Unleashed

by Carolyn O'Doherty

  Shannon inhales sharply. KJ’s fork slips from his fingers.

  “It’s not true,” Shannon says.

  “It is true.” I keep my eyes fixed on KJ. “It was in the news. According to them, the Center is closing because of toxic mold, but that’s just a cover story. Ross told me the regional directors are cracking down because the four of us escaped.”

  KJ frowns.

  “You talked to Ross?”

  He sounds so disappointed. I rub my thumb against the spilled milkshake coating my palm, scrubbing it so hard my hand burns.

  “Yes.” I can hear the defensiveness in my voice. “I saw him when I broke into Barnard’s house.”

  “You did what?” Shannon sounds horrified.

  “I wanted to prove he worked for Sikes,” I say. “To help the spinners.”

  The frown on KJ’s face deepens. It’s not an angry expression. He looks confused, like he’s working through a particularly complicated math problem.

  “After all this.” He motions around the room, managing to encompass both the dirty surroundings and his own wasted self. “You’re still working with Ross to track down Sikes?”

  “No! I mean, yes, I do want Sikes caught, but I’m not working with Ross. I called Sikes’s real identity into the hotline by myself.”

  KJ sets his plate down on the floor, abandoning his half-eaten food altogether.

  “Same old Alex.” He sighs. “Always trying to save the world.”

  A gust of wind sends a cold blast into the rapidly cooling room. The resignation on KJ’s face is worse than anger. How many times has KJ asked me to forget Sikes and spend more time with him? How many times have I pushed him away because my ego wanted to make a difference?

  Shannon looks at me as if she’d like to throw me out the window the way I chucked the Aclisote. She reaches over and strokes KJ’s arm.

  “Oh, sweetie,” she says. “You are a million times more important than some anonymous thief.”

  KJ studies Shannon’s hand as it caresses the dark hair on his forearm. When he lifts his head, his whole face is one big question mark.

  “I wonder.” He picks up his milkshake. “If I’m well enough to freeze time.”

  “Not yet,” Shannon says. “You’re still weak.”

  “I’ll be quick.” KJ presses her hand before extracting his arm from hers. “I want to see if my skills have changed.”

  Shannon shakes her head. “It’s too soon.”

  KJ sucks down a final gulp of shake and hands me the empty container. Two weeks ago, I would have made a joke about him treating me like a waitress. Two days ago, I would have been ecstatic that he was able to move his arm at all. Today, all I do is reach for the piece of trash. KJ doesn’t let go.

  Shannon continues lecturing: “You know people are more likely to get sick when they’re overtired, and in your condition…”

  KJ’s hand slides down the side of the cup. When his fingers touch mine, I understand. My heart contracts in my chest. I can almost feel the thought as it slides through his mind: freeze time.

  Shannon’s tirade cuts off mid-sentence. Stillness settles around us, a slice of time outside of time. My heart starts beating faster. KJ and I haven’t been alone together since the night we kissed. Memories come back to me. KJ’s face so close to my own, the unexpected softness of his lips. He’d called me brave then and promised we’d face everything together.

  KJ lets go of the cup.

  “I guess it worked,” he says.

  “Think it will stick?” My hand still feels gummy from the shake. “Try melting and see if things go back.”

  “Not yet.” KJ twists around so he’s facing me. He’s sitting close enough that our knees touch, and the point of contact tingles, as if my blood had been replaced by champagne.

  “We need to talk,” he says.

  Shannon’s frozen body fills the space behind KJ’s shoulder.

  “I couldn’t tell her,” I say. The words pour out in a rush. “I needed both her and Jack to save you. Shannon knows how to take care of sick people. I was pretty beat up at that point, and besides, I had to go out to get food and stuff. No one else could freeze time like me. Not at first.”

  “I didn’t say you had to take care of me,” KJ says. “I’m just saying that Shannon risked a lot, and she doesn’t deserve to get hurt.”

