by Logan Fox
In the basement, sleep was our oblivion. I was always exhausted and Cass was fucked on heroin more often than not, so it was easy for him to slip away with me.
But I’m wide awake now.
Trinity is gone.
I shake loose Cass’s hand, tugging on my shirt as I step out from behind the curtain.
Zach is sitting in the armchair, smoking a cigarette.
Darkness and smoke.
“Where is she?” My voice is still raspy from sleep.
“Probably halfway to Sisters of Mercy by now,” he says, and then takes a long drag at his cigarette without looking up at me.
“She left without saying goodbye?” I inch closer as I wait for his response. Because I’m pretty sure it’s going to piss me off. And if that’s the case, I might go for his throat.
I consider myself calm. Reasonable. I think things through a hundred times before I act on them. But when I’m triggered it’s like a switch inside me flips. All that calm, all that reason…it’s decimated by rage. Like a town flattened by the shock wave of a nuclear bomb.
Zachary can trigger me at will. He’s had that power ever since I found out who he really was. I couldn’t reconcile the fact that he’d been living a normal life above us while we hunkered in the dark waiting for our next visit.
I spend a lot of time dredging up memories of the Utopia that had existed above us. Replaying them. Wondering if the sounds I’d so often heard were made by him. A patter of fast, light footsteps—was that Zach on his way to school? A faint thump—Zachary sitting down in front of the TV, eating a PB&J sandwich while he watched Sesame Street? Sometimes we’d hear voices, but only if the Keepers shouted. And then the words were usually unintelligible because they’d made sure to soundproof the basement as much as possible.
All except one. A name.
Mason.
“Didn’t want to wake you,” Zachary says.
I have no way of telling if he’s lying. He’s had years to perfect the art of twisting the truth.
Fuck. Why did I let myself sleep that deeply?
Because I was happy for the first time in a long time. And it felt good. And it felt safe. And I let my guard down.
This is what happens.
“And she said she’s going to Mercy?”
We can fetch her when we’re done with Gabriel. I know a few of the sisters who work there. Shouldn’t be too difficult to find her if she wants to be found.
Zach takes another drag before replying. “She’s an orphan. Where the fuck else would she go?”
So callous. But I knew him when he was still vulnerable. When he was still human. The first week he was down in the basement with us, he’d been crying for his mother. Begging his father to open the door and let him out. That he didn’t belong down there with the ‘other kids.’
He eventually realized he wasn’t special. Not to them, not to us. He was exactly like the ‘other kids.’
We’d been planning escape long before he arrived, but we were suspicious of each other because we were each treated differently. Cass had a regular dose of drugs to keep him warm and fuzzy while abominable things were done to him. Sometimes he even seemed to be enjoying it. Apollo only had two ghosts, and they only ever spent time with him on the weekends. Zach and I? Our Ghost treated us like scum. We were kicked and bitten and had foreign stuff shoved in us all the fucking time. We were tools—objects of pleasure for a sick man. Sometimes he would visit us together, make us watch what he did to the other one. Or he’d take us away to one of the upstairs rooms. Play us against each other. We’d get treats when we were alone with him, while our brothers in the basement starved.
That shit really messes with your head.
Other boys came and went. So many we didn’t bother finding out their names. Weak, shattered, hollow. Nameless shapes in the gloom, some of who never made a sound, despite how brutally they were used.
Some who, after a few days or a week, would stop moving altogether.
We don’t know why they brought the boys there to die. Not until we’d escaped, anyway. Then it became so clear.
A lot of things became clear after we were free.
But that would never have happened without Zachary. We wouldn’t have been able to get out of there without his help. He knew the layout of the house. He knew his parents’ schedule. And he had a solid plan. But it would take four, possibly even five kids to pull it off. He sat and watched. Chose us, because he saw strength and resilience.
If Zachary hadn’t come to the basement, we’d have died there like the other boys.
If we hadn’t been there, Zach would never have escaped.
Everything happens for a reason. Trinity’s arrival only strengthened that belief. She came to Saint Amos—to us—for a reason. It wasn’t a coincidence.
I thought it was a sign from God. A reminder that there was more to life than revenge. That love could exist in a void. Until we discovered who she really was.
She wasn’t a Godsend.
She’d been sent by the Devil.
There’s movement at the partition—we woke Cass. He moves aside, letting Apollo into the room.
“She’s gone?” Apollo asks. The disappointment in his voice hits me harder than it should. Apollo has changed so much since Trinity arrived. I don’t know if the others see it, but he’s started interacting more, not just sitting quietly in the corner absorbed in whatever toy Zachary lavished on him. When Zachary isn’t around, he starts talking about what we’ll do after we’ve found our Ghosts and ended them, as if he’s obsessed with starting a new life.
Before, he’d been drowning in the past. Trinity had brought him to the surface. Had breathed life back into his cold, dead mind.
“Yeah,” Zach says, “and we should get going too.”
How often he’s sat like that. Slightly hunched, cigarette dribbling smoke from one end as it dangles from his fingertips. He’s lost weight again. It happens when things come to a head. He stops eating, and his body takes sustenance in any form it can—even if it’s from his own flesh.
