by Beth Goobie
“Yeah yeah,” said Skey.
Hanging up the phone, she looked around. The unit was still mostly empty, with just a few articles of furniture. Plaster glowed oddly where the walls had been patched. Suddenly it came to her, how impenetrable the lockup had seemed these past five months. Thick walls. Locked doors. Wired-over windows. Approved phone lists. Now she knew it took one kick and the walls crumbled. With one phone call, Jigger’s voice had kicked its way in, and there was no plastering over that hole. For months she had imagined opening the side entrance door to outside, it was night, Jigger was standing in the snow waiting, she pulled him in through the shadows to her room where they made love, night staff missing every endless touch, every whimpering cry. But this afternoon had ended that dream. There was no going back to it now.
The boy was alone, somewhere in the tunnel of light. Getting up from her chair, Skey returned to her bed and rose into the white terror of her mind.
IT WAS 9:25, CLOSE to lights out. Skey had come out of the tunnel of light to take a break and was sitting, both arms resting on her knees while she stared at the scars. Twisted and jagged, they were like hieroglyphs, an indecipherable language. Meaningless, but they meant her. Why had she done it? She couldn’t remember making the actual decision
They had been at Jigger’s cabin on the May long weekend. Jigger had permission to be there with his guy friends—Trevor, Balfour and Pedro. His parents didn’t know the girls had also come along. The girls’ parents thought they were at each other’s homes. It had been easy to fool them. Parents wanted to be fooled.
“Jigger’s such a nice boy,” her mother was always chanting, like a refrain.
That night the gang had been heavy into various chemicals, a variety of altered states. Music had been pounding in the living room, but it had seemed distant, as if coming from another time and place. She could remember walking down a hall and into the kitchen. She had been naked, but she didn’t know why. Pausing for a moment, she had stood scanning the empty room, then walked to a nearby counter, picked up a half-empty bottle of gin and smashed it on the side of the sink. Without pausing, she had lifted the bottle’s jagged edge and dug it into her left forearm.
As the memory faded, Skey continued to sit and stare at her arms. A heavy ringing filled her ears and her brain felt sluggish, as if she had gone deep into herself, so deep she could barely breathe. She could remember doing the act—slashing her arms with the bottle—but not the reason why.
Tap tap. On the other side of the wall, Ann was beginning their nightly conversation. Tap. Tap tap tap. All of a sudden, white rage surged through Skey. Swinging around, she pounded her fist against the wall. From the next room came a muffled gasp and the squeak of bedsprings as Ann sprang back.
Almost immediately, there was a knock on the door. “Skey?” called Terry.
Huddled on the bed, Skey was shaking. “Yeah yeah,” she mumbled.
The door opened and Terry’s eyes zeroed in. “You all right?” she asked, slightly breathless.
“Yeah,” said Skey. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes.
“What was the bang?” asked Terry.
Skey shrugged. “Sorry,” she said. “There’s no hole. I didn’t leave a hole.”
“You punched your wall?” asked Terry.
“Just once,” said Skey.
“So what’s bugging you?” asked Terry.
I can’t remember. She almost said it, then caught herself. “The guy on the bus,” she shrugged.
“You want a go at the punching bag?” asked Terry.
“No,” said Skey. “I’ll be fine.”
Terry hesitated, then asked, “What color are you feeling?”
A hiss passed through Skey and she said, “White.”
Terry’s eyes widened.
“I’m going to sleep now,” said Skey and crawled between the sheets.
“All right,” said Terry. “But keep it down in here. If I hear any more, we’ll have to move you to the Back Room.”
“Yeah yeah,” muttered Skey.
SHE CLOSED HER EYES and her brain lit up: white ceiling, white walls, white floor—hissing, screaming white. Somewhere in this labyrinth, she could hear the boy giving off restless moans, then a long string of swear words. He didn’t seem to be moving and she thought she could feel him curled into a ball, trying to shut out the light.
