Numb

by Isabelle Carey

  She hands me the lantern. "Won't you need this?" I ask her. Once again, the place trembles as another Zeppelin flies over.

  "I've walked through these tunnels and up those stairs for many years," she tells me. "I've had a lot of practice navigating in the dark. Besides, I can't leave you down here without any light. You wouldn't want one of our homeless friends to scare you in the dark, would you?"

  She smiles lightly and I accept the lantern from her. Somehow her words don't bring me any comfort.

  She leaves me alone to nothing but my thoughts. Unfortunately, my thoughts are like what I imagine bad houseguests would be—they just won't leave. And I want them to, for they're not good company and they're worrying me sick.

  A few moments later, the trapdoor closes, completely shutting me off from the rest of the restaurant. Then, the stairs quiver as they drop away from the trapdoor. I stand there, clutching the lantern and feeling as though I have to throw up. I strain my ears to listen but I can't hear a word coming from upstairs. How is Emma and the others going to return now with cops walking around, knocking on doors like trick or treaters of the past—or somewhere else since apparently Paradise is the only place where emotions are illegal? If I've ever wanted to leave this god forsaken island before, now I really want to leave. I want to take my family and friends with me and move some place far away where we could be free to pick our noses if we wished, or smile for no darn reason at all.

  I don't know how long I stand there without moving. The seconds seems long and drawn out. I catch myself holding my breath a few times and it's only then that I remember to breathe. I stare at the staircase, waiting to hear it rise again and movement coming down the steps when the cops discover that I'm hiding down here. I'm beyond paranoid. I'm also beyond worried.

  A cool draft seeps into the area from cracks in the wood. I glance over my shoulder automatically. I don't see anything but darkness, so I hold the lantern aloft around eye level. I narrow my eyes and squint, my field of vision travelling a little bit farther than the light. I don't see anything but I suddenly hear something moving towards me. I expected cops to come rushing down from the storeroom above and not for someone to approach from the opposite direction. Whoever is it is moving pretty rapidly and it sounds like multiple footfalls.

  My heart quickens inside my chest. I look around for a place to hide but all I have are wooden beams that hold up the ceiling. The beams won't do anything to conceal me. I glance at the wine crates and barrels. They're all pressed up against so I doubt I would have enough time to create the necessary space for me to duck behind. Besides, they're all full of wine so I don't think I'm strong enough to even push any of the stacks.

  A ball of light appears straight ahead and I can make out shadows dancing against the wall where I see now that the tunnel bends to the right. I hear crunching across the gravel on the tracks. I backpedal, tensing up for a fight if I have to. Granny Rosie mentioned that homeless people visited these tunnels. If a group of them are approaching, I have to be ready in case they're hostile. I think the Rosenthals are doing something wonderful by feeding them but I have yet to meet a homeless person who wasn't a tad bit crazy. I also feel especially vulnerable here in a dark, unfamiliar underground passage. Did I mention it was dark down here?

  The ball of light grows as the newcomers draw nearer to my location. I hear grunting and straining. Who makes noises like that in the dark? Only people who are off in the head.

  I flatten myself up against the nearest wall and try to shield the lantern light to no avail. So, I fumble around for a way to kill the flames inside but I stop that quickly when I nearly drop the lantern. Not wanting to burn down the cellar slash tunnel, I hurry over to a stack of boxes short enough for me to place the lantern on top. Then, I dart back into the darkness, which swallows me up whole as the grunting homeless people continue their advance. I hope that they just take some wine or something and leave quickly without discovering me. The lit lantern will more than likely perk up their curiosity but maybe they'll think Granny Rosie or Papa Rosenthal left it down here.

  That's when I hear the voices—

  "—to be careful or you two are going to drop him."

  "We're not going to drop him, Em."

  "We should drop him! He's a blasted White Agent! I recognized his mug from the news reports about—"

  "I'm sure Charlotte has her reasons for working with him. At any rate, we couldn't leave him out there. Charlotte wanted us to—"

  "I don't really care what she wants. I don't mind harboring her but helping the enemy is another story."

