by Debra Dunbar
Her eyes lifted to meet his and Vincent’s stomach fell into his shoes.
She marched around the table, perhaps slower than was necessary. He wasn’t sure if choosing him second was a kindness or another form of torture. One thing he couldn’t do was resist. That was Vito’s admonition. He had to give himself over completely to Ithaca, or both he and Lefty would be killed. And the reality was, there wasn’t much he could do to resist anyway, chained to a table and devoid of his powers.
Betty’s cries fell into dull hisses of breath, and she watched as the other woman reached for Vincent’s left arm.
Vincent swallowed hard, set his jaw, then lifted his arm to the woman.
The woman paused for a second, a faint smile briefly curling the corners of her lips. Then took his arm by the sleeve and unbuttoned his cuff, rolling the fabric up to his elbow. As she slid the clapperboard over top of his skin he pulled in a quick breath. The steel was shockingly cold, as if it had been hanging outside in the bitter winter wind all night.
The woman tapped the top of the cylinder with her finger tips, easing it left and right. The random thought danced through his head that she must have possessed some particular knowledge of human anatomy to care so much where the steel struck.
Finally, she seemed satisfied, and the moment came.
A wicked chuckle filled the room, but it didn’t come from the woman wielding the implements of torture. It came from Betty.
Vincent turned to stare Betty full in the face. He held her gaze as the sledge rushed through midair, followed by the clap of steel on steel. He felt a sudden numbness—it was a sick sensation, the wrongness of dreadful injury. The nerves his arms scrambled in split seconds to make sense of the damage, and when they did, they sent a million knives of pain slashing up his arm and into his shoulder.
He grunted, spraying sweat he hadn’t realized had popped up on his upper lip. Betty redoubled her laughter.
Vincent turned away as the blonde re-positioned the device for the second blow, curling his fingers against his palm at wrong angles. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe as the second strike came. This time, there was no numbness—only instant agony. He bellowed in pain, sending Betty into another mirthful apoplexy.
The woman removed the device, and his arm dropped limply to the metal table top. When he could finally open his eyes, Vincent took a quick inventory of his arm. It sat in a lazy S shape, the center of his forearm jogging askance between two enormous purple blisters rising underneath the skin.
The woman hung the clapperboard back over her neck and sheathed the hammer in her belt. Without a word, she turned for the door and let herself out.
Once the door closed behind her, Betty’s laughter ceased. She groaned as she pawed at her arm, trying to pull it toward her chest. With every fraction of an inch that it moved, she jerked in pain.
“You…you did…this,” she panted. “Your fault. Bastard.” With a shout of agony, she pulled her arm into her lap as the manacles jingled. “Only seen her,” Betty continued in a labored whisper. “Just the one. I think, if we can get the jump on her—”
“No,” Vincent replied with enough volume to be heard.
“What do you mean, no? You’re in this, now. Like it or not, we’re on the same side.” She added with a whimper as she resettled her arm, “For now.”
“We’re not going to escape.”
“Of course we can escape! If we put our heads together—”
“I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. So just shut up.”
Betty sputtered for a moment, then finally stated, “You’re a coward, you piece of shit.”
Vincent sat as still as possible, his arm lying wrecked on the table. No sense in adding to the pain. Instead he closed his eyes and tried to think of anything else but the agony. He thought of coffee, and how he wished he’d had some. The smell of it. The warmth. Orange juice at Shakes’s, fresh squeezed in late summertime. A nice, red wine, gleaming garnet hues by candlelight.
Dinner by candlelight. Braised veal with some roasted potatoes. A jazz trio playing over his shoulder as he lifted his glass to toast some beauty he’d joined for dinner.
A smile crept onto his lips as that woman resolved in his mind, her red hair, her face with the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. Those clear, frank gray eyes. Her wide lips curling upward into the sassy grin she always had when she’d gotten the jump on him yet again.