  The unspoken criticism ricochets through the squat like a muted scream. I curl my hands in my lap, twisting my fingers together, so they look like a ball of pink and white worms.

  “There never seemed to be a good moment to tell her,” I say.

  The excuse sounds lame, even to me. KJ shifts his body, a restless movement that moves his knee away from mine.

  “I get it,” he says. “I mean, it’s not like I can expect you to break up with my girlfriend for me.”

  Girlfriend. The champagne in my veins goes flat. Is that how he still thinks of her?

  KJ flops back on his pillows. “What am I supposed say to her? Oh, hey, Shannon, thanks for saving my life and all, but I wanted to tell you that the night before you left the only home you’ve ever known, in order to take care of me, I was busy kissing someone else.”

  His words replay in my head—once, twice, three times. In none of those do I hear him saying that kissing me was anything but a mistake. Behind him, Shannon remains in her frozen crouch. When time stopped, it caught her staring at him with an expression of heartfelt anxiety. Clearly, she’s not the kind of person who would run off to chase criminals while her boyfriend lay deathly ill.

  “Shannon really loves the Center, you know,” KJ goes on. “She told me once that she thinks of Yolly as an aunt. Yolly doesn’t have a lot of family outside of us, so I think she encouraged her. The Center was home to Shannon in a way it never was for you and me. That’s the reason she has such a hard time accepting the truth.”

  I study my hands again. The worms that are my fingers are starting to strangle each other. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I register that they hurt.

  “Shannon gave you Aclisote for four days after we got here,” I say. “She almost killed you.”

  “I know.” KJ scratches his cheek. The stubble that had built up over the past few days is gone. His hair is clean too, and wet, just like Shannon’s. I know from experience that it’s hard to wash your own hair in that small bathroom sink. Were they in there together while I filled Shannon’s latest order? Giggling under the cold spray. Running their hands through each other’s hair to rinse out the suds.

  “Can’t you see this from her perspective?” KJ asks. “If you really believed that Aclisote was the only thing that might save me, wouldn’t you have done what she did?”

  I stretch my fingers, soothing the cramped muscles one by one. KJ’s shoulders droop under the burden of the position I have put him in. They are such thin shoulders, the bones starkly visible from so many days of sickness.

  “So, what do we do?” I ask. “You keep being Shannon’s boyfriend, and you and I go back to being friends?”

  “I don’t know.” KJ’s shoulders sink even further. “Maybe I should just tell her what happened.”

  He sounds like he’s offering to drink poison. I indulge in a brief fantasy of Shannon being miraculously out of the way, before succumbing to the bewilderment on KJ’s face. That and hard reality.

  “The only reason Shannon stays here is because of you,” I say. “If you break up with her, she’ll run back to Yolly.” I flick a muffin crumb off my leg. “She’ll tell them where we are because she thinks the Center will help us.”

  “She’s not a bad person, Alex.”

  I nod. I know Shannon isn’t a bad person. I know KJ is right that Shannon only did what I would have done in her situation. These facts don’t make me feel any better. I study my ruined nails. Once again, in my efforts to help people, I’ve only manag
ed to create a situation where everyone involved is going to end up getting hurt.

  KJ puts a hand to his forehead. The gesture is familiar, and a new layer of guilt piles onto the growing mass. How long have we been sitting here in the frozen stillness?

  “You’re tired.” I sound like a weak imitation of Shannon—weak because she wouldn’t have let KJ hold time for this long. She wouldn’t have made him feel bad, either. She would have put his health first. “You should melt time. We don’t have to figure out any of this right away. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? That we have a future now?”

  KJ starts to say something, then seems to reconsider. Time stirs the still air. The transition isn’t smooth—the old giddy swing of things being put back into their prefreeze positions whirls around us. It doesn’t make me feel dizzy like it did when the freeze was mine; it’s more like a second of disorientation, and then I’m back, sitting up next to KJ, his empty cup in my hand.

  “…freezing time is too dangerous.” Shannon finishes the rant she started before the freeze. “You should definitely wait longer before trying it.”

