by M. D. Archer
I took a shaky breath as I stood and shook out my legs, trying to ease the tension. I fumbled with the keys to get them into the lock, but finally the door swung open. I slid the keys into my pocket and was about to retrieve my shoe to put it back on my naked right foot when I heard a noise.
I hadn’t been fast enough.
From the darkness came a grunt as the dead-eyed man leapt down the stairs with incredible speed. I jumped forward in a last-ditch attempt to get out, but he slammed it shut, knocking me to the floor inside the cell.
A bolt of white-hot pain shot up my leg. I screamed, reaching down, clawing at my foot. The pinky toe of my right foot was caught in the door. “Please,” I cried as he stood staring vacantly at me. “Please release the door,” I sobbed.
There was a loud thump from upstairs. He whirled around and disappeared, and I clutched at my throbbing leg. The pain was excruciating, nauseating. I was going to black out. But through the dizziness, I remembered something.
I still had the keys.
Breathing heavily and using every trick I’d learned from dance about blocking out pain signals, I used the bars of the cell to pull myself up. Shaking as I got the keys from my pocket, I unlocked the door and eased it slowly open. I gasped as another arrow of pain rocketed up my leg. I swallowed and tried to clear my head. I couldn’t look at my toe, or what was left of it. I had to ignore it and the pain. I had to get out of here.
Avoiding the broken glass, I grabbed the lantern and swung it around it. There was an empty space right next to the cell I’d been in. It was the same size as the cell but set up as a basic room, with a single bed, power sockets, and even a toilet and a basin, but no windows and definitely no way to get out. That dead-eyed guy couldn’t have come from in there. I hobbled past to where he’d emerged from the darkness. It looked as if he’d appeared out of nowhere, but there must have been another door here somewhere. I got to the far wall and moved the light along the length, running my hand across the concrete at the same time, moving as quickly as possible, blocking out the pain radiating from my foot. Finally, I saw it. A ladder attached to the wall, going straight up. I looked back over my shoulder, but there was no time.
My breath was coming in ragged gasps and my foot was on fire, but I had to keep going. Rung after rung I climbed, until finally I got to the top. There was some sort of hatch above me. I raised one hand and surged upward, pushing at the covering. Finally, it yielded. Harsh light streamed in and burned my eyes. I pulled myself up and through and crawled forward onto the hard concrete of the path. As spots appeared behind my eyes and the world around me went dark, the shrill but welcome wail of a police siren reached my ears.
I flickered into consciousness once in the ambulance to see bright lights above me and hazy faces peering into mine, and then again in the hospital, with more lights and the sensation of floating through the air, down a passage. I stayed awake long enough to hear one spine-chilling sentence.
“We’re going to have to amputate.”
randall
Randall Clark lived in a small house on the wrong side of town.
His mom always tried to make a joke of it, as if it was funny that they weren’t one of the wealthy families in Montrose, but the smile on her face was always a little too hard and her cackle a little too loud.
It made Randall cringe.
No one cares, Mom. No one is listening to you.
But she kept it up.
At least he didn’t have to go to school anymore. He was away from them, the awful ones. He was grounded, but what did that mean? Not leaving his room? So what? His mom didn’t care, not really, and neither did he—fake dad. Because both of them were at work all day, so they had no clue what he got up to anyway. They only cared that he was home at night, and that was fine with him.
For now.
He pulled into the strip mall, immediately spotting the shop at the end of the row. A speciality shop he had chosen specifically because it boasted the biggest selection in the province, but also because it was a couple of hours’ drive away. Outside of Montrose but not so far away that he couldn’t drive there and back in half a day. Just in case.
He walked in the front door, a bell tinkling to signal his presence. A man appeared from the back room and nodded to him. “Help you, son?”
“Just looking.”
He walked down the aisles, savouring the contents of the shelves. Finally, he got to the front of the store, attracted to the gleaming objects under the glass counter. They were beautiful, but no ordinary tool would do.
“If you like those, you should check out the catalogue. I got a bunch coming in soon. Assuming you aren’t in a hurry?”
“I can wait,” he said with a knowing smile.
The man smiled back uncertainly, then pushed the catalogue over to him.
He saw it right away. It jumped out at him.
“That one.” He pressed his trembling finger to the page.
“Nice choice. Is it for a collection?”
“In a way.” Randall smiled.
By the time he got home, there was an email confirming when the package would be delivered next week. He could hardly wait.
32
I woke to the smell of disinfectant and the rattle of a metal tray. Mom sat next to my hospital bed, pale and exhausted, grasping at my hand. Nearly twenty-four hours had passed since they found me lying on the ground outside the health centre. I was fine except for my pinky toe. It had been so badly crushed they’d had to remove it.
I hadn’t found the courage to look under the bandages yet. The doctor advised to wait until it was properly healed or I might get a bit of a fright—as if I wasn’t going to get a shock anyway—but I was happy to delay that gross and awful moment for another few days. I would enjoy the cotton-wool haze of pain medication for a little while longer, thanks. Mom had had a look, and even though her face was already an awful ashen colour, she managed to go even paler.
