by Dima Zales
What about my mom? How long did she stay outside waiting for me? Did she come back upstairs to find me? Did the Ben Runner hurt her? Did another Runner come and attack her outside the building? No, Reese would have seen it. Reese…. Okay, now is so not the time to be thinking about the kiss.
Where did the Runner take me? All I remember is falling and waking up here. Why hadn’t they killed me yet? Triweekend. They weren’t allowed to attack me until it was over. So, that means I have only hours to live. What I wouldn’t give for a watch. They could just have the Runner kill me. But then they wouldn’t get the information out of me.
It would be easier for me to tell them the clue they were looking for if I knew what it was. I doubt they’ll take my word for it. What if this isn’t where the Akons are? What if the Runner took me to Lucy? Then that would make this the house of fire, right? But this can’t be Lucy’s house—it’s freaking cold.
I try to untie the string one more time. It is useless. “Aargh!” I slam my foot into the pole out of frustration. Had I been an angel the pole would have bent in half. But since I’m only human, the only damage done is to my foot. I howl as the pain makes its way across the bottom of my foot. Damn, that hurt.
“Are you okay?” someone says in the near darkness.
Startled, I jump.
“Who said that?” I ask.
“I’m over here, to your left, by the corner,” the voice says.
“Who are you?”
“A guy who made way too many mistakes. Who are you?”
“My name is Emmy. Where are we?”
“Somewhere in the fashion district, I think. I can hear trucks backing up and the guys talking about fabric shipments. That’s the best guess I got.”
“Can you help me out?”
“I’m tied, too.”
“Who brought you here?”
“Akons, you?”
“A Runner pretended to be a boy I know and attacked me. Next thing I know, I’m here.”
“How’s your foot?”
“Not too bad, but I’m freezing.”
“Do you have a coat on?”
“Yeah, but it’s not helping”
“Here, take this.” He throws something at me that lands just out of my reach.
“Can you get it?”
“Wait let me see.” I reach out as far as I can and am able to pull it closer to me. It’s a heavy knitted sweater.
“Don’t you need this?” I ask.
“I’m warm enough. Don’t worry about me,” he says.
“Why are you here?”
“I told Lucy I would give her my soul if she gave me riches, but at the last minute I chickened out. She had a Runner bring me here.”
“You almost sold your soul?”
“I’ve done a lot worse. But I’m not a bad person. I mean, not completely.”
“I’m not a good person. I mean, not completely.”
“Did you go back on the deal to give your soul, too?”
“No, they want me to give them information that I don’t have. At least I don’t think I do.”
“I don’t get it.”
“It’s complicated. But it’s gonna work out. Soon, the Guardians are gonna come and save us.”
“Us?”
“Yeah, you and me.”
“Guardians don’t save people like me.”
“Well, these Guardians will. We just have to hold on. How long have you been here?”
“Long enough,” he says.
“Have you seen anyone?” I ask.
“The Akon leader, Rage. He tied me here and said he’d kill me when he had more time on his hands. He said he didn’t want it to be quick.”
“We’ll be out of here soon. Don’t worry.”
“Did you put the sweater on?”
“Yeah, I put it on under my coat. It helps a lot. Thank you.”
“Wow, I have not heard that in a long time.”
“Thank you?”
“Yeah. I haven’t done anything to get one of those.”
“Well, you have now.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Can I give you a piece of advice?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t bother screaming, it does no good.”
“Why?”
“The windows have a sound Holder over them”
“What’s that?”
“It’s just like a regular Holder but it doesn’t hold in a person, it holds their voices. It’s basically a way of soundproofing.”
“Great.”
“Sorry.”
“What do you think they’ll do to us?”
“They’ve already had a crack at me.”
“Are you hurt?”
“A few burns.”
“They burned you?”
“Rage is not a very nice guy. I guess you don’t get to be head of the Akons by being nice.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I have done some really bad things in my life. Maybe it’s what I deserve. But you strike me as innocent. How did you get here?”
“The universe hates me.”
“Yeah, me too. But I struck the first blow.”
I study the layout of the room we’re in. There isn’t a lot to see in such dim light, but I look anyway. Above us is a smooth ceiling. If this were TV there would be some kind of hatch or something. But of course there is none. And the windows are useless.
I turn and looked towards the door. There is simply no way to get to it. Unless I had wings and somehow flew over to it. But then if I had wings, none of this would have been a problem.
“You okay, Emmy?”
“Yeah.”
“You were so quiet I wanted to make sure you still had some of that hope in your voice. It’s easy to lose and nearly impossible to get back.”
“I’m trying.”
“How do you know the Guardians?”
“We just kind of crossed paths. But they will be coming for us.”
“All of them?”
“Except for one, I kind of pissed her off.”
“How?”
“I kissed her boyfriend.”
“Impressive.”
“I told you, I’m not completely good.”
“Yes, you did,” he says with a little laugh.
“Tell me the truth: are you in a lot of pain?”
“You really care what happens to someone you don’t even know?”