He locks eyes with me. Green to my green.
Green…but outsiders only see black. My Ghost liked my eyes. Forced me to keep them open. Forced me to watch. And then told me how pretty they were when I cried. So, like Cass shaves his head, I hide behind colored contacts. I’ve worn them for so long, so religiously, that I hardly notice them anymore.
“Now how about we get a move on?” Zach stands and crushes out his cigarette in the designated mug.
“First, coffee,” Cass mutters. He doesn’t seem that pained that Trinity’s gone. I guess she was just a piece of tail to him. It’s easy for him to pick up girls. He simply has to look in their direction and smile.
“I’ll bring you some,” Apollo says. “I need to grab my stuff.”
“Yeah, me too.” Cass stretches. “I’ll walk with you.”
Zach turns on them with narrowed eyes. “The fuck you will. We’re sticking with protocol until Gabriel’s tied up in that fucking cabin. Got it?”
Apollo nods, even dropping his gaze. Cass scoffs and gives him a dismissive wave. “Fine, whatever.” But there’s a shift in his eyes I’ve seen too many times not to know what it means.
The moment they’re out from under Zach’s watchful eye, they’ll meet up. They might even walk together anyway, despite what he says. Because although he’s taken command, Zach doesn’t control us.
I guess, after going through what we did, we’ll never let someone have that much say in our lives.
Apollo and Cass leave, and I make to go after them, to warn them. Because they might not like it, but Zach’s right. We have to be careful. If Gabriel slips through our fingers again…
But a hand catches my arm, squeezing my bicep hard, almost cruelly.
And I have to let the other two go.
I glance over my shoulder. Zach’s face is stone.
“Gotta run some things by you,” he says.
Code for “I need you.�
�� Always has been.
So I stay.
We smoke a cigarette together. We have a shot of whiskey. And we listen to each other recite exactly what we’ll do to our Ghost the day we find him.
Chapter Three
Cass
Where the fuck is Apollo? I’d have stuck with him after we left the library, but he said he needed to take care of some shit. I thought he was being literal—I wasn’t hanging around for that. But that was ages ago, and he’s not answering my calls.
I need to make sure he’s okay, and that’s pissing me off.
I hate needing things.
Sleep.
Sex.
Coffee.
Sleep replaced the heroin. Coffee replaced the adrenaline. And sex replaced…Huh. I guess it didn’t replace anything. I suppose my brothers need things too, but they’re not addicts like me.
The least I can do is fucking own that shit.
Denial’s for pussies.
I could slip into the kitchen and make myself a cuppa. That wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows for Cassius Santos, the Hall Monitor. After, I’ll track down Apollo and find out why he ditched me.
The kitchen’s pretty bare. Can’t even find a kettle. Looks like everything’s been locked up for the big exodus. Guess then there’s less stuff to dust off when everyone gets back after summer break.
One of the kitchen guys comes out of what I assume is the pantry with a bag of what could only be potatoes and calls out, “Hey, man,” when he sees me.
I walk over. “Hey. You seen that blond guy who works here?”
The kitchen guy frowns. “Apollo?”
“Yeah, him.”
Kitchen guy shrugs. “Nah, man. He was supposed to be here to help me with this shit.” Kitchen guy cocks his head to the bag of potatoes.
“’Kay. Thanks.”
“You tried his room?”
“Yeah,” I call back without looking around. Idiot. Why wouldn’t I have—
“Bell tower?”
I stop walking. Turn back. “Bell tower?” Why am I suddenly in a modern-day remake of the Hunchback of Notre Dame?
The kitchen guy puts down the sack of spuds. “Yeah. He goes up there to smoke a spliff.”
Well fuck me sideways. And here I thought I knew all there was to know about twinkle toes.
“I’ll take a look. Thanks, man.”
Kitchen guy nods. “If you find him, tell him Dave says fuck him.” He shakes his head, picks up his sack, and heads off to wherever bags of potatoes are destined during summer break.
It takes me a few minutes to find the stairs leading up to the tower. Another few minutes to climb them. And Christ, I’m fucking done when I reach the top.
Really gotta quit smoking.
But the little shit’s not in the tower either.
“Fuck.”
I pull out my phone, try and call him. It’s probably a lost cause, seeing as he didn’t answer before, but—
I hear it ringing.
Not through my phone. I actually hear Apollo’s Nirvana rip off ring tone rocking it out somewhere nearby. I look to where the sound is coming from, and it feels like every hair on my body is stretching for sunlight.
There, barely visible behind the mass of the bronze bell, is a metal door.
It’s standing ajar. Beside it, smeared on the stonework, is a bloody handprint.
Ice coats me from head to foot, and then I’m running.
Running so fucking fast.
But I know I’m already too late.
Chapter Four
Apollo
I’m going to miss this view. I hope there’ll be enough time to sit up here and smoke a last joint before we leave Saint Amos forever. I could bring the crew here when we’re done. We could all sit up here and stare out at the forest.
Because we will find Gabriel.
He will tell us where to find our Ghosts.
And then we just have to go and kill them.
