“You refuse to see yourself clearly, so I guess I have to prove it to you.” He sounds like he’s barely holding back laughter, and my stomach rolls as understanding dawns. I’ve rarely wanted to hurt someone this bad in my life—and that’s really saying something. “I can see the knife sticking out of your sock. Now use it. Fill it to the top.”
“Sick psychopath,” Cam mutters under his breath.
“I’m going to let you choose. You cut him”—Brothers glances from me to Cam—“or he cuts you.”
27
Brothers’s laughter echoes through the room as Cam and I stare at each other.
My voice comes out low and foreign. “Not going to happen.”
“If you want out, if you want me to leave you alone like you say, this is the first step to make it happen.” All hint of humor is gone now. His voice is loud in the cold room, and my head vibrates with his words as he turns the gun to Cam, then back to me. “Make her bleed or I will.”
I press my fingers against my forehead. There has to be an answer. There’s always an escape somehow. I’ve gotten out of worse situations than this—well, worse is debatable, but similar.
My brain whirls through the possibilities. Cam blinks at the gun, his skin paling. I’m more likely to survive being cut than being shot. I try to think it through.
“And no little slices.” Brothers’s voice is lilting, almost singsong. He places the mason jar on the floor and rolls it into my foot. A tiny spider skitters out across the floor. “Fill the jar.”
“This guy is seriously twisted,” Cam whispers to me. His eyes are still glued to the barrel of the gun in Brothers’s hand.
“What do you know about the human body?” I grab Cam’s chin in my hand and turn his face until his eyes finally come to rest on mine. “Focus. We need to get out of here.”
“Are you seriously considering it?” He frowns. “You can’t believe he’ll actually live up to his part of the bargain.”
“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not, but I’m not seeing any other way out that doesn’t include one or both of us getting shot. Are you?” No windows, no large vents, no other doors. The only way out is through Brothers and his gun. “I have to do something.”
Nowhere to hide. Always nowhere to hide.
“Not helping, Sam,” I mutter, and press both fists against my temples.
“Sam?” Cam speaks his name and I clamp my jaw shut. Now is really not the time.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
We have to fill it with blood to get out. The jar seems bigger every second. Can a person lose that much blood without dying? Brothers watches us silently. He has regained control and it shows. His hands are steady, his gun level … he waits.
“If we each filled it halfway, would we still have enough blood to stay alive?”
Cam nods. “Yes, it’s not that much if we split it.”
“No!” Brothers bellows, and then continues more quietly. “One of you only.”
I glare at him. “You’re asking us to kill each other.”
“Not necessarily.” He shrugs, seeming bored by my statement. “Depends how fast you bleed, how deep you cut. Too shallow and it loses its fun, too deep and it’s over too quick. You have to learn how to make it last.”
I freeze and stare at the floor between my feet. There really is no other option and I know it. Still, my brain and my body refuse to respond. All I can see is blood, so much blood—my world is stained red. That jar is so big—too much for only one of us.
“Charlotte.”
Always blood. I hate it.
“Piper.” Cam grabs my arm and squeezes gently until I look up.
“He’s a monster. People are monsters,” I say, as I blink and blink, but my eyes won’t focus on him.
“Not everyone … I promise. It’s okay. One of us can do it and survive, if the other one calls an ambulance as soon as we’re out.”
“Ticktock, Piper. I don’t have all day. Are you going to cut your boyfriend, wait for him to cut you, or should I shoot you both for entertainment?”
“You said you’re good with first aid…” I remind Cam of his claims from when my side was bleeding at his studio. My hands are damp with just the thought of what I’m about to do. “I hope that was the truth.”
A thousand tiny bolts of electric fear go from my spine to every finger as I reach down, pull the knife out of my sock, and slip it out of the washcloth. I raise it to my arm and take a breath. It’s just one more cut, like hundreds before it. Just one more slice, just one more scar. I can do this. I will do this—for Cam. Before I can press it against my skin, Cam has his hands clamped around both of my wrists, holding them apart.
