apartment had smelled of flowers, of Saulė’s perfume. Of hope. Now, only the scent of illness hung in the air. Andrius opened his hand, and wisps of pale pink floated up. The smell of freshly-cut roses danced in the air, but it was only a poor imitation. He closed his fist tight, and the scent vanished as if it had never been there at all.

  Through a gap in the curtains, he saw a group of soldiers sauntering down the street, their boots trailing mud on the cobblestones. A small boy darted out of another apartment building. One of the soldiers grabbed his arm, and the rest laughed.

  Andrius raised his fist to bang on the glass, but pulled it back before it struck. He turned away. The boy’s high-pitched cries crept into the apartment. Andrius covered his ears and rocked back and forth. The boy was so small. So small. Andrius wanted to help, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. The cries went on and on.

  Eventually they stopped, and the soldiers marched on. Andrius dared another look, but the boy was nowhere to be seen.

  Laurita was fast asleep, even though the sun was only beginning to set. She’d refused to eat anything all day, claiming her stomach hurt. He kissed her forehead, went into his own bedroom, and pretended to sleep.

  §

  “Please, Laurita, you must eat.”

  “But I’m not hungry now. Can I eat later? Please?”

  He nodded. “Okay. Later.”

  She coughed softly. Once. Twice. The cough became loud and liquid and thick. He sat her up and held a cloth to her mouth while he rubbed her back. Her body shook with the force of each cough.

  Finally, it subsided enough for a spoonful of medicine. She grimaced, but swallowed it without complaint. He held her close, listening to the air rattle in her lungs. Smelled the coppery tinge of her breath.

  I am sorry, Saulė, I did the best I could.

  It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

  “Papa, will I be well soon?”

  “Yes, very soon.”

  “Good. I am tired of being sick. I want to pick flowers.”

  She coughed again, weakly. Her skin was cool and clammy. He pressed a finger to her wrist; her pulse raced beneath, thready and inconsistent. Tears blurred his vision. He blinked them away and shoved his sorrow deep inside.

  “Papa?”

  “Yes?”

  “I wish the soldiers would let Mama come back for a little while so I could tell her I love her.”

  His tears returned. This time, he turned his head and wiped his eyes dry.

  “She knows you love her. I promise.”

  “But I want to tell her. It’s not fair.”

  “No, it isn’t fair. I wish they would let her come home, too.” He sighed and looked down at his hands. None of it was fair. “But they told me I could magic you a story.”

  “They did?”

  “Yes, just this one time, it was okay.”

  She struggled up to a sitting position. He rearranged the pillow behind her. His hands shook, but he touched her cheek. He had failed in so many ways. As a husband. As a father. As a man. He could give his daughter this much. It would not make up for what he didn’t do, nothing could do that, but it was the only gift he knew how to give.

  No matter the risk to himself.

  “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful mermaid goddess who lived under the sea in a palace made of amber.”

  He lifted his hand and swept it through the air. The walls of the bedroom glistened and turned sapphire blue in color. Ripples moved in lazy lines up and down. At the edges, where ceiling met wall and wall met floor, white foam gathered. The distant cry of seabirds drifted in the air. The room filled with the scent of the sea.

  A tiny shimmering light began to glow. It grew larger and larger, revealing a palace with gilded spires.

  “It’s beautiful,” Laurita whispered.

  Multicolored fish swam in and out of the palace’s many windows. Then Jūratė swam out of the front entrance, her dark hair flowing in the water. Her tail was covered with purple-blue scales, her fins tipped with gold. Laurita’s eyes widened.

  Andrius waved his hand again. The air around them changed color. First aquamarine, then sapphire, rippling around them in slow, gentle waves, and through the water above their heads, a man’s face became visible. A young, handsome man holding a fishing rod in one hand and a fish in the other.

  Jūratė swam closer to the surface. Kastytis leaned forward; his mouth formed a circle, and he fell into the water with a splash. Droplets landed on Laurita’s brow. Andrius wiped them away.

  Jūratė pulled Kastytis into her arms, and they spun around in the water. Tiny pink and yellow fish circled them, moving fast enough to create the illusion of ribbons.

  Laurita smiled. “They are so happy.”

  Then a man with stormy eyes looked down through the water, his mouth set into a frown. In his hand, he held a bolt of lightning. He raised his arm.

  “Papa, don’t let him destroy the castle. Please!”

  “But that’s how the story goes.”

  “No, you can change the story, can’t you?”

  Andrius sucked in a breath. He gave his tears to the sea and tried to find a smile, but inside, his heart clenched tight. He nodded.

  No matter the risk.

  The magic stretched within him, filling his limbs with strength. He pushed it out, farther than he’d allowed in years. It made Laurita’s skin shine, stripping the pallor of grey. She laughed, high and crystal clear.