I fill my lungs with sweet forest air. I’ll miss this old stack of stones too. Probably the only one who will. The others hate it here. Always have.
I like gloomy places. Even the basement—but only when there weren’t any Ghosts around.
And the forest.
Shit, I’m going to miss that forest.
But I have to get going. When I move, keys jingle inside my pocket.
Did Trin find the envelope? I didn’t want to put it in her room in case Jasper found it before she did. Now I’m worried she didn’t come up here again after I cleaned out the place. Or, if she did, that she didn’t check the drawer. Shit. Maybe I should have left it out in the open.
Trin didn’t mention anything about finding the photo, and I have a feeling she would have. Maybe give me a knowing look or something. A kind of a thank you.
The photo means a lot to her. I wish I knew why.
I’ve stared at it so many times over the years, I have it memorized. Especially Gabriel’s face. He was young back then. He looks so innocent in that photo, if a bit of a prick. Guess that’s no surprise. Maybe that’s how she’d prefer to remember her father. Innocent.
I saunter over, glancing at the view as I try to drink in every leaf on every tree.
I unlock the door and push. It swings open, then gets stuck like there’s something in the way.
The hell?
I push against it, shove a little harder. There’s a groan.
My eyes go wide, lungs tight and hot and bursting.
I squeeze in through the gap and stare down at Trinity. It takes me way too long to process what I’m seeing because there’s blood down there and blood makes me feel like gravity has stopped working.
I grab onto the thin edge of the metal desk behind me, holding on, trying to stay rooted to the floor so I won’t float away.
Her eyes are open, but she looks out of it. Concussed maybe. I’ve seen it plenty of times. Ghosts playing too hard with their toys. Sometimes they break them and those toys don’t always heal.
“Trin.” My voice comes from far away.
Shit, man. Keep it together. She needs you!
But there’s blood pooling on the floor by her head. More on her legs. She’s still wearing the white dress, and her skin is so pale. The red looks neon against all that white.
Focus on her eyes, man. Look at her. Help her.
I push away from the desk. Start rambling. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m here. Trin. Trin! Can you hear me? I’m here, pretty thing.”
She groans again, her eyes fluttering closed. I get closer. See all that blood is actually her dark hair. Only a little blood. A small splash. Almost less than the streaks on her thighs.
We did that.
No. Can’t be. I saw blood yesterday, but not that much. Not enough to make me float away.
I touch her shoulder, scoop a hand under her head. Help her sit up.
Got to be careful with a possible head trauma. So, so careful.
“Hey, you there?” I ask. “Can you hear me, Trin?”
Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Is that good or bad?
“I’m here, pretty thing. You’re safe now. Everything’s fine.”
Best thing ever—someone telling you shit’s fine. Even when it’s not, it doesn’t matter. Because you give them hope, right? Would have been like those other kids if we didn’t have hope. The ones that came to the basement to die.
“’Ming,” I think she says.
“Shh. Don’t speak, okay?” I can carry her, but not down all those stairs. Not without jarring her. And that can’t be good.
Gotta get help.
I take out my phone.
Shit! Cass has been trying to reach me. I must have forgotten to take my phone off silent this morning. I turn on the ringer now. Then I go to call Cass.
“Coming,” Trinity says, and this time I hear her fine. But it’s too late, because her eyes are already wide, her lips peeling open in dismay.
Maybe if I’d understood sooner, Gabriel wouldn’t ha
ve had the upper hand. But he works out. Stays fit.
I don’t. Hate getting sweaty. Hate feeling tired and stiff.
When Father Gabriel comes at me from behind, slings an arm around my throat, and puts me in a chokehold, there’s nothing I can do about it.
Sweet fanny fuck all.
I swat at him, try and scratch out his eyes, but he dodges like a snake.
Trinity watches, eyes brimming, lips distorted. Angry, scared. But just sitting there like a broken doll propped up against the wall in some filthy playhouse.
I finally make contact. Scratch his cheek.
But the light’s fading. I can’t fend him off much longer. And once he’s rid of me…
“They’re coming for you, you piece of shit,” I manage through a collapsing windpipe. “I’d run. Run fucking far.”
God, it takes everything I have to say those words. Not just physical effort, because taking a nap right now is all my body wants to do.
I’m giving up everything we’ve tried so hard to conceal. No vote. No consensus. But I can’t let him take her. And I know that’s what he’s going to do after leaving her here like this. Probably had to go fetch some ropes, or a carpet to roll her up in like those old spy movies.
Life is more important than revenge. Trinity’s life especially.
I don’t care if she’s Gabriel’s daughter.
I don’t care if she was sent to spy on us.
I care too much about her for that shit to matter.
My brothers might never forgive me, and that’s fine. I can handle that. But I’ll never forgive myself if I didn’t do everything in my limited power to protect her.
“They? They who?” Gabriel says. It sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. Like he thinks I’ll say anything to drop his guard.
“My brothers. They’re coming up the stairs. You’re trapped.”
“Brothers? You don’t have any brothers.” He laughs outright now, so hard his chest shakes. That vibration goes through me. Fills me.
The Guardian wasn’t one of the sick fucks who took turns offloading their unrighteous perversions on us. He never touched us.