by L V Chase
Silence.
I try to wipe my face with my hands, but the odor is worse than ever. A hand reaches down, picking up the tray and setting it back on the tables. I look up as Klay crouches down and tries to pick up the lacerated pig. With its opened stomach and the other incisions, it would be easy for more of its entrails to fall out, but he picks it up by its legs and sets it back on the tray without any mess.
I fumble with an egg-shaped organ, standing up to place it back inside the pig. It’s a bare minimum, but at this point, I’m a sentient version of turmoil. I risk a glance at Klay, knowing this moment can’t become any worse.
The front of his shirt and the top of his pants are spattered with pig fluid.
My hand snaps up to my mouth. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I need—I will pay for those clothes. I’m so sorry. I—”
“Sadie, it’s fine,” he says, tugging off his gloves and wadding one of them inside the other. “Are you okay? Do you have any pain in your knees? Your fall could have torn your ACL.”
“I’m fine. I’m good. But your clothes—”
“My clothes can be washed,” he says.
He looks over at Roman. I can’t see Klay’s expression, but Roman’s face contorts into fury. Roman shoves through several people and storms out of the room.
“Let me help you clean off your clothes at least,” I say to Klay, stepping toward him. I nearly slip on the fluid on the floor. Klay instinctively reaches forward, his palm brushing against my elbow to stop me from falling again. He quickly drops his hand back down when I regain my balance.
“No,” he says. “Check on yourself for any injuries. I’ve dealt with worse pigs than this.”
The way he enunciates pig makes me think he’s talking about a person. Coming from anybody else’s mouth, it would be a harmless joke, but from Klay, the implication is more threatening.
Klay peels a section of his shirt away from his body, but the wet cloth quickly sticks back to his skin. As he walks forward, our classmates move out of his way. Under most circumstances, I’d assume they’re stepping out of the way to avoid the fluids on his body, but with the way they bow their heads with uncertain expressions, he may as well have been some kind of nobility.
After he leaves the room and our classmates start to reform their circle around the pig, I start to walk through them in an attempt to follow him. They step out of my way, but there’s more reluctance in their movements. A few noses crinkle in disgust.
I don’t blame them. I smell like algae water inside a marathon runner’s shoe.
He’s nearly around the corner by the time I get out, so I dash down the hall to catch up to him.
“Klay,” I say, catching up to him.
He spins around. His fists are clenched and his dark eyes are coal, ready to combust.
“Stay away from me, Sadie,” he snarls.
I stop a few inches away from him. His posture is rigid with anger.
“I’m sorry, Klay,” I say, raising my arms helplessly. “I shouldn’t have grabbed the tray. I wasn’t thinking. But I didn’t mean to get anything on you. I’m sorry.”
The concern he showed me during class must have been an act for everybody else. Now that we’re alone, he’s showing me his true face, which is beautiful despite the animosity underneath it.
Even with the knowledge that everything about Klay is a deception, I still want to see if it’s true that the devil seduces people into committing the most heinous sins. Despite the fact that I know better, I want him in ungodly ways.
“Just leave, Sadie,” he says, “Get out of Marshall.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. His tone isn’t cruel—if anything, it’s fatigued—but it still cuts me as effortlessly and expertly as when Klay cut into the pig.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” I say. “I’ll buy you brand new clothes. I’ll just give you money for them. I’ll get you—”
His hand grabs onto my shoulder. Before I can flourish under his touch, he pushes me against the wall of lockers to the left of us, forcefully and slowly. He’s pinning me against the lockers with his hand on my shoulder and his knee against my thigh. It’s doesn’t hurt, but his jaw is clenched and the muscles in his arm are protruding, reminding me how easily a light rain can turn into a thunderstorm.
“You need to back off,” he hisses. “Don’t you ever, ever, tell me that you’ll do anything for me. Don’t say that to anybody. Just stay away from me. Fuck off to a place where people want you around.”
Everything he’s saying is a bright red flag. I should be looking at him, knowing he’s a sociopath, and despising him. I should already be on the phone, filing a criminal complaint and getting a restraining order.
But in the eye of the storm, in the center of the fear, is a heat and a neediness. His body pressed up against mine only makes me want to pull him closer. The threat detonating in his eyes only makes me want to evoke and soothe that aggression.
He must see that desire in me because his hand falls away from my shoulder, and he takes a step back. He looks at me, pain spiking in his irises. We look at each other for so long that when he turns away from me and continues walking down the hall, I keep staring at the space where he’d been standing.
When I hear the door of the boy’s bathroom swing closed, I let out a breath, but I don’t feel any better or any safer.
11
Klay
The Society kills off all optimism or sense of free will. I was raised under the mindset that the Society is the ultimate truth of this world, the final authority in anything that mattered, and that joining them would lead to some kind of paradise on earth.
I wasn’t a blind follower. I knew how broken and stupid people could be, and, after all, wasn’t the Society made up of these same people? But there was no denying that they had real power.
