by Sagine Jean
“Good. You should be. We don’t know each other. You can’t go around calling me cute nicknames like Syd.”
I stare back at her, shocked, reaching for something to say—but she’s right. I can’t call her that. We’ve only known each other for a day. Yet she can’t deny that after everything, after all we’ve been through, that there’s a strand of something between us. Something tenuous and fragile—something like friendship.
But maybe I’ve crossed a line in my feelings or my actions, I can’t tell. Maybe the paranoia I’ve had about that Ezra kid has been right all along. Maybe he is her boyfriend. Maybe she loves him and has no room in her life for surprising possible friendships with cops.
“Sorry, I know that you’re with someone. I shouldn’t have—”
The fury in her eyes grows and is unmistakable now.
“What? With someone? You think just because I don’t want you to call me Syd, it means that I already have a boyfriend? Are you joking?” She looks about ready to saw my head off.
“No . . . wait . . . I wasn’t being . . . that’s not it. That’s not what I meant. No . . . I . . . ” The words are not coming out elegantly at all. I want to shove my foot directly into my mouth. “Ezra.” I finally manage. “You kept mentioning Ezra, so I thought—”
“You think that just because I mention some guy it means that I’m automatically dating him?” Her hands are on her hips now, her anger still bright, fiery, and more than a little terrifying.
God, if I could take back the last few moments and let my paranoia stay just that, I’d be the luckiest guy in the world.
“Ezra is my ex-boyfriend. He’s an obnoxious, sniveling little baby who owns about thirty pairs of various skintight leather pants and has an obsessive fear of them ripping while he’s on stage at venues he pays to let him and his mediocre band perform. I am in no way, shape, or form with him,” she finishes.
I swallow. “Sorry I was just being . . . ” I struggle to find a word that isn’t “jealous.” “ . . . a jerk.”
“Yeah, you were, now why’d you grab my hand earlier?” she snaps and I startle again. “Why’d you try to fight my battle with Margo for me? Did I look that pathetic to you? Like some little kid who needed some stupid cop to take the lead?” she adds. This time she sounds less angry and more hurt, and somehow that alone makes me feel even worse.
“No . . . that’s not . . . ” But wasn’t that why, at first? I’d looked at her and felt like it was my job to protect her. So instead I say, “You keep wanting to know why I became a cop so young and I told you it was because of my dad. Well, as you figured out before, that’s not entirely the truth. I became a cop because of my mom. I wanted to protect her— not myself—from my dad. So I became the one thing he feared—the one thing he was too afraid of being himself. I became a cop. That way if he ever tries anything, if one day he decides that my mother deserves the same pain that he feels, I’ll be ready. So that’s why I do that. That’s why I’m so strict about being a cop and wanted to grab your hand earlier. That’s why. But to be honest . . . ” The words seem stuck in my throat, but I’ve already started. It’s too late to stop. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. I wanted to be a cop because I wanted to feel capable—but you’re like that all on your own. You’re right, I don’t know you well, but I know at least that much. And when I grabbed your hand, it was less for you and more for me. Because I needed it; I needed you.”
My words stretch across the silence between us and for a moment we stand there, words seemingly failing both of us. The look in her eyes tells me that the hurt is gone, that instead something else is filling her right now.
“Will,” she opens her mouth to speak when we hear the loud sound of clapping hands. We turn to look at everyone in the camp. They’re all circled around Margo.
“You see this storm? That’s on them—that’s their punishment. That’s Mother Earth trying to get rid of them all. Pretty soon, we’re gonna be the only ones left. Pretty soon, the world will be as it should be.” Margo lets out a deep, riotous laugh, completely at odds with the cold demeanor she’d shown us earlier. The camp claps with her, and out of instinct, out of fear, or maybe out of my own sheer stupidity, I reach through the space next to me and hold my hand out toward Sydney’s again. She clasps it in hers and this time she does not let go.
MY MIND IS A WHIRL OF THOUGHTS AND crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy. We need to leave. Now. We need to find Sammy and leave now. These people are not right. Even if some of why they left the surface seems plausible, the way they speak, the way they think, is just . . . wrong.