  The water rippled again. Perkūnas’s frown disappeared into a smile. The amber palace gleamed. A fish swam close, its scales a brilliant crimson, and Laurita reached out to touch its fin. It swam back around and let her touch it again. Jūratė let go of Kastytis and swam over to the bed, offered Laurita a smile and her hand.

  “Papa, is it okay?”

  “Yes, I think it is.”

  The magic grew and grew. Jūratė took Andrius’s hand as well and tugged them down into the water, toward the castle.

  “Can we go in?” Laurita whispered.

  Jūratė nodded. She swam between them as they walked up the amber steps into a room with an arched ceiling. The floor was a circular mosaic of amber in varying shades. The walls, thin sheets of amber the color of honey fresh from the comb.

  “Papa, it’s the most beautiful thing ever.”

  Footsteps thumped in the hall, and his heartbeat quickened.

  Not yet. Please, not yet.

  “I love you, my princess.”

  Voices rose in anger. Andrius looked over his shoulder. Through the magic, he could just make out the bedroom door.

  “Papa?”

  “Everything is okay,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady.

  “Is it the soldiers?”

  “Yes.”

  “But they said you could magic me a story, and it’s not finished yet.”

  “I
guess they changed their minds. I think they need me to go work with them for a little while.”

  Jūratė let go of Andrius’s hand, but kept Laurita’s.

  Andrius bent down in front of Laurita and brushed her hair back from her face. “But while I go and work with the soldiers, how would you like to stay here?”

  “Could I?”

  He looked up at Jūratė. She nodded.

  “See?”

  “You won’t be gone a long time like Mama, will you?”

  Jūratė leaned close, her voice soft and whispery like sea foam. “I will keep her safe.”

  A fist banged on the door. He wrapped his arms around Laurita and kissed her cheeks.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she said, her eyes filled with tears.

  “I have to, my sweet girl, I have to, but I will see you soon. I promise.”

  “I love you, Papa.”

  “And I love you.”

  With a knot in his chest, Andrius bowed his head. The smell of the sea vanished. The sound of the waves receded. And Laurita was gone. The pillow still held the shape of her head; the sheets, her body, but atop the blanket was a single piece of amber in the shape of a tear.

  His last, and best, illusion.

  He scooped it up and held it to his chest, rocking back and forth. Tears spilled down his cheeks. He held the tiny piece of magic tight and did not let go, not even when the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple.

  Glass Boxes and

  Clockwork Gods

  When the one in red gives up and screams, no one makes a sound. We turn our faces away or rest our foreheads against the glass and wait. It won’t take long. Big is quick with the remaking. In between the screams, sharp snaps punctuate the air with exclamation points of splintered bone and leaking marrow.

  We all try not to scream.

  We all fail in the end.

  The walls of our room gleam pale blue speckled with dark spots of dried gore. Little Big is messy. We hang, encased in wood frames with glass fronts and hinged backs, from metal posts embedded in the plaster. Pretty boxes arranged in rows like dolls on a display shelf.

  I remember dolls and a small hand in mine.

  Big finishes his task and puts the red one back in her box. Swollen lumps of purpled flesh live where her knees used to be, but there is no blood. Big is careful. He hangs her back on the wall and stops, all moonfaced and sweating, in front of my box. The gears on his forehead turn and turn. My heart speeds up four beats in the space of one. His fat mouth opens, revealing crooked tombstone teeth. “Almost perfect,” he says, tapping the glass twice before he walks away. My heart stays fast and busy; I know it won’t be long before he takes me back out again.

  I’ve been here long enough to forget most of the things I tried so hard to keep. Names. Places. The remaking has taken most of my memories just as sure as it shaped my form into something else. My arms bend in four places now, my legs fold with knees back, my waist is spindle-thin, and my head is too heavy to hold upright. I can’t see the changes on the inside, but I hear little clicks and ticks.

  Big gathers his tools, wipes down the stained wooden table, and turns out the light before he steps through the doorway, leaving us in shadows and grey. His footsteps thud heavy on the floor, then they fade away to nothing. I don’t know what lies beyond the door, beyond this blue room. I think I did know, when my legs bent in the old way, but now I’ve forgotten.

  I crawl into the corner of my box. The sound of muffled weeping from the metal cages hanging on the opposite wall fills the darkness. Those inside the cages used to yell and curse and bang on the bars of their cages, but Little Big took away their mouths, and now they sit, silent mounds of broken flesh, always weeping behind their flat not-mouths. Because they belong to Little Big, they will never have the chance to be perfect.

  I want to be perfect. When I am perfect, I will be allowed to leave.

  §

  Big remakes the red one’s arms next. He puts her back but doesn’t take me out. Instead, he fashions three new boxes, tapping the glass into place with a rubber mallet. Then he hangs them, still empty, on the wall and leaves.

  I wonder if they will come from the places I’ve forgotten or someplace else. Someplace I never knew.