The way her slim body had felt against his when she’d hugged him in the market. The curve of her hip in his hand as he’d carried her through that damnably cold water at Bimini. How soft her hair had felt against his jaw, her breath warming his neck. The feel of her lips against his cheek. The heavy-lidded look she’d given him when their hands had connected on the doorknob in her room. He’d almost kissed her there. Almost. If her parents hadn’t been right outside…
His mind went into a flight of fancy where he did kiss her, pulling her into his arms, his hands brushing down her back, cupping her rear and pulling her up against—
The door to the room opened, and Vincent opened his eyes with a quick inhalation.
A figure stepped into the room. This time, a man. He was gaunt, his off-white suit as ill-tailored on his emaciated frame as it was out of season. Spectacles sat on the bridge of his nose, tiny round frames giving him the air of a European intellectual. He wore no hat or jacket, seemingly acclimated to the winter weather.
He glanced at the two as he gripped a clipboard and a pencil. His lips pulled into an analytical pout as he inspected the wounds his cohort had just inflicted. With a few scratching notes onto his ledger, he tucked the clipboard under his arm and cleared his throat.
“My name is Sebastian. You are…Betty Sharp.” He nodded to Betty.
She spat at him.
With a shake of his head, he pivoted to Vincent.
“I’m familiar with you, Mr. Calendo, by reputation. Though I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Vincent tried once or twice to reply, finally getting out, “Don’t…believe so. Haven’t met.”
“Ah, well it’s good to finally meet you.”
He sucked in a breath. “Likewise” was all he could manage. Everything here was a test. And if they were looking for resistance in any mannerism or response, they wouldn’t find it from Vincent.
With a wave of his hand over the table, Sebastian nodded, “I do apologize for the brusqueness of our introduction. I know that you are in a tremendous amount of pain, right now. Amplified by the fact that you have no idea what the purpose of these injuries could possibly be. Add to that the fact that you’ve only just arrived and are already weary from a poor night’s sleep.” He nodded to himself. “But be assured, there is a specific method at play here. Nothing transpires in Ithaca without a purpose. This is a preordained schedule of treatments, a method that has been honed over decades of practice. It may seem cold comfort now, but the method has been maximized so that you might spend the least amount of time here as is feasible.”
The door opened again, and the blonde woman re-entered the room with two glasses perched in the fingers of her left hand, and a pitcher of water in her right.
Sebastian glanced over his shoulder with a grin. “Ah. You’ve already met Gertha. She will be your Modality Practitioner for the coming weeks. I am your Proctor. You two should feel flattered, to be honest. I’m hardly ever called in to Proctor anymore. They have me on the road almost constantly. It is nice to get home for the holidays, though.” He took a seat across from the two, his face lost in some kind of whimsy.
Gertha set a glass in front of each of them and poured each nearly to the brim with water. Vincent’s mouth felt as though it were filled with sawdust as he watched the water splash and spill just a bit. Betty leaned forward as well, her savage demeanor tempered by the hope of relief.
Sebastian lifted his hands from his lap and cracked his knuckles. With a slow, easy motion, he reached for Vincent’s arm. He nearly pulled it away out of r
eflex, but the grinding of ruined bones sent enough pain through his brain to dull the impulse.
The man’s fingertips traced a light trail from the inside of Vincent’s elbow to his wrist. It was an odd, almost sensual motion. The strangeness of its intimacy made Vincent squirm for a half-second, until he felt a rush of energy deep in his forearm.
Before his eyes, the unnatural curve of his forearm slipped into something straight and proper. The stabbing, pounding agony abated. Vincent released a husky breath as the pain all but vanished then gave his fingers a quick wiggle. They worked fine.
Sebastian pulled his hand away with a genial smile. “Go ahead.”
Vincent eased his arm off the table, pulling it close enough for his right hand to inspect. The enormous bands of bruises were still visible, and a bit tender to the touch. But beyond that, it was as if Gertha hadn’t laid a finger on Vincent.
Vincent peered up at Sebastian. “So you’re a bone pincher? Goes both ways, I suppose?”