His hazel eyes are panicked and desperate. “Stop! What are you doing?”
“I’m giving him what he wants.” I push against his grip, but he’s too strong for me. “We need to get out of here.”
Cam bends his knees until his eyes are at my level and waits until I stop struggling. His expression changes abruptly, becoming grim and decided. It confuses me. “You’re sure this is our only option?”
The hopelessness bubbling up inside spills out in my voice, and it cracks. “I won’t watch him shoot you.”
“Okay, but be quick.” Cam twists my hands in his and before I realize what he’s doing it’s too late. “I won’t have much time.”
“No! Stop, Cam!” Holding my wrist so tight it hurts, he takes my hand with the blade and presses it down hard—too hard—against his opposite forearm. The blood comes immediately. He trembles a little before releasing me and holding his hand over the jar.
“Why did you do that? This is my fault.” I reach out for the jar and his arm, wanting to make it stop, to make him take it back. But I can’t. I pull my hands back in and squeeze them across my stomach. The now-bloody knife clatters to the floor, forgotten. “Why would you do that?”
“No!” Brothers bellows and the wild rage is back in his eyes more than ever. He steps closer, shaking his gun at me as I step in front of Cam. “That isn’t what I said. Why can’t you do as I say? You ruined everything!”
“Shut up! We did what you asked!” I yell at him, and turn back to Cam. I can’t fix this. It’s wrong. The only thing I can think about is that the knife was in my hand when it cut him—mine. I can’t shake the image. There is so much blood in the jar already. The cut is too deep, much too deep.
“Be logical. It makes the most sense. It could never be you. I’m much bigger so I can lose more blood than you and be okay.” Cam leans against the wall, and when I rush over he presses his forehead against mine. “And he’s wrong about you. You hate everything about what was done to you. And I knew you’d never cut me.”
The jar is filling so quickly it makes me dizzy. So much blood. How can he lose that much blood? I hold his elbow with one hand. “I think you should sit down.”
“G-good plan.” He slides down the wall until he’s in a sitting position. I kneel beside him. Already, his skin is paler. It terrifies me. Brothers is pacing and muttering again, but I don’t care. I’m too scared to take my eyes off Cam. What if when I look back, he’s gone?
“You need to stay safe, you and Sanda.” Cam’s words slur a little and I’m submerged in a sea of dread.
“We will. I’ll keep you both safe.” I hesitate, then take a deep breath and intertwine my fingers with those of his uninjured hand. The warmth in them helps clear the haze of panic in my brain. I ignore the sound of Brothers’s gun clicking as he continues to pace by the door.
“A girl I knew, she died.” Cam’s eyes meet mine, and he appears clear for a moment. I wonder if he’s talking about Lily’s little sister. “You can’t. Promise me you won’t.”
“I’m not the one bleeding. It’s going to be okay. Just hang on.” His breathing sounds different, more ragged. My brain strives to focus and think of a way out. Every idea is tarnished by blood.
Memories of my brother plague me. His body couldn’t recover. He hadn’t survived it. Can Cam?
<
br /> I shudder and focus on hard logic. I can’t lose touch with reality right now. The facts comfort me as I remind myself of the differences between them. Cam is healthy and strong. Sam’s body was never as strong as Cam’s. There is still a chance. “Does it hurt?”
“At first, not anymore.”
Another flash of my past fills my mind, and I know the pain going away isn’t a good thing. One time the Father went too far with a knife. There was no pain toward the end, but I also didn’t wake up for three days.
I glance over at the jar. It’s not quite full but I don’t know how much more of this he can take. “That’s enough.”
Pulling my left arm into my shirt, I rip the red sleeve above the elbow. Then I take the bottom few inches of Cam’s shirt and yank on it until it rips. I use one pad to absorb and stanch the bleeding, the longer piece to hold it tight, slow down the blood, and keep the bandage in place. Not as good as a tourniquet, but it will slow the bleeding and there is less of a chance he will lose his arm.
He winces, but then releases a deep, shaky breath. “Thank you.”