  I recognize those voices at once. It's Emma, Papa Rosenthal, and the Free Spirit boy! They've returned at last and they used the tunnels to do so. I should have known but I was so wrapped up in my anxiety that I didn't even consider this possibility. I'm so thrilled to see them that it takes me a while to realize that Papa Rosenthal knows that Liam is a White Agent.

  I scoop up the lantern that Granny Rosie left me and watch as they step within visual range. Emma leads the way, clutching a flashlight in one of her hands, while the other two trail her closely. Both of Emma's male companions bear the weight of Liam's limp form together.

  "Charlotte!" Emma cries ecstatically, when she sees me. Her voice echoes throughout the passageway. "We got him and made it back in time like I know we would."

  I can't help but to smile, despite the looming danger that could still be present upstairs. "Good job. All of you."

  "This lad isn't light either," Papa Rosenthal grunts, hence the grunting sounds I heard earlier.

  "He's all muscles," I say without thinking and if any of them could see me right now, they would find that I'm blushing.

  Emma chuckles and comes to a halt in front of me. I hug her, throwing my arms around her neck. "Thank you," I whisper.

  "Don't thank me. Thank them. They're the ones who carried your boyfriend."

  I blush even harder. "He's not my boyfriend," I breathe.

  "Why else would you trust a White Agent?" Emma asks me.

  "Because he's the only person on the other side of the law willing to help me."

  "Are you sure about that?" Papa Rosenthal asks me at once. I glance at him. His face is blotchy and caked with sweat. "When he wakes up, he can rain all sorts of problems down on all of us when he finds out everything that goes on around here. I can't believe I'm bringing him back to my home. If I had known right off the bat who he was then—"

  "When he wakes up, we won't tell him anything," Emma beats me to the punch. "Who says he ever has to know who we really are and what we do here? You and Grammy are restaurant owners who happen to host a study group of kids from the local school. Besides, judging by the size of that lump on his head, I say he'll be out for at least the rest of the day. By then, the Free Spirits should all be gone by then."

  My eyes dart naturally to Liam's hair. I can't find a lump there but I'm sure he has one. That piece of metal struck him pretty hard.

  Papa Rosenthal stares at Emma for a long time and then he says gruffly, "I hope you're right. Come on, Owen. Let's get him upstairs. I think that the Zeppelins have moved on."

  "Wait!" I stop them, louder than I intended. But if I can't hear what's going on upstairs, then certainly they can't hear me up there. "You can't go up yet."

  "Why not?" Papa Rosenthal demands, sweat dripping from his brow.

  My first thought is "how are you going to get the stairs to work from down here?" However, I don't go with my first thought. I choose my second one instead. "There are cops upstairs," I warn them. "Not only are Zeppelins flying around outside but patrolmen are calling at every place around here. They're looking for a . . . a friend of mine."

  Papa Rosenthal nearly drops Liam. "This guy?" He asks, nostrils flaring.

  I shake my head. "No, another friend." And I explain the entire monorail incident. I failed to mention all of this when I told them briefly why Liam was lying out in the middle of a hillside flower bed.

  Emma breath
es a sigh of relief. "So, they're not looking for you then?"

  "Nope."

  "Even better," Emma says grinning.

  "Granny Rosie will get them to leave soon," The boy called Owen attempts to reassure me . . . or perhaps assure me since I'm still standing on pins and needles. They've managed to recover Liam without anything bad happening but I wished I knew what was going on upstairs.

  And then, as if my prayers are answered, just like that the trapdoor opens with a resounding creak. The stairs then rise up to meet whoever tugged open the hatch. "It's okay, Charlotte!" Granny Rosie yells down to me. Then, I hear her coming down the stairs. "They're gone!"

  I move closer to the bottom of the stairs and hold up the lantern, using it as a beacon to guide her the rest of the way down, despite what she said earlier about navigating in the gloom beneath the restaurant. "The others should be back by now. I only hope—"

  Granny Rosie stops talking when she spots Emma, Owen, and Papa Rosenthal. Emma waves at her, grinning broadly. "We did it, Grammy!" She says proudly. "We've got him!"