The man nodded. “Indeed. And you, from what I understand, have a similar affinity with the flow of time, itself. That is magnificent. Since I read your file, I’ve possessed myself with some fantasies of wrongs made right. To go back and change anything, no matter how insignificant—”
“Sadly it doesn’t work like that.” Vincent rolled some stiffness out of his shoulder. “I can only slow it down, not truly stop it, or reverse it.”
Sebastian adjusted his spectacles and pulled his clipboard from his lap. “How slow, exactly?”
“Pretty slow.”
He made a note. “Still, a gift to covet.” Sebastian peered at Betty. “And you, my wayward bearcat. You are what they call a glass pincher?”
She stared at him but said nothing.
“I imagine you’d have an artistic bent. Most pinchers of materials indulge in the finer aesthetics, in my experience. Can you manipulate glass from a distance, or must you make contact?”
“Fix my arm, and I’ll tell you.” With a bark of pain, she set her broken arm back onto the table top.
Sebastian smirked. “Oh, I see. You feel like you can bargain with me. That is unfortunate. See, you possess exactly zero leverage here.” He leaned forward. “When I ask a question, your only recourse is to answer. When I give you a command, your only recourse is absolute compliance. This will be your first lesson for the day.”
He reached for her arm. She straightened her spine, closing her eyes her face poised in anticipation of healing. Instead, he pulled his fingers away… snatching her glass. He poured its contents onto the floor. Betty opened her eyes and gasped in desperation at the widening puddle.
Without turning his gaze from Betty, Sebastian said, “Vincent? You must be parched. Why don’t you enjoy some water?”
What was it Sebastian had said? Absolute compliance? Vincent snatched his water glass and took long gulps. He paused only once to catch his breath, then drank the rest before setting the empty glass back onto the table.
Sebastian nodded once, then made some more notes. “There. See how this works, Miss Sharp?”
“Go to hell,” she grumbled.
“Mr. Calendo was brought up in the system, so I suspect his stay will be considerably more abbreviated than yours.” Sebastian’s eyes lifted slowly to meet Vincent’s. “Though I would not take that as any sort of promise that you’ll be treated lightly.”
Vincent stared forward, trying to present a posture that was resigned. How abbreviated? Because getting out of here, surviving whatever they did to him, was his primary focus right now.
“Well,” Sebastian declared as he stood. “So much for introductions. Tonight, each of you will be allowed to sleep in your cots. This will be a privilege. It’s something to bear in mind as we proceed. Breakfast will be served at the end of your session, assuming you’re still conscious. Dinner is served at sundown. You will receive two meals per day, and you will eat them when delivered. Your physical health is important. We can’t have our assets succumb to malnutrition or the elements. Though,” he added with a chuckle, “we do have certain staff who assist in such matters, should stricter methods be required. At any rate, I shall see the both of you later this evening after your suppers. In the meantime, I will hand you over to Gertha for your first day’s initiations.”
Betty leaned back in her seat with a halting breath. Gertha pointed to her arm.
Sebastian sighed. “Oh, fine.” He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers.
Betty lunged forward so sharply that she nearly smacked the table with her forehead. She shrieked in pain, her bones mending as violently as they had been broken.
“Let that be your second lesson,” Sebastian said. “There are two means to our method in Ithaca.” He raised a fist. “Hard.” He then lowered that fist to the table, spreading his fingers to slide them lightly across the surface. “And soft. The method you choose will be the only decision we will allow you. So make the best of it.”
He nodded to Gertha before turning to exit the room. Vincent watched as the woman collected the pitcher and glasses, setting them aside then stepped behind the two of them for a moment.
Betty gasped in alarm as her chair tipped backward, sliding away from the table until the chains would allow her to go no farther. Easing the chair back onto all four legs, Gertha circled around to face Betty and crouched down in front of her, her height such that she was still looking Betty in the eyes. Then she reached both hands out to Betty’s knees.
