by daisy harris
“Kuri.” The world shook as someone grabbed Kuri’s shoulders and jerked her hard. “Snap the hell out of it.” Shani was shouting to her, but Kuri couldn’t figure out if she was in the hotel room or on the cold, dark sidewalk with the three men.
Brown fingers wrapped around her chin and Shani’s face appeared right in front of Kuri’s eyes—too close to be anything but real. Shani spoke more clearly now, right into her face. “Do not make me slap you, China Doll. Because you know I will.”
Kuri blinked. A calm filled her body, dripping through her veins from the point on her shoulder. It happened so fast she knew it must have been related to the prick in her arm. The room around her, the drab and nondescript hotel room she could hardly make out before, slid into focus. The other world—the horror movie playing in Kuri’s mind—faded. But it was still there. God, just thinking about those memories, lingering and waiting to fill her awareness again, made her nauseated.
“Here.” Shani shoved a glass of water into her hand. Kuri’s roommate, her oldest friend, stood in her black-and-red tracksuit with open high-top sneakers.
She’d never been happier to see anyone in her life, not even Frank the day he’d saved her… Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god… Just thinking about Frank—picturing his face and his body—set off her imagination. Memories of being raped by those men swept Kuri under again.
“All righty.” Shani wrapped an arm around Kuri’s waist and hoisted her to her feet. The movement shocked Kuri back to the hotel room. “We’re gonna go for a little walk.”
Kuri nodded. She focused on her feet, which were bare, and the green-brown carpet. When Shani marched her to the door, Kuri shoved her toes into a pair of turquoise flip-flops. With a pang of emotion, she realized he must have put them there. She couldn’t think the name without setting off a fresh bout of violent memories. If she thought about him, she remembered sex. And like a feedback loop, those happy recollections would drag her into the darker thoughts—images of multiple rapes that bombarded her like fingers prodding an open wound.
Shani opened the door, letting light spill into the hotel room. With a huff of her usual attitude, she pulled out a pair of sunglasses and popped them on her eyes before leading Kuri outside.
Out of the corner of her vision, Kuri saw that Frank was there, along with Q-ter. They stood in a huddle a few feet from the hotel room door. Luckily, the room was in the back of the place, where no one would have wondered about why people were hanging around outside.
At the thought of men huddled outside hotel rooms, another memory of another rape encroached, but Kuri fought it back. There were tons of them, she realized, all fighting their way to the front of her mind. It was like trying to contain a flood, and Kuri trembled physically with the effort. The wall held, though. It helped that whatever drug Shani’d given her dulled her feelings. The waves of panic felt less like stabs of a knife, and more like a slow strangle.
Kuri tried to clench her jaw—just to see if she could—and failed. So, the drug was probably an industrial-strength downer. Kuri let her breath drain out of her and forced back the last bit of terror.
“Better?” Shani must have felt Kuri relax, because she softened her hold.
“Yeah.” Kuri looked around the hotel parking lot. It must have still been early, because the sun still peeked under the cloudy marine layer. She glanced over to him and Q-ter. She wondered what the hell he’d seen her do, what she might have said. The time between leaving him in bed and Shani arriving was a blur. Still, Kuri reminded herself that whatever she’d done or said in the shower, he hadn’t been able to see the images in her mind. Frank hadn’t witnessed her being raped, and for that she was grateful.
Kuri patted Shani’s hand. “Yeah, a little better. Thanks.” She wanted to tell her roommate she was fine, and that the horrific episode would disappear as fast as a glitch. But Kuri didn’t think it was that simple. The memories of men in alleys and bruised knees lingered on the edge of her consciousness, like a lifetime of pain her glitching brain had protected her against.
She looked around for Barbie, or maybe Royce. Since the whole team had to come to Ballard for work that day, Kuri figured Shani would have brought at least one of her other housemates. “Did you come alone?”
Shani glanced at the talking men, as if she wasn’t sure whether to direct Kuri’s attention that way. “Q called me when he got the call from Frank. Wanted me to come help.”
