“Dr. B isn’t stealing or anything,” Jack says. “Sikes just pays him to delay assignments or send out a weak spinner so the rewind won’t go back far enough to reveal Sikes’s crimes.”
I stand up and pace around the small space. “If we find proof that he was helping Sikes, we could use that to threaten Barnard.”
Jack snorts. “I doubt either of those guys is stupid enough to leave a paper trail.”
“Not at work, maybe, but what about at his house?” I chew on a fingernail. “Do you know Barnard’s address?”
“I think so. I went there to drop something off for him once.” Jack screws up his face in an effort to call up the memory: “2723 NW Upshur.”
I pace faster. Ross found something incriminating when he read Sikes’s emails, so why wouldn’t I find something by reading Barnard’s? Maybe I could even find some physical evidence—a stolen object Barnard took in payment, or a note, or a suspicious bank statement.
“If you can prove they worked together,” Jack pulls the plastic knife out of the jar and starts licking off the gooey peanut butter, “then you could probably stop his experiment thing, too.”
“Experiment thing?” My foot catches against the can holding up the dresser, and I grab Jack’s shoulder to keep from tipping over. “What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t I tell you? A couple days before we left, I overheard him talking on the phone, asking permission to send volunteers from the Center to the Central Office to use as test subjects for some big research project he’s conducting.”
I clench my fingers so hard on Jack’s shoulder I can feel bone through his jacket. “No, Jack, you never mentioned this before.”
“Ouch!” Jack shrugs off my hand. “I guess I forgot. I mean, a lot has happened since then.”
He forgot that Barnard wanted volunteers for a research project? No spinner would “volunteer” to participate in a study at the Central Office, because no one who goes there ever comes back. My fingers, loosed from Jack’s shoulder, start shaking.
“Did Barnard mention when this experiment was starting?” I ask.
“Not that I heard. But it’s probably soon. He referred to it as an active project.”
The bridge that’s holding me up wobbles, a blast of vertigo threatening to tip me over the edge. We need to go to Barnard’s house tomorrow. Even if it’s a long shot, I have to try. Fear is weakness. Action is power. I can’t bring Austin Shea back to life. There’s nothing I can do to make KJ recover. But I can find a way to help my spinner friends. I have to. Otherwise, my life is not worth the price that others have already paid.
04
THE SOUND OF FEET RATTLING THE FIRE ESCAPE announces the arrival of our squat-mates. I check my watch: 6:09. Jack jumps off his crate, then strikes a casual pose leaning against the dresser. Too hyped up to sit still, I bend down and start searching for the missing apple core. No sense making foraging easy for the rats.
Victor stomps into the kitchen. He’s holding Faith’s hand, and she trails behind him like a lost puppy. He stops short when he sees us.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” Victor’s glance sweeps past where I’m hunkered on the floor and settles on Jack. Victor always pretends I’m not around. I haven’t decided if I’m more annoyed at being ignored or relieved that I don’t have to deal with him.
Victor jabs a finger in Jack’s direction. Victor is a stocky kid—I’m guessing eighteen or nineteen—who moves in sudden jerks that make any room he enters feel crowded. Tattoos fight for space along his beefy arms, and his hair grows in spiky thrusts all over his head.
“No coming in or out until the place downstairs closes,” he says. “Rules.”
I straighten, dusting the grime off my knees, and stand next to Jack.
“It’s cool,” Jack says. “No one saw us.”
Victor’s eyes narrow, distrust emanating from him along with the smell of his unwashed body. “How do you know?”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” Jack says. “No cops, no guy from Elmer’s?”
The air around us hums, as though an electric charge is bouncing off Victor. Jack rubs a hand across his newly shorn head, and I suddenly recognize his inspiration. His haircut is exactly like Victor’s.
Jack gestures toward the countertop.
“We got some food,” he says. “Help yourself.”
Victor glares at the pile of groceries. I rub the toe of my sneaker against the floor, wiping a small space free of dirt. Faith wanders over and perches on the edge of the dresser.
“You want an apple?” I pick one up and hold it out to her.
“Oh.” Faith’s skinny shoulders droop under the slight weight of her blouse. “I guess.” She accepts the fruit without biting it.
Victor’s hand shoots out and he grabs an apple, too, sinking his teeth into it with a sharp crunch. As if released, Faith mirrors the gesture, bringing her apple to her lips and nibbling at the red skin.
From the other side of the squat, KJ lets out a long, loud moan.
“He’s worse.” Victor juts his chin toward KJ’s corner.
Jack shrugs. “About the same.”
“He can’t die here, man,” Victor says. He chomps down on the apple again, ripping out a huge hunk and stuffing it in one cheek. “We can’t deal with no bodies.”
Hearing the word “bodies” feels like someone just pulled a chair out from under me.
“He’s not going to die,” I say.
Victor acts like I haven’t spoken. He drops his half-eaten apple into the empty grocery bag and crosses his arms.
“Me and Faith don’t like the way this deal is working out,” he says to Jack. “You guys don’t follow the rules. We want you out.”
The room grows so still it might have frozen. I can hear my own breath, shallow and quick. We can’t leave here. We have nowhere else to go.
