The Line

by K J Southworth

  I have an important decision to make but no time to consider consequences. All the times Locket could have killed me—should have killed me—but let me go; the day he stepped in and took a near killing blow to save me; the day he pulled me out of the desert when he could have left me for dead. I’m now certain that he meant everything he said in the sewers. He’s willing to sacrifice his life to prevent Lyons from getting the line. It’s a humbling realization. I was going to hand it over and let the City burn. But my newfound shame isn’t the issue here. The real question is: am I going to let Locket die?

  This is no time to hesitate. I make my decision and deny myself the chance to change my mind.

  “You’re fucking crazy!” I round on Wulff. Shaking with fury, I ball my hands into fists. My friend’s hope filled gaze falters. From the corner of my eye, I see Lyons smile triumphantly. “I told you not to bet on me. Bastard! I told you not to.

  “That fucking crowd out there, they don’t know me. They don’t know a damn thing. You don’t know a damn thing. Who the hell told them that I could do this? Who? I know it wasn’t Jack. He’s not around. Frenzy barely comes up for fresh air. Who rallied them behind me? Don’t turn away from me, Wulff! You shouldn’t have put all this on me. You shouldn’t have placed all your hopes, all their hopes, on a Hack who barely remembered her name a few months ago. That’s right. I didn’t remember who I was. I crawled, naked, out of an alleyway when the Prison turned me loose.

  “I’m a fucking half-dead, you idiot.”

  Wulff puts his hands on my face. Wiping away my angry tears, he puts his forehead against mine. “It doesn’t matter what you say. I’ll always bet on you.”

  “Fuck that.” I place my hands on the back of his head. “Next time, I may not be able to deliver.”

  Wulff stiffens. Pulling away he looks into my eyes. “Next time…?”

  “Right. Next time. I created the fucking thing.”

  There’s a heavy silence before Lyons speaks. “You’ll have to repeat your claim.”

  “I did it,” I affirm. “I created a line into A, you fucking asshole. You don’t get any part of me.”

  Lyons face falls. “It’s impossible.”

  “Just ask your General,” I say, motioning to Locket.

  “That’s why I wasn’t here,” Locket confirms. “She showed it to me earlier this afternoon but wouldn’t allow me to escort her back here. Something about not trusting me…”

  Sneering at Lyons, I savour his humiliation. “I’m going to go out there and tell the crowd that I won. A fucking Hack has destroyed decades of planning. I guess you have every reason in the world to fear me.”

  “Fear you…?” Lyons eyes narrow in fury.

  “Fear,” I confirm wickedly. “Everybody knows it. And it doesn’t matter what spin you put on it, you are terrified of a Hack.”

  Lyons doesn’t lunge at me. He’s too controlled for that, too cold. When beaten, he retreats into his mind to search for a way to win. “You think your job is over?”

  “My job is over,” I assert, leaning forward in anticipation. “You said you wanted me to find you a line into A, I found you a line. I’ve delivered.”

  “Your job includes procuring the items that I desire,” Lyons charges. “The line was only the first part.”

  “What items would those be?” I’m trying not to jump for joy.

  “I want to know where the orphans go,” he says. “Bring me evidence of where they’re taken. Then it will be over.”

  I answer with a laugh and then a whispered: “fuck you.”

  Ishida grabs me from behind, Orion places her blade on Jules’ throat, and Arik clenches his hands into fists. But I remain perfectly calm. Lyons has risen to the bait.

  His calm expression finally slips. “May I assume that’s your final response?”

  “The deal was I find you a line into A,” I insist. Ishida’s hold threatens to dislocate my elbows and wrists; I grunt in pain. “I found a line. Kill me if you have to. But remember, you were the one who made this public. You should have been clearer about what you wanted. No one is talking about me finding orphans—no one will see this as a clean kill.”

  My subtle threat has the desired effect. Everything is business. If he kills me people will go out of their way to take jobs away from Madman. His employees will lose confidence and their disloyalty will destroy the organization from within. Slowly but surely, Madman will lose its grip on the Criminal underworld.

  Lyons puts a hand up. Ishida immediately releases my arms; Orion takes her knife from Jules’ throat.