  "Good," Granny Rosie says. "The lights are back on upstairs and I think the law enforcers have moved on. Let's get poor Liam into a bed."

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Liam

  At long last, I awaken.

  I open my eyes to darkness. I'm lying on my back and I don't move a muscle until I listen first.

  Silence.

  I turn my neck to the side and it aches tremendously. In fact, my entire body is sore. My head hurts the worst though because there's so much pressure there. I remember being on the monorail with Olivia Cruz . . . no, Charlotte Tatum. I remember everything that transpired until something hard and heavy fell upon me. And then, I remember no more.

  I'm no longer inside the monorail, but rather a tiny room. At first, I think I'm in a hospital but I haven't known any hospitals to have furniture like dressers and strange-looking lamps. I'm definitely not lying in a hospital bed either. It's a four poster bed with high wooden poles at every end. The curtains are opened so that I can see the entire room. Someone is snoozing in a chair in one corner that I discover when I look to my left. The sight startles momentarily and I nearly cry out from shock. The person in the chair shifts positions but doesn't wake up.

  I stare at the person, who's bathed in moonlight, and find Charlotte Tatum resting. She's still in her Olivia Cruz disguise and suddenly I feel a pulse of anger.

  It happens so quickly and without warning that I don't know what's going on. Never before have I felt such a surge of emotion inside of me that was very difficult to suppress. I'm angry at everything and for no apparent reason and I don't know why this is occurring.

  I struggle to sit up in the bed and it takes me several attempts, which in turn advances my anger. The mattress squeaks when I finally rise to a sitting position. The noise causes Charlotte to stir from sleep.

  She opens her eyes, eyes that don't currently resemble the eyes I have grown to appreciate. She blinks several times and stretches before spotting me. She hops out of the chair and comes over to me quickly.

  "Liam, you're awake." She continues to speak in Olivia's voice and that upsets me.

  "Cut the charade," I snap, surprised at the sound of my voice. It sounded foreign, as though someone else had spoken the words for me.

  Charlotte stares at me blankly, as if she doesn't know what I'm talking about. She hands me something without saying a word. I look down at the bottle in my hands. It's full of a light-colored liquid, although I can't make out the exact color in the nearly dark room. There isn't enough moonlight present and Charlotte is blocking most of it.

  "What's this?" I ask. Again, my voice doesn't sound right. It's not even and monotone, but rather tinged with the anger that I feel. My anger threatens to consume me if I don't put a cap on it soon. I'm treading so close to breaking the law now . . . .

  Charlotte hesitates. "Liquid Purge," she tells me quietly, still in Olivia's voice.

  Well, at least I'm angry for two reasons now. The first is that Charlotte continues to act like Olivia and the second—liquid Purge? Why is she giving me a bottle of this stuff?

  "How long have I been under?" I desperately want to know.

  Charlotte hesitates again. I can see it her eyes that she doesn't want to tell me the truth.

  "How long have I been under?" I repeat my question with a little more force.

  "A little over a day," Charlotte squeaks. Finally, she adopts her own voice, full of inflected caution.

  "Over a day?" I echo with incredulity. "Then, that means—"

  "That you've missed a dose of the Purge," Charlotte finishes for me bleakly when I can't do so myself. "That's why you need to drink that. It'll help with some of the symptoms of early withdrawal."

  I reluctantly do as she says, or at least I try to. I quickly find difficulty trying to open the bottle. My fingers are numb all of a sudden and it all frustrates me.

  "Here, let me open it for you," Charlotte suggests, seizing the bottle and twisting off the top with ease. She returns it to me and I drink it all.

  It's the nastiest crap I have ever tasted. It's thick like strong cough medicine and it has an odd, disgusting taste. I cough and sputter, nearly spitting it all out.

  "Gross, isn't it?" Charlotte comments, staring at me.

  I can only nod. I can't speak momentarily because the liquid Purge has thickened my saliva with its chalky substance.

