“I tried.”
Fire blazed behind Isadora’s eyes. “You tried? As if the thought of loving me is some menial chore?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I can’t protect you from this. I have an obligation to tell them.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“You expect me to be complicit in your crimes? As if I owe you anything.”
“My life means nothing to you? You know what will happen to me if they find out. Please. Isadora, I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you what you wanted, be who you wanted, but this will get me killed.”
“You’ve made your choice. You’ll just have to live with your decision.”
Nathaniel stood on the bridge and watched Isadora leave. Though she strode away determined, angry, Nathaniel held out hope that she wouldn’t betray him. He leaned into the rail and watched the sun fade on the horizon. As he stood there, basking in streaks of orange and pink and shades of yellow, Nathaniel thought of Ellie. He’d made her a promise that he intended to keep; he would be there to guide her home. After all, if his life was all about helping humans, why was it so wrong for him to develop a relationship with Ellie?
He was lost in thought and unaware that someone had come up behind him. It wasn’t until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he registered a presence.
“My sister is upset.” Ariana spoke gently to Nathaniel. Yes, there was accusation in her tone, but there was also compassion.
“Am I in trouble?” In his voice was a hint of sarcasm, but his question was very serious.
“I’ll speak with her,” Ariana assured him.
Nathaniel straightened to his full height. “I need you to cover for me.”
Ariana shook her head. “Nathaniel.”
“There’s something I have to do.”
“What you need to do is your work.” Ariana pulled an envelope from her pocket. “Your next assignment.”
Nathaniel backed away. “Can’t you, just this once, do it for me?”
Ariana’s green eyes narrowed. A vertical line appeared between her eyebrows. “What are you up to?”
“There’s this girl,” Nathaniel started. “And she needs me.”
Ariana huffed a short, stilted breath. “No.”
“Just listen to me.”
“No,” Ariana said again. “Nathaniel, you know the rules. No interaction with humans until you see them on the bridge. You guide them across, and that’s all. That’s all.”
“I know the rules, but—”
Ariana held up her hand. “No. There are no buts. The rules are absolute. You know this.”
“The rules are stupid!” Nathaniel yelled. “What do The Assembled know? Nothing! They sit in their ivory tower, judge and jury over all. It’s bullshit!”
Ariana looked around as though she was worried someone might overhear their conversation. “Lower your voice.”
“Why? What more can they do to me?”
“You don’t want to know the answer to that.”
Nathaniel grabbed Ariana by the forearms. “You could talk to them.” He spoke in hurried breaths as he said, “You are the most powerful of all the Guides. They’ll listen to you. Make them see that interacting with humans is not a crime.”
Ariana shook loose of Nathaniel’s grip. “I will do no such thing.”
“Why? Because you don’t believe what I’m saying? Or because you don’t want to risk your cushy little life here?”
“Watch your tone with me, Nathaniel. I am no one to be trifled with.”
“That’s what I’m saying. You can make them see. You have to make them see.”
“No,” Ariana said quietly. “I can’t.”
Nathaniel’s expression softened. His shoulders eased when he saw Ariana’s pained look. “What is it?”
“There’s something you should know.” Ariana threw her shoulders back as if she were bracing her whole body for the words she was about to speak. “They won’t listen to me because I walked away from them. I gave up my right to be heard a long time ago.”
“What are you saying?”
“I was once part of them. Now, I am not.”
“I don’t understand.”
Ariana faced the sun. It illuminated her, making her skin glow. She closed her eyes momentarily, soaking it in. “It was a long time ago. Long before your arrival,” she told him. “I made a choice, gave up my position.”
“That doesn’t mean they won’t listen to you.”
“It does.” Ariana shoved the envelope against his chest. “We have but one job to do, Nathaniel. And I am instructing you to do yours. Do you understand me?” she asked with meaning behind her words.
Nathaniel took the envelope. He waited for Ariana to leave before he opened it. Inside, on a piece of parchment paper, he read the name of his next assignment: Eleanor Jane Levinson.