“KJ’s pretty sick,” Jack says. “We can’t move him.”
Victor’s lips draw into an ugly line. “Not our problem, man.”
Faith is wrapping a strand of hair around her finger, twisting it into a slipknot and pulling it free again with an abstracted air. The apple hangs in her other hand, its red skin barely marked by one tiny bite.
“All right,” Jack says. “We’ll follow the rules. From now on, Alex and I won’t come in until after you get here.”
Victor strides across the kitchen, not stopping until he’s inches away from Jack. The two guys face each other. Jack is taller than Victor, and they both have muscles, but Victor’s look like he got them somewhere other than a gym. I reach out for time, brushing the strands hovering all around me. If I lunge, I could grab Jack and freeze before Victor hits him. But what then? Victor will never let us stay if he knows what we are. No Norm wants to live with a spinner.
“I could pay you.” Jack shifts his weight onto his heels. “Like rent.”
Victor cocks his head. “How much?”
Jack says something that sounds like “four sea notes,” which makes no sense to me, but must to Victor, because he immediately turns to Faith.
“What do you think?”
Faith studies the apple in her hand.
“How about five?” she murmurs.
“Five,” Victor says to Jack.
“No problem.” Jack’s face is all smiles again. “We get you the money by Saturday, and you let us stay another week.”
Victor studies Jack for a minute, then nods abruptly and juts a hand out. Jack shakes it. The tension in the room melts away so quickly my legs wobble like cooked spaghetti. Victor spins on a heel and stalks out.
“We wouldn’t really kick you out,” Faith says, unconvincingly. “It’s just this is a really good squat and we don’t want to lose it.”
She sets her uneaten apple on the counter and drifts after Victor. I wait until she fades into the
shadows before turning to Jack. The siblings’ rooms are far enough away from the kitchen that I have to lower my voice only a little to keep them from overhearing.
“What’s a sea note?”
“A hundred-dollar bill,” Jack says. I blink at him. “Don’t you watch any TV? It’s from Latin or something.”
“You just promised to get them five hundred dollars in two days?” I squeak. Jack tips his head toward Victor’s room. I lower my voice again. “Where are we going to get that?”
“You said some things are necessities.”
Jack is grinning like he thinks this whole mess sounds fun.
“So we’re just going to start robbing people now?” I ask.
Jack’s smile fades.
“Jesus, Alex. What is with you? You should be thanking me for saving our butts, not nagging me about doing the right thing. Who cares if we steal from some Norm? Victor and Faith were about to kick us out, if you didn’t notice.”
I bite my lip. What would happen if we had to move KJ? We can probably hoist him down the stairs the way we’d brought him up, limp and frozen. But we can’t hold a freeze forever. I picture his wilted body propped up in the bus shelter, imagine a helpful passerby calling 911. I shudder.
“What if we get caught?” I ask.
“Who’s going to catch us?” Jack says. “You do realize you’re godlike powerful, right? You can do anything.”
I start putting the groceries into one of the plastic bins. I don’t feel powerful. I feel trapped.
“OK,” I say, “we’ll figure out a way to steal money, but let’s do it Saturday. Tomorrow, I want to go to Barnard’s.”
“Fine by me.” Jack grabs the box of cookies before I put them away and heads out of the kitchen. A few minutes later, I hear the creak of the fire door and know he’s gone out.
Leaning my elbows on the dresser, I rest my head against my fists. The headache still pounds inside my skull. I should have gotten coffee when we were at the store, or at least a soda. Caffeine is the only thing that makes time headaches better. Except, if I drink coffee now, I’ll never sleep. Along with my usual worries, I know tonight Victor’s words will echo in my head. Is he right? Are we going to have to think about what to do with KJ’s body?
“It will be all right,” a breathy voice murmurs.
I spin around. Faith has appeared two feet from me, her body shadowy in the graying light.
“I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow,” she says.
It takes me a minute before I understand. “You mean Jack?”
Faith nods. “Sometimes guys just need to be alone. Do guy stuff, you know? It doesn’t mean anything.” She comes closer and holds out a chipped blue mug.
“Jack’s not my boyfriend,” I say.
Faith nods again, like she understands that I mean something different.
“Want some tea?” she asks.
I stare at the cup. Hazy steam floats up from the top. “You have hot water?”
“I’ve got another coffee maker in my room.” She offers the mug again.
“Thanks,” I say. The ceramic warms a hand I hadn’t realized was cold. I blow on the steaming liquid, releasing a waft of mint mixed with something flowery. “Where’s Victor?”
“Sleeping. It’s been a long day. He said the studio was crazy.” She shakes her head. “Too many musicians, not enough space.”
I gape at her. “Victor works at a music studio?”
“Volunteers,” she says. “They let him record his stuff in return.”
I sip the tea. Her words make me realize how little I know about them, about what they do all day, about what might make one day seem longer than another.
“How’d you end up here?” I ask.
“Oh, the usual.” Faith gestures vaguely around the dusty space. “Couldn’t get along with the ’rents.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound knowing, though in fact, I am unable to imagine any situation involving parents that would be so bad you’d want to leave. I’ve never met mine. Spinners are taken from their parents at birth. “Me, too.”
