Twixt

by Sarah Diemer

  Charlie crawls out after me.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss, but she shakes her head, moves past me, peering down at the ground.

  “The drainpipe’s here. Come on, Lottie,” she whispers, ushering me over. “We’ve got to move quickly.”

  She hooks her hands around the drainpipe, easing her body off of the roof. The pipe creaks dangerously but holds as she begins to creep down its length. I wait until she’s on the ground, peering over my shoulder at the window every thunderous heartbeat, but when she touches the rubble with her shoes, I’m out on the drainpipe after her, climbing hand under hand.

  Halfway down the pipe, I hear the window creak again. I can’t see it from my angle, and I wait, heart in my throat, until I see a skull peer over the edge of the balcony, eyes searching out Charlie and me.

  Florence has crawled out after us.

  I scrabble down to the ground.

  “Florence, get back inside,” Charlie’s whisper roars around us, but Florence does not listen, instead peers at the drainpipe, as if she's trying to figure out how to climb over the balcony railing to get to it.

  And then, as if the Snatcher had been waiting for this moment, this Sleeper, Florence…it opens its wings, unfurling them like black flags, unhooking its claws from the roof.

  Charlie gazes up and up, face stricken, mouth open. “Florence, get back inside,” she repeats, voice breaking, but Florence only gazes up at the Snatcher stalking over the roof toward her.

  She doesn’t move.

  Charlie races past me, begins to climb the drainpipe again, but she’s not fast enough, and the Snatcher is too quick. It glides off the roof, onto the balcony, and smoothly, with practiced skill, it hooks its claws around Florence’s waist, takes one leap, and flies into the night. Disappears, black against black.

  The world falls hideously still.

  Charlie drops down, hitting the ground and falling against it, rolling as she lands on her knees, pressing her head against the earth and sucking in a fractured sob. I stare back up toward the balcony, at the shadows moving in Charlie's room. The Sixers? I can't tell, don't even want to know…

  I take Charlie's arm, help her up, squeeze her hand, and together—Charlie crying, me trembling—we run across the street, hiding in the shadows of a tired building as the Sixers finally peer out of Charlie’s window at the empty balcony…and move back inside the room.

  “Florence,” Charlie whispers over and over and over again, unable to breathe, her body wracked with quiet sobs. I hold her, lean her head against my shoulder, and feel her pain piercing me through.

  “Charlie, please listen,” I try to tell her, but she shakes her head, rocks back and forth.

  “She trusted me to help her. She trusted me to save her…” She says it over and over again, a litany, a prayer.

  “You did,” I say, but she doesn't hear me, or doesn't understand, so I whisper it again, into the night, into her ear, “Charlie, you did save her. Please believe me. You did.”

  “I saved her?” she spits out, laughing a little through her tears, rubbing at her face, pressing her mouth against her hand. “She was just Snatched, Lottie.”

  I gulp down air, breathe out. “Charlie, I know this sounds wrong. I know it does. But Florence will be okay now. It's…good that this happened, that she was…Snatched.”

  She stills, quiet as she watches me in the darkness, brown eyes wide with horror. “What did you just say?” The words cut deep, are too sharp coming from her mouth, but I shake my head, keep going.

  “It’s…it’s good to be Snatched.” I falter as she stares. “I… There's too much to explain. I have to go. You should—" My voice breaks, and I wonder if this will be the last time I'll ever see Charlie's face. If the Sixers find me… But I can't pity myself; I chose to become a monster, and I must accept the consequences of that choice.

  "You should go back into Mad House," I say hoarsely, pushing her forward a little. "It’s not safe out here for you.”

  “And it is for you? Lottie, why are the Sixers after you? Do you know?”

  Yes, I know.

  We stare at one another helplessly in the darkness. She takes my hands, a soothing, familiar gesture, and threads her fingers through mine.

  “Don’t,” I whisper, taking my hands from hers, the warmth torn from my palms too quickly. I shiver, stare down at the rubble beneath us, scrub away the tears from my cheeks.

  “Why?” she asks, breathes out. She sounds so lost, so broken. “Do you regret the kiss—”

  “No. No,” I repeat, wracked with sorrow. Still, I don't tell her. How can I tell her? I can’t bear the thought of the look on her face, the change that will come over her when she knows, when she knows everything. I can’t. Not yet. Not now.