“Oh.” Kuri waited for the fallout of hearing the name. She even let herself think Frank—quickly, before wiping it away immediately. Kuri forced her shoulders down and her pulse to slow. As long as she didn’t consciously think about their lovemaking, she could probably stop herself from dwelling on older memories. “Well, thanks for coming.”
“No worries.” Shani chuckled, her smile wry. “It was worth it to see Frank so freaked out. She cleared her throat. “I mean—I felt sorry for the guy.” She shrugged. “And for you too, obviously.”
Kuri wiped her eyes, the corner of her lip curling up at Shani’s attempt at bedside manner. Her roomie was a hard-nosed bitch, but that steel had kept Kuri sane more times than she could count.
“You gotta admit, Frank acts like the rest of us are incompetent ninety percent of the time. It was nice to see him taken down a peg.”
Kuri didn’t answer right away. She probed her thoughts to see what she could recall from her time in the shower when she’d been having flashbacks. It was hard to go back there without setting off her memories, but she dredged up an image of Frank’s eyes—brown and kind, terrified and tear-filled. Kuri wove her hands through her hair and realized it was still damp. “Yeah.” Kuri wasn’t sure what to say. She only knew she didn’t feel right joking about him. He hadn’t done anything to hurt her—in fact he’d been wonderful. It wasn’t Frank’s fault Kuri wasn’t sure she could look at him without being drawn back to thoughts of darker times. “Listen, can you give me a ride to the warehouse?”
Shani crossed her arms. “You don’t want to talk to Frank first?”
Kuri thought about it. “No.” She knew she’d have to talk to him soon, but no way could she do it quite yet. Kuri crossed the parking lot toward the company hybrid. “We’re all heading to the same place, right?”
“Yeah.” Shani followed behind her like a bodyguard. “You sure you don’t want to just head home?”
“I need to get the key for you guys.” She couldn’t think too hard on what all her newfound memories meant or how often they might try to break through her barriers. In fact, Kuri didn’t want to think at all. She just wanted to focus on her job, and what needed to get done. If she stopped long enough to relax, the nightmares might start up again. “I’m sure Q brought enough meds to knock me out completely if I freak out.” She pulled at the car door, but found it locked.
Q-ter ran toward them, a duffel bag in his hand. He clicked open the automatic locks, but gave Shani a nervous look, exchanging some kind of silent communication. He said to Kuri, “Frank asked us to take you home. Royce and Barbie can take care of you and manage your meds until we can get the office set up.”
“Why would I go home?” Kuri sank into the back seat of the car. She wanted people and activity. Anyway, no one in his right mind would trust her wellbeing to Barbie. “I’m fine,” she lied. The dishonesty came naturally. She looked out the window as Q-ter started the car. “Let’s get to work.”
* * * * *
Frank watched their car pull up in front of the warehouse.
Kuri clambered out of the back and started in the direction of the offices. He jogged to catch up before she taxed herself and started screeching again. “Kuri.”
She hurried on, as if she were trying to avoid him, but Frank caught her arm. “You need to go home and rest.”
“Rest for what?” She ducked around him, not meeting his stare.
Frank pulled up his hood to hide part of his face. “I don’t know how much you remember—”
“I need you not to talk abo
ut it.” Kuri kept her gaze straight ahead, her attention like a missile aimed at the raised trailer that acted as the warehouses’ office. “I’m not mad at you or about anything. But I can’t right now, okay?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Frank kept pace with her, almost racing her to the door. “But I can take a look at your brain scans, maybe I can find a way to fix it.”
She grabbed the door. “So you’re going to give me an MRI instead of actually talking to me?”
Frank put a hand on the wood, holding it closed. “You’re the one not talking to me.” Then he craned his head around to look through the dingy windows. They were too dirty to see inside.
As if Kuri read his mind, she said, “You can’t go instead of me. It’s rented under my fake name. It’ll only take a second.”
