The Girl In Between series: Books 1-4

by Laekan Zea Kemp

  “What was that?”

  That’s when I noticed the guy crouched and peering over the tailgate. He had blonde dreadlocks, his skin glowing gold under the moon.

  “His name’s Sanders. He can…disb…disun…” Andre snapped a finger at the stranger. “What the hell do you call it?”

  “I can break things down into their most elemental parts,” Sanders answered.

  “You’re a Dreamer,” I said. “Where from?”

  “Bahamas. I’m a surf instructor.” The guy didn’t look older than sixteen. He seemed to sense my confusion, adding, “High school drop-out. Went on a family vacation one summer and never came home.”

  I turned to Andre, annoyed. “Is that where you’ve been all this time?”

  “The Bahamas. New York. Cape Town. Sydney.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I heard sirens and we all ducked.

  “It’s a long story. With Michael on the loose, we were running out of time, so us Rogues got back to doing what we do best—rescuing strays.”

  “Strays…” Thoughts were piling up, fighting for attention. “Wait, New York? Two kids were kidnapped from there. It’s been all over the news.”

  “Kidnapped…rescued…”

  I remembered Michael’s tattoo. “You were there?”

  “Not me. Charles managed to pull that off.”

  “Charles.” I shook my head. “But I saw the pictures from the subway. The guy who’d taken that kid had an infinity tattoo just like Michael’s.”

  Andre yanked his sleeve down over his bicep. “We all have an infinity tattoo. Michael had one on his left hand and Charles had one on his right. Domingo has one behind his neck and Valentina’s even got a tramp stamp version.”

  Swirling lights appeared over the ridge, the truck gaining speed and slamming us back.

  I yelled over the wind. “How the hell did you find me?”

  Andre just smiled, one hand patting me on the back while the other clutched the tailgate. “We have our ways. Why the hell do you look so disappointed?”

  The cold night air clipped past me like a blade. They’d taken my coat when they’d first booked me, and if Andre hadn’t gotten me out, if they’d charged me with murder and left me to rot in that cell for the rest of my life, they would have taken a lot more.

  I slumped against the bed of the truck, dizzy. What have I done?

  We slowed behind another car. Before traffic moved forward and we could swerve past them, I sprung out of the truck. And then I just stood in the middle of the empty road. I could hear the sirens, could see the lights between the trees on the other side of the highway. I spun, walking in circles, trying to catch my breath.

  “What the hell have I just done?”

  Andre jumped out after me, Domingo stepping out of the driver’s side.

  “Hey, kid, we’re sort of being chased by the cops here. Get your ass back in the truck.” Andre shoved me but I barely moved. “Come on.” He waved a hand. “Snap out of it.”

  “I can’t…”

  Domingo came closer. “You can’t what, Roman?”

  Tears scraped down my throat. “If I leave I can’t come back.”

  I looked down the road, flashing lights cutting between the buildings from the south. I knew they’d turn down the street we were on any minute.

  “What do you want to do?” Domingo asked.

  Moretti’s caught my eye—the sign hadn’t been repainted since I was twelve—and next to it the Laundromat where I used to steal quarters off the washing machines when people weren’t looking. I could just make out the silhouette of my dad’s office building, the big glass windows glossed with moonlight. There was the golf course just west of us, some of the trees reaching over the houses. My house. The one I’d lived in my entire life. Could I really say goodbye to all of this? For good?

  “Well?” Domingo said.

  “Take me to Bryn.”

  45

  Bryn

  After visiting hours came to a close my mom brought some Nacho’s Tacos and we spent the next few hours pretending the word hospital didn’t exist just like we used to. We watched reality television and we didn’t talk about the past few months. We didn’t talk much at all. But that was okay with me. I wasn’t ready to know what my mom had gone through. I wasn’t sure I ever would be.

  When she left and I was finally alone, I flipped back to the news station I’d had on earlier. I knew it would only make it harder to sleep, but I wanted to see them for myself, the Dreamers who were still trapped.

