Unleashed

by Carolyn O'Doherty

  The glimmer of a sunrise peeks around the curtains, washing the motel furniture with rose and softening its edges. The whole room glows—the ugly dresser, the rumpled pillows. Even the gentle sway as the air conditioner flutters the heavy curtains adds to the sensation, like the sun is winking at us with pleasure.

  Wait. The curtains are fluttering? I reach for time and feel its eternal motion ticking forward. KJ must have stopped paying attention. All that kissing…My head whips around to the girl lying in KJ’s abandoned bed. The girl who is no longer asleep. My body stiffens.

  “What’s wrong?” KJ asks.

  I open my mouth, shock and shame taking away my ability to speak. KJ must register the direction I’m looking in, because he spins around, standing so abruptly he knocks me to the floor.

  “Shannon.” His voice quavers.

  I breathe in rancid carpet stench and wish there was any scenario that made crawling under the bed OK. I could freeze time, just long enough to get my bearings, but I don’t. It feels like cheating. My legs shake as I straighten to standing.

  Shannon emerges from the other bed. Anguish strips her cheeks of color. Her eyes look huge beneath the tumbled curls of her hair. KJ takes a few steps in her direction, but Shannon puts up a hand and he stops.

  “What are you doing?” she asks. The T-shirt she’d slept in slips off one shoulder, exposing the thin line of her clavicle.

  “I’m sorry,” KJ says. “I should have told you.”

  “You should have told me?” Shannon’s words bounce against the motel walls like sharp objects. “Told me what? That this was all a joke?”

  “No.” KJ takes another step toward Shannon. I fold my arms around my chest, trying to hold onto the warmth KJ left behind. My stomach roils. Despite not having eaten in hours, I want to throw up.

  “I meant everything I ever said to you,” KJ is saying. “I really do care about you. It’s just…”

  “You care about me?” Shannon collapses back onto the bed. I force myself to watch as her face crumples, as the tears start streaming down her cheeks. “All this time I thought we were together, you and she…” She flicks a hand in my direction as if she’s shaking mud from her fingers.

  “It’s not like that,” KJ says. “Really. This is the first time anything happened.”

  Shannon’s head snaps up. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  I hug myself tighter. My skin feels coated with Shannon’s imaginary mud. Watching their exchange feels intrusive, but the urge to leave beckons with something too much like relief. Witnessing this is much harder than leaving, and I deserve hard.

  KJ hangs his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Shannon yells. She’s on her feet again, body shaking with anger. “I left everything for you. My home. My friends. I stopped taking Aclisote and let time mutate me.” Before my eyes, Shannon disappears, reappearing instantly a foot in front of KJ. He flinches, and I wonder if she slapped him while he was frozen. “I listened to Alex’s ridiculous lies. I stayed because I believed…” She turns her head. “Oh, god.”

  “Shannon.” KJ puts a tentative hand on her shoulder. She wrenches herself away.

  “Why can’t you see that Alex is crazy?” Shannon smears the tears running down her face. “The way she rants, the paranoia. The Center is our home. They take care of us. I know you don’t want to believe we have to die, but it’s true.”

  “We have proof,” KJ starts.

  “Proof.” Shannon’s mouth twists. She drops her eyes to the floor, as if the sight of us is more than she can bear. “I can’t stay here.”

  Cold that has nothing to do with the air conditioning tickles the back of my neck.

  “You can’t go back to the Center,” I say. “It’s not safe.”

  Shannon raises her face toward mine. She looks broken, like a doll that’s been smashed and pasted back together without skill.

  “Shut up.”

  KJ reaches toward her again. “She’s right, Shannon. You can’t go back there. We’ll work something out. It will be OK.”

  Shannon draws herself to her full height, a righteous queen blazing with scorn.

  “No,” she says, “it won’t.”

  For a moment, the three of us stare at each other. Then, as quick as a candle going out, Shannon vanishes.

  21

  KJ SPINS IN THE EMPTY ROOM.

  “Shannon?”