  KJ’s fingers once again rest against mine. This time, I am the one who pulls away, taking the cup and placing it onto my dirty plate.

  “You’re right.” KJ sinks back onto his pillow and allows Shannon to fuss over him.

  “So.” I stand up. “I guess I’ll…” I gesture vaguely around the cluttered space. What can I say? Leave the room, so I don’t have to be around you two? “Clean up our dishes.”

  Neither of them stops me.

  I take as long as I can squashing our plates into the trash, then move just as deliberately as I put away the groceries Jack dumped on the counter. KJ’s freeze may be over, but the conversation within it is harder to forget. I wish I didn’t know how much KJ admires Shannon. I wish I didn’t know how much he still cares.

  14

  KJ WALKS INTO THE KITCHEN AS I’M PUTTING AWAY THE last of the groceries, Shannon following him so closely it’s as if she’s afraid he’s about to tip over.

  “Is there still coffee?” KJ says, heading for the pot Shannon made earlier this morning.

  “Help yourself.” I hand over a clean mug with exaggerated cheerfulness. “I even got us some creamer.”

  KJ fills the mug, then pours a second one for Shannon.

  “What do you say we get out of here for a while,” he says. “I haven’t breathed fresh air in a week.”

  Shannon shakes her head. “It’s raining, and you need to rest.”

  “The rain stopped,” KJ says, reaching for the half-and-half I left on the counter. “And I’m rested.”

  I step back to give him room, which allows me the opportunity to study him upright for the first time. The sight makes Shannon’s worries about him tipping over more legitimate. KJ, a thin guy to begin with, now brings to mind a scarecrow come to life. His sweatpants hang from his bony hips. His T-shirt floats over a concave stomach. I busy myself wiping the dresser down with a damp rag to hide my dismay.

  “Is there anywhere nice out there we can go to?” Shannon asks me.

  I picture the neighborhood outside, the street of endless cars filled with quizzical drivers, the houses with their carefully shielded windows, behind which anyone could lurk. What’s the safer choice? An isolated area where we’d be easy to spot or a city street crowded with a million eyes? I clench the rag so hard that dirty water puddles in the spot I’d just cleaned.

  “There’s a park nearby,” I offer. KJ’s grin only sort of eases my anxiety.

  Just after nine-thirty—after they finish their coffee and Shannon cuts a length of twine off an old box to hold up KJ’s pants—we head for the door. I take Shannon’s wrist, then brush my fingers across KJ’s just long enough to connect us while I stop time. The trip down the fire escape takes much longer than usual. KJ’s presence makes me newly aware of the steepness of the steps, the short leap needed to reach the ground, the irritating scratches from the blackberries. KJ is breathing heavily by the time we reach the bottom, and Shannon and I exchange worried looks behind his back. One day of rest isn’t nearly enough to compensate for five of near unconsciousness.

  I lead them to a spot between two parked cars where we can hide and wait for KJ to recover before melting time. The light brightens, the whirr of cars floats through moving air, and the scent of dirty pavement intensifies.

  KJ inhales the weak fall sun.

  “This is great,” he says. He sounds so pleased that for a minute I relax into an answering beat of happiness. We are here, out of the Center, KJ healthy against all odds. But then, a car backfires, and my stomach rolls into a too-familiar knot.

  “Come on.” I stand up. Scattered clouds flit across the sky, giving the day an unsettled feel. “Let’s get off the busy street.”

  KJ glances at me, clearly surprised by the urgency in my voice. I chew a fingernail and motion for them to hurry. The two of them stand up and we all head for the crosswalk on the corner.

  “I can’t believe that we’re outside like this,” KJ says. “Totally free.”

  Shannon tilts her face up into the sun. “It is pretty nice.”

  “Yeah.” I jab the walk button, scanning the drivers’ faces to check if anyone is watching us. “Sort of.”

  KJ shoots me a sidelong glance. “Only sort of?”

  “I guess I’m not used to appreciating it.” The little white crosswalk guy lights up and we step into the street. “What with you being sick and everything.”

