Twenty-Six
Kyle
Plastic—that was all I could taste. My tongue was so dry that it felt like it was made of paper. My teeth were fuzzy, like mold was growing over the enamel. I hoped this prison wouldn’t give me Breath’s teeth, his rotted gums, his rancid breath. I hoped that, whatever damage had been done, I’d be able to recover from it.
Because, maybe one day, I would get out of here. Breath would open the bars, and Garin and I would walk out with…his hand clasped in mine, living the life I’d always wanted.
Why did that thought feel so familiar?
Why was I so groggy?
As I swam through the fog in my brain, it slowly started coming back to me, the very last memory I had. I’d told Breath that Anthony was the murderer…and then everything had turned to black.
Everything was still black. My eyes were closed, my lids feeling much too heavy to open. And there was beeping in my ears. Lots of high-pitched beeping…
Where was it coming from? That noise hadn’t been in our cell before.
But the differences didn’t stop there.
There was softness, too. The wool blanket we’d used as a pillow wasn’t this feathery. It had been hard, cement hard. Our bed was the same, but whatever was underneath me now was cozy, plush, delicate even. And it wasn’t cold in here, like it typically was in our cell. If anything, I was warm. Too warm. Sticky…hot.
It must have been from the needle that Breath had stuck in my neck. Those drugs he gave me always made me feel loopy. Garin had said it took at least a day for the meds to work their way out of my system.
Had it been a day?
A day since—
GARIN.
More memories started to come back to me. Breath had slashed Garin’s entire body. Garin had barely been breathing. He needed help. He needed to go to a hospital. Breath promised he would take him but only if I confessed. Giving him that confession also meant…
“You’ll get the punishment you deserve. Confess and save Garin, or I’m going to kill you both. The choice is yours.”
I’d given him the confession.
Was this death?
Something still beeped not too far from my ear.
“What’s beeping?” The sound of my own voice surprised me. It was hoarse, a little deep. So scratchy.
“Relax, Kyle.”
Relax…Kyle?
I’d heard that voice before. It was the one I’d been hearing since I was put in that cell. It sounded like Garin but up until today it had been a little hazy and muffled. It wasn’t either of those now. It was clear.
“Kyle…”
“Garin?”
“I’m right here.”
I felt him squeeze my hand, but I still didn’t see him. My eyelids were too heavy to open just yet. Everything was heavy. My muscles ached; my skin tingled. Every thought felt like it needed to swim through a sea of peanut butter before it surfaced and actually made sense.
“I need to see you, Garin. I need to see how you’re healing. Did Breath make good on his promise? Did he take you to the hospital?”
“Just relax, Kyle. They gave you some heavy medication, so if you’re going to open your eyes, do it slowly.”
Was it heavier than what Breath had given me in the past? My lids certainly hadn’t felt this heavy before. My body definitely hadn’t felt this tingly.
“I thought that whatever Breath had put in that needle…I thought it was going to kill me,” I said.
I lifted my arm to try and cover my eyes, but it was hard to move. Something was around my wrist, and another something was attached to it.
Wires. It felt like wires.
I finally got my arm up and blocked out the light. Slowly, so slowly, I shifted it down to let in a little at a time. I took a breath after each shift.
A little bit of light and then a little bit of air.
The air came in so easily, much easier than I expected. There was suddenly so much more air in here and much less pressure on my chest.
Why?
I blinked several times, my eyes now fully uncovered but still trying to adjust to the sunlight. Even though they stung and watered from the brightness, I could see Garin sitting in a chair right next to me. I could see his hand on mine. I could smell him.
Clean. He was so clean.
“Breath kept his promise,” I said as I studied his handsome face.
I couldn’t find a single cut. There wasn’t even a scab or a bruise. Not even a scar. That was…strange. Some of his wounds had been so deep; raw muscles had been sticking out of them.
“How did you heal so fast?”
“Heal?”
My stare shifted between his eyes as another thought occurred to me. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Eight days.”
“What? Eight whole days?”
He put his palm on my chest to stop me from sitting up. “If you move too fast, you’ll get dizzy, and your drain might come out.”
I couldn’t have been asleep for eight days, nor could he have healed in that time. What Breath had done to him would have taken months to recover from, and he would have been left with scars. But, if he had any, I would have seen them because his beard had been shaved. All that thick, coarse hair…gone.
“How did you get a razor? Did Beard bring you one?”
He took a second to respond. “You’ve been through a lot, Kyle. You’ve had a head trauma. I’m sure it’s making things cloudy right now.”
“Head trauma?” I touched my forehead. “Did Breath hit me on the head? What—” I cut myself off when I noticed his clothes.
He wasn’t in the black pants and button-down he’d been wearing since Billy’s funeral. He was in jeans and a thin sweater.
“Beard brought you clothes? Did he bring me any?” I looked down and saw the blanket that was tucked over me. It wasn’t scratchy gray wool. It was white and knit. And I was in a gown, a light-blue one. And I was lying on a bed with buttons on both sides of the railings that made the bed adjustable.
Why was I in a bed? With a knit blanket, wearing a light-blue gown?
Why was it so bright in here?
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I looked over my shoulder, and there were machines behind me—a heart monitor and an IV bag.
“Am I in the hospital?”
“Yes, Kyle.”
I glanced back at his face and blinked hard, waiting for the cuts and gashes to reappear. But they didn’t, and there weren’t any scars. Why was he fully healed, and why was I the one in this bed?
“How did I get to the hospital? Did Breath take me when he dropped you off? Did he do something to me?”
“You got here by ambulance.”
“An ambulance picked me up? On Margarita Island? Or did he take us to Caracas?”
There was pity in his eyes—pity like whenever Billy had been high and incoherent. Garin and I would just stare at him while he tried to put words together, but nothing he said made sense.
Was that me—muddled and unintelligible?
“We’re in Atlantic City, Kyle.”
Atlantic City?
“I don’t get it. You’re all healed. I’m the one hurt and…I’m so tired.”
It was more than just tiredness that hit me; it felt like a heavy blanket of warmth was sinking me into this bed and about to close out all the light.
“I’ll explain everything to you when you wake up. Just shut your eyes, and get some rest.”
His hand tightened on mine. Somehow, it made me feel safe. It gave me the encouragement I needed to close my lids again.
“But I just woke up…”
There was that darkness that I remembered. Not the kind I felt in the cell. This was different. This wasn’t frightening. My body didn’t tremble in fear. It didn’t make me search for a way out. In the strangest of ways, it was comforting.
“Relax, Kyle.”
I did as he said, and each of my muscles loosened.
“Breathe, Kyle.”
My breathing slowed.
Those words…they were so familiar. So was his tone.
So was the dream behind my lids.