Frank noticed the tremble in her shoulders. Unfortunately, he also knew she was right. She did need to be the one to get the key. Swallowing his concerns, Frank offered the one thing he knew she’d take—a way to temporarily cope. “D’you want an anxiolytic before we go in?” Frank pulled a vial out of his pocket. He’d gotten the meds from Q-ter and planned on carrying them around with him whenever he and Kuri were together for a while. He wasn’t sure exactly what had set her off earlier, but suspected it had something to do with them having sex. Much as Frank wasn’t planning on getting physical with Kuri again until he got to the bottom of her flashbacks, he didn’t want to risk her freaking out. He couldn’t handle that loss of control.
She bit her lip, considering. “I’ll probably end up sleeping the whole day if I do.”
“Probably.” Frank shrugged. He felt the guy who loved Kuri more than anything fading, disappearing behind the practical leader of the Zombie Underground. “But that would be better than screaming hysterically if something sets you off.” He didn’t mean to make light of the situation, but sometimes there was nothing to be done besides being practical.
Kuri cocked her head to the side, considering, though she still stared at her feet. “How about I take half?” She held her hand out while he poured her a pill. She picked it up and with her thumbs, split the already-small tablet in two.
“You need water?”
“No thanks.” She popped the medicine to the back of her throat and swallowed.
“It might take a while to kick in. Do you want to wait?” Frank noticed Q-ter pulling the moving truck up in front of their warehouse.
“No.” Kuri wrenched open the door. Her expression was as closed-off as a robot’s. “I know it’s going to work, so that alone will head off a panic attack.”
Frank mumbled, “I hope so,” and followed her in.
The office looked like the one at the motel, but more rundown—beige walls, industrial-green carpet. A single desk sat in the middle of the room.
“Hello.” The landlord was older—at least eighty. What hair he had was gray. He wore wire-framed glasses and looked more harried than anything else. He didn’t look up from his paperwork.
“Yes, hello, Peter.” A shiver rolled through her, though it was probably imperceptible to anyone but Frank. “I’m here to get the key.”
“Sure thing.” Without lifting his head, the lifer reached for a wall of hooks and plucked off a key. “Here ya go.” He looked up to see Kuri more clearly through his glasses and his smile shifted to a scowl. “What happened to you?” He scanned past Kuri to where Frank stood by the wall.
Frank had almost forgotten about her black eye. The night before, she’d covered it with makeup when they went out.
“Did he do this to you?” Peter aimed an accusatory finger at Frank. “Your boyfriend? Did he give you that?”
“No.” Kuri shook her head. “No. It was s-some other guys,” she stuttered, but then her whole body went stiff.
Bumbling, Frank rushed to put hands on her shoulders—to ground her, or fix her, or save her before she’d do something to risk their new location. But instead of sinking into his hold, Kuri smacked his hand away so hard it stung.
“Are you her pimp? ’Cuz I won’t be having that kind of thing in my buildings.” Peter glared at him, his expression so accusing that Frank wondered if he was guilty after all.
“No,” Frank said. “I would never. Don’t ever say that again.” Anger and fear bubbled up in equal measure in his chest. Anger because he would never be like the men who’d built Kuri to be abused, and fear because in his heart he wondered if he was. “She was attacked.”
The landlord sat down and adjusted his glasses. He peered at Frank and Kuri, wanting an explanation. The human might be aging, but it was clear he didn’t miss much. “Did she report it?”
Frank probably should have lied, but he lacked the strength. “No. She didn’t.”
The landlord sat back a little in his chair. He snatched off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. Then he pressed them carefully onto his face. Peter narrowed his eyes, scanning the both of them more carefully than an x-ray. His lips twisted as he chewed his dentures, and he asked Frank, “What’re those scars on your forehead?”
Frank didn’t answer. He’d had enough of being questioned and making excuses. He lifted his chin, daring Peter to draw his own conclusions. If Peter didn’t like renting to free steins, he could void the contract and call the police. With all the ZU’s equipment on the moving truck and all the team members’ apartments rented under false names, Frank and the others could simply climb into their cars and drive away. Sure, they’d have to switch license plates, and identities. But the group of them could disappear into the information fog in no time.