I shake my head, my entire body one huge ball of dread, confusion, and fear. “Do not thank me for this.”
First aid saves the day again … I hope.
I turn back to Brothers. “You need to let us out now. I have to get him to a hospital.”
“No.” He stops pacing, backs up, and throws his arm out, knocking one of the metal racks against the wall with a clang that echoes endlessly around us. His eyes don’t focus on me when he turns and yells, “You’ll never know. With him you’ll never learn.”
I flinch away. Even with the Parents, I’d never seen such madness.
His wild eyes settle on mine and he shakes his head, his voice lowering to a whimper. “You keep disappointing me.”
“Please, he can’t—” Finishing the sentence is impossible. I can’t say the word out loud. It’s silent for too long before Brothers responds, and I want to rip my hair out or hit someone. I can’t sit here and watch Cam die. Already the blood is seeping through the bandage. It won’t hold for long.
“If you want another chance, you have to earn it. I’ve tried to help you enough.” Brothers backs toward the door. “Or you can both rot in here. It’s your choice.”
“No!” I get to my feet and run toward him as he puts his hand on the knob, but I’m brought up short by the cold metal of his gun pressed against my forehead.
“You have so much potential.” He speaks softly, his mouth not far from my ear. “Don’t disappoint me again.”
A hunger rises from a dark place inside me as I rage in silence, kept at bay only by the slender tube of black metal. It’s more than a want, more than a need. The only way to satiate it is to bring Brothers pain, to knock his gun out of his hand and squeeze the life out of his throat. Nothing could feel as good right now as the satisfying thud of slamming a bat into Brothers’s head again and again. I must hurt him the way it hurts me every time I look at Cam. Every hope, every dream he’s ever had must be demolished in my wake—exactly like he’s doing to me.
“Please, Piper, don’t.” Cam’s voice welds my feet to the floor. It keeps me from acting, from doing something that would kill me and almost certainly him as well.
Brothers slips out the door and I hear the locks on the other side click into place with the finality of a stone over a tomb.
28
“Brothers, wait!” I pound on the door with both fists. It’s made of solid wood, sturdy, not rotting like half the wood in this building. Without a key, we’re never getting through it. My mind scrambles over anything to make him return and release us. But already it’s too late. His footsteps are gone and I hear nothing but silence.
It’s just another attic, Piper. Another prison.
My mind sorts through any other way out, but there are no windows. I run my hand down the side of the door, dusting off some dirt. Under the grime, the wood is brand-new. Even the knob shines under the swaying light.
A block of ice settles in my chest where my heart used to be. He’d planned for the possibility that he might be locking me in. I walked right into his trap and I brought Cam with me.
Pacing the room, I examine everything and search for any escape. The metal storage racks tower over my head. I could climb them, but the ceiling is solid. It would get me nowhere. The vents are too small for even me to fit through, let alone Cam. No way out but the door.
Reaching in my pocket, I withdraw my phone, but when I open it there is only a black X where the signal bars should be. I check the phone Brothers gave me as well—nothing.
“Do you have your phone?” Keeping my voice low and level is so hard I’m afraid I might break. Cam fumbles in his pocket and the phone falls to the floor. I grab it, but he doesn’t have a signal either.
“He must be using a jammer or the walls are thicker than they seem.” Wincing, Cam leans his head back and closes his eyes. His normally olive skin has turned almost transparent. The cloth on his arm is soaked through and starting to drip circles of red on the floor beside him. Like the rose petals—another present from Brothers.
I can’t breathe right. My own lungs match each of his shallow gasps. I yearn to see the hazel of his eyes, to see his skin return to the healthy warm color I’m used to.
But it won’t, not now, probably never again.
His life is fading away before me and I’m powerless to stop it … like Nana, like Sam. Like Sam—he looks more and more like my dead little brother every moment. Like Sam with his paper-white skin and the wound and all the blood. For a moment I can’t remember whether I’m in the storage room or standing under Sam’s tree. The peeling linoleum beneath my feet becomes dirt and I can smell tobacco on the Father’s breath as he tells me to “bury the Boy.” I can’t breathe and I can’t think and I want everything to stop. Before Cam is gone like my brother, before I’m alone again.