But Will’s holding my hand. And in my head right now, I’m trying to act like it’s not a big deal, like guys grab my hand all the time. Like his holding my hand is the last thing I’m thinking about. Because what Margo is spewing out into the fire and into the minds of this camp—into the mind of young Jaime—is what’s scary. That’s what’s important.
Still, Will—Officer Will? Or just Will?—he’s holding my hand. And not because he thinks I’m some little girl who needs it, but because he needs me. Because he needs me to stay tough for him.
Syd. He calls me Syd.
I don’t know how to feel, but I don’t let go. I don’t think I even know how to.
“We have to leave this place. Now, Syd.” There it is again. Syd. It takes everything in me to focus on his words and not the warmth emanating from his callused hand in mine. Because despite the chaos, despite my fear, despite that he stupidly thought I was still dating a jerk like Ezra, this moment with his hand in mine is perfect.
“I know. But Sammy . . . we need their help. To find Sammy and to find an exit.” And it’s true. If anyone knows anything about finding a way out, it’s these people.
But how can we stay here with them, knowing that they think our way of life is backwards? Knowing that they’re rejoicing over this storm that’s turned our lives into chaos? Who knows what’s even left of the surface? Who knows if anything that used to matter to us even still exists?
“We’ll find him, don’t worry. We will.” He rubs his thumb over my knuckles and warmth from his hand spreads to the rest of my body.
“Yes, you will,” a voice interrupts. I turn to find Margo staring at us with her intelligent eyes. Has she been here all along, listening to our entire conversation? I glare at her. Something about her hasn’t sat right with me since the moment I met her.
“And how do you know?” I ask because the insolent side of me can’t help it.
She gives a light smile. “Forgive me for earlier. I’d spoken out of turn. We don’t meet many people from the surface here. Seeing you here—especially seeing a police officer here—has set me a little on edge.”
Well, that’s understandable. What they are doing is illegal and Will is the kind of person who follows rules. The fact that he hasn’t slammed handcuffs on them already is testament to how much he wants to find Sammy. How much he wants to help me.
“It’s okay,” I say.
Margo smiles again and I fight the urge to tell her to get to the point already. “I have something for you. Something that might help you find your brother.” She reaches into the pocket of her large sweater and holds out a piece of yellowing paper covered in black and red marks.
“What’s this?” Will asks.
“A map of this entire subway system. Not just the train line, but every nook and cranny. Every construction site, every ghost track, every level, and tiny door in this place.”
I gape at her.
“H-how did you . . . ”
“We made it. My camp and I have been around this entire system hundreds of times. We know our way around this place better than the ones who built it.”
Will and I stare down at the piece of paper in her hands. She wasn’t kidding. This is everything I could possibly want right now. Sammy feels like a breath away.
“Exits,” Will says. “You guys know all the exits. I wish we had thought to ask you sooner.”
I shoot him a look. I want to get out of here as much as he does, but not until we find Sammy. I know at first he was reluctant. I mean, I’m not stupid. The guy looked for an exit every chance he got. Part of me—no, all of me—hoped that he no longer felt that way. I hoped that we were in this together.
“The storm has most likely ended,” Margo says. “Perhaps you should go to your people and ask for a rescue team to come find him.”
Will seems to nod, almost as if he thinks this is a good idea. The hand that he held earlier burns.
Anger surges through me, but before I can unleash it my mind pauses for a moment, just to think. As much as it hurts me to consider this, Margo is right. Going back is the best option. Will and I haven’t bathed or eaten anything substantial in almost two days. And our skills at finding Sammy are abysmal at best. Wouldn’t a professional team be better suited to get him? But Sammy only responds to me. If he hears other people calling his name, that could make him hide in an even tighter corner, an even smaller cranny. I’m not sure what to do. All I know is that this isn’t working, that we need to find Sammy soon. By tomorrow, he’ll probably have finished the last of his Sammy Snacks.