When I met Sadie, my conviction in the Society remained steady. Even when I started imagining our future together, I only imagined the Society giving us the benefits we deserved. It wasn’t until my father told me she was going to be the next Sacrifice that I recognized my foolishness. I’d thought we were taking advantage of the Society to reap their benefits, never taking into consideration that we were rats in their experiment. We were simply the rats that were aware of the scientists and getting extra cheese for our obedience.
I remember sneaking into Sadie’s room one night. She’d been wearing the same pajamas that she’s wearing today. I’d meant to tell her about my father’s decision that night, but she was upset. She’d told me that her grandmother had been experiencing vertigo. I told her about orthostatic hypotension. She was assured enough to rest up against me, her head on my chest and her hand on my leg. We fell asleep. It was the first time we stayed together through the night. In the morning, she thanked me for being a good person.
I’ve been trying to live up to that. I need to be the man she thinks I am. But, goddamn, some days it’s better to fuck everything up.
When I walk into shop class, I walk straight up to Roman. My hands grip onto the lapel of his luxury bathrobe. I hurl him against the edge of the table saw. The circular saw is right under his shoulder and, with how hard he’s thrashing to get away, he feels its teeth.
“What the fuck were you thinking, you worthless imbecile?” I snarl. “You think breaking her leg will help you fuck her?”
“Let me go, Klay,” he says, his teeth bared, but panic continues to dilate in his eyes. “I’m just playing the game.”
“You’re doing it wrong.” I push him a little harder.
His jaw clenches as he tries to shove himself away from the saw. It’s a valid attempt, but it’s not enough to overwhelm my rage. “You’re supposed to be dominant, not a sociopath. That’s how you win.”
I can’t believe I have to spell it out for him, but the only reason I am is because I know it won’t help him.
“Nothing I’ve done is worse than what you did,” he counters. “You pulled much crueler shit, and she was
ready to fuck you. You mad it might work for me, too?”
I look down at him, this pitiful piece of shit. If I turned this saw on right now and severed him in two, he still wouldn’t be half the man he should be.
I release him, taking a step back. He scrambles away from the table saw, his hand swiping at his back to check for wounds.
“I’m pissed that you’re fucking up my shit,” I say. “You know how exhausting it is that I have to constantly be saving her? You’re the ones that forced me to be the nice guy this time. I’ve only got so much energy to play nice. I hate it.”
He chuckles, shaking his head, but his shoulders are still tense. I need to reign myself in. It’s true that Roman is only copying my past behavior, and I can’t tell him that Sadie was enticed by me because of our history, not because of my brutality. I’m not going to lose Sadie or my family because Roman, a certified moron, figured out how my father and I cheated.
“You should focus your anger management problems on Ethan,” Roman says, still rubbing his back. “He seems to be doing a lot better this time around.”
“She’s not going to be lured in by money. If anyone should know that, it’s you.”
“I’m self-confident enough to admit that he can do it better,” he says. He twists his head, trying to check his back. “Ethan’s got that rich kid bravado that all these bitches love.”
I turn. Ethan is crouching down to check himself in the reflection on the blade of a miter saw. He’s wearing his usual clothing—ugly khakis and an overpriced white t-shirt—but he’s still scrutinizing himself like he might see someone worth looking at in his reflection.
“We should team up,” Roman says. “I know you said you didn’t want to last time, but this is different. Ethan struggled playing a nice guy. He doesn’t need to act like he’s rich. It’s easier for him. He might not have as much money as my family, but he has enough to get any bitch to crawl to him.”
“She won’t do that,” I say, barely keeping the aggravation out of my voice.
I can’t win this Hunt for Sadie’s sake, but Roman is more perceptive than I thought. It’s getting harder and harder to stop Ethan and Roman from winning this time. Ethan has refined his approach, and Roman could coerce Sadie into doing what he wants. He’s not allowed to outright hurt her, but he’s stumbled on worse tactics that have worked in his favor to get what he wants.
My only approach will be to get her to leave town like I’d tried last time and get her to stay away from Roman and Ethan. It’s not the optimal choice—the Society will be suspicious, and with how stunning she looked today in her pajamas, it’s harder than ever not to have her—but it’s looking unlikely she'll last until a stalemate is called.
I can’t throw her to the wolves. I have to convince her that I’m the wolf she should be frightened of. I’m worse than the wolf. I’m someone with nothing to lose.
Every time I walk into my house, the air is thicker and more volatile. It was never a refuge, but since my father found out that Sadie was more than a seduction or a fuck buddy, the atmosphere has wrestled between distrust and hostility.
And since the fistfight after finding him in the hospital with Sadie, he sees me as more of an enemy than a son, and more of a means to an end than an enemy. Around him, every step I take has to be measured.
When I enter the kitchen, Vince is standing at the kitchen island, chugging a glass of orange juice. A bag of popcorn pops in the microwave. He straightens up when he sees me, setting his glass down. He’s only a year younger than me, but with my father’s usual absence and my mother’s opioid abuse, I became his and Leon’s only parent figure.