The old man rolled his chair backward until he reached a little table with a coffee maker and some Styrofoam cups. He poured himself some, adding seven little cups of half-and-half before taking a sip.
“Y’know, I did the Million Man March back in my day.”
Frank wondered at the rapid change of subject. But oddly, Peter didn’t take his non sequitur any further. He just went back to studying his papers. So Frank opened the door and tugged at Kuri’s hand to lead her out.
She threw off his touch again, though she followed. But as soon as they cleared the doorway, Kuri set off walking toward the team unloading the truck. She didn’t spare Frank a single glance.
Chapter Eight
Kuri woke hours later on a bare mattress. One of Frank’s coats was draped over her. Whatever Frank had given her had kicked in soon after she’d left the office, forcing her to nap while the rest of the team unpacked.
She couldn’t tell the time. Bright halogen lights hung from the ceiling, imitating the sun. She felt hungover—headachy and mildly nauseated, but she didn’t think it was from the meds. Kuri pressed a hand into her stomach, realizing she was hungry. She remembered dinner the night before, but knew she hadn’t eaten anything since the restaurant.
Shifting to her knees, she climbed off the mattress. A room’s four walls had been constructed around her, and though the panels were unfinished, the space reminded her of Frank. The dresser was an old, worn wood. The bedframe, waiting for someone to lift the mattress onto it, was rusted metal. Everything was sturdy, and permanent-feeling.
She listened to the sound of the team joking and working outside. A window pierced one of Frank’s walls and looked out into the warehouse. The door was still open and she saw the sun low on the horizon. It was hard to tell the time from that fact alone, though—the sun was always low on the horizon in the fall.
Kuri shivered, wishing they’d close the door. Everyone else was probably sweating from all the exertion, but she was freezing in her t-shirt and sweats. She wrapped Frank’s coat around her and wandered out through the empty doorframe, sensing how everyone’s attention pricked up. None of them turned to stare, and she was grateful. However, she definitely felt their tension.
“Hey, doll.” Frank set down a pile of knotted electronic cables and walked over to her. “Sleep well?”
Kuri tried to finger-comb her hair, but it was too tangled. She sighed. “Yeah.” Her be
lly rumbled. “Hungry.” Kuri smelled something tantalizing and swiveled her head in the direction of the scent, but then realized it was the landlord in his office. Ew. She must have been starving if she could smell humans.
Frank came to stand next to her. “Ben should be back any minute with food. I sent him out a half hour ago.”
The ZU’s human mascot walked through the door, his hands full of plastic bags. Kuri could see the blood pooling at the bottom. Ben hoisted them higher and called out, “Dinner,” though it was unnecessary, since the entire team was descending on him, looking ravenous.
Kuri shrugged off the jacket and looked around for the duffel Q-ter had taken from the hotel. She needed to be in her own clothes. Heck, she wanted to take a bath and brush her teeth and maybe burn her clothes. “Q? Where’s my stuff?”
Q-ter looked up from the box he was unpacking. He pulled out paper plates, plastic forks and a microwave. “In Frank’s room.” He nodded in the direction of the walled-in space where Kuri’d been sleeping.
“Thanks.” She hurried to Frank’s room, grabbing the duffel from its hiding spot in the corner. As fast as she could, Kuri put on her own sweater, and then her jacket. When she stepped back into the main area, Q-ter was feeding an extension cord across the room to plug in the microwave.
Frank said, “You need a 220 outlet for that microwave. That cord’s not going to work.” The smug, know-it-all edge to his voice got on Kuri’s nerves. It was weird, because his overbearing tendencies often bugged her, but at that moment they made her livid. It was as if the attractive man she’d spent the night with had suddenly turned into their father.
In fact, the whole dinner felt like the kind of family gathering she saw in movies, with crazy relatives and annoying fights and the main character—the only sane one in the bunch—just waiting for an excuse to leave.