Betty’s brow wrinkled in confusion, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The other woman gripped her knees, pulling them apart a couple inches. Betty’s eyes widened.
“Don’t fight them,” Vincent murmured, feeling a twinge of sympathy for the glass pincher. “It’ll only make it worse.”
She glanced at Vincent, her face white, her entire body trembling. It was the first time he’d ever seen fear in Betty Sharp’s face.
Gertha’s fingers traced a ring around Betty’s kneecap, sliding along the sides, easing it back and forth just a little. She stood and reached for her tool belt, pulling the hand sledge once again. Betty whimpered and closed her eyes as Gertha found the edges of her patella once again, wound the sledge over her shoulder, and brought it down with a crack.
Chapter 14
The old abandoned warehouse that the Charge had effectively coopted as their headquarters was abuzz with activity. Children scurried from room to room, many with brooms or armfuls of broken furniture pieces. Hattie sidestepped as she entered the first-floor door to keep from being bowled over by a rampaging six-year-old with a dust bin. A cloud of dust hung in the air, streaming filmy beams of winter sunlight through the high windows that had been broken for years.
One of the older children spotted Hattie and turned to bustle up a flight of stairs leading to the upstairs offices. As the general cleaning-up and sorting that surrounded Hattie continued, she noticed that despite the frenetic energy in the place, there were fewer children here than before. She hoped that was due to a positive development.
After a while, Sadie O’Donnell descended the stairs, giving the child who’d summoned her orders to toss some old boxes into the back of the warehouse.
“What’s all the hubbub?” Hattie asked.
Sadie led Hattie deeper into the first-floor space. “Making some room. There’s been a shake-up just south of us. The power structure in Richmond has been suddenly and unexpectedly cocked right to Hell.”
“I’m aware.”
Sadie continued, “The Upright Citizens have been a bottleneck for the Charge for ages even without the trap at Bimini Island. I’ve had a half-dozen children ready to flow north and away from Charleston for months but could never risk the trip. Even got a handful of adults ready and willing to join up. They’re all holed up just outside of Nag’s Head. We gotta move fast—” She peered at Hattie. “What happened?”
“Vincent has been taken.” Hattie tried to keep her voice steady and failed.
Sadie cocked her head. “Your
soul twin? I don’t understand. You said he was already on the Crew’s payroll.”
“That goblin of a mob boss sent him to Ithaca. For reeducation.”
Sadie took a step backward. “What?”
“Corbi is angry with him, feels he isn’t enough of a loyal dog, so he sent him to Ithaca to become a better weapon. They intend to strip him of his conscience, make him a proper pincher for their disposal.” As the words issued from Hattie’s mouth they adopted harder tones breath by breath. “And he let it happen. He went along with it because what alternative does a slave pincher really have?”
Sadie reached for Hattie with one hand, then pulled away, simply offering, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
They stood in silence as Hattie struggled for words.
Then it seemed to dawn on Sadie. “What do you expect me to do with this information?”
Hattie raised her hands. “Give me advice? Help me? What should I do? What can I do?”
Sadie shook her head sadly. “I don’t know that you can do anything, Hattie. No one comes back from Ithaca. Not free. Not…human. The entire compound is guarded like a prison. Better. It’s run by the most ruthless, heartless pinchers that have ever lived. There’s no escape.”
“I hate it. I hate…this. But I know I can’t save him. His friend would die. We’d be on the run. They’d hunt us down, and kill both of us when they found us.”
Sadie leaned against a door frame. “Then, are you here for moral support? For something to take your mind off it? What?”
Hattie took a deep breath. “I need your help. I have a plan, but I can’t do it alone. I need hands, and I need wheels.”
Sadie tilted her head. “Help doing what?”
“It’s this shit-eater, Vito. Vito Corbi. He’s the problem. He’s the one who did this to Vincent. He and the Crew, they need to go.” She glanced over at the children and stepped closer to Sadie. “You know how I’ve monkeyed with his traffic these past few months?”
“Yeah?”