But he couldn’t shut it out, just as she couldn’t—this light was coming from inside their minds. Shuffling forward, she gripped the rock in one hand while she felt her way along the carvings with the other. In this wall, they all seemed to move like water or blood, flowing toward him.
SKEY STEPPED HESITANTLY into the cold outside air, not listening as the door closed behind her. Overnight it had snowed, and she left tracks as she crossed the parking lot, weaving between parked cars and nodding to teachers and administration staff who were coming in for the day.
“Yeah yeah,” she said, brushing off their greetings. It was three blocks from the gate to the bus stop. Two blocks until she would see him tapping the steering wheel. A block and a half until she would have to say good morning and smile.
“Skey,” called a voice.
She turned to see Jigger’s car parked on a side street, Jigger standing beside it, holding the passenger door open. He had parked in a different spot this morning, closer— hiding and waiting, hunting prey. “C’mon,” he called, “over here,” but she stood frozen, staring at the boy and the car, both of them picture perfect in the morning sun.
Jigger’s such a nice boy, her mother’s voice said in her head.
Shoes crunched the snow-covered sidewalk behind her, and she whirled to see Balfour coming up on her right. At the same moment, Trevor stepped out from a tree and Pedro appeared from behind another parked car. Counting heartbeats, Skey took a single step toward Jigger, then another.
“What d’you think?” she asked carefully. “I need an armed guard?”
Jigger’s face was just as careful. “Today the Dragons decided to pick you up,” he said.
“I live in a lockup,” said Skey. “I thought you guys were supposed to be a break.”
Without a word, Balfour’s hand pressed itself against the small of her back.
“Everybody in,” said Jigger.
Trevor and Pedro slid into the back seat, Balfour followed her into the front and pressed in on her right. Then Jigger came in for a kiss on her left, bringing the usual scent of tobacco and aftershave, the usual soft lips.
“G’morning,” he grinned.
IN HOMEROOM, the pornographer sketched listlessly. All over the classroom, eyes kept flicking toward Lick’s empty desk and away again. Already, everyone knew.
The expected announcement came over the PA. “Yesterday afternoon,” said Mr. Leonardo, the principal, “there was a vicious attack on one of our students, Elwin Serkowski, who is now listed in stable condition at the South Side Hospital. Anyone who knows anything at all about this attack is asked to come forward with information.”
From across the aisle, the pornographer glanced at Skey.
“What are you looking at?” she snapped.
Without speaking, he held up a full-page sketch of Skey and Lick at their desks, clothes on, nothing obscene. A picture of two friends talking.
Skey’s eyes filled with tears. “Can I have it?” she whispered.
He shook his head.
“You’re really good,” she said.
“Maybe,” he said.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Amid,” he said.
“Hello, Amid,” said Skey.
BALFOUR WAS WAITING outside her History class, just before lunch. “C’mon,” he said. “Forget the jacket, we’re heading out.”
“Bals,” she protested, “it’s cold.”
Pulling off his sweatshirt, he handed it to her. “Wear this,” he grinned.
“No thanks,” she said grimly.
Everyone else had already piled into Jigger’s car
. It was a full load—Rosie, Balfour, San, Trevor and Gillian in the back, Pedro, Skey and Jigger up front. Before they headed off for lunch, Jigger stopped to do ten minutes of business at a street corner three blocks from school. Then they ate take-out from an A&W, listening to tunes as Jigger fed Skey what she was allowed to take in. From the backseat came the usual banter, Trevor sticking his fries under the neck of San’s sweater and nibbling, Balfour with one of his hands constantly under Rosie’s shirt. Rosie cooed, the guys called out comments to passersby, and San and Gillian giggled. Once upon a time, in a life long ago, Skey remembered laughing with the others. How long ago had that been? Yesterday? Last week? Before, or after, the scars?