  The dresser, crowded with her grocery bag of stuff, gazes back accusingly. Cold sinks deeper into my body. The sun sliding through the heavy curtains no longer offers the promise of a new day. Instead, I see the shadows the light pushes ahead of itself, the patches of darkness reaching toward us like fingers. Shannon could be in the Center’s lobby at this very minute, Dr. Barnard running to the sound of her voice. He’ll make her freeze time again. In seconds of real time, they could be back.

  “We have to get out of here.” I touch my wrist, half expecting to feel the buzzing clasp of a leash.

  “Shannon wouldn’t turn us in,” KJ says, in a voice that reveals his doubt.

  I scramble over the bed and snatch KJ’s arm. Time yanks to a stop. “She wouldn’t see it as turning us in. She’d see it as saving you.”

  We pack our stuff without speaking, moving carefully so we won’t accidentally brush against each other in the cramped space. The fleeting intimacy that passed between us feels tainted. Perfect joy erased by bitter consequence.

  We trudge away from the motel through gray, frozen air. Hardly anyone is outside this early on a Thursday morning. We pass an unmoving delivery truck, a jogger in a reflective yellow slicker hovering above the sidewalk, a rat frozen in a gutter. We keep walking. It’s KJ who breaks the silence.

  “It’s my fault,” he says.

  I settle the backpack more firmly on my shoulders. “It’s mine, too. I knew how much she liked you.”

  KJ kicks a plastic water bottle lying on the curb. “I should have talked to her right away, told her it wasn’t going to work out.”

  We turn a corner, moving off the wide frontage road and onto a smaller commercial strip.

  “We can’t leave her in the Center,” KJ says. “They’ll take her to the Central Office, just like they were going to take you.”

  “They might not.” I rip a handful of leaves off a roadside shrub. They’re dusty and smell like car exhaust. “She wants to be at the Center. She’ll take Aclisote willingly.”

  KJ shakes his head. “She still knows too much. If she tells the other spinners what we told her, some of them might believe her. Plus, they’re transferring everyone soon, which means the information could spread. There’s no way Barnard will risk that.”

  I tear the leaves into tiny pieces, sprinkling them on the ground as we walk.

  “Maybe she won’t be able to find her way back. She doesn’t know the city very well.”

  “There’s a reassuring picture. Shannon wandering around the city alone and completely lost. She’ll be terrified.”

  Logic tells me the accusation in his voice is mainly aimed at himself, but his anger hurts anyway.

  “Let’s get something to eat,” I say, “and we’ll decide what to do.”

  KJ grunts his agreement. I adjust my pack again. The straps settle onto my day-old bruises like I never took them off. The sweetness of KJ’s kisses and the wonder of us as a couple once again lie in tatters. It’s almost like nothing ever happened between us. Except something did happen, because if it hadn’t, there wouldn’t be another spinner at risk of dying because of me. In the death of Austin Shea, I can claim ignorance. With Shannon, I knew exactly what I was doing.

  The first pulse of a headache blooms behind my eyes. I let the bits of shredded leaves flutter from my hand, a trail of broken green leading back to all the places where we can never return.

  * * *
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  We walk about a mile before we find a diner serving breakfast. KJ wanted to grab something from a corner store, but I insisted we get a real meal. My headache has grown to a steady throb, and I melt time with relief.

  The diner clangs with dishes and conversation. Perspiring waitresses thread their way through a room packed with tables and booths, coffeepots raised above their heads like truce flags. A waitress with a name tag identifying her as Tammi herds us into a booth by the front window. I check our surroundings before we sit down. In the booth on one side of us, a heavy-set white man works his way through a pile of eggs while scanning the sports page. On the other side, three Hispanic men chat in rapid Spanish. No one seems to be paying us any attention. I slide onto the red plastic seat and pick up the menu.

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re facing our own platters of food. We both chose a full breakfast: fried eggs, toast, a heap of steaming potatoes, bacon, and a short stack of pancakes. KJ nibbles his toast. I work steadily through the whole pile. Whatever comes next is going to require energy.

