Unleashed

by Carolyn O'Doherty

  Air moves, but the day doesn’t feel any brighter. Sikes releases me.

  “Wait here a few minutes,” he says. “We don’t want to leave together.”

  My knees go slack, and I drop to the ground. There’s space between the bushes, and it’s clear someone has hidden here before. Cigarette butts and empty beer cans litter the dirt. Sikes peers through the branches.

  “It was interesting to meet you, Alex,” he says.

  I touch my throat. It’s tender, which probably means it’s bruised. Sun flashes over me for a second as the branches part. I pull my legs up against my chest and rest my head on my knees. An ache from so much freezing squeezes like a vise across my skull. I am so tired. I can’t rest for long, though. Sometime in the next few minutes, Raul is going to freeze time. He’s going to rewind everything that happened in Sikes’s office. Agent Marquez will see Sikes attack me. He’ll see whoever burned up the safe.

  He’ll also see a spinner appear out of nowhere and then see me and Matt Thompson just as instantaneously disappear. Agent Marquez is going to learn that we can change things in froze time.

  The spinners’ most dangerous secret is about to be exposed.

  16

  MY POCKET IS VIBRATING. I PUT MY HAND AGAINST IT before remembering it’s my phone.

  “Jack?”

  “Where are you?” The tension in Jack’s voice makes the temperature in my leafy hideout drop by ten degrees.

  “Near the river. What happened?”

  “Nothing.” He clears his throat. “I think someone is following me.”

  My fingertips feel like they’ve been dunked in ice water. I lick my lips and pitch my voice barely above a whisper.

  “A wiper?”

  “I don’t know,” Jack says.

  Out on the esplanade, two women power walk past my hiding place, talking loudly about someone named Chris. I pull my knees in tighter.

  “Where are you?” I ask Jack. “I thought you were at the squat.”

  “Downtown. I couldn’t sleep.”

  The whoop-whoop of a siren leaks through the phone. Jack swears, and for a moment, all I can hear are rustling noises. I grab hold of a branch, not sure if I want to push it aside and run, or rip it off to use as a weapon.

  “We need to get out of the city.” Jack sounds out of breath.

  “You’re OK?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I froze and went somewhere else.”

  I release the bush. A smear of sap marks my palm. I rub my hand against my leg, but the goop doesn’t come off.

  “Before we go, we have to warn the other spinners.”

  Jack makes an exasperated sound. “Alex, give it up already. We have to get away from the wipers.”

  “They know.”

  “Who knows what?”

  “The police know what we can do.” There’s a stick digging into my back. I shift sideways and bang my tailbone into a rock. “Or they will soon. I had to freeze time, and Raul is going to rewind it, which means his agent will see me disappear.”

  Jack swears. “All the more reason to go now.”

  “No! Don’t you get it?” Branches press against me on every side, leaves tickle my skin, and the smell of trash invades my nostrils. I roll onto my knees and crawl out onto the esplanade. “Barnard will try and cover it up, but it won’t work. Not for long. And then all the Norms will panic, and the only way to calm them down will be to get rid of spinners.”

  Visions flash before my eyes: Raul’s body stretched, unmoving, on a steel table; Yuki crumpled on a bed, her arm wired with multiple IVs; a long row of white sheets draped over still, human forms. All the spinners dead because of me. Just like Austin Shea.

  “Come with me to the Sick.” I brush dirt from my knees and start walking. “Please, Jack. We can talk to more of them if there are two of us. Then, I promise, we’ll get out of town. KJ has an idea of where we can go.”

  Even through the phone I feel him hesitating.

  “How would we get in?”

  “We’ll follow the mail lady, Mariko. She always gets there at noon.”

  Silence stretches between us, the eternal pause between the ticks of a clock. I clutch the phone like a lifeline. Confronting Sikes by myself was a mistake, and I don’t want to make it again.

  “All right,” Jack says. “I’ll head there now.”