“Friday, we rule,” roared Balfour, throwing back his head. “Oh, I’ve been dreaming about that place, all those girls in their skimpy lingerie, asleep in their beds.”
“Can it, Bals,” Jigger said sharply.
Skey felt it then—the moment everyone sucked in their breath and held it. Glancing into the backseat, she caught San’s eyes sliding off her own, and Trevor looking quickly away—as if she had caught them watching to see if she understood.
“Open the cage and free the little birdies,” Balfour sang softly, eyeing her.
The hair rose on the back of her neck, but Skey tried to make it casual. “What d’you guys want to do in there?” she asked. “Murder us all in our beds?”
“Pleasure,” muttered Balfour. Rosie rolled her eyes and giggled.
Gently Jigger pulled her around to face him. “Night Games,” he said, stroking her neck. “You know us, come and go. No one’ll know we’ve been there except you.”
“So this isn’t going to turn into one of Balfour’s fantasies?” Skey asked slowly.
Jigger laughed shortly. “We want to see where you live,” he said, “not get thrown in the slammer. You think we want to do time in a lockup?”
On the radio, a song ended and the twelve thirty news came on. “Elwin Serkowski,” said the announcer, “the young man who survived a gang beating yesterday afternoon has regained consciousness, but he’s not talking. Apparently, he isn’t saying a word. Police are asking anyone with information...”
Leaning forward, Jigger turned off the radio, then pulled Skey back in against himself. “You’re not gonna tell on us, are you, baby?” he whispered. “You’re my baby doll, aren’t you, Skey? You just wanna be loved by me, I know you do, baby. Just wait ’til after school, ’til I dump these Dragons and we can be alone.”
Jigger’s arms wrapped tighter, his voice a heavy weight in her ear. She had to find the boy, the boy was the only one who understood. A flicker of intense light pulsed across the top of Skey’s brain. She moved into it, the tunnel of light opened around her, and she was in.
HE WAS DIRECTLY in front of her, muttering the usual string of swear words. Not wanting to startle him, she waited. Everything here was already so full of fear.
“Do you remember me?” she finally asked.
Immediately the swearing broke off. “Who are you?” asked the boy.
“I’m the girl from the tunnel,” she said.
“What tunnel?” said the boy.
“The tunnel of dark where we usually meet,” she said. “This is a different tunnel. You came here once before, to save me. You touched my hand.”
“Huh?” demanded the boy.
His voice was slightly different—lower—but it was him. Had he somehow forgotten the tunnel of dark? Maybe the beating had damaged his brain so he couldn’t remember.
“I don’t know how I fucking got here, or who the hell you are,” said the boy. “It’s too bright to see anything in here. I remember guys from my school dragging me somewhere. I think they were going to beat me up. Then it got dark, and then I was here. The light’s everywhere, and it’s making a high-pitched sound. It’s driving me nuts.”
She leaned forward, her breath tight. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Elwin,” said the boy. “Most people call me Lick.”
She almost lost it then, the white whine sharpening to a drill in her head.
“Who are you?” asked Lick.
“Names are secrets,” she whispered.
“Thanks a lot,” he said.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” she said. “I’ve just got to figure out how. D’you remember who those guys were?”
“Yeah,” he said softly.
“D’you remember why they beat you up?” she asked.
There was a pause, and then Lick said, “Yeah, I remember.”
She did lose it then. Without warning, the tunnel of light slipped out of her grasp, and she opened her eyes to find Jigger’s hands cupping her face, his blue eyes staring into hers.
“What’s the matter with you today?” he asked, giving her head a small shake. “You’re some kind of zombie.”
Skey blinked. Jigger, she thought frantically. She was with Jigger now. And when she was with Jigger, it was important to keep him happy, so he wouldn’t suspect the other places she went to in order to do her true living, that slow steady groping toward some kind of truth.
