“Kaleb. Can you hear me? How much did you give him? I need him sober again.”
I squint toward the voice. It’s not Andie. It never is. She’s safe in 9B doing laundry, eating terrible food, sucking at basketball…
“Kaleb!”
I blink again and croak some kind of response. It’s infuriating that my ability to speak is directly related to the amount of pain in my body. Damn drugs and their power over my existence.
“It’s time, sweetheart.”
I don’t even know how to respond as my stomach contracts. It’s time. I call for the bin and she slides it just before I lose that one bite of pudding I conquered.
The narcotics, the memories, the pain, I’m asking way too much of my insides. I cough out the remainder of the acid and spit.
My reaction isn’t enough to dampen her spirits, however. She transmits a calm request to have someone come clean it up.
“Isaac, unlock his restraints, please.”
Isaac takes a step forward and stops. “But, ma’am…”
“Now, Isaac.”
I feel bad for him. It can’t be easy to discover you’re the monster in a horror story.
His hands shake as he fumbles with the lock on my good wrist. The metal clatters against the bedframe, but I’ve stopped enjoying the few seconds of freedom in these moments.
“Stacy, get in here.”
It takes both soldiers to get me to my feet and down the hall.
Light. God, how I’ve come to hate light. It hurts. Stabs my throbbing brain, but even worse is the sick announcement that I’m still alive. I thought for sure they killed me this time.
Isaac is there with the bin before I even have to ask.
I can’t breathe after the heaves terrorize my body. I don’t even know what they took this time. I passed out after the first few minutes.
A straw tickles my lips and my eyes fight to meet my nurse. His face is contorted. He looks like he’s in more pain than I am.
“This is wrong,” he mutters. “Fucking animals.”
Even if I had a reply, no way could I give it. Not without the drugs. I close my eyes and let myself slip away again.
“Did you know…”
I squint up at the burst of mischievous sunshine leaning against my desk.
“Did I know what?”
“That’s the game. I say ‘did you know’ and you have to respond with something I don’t know about you.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Yes it does!”
“No, it doesn’t. Because you’re asking me if I know something. So if I respond with something about myself, it’s obviously something I know. You’d have to tell me something about yourself that I didn’t know.”
“But the question is ‘did you know?’ Not did I know,” she argues.
“So make it ‘guess what.’”
“That’s dumb.”
I shrug.
“Ugh. Fine. Guess what?”
“What?”
“Hey, wait! That doesn’t work either.”
I laugh at her glare. “Why don’t you just ask me what you want to know?”
“That’s no fun.”
“How is the other way fun?”
“You’re so annoying today. Did they screw up your coffee?”
“Nope, coffee was good.”
“Oh, so you’re just cranky.”
I shrug again just to watch her bristle.
“Fine. Favorite candy?”
“I don’t eat candy.”
“Seriously? At all?”
I shake my head. “No. My father never allowed it. Then I ended up here after he was gone, and believe me, they don’t feed us candy.”
“Okay, fine. Favorite movie? And don’t tell me you don’t watch movies.”
“I don’t.”
“Not even possible.”
“It is, because I don’t.”
“What do you do then? You must do something when you’re not in this office.”
“What do you do when you’re not in this office?”
“Oh no you don’t. Answer the question.”
I sigh. “You know what I do, Andie. Take inventory, monitor the halls, monitor rec time, check in with the residents, other soldiers.”
She doesn’t like my answer. “But when you’re not doing that?”
“I’m in therapy. Or sleeping.”
She quiets. She definitely doesn’t like my answer. “That’s it? That’s your life?”
“Not much better than yours, huh?”
“I’d say worse. At least we get to watch movies.”
I turn back to my computer screen. “What’s your favorite tree?”
Her grin radiates right into my chest. “Palm trees.”
“Me too.”
Sting. Then another.
A groan rumbles from my throat as I try to face the offending party. Roy. His hand goes to strike my face again when Isaac calls out, “Stop! He’s awake! He’s awake.”
Sweet Isaac. Damn sweet, that guy.