  Two other coma patients had miraculously woken up last week, but as their photos flashed on the screen, their faces weren’t ones I recognized. A handful of other names were mentioned—patients who’d recently fallen under, patients who’d experienced no change, patients who were slowly deteriorating. Then they showed Sebastían again, a beacon of hope for all of those other families out there.

  How did you escape? I’d seen Sebastían manifest Anso’s nightmares right before his eyes but he’d been helpless on that torture table. Looking at him now, the delayed feed showing him on the podium next to his parents, he didn’t look disoriented or weak. He didn’t look relieved to be awake or even alive. He looked angry.

  The intensity was just as startling as seeing him on that screen. I thought he’d burst into flames at any moment, all of those awful things inside him itching for a way out. Chaos—that’s what he looked like, who he was, and suddenly I wasn’t questioning how he’d escaped but why Anso had let him go.

  “It’s getting late.” One of the nurses peeked in. “Feel like trying to get some sleep?” She clicked off the television before moving to turn off the bedside lamp.

  “Leave it,” I said. “Please.”

  I lie there, anxious now that the last of the mourners had come to see my resurrection. I knew that any second another nurse would come in, lower the last of the lights, and I’d be faced with it all over again—the darkness, the nightmares, the possibility that I wouldn’t be able to wake myself up a second time.

  I stared at the walls, counting the headlights that bled through the curtains, the footsteps I heard out in the hall. The clock by the door flashed to midnight. One AM. Three AM. I fought sleep even though it hurt, my eyes burning as I waited for the sun.

  “Bryn…”

  Roman stood in the doorway, and for a long moment I thought I was imagining him, my mind desperate for a safe retreat from the night and all of the terrible things that might happen in it. He stood there, just looking at me, me looking back. He finally pulled the door closed as he stepped inside, every cell in my body on high alert.

  I waited for him to speak the words that had haunted me but he just smiled this tired tragic smile. And against everything in me I smiled back. He let out a strangled breath, kneeling and taking my hands.

  He pressed them to his face. “You’re here.”

  “I’m here.”

  He moved closer. “God, I mean…you came back.”

  He made it sound so simple, like all it had taken was me finally opening my eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” Roman pulled away. “How…how are you?”

  I tried to keep my face still but I’d been lying all day and I couldn’t anymore. Not to him. “I don’t know.”

  He squeezed my hand, not sure what to say either. For now it was safer to say nothing at all, our hands roaming each other, exploring and explaining everything. I missed him. Despite the fact that I was still afraid, I loved him.

  The sun was a wall of red against the curtains and I knew it was almost morning.

  “How did you get in?” I asked.

  “It’s a long story.” He smiled. “I just couldn’t wait.”

  “I’m glad you came,” I said and I was.

  I didn’t want to be alone and I didn’t want to sleep. And even though my body hadn’t let go of the memory of those flames…I wanted Roman here. I needed him.

  “It’s been a long time,” he said.

  “Foreve
r.”

  He brushed the tears from my cheek before I even felt them fall.

  “I’m afraid to go to sleep,” I said.

  He took my face in both hands. “I’m here. You’re here.”

  “Will you stay with me?” I asked, desperately fighting my flesh instinct to run.

  He nodded and I slid over, making room for him. I curled against his chest, feeling small and safe as the pulse of his heart sputtered against my cheek. I unfurled his fingers, noticing the smooth places that were once calloused, the thick scar that ran from pinkie to thumb.

  “What—?”

  He tried to force his hand closed but I held it steady. Then I exposed the fresh scar on my own, the line from the razor thinner and more shallow than whatever had cut through Roman. He traced it and I tried not to imagine all of the thoughts racing through his head. I thought he’d answer my question or maybe ask one in return, but instead he laced our fingers, locking the two wounds in place.

  “You’re safe now, Bryn.”

  The hope in me fought against collapse. Because he was wrong. Even now. Even in his arms. I wasn’t safe and neither was he.