“Jig,” she whispered, pulling him in and kissing him softly, as softly as love could be imagined. “Jig, I love you, make me love you, make me yours, you know I want to be yours the whole night through.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WHEN SKEY TOLD Ms. Fleck that her part of Group D’s data was stored on Lick’s mother’s laptop, the teacher agreed to delay their presentation for a week. She then sent the class to the library to work on their assignment. Grabbing a thick important book, Skey ditched the rest of the group and headed to a back corner, where she sat down and placed the open book on her lap. Then she curved her hand over the rock in her pocket and whispered, “How do I bring Lick back to the dark tunnel?”
But the rock didn’t seem interested in giving straight answers. Instead, a sharp crinkle of electricity shot across the top of her brain, and she was surrounded by the tunnel of light.
“Lick?” she said.
“That you again?” he asked. He sounded exhausted.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m trying to think of a way to get you back to the other tunnel.”
“What are these tunnels?” he demanded querulously. “Some kind of experiment by the city’s engineering department?”
“Try some kind of experiment with the human mind,” she said.
“You mean we’re inside our heads?” asked Lick.
“Something like that,” she said. “We thought our way here.”
“So whoever you are,” said Lick, “you’re as crazy as me.”
“Almost,” she said. “I hate this tunnel. It’s like frying your brain circuitry.”
“Tell me about it,” he muttered.
“There’s another tunnel,” she said. “A dark one. Let’s try thinking our way there.”
Reaching into her pocket, she took out the rock and held it out in front of herself, moving it back and forth until she felt it bump into something.
“That you?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said.
“Okay,” she said. Touch this rock. I’ve got hold of it too. I think it can help us get there.”
“Get where?” he muttered, but she felt his fingers graze against hers, then pull back to his side of the rock.
“Good,” she said. “Now, just listen.” Taking a deep breath, she began. “Think of the dark,” she said slowly, “where no one can see you. No one can see what you look like, how you hold yourself, the way you think on your face. Think of the dark, where you see with your feelings and your fingertips, where your mind slows down so it belongs to you, and you can leave the pain behind. Think of the dark, where you can’t see what happened to you, and so you can forget it. And when you have to go back to your regular life, you won’t remember what they did to you, you can still be friends, you don’t have to think about it at all. Think of the dark...”
It was happening, she realized, glancing around herself
. The light was dimming, the air growing quieter.
“...where there are no expectations,” she continued. “No one knows you, you can be alone, just a bit of life like a worm crawling along the ground, feeling your way along. There aren’t even names; you are no one. The darkness is the place to be nothing, where nothing has ever happened to you and nothing ever will.”
The last hint of light disappeared, leaving them standing in the dark tunnel, the air about them cool and damp, empty of vicious vibes. Leaning against the wall, Skey felt a trickle of water run down her back. She took deep shuddering breaths, breathing the dark, listening to Lick breathe himself quiet beside her. Gently she pulled the rock out of his fingers and pocketed it.
“This is better,” he said. “Is it another one of those mind experiments?”
“Like a dream,” she said. “It’s like we met in the same dream.”
“I could think of better dreams to meet in,” muttered Lick.
“I like this dream,” she said.
“This is the place you come to forget,” said Lick.
An odd fear blew through her. “No,” she said quickly. “No, I don’t.”
“That’s what you said while you were bringing us here,” said Lick. “It’s the place to forget.”
“No,” she said again, cutting him off quickly. “I haven’t forgotten anything. You forgot something, and I found you here.”
“I’ve never been here before,” said Lick, his voice stunned.
“Yes, you were,” she said, “but you wouldn’t tell me your name. You couldn’t remember anything then—your family, or your school, or even the city you lived in.”
Lick hesitated, then spoke very carefully, as if she had completely lost it. “If I was here before,” he said, “why can’t I remember it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You told me you came here in a dream, and then you forgot where you came from. That’s how I’m different from you—I remember the other side of my life, where my body lives.”
“Where your body lives?” demanded Lick.
“This is a mind place,” she said. “A place our minds live.”