Faith smiles. The grin makes her face more substantial. I take another sip of tea. I’ve rarely talked to a Norm, rarely talked to anyone I didn’t already know really, really well. I search for something to say so she won’t go away.
“Do you know of other places we could stay?” I ask. Then, worried she might take offense, I add: “Not that this place isn’t great—we just wouldn’t want to overstay our welcome.”
“I don’t know.” Faith sinks onto the box Jack was using and starts playing with her hair again. “We slept outside before we found this place. There’s some decent spots over by the river where you can camp.” She pauses. “Some of the folks there are nice.”
Meaning some of them aren’t.
“Would a hotel rent to us?”
“Sure,” Faith says. “As long as you have ID saying you’re eighteen.”
ID. I trace the rim of my mug with one finger. Another item to add to the list of things we don’t have.
“What about jobs?” I ask. “Anything out there we could get without, you know, a reference or anything?”
Faith twists a long strand of hair around her finger.
“Some of the restaurants will let you wash dishes when it’s busy, and there’s a place on Swan Island where Victor goes sometimes to off-load crates.” She glances at me, presumably measuring my five-foot-six frame and finding it wanting. “You’re not real big, though. And you’re too cute for dock work anyway.” She stares off into space for so long that I think she’s forgotten my question, before adding, “Someone from the Society for Spinner Rights was looking for help the other day.”
“What?” I jerk, spilling tea on my leg.
“Don’t you like them?”
I mop up the fragrant tea to avoid answering.
“Yeah, spinners are pretty creepy,” Faith says. “I saw one downtown once. She was waiting in a cop car while the officer got coffee. I could tell she was a spinner by the T-shirt: Crime Investigation Center, it said. Maroon. Not a real flattering color.”
The sun has set fully now, turning the squat so dark I can barely see her. It makes her voice seems less breathy, somehow, like she’s a mythical creature that gathers strength from the night.
“I don’t have a problem with spinners,” I say carefully.
“My aunt used to be really scared of them,” Faith continues. “She said one robbed her while she was walking home. Said the guy’s eyes jiggled when he talked and that he disappeared after.”
“Sounds like kind of a wild story.”
Faith shrugs. “I gotta admit I’ve wondered. My aunt never had any money. And she was usually drunk.”
I decide to steer the conversation into safer territory. “What kind of job were the Society people offering?”
“They wanted someone to hand out flyers. Or maybe get people to sign a petition? I don’t know. Might have been a one-time thing. They put up tables sometimes, at fairs and stuff.”
“Maybe I’ll check it out,” I say.
“I doubt they pay much,” Faith says. “Not like five hundred bucks or anything. How are you gonna get that much by Saturday?”
The heat of the tea makes my palm sweat. I shift the mug to my other hand.
“Steal it.” The words are easier to say into the dark.
“Is that what you guys do?” Faith asks, as casually as if I’d said we worked in retail. “I wondered why they were looking for you.”
“What?” My hand jerks again, this time splattering tea down the front of my sweater. “Who’s looking for us?”
The shadow that is Faith shrugs. “Some guy. He was passing a picture of you around the youth center. You know, the one that gives free lunches?”
I have no idea what place she’s talking about,
but I nod anyway to make her keep talking. “What’d he say?”
“Just that you were missing and your parents were really worried. They always say that. He wanted to know if anyone had seen you.”
The wet spot on my sweater sticks to my chest like a damp washcloth. “And…did you tell him?”
“Of course not.” Faith sounds surprised.
I press the mug against my chest, a mistake since it makes the damp patch spread.
“What did the guy look like?”
“Um, I don’t know. He was just a guy. Hispanic, maybe? Or white. He could have been white. Or a really pale black guy?”
Someone should put this girl in a video about the dangers of drug abuse.
“Glasses?” I suggest.
“I don’t think so.” Faith’s voice has turned breathy again. “Maybe.”
From the depths of the squat, in the opposite direction from KJ’s room, comes a faint snuffling noise. Faith raises her head like a dog picking up a scent.
“I better go.” She stands up. “Victor gets nightmares.”
“Faith,” I say, “wait.”
But she’s already gone. I sit in the empty kitchen, holding the lukewarm tea close against my chest, and watch the shadows deepening around me. Victor’s not the only one who suffers from nightmares. I can already tell it’s going to be another long night.
05
THE COFFEE MAKER SEEMS TO BE WORKING UP TO A BOIL with particular sluggishness. I wiggle the cord, making sure the thing is fully plugged in. A stingy drip of coffee splashes down into the empty glass carafe. Jack, standing beside me, yawns.
“You’re coming out with me, right?” I ask him.
“To Dr. B’s house?” Jack makes a face. “I don’t know. You really think you’re going to find some note from Sikes just lying around somewhere?”
“We have to try something.” I grab a mug from the counter and sniff it to see if it’s clean. Results are questionable. I rip off a paper towel and scrub at the dingy spots. “Anyway, it seems more likely he’d hide something there than at the Sick.”
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