  “Your dogs are well trained,” I taunt. “These unprovoked, aggressive actions are the end of our association. The line belongs to me.”

  I don’t wait for Madman to agree. Stepping triumphantly towards Jules, I help her to her feet. Wulff cuts the ropes with his knife and pulls the tape from her mouth.

  “Are you all right?” he asks her.

  “Time to go,” I order.

  Wulff nods and escorts Jules to the door. Refusing to turn from the Generals, I slowly back away. Before I make it to the door my eyes flick over to Locket. The cold, hard stare hasn’t disappeared but the left side of his mouth turns up—he’s smiling at me.

  A flash of lightning followed by a loud clap of thunder makes us all jump. It sounds like the dark clouds are right above us, and no one is used to being this close to a storm. I shut out my own fear and continue towards the exit.

  “That was dramatic,” Wulff says.

  “Fucking thunder,” Orion Dennis rasps.

  Outside, the cool air makes me shiver. Looking up at the sky, I examine the swirling clouds. It doesn’t feel like it’s going to rain. This is just a lightning storm.

  The crowd is waiting. Wulff motions for me to talk, but I’m dumbstruck. I’ve walked out so they already know that I’ve succeeded. What are they waiting for?

  Still reeling, I turn to Wulff for help. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

  Clearing his throat, my friend gives the crowd a simple nod. It’s the only encouragement they need.

  They burst into raucous cheers. Pulling me into their celebrations, they grab my limbs and lift me into the air. Before I can protest, I am gaily paraded through the streets. The citizens sing and dance; they’re shouting at the top of their voices. I can’t understand, I’m too disoriented. The world is spinning uncontrollably. Taking a deep breath of cool air, I feel the strength ebbing away from my limbs. My eyes roll up; the earth is dropping away and I’m falling a million miles into nothing.

  I don’t fight. Lightning flashes, thunder rolls, and I lose consciousness.

  24

  Groaning, I shift around in the bed. I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m so cozy and warm and the sheets smell of Wulff. Nothing can go wrong if I stay here. Comfortable with sleeping forever, I snuggle deeper into my sanctuary.

  It must be a day off. I can sleep as long as I want to. Later on I might visit Lily, or maybe I’ll hang out with Wulff in his garage. Frenzy will insist on training with me again. Amused by my skinny friend, I remember the last time he tried to do a chin-up and giggle into my pillow. His face turned bright red as his legs kicked furiously. I was doing my best not to laugh, but Wulff walked in. He took one look at Frenzy’s flailing body and burst into hysterics. That was it for my self-control. The both of us rolled around on the floor for what seemed like hours and Frenzy angrily let go of the bar. We tried to apologize but kept breaking into uncontrollable guffaws. That was when Frenzy vowed he’d learn how to do a chin up. He won’t leave me alone until he does.

  It’s also possible that Jack might need help today. He never stops working. The Court line is time sensitive, so we can only go in every three months. As a result, we take other jobs to keep us sharp. Jack plans them all but I try to help when I can. There’s always something to learn from him.

  Or maybe he’s gone this week, out on one of his secret tasks. If he is then I’ll take the break to visit friends in other sectors. I cou
ld use a vacation. Jack has us lined up for another K Sector job next month. Fuck, I hate that place. I always feel like I’m not going to make it out of there. Wulff says I’m just being paranoid. He might be right, but I still want to get it over with.

  “Twenty-four hours,” I hear Wulff say. I groggily open my eyes. He’s sitting in his comfortable chair, weaving strands of dark brown leather together.

  “Hmmm…?” I yawn and stretch contentedly in his bottom bunk.

  “You passed out twenty-four hours ago.”

  “Was I drinking last night?” I mumble, confused. Wulff shakes his head. “What happened?”

  “You were exhausted,” he replies.

  “Exhausted?”

  “Did Kentucky Jim give you this?” He holds up a thin metal strap: a cloaking device. My brow furrows as I study its shiny surface.

  “I….” I’ve never owned a cloaking device, have I? No, I don’t think so. So why does it look familiar? Why do I remember Kentucky Jim tossing it at me? He doesn’t give gifts. Why did he give it to me?