Chapter Six
Mercy
After Isadora leaves, I beg the guard for a phone call. He relents, I’m assuming, because he’s still under Isadora’s threat for not treating my wrist. When my mother answers, I break down crying. Part of me might be Mercy, badass Breacher, but most of me is still Mercy, sixteen-year-old kid who is scared out of her mind and wants her mom.
There isn’t much I can tell her. I don’t know where I am or even who I am. I was so stunned by Isadora’s visit that I didn’t ask any pertinent questions. Of course, it never occurred to me that she’d leave me in here. I honestly thought she was going to break me out. I really need to stop underestimating her capability for evil.
My mom assures me that Gage and Nathaniel will locate me. At least I can take comfort in that. But I don’t know how long it will take for them to get to me. And once they get here, how do they plan on getting me out? The idea of an attempted jailbreak is not appealing.
When I finish the brief conversation with my mother, the guard has to pry the phone out of my hand. I don’t want to let go of that connection to her, and I really don’t want to go back to my cell. Luckily, we take a detour to the infirmary first.
The infirmary is white, sterile, with no frills, and nothing that can be used as a weapon. I am handcuffed to the side rail of the bed while I wait for the doctor. The guard is no more than four feet away at all times.
“Libby Reid,” the doctor says as she walks into the room. “I’m Dr. Kelly.”
This means I am Libby Reid.
She wears a lab coat, brown trousers from a distant decade, and shoes that were never fashionable. Lyla would definitely disapprove of her fashion choices. But there is something cheery about Dr. Kelly. Her hair is neatly curled, and her round face greets me with a pleasant smile.
Dr. Kelly washes and dries her hands before meticulously assessing my broken wrist. “That looks nasty,” she remarks. “I’ll be able to set it for you, but I won’t be able to give you anything for the pain.”
“Why not?”
“It says in your file that you’ve had problems with substance abuse.”
Awesome.
“We’ll have you in and out of surgery in about an hour,” she says.
“Surgery?”
“It’s a compound fracture, dear. It’s going to take some pins to put it back together.”
I’ve never had surgery before, and I’m not looking forward to it now. I really, really, really want my mom. “But you’ll be able to put me to sleep for that part, right? I mean, I won’t be able to feel anything.”
She pats my shoulder. It isn’t exactly loving, but it’s something. Dr. Kelly tells me to lie flat on the table while the nurse preps me for surgery. I’m not allowed to change my clothes, or even go to the bathroom first. The guard never even takes the handcuffs off, which, to me, seems excessive. I’m going to be unconscious in a few minutes. Do I really need to be restrained?
The IV needle hurts. The nurse instructs me to count back from one hundred, but I can’t remember saying anything after ninety-eight. When I open my eyes again, I’m sitting in the b
ackseat of a car.
Nathaniel drives while Gage rides shotgun. They aren’t listening to music or chatting. They’re focused on the road ahead. From behind, they’re identical twins—same posture, same dark hair, same stiff shoulders. But there are subtle differences I notice. Nathaniel’s right earlobe is slightly longer than his left. And he has three moles in a cluster near the base of his neck. Gage’s skin is creamy, pinkish, without a blemish, mark, or scar. His dark hair is in need of a trim, but other than that, there’s nothing flawed about him.
“Nathaniel,” I speak his name, hoping that he’ll hear me. He doesn’t. I figure I’m dreaming anyway. It’s a good dream. I’m glad to be near them.
Scooting forward, I edge closer to Nathaniel. I touch his hand, which is locked in a death grip on the emergency brake. I can’t feel him, not really, because, of course, I’m not there, but I pretend for a moment that I can feel heat between us.
As if I am controlling the dream, Nathaniel looks down at his hand.
“What is it?” Gage asks him.
Nathaniel shakes his head. “Nothing.”
Lacing my fingers through his, I give his hand a little squeeze. His thumb brushes against my skin. If only this were real.
“I’m sorry this happened,” I say.