  * * *

  I reach the Center at 11:40. Jack isn’t there yet, so I wait in the alcove of a shuttered building. The Sick is across the street and half a block to my left, which means I have to poke my head out into the open whenever I look for him. I tilt my head down so my hair covers my face. I should have gotten a hat. Or a head scarf. A motorcycle cruises by, its deep roar bringing flashbacks of the one I saw from the bus. I check my watch: 11:47. The motorcyclist passes me without turning in my direction.

  Jack shows up at 11:56.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say.

  Jack grunts and squeezes in beside me. He watches the traffic passing along the street. I chew on a shred of fingernail and do my own surveillance. The Sick is located in the low-rent part of downtown, squashed in with a few by-the-week hotels, a soup kitchen, and some shady bars. Not many pedestrians bother with this area, and the few that do tend to talk to themselves. The only people out today are some painters who have two tall ladders set up to work on a building further up the block. I watch as a man in a paint-splattered jumpsuit climbs down one of the ladders, shifts it a couple yards to the left, then climbs slowly back up. The fingernail crunches beneath my teeth. This doesn’t seem like a very efficient painting strategy. Maybe they’re not real painters. Maybe they’ve been hired to watch for us.

  “Will Victor be pissed when he wakes up and finds out that you ditched him?” I ask Jack, more to distract myself than because I care.

  “Probably.”

  I glance at him. Jack’s jaw is set in a hard line. “You guys not getting along?”

  Jack keeps his eyes fixed on a man at the far end of the street. “Victor’s careless. He never wants to hide when I freeze or melt time. He thinks it’s funny if things just disappear.”

  I check my watch instead of pointing out to Jack that he recently thought the same thing. 11:58. Mariko should be here soon with the mail. The thought has barely cleared my consciousness when Jack nudges me.

  “There she is.”

  Mariko is across the street, pushing a wheeled cart in front of her like a stroller. Despite the warm day, she wears long pants. Her hair, pulled back in a ponytail, swings to the rhythm of her gait. Jack and I watch her disappear into the building next to the Sick, then reappear and proceed down the block. Jack drops one hand over mine.

  “You want to do the honors?”

  I nod, a nervous jerk that’s more like a muscle spasm. We both stick our heads out and watch Mariko clomp her way up the ramp that curves along the side of the Center’s front stairs. In my mind’s eye, I picture the shadowed lobby on the other side. Charlie will be on duty again, or maybe that other guy. What’s his name? The one with the red beard. Mariko stops at the front door and starts to rummage through her bag. Sam. That’s it. Samuel Kelly.

  “What’s she doing?” Jack asks.

  “Ringing the doorbell,” I say.

  “No, she isn’t. The doorbell is on the other side.”

  Jack’s right. I lean forward, squinting to better see what’s going on. Mariko pulls a stack of mail from her bag and starts fiddling with something on the left side of the front door. Seconds later, she steps away and starts back down the ramp. The door hasn’t opened. I peer at the spot where she was standing. To the left of the front door, waist high in the rough gray of the Center’s stone walls, I can just make out a darker gray rectangle.

  “What is that?” Jack asks.

  “A mail slot.” I slump against the alcove’s wall. “Is that new?�
��

  “Probably,” Jack says, as we watch Mariko stride purposely down the street toward an office building. “They did let four spinners escape. They’d have to do something to improve security.”

  My eyes flick from the suspiciously oblivious painters to the Center’s roofline, which I know hides security cameras. What if they’ve tilted them so they point not at the front door, but outward, so they can see people lurking across the street?

  “We should leave,” I say.

  “Leave Portland?”

  The cameras are too far away to see, but I can sense their red recording lights, pointing like lasers in my direction: Here she is. Come and get her.

  “We can’t.” I abandon our meager hiding spot and emerge onto the sidewalk. “Not until we think of some other way of getting into the Sick.”

  Jack doesn’t move. “What about FedEx?”

  The Center’s windows stare at us, dark and menacing in their blankness.

  “What about it?” I ask.