  "You have to go—"

  "I'm not leaving you, Lottie."

  "You have to—"

  "No." Tears shine on her face, but her expression is set, stubborn, and she wraps her arm around my waist, standing so near to me, so warm, so soft....

  I move my eyes away, trembling with every breath. “We have to get somewhere safe,” I manage, too weak to insist again that she leave me, too ashamed to look in her eyes. “Where can we go that’s safe? That the…the Sixers can’t find us?”

  “Black House,” she says, doesn’t even pause, doesn’t even think. “Edgar will keep us safe.”

  “Please, let’s go.” I move, tug at her fingers, and risk a glance at her, then: she’s watching me carefully, eyes hooded and dark.

  “Lottie,” she begins, but I shake my head, swallow.

  “Not yet. Let’s get to Black House, to safety, first.”

  She nods, twice, and then we’re running down the street, running away from Mad House, through Abeo City.

  Fetchers are fast, and Charlie’s the fastest, but I keep up well enough as our feet skid over the rubble of the broken streets, as our bodies blur past the houses, past the garbage piles, where Wisps move quietly, softly, illuminating the night.

  There are no sounds above us or behind us—no voices, no footsteps, no wings. I chance a glance at Charlie beside me, at her hair streaked back in the wind, at her red-rimmed eyes so fixed on what’s ahead of her.

  I swallow, look forward again.

  Sooner or later, I have to tell her. Sooner or later, she’ll know what I am. But for this moment, this heartbeat, she doesn’t. Still, she bears pain, because she thinks that what’s happened to Florence is terrible. Unthinkable. Unimaginable. In that, at least, I can offer her some comfort… Once she knows the truth about the Snatchers, her grief over Florence might ease.

  We dash around the side of Black House, panting as we stand near the back door. Charlie jerks her thumb up to the window on the right, picks up a bit of broken brick and throws it at the window. “He’ll not like that,” she mutters, and it’s true: when the curtain is inched back, when Edgar’s wide eyes peer out into the air, and then down at us, his expression transforms from worry to anger in an instant.

  He opens the window, glances up at the sky again, then at us. “What are you doing out there?”

  “The Sixers are after Lottie,” says Charlie, words quick.

  Edgar’s face changes again, softening. “Come up, come up,” he says, gesturing, and tosses out a rope ladder.

  “You kept it. I knew you’d keep it,” says Charlie, when she reaches the top, when she embraces him. They help me in, then shut the window and draw the curtains back into place.

  “They’re after you?” says Edgar, brows up, smile making his moustache arch. He’s impressed. I shake my head.

  “It’s not like that…” I mutter.

  “Like what?” he asks, cocking his head. But Charlie’s seated herself on the edge of the bed, is staring down at her hands. “What’s wrong?” he asks, glancing from me to her. “What happened?”

  “Florence,” says Charlie, voice heavy. “Snatched.”

  “Oh,” he whispers, paling. “Charlie…” He crosses over to her, sits d
own on the bed beside her, puts an arm around her shoulders. She takes a staggering breath, leans against him.

  I chew on a fingernail, glance at the doorway as someone moves through the hall beyond it quietly. “Are we safe here?” I whisper, voice so soft I mouth the words more than speak them. Edgar nods, staring up at me.

  “What did you do?” he asks mildly. I shake my head, begin to pace the room.

  “I… It’s not what you think,” I repeat, but Charlie rubs her hand under her nose, sniffling, and glances up at me.

  “Then what should we think, Lottie?” she asks.

  I reach up, touch my lips with cold fingers. I remember what she tasted like, her softness, her nearness. I close my eyes, lean away from the both of them. It’ll shatter, all of it, if I speak the truth.

  “Did the Sixers come here, before Mad House?” I ask Edgar, and he nods, mouth drawn in a small line.

  “They searched it. For you,” he adds helpfully. “I was more or less expecting the both of you here after that, Snatchers or not. They said they were going to search all of the Safe Houses. There’s a reward for you, by the way. So you know,” he mutters, grimacing. “An entire crate of Nox.”