  “Maybe the Center hasn’t fixed the window you broke,” I suggest, wiping a piece of toast through the egg yolks and grease. “We could bring a ladder over again.”

  “They wouldn’t be that careless. Either they fixed it, or they put one of those zapper things in there.”

  Tammi comes by, and we stop talking while she refills our coffees. I let my gaze roam around the diner. The crowd has thinned a little. The hefty guy reading the sports page behind KJ is gone, and the hostess is ushering a new man into his place. I study his back as he settles in. He’s middle-aged but still fit, dressed in a heavy rain jacket, khakis, and a dark green baseball cap.

  KJ picks up the thread of our conversation as soon as Tammi moves on. “That zapper thing is probably our biggest problem. If our freezes can be broken at any moment, it makes getting anywhere near the Center riskier.”

  “I think we’ll be OK.” I take a swallow of fresh coffee. Each dose of caffeine does its bit to ease my headache. “I’m pretty sure I can tell when I’m near one.” I explain about the dread that crushed me both times I’d been close to a zapper. KJ listens, nodding attentively.

  “That helps,” he says. “What if we try staking out the Center today? Find somewhere we can watch who comes and goes.”

  “I don’t know…” I start, about to say I think we might stand out too much, when something roars outside our window. I jump. KJ slams his hand onto mine. We both turn to the glass. An ancient truck revs its engine again before backing gingerly onto the street. I heave a sigh of relief.

  “Did you drop this?” a voice asks.

  I turn my head. The man from the next booth is standing beside us, offering KJ a hat. I shake my head.

  “No,” KJ says, “thanks, though.”

  “You sure?” The man is smiling. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t place it because I’m distracted by the hat. It’s green and looks just like the one that was on his head a minute ago. He knows the hat isn’t ours.

  I flip my hand over to grab KJ’s fingers, hoping he’ll recognize the pressure as a warning. Time pulses around me. I let the strands run through my mind, skeins of silk sliding on the edge of control. The hat slips from the man’s fingers. His hand swoops toward KJ’s and mine with the swiftness of a hawk snatching its prey. Our three hands slam onto the table at the same instant that time screeches to a halt.

  Silence hits the diner like a bomb. I hadn’t appreciated how loud the rumble of voices and rattling dishes was until it stopped. The people around us have turned to statues, forks halfway to mouths. Coffee hangs in impossible suspense from the lip of a pitcher.

  The man lifts his hand, and in that moment, I remember who he is. He’s the man on the motorcycle who almost trapped me on the bus. Horror encircles me like a noose.

  “Quick,” I say to KJ. “Melt and refreeze.”

  KJ’s face quivers.

  “I can’t,” he says. “It’s not my freeze.”

  “But…” I reach out. The time strands are blocked, completely immobile, and utterly out of my control. KJ and I gape at each other. Then we both turn to the man standing beside our table.

  “Sorry.” He gives an apologetic shrug. “It’s mine.”

  I stare at him—at the laugh lines emerging around his eyes, the sprinkling of gray mixed with his thick dark hair. He’s a spinner. An old spinner. The man slides into the seat next to me, blocking me from leaving the booth.

  “Miguel Hernandez,” he says, holding his hand out. Not knowing what else to do, I shake it. So does KJ. Miguel’s handshake is firm, his palm warm and dry. “You two are hard to track down.”

  My feet feel like I just stepped into an ice-cold creek.

  “You’ve been searching for us,” I say. A statement, not a question.

  “Ever since you left the Center.”

  My breakfast sits in my stomach like a pile of concrete. This must be how condemned prisoners feel after eating their last meal. The numb feeling in my feet spreads to my knees.

  “You’re a wiper, aren’t you?”

  Miguel blinks at me. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.” The weight of our failure pins me to my seat. My brain empties itself, unable to come up with even a hint of an escape plan. “The guy who’s been chasing us all over the city.”

  “I’ve been chasing you,” Miguel says, “but I’m definitely not a wiper. I’m not even a cop. I’m a spinner like you.” Neither KJ nor I move. “If I worked for the Center, I’d have already slapped you with a leash.” Miguel stands up from the booth, spreading his arms wide. “I don’t have one. You can search me.”