But the whole thing still didn’t feel real.
I was missing a body part, but after everything that had happened—after what could have happened—I couldn’t help but feel kind of lucky.
And now I finally knew what I’d seen at the health centre that night. Logan having a confrontation with that guy who’d shown up in the basement, and Kade climbing out of the hidden trapdoor at the side. The way I got out.
“Calliope?” Mom said, her voice strained.
She’d been given sedatives, but they didn’t seem to be doing much to make her calm. Because it wasn’t just the ordeal I’d been through; it was that for a dancer, missing a right pinky toe could be like a death sentence. Because Mom still didn’t know about my decision.
“Hey, Mom. Are you okay?”
Her eyes travelled down to my bandaged right foot, which was elevated and sticking out under the covers. She shook her head. I’d tried to reassure her I was fine, that Logan hadn’t done anything to me except keep me locked up, but I wasn’t sure she was properly taking it in. And I still didn’t know what had happened to Logan. Mom said he wasn’t in the hospital, which probably meant he’d either gotten away or he was dead.
“Your father is coming down tomorrow,” Mom said.
I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat. “Great.” I gave her a weak smile.
“And how do you feel about a visitor now? There’s someone outside who’s rather anxious to see you.”
I sat up. “Isaac?”
She smiled and went over to the door. A second later, Isaac hurtled through and flung himself at me, wrapping me in a hug so tight I almost couldn’t breathe. I smiled into his shoulder. When he let me go, he didn’t speak at first, his jaw working. Eventually he said, his voice strained, “Callie. Are you okay?”
“I’ve had better nights, but yeah.”
Mom hovered around for a while but then picked up on the glances Isaac and I kept throwing her and left the room to get food and coffee.
“Finally,” Isaac exclaimed, jumping into the seat
she’d just vacated. “Okay, first. I’m really sorry about your toe.”
I shook my head. “The irony, huh?”
Isaac grimaced, then raised his eyebrows. “Can I have a look?”
“At my toe? Gross, Isaac. No. I haven’t seen it yet.”
“Okay. So, have you told your mom you don’t want to be a dancer yet?”
I shook my head. “I can’t decide whether it will make her feel better or worse.“
“And what about you?”
I shrugged. In truth, I still hadn’t processed how I felt about my toe. I guess because I wasn’t sure what it was going to mean. I’d already decided I didn’t want to be a professional dancer, but was it going to mess anything else up?
“Isaac,” I said urgently. “What happened to Logan?
“You don’t know?”
I shook my head. “Not for sure.”
“When the police interviewed Mr. Ellison, they told him they found Logan in the rubble of the health centre. His, uh, his neck was broken.”
“So, he’s….”
“Dead. Yeah.”
“That’s… intense.”
“I know, right? Are you relieved?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
But was I? Not totally, no. Because what about HM1?
“So, you have Mr. Ellison to thank for the police showing up when they did.”
“Just Mr. Ellison?”
Isaac smiled. “Well, we worked together, but it was mostly him. When your mom realized you hadn’t come home, she called me, and I… well, I made her worried enough to call the police. I thought it was probably a good idea, given, you know… everything.”
“Uh-huh.” I took a sip from the cup beside my bed.
“So, Mr. Ellison and I got together and had a brainstorming session. Since they still hadn’t confirmed it was Logan’s body, we figured it was possible he was still alive and he might have… uh… taken you.”
Isaac looked down and fiddled with his sleeve.
My heart pinged. When they realized that something had actually happened to me, it must have been pretty bad. Probably worse for them than for me. Even if I was in a grimy cell, cold, thirsty, and at the mercy of a drunken lunatic, at least I knew that I hadn’t been hurt, that I was still alive.
Isaac cleared his throat. “Anyway. It made sense to go to Logan’s house and check there, just in case.”
“How did you get in?”
“I’m getting a bit of taste for the criminal life.” He grinned. “I broke in.”
“And I’m grateful.” I smiled back. Having Isaac here made me feel as if everything was normal.
“We searched the house—”
“Wait, we? Mr. Ellison broke in too?”
“He was really worried.”
Another lump appeared in my throat.
“Anyway, at first we couldn’t find anything. We were about to leave when we saw it sitting right in front of us. In plain sight. Keys to the health centre.”
“So?”
“It must have been a spare set, I guess. Anyway… one key was labelled front door, two were labelled Clinic 1 and Clinic 2, one was storage, and the final one was labelled basement. We almost missed it, but then Mr. E stopped and said, ‘Basement?’ And then we knew. There must be a secret basement in the health centre. And with the school shut down and the centre cordoned off, no one would be there.”
“The ultimate hiding place.”
“So, Mr. Ellison called the police and left an anonymous tip that we saw the missing girl near the health centre and a man acting suspiciously. And they followed through.” Isaac’s voice cracked. “They got there just as you had broken out.”
I shook my head. “Thank you. Honestly, Isaac, thank you.”