  “A reward…” I breathe out, stare down at the blackened lines in my palms. They've made me into a fugitive. No one must see me now. “Look…” I glance up, bite my lip. “Thank you so much for helping me. Both of you. But I have to go. I have to…” I don’t know, honestly, what I have to do. I haven’t figured it out yet. I have to find Bird. I have to get the Sleepers past the Gray Line, but how? I lean against the wall, slide down it until I clasp my knees with my arms, breathe out in a shudder.

  I don’t know what to do.

  “Lottie.” Charlie crosses the space between us, kneels down beside me. “No matter what’s happened, we’re still here for you. I still…” she breathes out, breathes in. “I still love you. No matter what.”

  I stare at her, eyes wide, tears filling them quickly. “No. You…” I swallow, shake my head. “You can't love me, Charlie.”

  “What?” There’s anger, now, in her voice, as she sinks back on her heels. “I can't? What does that even mean?”

  I sag, spent and numb. “You can’t, because…”

  "Because why?" Edgar prompts.

  "Okay," I breathe, resolved. "I'll tell you." The words spill out softly, slowly. “I’m…I’m a Sixer.”

  I open my eyes, watch Charlie, watch Edgar. They stare at me for a long moment before they, as one, shake their heads. Edgar is actually smiling, but I draw in a deep breath, lean forward. “It’s the truth,” I tell them, dragging out the words. “I am one of the three. The third. I am a Sixer.”

  “How can you be…” Charlie splutters, spreads her hands. “You look nothing like them—”

  “Looks can be deceiving.” I grit my teeth. “I know how bizarre this must sound to you, but I am the youngest Sixer. My sisters…they killed me—"

  "What?" Edgar gasps. "What did you say?"

  "They killed me," I repeat, biting my lip. "But I came back. Listen… That’s…that’s not even the most important part.” I clench and unclench my fists. “Twixt is… It’s what your kind call Purgatory,” I tell them quickly. “It’s where souls go when they pass on, the…tortured souls.”

  They stare at me, lips parted, uncomprehending.

  “Dead souls," I breathe out, holding back tears. "Charlie, Edgar,” I say softly, quietly. “You’re both dead.”

  Charlie sits back on the floorboards, elbows on her knees, watching me with unblinking eyes, swallowing. Edgar stands, then sits down again, then stands once more, taking a step forward.

  “Say the word,” he whispers, eyes wide, bright. “Say it again.”

  “Dead,” I repeat, and when he opens his mouth, tries to say it, nothing comes out but a hiss of air. “It’s part of the illusion,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice calm, steady. “Sleepers can’t talk about anything related to death. It’s…to keep them calm,” I spit out, pressing my fingernails into my palms. “To keep them from discovering the truth.”

  “I don’t understand,” says Charlie then, voice small, and I risk a glance at her, and my heart breaks into slivers, each piece stabbing a little deeper. She’s watching me with guarded eyes, hurting eyes.

  Fearful eyes.

  “The Sixers built…" I exhale heavily. "We built Abeo City, in Twixt,” I say, cradling my head, “to trap souls, so that we could devour them. Because that's what Sixers do." I look up at them, trembling. "Eat souls. Your souls. You sell bits of hair to the Sixers for Nox, and the more hair you sell, the more of your soul you give over to them, until you Fade away. And then you belong solely to the Sixers, as if by contract, and they devour the last of you, and you become nothingness."

  "Nothingness," Edgar repeats, his face pale.

  I nod, breathing in. "It’s a finely made trap. An illusion. Nothing more. All of this is,” I say, holding up my hands, not my hands, palms up. “And I… I wanted to stop. I didn’t want to be part of it anymore. Sixers…" I swallow. "We’re demons. But we weren’t always demons,” I whisper.

  Charlie shifts, drawing her legs up to her chin.

  I go on, because silence now would be worse than anything I might say. “The Snatchers? They’re made to look ugly, monstrous, but they’re not really, not at all. They're lovely. They're rescuers. Snatchers save you, take you away from here. They’re good…” I finish, faltering, as Charlie’s eyes fill with tears.

  “Florence…” whispers Charlie, and I nod.

