by Zach Hines
Cody pulled Julian back to the exit.
“Who the hell was that?” Julian asked.
“Just a retrograde,” Cody replied. “He calls himself Robbie. He’s . . . particularly volatile.”
A retrograde?
“He looks so young,” Julian said.
Cody opened the door.
“Retrogression used to get worse as we got older, a compounding effect of multiple rebirths. But like I said, there are younger and younger people with it. It’s highly disturbing.”
Outside, the cats again scattered from the milk pans when Julian emerged from the basement door. They melted away from him into the shadows.
Julian’s heart was racing, and he could feel it skipping a beat. His Wrinkle.
“Cody,” he said, “I think I have to go.”
Cody looked up at Julian, her cheeks still dimpled in a concentrated frown. “It’s not always like this. Robbie, he—”
“I’m sorry, but I should get going,” Julian said, stepping away from her, back toward the road.
Cody shouted at him: “Hey!”
Julian turned back around.
“The next time you see that cat that’s been following you . . . take a picture.”
Julian looked at her for a long moment.
“Okay,” he said.
“Something is wrong with this world,” Cody said. “The cats know it. And maybe they know you know it, too.”
Julian couldn’t think of any way to respond.
Cody made a gun with her thumb and forefinger and fired it with a wink.
“See you,” she said.
Julian sat for a few minutes in his car, listening to the rhythmic hum of the engine. He looked out at the kaleidoscopic bookstore facade. Bardo Books.
Well, he thought. She sure knows how to throw a party.
Chapter 16
“GODDAMN,” MOLLY SAID QUIETLY AS SHE LOOKED AROUND the massive pink room. “This is the size of my entire house.” The small, red-haired girl standing beside her, Anastasia, nodded.
“Check it out. Lake views,” Molly said as she walked over to the enormous bay windows. Her eye was drawn to the Lake, maybe two or three miles down the hill, a slash of sparkling blue cutting through the dark elm forests like an open wound.
“This is kind of obscene,” she whispered to Anastasia.
“Be quiet,” Anastasia whispered back. “She can hear you.”
“Ladies, please,” a polished voice said from behind them. “If I could have you over here. We have an important lesson to go over.”
Constance’s hands were folded behind her back like a yoga instructor about to impart some Zen wisdom. Her perfect enunciation had always struck Molly not as ladylike per se, or high society, or whatever it was she was going for—Molly read it as just plain expensive. And now, having been given a tour of Constance’s sprawling estate, Molly had confirmation that yes, it must indeed be very expensive.
“Being a Burner means you have to be willing to put yourself out there,” Constance said. “So I want you to think of one secret you’ve never shared with anyone. A secret that you are most ashamed of.”
Constance stood before a large aquarium that was built into the wall. It contained a single red fish that drifted lazily, its eyes tilting about, looking at nothing. A plush leather bench was set up before it, stacked with cheer outfits. Molly suddenly felt an acute longing for Julian. She wished he was here with her now.
Constance had brought Molly and Anastasia, her two “favorite” girl recruits, to her home, ostensibly to impart some kind of important piece of Burners wisdom. But having just toured Constance’s cavernous lair of wealth and privilege, Molly realized something—Anastasia was the only other person in the school, besides her and Julian, on scholarship. Meaning poor. They were the only two poor girls, and now they were, apparently, Constance’s “favorites.”
“Write your shameful secret down on this notecard, please.” Constance handed them each a pink notecard and pen.
Molly tapped the card with her pen, unsure of what to write. She couldn’t immediately summon a shameful secret. She was, however, filled with shame of a different type.
Ever since her freshman days, Molly had been fixated on Constance and the Burners. Maybe emboldened by the Two she got junior year, Molly felt like she might finally be heading somewhere in her life. Beautiful, popular, successful Constance became the embodiment of her desperate aspirations. During Kiss or Cap, the gun had landed on Constance, and Molly had kissed her. Constance received the kiss, and even returned it with gusto. Molly knew it was just for show, but she let herself get her hopes up. She started her Three life the next day excited for the future. When Constance moved in and recruited Molly to pledge, Molly said yes without even thinking about it.
But every day since then, in every Burners’ meeting, Constance barely gave her the slightest glance. And now, in this house with this Lake view, with its mazelike warren of plush rooms, Molly realized that she was on a hopeless mission. No matter how hard she tried, Molly would never be like Constance. Nor would she ever be with someone like Constance.
She didn’t have a big, beautiful house. She was just a poor kid chasing life numbers.
Shame. That’s what she felt.
Shame for her stupidity—for her belief that she had ever had a shot.
But she knew that wasn’t the shame Constance was looking for today. Instead, Molly quickly dredged up an embarrassing confession and scribbled it onto the notecard.
Constance gestured to the aquarium behind her. “This is Xanadu,” she said. “He’s one of those electrical fish that live in the Lakes in China. My dad got him for me during a business trip. He’s kind of cute, don’t you think?” The fish’s mouth opened and closed dumbly.
“What we are going to do now is put our hands in his water, one at a time.”
Molly looked to Anastasia—what?
“Come on now, don’t be shy,” Constance said, gathering the girls up beside the tank. “This won’t hurt.”
