by J. L. Murray
“Did they send you here?”
The mask fell from Tom’s face and he regarded her coldly, his eyes sharp. She felt suddenly weak. Why had she confronted him? This whole thing was foolish.
“I shouldn’t have come,” she whispered.
Tom grabbed her by the arm and pretended to smile at her. Someone was watching.
“You don’t understand what’s happening,” he said through sparkling teeth, his voice ominous, but the stupid grin still on his face. “They’re everywhere. If I don’t go home with you, we’re both dead.”
“What? Why?” she said.
“You know why.”
The model, she realized. She’d signed for it, taken it home. She’d schemed to kill them, to taint the blood. The least of what would happen to her was permanent donor. If not death. She thought she might prefer death to being a Bleeder.
“Oh God,” she said.
“Smile. Look happy,” he hissed.
Viv smiled, but was on the verge of tears.
“Now, we're going to go to your place,” he said, “and you’re going to tell me everything you know about him.”
Viv turned to look at him. Hope fluttered in her chest. Maybe this wasn't about the model after all. She shook her head, keeping her face blank.
“Don’t play dumb, Genevieve. They know you were friends with him.”
“With whom?” she said.
“Mike Novak,” he said. “He used to live in my apartment. You’re going to tell me everything you know about him.”
Sixteen
Sia took off her shoes and walked to her picture window with a glass of wine, digging her toes into the thick carpet. She watched the snow turn from white to iridescent blue as the sky darkened, straining her eyes to look for an odd shadow in the courtyard. But the world was quiet tonight. She felt unsettled, a nervous energy vibrating her nerves and setting her teeth on edge. Sia frowned as her gaze slid over the grove of trees. It was where the man in black stood and raised a hand to wave at her. There seemed to be more trees now. The darkness was spreading quickly and Sia soon gave up her search. There was something important that she was missing here…
A curt knock pulled her out of her thoughts. “Yes?” she said, half turning from the window.
The door swung open and Mathilde stood on the other side. She was not wearing her veils. She stood there almost rebelliously, as if her scars were glorious adornment rather than old wounds. She looked at Sia from her ruined face for a moment, and Sia saw in her eyes disappointment, or envy, or sadness. Or perhaps all three.
“Mathilde?” she said.
“I have arranged what I promised you,” Mathilde said, her usual false cheer gone from her voice. “It was not easy to obtain.”
“Oh,” said Sia. She hadn't expected Mathilde to follow through so quickly. She had expected her to drag her feet and force Sia to repeat her request over and over.
“Is this a trick?” said Sia.
Mathilde half smiled with her pretty red lips, her scarred face twisting horrifically.
“That is what you said to me the first time we met. Do you remember?”
“Yes,” said Sia.
“I thought you such a weak little thing. Fragile, I thought. I could hurt you with an unkind word.”
“Won't you come in, Mathilde?”
“You are much changed,” she said. “Why is that? So suddenly.”
Sia set her wine down on the windowsill and walked toward the door.
“I've started to remember things,” said Sia. “Pieces of things. I'm feeling more like myself.”
“Yourself,” said Mathilde.
Sia leaned against the doorframe. “Yes,” she said.
“So this isn’t some great ruse, Sia Aoki? Something that perhaps Joshua Flynn dreamed up?”
“What? Of course not,” said Sia. “I don't even know him.”
“That you know of,” said Mathilde.
“Yes,” said Sia. “I suppose so.”
“I looked into your mind, Sia,” said Mathilde. She was looking at Sia like she was something strange. An odd bird she had never seen before. “You pushed me out. You pushed so hard. Like you knew how to do it. As if you’d been taught.”
“I haven’t,” Sia said, standing up straight. “Mathilde, you're not making sense. I hate it when you look in my head.”
“Yes, but no one has ever been able to resist me,” she said. “No one human, at any rate.”
“Well now someone has,” said Sia.