“What do you think, Syd?” asks Will. His eyes implore me and I silently thank him for letting me make the decision. For being on my side no matter what I choose.
“It’s a good idea,” I slowly nod. “Thanks, Margo. That was kind of you.” She smiles and the icily polite veneer of hers begin to melt. Perhaps if I hadn’t heard their hate-filled rhetoric only moments ago I would have sided more with these people. Perhaps we would have even gotten along.
“We’ll leave now,” I say and rush to move toward the purse I left on the ground—completely out of place with the people in Ruiz and Margo’s camp. As soon as I take a step in the direction of my things, a wave of dizziness hits me and I nearly stumble over. Will’s arms are there to grab me in an instant and I shiver.
“Are you alright?” he asks and I let out a deep yawn.
“I’m fine, I’m just—” I yawn again.
“You must be exhausted,” Margo finishes for me. “I doubt you guys have gotten much sleep, especially as you looked for your brother. Why don’t you take some time to nap for a few hours? We have cots and warm blankets.”
Warm blankets are the last thing I need in the humid air of the subway, but the thought somehow feels welcoming.
“That sounds nice,” Will says as he lets out a yawn himself. “I hadn’t realized how tired I was.”
Margo smiles. “You guys should head to bed, then. I know how tired you are. Here, I’ll lead the way.”
Just a few hour’s rest—then home. Then Sammy. Everything will be okay.
With a lantern in her hand, Margo leads us toward a gutted train car with a small tent made of red gossamer and cloth, tucked just inside. She hands us blankets and pillows as we shuffle ourselves in, two cots laid side by side taking up the entirety of the space.
“Here you are,” says Margo. “I’ll try to wake you in a few hours, okay? You’ll find him—there’s nothing to be afraid of in these tunnels.”
“Except the dark,” Will murmurs in a sleep-addled voice.
Margo puts her hands on her hips.
“Do you remember being a child? Hiding under the covers away from something that scared you? All the dark really is is the world under a blanket. Comforting, warm, secure. It’s the light that really scares people—everything you are, laid out in the open, under a microscope. Darkness just gives you the courage to be your most natural self—to live like no one is watching.”
Her voice is comforting, soothing, and it makes a surprising amount of sense. There is something comforting about the steadiness of night, the absoluteness of the dark. It makes everything less real, yet more so, all at the same time.
Margo leaves and takes the lantern with her, leaving us in the dark, almost as if she planned this conversation all along.
“Are you afraid?” I ask Will softly, my words sounding far away in my ears.
“Of what?”
“The dark.”
“No.” Will pauses. “She was right. There’s nothing to be afraid of here.”
She was more than right, but I will myself to stay quiet and lie in my bed, letting the darkness wash over me, hoping and waiting for sleep.
“Hey, Will?” I say, before I drift off, wanting to speak to him before we see each other on the other side of this day.
“Yeah?”
“I think we just ate rats.”
He bursts out laughing and pretty soon I’m laughing too and the world around us doesn’t seem quite as scary. It’s almost like a strange mixture of light and dark—his laugh, this empty train car.
“You gotta admit, it tasted surprisingly good. It reminded me of my ma’s Sunday chicken.”
“Ew, gross,” I laugh and turn onto my side to face him. We pause for a moment, I can feel his eyes on me, but I can’t see them. “What you did . . . becoming a cop for your mom . . . being her shield like that? It’s brave.” I hear his cot creak in the dark.
“What you’re doing now for Sammy is brave.”
We’re silent for so long that I start to think he’s asleep and my own eyelids grow heavy.
“Sydney?” he asks and I murmur back a reply.
“Why is it just you? Your mom works and your dad is gone, I get that. Still, why is all of this on your shoulders?”