“It’s gross,” Molly said.
“Sometimes we have to do uncomfortable things in the Burners,” Constance said placidly.
Constance helped the girls dunk their hand into the water for a few seconds each. Xanadu had sunken to the corner of the tank, huddled as far away from them as it could get. Once they both had wet their hands, Constance passed out a towel.
As Molly dried her hands, her fingertips began to tingle. Then her lips. She tried to speak, but she found her tongue wouldn’t respond. The tingling spread from her lips to her chest. She looked down at her hands, but she could no longer feel the coarse fabric of the towel she was holding. She could no longer stand, either. She felt like her body was deflating. She found a spot on the floor next to the bed and slid down against it. In front of her, Anastasia was leaning against the bench with Constance’s cheer clothes. She was also staring forward, her eyes searching the room, as paralyzed as Molly was. Constance walked between them.
“So,” she said, turning the notecards over in her hands. “Xanadu is what they call a paralysis fish. They are only found in two or three tropical Lakes in Asia. He makes this kind of poisonous energy in the water that shuts down your body’s systems one at a time. A real stunner.” She winked and turned over the first card.
“So, Anastasia here,” she said. “You went over to Mr. Alakhai’s house to watch an art movie in sophomore year? Alone?” She grinned. Anastasia’s mouth just gaped dumbly.
Constance continued, “It says here that ‘nothing happened,’ but still you were too scared to tell anyone.” As Constance shook her head disapprovingly, Molly watched Anastasia’s eyes, trapped in her unmoving body. “An art movie. How very naughty of you.”
Constance flipped Molly’s card over. “Molly,” she said, “you had a crush on your best friend, Julian, in middle school. Julian? The one that jumped off the Tower?” She tsked, shaking her head.
Molly could not move. Couldn’t say or do anything. Fe
ar surged through her body. She gasped for breath, but it barely came, and this panicked her more.
“Here’s your lesson for the day,” Constance said. “I don’t even know you girls. And yet you blindly followed me into my home. You told me your shameful secrets, and you stuck your hands into poisonous water. Why?” Constance tore up the cards and let them tumble from her hand into a trashcan beside the fish tank.
“Because of control,” she said. “That’s what I have and what you lack. The ability to control others is all that matters in this world. More so than wealth, or education, or even looks. That’s what the Burners have taught me.”
She checked her watch. “I’m curious if you’ll come back on your next lives with this lesson under your belts. Now, pardon me. My cookies are almost ready.”
Molly and Anastasia sat frozen as Constance padded down the stairs. Molly could hear the television turn on, its noise drifting faintly into the room. She looked at Anastasia across from her. She sat still, like Molly, her eyes able to move only tiny distances in their sockets.
The only coherent thought that could break through Molly’s panic was—
No.
They can’t kill us. That’s against the rules. That’s against the law. All deaths are voluntary. Whether they’re extinguishments or burns, you must decide to do it!
Molly’s fingertips began to heat, like they were being held to a stove. The feeling drifted up her arms, as if they were on fire. It spread into her chest and she could no longer breathe. It was as if all the air had been evaporated at once from her lungs. She could feel them collapse on themselves, sucking at each other. That terrible, painful feeling spread to her throat, closing it, and then, finally, it closed her eyes, too.
Chapter 17
THE FIRST STRANGE THING TO HAPPEN TO JULIAN THAT DAY occurred in the cafeteria, when Amit approached him.
“Hey Julian,” he said. It was hard to imagine this was once the fat kid. When Amit came back in this new body, it really stuck. He was almost gaunt now, his cheeks hollowed and ghostly. The fact that he could no longer taste things probably had something to do with it.
“What’s up, Amit?” Julian said.
“Have you seen Molly?”
“No,” Julian replied, shaking his head.
He hadn’t spoken to her since the confrontation during Amit’s funeral party. He understood why she might not want to talk to him. They had been drifting apart for over a year, ever since the burning started. And then he lashed out at her for it, only for him to succumb himself to the same temptations. After he jumped from Lake Tower, she must have seen him as the ultimate hypocrite. No wonder she avoided him.
But he wished that was all behind them now. He wished they could be friends again.
Amit’s question was worrying though—where was Molly? Julian had noticed that she missed the last few Burners meetings. He also didn’t see her in the lunchroom anymore, but he had just assumed that she was off with Constance or other new friends. Did she quit the Burners?
Amit was concerned because they had calculus together, and she’d been absent the past few days. Molly had always been helpful, assisting him with his homework and such. He shook his head gloomily. “Do you think she dropped out or something?”
It was definitely not like Molly—the girl who was already planning a burn eight years from now, on her twenty-fifth birthday—to be missing classes . . .
Would she have left the academy without a word?
And that was just lunch.
In the afternoon, during the change from fourth to fifth period, a harsh shouting tore out over the usual din of the crowd. At first, Julian thought it might be some kids on the football team hazing. Or possibly . . . He cringed, trying to remember if there was a burn scheduled for today.
The shouting was vicious and angry—and coming closer. Someone was moving down the hall, pushing through the crowd, yelling at the top of his lungs. As the voice approached, the yelling became more intelligible.