  “A package would be too big to fit in the mail slot.”

  “So?” I turn to face Jack. If anyone is watching us from the Center, all they’ll be able to see is my back. “We’re not FedEx.”

  “Let’s send a package. Then when the delivery guy shows up, we can follow him in.”

  “We wouldn’t know what time they’d deliver it.”

  Jack twists his fingers, his knuckles cracking in stuttering unison.

  “We can pretend to be FedEx ourselves.”

  The imaginary lasers are burning into my scalp. It’s all I can do to keep from sprinting down the street.

  “Come on, Jack.”

  Jack steps out of the alcove and starts walking. “All we have to do is get a uniform.”

  I put a hand against the pulse throbbing in my neck. Shannon once told me about a guru who could control his own heartbeat through meditation. I press my fingers against the fluttering beat. Deep breathing, I tell myself. Calm thoughts.

  A flash of blue and white in the corner of my eye shatters my attempt at inner peace. A block ahead, a police car waits at a red light, facing our direction. My hands clench.

  “Look!” Jack seizes my arm.

  “Where?” I swing around, sure I’m going to see yet another cop.

  “That clothing store.” Jack points down the street. “If I got those slacks and a top in matching navy, I’d look like a delivery guy.”

  I glance at the police car. The traffic light is still red.

  “What if they recognize you?”

  “I’ll wear a hat.” Jack glares at me. “What’s wrong with you? I thought you were desperate to get inside.”

  “I am.”

  The light changes. The cop car’s engine revs with an ominous rumble as it accelerates in our direction. Glare turns the windshield into a mirror, and then, abruptly, it clears. A scream bursts in my chest, my effort to strangle it resulting in an ugly choking noise.

  “What?” Jack asks.

  Ross’s face appears behind the glass, and his eyes lock onto mine.

  “We have to freeze.” I grab Jack’s hand and drag him into the closest storefront. “Now.”

  A bell tinkles as we step inside. I’m moving so fast, I barely take in the shelves crammed with paint, art books, brushes, crayons, and custom paper that crowd the store’s narrow aisles. A woman with a purple streak in her hair and a silver nose ring glances up as we dart past. I flash her what I hope is an innocent smile and dive into a section lined with large pieces of poster board. The towering sheets create a tunnel effect. Neither the clerk nor the people passing outside the store windows can see us.

  Jack yanks time to a stop.

  “What happened?” he asks. “Did you see something?”

  “Ross,” I gasp.

  Jack’s face pales.

  “He’s out there,” I say. “He saw us.”

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  Ross has pulled his car over to the sidewalk. I can’t tell if the engine is still running, but his head is turned in the direction of the art store.

  “Do you still want to do this?” Jack asks.

  I draw a ragged breath.

  “Yes.”

  We walk down the street to the clothing store and pick out a relatively uniform-like outfit. In a back room, I find an empty cardboard box, which I stuff with Jack’s regular clothes and a note that says Donations, then reseal with tape. On the top, in black marker, I write out the Sick’s address.

  Walking the three blocks back to the Center, we hammer out the rest of our plan: Jack will ring the bell while I wait nearby. If the door opens, I’ll freeze time, come over and touch Jack, then melt and refreeze as fast as I can so the two of us will be in the freeze together. If, on the other hand, the Center does have some way of accepting deliveries without opening the door, he will hand over the package, and we will both just walk away.

  Time hovers around me, a still blanket to steady myself against. We duck into an underground parking garage a block from our goal, start time again, and then peek out toward the place where we last saw Ross. The taillights of his blue-and-white car are just visible, parked in front of a fire hydrant around the next block. I’m straining for the sound of his door opening when the car peels away from the curb.

  “He’s leaving,” I say.

  “Great,” Jack says, “maybe he didn’t see us after all.”

  The image of Ross’s eyes locking with mine through the windshield burns in my memory. Did I imagine it? Dread coils inside me, a lion waiting to spring.

  “Maybe.”