  46

  Roman

  I didn’t wake so much as fall into my body. I hit the tile, nursing my ribs. Bryn was shaking.

  I inched back, giving her space. “Bryn, it’s me.”

  Her eyes darted, chasing something I couldn’t see. Her breath caught, that vacant look replaced by confusion.

  “It was just a dream,” I said.

  “It wasn’t…” She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. “It was…”

  “A nightmare.”

  I moved to sit next to her, watching as she tried not to flinch. She looked up, fearful, sorry. She didn’t know what I’d seen on those brain scans—my face—she didn’t even know Vogle had taken them. But I did and I could tell she was still being haunted by it.

  “They’re just nightmares, Bryn. I promise.”

  She took a deep breath, repeating the words. “They’re. Just. Nightmares.”

  I left before one of the nurses could find me, Vogle taking up his post outside Bryn’s room while I met the Rogues and rescued Dreamers in the parking lot. We drove to Felix’s apartment, and when he opened the door he looked like he’d been electrocuted, his hair spiked on one side and flat on the other. When he saw all of us on his doorstep he stumbled against the kitchen counter, Andre pushing past him and leading the way inside.

  I grabbed Felix’s shoulder, maneuvering our backs to the group. “Sorry, it’s early. We weren’t sure where else to go.”

  “It’s uh…” He turned back, examining his shrunken living room. “It’s cool. So…is anyone thirsty? I’ve got—”

  “Toss me a beer,” Andre grunted.

  Domingo raised a hand. “I’ll take a diet coke.”

  “Any milk?” Stassi added.

  “Tea’s fine,” Shay said.

  Magda, one of the Dreamers, asked sheepishly, “Where’s the bathroom?” Her cheeks flushed red and then the rest of her did too.

  Felix’s eyes widened. “Whoa.”

  Magda covered her face. A feigned transparency took over her skin as she absorbed the color of the furniture and lighting around her. She was like a chameleon.

  “Could you be any less of a gentlemen?” Andre grunted. “Show her where the goddamn bathroom is.”

  “Right.” Felix nodded. “Sorry. It’s this way.”

  Magda’s skin and clothes mimicked the color of the bare wall as she followed him down the hall. When Felix came back he rummaged through the fridge, probably trying to remember everyone’s drink orders. He gave up and passed out cans of orange soda.

  Andre grumbled, “What’s this?”

  “This ain’t a hotel.” Before Andre could strangle him, Felix added, “It’s all I’ve got.” He turned to me. “So, uh, what brings everyone to my humble abode this early in the morning?”

  Andre burped. “Like you don’t know.”

  “The coma outbreaks and disappearances?”

  “Yeah…” I ran a hand through my hair. “About that.”

  I let Andre explain that they’d been hopping from continent to continent rescuing the Dreamers.

  “You guys have been all over the news,” Felix said. “Have you seen the stills from the subway in New York?”

  “Roman asked the same thing,” Andre said, “but as you can imagine, we’ve been a little busy.”

  Felix pulled out his laptop. “You need to see this.” He banged on the keyboard. “If I can ever get this thing to finish decrypting.”

  I crouched next to him. “You mean the hard drive Adham and I sent you?”

  “Files are locked up tight. I’ve broken in a few times but there’s a timeout system. I can only read a few pages before the entire thing resets itself and I have to figure out how to decrypt it again.”

  “Can I take a look?” Shay knelt, the utility belt she always wore clanking and stocked with some new artillery.

  I remembered the electric shock of being captured in that alley behind the hospital and the cuffs they’d locked us in that wouldn’t melt off. I’d thought they were going to kill us with her mad torture devices but they’d only meant to save us. I watched Shay’s fingers race across the keyboard, waiting for her to save us now.

  She handed the laptop back to Felix. “Done.”

  He stared at her, slack jawed.

  “Shouldn’t time-out on you anymore either,” Shay said.