I breathe out a steady breath, awake again. “My dad used to be my whole world,” I say so softly I barely even hear my own voice. “I thought that he’d always be there for me and Sams. My mom worked all night and slept all day, so she wasn’t around much, still isn’t. Maybe because she doesn’t want to be. But my dad had been there. He wasn’t much for being mushy and calling me his baby girl or anything like that, but neither was I. We played baseball together, we went swimming at Bergen Beach. He was my best friend—and he knew Sammy better than anyone. He could get the kid to stop crying in less than a minute flat. And when he left, he told me to watch out for him—to be the dad that he didn’t want to be. He told me to stay tough. And I promised him that I would.”
It sounds pathetic now that I’ve said it aloud. Me being there for Sammy because of some promise I made to my deadbeat father. Like the way Will’s father shaped him into a cop, my father’s actions shaped me into this. A girl too afraid to lose her little brother—the only thing she has left in the world. “It’s dumb,” I add.
“No, it’s not,” he says softly. “Your father shouldn’t have left you—he shouldn’t have placed all that on your shoulders. But what he did? Telling you to be strong? That’s made you into the girl you are. A girl who’d beat up a cop and run down subway tracks just to save her brother. The kind of person other people get strength from.”
I feel like the world has either fallen away, or pieced itself together. I can’t quite tell.
I turn over in my cot and face away from him.
“But it’s my fault.” I choke on the words as they slip past my lips. “He’s gone and it’s my fault.” I tell him everything. About the concert yesterday, about Ezra and the redhead he kissed at the cafe, about the incredible anger I felt, and losing Sammy because of that.
“Syd, don’t say that.”
“But it’s true! I was so pissed about Ezra and I hadn’t even liked him that much, I didn’t even really care. And yet I was so pissed that when Sammy was having the biggest freak-out of his life, I didn’t pay attention. I was so angry at this guy who means nothing to me that I let my brother run away. Maybe Margo was right—maybe I was the one who pushed him away.”
Suddenly, I hear him move from his cot and onto mine. He takes a seat beside me, his hand dropping onto my shoulder.
“You can’t beat yourself up over nothing. You can’t always be the adult. You’re a person, too. It’s okay to have a life, to have friends, to have boyfriend struggles. It’s okay to have a life outside of Sammy.”
I feel my lip quiver despite myse
lf and I’m glad for the darkness. I’m glad that he can’t see me cry. But Will—somehow, some way—hears me anyway, sees me even through the darkness.
“It’s okay if you don’t, too. It’s okay if you don’t know who you are outside of Sammy. It’s okay to be a little broken, a little lost,” he continues.
I wonder how he guessed how alone I feel. That even in school I seem to barely exist. That friends I make are only in passing, the people I speak to don’t really see me. My ambitions, my goals all seem to revolve around Sammy. Feeding him, planning for him, and making sure he’s okay.
“And what about you?” I ask softly, not because I want to bait him, but because I really want to know. “What’s your life outside of being a cop? Outside of the strict code of cop rules that you live by?”
His fingers curl around my shoulders, more comforting than anything I’ve ever known.
“I don’t know,” he says quietly before getting up to sit on his own cot.
Impossibly—or perhaps very possibly due to the fact that he’s here next to me and feeling the same things that I feel—a smile forms on my lips. “That’s okay because neither do I,” I add, waiting for sleep to find me.
I DREAM OF WATER AND RAIN AND ELECTRICITY. Of tunnels and darkness and the taste of my mother’s Sunday chicken. My father’s cigarette sizzling lazily on the arm of his chair. The heavy weight of the gun at my hip. The sound of Sydney’s boisterous laugh.
And when I wake from this surprisingly deep sleep, I feel calmer than I have in so long. I almost think I’m home on a Saturday morning, before the academy, before everything. Before my father got shot. Back when everything was okay. That thought quickly ends as I look around and, instead of being greeted by sunlight flooding through my windows, I’m greeted by darkness. But I can also hear the soft breathing of someone beside me which is . . . new.
I check my watch and nearly startle. It’s almost noon. Dear God, we’ve been sleeping for hours— nearly twelve. Margo was supposed to wake us up. We were only supposed to take an hour or so nap. But why had I been this tired? What had happened? I pat my hands against my body on instinct, and finally I notice.