I’ve tried to toughen him up to make sure he can take care of the family if anything happens to me, but he only tries to behave if I’m around. At any other point, I’ll find him blaming his failures on circumstances. I’m not surprised anymore when I find security tags from items he’s pickpocketed or baggies of cocaine in his jackets.
It makes me resent him. If he’d been a little stronger, I would have left this town with Sadie.
“Dad said he needs to talk to you,” he says. “He’s in the den.”
“Good,” I say. I move past him, opening the refrigerator. I grab one of the bottles of water. “Rinse your glass out when you’re done with it, and put it in the dishwasher. Alicia isn’t coming today. She’s recovering from knee surgery.”
“Will do,” he says as I walk away.
He mutters something under his breath, but when I have to deal with my father, I’m not going to waste energy confronting Vince about his immaturity. I don’t aspire to be my brothers’ mother and father, but somebody has to keep them in line. If the Society decides they don’t like the direction the family line is going, who knows what could happen. I know they won’t invest in weakness.
Roman may be dumb, but he’s not weak, which makes him a good fit for the Society. But if my brothers are seen as weak, they become loose ends, a liability. I’m not sure if I should be worried more about my father or the Society, in that case. I didn’t spend all these years turning them into better men just to let them die.
As I walk to the den, the tension rises like heat. It’s not quite fear because I know if we devolve into violence, I can take my father easily. But my father has the Society behind him. And, while I would be overjoyed at the news of his death, my father is still the man who raised me and gave me a life of privilege. He’s the gateway to everything I have.
I step into the den. My father is sitting in his armchair, angled toward the fireplace. He’s holding a glass of rum on the rocks. The fire isn’t burning, but the odor of soot lingers in the room.
He doesn’t acknowledge me. I sit down in the armchair across from him. I lean forward, my elbows on my knees and my hands clasped in front of me. I focus on his shoes. One of them is about to become untied.
My father takes a sip from his drink. He settles the glass on his knee. “I thought we had an understanding.”
“We do,” I say.
His grip tightens on the glass, making his knuckles jut out.
“Then, why,” he says, the words dropping out like stones. “Aren’t you doing your duty? I know you aren’t making any significant progress with Sadie. By all accounts, your efforts are negligible. If I were to make an assumption, I’d say you were purposefully failing.”
“Your assumptions would be wrong.”
He turns his head to look at me. Everyone tells me that we look similar, but I don’t see it. His face is too angular, the shadows under his eyes are too dark, and the rage in his eyes is constantly smoldering.
“Don’t lie to me,” he says, his voice low but forceful. “I look at you, and I know exactly what you’re plotting. You think you outmaneuvered me, forcing me to convince everyone else that Sadie needed the drug again. But you’re the one who made her suffer again, so how clever do you think you really are? The other families won’t allow another reset. One of you has to win. It’s either you or Ethan Maxwell. From what I’ve heard, he’s triumphing already.”
“It’s not as simple as last time,” I say, gripping my hands tighter together.
“It’s simpler this time,” he corrects. “You don’t have to convince her to do the surgery. All you have to do is get her to sign the document.”
“But I have to convince her to sign her life over to you,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “You think that will be easy? Even if she was madly in love with me, you think she’ll want to be legally bound to you?”
“Yes,” he says. “You’re moderately intelligent. You can convince her it’s necessary for your well-being. You can convince her it’s for her own good, and that she needs your surgeon father to look out for her best interests. And that it’s better than losing most of her motor function.”
“I’m not going to lie to her about her future.”
“You have to,” he says.
He takes a gulp of his drink and sets his glass down on the side table. He slides to the edg
e of the chair, leaving only a few inches between us. “Let me motivate you. If you don’t lock her down soon—preferably before the Shaws or Maxwells find out the truth—I’ll let her live out her life with minimal intervention from me. For all the trouble she gave me—that you both gave me—through this process, I can’t say I won’t take advantage of my position, but I won’t be too depraved. But—”
“You’re full of shit,” I cut him off.
“—But,” he repeats. “The longer you take, the more I’ll be on edge. I’ll need something to give me some release.”
I glare at him, every muscle in my body prepared to tackle him and thrash my fist against his face until I feel all twenty-two of his skull bones break. I wish I could say he wouldn’t betray my mother like that, but we both know he would.
I could take his glass, smash it against the brick of the fireplace. I could stab his carotid artery and watch him bleed out all over this wood floor. I could keep stabbing, just for the pleasure of it. I could resort to maniacal violence and relish in it.
But I won’t. Because the Society would kill my family for my transgression. They might not mind murder, but violating the boundaries they set up is unforgivable. Upsetting their admissions process is a capital offense.
“One day, I am going to fuck you up,” I say, carefully. “I am going to take everything you care about—your success, your money, your prestige—and turn it to ash. Not a single person will remember your name within five years.”
He forces a smile. “The Society will ensure nothing I’ve built can be burned down. Except for my wife and children, so if you want to disrespect me—”