  Felix just blinked.

  “You’re welcome.” She stood. “Now, hurry and find what you need. We haven’t seen Bryn since we got here.”

  “How is she doing?” Stassi asked.

  It was the first time Stassi had spoken more than a few words. She’d stuck close to Domingo the entire time I’d been with them, silent, exhausted. She hung on his arm, probably to keep the walls from speaking to her, her brother’s touch the only thing protecting her from visions of the past.

  For a second I let myself wonder if my touch was capable of the same; if I held Bryn’s hand for the rest of eternity, if I could protect her from all of this. But then I remembered falling out of bed and the look on Bryn’s face even after the nightmare had let go of her, and I knew I wasn’t capable of anything.

  “I don’t know,” I said, repeating the answer Bryn had given me. “But she’ll be happy to see all of you.”

  When Felix found the files he was looking for, everyone gathered around while I recounted in vague detail how exactly we’d come about this information. And by vague I mean I left out the parts where we lied and tortured a man before stealing from him and making a run for it.

  “So, what is all of this stuff?” Domingo asked.

  “Here are the stills from the subway showing the boy who was taken,” Felix said.

  “And there’s Charles.” I pointed to the still of him entering the subway car behind the boy.

  “As you can see,” Felix said, “they’re…”

  “Distorted,” Domingo finished.

  “The kid’s practically transparent.”

  “Because he’s sleeping,” Stassi said, never tearing her eyes away from the photo.

  “That’s the thing…” Andre ran a hand down his face. “Samson and some of the others we’ve found…they haven’t been in their bodies.”

  I straightened. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that the shadows are taking the Dreamers any way they can, sleeping or awake, in their bodies or out of them.”

  “Anso,” I corrected him, “the man who took Bryn’s great-grandmother. I saw him try to take someone else but he got away.”

  “He’s lucky,” Andre said.

  “I don’t understand. How are the Dreamers being separated from their bodies in the first place? And why would the shadows even want them?”

  “For collateral,” Samson said. “The bodies are Anso’s back-up plan just in case the Dreamers somehow manage to escape the nightmare.” He hung
his head. “But the nightmare is just phase one of Anso’s torture method. Phase two involves being bled out on a cold hard surface while he hurls questions at you and phase three involves rotting away in a cell. But I’ll just skip all of the boring details and get straight to the final phase, which I like to call throwing out the trash.”

  “You were there too?” Felix gripped the floor as if he might fall straight through.

  My blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”

  Felix looked up, tentative. “Bryn. She was there…she told me.”

  “She told you what?” I snapped, seeing in his eyes that it was bad. And why not me? Why the hell didn’t she tell me? I wanted to yell at him, to shake the truth out with my bare hands. I turned to Samson instead. “What happened to you?”

  He crinkled his brow, still trying to make sense of it all. “Anso was hell-bent on finding someone, and if you weren’t it, he hawked whatever skill you had and sold you to the highest bidder.” His face fell. “He tossed me through a vortex onto an empty street somewhere and I was dragged away by two men in masks.”

  “Don’t.” Magda was back on the couch, her outline barely visible against the faded fabric and Shay’s embrace. She clutched her knees. “Please, don’t say it.”

  Wherever she’d been, whatever had happened to her, she was reliving it with every word Samson said. He was reliving it too, the pain forcing the words back down his throat.

  “How did you finally get away?” I asked.

  “Sometimes I can move myself in the dreams,” he said. “The memory’s foggy. I was delirious at that point, totally out of it, but I remember thinking about the beach. Every time I was scared or angry or trying not to lose my mind I would picture it—the sand sifting through my fingers, the waves lapping against my stomach. I…I made it real somehow and suddenly I was back there.”

  “You found your way home?”

  He nodded, wistful yet wary. Samson was out of his body, still living in a dream, and I could tell he was afraid it would collapse at any moment. “I don’t know what I expected, that maybe my body would still be asleep in my bed, but it was gone.”