“There is something strange about you, Sia,” said Mathilde. She reached out with a scarred, gloveless hand and touched Sia’s face, an odd look in her eyes. Reluctantly, she drew her hand back, licking her lips.
Sia shrugged. “I'm only a human.”
“Yes,” said Mathilde, stepping back into the hall. “That is what my superiors said too. Perhaps I am being paranoid. You killed the Revenant today so easily. Like it was nothing.”
“It was nothing,” said Sia. “He wasn't even there anymore. You could see that, couldn't you? Besides, he wasn't human.”
“So easily,” Mathilde repeated, her eyes going glassy as she looked at Sia. After a moment, she shook her head and smiled. “Your instrument awaits you in the dining room. You have one hour. Good day, Sia. I'll call on you tomorrow for another...lesson.”
“Thank you, Mathilde.” Sia watched her turn a corner towards her office, and she was gone. She stepped into the hall in bare feet, the tiles cold against her skin.
It couldn't be real. There couldn't be an instrument in the dining room. There just couldn't. She let her feet carry her there. As she came through the doorway and her toes touched the stiff pink carpet, she froze. Evelyn Hauser sat at the table, looking more anxious than Sia had ever seen her. Her eyes kept flicking to a black case on the table.
“Sia, this isn't right,” said Hauser. “It’s against the law.”
“It's against their law,” said Sia, not taking her eyes from her desire. She walked across the room and reached a tentative hand to the case. It was cool to the touch. Sia pulled the case toward her and flicked up the silver fasteners. “We are going to make our own laws very soon, Evelyn. You need to decide whose side you're on.”
“What?”
Sia looked up suddenly and smiled. “I don't know why I said that. How silly of me. I'm sorry, Evelyn. I've been remembering things and it's made me act very odd.”
“I see,” said the nurse.
“I'm going to ask you to be quiet now,” said Sia. “I want to concentrate.”
She opened the case and let her eyes drink in the rich gleam of the wood, the graceful bend of the bow, nestled in the smoothest, richest red velvet. Sia lifted a flap set into the case and took out the rosin. With shaking fingers, she rubbed the rosin against the hairs of the bow, trying to remember to breathe. She only had an hour and she didn’t want the bow to slip, not even once. She wanted to play something beautiful. Just touching the violin sent shivers down her spine. Like it was bursting with electricity. She picked it up by the neck and nestled it against her shoulder. She paused and closed her eyes, drinking in the feeling of anticipation. All the long hours, days, weeks, months without music still made her chest ache, but for now she felt full again. Life buzzed through her.
When she brought the bow against the strings, Evelyn screamed, a short, quick shriek of surprise. Sia glared at her, and then closed her eyes again. The violin was in perfect tune. Someone had been taking care of it. It wasn't a cheap one, but instead, felt as though it was part of her as she held it. An extension of herself, and she would pour all of herself into it for the little time that she had it.
She brought the bow to the strings with no preconceived notion of what she would play. She was going to play herself. The song was Sia, and it would be sad and passionate and full of love and loss. And hate. Because, she was realizing, she had so much hate inside her that in the moment, she thought it would burst her open before she could play a note.
&nb
sp; The first note brought tears to her eyes. The beauty of it, the way it touched her soul. She felt whole again. She breathed out and as she did, the music came. It was slow and deep and grazioso. She played until her arms ached, until her heart felt empty again, she played until she felt like her anger was no longer ripping her open. She played until she forgot the feeling of being loved and being hated and she couldn't even remember who she was anymore. She was limp when she put the violin back in its case, and she felt as spent as she had when she first came to the hospital, hopped up on Slack and chained to a gurney.
I promise I won't let them hurt you.
Sia paused, her hand on the bow, nestled in its spot in the case. Who had said that to her? Someone had. A man? Sia frowned.
A sob made her whip her head around. She had forgotten that Evelyn Hauser was at the table, watching her. It almost made Sia feel naked, to have someone see her play, but she had long ago gotten used to the feeling.
The nurse was a blubbering mess. Fat tears rolled down her wrinkled face and she wiped at her nose with a cloth handkerchief. She was shaking her head, as if in disbelief.