“The Bardo!” he shouted. “The Bardo!”
Julian turned around and saw the crowd of students part, and the source of the voice emerged.
It was a kid in a camo jacket. He had white hair and a pale splotch stretching down his neck, so ghostly white it was luminous in the school’s fluorescent light. Julian recognized him instantly. That retrograde from the bookstore. The one who had been staring at him and Cody.
Robbie, Cody had called him.
Well, Robbie was now in Julian’s school somehow—how did he find him here?—and was screaming the name of the bookstore.
“You!” he shouted when he saw Julian. “The kid from Bardo Books.”
“Who are you?” Julian asked.
Robbie charged at him. He grabbed Julian by the shirt and pushed his back up against a locker.
“You stay away,” he snarled. “Stay away stay away stay away stay away!”
“What are you talking about?” Julian stammered as he struggled to pull out of Robbie’s grip.
But before Robbie had any chance to respond, he was yanked off by the school guards.
Robbie grabbed one of the guards’ arms and knocked him to the floor before he could reach for his baton. But the chubbier guard already had his baton out—he rapped Robbie on the back of the neck. Robbie spilled to the floor. He rolled over, his eyes floating in his head, untethered from any sense of sanity.
“You all stay away!” Robbie shouted.
The chubby guard helped his partner to his feet, barking, “Turn off less-lethal.”
The guards flipped a switch and there was an audible hum as their batons electrified. Robbie pulled himself up and dodged a few of their swings, but finally one of the blows cracked him in the chest, and Robbie’s eyes bulged, stunned.
He collapsed onto the floor. The guards, breathing heavily with exertion, dragged Robbie toward the detention room. Did they kill him?
Julian’s heart was thudding in his chest.
Stay away from what? From Cody? From the Friends?
For the rest of the student body, a kind of vaguely shaken normalcy resumed. Some kid down—or extinguished, they couldn’t even tell—nothing too new there. The only thing really of note was that he looked like a freak, and he was gunning for Julian.
Julian could hear their quiet chattering. Their eyes on him again.
And then, another now familiar feeling—Nicholas’s arm snaking around his shoulder.
“Look how popular you’ve become,” he said.
Julian, still breathing hard, didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t want to tell Nicholas that he recognized this kid—from a bookstore basement gathering for retrogrades, no less.
He turned to Nicholas, who was grinning madly. Julian could see the only concern in Nicholas’s head right now was how to play this to the advantage of the Burners.
Julian’s hand was shaking, residual fear still coursing in his blood. His heart skipped a beat. He didn’t need this right now.
What he needed was Molly. Wherever she was.
He excused himself from Nicholas’s grasp and went to the bathroom. He washed his face, trying to cool off his mounting disquiet.
He tried to call Molly, but the phone went straight to voice mail.
Chapter 18
JULIAN WAS DRIVING HOME FROM SCHOOL WITH ROCKY when he noticed a thin, dark line forming on the horizon.
He thought maybe it was an optical illusion, especially since it appeared to expand and shrink as if it were pulsating. Sometimes the dust house would fire up for an evening shift when the bodies were backed up. The creepy wisps of gray cloud the incinerators emitted would bleed into the sky, causing odd visual distortions. Maybe this weird line was the last few rays of the setting sun shimmering through a cloud of body ash.
As he watched the shimmer on the horizon, he thought about when he was going to take his Two.
Julian had asked Nicholas again after school about the information he promised on Julian’s mother, and again Nichola
s played it off, buying more time. He was working on it, Nicholas assured him. He was in touch with people directly at the Lake, in fact, just last night, and he relayed the request, and now it’s a waiting game. . . .
Nicholas had put his arm around Julian’s shoulder on the yard that afternoon, as the last few stragglers drained out of the school. “As always, I’m in complete control of the situation,” he said almost melodically into Julian’s ear. Then Nicholas squeezed Julian’s shoulder with two firm pumps and was gone, a white jacket drifting across the dead brown grass.
He was working on it. . . .
Sure, Julian could go to the extinguishment clinic tonight and burn his Two, let his dad know and be done with the whole thing. But he was certain that if he did that, he would not be able to force himself to die again for the Burners.
And if he didn’t die again for them, there was no way Nicholas would deliver.
And he had to deliver.
Julian was going to get what he had been promised.
That realization was set in his mind as if it were chiseled into a stone tablet. He had decided it that morning when his father pulled him aside and put pressure on him to deliver his Two as soon as he could.
He remembered that painful conversation, watching the odd line on the horizon shift and mutate in the last rays of the sunset.
There was a foreign kind of intimacy in those moments with his father—neither of them had ever been the kind to sit down and share their struggles or hopes or fears. But in compelling Julian to burn, a long-stagnant pool must’ve stirred somewhere inside his father, some kind of alchemical pot of emotions. His father had even become misty-eyed this morning.
He wanted to talk. He wanted to share things.
“You are probably far too young to remember this,” he had told Julian, “but there was always something your mother would say to you when you were little. She used to hold you and say, ‘I don’t need nine of you. I only need the one of you and I’d be happy forever.’” He shook his head.