“You care what happens to me, don’t you?”
“I’m really starting to.”
“See, you’re not completely bad.”
Just then the door opens and a big guy with wings and dark hair appears. He closes the door behind him.
“Who are you?” I ask.
He doesn’t say anything. He kneels down in front me. He has a strong chin, steel-gray eyes and a hard stare. In his right hand, he holds out a cup filled with green liquid inside. In his left hand is a bottle of water.
“Drink this,” he orders, shoving the cup in front of me.
“Leave her alone, Rage,” the prisoner says from the corner.
Without taking his eyes off of me, Rage shoots a small bolt of fire out of his arms and straight at the prisoner. Shocked, he is barely able to get out of the way.
“My leg is on fire.”
“Help him! He’s on fire,” I yell.
“I don’t give a damn about what he’s on.”
I take off my coat and throw it over to him. “Use it, hurry,” I say. He sounds like he’s in agony.
“Drink this,” Rage says again.
I’m livid. How dare he play around with people like that? He had thrown just enough fire to burn the prisoner but not kill him. He’s like a cat playing with a mouse it doesn’t feel like killing yet.
“Drink this,” he says again.
“No.”
He slaps me with the back of his hand. My face jerks to the side. It’s like being hit by a train. The pain is blinding. Rage’s face is swimming in front of my head.
I can’t steady the image. I taste blood as it runs from my nose down to my mouth. There’s another stream of blood going down my lower lip.
“Do not mistake me for a Guardian, human. It is not my job to keep you alive. My job is the express opposite. Drink it.”
“What is it?” I ask, my words slurring.
He snatches me by the neck and holds me to the pole with one hand.
“Does this look like a damn Q&A?” Rage asks.
Tears fall down the side of my face. He is going to kill me. My supply of air has been completely cut off. My face is hot and I’m certain it’s turning blue. He lets go of me. I gasp for air.
“Leave her alone. She didn’t do anything to you,” the man moans on my behalf from the corner. The fire had been put out by the coat. The air is filled with the smell of ash and flesh. Rage pays the prisoner no mind. He speaks directly to me.
“This is Weeping oil. If you drink it, it might kill you. If you don’t drink it, I will kill you.”
He presses the cup to my mouth and holds my head in place. He forces the vile liquid down my throat.
“Drink all of it,” he demands. I have no choice, I gulp down the mixture.
My body rejects it immediately. It’s like I tried to drink bleach, but worse. It burns as it makes its way down. Once it lands in my stomach, I feel like someone is stir-frying my insides. I scream so loud the inside of my skull feels like it’s going to cave in.
I convulse and fall over to my left side. My body shakes violently on the floor. My eyes roll to the back of my skull. I’m being burned from the inside. My mouth foams. My tongue wants to escape my body. I am lying on the floor making sounds that mean nothing because it is too hard to think. My brain is sizzling on the stove. It’s a searing, slow torture.
I think I hear the prisoner talk, but I am too gone to make out what he says. I don’t care. I’m being cooked. Someone help me. Please, please, please. Help me. Rage stands above me. He pours water from the bottle into the cup. He looks down at me with evil in his eyes. He smiles as he talks down at me.
“You better hope you have the memory I need in here. If not, I’ll be back. And trust me, it won’t be as pleasant as it was just now.” He walks away and slams the door shut. The prisoner crawls as close to me as he can
“Emmy?” he calls out.
I can’t answer. The pain won’t allow me to do anything. My head remains on the floor. I can only moan as the blood drips down the side of my mouth. The prisoner takes a handkerchief and flings it to me. He wants me to wipe the blood from my face, but I can’t move.
“Everything is going to be okay. Weeping oil is almost impossible for humans to digest, but you look like the kind of girl who can beat the odds. It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
I continue moaning. He throws my coat and it lands softly on me. Huge holes have been burned into it. But it doesn’t matter. The cold, the rats and my fear are all second to being cooked from the inside.
Both my body and I hope that if more pain comes, it comes quick enough to knock us out completely. There can’t be anymore pain than what we just experienced, can there? How is that humanly possible? But that’s just it—these aren’t humans. They are demons and angels, and they are better at everything.
That means they are far better at inflicting pain than any human. Akons, especially; they are as evil as Guardians are good. They learned to torture from Lucy. If Rage comes back, he will inflict even worse pain.
I drift off to sleep once the pain was reduced to mere agony. Darkness came and stayed. It was a welcome relief.
Some time later, I open my eyes. The sky is just as dark as it was when I had drifted off to sleep. My head is throbbing and blood is caked all over my face. The pain is now a dull ache. The prisoner speaks to me from a few feet away.
“Who’s Marcus?”
“Why?”
“You kept calling for him.”
“Oh. He’s a friend.”
“Is he the reason you’re not, as you said, a ‘completely’ good person?”
“He’s reason enough.”
“So, who’s Reese and what was wrong with the kiss?”
“What?”