“No. No more.” I run to the door and throw myself against it. Pound on it with both fists and scream until my throat is raw. “Please, anyone! Help! Please, let us out!” I’ll do anything—anything, but there is no response. Not a sound from the other side of the door, or the streets, or the city. The world around us holds its breath and watches me again lose someone I care about. Like always, no one is here to save us. No one but me, and this time I have no answers.
“Piper?” Cam’s voice is so weak I almost miss it. I come back to his side and wrap his hand in both of mine. “Stay with me.”
“Why did you do this? Why did you even come?” My voice cracks as I lift his hand up to my face, pressing it tight against my cheek. The same touch I used to fear and avoid, I now yearn for. I want to take all the warmth from my body and pour it into his, to pour my life into his. He could do so much more with it than I have.
“For you. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” His eyes open and land on mine, his lips curving into a weak shadow of the smile I long to see. “I love you, all of you—Charlotte and Piper.”
I close my eyes and clasp his hand tighter. Tears fall down my cheeks and across his fingers. No one has ever said they love me, not Sam or Nana. Of course, Sam and I did love each other but we never spoke the words. It was never something we thought to do. Maybe Nana didn’t feel those words or simply wasn’t the kind to say them. Each word she gave us was stolen and secret.
Yet here we are, in this room, under these circumstances, and this guy who drives me crazy as often as he makes me laugh has said those words. He loves me. Cam loves all of me. With that simple understanding, everything I used to keep him at a distance comes tumbling down. The pieces bury me in dreams of what could have been if I hadn’t been so stubborn, if I’d seen what we could be sooner.
I lower his hand into my lap, wrapping my fingers around his and holding tight to the only thing that can make me forget about Brothers and my past. Forget about everything that threatens to shred the ship of my life and drown me in the depths of a bottomless sea.
Whether I’ve w
anted him to or not, he’s always anchored me and calmed the storm. And now I’m losing him, too. “It should’ve been me. It should be me.”
“No,” Cam says, as firm as he can. “You are the only one who can stop him. We both know that. Not me.”
When I release his hand, it falls limply to his lap and my heart drops with it. I lean forward, fear and desperation fighting through every inch of my body. Tentatively, I press my lips against his nose, his cheeks, his forehead. The warmth that is already fleeing from his fingers still remains in his face and I need to feel it—to know I haven’t lost him yet.
“I’m so sorry, Cam. This is my fault.” Being able to say the words is good, like a burden is lifted. I never got to say them to Sam. I never had a chance to save him. My face is wet with tears for everyone I’ve lost, for the life that has never really been mine.
“Never say that again. Promise me.” Cam raises his uninjured hand and brushes his fingertips across my cheek and neck. When I don’t respond, he enfolds my hand in his, and I’m stunned by how cold his fingers are. How much I wish it were me instead of him. Suddenly his hand is not enough. I need more of him. Tugging my hand free of his, I see pain flicker in his eyes before I ease it by stretching both my arms around his neck and pulling him tight against me. I bury my face in his chest, cradling his heartbeat against my head like somehow I can keep it going if I hold him close enough.
He kisses my cheek and nose, burying his face in my hair. I drag him ever closer. Cam moves his lips to mine and kisses me, slow and soft. My breath catches in my throat. I’d never expected it to be so good, so right. With one kiss he heals damaged pieces of me no one else has been able to reach. I kiss him back. He returns my panicked, frantic kisses with slow, sweet ones, calming my lips and my soul with his. I don’t know what I’m doing, but it doesn’t matter. Neither of us cares. His lips are the only thing about him that remain warm with life and I want to hold on to that life. As if keeping them warm will make him okay. I’m flooded with instant regret for every time I’ve been with him and not wrapped my arms around him or held his hand in mine. It all seems like a tragic waste now.
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