  §

  Even though there are three empty boxes, Big only brings in two new ones, both dressed in black. One is female, like me; the other, male. They sit in their boxes and whisper words over and over again. The man has a white collar on his neck. I remember we wore collars once, but they had chains attached to them. I don’t remember where the chains went.

  On the second night, they try to talk to the rest of us. They say, “The old god is dead, killed by the new gods.” We cover our ears with our hands to hide the sound, but they are relentless.

  Big takes out their tongues first.

  §

  After he remakes the red one’s legs, Big takes me out of my box and puts me on the table. He runs his fingers along the crosshatch of scars on my pale skin. My hands shake, but he pulls out a shiny box instead of the sharp tools and opens the lid. I remember this box.

  “Yes, my pretty one,” he says, his voice stretching out to every corner of the room. “You are strong enough now for these.”

  One by one, he places eight silver rings around my neck, stands me up, and takes away his hands. All the weight inside my skull has turned to air. His ugly teeth open up; laughter spills out.

  He hangs me back on the wall. I stand, moving my head from side to side, and inside my neck, the cogs and gears whir a soft, metallic song.

  The third box is still empty.

  §

  Little Big comes in, and I close my eyes. I don’t like his long, narrow face and the skin on his chest pinned back to reveal the metalwork within. A cage door screeches open. I made the mistake of watching his remaking once. The sounds are bad enough—slippery, wet, and scraping. Whenever he finishes, new spots cover the blue wall.

  Little Big isn’t allowed to touch me, and for this, I am grateful.

  §

  The last perfect one was here a long time ago. He wore black rings on his neck, not silver. Big removed the skin on his torso (He didn’t scream. He clamped a hand over his mouth and moaned against his palm. I hope I am strong enough to do the same.) and covered the shiny gears with a clear panel.

  After he healed, Big carried him out of the blue room forever.

  §

  The third box is no longer empty. I smell the new one, all salt-sweat-angry. In the dark, he whispers, “Hello?”

  No one answers.

  §

  Big lets Little Big watch when he removes the skin from my back. I try to hold in the scream, but I can’t. Little Big’s eyes light up, and he claps his hands.

  “Do you see what I’ve done?” Big says.

  “Many improvements, many indeed,” Little Big says, in a thick, raspy voice. “The old design was piss-poor at best.”

  The new one watches from his box; his eyes are blue, like the wall. Big holds up the panel for my back, shaped thin at the waist with a tiny hole in the center. I think my insides will leak out, but after Big puts in the panel, he attaches a tiny silver key.

  It frightens me more than hurt and blood, and I don’t know why.

  §

  The new one holds in his screams for a long time.

  §

  I am healed, but Big hasn’t taken me out of the room. He remakes the red one’s waist as tiny as mine and gives the collared man to Little Big. That night, when everyone is quiet, I reach back and touch the key. The perfect man didn’t have a key, and I don’t understand why I do.

  I turn the key to the left, but it won’t move, so I turn it to the right. It clicks once, and I bite my lip before a shout can escape. I keep still for a long time, hoping no one else heard the sound.

  I turn the key again. One tiny turn. One little click.

  The blue-eyed man speaks. “My name is William. What is yours?”

&
nbsp; I close my eyes.

  “Please. What is your name?”

  I have no name. I wait until the darkness swallows up his voice before I sleep.

  §

  The one in red dies.

  When Big finds her, his shouts and screams fill up the room, loud enough to send echoes through my head. He places her on the table and takes me out of my box. First he wraps a string around my waist, then he holds it around hers, nodding because we are exactly the same.

  He leaves me on the table next to her while he opens up her skin. Her icicle fingers brush against mine. On the inside, she is purple and grey and slippery and bits of broken metal. He lifts up each piece. Little Big comes in and laughs; the scratchy sound hurts more than Big’s screams. Big pushes him out of the room.

  Sharp metal presses against my side, my heart beats crazy-scary-heavy, and the pinch-sting comes. I cry out. Big smiles because I am pink and red and unbroken. He closes me back up with a new line of stitches, black against the white of my skin.

  §

  After my skin eats the stitches away, I turn my key again. A sound drifts into the air, a quick little chirp. I hold my breath and look through the gloom. No one moves, no one speaks. The sound lives in my head, not in the room. I turn the key, and a shape takes form in my thoughts, a small shadow moving across a blue not-wall. I know this shape, I remember it. Footsteps thump outside the door, and I close my eyes, my head heavy with chirps and moving shapes and tucked far behind, a sound I don’t want to remember.

  §

  Little Big leaves but forgets to turn out the lights. The collared man folds his hands together, and his tongueless mouth moves without sound. The blue-eyed man is awake, too, with his remade arms folded across his chest. The new pieces inside him click and spin.

  “His prayers won’t do any good. Not anymore,” he says.

  I don’t know what a prayer is.

  “They’re gone for the night,” he says. “It’s safe to talk.”

  I shake my head.

  “Can you talk?” he asks.