“What's wrong with you?” said Sia, closing the case, her hands unwilling to give it back.
“Sia, I didn't...I didn't know. The music, it was like nothing I've ever heard.”
“I told you I was famous.” Sia clicked the latches down.
“I didn't believe you.” Evelyn stood up, her face red and puffy. She put a hand on Sia's arm. Sia looked down at the hand touching her. “Please, let me help you,” Evelyn said, looking dewy-eyed at Sia. “We need to get you out of here. This can’t happen to you. Not to you.”
Sia pulled her arm away from the woman's grasp. Evelyn looked at her, surprised. Sia turned, letting the violin case go finally. It felt like losing part of herself again. But she knew it wasn't true. Playing the violin tonight had given her pieces that she didn't have before. Pieces that not even recovered memories could restore. Only music. Evelyn reached for her, thinking she was leaning in for an embrace. But Sia stopped, her lips next to the old woman's ear.
“You think you've done something here, Evelyn,” she whispered. “You think you fixed me. Ice baths, electrocution, drugs, disdain. Those were your tools. Torture, Evelyn.” She felt her shudder, but Sia reached out and grasped her shoulders so she couldn't get away. The woman was frail under her fingers. Sia felt she could snap her in two if she wanted.
“I'm not finished,” Sia breathed. “When I come back to this place, Evelyn—and make no mistake, I will come back—you are going to be the first person I kill. That is my promise to you.”
Evelyn gasped and tried to back away. Sia released her. The old woman stared at her in horror, rubbing her bird arms. Sia smiled and turned, her bare feet barely feeling the ground beneath her. She stopped at the doorway.
“Thank Mathilde for the violin, Evelyn. This has been truly enjoyable.”
“Sia...” said Evelyn. Her eyes were like saucers and another floppy tear ran down her cheek.
“I guess I'll see you tomorrow then,” said Sia. “Do me a courtesy and bring me a carafe of coffee instead of one cup, will you?”
Sia stepped out and skipped back to her room. When she got there, she drew the bolt on the door, picked up the glass of wine, and sat by the window until dawn. Waiting. She thought of the man in black who waved to her from the woods. Someone was coming.
She could feel it.
Sia poured another cup of coffee and stared out the window, toward the copse of trees. It appeared even bigger today, seeming to encroach on a bench in the courtyard. But surely it had always been surrounded by trees and she just hadn’t noticed. She was sure she'd imagined the man, but it didn't stop her from looking every day. Mathilde was going to knock at any moment. She said she was going to show Sia H-block, but Sia was fairly certain the tour was going to end the way it always ended. With Sia killing a Rev.
She killed two so far. The second had been harder than the first. It was a woman, which shouldn't have bothered her, but it did. The female Rev screamed at Sia in one long, gravelly note, and Sia sympathized. In a way they were the same. Both full of hate.
She put her coffee back on the cart and yawned. The chair next to her window was curiously comfortable and she only slept a few hours in the past two days. She let her eyes close as she waited for Mathilde's knock.
She dreamed of the man again. This time, she wasn't afraid of him. She was playing the piano, a slow and haunting piece that had been written just for her. He sat on the bench next to her and watched her play. She could feel his eyes cutting into her and she started to feel warm, so warm. She kept playing but found herself gasping for breath. She was aware of his arm touching hers, his thigh pressed against hers, and then he touched the back of her neck...
Sia woke with a start and looked towards the door. It was open a crack, the muted light from the hallway slicing through the gap. She rose and straightened her skirt. It was a new one, deep violet. Mathilde insisted that she start dressing for “what she was made for,” whatever that meant. Mathilde could be so cryptic. Sia obliged her, though, as the clothes were magnificent. Sia peered into the hall, pulling up the long skirt so she didn't trip. There was no one there, so she stepped back into the room and closed the door.