“He’s awake, ma’am,” Roy announces.
“Good. Get him something. I need to talk to him.”
Movement, sounds, and a few minutes later, relief. Relief that’s even sweeter than damn sweet Isaac.
“Kaleb, can you hear me? Hey, look at me, son.”
I’m no one’s son.
The hand on my face is different this time. Soft strokes, tender even. These hands order violence. They don’t inflict it.
“Emery,” I mumble.
She smiles and actually kisses my forehead.
“We’ve finally received a reply! It’s happening!”
The drugs must be putting words in her mouth now.
“From the Rebel Camp. They’re sending someone to negotiate.”
She’s accustomed to my blank stares by now, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a genuine smile on her face. It’s not something I wanted to witness.
“It worked, Kaleb. This last clip must have been enough. Even though the crunch of snapping bones didn’t work, the drowning must have. We actually thought you were dead for a few seconds. You lost consciousness for a while.”
There’s no response for that. She doesn’t need me for this conversation, and I should be dead. I’ve earned that blessing. Fuck them for taking even that from me.
“In light of the news, we’ll hold off on any more work until we find out what your father is offering, okay?”
I find no comfort in her optimism.
“Kaleb.” Her eyes trace my features, my broken body, like they so often do. But there is no explanation this time. Just a sad smile to accompany me back to the darkness.
A hand shakes my arm, and I force my eyes open.
“I only have a second. I’m supposed to be checking on your condition.”
“Dennel.” I struggle to push myself up from the floor.
“Fuck, Kaleb,” he mutters.
“I’m okay.”
“No you’re not. What they did was fucked up.”
“Yeah, well.” I swallow against my screaming chest. “Guess I’m a film star now.”
He doesn’t laugh at my joke. “This isn’t funny. It’s just the beginning. I told you Emery was working on something. I didn’t think she’d go this far.”
My joke had nothing to do with humor.
“How long are they keeping me here?”
“Until the evidence isn’t visible, I guess.”
“They’re sending me back to work?”
“This time.” My relief is short-lived. “Andie called me.”
“What? How—”
“She’s worried about you. She doesn’t understand why you’ve disappeared and she’s been transferred to laundry.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing. What was I supposed to say? You’re in deep shit with her.”
A slight smile creeps over my lips as I imagine his clash with her persistence. “We just work together.”
“Right. That woman has it bad for you, and I already know how you feel about her. You need to transfer her.”
“I can’t.”
“What happens when Emery decides to make another video? And another? What happens when she figures out she can use Andie too?”
I don’t have an answer for that impossible likelihood.
“Transfer her, Kaleb. Before it’s too late for both of you.”
“How long you think until… you know.”
“Until what?”
Stacy and Roy haven’t noticed I’m awake, and I’m fine with that.
“Come on. You know what I mean. Until she…”
Monitors hiss, and a blast of cool air washes over me from a wall vent as the nausea returns in full force.
Roy just snorts. “Seriously? You actually think she’s holding him here to fuck him?”
“He wouldn’t be the first. Remember that whole thing with Captain Franklin?”
“Yeah, but… come on. This is Emery. Plus, look at him.”
“Well, it’s obviously not just about that. He must have screwed up some major shit. All I’m saying is, she spends a lot of time alone in here. She’s got something personal with this one.”
“No way. Not a chance.”
“Want to make it official?”
“A bet? For real?”
“Yes, exactly. I’ll bet you twenty that Emery has her way with him before she kills him.”
“How would we even know? She kicks us out every time she comes in.”
“Exactly. That’s my point.”
“Fine. Ten.”
“Ten? That’s it? Hardly even worth it.”
“You taking it or not?”
“Shit, okay. Ten. But only because it’s an easy win.”
“Not even close. Get ready to pay up.”
“How are you feeling?” Emery asks, settling into her chair by my bed.
I’m still raw from my earlier eavesdropping. She might stare, touch, and steal seconds of my consciousness, but I’ve never gotten the sense there’s anything except a fascination with her masterpiece. I am evidence, a horrific sculpture she’s carved as a monument to her revenge.