  KJ hesitates only a moment, then stands and begins patting Miguel down. Besides a wallet, which KJ tosses to me, Miguel’s pockets are empty. The chill wrapping my legs recedes only slightly.

  “If you’re not a cop,” I ask, flipping through Miguel’s wallet. “What’s this?” I hold up an ID tucked inside one of the wallet’s plastic windows. It shows a picture of Miguel next to an official-looking seal.

  “It’s my license,” Miguel says, reclaiming the wallet from me. “I’m a private investigator. It’s a good job for a spinner.” He stuffs the wallet into his pocket and slides back into the booth. “That’s not why I’m here, though. I’m here for my volunteer job—with the Society for Spinner Rights.”

  “The Society?” I make no effort to hide my disgust. “Those people are idiots. All they want to do is bring entertainment to the Center.”

  “That’s just our public face.” Miguel winks at me. “People like me carry out the real work. I’m the lead trawler for the western region.”

  He says this as though we should be impressed.

  “You’re the what?” KJ asks.

  “Lead trawler.” Miguel beams. His long hair, freed from the cap, dances around his shoulders. “Like the fishing term? We try to bring in all the rogue spinners.”

  “All the rogue…?” KJ gapes at him. “How many are there?”

  “A few. Occasionally people escape, like you. Then there are the ones that never got identified in the first place—inaccurate test results, sympathetic nurses, or parents who refuse to let their children even get tested.”

  “Like Austin Shea,” I blurt.

  “Yes.” Miguel sounds surprised. “How did you know he was a spinner?”

  Words catch in my throat, which has grown painfully tight.

  “Someone told me,” I mumble.

  Miguel shakes his head, his chipper spirits momentarily dimmed. “Austin’s death was a real tragedy.”

  I pick up my coffee, burying my face under the pretense of taking a sip.

  “After you round us up, what do you do with us?” KJ asks.

  “Do with you?” Miguel echoes. “Nothing. Our goal is to keep everyone free. Underground, of course, but free. No miss
ions, no leashes. We start by taking folks to one of our refuges. It’s a great place to get settled, figure out your options, and learn the strategies you’ll need to survive on your own.”

  Miguel’s words float around inside my head like confetti, light and impossible to grasp hold of. “There’s a whole refuge of spinners?”

  Miguel nods. “There are seven refuges, actually. The nearest one to us is in Eastern Oregon. It serves Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and most of Northern California.”

  “That’s not possible.” KJ crosses his arms. “Someone would notice.”

  “We have a legitimate cover story,” Miguel says. “We’re set up as a camp for troubled youth, plus my wife and I are licensed foster parents. The place is way out in the boonies. We don’t get a lot of visitors.”

  Miguel chatters on, blathering about how this refuge is the best in the nation, and the place he still lives when he’s not out working. He promises we won’t have to run anymore. I barely listen. I’ve been so careful, even paranoid, as Shannon repeatedly pointed out, and now, when it mattered, I let my guard down. How much longer do we have before we end up in the Central Office? Or somewhere worse. Maybe Miguel is a scientist, and this camp is a lab to test ways to exploit our skills?

  Miguel’s shower of words slows into silence.

  “You don’t believe me.” His mouth droops, as if our doubt hurts his feelings. “I should have expected it. You’ve been out, what, a week? Have you been freezing a lot?”

  I shrug. My water glass left a ring of condensation by my plate. I rub at the spot, smearing the water into a thinner and thinner pool, until all the liquid disappears.

  “You’re probably feeling pretty suspicious by now. Thinking everyone is watching you? Getting angered easily?”

  My skin prickles. I scramble as far away from Miguel as the narrow booth bench allows. “Who are you?”

  “I told you, I’m a spinner like you. I know the symptoms of overusing your skills. I’ve been there, too.”

  I tighten my hold on the coffee cup. The ceramic is heavy. If worse comes to worst, maybe I can throw it at him.