  “Florence being taken was a good thing,” I tell her, breathing the words. “If she hadn't been taken, she would have Faded, and then…"

  Charlie rests her head against her knees.

  "I know it’s hard to believe. Everything in Abeo City was constructed to make you fear the Snatchers. But it’s all a lie. Everything here is a lie,” I say hoarsely, with a sort of wild finality, falling back against the wall, closing my eyes.

  “Lottie,” says Edgar slowly, carefully. “I know there have been strange things about you. And it’s true—I haven’t seen the third Sixer in a long time. But…” He trails off, searching for the words. “How long have you known this?”

  “I remembered only today,” I tell him, gazing up at him, unwavering. “I didn’t know until today.”

  “Why should we believe you?” he asks then.

  I stare at him, open my mouth, whisper, "I don't know." Why should they believe me? All I have is the truth, no evidence. Only words. I don’t know what else to say, or do, but Charlie gets up, breathes out, glances at Edgar.

  “I believe her,” she says, words soft.

  Edgar licks his lips, sits back down on the edge of the bed.

  "Lottie," Charlie says, and her voice sends a shiver through me—of fear, of hope, of want…

  I look up at her.

  Charlie offers me a hand, but she won’t look at me as I take it, and the hope that had swelled in my heart deflates as I stand, as we both stand there awkwardly, leaning away from one another, together and apart.

  “Look,” says Edgar, voice tired, “I have a lot to think about right now. You two need some privacy, I’m sure… After Florence, I mean.” He unfolds himself and stands, edging toward the door.

  Charlie watches him go. “Edgar—”

  “It’s a lot to think about.” He pauses before the door, considering me. Doubt darkens his gaze. “See you in the morning,” he says brusquely, and then he’s gone.

  We're alone, Charlie and me.

  Perhaps Edgar has gone to fetch the Sixers. I wonder if I should follow him, beg him not to tell, not before I can convince the Sleepers to go to the Gray Line…

  “He won't tell," Charlie says then, heavily, reading my thoughts. "I think…I think he was just afraid of you,” she finishes, sighing. Still, she won’t look at me; she's staring at her hands.

  I curl my own hands into weak fists as a blunt ache presses between my ribs. “Charlie,” I start, b
ut I don’t know what else to say. I just needed to whisper her name while it's still mine to whisper, while she's still here with me.

  “I believe you,” she says, staring down at the floor. “I just lost Florence. I know what you said… I know you said the Snatchers were…good. But as a Fetcher, I'm wired to run from Snatchers, to keep people safe from them. And now you’re telling me that they're the safety. It’s just…just overwhelming, you know? Like everything you’ve ever known, changing. And not all for the better.” She glances up, then, and she stares at me with wet, brown eyes. She looks at me, truly looks at me, searching deeply, and I feel so naked beneath her gaze, as if she can see into my marrow, see under my skin to the monster that lies beneath.

  I take a step back. I can’t stand for her to look at me like this: detached, considering. It’s not the disgusted look I expected, the revulsion. I thought she would run. I thought—

  "Lottie…"

  I hold my breath, brace myself. The moment hovers: I don’t know what her next words will be.

  I close my eyes, breathe out. Wait.

  “Lottie.”

  I open my eyes.

  She steps forward slowly, as if she’s not really moving at all. Charlie reaches up her hand, and then the warmth of her palm is against my arm, my shoulder as she traces it up and over the skin of my neck, cupping my cheek with her hand. I stay very still, breathing in and out as I feel the warmth of her against me, her black-lined palm against my face.

  It’s all too much, the stillness, the warmth, her softness. “What are you doing?” I whisper, closing my eyes, biting back tears, swallowing raggedly. "I told you—"

  “I remember,” she says, breathing out, “the first time I saw the third Sixer. She walked behind the others on their way to the Need Shop. I was in the Wanting Market, with Edgar. He’s the one who Fetched me, you know. He was telling me that the Sixers couldn’t be trusted, and she looked up at us, then, across the Market. That third one, the youngest. She saw us. I guess she heard us. Her hood fell back, and she didn’t look like the other Sixers, not exactly. Her eyes were red, and there were tears… Lottie, she was weeping.”