“It’s rather easy to shine in the light,
but to glow in the dark—that’s mastery!”
—Rick Beneteau
(Fourteen years old)
“No, but really,” the sixteen-year-old with no name says, a devious grin on his face, “what would you do to her?”
I shake my head and lean back against the wall, closing my eyes.
“Come on.” He nudges my elbow. “Don’t tell me you haven’t fantasized about hurting the bitch. Killing her. Burying her alive.”
My lips twitch, because he has no idea.
Before I came here, I’d seen four deaths. Two at gunpoint, one a fist fight gone wrong, and the other a heroin overdose—all people like me on the streets. I thought those were gruesome at the time. Normal, but gruesome.
After a year and a half in this cage, I’ve learned a lot. About death, murder, art. About people: no matter what their differences were outside these walls, once they’re strapped to that table, they’re not so different after all. I’ve learned about reality—the lies we tell when we’re trying to convince ourselves any reality exists at all. Fuck that. There’s only what we think we see, and even that fantasy doesn’t last.
Mostly, though, I’ve learned about myself.
No one ever tells you how far you can fall inside your own head.
Opening my eyes, I turn to face No Name beside me. He’s still dirty as fuck, and his eyes and cheekbones are sunken in. I’m probably worse off, but at least up until last month, when I was alone in here, I could pretend I wasn’t.
“I’ve thought about it,” I mutter, my gaze flicking to the empty table on our right, then to the little girl across from us coloring on a skull. “I think about it every day.”
No Name smirks, something dark dancing in his eyes. He’s a crazy fucker, but then so am I. His crazy is just a little louder. I think he’s lucky for that. Probably feels a helluva lot better than the crushing weight of keeping everything in your head.
“You wanna know what I do to her when I close my eyes?” He leans in even though it’s just the three of us here. “I tie her up. Naked. Then I pour gasoline on her body and toss in a match. Burn, bitch, burn.”
I watch as Sofia glances at him. She continues coloring, but I know she’s listening.
I’ve been talking to her more, trying to get her to talk back. It never works. Sometimes, though, when I say stupid shit to see if she knows how to laugh, her lips quirk. I like it. It reminds me of when I was her age and I used to laugh with my mom. It didn’t happen much, but maybe there’s goodness in that. This way, I’m able to remember every single time.
No Name shifts beside me. “Well, I thought burning was a good one,” he continues. “Heard from some of the other crate kids that that’s option three.”
I arch a brow. “Option three?”
“Yeah, you know. Option one: become an art display. If that doesn’t work out, then Murphy pulls you for option two: sex trading. But then there are the kids who are too fugly for option two and they won’t sell for enough to be worth the trouble. That leaves option three: burn the body.” He clicks his tongue. “You know. Evidence and all that.”
I grit my teeth, but continue watching Sofia. Sometimes seeing there’s a little kid here helps remind me to chill the fuck out, because little kids aren’t supposed to listen to shit like this. They’re not supposed to be here at all.
“Really? That’s it?” No Name shakes his head. “Man, I really thought you’d be more into this, now that I see what you sit through every day.”
“What are you drawing?” I nod toward Sofia, ignoring him.
She jumps, then looks from me to the other kid. After a second, she continues coloring like I didn’t say a word.
“Why you talk to the devil’s clone, I still don’t get,” he grunts.
“She reminds me of something.”
“Yeah? What?”
I shrug, not really sure myself. It’s more of a concept, really. An idea of what could be. What should be. Something he and I lost our chance at ever having a long time ago. Sometimes I think she’s lost it too. That Katerina has already sucked her dry. But then her lips quirk when I do something stupid, and I know she hasn’t.
“Wanna show me?” I ask, trying again.
This time she pauses. She puts her crayon down. Then she holds up the skull, turning it so I can see the front.
My jaw spasms.
“Holy shit,” the kid beside me mumbles through a chuckle. “That’s fucking twisted.”
It’s red. All of it, from top to bottom.
Except she’s caked on so much of the crayon that it actually looks like a bloodbath.
I swallow, No Name’s question about Katerina echoing in my mind. Yeah, I think about what I wanna do to her.
“You’re pretty good,” I mutter, a bitter taste on my tongue. “Looks just like the real thing.”
She beams as she turns the skull back around, her smile wider than I’ve ever seen it. Well, she should be proud. It’s impressive for a fucking five-year-old to capture blood so well.
I’m just about to rest my head against the wall when a small voice pulls my gaze across the room again. I squint, realizing she’s singing as she goes back to coloring. She’s not actually using words, but still, I’ve never heard her hum before.
Until now, I’d never heard her make a sound.
I don’t recognize the tune, but it’s slow and soft. Kinda creepy, actually.
“Creepy shit right there,” No Name echoes my thoughts.
The corner of my mouth tips up as I lean back and close my eyes, listening. We’re all screwed in the end, but there’s something about knowing I played a part in getting the girl without a voice to sing.
Even if she is covered in red.