  It all comes rushing back—an avalanche of misery. One by one the memories crash into me, pinning me under their crushing weight. The Prison, the presence in the wall, the chair, all those people.

  None of this is real. The hideout, the sheets, Wulff—it’s all in my head! I’m still in my cell. Fuck, it got me. This fucking place got me again.

  You can smell the fires. But there aren’t any fires. It’s just something in your head. Listen! You can hear them talking—that’s real. The fires aren’t. They put them there to screw with you. Listen to the voices. Follow them home.

  “Daryl! Daryl, you’re all right. Snap out of it. Shit, you’re pulling your hair out.”

  I follow his voice. Wulff is holding me, crushing me to his chest. Looking at my fingernails, I smile at the hair and blood.

  That’s right. It’s the blood that brings you back.

  “What are you talking about?” My Wulff hallucination is scared, but the Prison has fooled me for the last time. I need to bleed.

  “I wasn’t talking.”

  “You were mumbling about fire,” he insists.

  “No, I wasn’t!”

  I understand with blinding clarity what I need to do. Tearing myself out of his arms, I rush at the nearest wall. With a determined leap, I ram my whole body into the hard surface. Wulff’s room, my cell, shakes from the impact. I don’t know why the Prison does this, why it torments me with hallucinations. There’s no greater agony than thinking I’m free when I’m still locked in this place.

  My Wulff hallucination grabs me from behind, preventing me from throwing myself against the wall again. I struggle half-heartedly, already sluggish from the impact to my head. Wulff is breathing hard, holding me so tight I almost think that he might be real. But I’m not falling for it; I’m never falling for it ever again.

  The cell door opens and Jules rushes in. Frenzy is seconds behind her.

  “You’re not here!” Tears blur my vision. “Sweet sky, you’re not real! Fucking illusions … in my head… it’s all slipping away.”

  “Daryl,” Jules coos. She steps towards me with her hands out. “Everything is going to be okay. Put down the knife.”

  “I don’t have any knife! You’re a fucking crazy hallucination! What are you doing here, anyway? I don’t even like you.”

  “Daryl,” Frenzy begs, “look at your arm.”

  I glance down. Blood is running down my forearms and dripping to the floor. “I need blood. Get out of my head, get out of my head, get out of my head. I don’t want you here.”

  “We’re not in your head,” Wulff whispers in my ear. “Just give Jules the knife, Copper.”

  I stare at his rough, oil-stained hands clasped around my middle. I know these hands so well, but they’re gone forever. I’m never getting out of here. My agony and loneliness knock me to the ground. Why can’t I just die? “I don’t have a knife. You’re all in my head. Just like always. I want you all so badly that I dream you up. Go away!”

  “Please, just give it to me,” Wulff pleads.

  I can’t banish him. Why won’t he leave? He’s so warm I could drift away. Without warning, I surrender, and the knife in my hands falls to the floor.

  “Where did I get the blade?” I ask. “From Kentucky?”

  Wulff shakes his head, “my boot.”

  “Oh…” I chuckle softly to myself.

  This isn’t the Prison. You can come back now. You can let them take care of you...

  Wulff’s room is exactly how I remember it. Every square inch of wall is covered with colourful works of art. He uses whatever he can to create what he sees in his head. In H Sector, where the Weavers live, he learned how to dye fabric. Then he went back to learn how to make clothes and rugs. He never was any good at sewing, but the one rug that he made is spectacular; a myriad of breathtaking colours woven together in an abstract, captivating vision of the Oasis.

  “Because it doesn’t really exist,” he explained. I was draped over the fabrics, fascinated with the way the individual colours bled together. While looking at it I felt energized and calm at the same time. “And because I want it to.”

  Grinning at the memory, I lie down on the rug. I always found it so funny that Wulff made something so beautiful for people to walk on. We used to tell him to hang it on the wall, but he refused.

  Jules grabs the knife and Wulff grabs me. Neither of them feels like an illusion. Yelling at Frenzy to get the medical kit, my strong friend carries me out to the common room. He places me on the table and Frenzy rushes over with the kit.