  “I’m fine now.”

  We finish crossing. A man waits on the corner, head bent as he lights a cigarette. His eyes follow us as we pass by. The weird feeling I had yesterday, of floating between two versions of the world, one benign and one not, returns. Like a flickering shadow, the man’s expression alternates between curious and menacing.

  “Let’s keep moving.” I grab KJ’s elbow and hurry him up the sidewalk, with Shannon trotting at our heels.

  “What’s the matter?” KJ asks.

  “That guy.” I glance back the way we came. Smoking Man stands at the corner, still watching us. He’s not the man on the motorcycle—this guy has darker skin and short kinky hair—but does that matter? There can’t be only one wiper in the city.

  “The Center has signs up at the runaway centers,” I say, “with our photos on them. The cops probably have them, too.”

  KJ twists around. “And you think that guy might be a cop?”

  “He could be.” I drag KJ forward so he’ll stop gawking. “That’s why we have to get out of Portland.”

  “Where would we go?” Shannon asks.

  We turn the corner and enter a residential neighborhood that lies a few blocks north of the squat. The street is quiet, with neat houses tucked behind tidy lawns. I slow my pace. Shannon takes KJ’s hand, and I realize I’m still holding onto his arm and release it.

  “I don’t know yet,” I say. “Wherever it is, I think we should take local transit and avoid major bus lines and train stations as long as we can. In case they’re watching them.”

  “Do you really think Dr. Barnard has time to stake out the train stations?” Shannon asks.

  “The cops could be,” I say.

  The sidewalk is narrow for three people, forcing us to walk close together. Every few minutes, my fingers brush KJ’s. Is he noticing the contact, too? Is he purposely swinging his arm so his knuckles touch mine?

  “What if we rented a house to stay in?” KJ says. “Out near the coast or something—you know, like those vacation rentals they advertise on TV.”

  Or maybe he’s completely oblivious. I shove my hands in my pockets.

  “How would we pay for it?” I ask.

  “You have all that cash. We could load some on a prepaid credit card, then do the whole transaction online.”

  “That might work,” I say. “Do you
think they have any big enough to hold twenty-four people?”

  “Twenty-four people?” KJ says. “There’s only four of us.”

  We’re nearing the park. A woman walking two dogs turns the corner ahead of us, moving in our direction. I nudge KJ to get his attention, and cross the street.

  “Don’t tell me you’re worried about her reporting us,” Shannon says.

  “You never know.”

  “Seriously, Alex? When did you get so paranoid?”

  The lingering headache I woke up with reignites with a small pulse.

  “I’m not paranoid,” I say. Jack called me paranoid a few days ago, but he isn’t saying that anymore. Jack understands now. “You have no idea what it’s been like out here.”

  A school bus rumbles past us. Through an open window comes the chatter of small children. A girl wearing a knitted hat waves to us.

  “I can see what you mean,” Shannon says, waving back. “It’s real scary out here.”

  When we were Youngers, Yolly used to tell us to take the high road when we’d get in arguments with other kids. If you don’t react, she’d say, they won’t have reason to tease you. I channel my better self, ignoring Shannon and focusing my attention on KJ.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about how we can get back into the Sick,” I say, “and I finally have an idea. What if we follow Mariko in?”

  “What if we what?” KJ asks.

  “Mariko. The mail lady.” Talking this through with KJ gives my step an extra bounce. It’s what I’ve been dreaming about ever since we escaped. “I was thinking first about following the staff in, but they mostly go through the garage, and it’s got that gate on the outside and a locked door on the inside, so we’d have to wait around in real time for a second person to leave after the gate opened, and I’m pretty sure there are cameras down there. Mariko always makes her deliveries right around noon, so we won’t have to hang around the front door for ages looking suspicious.”

  I’m talking too fast and with an animation that is wildly inappropriate for this topic of conversation, but I can’t help it. The relief of having someone to work this through with is so great I feel as giddy as a Younger on a field trip.