“You just kept saying. ‘Reese, about the kiss…’ over and over again. I’m guessing this guy kissed you and you didn’t like it. Am I right?”
No, I liked it a lot…
“How long was I sleeping?” I ask, not about to discuss Reese with him.
“Not long.”
“Rage is coming back soon.”
“They won’t feed you another dose of oil for another hour or so. If they do it too soon, they could kill you before they get what they want.”
“How do you know so much about it?”
“I have a lot of friends who are Sellers. They sell Weeping oil. I know more on the subject than most.”
“What happens if they come back?”
“They will come back.”
“How do you know?”
“Weeping oil rips a reflection of your memories and puts it into the cup you drank from. The very last time you cried, it will show that very memory. But teenagers, especially teenage girls, tend to cry a lot. How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Everything is life or death at your age. I’m sure you have cried a lot. So the Weeping oil has a lot of memories it has to take from you.”
“How many can it take at one time?”
“Don’t think of it that way. It’s one long movie of you crying. It will start with the last time you cried and then the time before that. Then when it can no longer go back, Rage is going give you an even more potent dose”
“Why would it need to be more potent?”
“You don’t cry the same tears when you fail a test as you do if your mother dies. The tears for your mother are much stronger than the ones for a failed exam. The stronger the tears, the more potent the dose needed to retrieve it. I doubt they’re going to find what they are looking for in the first batch. It’s usually a weak batch.”
“That was weak? It nearly killed me.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of; you may not survive it this time.”
“Maybe I can throw it back up.”
“It won’t work. Once it gets in your system, it will track down your vital organs and attack them with fire. Or at least what feels like fire.”
I wanted to hear more, but I drifted off again.
“Get the hell up,” Rage barks at me. I look up from the floor as he kicks me.
“Get off me, you lunatic,” I say as scramble to sit up.
“None of the memories you gave us are useful.”
“What the hell do you want from me?”
“What I don’t want is a bunch of crappy girl memories about some guy who doesn’t like you. I got four damn hours of boo-hoo ‘Why doesn’t he want me?’ That’s crap all girls feel and it’s useless to me,” he shouts.
“Well, that’s not my problem.”
“You are so wrong about that. You better hope this dose of oil is potent enough to give me what I need. If I have to come in here again, you won’t have to worry about the oil—I’ll kill you myself.”
“Stop being a punk about it and just do it. Do you know how many times I’ve had my life in danger since you people came to Earth? The reason why none of you cowards ever make good on your threats is because you need me. So, kill me and shut up or get out of my face.”
“You’ve been so entertaining. But now let me entertain you. Tell me, how do you feel about torture scenes?”
He shoves a cup up to my mouth and pours its contents down my throat.
“Screw you,” I yell as I spit the green liquid out of my mouth and onto the floor.
He strikes me harder than the last time. I feel blood on the inside of my mouth.
“Do the other Akons know you punch like a five-year-old girl?”
He hits me again. The prisoner gasps as my face hits the floor. I spit a mouthful of blood.
&nb
sp; “Drink.”
I can’t get up. He picks my face off the floor and shoves the liquid fire down my throat again.
The prisoner was right: this dose is stronger. It’s the difference between frying in a pan and roasting in open flames. I scream until my voice gives out.
I cry until the tears all dry up. There was nothing to be done. I pray death would want me and come quickly. I bang myself against the floor begging for pain I could understand.
“Emmy, stop. You are going to knock yourself unconscious.”
I keep doing it. Hurting myself is the only way to escape the torture of the oil. I need human pain.
“If you lose consciousness, you’ll die. The dose is too strong to risk giving into it. If you close your eyes, you might not wake up.”
I got a flash of my mom’s face just then. I stop trying to hurt myself.
“That’s it. Breathe, Emmy, breathe.”
I keep my eyes open and focus on the buildings outside, outside where people are having dinner and watching TV. Outside where normal girls are on the phone with their friends and planning dates with their boyfriends.
I have a sudden flash of him….
Marcus, if I die today, I’ll pray to become a Seller so I can keep dying until I come back into arms that are yours.
The door opens again. My heart races. The blood drains out of my face.
“I thought I’d bring my friends to meet the human,” Rage says casually as he enters with the rest of the Akons.
“Go to hell,” I snap.
“You’re right. She’s got a kick to her,” the tallest one says.
“You see that? Frenzy likes you,” Rage announces.
“I find you electrifying,” Frenzy says as he raises his hands. A small stream of electric currents bounces back and forth between his hands. The Akon standing next to Frenzy has bright red hair and freckles. It’s hard to see him as a bad guy—that is, until he speaks.
“Hey, let me take a stab at getting to know you inside out.” Without warning, he points his hand toward me and three of the sharpest daggers I have ever seen come straight for me. I duck, but not in time. One of the daggers goes right through my shoulder. I cry out more from shock than pain.
“Hey, man, we need her alive and awake. Don’t make me tell you again,” Rage barks.
“Mayhem was just making sure she felt welcomed,” Frenzy says in defense of his friend.