“What?” Nathaniel asks.
“I didn’t say anything,” Gage responds.
Hopeful, I ask, “Nathaniel, can you hear me?”
Nathaniel looks up into the rearview mirror. But he doesn’t see me. There’s no sign of recognition on his face. “Did you hear that?”
Gage scans the backseat. “Hear what? What’s with you?”
Nathaniel shakes his head again. He puts both hands on the wheel, and instantly, I feel cold. “I thought I heard Mercy’s voice,” he tells Gage. “I’m going crazy. This drive is taking forever.”
Gage checks his phone. “It’s only a few more hours. We’re nearly there.”
Leaning my head against the seat, I close my eyes. When I open them again, I’m back in the infirmary.
“There you are,” Dr. Kelly peers over me. “How’re you feeling?”
“Sleepy,” I mutter.
“That’ll wear off.” She checks my wrist. “Surgery went well, and it shouldn’t even take that long to heal. You can go back to lockup with your cast, but you’ll have to stay in solitary.”
I picture the dark, damp cell and shake my head back and forth. “Please don’t make me go back there.”
“Not in my control, hon.” She fiddles with my chart and scribbles some notes. “I’ll see you back here in a few days.”
She leaves the room. Still groggy and sluggish, I am made to stand while two guards shackle my ankles together. Even after surgery, while doped up, I am still a threat to them. It makes me wonder what this Libby Reid person must’ve done to deserve such treatment. Maybe she’s a mass killer or worse, a baby killer. She does drugs, and she has to be violent if they’re worried about her every move.
The solitary cell isn’t the same hole they left me in before. This room is clean and near the guard’s station. Instead of bars there’s a heavy metal door with a slit in the middle and a tiny Plexiglas window at the top. There’s only one bed, and I’m relieved not to have to climb onto a bunk. I sink into the paper-thin mattress, cradling my arm as I go. It doesn’t hurt yet, but I know the anesthetics will wear off eventually. I close my eyes and sleep.
Pounding on the door wakes me. Sitting up too quickly, I cringe as pain shoots from my wrist, through my shoulder, all the way to my neck.
The door opens, and a female guard enters. She lifts me from the bed and helps me down the corridor, but not before she chains my ankles together. Amazing how quickly I am learning to shuffle.
I’m not the only one being filtered into the large room. It seems as though the entire prison is on the same schedule. “What’s happening?” I ask. She points to a sign on the wall that reads Cafeteria.
The room is crowded. Tables are full of hungry, disgruntled prisoners rotting in their own effluvium. Not even the smell of industrial strength gravy is enough to mask it. Masses of bodies in poorly ventilated areas would be enough, but these are the bodies of women who’ve given up entirely. They’ve succumbed to their surroundings and melded to it, become the walls, the floors, the unwashed toilets. The stench is everywhere and all around me, and if I don’t get out there soon, I’ll be scarred for life.
I slide my tray along the aluminum railing and wait for various treats to be plopped into their designated spots. White stuff, green stuff, and gray stuff with sauce serve as today’s fare. For dessert, Jell-O shimmies and wiggles in a small bowl. As I slowly make my way to an empty table, I realize I have to be hungry at this point, but I can’t eat. My stomach bunches, and sweat breaks out across the back of my neck. The trembling in my hands makes it nearly impossible to hold a fork.
A small woman sits down next to me. She has stringy black hair and inky, smudged tattoos along her arm. I can’t guess her age. She looks like one of those people who appears young from behind, but then they turn around and they’re the Crypt Keeper. Her fingernails are short and shredded; her cuticles dotted with hangnails and dried blood from where she’s bitten too hard into her skin.
“You’re new.” She speaks with a smoker’s voice, low and raspy. “What happened to your arm?”
“I fell off the bunk.” It’s partly true. I don’t need to tell her that when I fell I was lunging for my cellmate who was strangling herself to death.
“They give you anything?” she asks. I shake my head. “Bastards. So, what then, meth? Cocaine? Oxy?”