  “Apply pressure,” Wulff orders. Jules places clean gauze on the wounds.

  “I didn’t cut deep,” I mutter. I’m lazily drifting in and out of reality. “I never cut deep.”

  “What the fuck was that?” Wulff asks under his breath. Grunting unhappily, he examines the tidy scars on my arms.

  “Psychotic break,” Frenzy answers, “her mind couldn’t take it.”

  “Couldn’t take what?”

  Frenzy shrugs. “I don’t know. She just crashed.”

  “Sweet sky,” Wulff murmurs.

  “The bleeding is slowing,” Jules offers. “Luck is on her side. I don’t think she needs stitches.”

  Relieved, Wulff sits down in the nearest chair. Placing his head in his hands he sighs deeply. He doesn’t know, he can’t know; what just happened was a gift. I’m not in the Prison, I’m free and they’re really here. It’s like waking up from a nightmare. That’s all that matters.

  “Hey,” I call. Wulff warily meets my gaze. “I missed you.”

  My words only fuel his concern. I wanted to comfort him but he can’t understand.

  None of them can.

  25

  They’re talking. I can hear them through the hideout’s thin walls. Sitting on Wulff’s top bunk, I fidget with the cloaking device fastened around my bandaged wrist. The dressings go all the way to my elbows but I’m hardly aware of them. Wulff, Frenzy and Jules are discussing whether or not I need a straight jacket. That’s far more interesting than my self-inflicted wounds.

  I mean, obviously, I need one. But that doesn’t mean I’ll calmly slip into it.

  Cheerlessly examining Wulff’s escape hatch, I prepare for the chase. Jules is quick. She’ll be right behind me. Also, Wulff knows the lock down code. Once the hideout is sealed there’s no getting in or out. Even the emergency escape route will be useless. I’ll only have a few minutes. It would be easier to go before they come, but I’m waiting. I want to know what decision they make. Anxiously holding my breath, I watch them with my psychic vibe.

  “Maybe she won’t do it again,” Jules says. Who knew she was an optimist? “It might have been a one time deal.”

  “You saw the scars,” Wulff counters. “Next time, she might kill herself.”

  “Or somebody else,” Frenzy mutters, wretchedly looking back at Wulff’s cubby door.

  “Or somebody else.” Wulff agrees. />
  They sit in silence, nobody wanting to say what needs to be said—Daryl is crazy. And there’s no telling when I’ll lose it. With Frenzy, at least, they know when to break out the straightjacket. I am an unpredictable menace.

  “We’ll watch her,” Jules finally proposes. “There’s no reason to bind her all the time. You saw how quickly she calmed down. If we think she’s going to lose it we ask her to get into the jacket. She knows what she’s capable of. If either of you guys asks, she’ll do it.”

  “I don’t think the jacket will work with her,” Wulff argues. Sweat is beading on his forehead. He doesn’t like what he’s determined to do. “I was thinking… she should be medicated. Heath has a box with a few doses. I’ll get whatever else we need from Locket.”

  Frenzy gasps. “Medicated? Give over, Wulff. She wouldn’t even take painkillers for her cuts. Jules is right. We should ask her to wear the straightjacket. Daryl could never get out of it before. Why would she be able to now?”

  “I wasn’t suggesting that we ask her to take the drugs,” Wulff says.

  “Well, we’re not going to force her,” Frenzy asserts.

  “It isn’t that simple, Ash.”

  “Why not?” Frenzy demands. “Daryl can’t get out of the straightjacket. Let’s just ask her to use it.”

  “It was too quick,” Wulff replies, trying to stay calm. “I didn’t know anything was wrong until it was too late. And it wasn’t like what happens to you, Frenzy. We can see your episodes coming a mile away. Don’t you get it? There aren’t many people in the City that can take her down. Not only is Daryl freakishly strong for someone her size, she’s also better trained than any of us. Don’t take it personally Jules, but you’re nowhere near her. You’re strong—Daryl is scary. We’ll medicate her until Heath gets back.”

  “Why don’t we just ask her to wear the jacket?” Frenzy questions stubbornly.