He stares at me, silent, his hands placed on his legs. No, he’s doing more than just looking—he’s evaluating. His eyes narrow and enlarge, and I can almost hear his mind turning over.
I thought I was far from here. I thought I had escaped, even killed him. I search for injuries on him, but there are none. He looks just the same as when I awoke in that room, and he and Kolton were sitting across from me. Very much alive, not at all dead. I can’t fathom, don’t understand. I can’t trust my own head, what I know, how I feel. Yes, you can, I tell myself. Go with your gut.
Eventually the doctor says, “I’m sure you’re wondering what’s happening.”
I pull at my restraints. “You’re goddamn right I am!” I try again and again to make sense of it all. “I thought you were dead.”
“I was.” He smiles. “At least, to you I was. In your mind I was.”
“What?”
“In your mind. Let me guess. You thought you had killed me, then stole my car and drove to the city to investigate what was happening to you. Does that sound familiar?”
I guess it did. I nod.
“None of that actually happened,” he says. “It was all up here.” He taps the side of his head.
My eyelids flutter, my head spins. His words don’t make sense. The thought is too fantastical for me to comprehend; I can’t get my head around it. What was happening was too real, felt too tangible to be confused with a dream.
“Bullshit!” I reply. “This is some psycho crap.”
“And why would I do that?”
I chew it over. I don’t know why they would do that, which is half the problem. The other half was figuring out how to get out of here. But if I did, could I trust it? Would it be real or just another hallucination? Where does someone turn when they can’t even trust their own mind, their own eyes?
“How do I know this is real?”
“Well, that’s an interesting point. Did you notice in your town you never felt pain? You never got hurt, you never felt tired?”
I think back: running from the internet café, jumping a story from the fire escape to the alley below.
“So, when I was getting chased around the city, even breaking into Grant’s house, that was all in my head?”
Galdini cocks his head. “What do you think?”
I look down, embarrassed.
“What about all the information from the computer?” I mumble.
“Purely a way for you to access information, something that fit in with the environment, a way for you to make sense of your surroundings.”
“And when I felt drunk?”
“The drugs, Sloan. The drugs we put in your system to disrupt your patterns were catching up with you. You see, everything can be explained.”
I shake my head, looking up at his bespectacled face. “This can’t be. It just can’t.”
“In case you had any other doubt...” He holds up his hand. Kolton obeys the instruction and moves toward me. He swings, his fist purposefully flies through the air and collides with my face. There’s a loud crack, and my head jolts to the side. Pain tears up my face, and a ringing in my ears seems to erupt from my bandaged head.
“That,” says the doctor, “is how you know this is real. You felt that, right?”
Flashing lights. I shake my head. The hazy world, dark around the edges, slants before righting itself. More blood appears in my mouth. Yeah, I fucking felt that.
I am here. Just say the word.
Who are you?
The one that does the things you cannot do.
“Sloan? Are you still with me?”
I raise my head, defiant, an even glare. I spit a glob of bloody junk out of my mouth that lands with a squelch on the rough concrete ground.
Kolton cocks his fist for another encounter with my face, but Galdini stops him.
“No! That’s enough. Too much will bring him out. We can’t afford that.” Then he strokes his beard settle himself. He looks around the room, like he’s forgotten himself.
“I know what you’re after,” I say. “I don’t remember the code.”
Galdini snaps his gaze back to me. “Ah, so you do remember something after all. And you may not remember it,” he says as he points to my forehead. “But it’s in there somewhere.”
“Good fucking luck to you, Doc,” I spit.
He smiles in reply. Confidence. “We found it, you know. Your little hiding place. I must say, quite the spectacle. Hidden in plain sight.”
I stare at him, confused.
“The hotel, Sloan. The place where you keep all your little secrets. While you’ve been restrained to that chair, meandering around your imaginary city, with a series of drugs dancing around your system, we’ve been searching for the code deep in your subconscious.”
Then it occurred to me. The footsteps. The open doors. The people chasing me.
Realization.
“That’s right, Sloan,” Galdini continues. “We need that code—the right one. We’ve only got one shot at it, and time is ticking.”
I stop myself from looking away. “Why do you want it? What’s it for?”
Galdini stands up without saying a word.
Heavy footfalls, the sound of crunching gravel. A man appears. He sits while Galdini takes up his spot behind the chair next to Kolton. The hierarchy. Each new person seems more important than the last. Or perhaps it was respect. Or, worse, fear.
The latest arrival’s skin is dark, his eyes darker, his stare unnerving and angry. The overhead lights reflect off his dome. He crosses his legs, a dark Italian leather shoe bobbing to its own beat. He joins his hands and places them on the knee of his suit pants, his knee-length coat dangling down around him. Despite his seemingly lean frame, the room feels smaller, hotter.
I look him up and down, veer away from his eyes, exchange a quick glance with the suits who are standing. I finally rest my gaze on the silent man.
He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, hate in his eyes.
“Do you know how much trouble you’re causing me?” The Devil asks.
Chapter 49
I swallow. Hard. I know what he’s capable of.