Her heart went cold as a hand went tight around her mouth. An arm slid around her waist and pulled her back, away from the door. She tried to scream and clawed at the hands, but the arms were so strong she couldn't move them, like steel cables. The hands were fast and within seconds she was pushed down on the bed, one hand holding her down at the chest, the other still over her mouth, unmoving, as if it had been welded there. She felt her eyes twitching in her head like an animal at the slaughter.
And then his face came into view and she stopped struggling. She stopped trying to scream. She was still. His eyes, so dark, too dark to be real, cut into her just as in her dream. She felt liquid, suddenly, as though every part of her body had turned to water. The hands eased, the one at her chest sliding to her waist, the one on her mouth moving up to his own mouth, his finger to his lips gesturing for her to be quiet.
“Joshua,” she whispered breathlessly, the name belonging there on her lips. But how could that be? She looked into his face, and saw that it was not at all ordinary as she had thought. It was exotic and smooth and beautiful. She raised a hand and touched his cheek and he closed his eyes. He was not cold like Mathilde, his skin was so warm it felt feverish to the touch. He opened his eyes and opened his red, red lips. They glistened as if covered in liquid. Sia ran a thumb along his bottom lip and it came away red. Without thinking she brought her thumb to her mouth, licking the red away. It tasted metallic, rich, and sweet as honey.
“Sia,” he whispered, and she felt as though she could hear him say it a hundred, a thousand times and never be used to it.
“What's happening?” she said, unable to catch her breath, unable to tear her eyes away from him.
“It's time to remember,” he said. She screamed as he placed his hands on her head, her eyes burned and a light brighter than the sun seared the inside of her skull.
And she did remember. She remembered everything.
Seventeen
“Shit. Out of gas,” Dez said, kicking the bike. It teetered over and fell onto the asphalt with an anticlimactic thunk.
Mike shrugged.
“Just as well. They’ll be looking for it. Lila told them what we were driving.”
“I guess,” said Dez. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”
Mike looked around and realized they were near Washington Square. He pointed up the street.
“The old Post building is about four blocks that way,” he said. “My apartment building is about a half mile beyond it.”
“Well, let’s get going,” Dez said, casting a dark look at the motorcycle on the ground.
They walked for a long time, the silence hanging heavy in the air. Mike listened to their footsteps echoing on the groun
d. It was night now, and the most dangerous time to be out on the streets of a city he used to consider his. But it wasn't his any more. It was theirs now. Their city, their night, their world.
They came to the Post building and Mike stopped. He looked up at the dark windows, many of them broken, the tiny shards of broken glass glittering under the streetlight. Something had burst out of the building and pushed the glass out of those windows. He pushed the sparkling dust with his shoe and glared at the building. Everything that went wrong started and ended with this newspaper. Kyra died and he accepted that. He accepted almost anything to survive. But the news was sacred. It was beyond his reputation, his livelihood, the lives of his loved ones. He did not forgive himself for writing the Revs' propaganda. And he would never forgive Tess her treachery. He would spit on her grave if he had the chance.
“Mike,” Dez said in a whisper. Mike tore his eyes away from the building. Dez nodded across the street. A shadow moved in a breezeway. “I think someone’s watching us, mate.”
Mike looked at Dez, then back at the building. Then he walked up to the front door and pulled. It opened easily, to his surprise.
“What the hell are you doing, Mikey?” Dez said in a panicked whisper. “They’re watching us. We have to get the hell out of here.”
Mike looked into the darkness of the building. He shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said, walking through the doorway. As he stood there, breathing in his building, his paper, his life, he realized Dez was behind him. He looked back and smiled. Dez shrugged.
They walked into the ground floor lobby area and stopped, their jaws gaping. In the middle of the floor…there was no floor. Mike looked up at the ceiling to see the gaping hole that went through to the very top of the building. A goddamn skyscraper and something had punched through every floor of the building. Mike looked down through the floor. The basement was plain below them, with a gargantuan hole punched through the concrete floor and into the earth. It smelled of dirt and snow and worms. Mike took a step back.