  "It should help soothe some of the pain you feel from your headache," Charlotte tells me knowledgably. "Unfortunately, it won't cure your headache entirely. You took a pretty powerful blow when we were on the monorail."

  She's right. As the liquid enters my bloodstream and starts to flow throughout my body, I already feel some of pressure in my head lifting. I feel a little bit better, a little bit less angry now. But I know that the liquid Purge is not strong enough to help me cope with every ounce of anger I'm forced to have for reasons unknown.

  "Where are we?" I question her, sounding more like myself now.

  "Somewhere safe," Charlotte answers candidly, still staring down at me. I wish for a second that she was looking at me through her own eyes. I mean, she is looking at me with her own eyes but they're covered by stupid green contacts and those hideous glasses. "How long have you known that it was me?" She asks suddenly.

  It takes me a second to remember. My short-term memory has been impaired by my head injury. Everything that has happened recently is a bit foggy. I remember certain things but not exact details until I strain my mind to pull the memories to the surface.

  "The monorail station," I reply. "While I was waiting on you, I saw Olivia Cruz reporting live on a meteor crash in the Virgin Islands."

  "Oh, I see," Charlotte says. "Which meant you put two and two together because she couldn't be in two places at once?"

  "Exactly," I reply.

  She steps back a few paces from my bed and the darkness dissolves her at once, as she's no longer standing in the moonlight. I wonder why she retreated from me a bit when she says, "I guess I don't need this disguise anymore."

  I watch in silence as the shadow that is her starts wiping away makeup with her hands and hem of the shirt she's wearing. I try not to focus my gaze on the patch of skin she reveals when she lifts up the bottom of her shirt. She removes her glasses and rubs off the eye liner there. "I'll be right back," she tells me quietly, before stepping out of the room.

  I sit there quietly, thinking about my next move. For a moment, I consider what would happen if I arrest her right here on the spot. But I don't want to do that. I've made up my mind a long time ago that I wouldn't do that to her. But what am I going to do? I've been unconscious for over a day now, which means not only have I missed a Purge dose, but I haven't been home in a while. What if Ramos or the Amber Army checked in on me? At this moment, they could all be wondering where I am and my sudden disappearance could cause them to think that I might have traded sides or something stupid like that. It's a na
tural assumption for the White Agency and I assume for the Amber Army as well. The agency tends to think the worst in people instead of the best. They will never consider that I'm missing because of unfortunate circumstances, like being knocked out on a monorail during a fight between some kid who moves very quickly and a squad of soldiers.

  Or maybe not. The Purge doesn't stop people from thinking how they want to think. It only stops them from outwardly feeling how they think. I have thought about feeling happy from certain thoughts and I have thought about feeling sad too. But never before have I acted upon those emotions because of the Purge and because I was always better than my emotions.

  Until now.

  Whether I like to admit it or not, or whether or not my superiors or anyone other than Charlotte would ever learn what I have done, I acted upon my anger earlier, however brief. For the first time in my life, I have broken the law. I have become the very person that I hunt daily and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'm mad at myself of course, but to be honest, it's not entirely my fault how I'm acting at the moment. I've missed a Purge dose so I'm really at a low point right now. The liquid Purge has already helped some but it's not enough. Until I receive another gas dosage, then I can't be held accountable for any emotional actions. So have I really broken the law then?

  Charlotte returns a few minutes later. She closes the door to the room behind her, granting us privacy yet again. She doesn't turn the lights on as she saunters back over to my bed. An unexpected sensation courses throughout my body like an electric jolt suddenly. I realize that for the first time in my life, other than breaking the law, I'm alone with a girl in a dark room. It hits me hard and out of nowhere. I have been alone with Sophia multiple times, but thoughts and other naturally occurring human . . . urges, I'll call them . . . have never entered my mind before. That was mostly credit due to the Purge of course, as well as the fact that the lights were always on whenever Sophia and I were alone. Besides, I've never felt for Sophia what I feel for Charlotte. Sophia was my partner and the closest thing to a sister I've ever had. But Charlotte is different, something more, and the feelings I have for her are bizarre.