He nodded. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Hey, I was wondering….” I didn’t want to ask Isaac this, but I had to know. “Have you heard from—”
“Cole? No,” Isaac said abruptly, looking down. “But the whole secret basement thing was on the news, by the way. The hidden trapdoor next to the health centre. And your kidnapping. National news, so….”
I shrank back in my bed. “It was?”
Which meant even though Cole probably knew I’d been kidnapped, he still hadn’t gotten in touch with me.
“I think there might be a couple of reporters out there.” Isaac gestured to the hospital hallway.
“Don’t let them in.”
“Oh, you don’t want to talk to them? But I’ve already scheduled you a bunch of interviews today.”
“Isaac—”
“And I gave the Montrose Morning Star an exclusive about DcH and Logan.” Isaac waggled his eyebrows.
I whacked him on the arm, but it was feeble.
“Hey, so what happened?” he said.
“Isaac, it wasn’t just Logan and me down there.”
“What?” His voice was a bark of surprise.
“Another guy showed up.”
The nurse came in. “I think that’s enough for now.” She gave Isaac a stern look.
“We’ll talk later,” I said to Isaac.
***
Two hours, one nap, one gross hospital meal, and one snuck-in Gypsy coffee later, I placed the empty cup on the table and said, “Mom?”
She looked up from her magazine, took one look at my expression, and put it on the table next to my bed. I was still so tired—exhaustion had seeped into my bones and was washing through my brain, making me light-headed—but I needed to say this. Now.
“Mom, can we talk about something?”
If anything could motivate you to be honest about what you wanted, it’s the threat of having all your options taken away. Mom took one look at my expression and came to sit next to me on the bed.
“Yes, lamb?” She took my hand.
“I have to tell you something, and I don’t know if it’s going to make things better or worse.”
Her eyes widened.
“It’s nothing to do with the basement.”
She nodded slowly.
I took a breath. “My toe amputation thing is awful, but it’s not as awful as you think because….” I paused and Mom nodded again to encourage me to continue. “I’d already decided I don’t want to be a professional dancer.”
She looked down, and for a while she was completely still, but finally she sighed and looked up. “I think I already knew. You made it pretty obvious, really. I’ve been in denial.” Her shoulders dropped. “What I don’t understand is why.”
“I… I just don’t want that for myself.”
Her voice turned sharp. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
We stared at each other for a moment. Mom raised one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, and for one awful moment, I thought she was going to cry. I reached out to take her other hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Calliope, just because something scares you, it doesn’t mean you should run away from it.”
“Mom, it’s not being scared. It’s….” I raised my hands helplessly as I tried to explain. “If you take dancing on its own, fine, yes. I love it. But there’s a big difference between enjoying dance and trying to be a professional dancer. The thought makes me feel… kind of hollow, I guess. And didn’t you always say it’s a hard life and you have to want it with every inch of you? With every cell in your body?”
Mom conceded a nod.
“Well, I don’t want it like that, at all. I think I got carried away with your passion and your dreams. I don’t know that I ever wanted it as a career, but it was easier to go along with it, I guess. I know it’s lame, but….”
Mom looked down for a second before replying. “When I was your age, I was so desperate to dance, and when I couldn’t, when my parents told me I wasn’t allowed, I was devastated.”
“But that was you. It’s different for me.”
Mom’s forehead wrinkled and her lip wobbled.
“I’m so sorry, Mom. I don’t want to let you down. I want
to make you happy, but… I can’t.” Tears started raining down my face, my shoulders juddering with the effort of controlling the big sobs surging up from my chest. I’d been holding on to this for so long. “And I know you’ve already paid for tuition, so I’ll pay you back. I’ll keep working at the admin office or somewhere, I promise.”
“Oh my God, Calliope, come here.” Mom enfolded me in her arms and we stayed like that for a few minutes, her stroking my hair and rocking me gently. Eventually she pulled back.
“I understand,” she said, giving me a shaky smile, and got a tissue from her purse to wipe away the remnants of my tears. “I shouldn’t have put all that pressure on you, but I think you need to work on being honest with the people around you. This came out of nowhere. It was such a shock because you kept it hidden from me for so long. Sometimes it’s hard in the moment to say what you really think, but it’s worse if you don’t.”
“I know, and I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Me too,” she said. “And don’t worry about tuition. Your toe will be grounds for getting a refund. We’ll be able to get most of it back.”
After a moment, I wiped my nose. “Will you tell Ms. Spencer? I can’t face her.”
Mom stroked my hair. “Sure, lamb. But you know”—she sat back, looking thoughtful—“she’s completely backed off anyway. Even that night you didn’t show up, the night of the fire, she was already saying we needed to reconsider.”
“Really?” Ms. Spencer wasn’t known for giving up, but whatever.
Finally, I’d told Mom the truth.
33
Every time I fell asleep, a nightmare would wrench me awake. Sometimes vivid, realistic flashes of that guy HM1, other times just hazy images swirling around my subconscious. While it was good to be home, I already missed the hospital-grade painkillers. I wouldn’t be enjoying sweet, dreamless sleeps anymore.