  We slide out of our shelter, and head to the Center. The building seems just as menacing as it did when we’d left it ten minutes ago. I wait on the opposite sidewalk, pretending to adjust the laces on my sneakers, while Jack marches up the Center steps. Through my bangs, I watch as he pushes the bell beside the heavy front door. Someone must have responded, because I see him lean toward the speaker panel to announce himself.

  At the end of the block, a police car turns the corner.

  My mouth goes dry. It can’t be Ross, can it? How could he know which direction we went? Time’s endless strands quiver at the edge of my control. On the Center’s front step, Jack waits, oblivious. I stand up. The car cruises closer.

  Jack shifts the box he’s carrying from one hand to the other. The gesture is the sign we’ve agreed upon if everything is going as planned. But it’s not going as planned—not at all. The car slows in front of me. I take in a gulp of air that doesn’t reach my lungs. Time shimmers around me. The car’s window opens with a whisper.

  “Alex?” Ross asks. “Is everything all right?”

  A silent scream fills my throat. Ross unlatches his seat belt. The door to the Center cracks open. I snatch time to a stop so hard my whole body clenches.

  The freeze does not bring comfort. Ross sits before me, radiating menace; the Center looms above me, rife with danger. I force my feet to move. Crossing the road feels like wading through rushing water, every step an effort to overcome invisible resistance. One foot forward. Another. I reach the stairs leading up to the doorway. They are painfully familiar. Here is the chip from the time some protesters threw rocks, there the mold stain that looks like a bald man wearing glasses. Memories lay themselves before me like pictures in a photo album: racing up the stairs with KJ to avoid being late after an outing; skipping down them beside Ross as we head out on a mission; stumbling up them just weeks before, my arm bleeding from the attack by one of Sikes’s men, naively believing I was heading to safety.

  Now I know better. Now I know I am entering a building run by someone who wants me dead. The narrow strip of black at the edge of the Center’s front door gapes like a bottomless abyss oozing with some unnamed threat. I start climbing the stairs. It’s just the Center—my home for the past seven years. Tim
e is frozen, so there’s no reason to panic. The danger is behind me. The danger is Ross. It still takes every ounce of my will to climb the final step.

  Jack stands in perfect stillness, one hand clasping the Center’s front door. He’s tilted the cap so it covers his eyes. I touch his wrist. His hand is warm and solid. Mine is cold and quivering. I let time move forward for the briefest possible instant before snatching it back under my control. Jack’s hand twitches.

  “Let’s go,” he says, pulling the door open another few inches.

  “Wait.” The gap at the edge of the door shimmers with evil.

  Jack frowns at me. “What for?”

  He sounds suspicious. The horror whispering to me from the other side of the door saturates my mind, and I suddenly wonder what Jack plans to do once we get inside. Why is he being so helpful when he initially thought my plan was foolish? Does he really want to warn the other spinners, or does he have his own reasons for heading into the Center? A tremor shivers my shoulders. How does anyone ever really know what someone else is thinking? I thought I knew Ross, but I was wrong. I don’t even seem to know KJ.

  “I’ll go first.” Swallowing my terror, I yank the door open wide and plunge across the threshold.

  Buzzing explodes in my head, a bomb sending bits of shrapnel flying around my skull. I clamp my hands over my ears. Pain knocks me to my knees. Knives are slicing through my brain, tearing my control, ripping the time strands into fluttering wisps.

  Something clangs. Not inside my head, but outside, in the world, the moving, unfrozen world. I stagger to my feet. Vertical lines cross my vision, making it hard to see across the lobby. I turn. Jack stands on the front step, door caught in his hand, face blank with shock.

  I shake my head. The buzzing fades to a dull roar, and the scene around me grows clearer. These are not hallucinatory lines blocking my vision. They’re bars. Someone has erected metal bars just inside the Center’s front door, as if they were framing in a new, much smaller entrance hall. Except this is no entrance. It’s a cage, and the opening between it and the front door has just clanged shut.