He pulls out a slim silver box from his coat pocket, extracts a cigarette, and lights it with a gold lighter, which pushes out an invisible flame. He takes a deep draw, the end of the stick glowing. He sits back, crosses his legs. I’m not sure if he’s waiting for a response or if his question was rhetorical.
“The doctor here assures me he’s close. I beg to differ. My preference is that we do this the old-fashioned way.”
“Listen. If you can just tell me what the code is for, maybe it’ll jog something.”
The Devil turns to the doctor, who thinks about a reply before slowly nodding. He turns back around, his dark eyes even darker. “Very well then,” he states. “Maybe you start with telling me what you remember.”
“From what I can piece together, you instructed me to get some information from Taylor. A code for something. A program. Everything else is a blur, at best.”
The Devil clears his throat, preparing to tell a story.
“There is a considerable amount of funds sitting in a secret offshore account. Money that belongs to some very dangerous people. People who are looking to take over my territory.”
“More dangerous than you?” I quip.
“Oh, it would surprise you what other people are capable of.” He takes another long draw from his cigarette, followed by an expulsion of smoke to the ceiling as he looks me up and down. I’m not sure why. He flicks ash to the ground. “These people are looking to take over and see me disappear into a shallow grave or bottom of the ocean. Taylor, being an investment banker, has the code to their account. It should’ve been an easy task, Sloan. But then again, you aren’t always an easy person to deal with.”
“Yes, I’m getting that impression.”
The Devil doesn’t laugh, or smirk, or smile. “Time’s running out, Sloan. Codes change every three days. We’re pla
ying in a very limited window. You have the code, and I want it from you, and I need it before people realize what we’re doing here.”
“I told you, I don’t remember the code.”
“And there you have it,” he says. He throws the rest of his cigarette onto the ground and stomps on it. “We’ve come full circle. This is why we’re here; this is what we’re trying to do, this is what we now have to clean up. It should’ve been simple. You threaten the family, then stick them with Tilt10, and nobody remembers a damn thing. A perfect crime.”
“So, in the house, what went wrong?”
“You went wrong!” he roars. “Just couldn’t fucking contain yourself! Took matters into your own hands.” His eyes narrowed. “And then to top it all off, you ran. Went into hiding. Covered your tracks. I don’t know why, and to be honest with you, I don’t really care. We found you, and now you’re going to tell me the damn code.”
He stands, encircles me, eyes burning a hole through me. I can feel the hatred.
He comes back into view. “And just so you know, since you’ve got something of mine, I’ve got something of yours. And believe me, if you don’t give me what I’m after, you’ll never see yours again in one piece.”
He clicks his fingers and the wall to my left flashes. I realize the inset in the wall is a window to the next room. Bright fluorescent bulbs ignite, sending the dark space ablaze—so much so I have to turn my head away.
“Look, Sloan. See what we have for you. See what you’ve forced us to do.”
I turn. I stop. My heartbeat rises to uncontrollable levels. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Through the glass, in the room, tied to a chair, is Sonja. Stripped to her underwear and tied to a chair. Her chin rests on her chest, her black and pink hair swaying gently in an unknown breeze. Then another person comes into view. He’s shirtless and flaunts his muscular physique in the window before approaching Sonja.
“What the fuck is this?” I demand.
“This is what’s on the line,” The Devil says.
“I told you—I don’t remember,” I plead.
“Well you’d better try, because the clock is ticking.”
The man grabs Sonja’s hair and yanks her head to the side. She blinks lazily, drugged out, not fully conscious. He brings his hand down and silently connects with her face. He lets go, and her head returns to its resting position. The room goes dark.
“What the fuck is going on here? Stop this shit!”
I fight against the restraints. My muscles contract.
I am here for you.
“What’s going on here,” Galdini interjects, “is just what we need to make this work.”
I look back to the window and begin to scream.
“Sonja! Sonja!”
I will protect her. Let me out.
“She can’t hear you, Sloan,” Galdini says. “Not now, not yet.”
“Let her go. Please, I’ll do anything you want! Just let her go!”
“Well, well,” The Devil says. “I love the desperation. Did you hear that, Kolton?”
“Yes, sir, I did. Seems like we’ve struck a chord.”
“Now, gentlemen, please.” Galdini composes himself, steadies his glasses. “Now, Sloan. I would like to speak with Atlas.”
“I...I...I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
Galdini clears his throat. “Sloan, when I first met you, you introduced me to forty-seven personalities that inhabit you. Personas you created to keep you safe from the repetitive and sustained abuse by your caregivers. Distinct personalities to help you manage your life. One abusive relationship with a guardian after another. You weren’t safe anywhere. No one cared about you—not them, and certainly not the state. Some orphan in a cardboard box isn’t worth the trouble.”
I remember it clearly. The yelling, the hitting, the even worse abuse. Anger rises, as it always does. Are you there?
I am here. I am ready.
“One of your identities is Atlas. Someone you created to tell you stories, to hide you from your miserable existence. I would like to speak with him now.” He claps his hands. “Come forward, Atlas.”