Confused, I push around the inedible food as I ask, “What?”
“Your drug of choice? What’s your poison?”
I don’t want to be having this conversation. Coming up with the quickest lie I can think of, I simply say, “Pills.”
“There’s probably stuff going around, if you’re looking.”
“I’m not.”
“Going cold turkey.” She cackles. “That’s one way to go.” She eats her lunch and stays quiet for the rest of the meal.
Relieved to be left alone, I try a few bites of the food-like products. There is no flavor to any of it, but I choke it down anyway. Like a dog in a kennel, I know that if I don’t eat my food when they put it out for me, I don’t eat at all.
The woman sitting next to me starts to laugh. She giggles like a schoolgirl, which sounds so strange coming from her ragged, worn body. People are turning around and looking at her as she titters into her napkin, rocks back and forth, and shakes her head.
I can’t help myself when I ask, “What’s so funny?”
Composing herself, she drops her napkin and wipes her hands along her thighs. “You have no idea, do you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mercy, it’s me.”
At the sound of my name, I swivel until she and I are practically nose to nose. “Who are you?”
She clucks her tongue. “You don’t even recognize your own sister. And here I thought we were going to be such great friends.”
“You’re …” I can’t finish my own thought. My sister! I knew, at some point, she and I were going to meet, but I didn’t think it would happen here. It’s not as though I thought it would be some special occasion where we exchanged tearful hugs like those people who are reunited on talk shows or anything, but I didn’t exactly picture this either.
“Justice,” she says. “Get it? Mercy, Justice. Isadora thinks she’s so clever. I can’t believe she left you here. You must’ve really pissed her off.”
“I guess.”
“Well, I’m ready to get out of this body. It smells, and hello, manicure much?” She flexes her hands and gives her nails a disapproving look.
“You can’t do that here.”
“Can’t do what?”
“You can’t breach out in the open like this. People will notice.”
“People are stupid.” She crane
s her neck and looks around. “I mean, look at these women. They’re unwashed, reeking of shame and self-pity. I did that girl a favor earlier.” Justice mimes a chokehold around her neck.
My eyes go wide with horror. “That was you!”
She smiles sheepishly then laughs. “Dramatic, I know. Not my idea at all. I think Isadora wanted to scare you. I told her she should just explain what she’s trying to do. I, for one, am all for it. And you are just like me, so I know you’ll be all for it too.”
I am nothing like you. “Be all for what?”
“Sorry, sis. I’m not allowed to say, and I’m not about to piss off Auntie Is. I like my freedom, if you know what I mean.”
“So what am I supposed to do now?”
“I believe your rescuers are on their way. Nice job with them, by the way. Yum-my.” She breaks the word in two and holds the last syllable like she’s singing a musical note. “I may have had a little fun at Gage’s expense, but I couldn’t help it. I only went over there to introduce myself, but then he was standing there in his towel and, well, you know the rest.”
I don’t, actually, but I can guess.
“So, I’m gonna go,” she announces. “We’ll catch up on the outside. Be safe, sis, and watch out for that one over there.” She points. “She looks lonely.”
“You can’t just leave me here,” I say.
“Would you honestly trust me to help you?” she asks.
“No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Seconds later, the body of the woman sitting next to me slumps over, facedown, in her tray of half-eaten food.
Day two.
Day three.
Day four.
Still no sign of Nathaniel and Gage. I am going mad. The routine of it all, the schedule, is both comforting and maddening. Sleep, eat, shower, walk, read. On day five, I break from the routine. I have an appointment to see Dr. Kelly.
Sometime after breakfast the guard comes to get me, and by then, I don’t even need to be told what to do. I assume the position and wait to be shackled before heading to the infirmary. The guard stands against the wall after she secures me to the bed. And then we wait.
Dr. Kelly is late. The guard checks her watch. “Don’t move,” she says to me in a voice that tells me she means business, and then she slips out into the hall.
Into the Light Page 4