I try to respond, but the words catch in my throat. The meds wore off hours ago because she wants me sober for the celebrated “negotiation.”
“He’s not going to turn himself over to you,” I force out. We’ve been over this a dozen times, but she seems immune to reason on the subject. It amazes me that they killed my faith in one day, and I can’t shake hers after a year.
“Were you not lucid enough to hear me before? They’re sending someone, Kaleb.”
“To negotiate. To…” I suck in a sharp breath and wait for the wave of pain to ease. “To talk. Talking means nothing.”
“Why are you so eager to die? You know that’s the end once we give up.”
I close my eyes, shocked she can even ask that question. She’s staring at the horror of what “life” means to me. As if understanding my silence, she shifts in her seat, and I dare another look. Her gaze meets mine. I don’t know what unspoken conversation we’re having but we’re more than captive and abuser at the moment. Stacy and Roy’s conversation blasts into my nauseous stomach, but I don’t think it’s that either. It’s something else. Something terrifying and hopeless and beyond both of us.
Tears shine in her eyes as she stares at me. For a brief moment she’s a victim too. My sympathy is misplaced, but I know why she’s crying. I know that kind of anguish.
“He was four, Kaleb. Fucking four years old!” she shouts suddenly. “Explain to me why a four-year-old has to pay for this?”
I feel the sting in my own eyes. I have no answers for questions that shouldn’t have to be asked.
“They were having snack time when the bomb hit. And you know why? Why seventeen children were slaughtered?”
I shake my head. I can’t.
“Look at me!”
I groan as her hand slams into the side of my face. Needles spread from my cheek through every nerve in my body. But she doesn’t stop, striking over and over until I manage to confront her agony with a dazed acknowledgment.
“Because your father didn’t give a shit that his target was next to a preschool. That’s why. That’s the answer I have to cling to as I live my life without my baby. As sixteen other mothers try to comfort themselves with the same impossibility.”
She breaks down, stifling the room with the echo of her sobs. A concrete woman broken by the same reality that eventually shatters all of us.
“You understand. I know you do,” she continues. “Why Roberto has to pay?”
“But he’s not paying.”
My words come out like a dagger, an accusation. A plea. The palm that just attacked my face cups the bruises with compassion. Stroking, waiting for an explanation.
My tears are back. They blur the view of my tormentor, reveal the extent to which she has broken me. My brain is too twisted with this mix of violence and tenderness to stop them.
“He let me believe he was dead.” I jerk the chain for emphasis. “He did nothing when you took me at seventeen. He did nothing when you forced me to fight against his Cause. He did nothing when you tore me limb from limb, and now you think he suddenly cares? That suddenly he’s going to trade his life for mine? Look at me. This is the value he’s placed on his son.”
She shakes her head, streams of liquid searing paths on her own cheeks. “No! He’s sending someone to negotiate.”
“Fuck, Emery. Really? You actually think this agent is going to have anything to offer other than a hostage swap or territory concession? You’re smarter than that. You have to wake up. Your entire game hinges on the assumption that his existence is formed around me the same way yours was around Liam. But I am not Liam, and my father sure as hell isn’t you.”
She’s frozen now, paralyzed by my explosion of truth. There’s nothing I can do but watch from my coffin, and yes, my insides constrict as my gaze flickers to the gun at her hip. God, I want her to use it so badly.
“Please. If I’m Liam, have mercy and end this. Just end it.” I’m disgusted by the sobs filtering through my voice, but I’m beyond the game now. I’m not even a man. I’m just a breathing corpse who no longer has a claim to life.
She follows my stare to her weapon. Back to me, and my heart fills with so much hope it must pour onto my swollen face. Then, as quickly as the promise blossomed, it fades into quiet rage.
“You don’t mean that,” she says. “No. You don’t mean that.”
She grips my shirt and yanks me beyond what my body can tolerate. Crystalized vision shadows the room as she shoves me back into the bed.
“No. You will live. You will live until he is dead. Then you can do whatever you want with your pathetic existence.”