I remember now: they would hit me, slap me across my face, pull my pants down and spank me, for no other reason than that I was there. They called me “kid” so they wouldn’t have to remember my name. “You fuckin’ stupid kid.” “What’d you do now, kid?” “Where’s my fuckin watch, kid?” When they drank too much or had a bad day, I ran. I hid. But they’d always find me. Pull me from my hiding place. I was their punching bag, their way of coping. They treated me like an animal. Even worse—you wouldn’t do that to an animal.
Yes. I can feel it. I’m here.
“Come forward, Atlas!” More direct now.
I swallow it down and mumble something, my heart still pounding from seeing Sonja tied up and abused. I can’t concentrate. I plead with my eyes; emotions are taking over. Having trouble keeping it all together.
The doctor shifts uneasily in his chair. He adjusts his glasses.
“I need you to try harder, Sloan. I only want to talk to Atlas. Find Atlas for me.”
I am here.
So am I.
I shut my eyes. Atlas, are you here, inside of me?
We are here.
We are all here.
Bad things are going to happen.
I open my eyes.
“Atlas?” Galdini checks.
I shake, then lower, my head. Failure.
“You understand what’s at stake, Sloan. View your precious Sonja in the other room.”
I turn slowly. The man is leaning over her, gently stroking her face. It makes me sick to know someone else is touching her. My rage is building. Kolton speaks into an intercom system in the wall. The man’s head picks up at the sound of his voice. As if on cue, he winds up and slaps her again, her head rocking. He grips her hair with one hand and with the other, unbuttons his pants.
“No!” I shout. “No!”
Then the lights go out.
I scream.
Let me out.
“Now, I would like to talk to Atlas.”
My chest heaves. I pull, I fight, I use every ounce of energy to break my binds. But I am caught, like a rabbit in a trap. I resign myself. My head is a swirl of terrible thoughts, and I can’t shake any of them. I think about what’s happening to Sonja, and I want to kill everyone in the room. Galdini, Kolton, The Devil; all of them.
Let me kill them.
I can feel him come to the surface.
I close my eyes, release my breath.
And wait.
Chapter 50
A cool wind softly whips around us, my senses full of the gentle crashing of waves and the sea breeze. I pick up a handful of dry sand and cup it over with my other hand to keep it from escaping. A wave breaks and sizzles over the fine powder, reaching my feet, my chinos getting wet in the process. But I don’t care. Not here. Not now. The water is warm. I reach out and let the sand fall through my fingers into the water below. The particles sink, shifting and swirling as the tide pulls back out.
I look to my left. A soulless beach stretches out to the horizon. To my right is the same.
“How long can we stay here?” I ask.
“As long as you want,” she replies.
I turn. Sonja is next to me. She is entangled with my arm; her head is on my shoulder. She is warm, yet weightless.
“Can we stay here forever?”
I look down at her. Purple strands of hair dance in the breeze over her blue eyes. Bluer than I’ve ever seen them. She smiles, then lifts her head and stares out to the horizon, beyond the white tips of the waves.
“Not forever. I don’t think you would want that.”
“If it’s with you, I would. I would give it all for you.”
“But you can’t. It just can’t be that way.”
Silence consumes us. Comfortable. Soothing. Melodic.
I pick up grains of sand and toss them into the wash of the wave as it appro
aches.
“Do you know who the others are?”
Her head snaps to look at me. She bites her lip. “I’m glad you remember the others.”
“That’s just it. I don’t. But I’ve heard them, heard their voices like they were standing right next to me. And I’ve felt them, as real as you are touching me now.”
“All of them?”
I look down. “Yeah, I guess. Too many to count, too hard to separate. Some stronger and louder than others.”
Her face softens. Relief? She’s perfect. More perfect than every grain of sand on the beach, more perfect than the breeze, than the waves, then the sun. I am lucky. Beyond lucky. I don’t know what I’ve done or endured that allows me to be with her, to soak in her presence, to drink in her stare.
“It’s never easy to explain,” she says. “They’re part of you. They are you, as much as you are them.”
I snicker. “Makes me sound like a crazy person.”
She looks at me, almost upset at the insinuation. “Don’t say that, don’t ever say that.” She nuzzles back into my shoulder. “They’re helpers. They have roles to play, like anyone. Listen to them.”
I look out to the horizon, coated in warmth. “How do I know if this is real? If anything is real?”
Her grip tightened. “Because I am here.”
I want to tell her I love her, to confess everything to her. But I let it go, not willing to ruin this perfect moment. All that matters is I am here with Sonja—safe, peaceful, free. I close my eyes, soaking it in, absorbing it.
Then, a jolt. Sonja is gripping my arm. Our eyes meet. Hers are wide, her mouth open. It looks like fear is erupting from every pore, with every fiber in her spasming.
“Can you feel that?” she gasps. Her heart is a jackhammer; I can feel it even though she isn’t leaning against me.
“What is it?” I ask.
She breathes heavily. “They’re coming. I can feel them.”
Water washes against us, then leaves us, as if the ocean had sucked it back in.
“What do you mean?”
Suddenly, a wave jolts out of the ocean, five stories tall. It holds its place, threatening to crash down on us. I keep it in my gaze, not daring to look away. It stares back, water running up its back and gushing over the edge to fall back down to the ocean. It moans. Threatens.
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