Collateral

by Callie Hart

  “Steady, son,” he says, smirking. “My aim ain’t so good anymore. I could get you in the balls next time.”

  It feels like the veins underneath my skin are drawing taut, stretching and pulling. The current’s still coursing through me, looping over and over in excruciating waves. O’Shannessey and Sammy back out of the lobby, watching me grunt in pain, clearly sorry to be missing out on the fucking show. Assholes. As soon as we’re alone, Charlie switches off the Taser, placing the firing mechanism down next to his food. I gasp in a breath of oxygen, really appreciating for the first time how good it feels just to be able to fill your lungs.

  “Don’t move again,” Charlie warns. “This thing isn’t exactly police grade, if you get me. I could fry you to death quite easily, and along with my aim, my stomach ain’t what it used to be, either. I think the stench of your cooking meat might just be enough to ruin my lunch.”

  “You hurt any of them, and I’ll—”

  “You’ll sit still and you’ll fucking behave! Do not test my patience, you fuck,” Charlie roars, slamming his palm down against the table. The silverware on either side of my plate of food jumps so high the fork clatters to the floor. “Now shut the fuck up and wait for Lacey and that severely stuck-up cunt to arrive. Open your mouth just once and I swear I’ll crank this thing up to its highest fucking setting.”

  I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do. Sammy is going to kill Michael, and there’s literally nothing I can do to stop it. I’ll be incapacitated as soon as I move a muscle, and then what good am I to anyone? I sit in silence, glaring at Charlie down the length of the table, all the while counting the times Michael’s eluded being killed. There are at least three occasions I can recall off the top of my head. I’m hoping this will make a fourth.

  O’Shannessey returns with Lacey and Sloane only a few minutes later. They’re holding on to one another, arms linked, eyes wide. Sloane’s covered in blood, her dress shredded from shoulder to hem. She looks like she’s in fucking pain. The pull to go to her, to leap out of the chair and snatch her up in my arms, is almost too strong to deny. “You okay?” I ask her, raising my eyebrows.

  She nods. “Sore. But, yeah. I’m okay. Michael—”

  “Will be okay, too.” The confidence in my voice goes against everything I’m feeling right now, but I need her to see everything’s going to be all right. I need my sister to see everything’s going to be all right, too. Lacey gives me a nervous look, her eyes shining the way they do when she’s about to cry.

  “I’m sorry, Zeth,” she whispers. “I didn’t want to leave you. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay.” I shake my head. She has to know I’m not mad at her. Confused, sure, but not mad. I should have done a better fucking job of protecting her. “It doesn’t matter now, okay?”

  Charlie, fucking asshole that he is, continues to twist pasta around his fork. “Why don’t you sit down, ladies? You should join us. Lacey, it’s customary for the son of the head of a family to sit at his right hand. Since I don’t have a son, you’re going to have to do.”

  Neither Sloane nor Lace look inclined to sit with us, but O’Shannessey doesn’t give them much of a choice; he nudges them forward with the butt of his drawn gun. Dragging two extra chairs over for them, he sits Sloane to my right, and Lacey on my left. The whole set-up is like some fucked-up family dinner. Lacey stares down at the table, her eyes unblinking. She’s tapping her fingers to her thumb, over and over—pinkie, ring, middle, index. Index, middle, ring, pinkie. Not a good sign.

  “You need to…you need to take the probes out of him,” she says, still staring at the grain of the wood.

  Charlie puts his fork down. “What?”

  “Take the probes out of him.” Her eyes flicker to my chest, barely long enough for her to glance at the small, metal barbs attached to wires that are digging into me. I’ve always heard the more muscle you have, the more it hurts being shocked with a Taser. I have no idea whether that’s true or not, but I can confirm it hurts like a motherfucker. My whole body feels like it’s still charged. Lacey’s fingers work quicker as she grows more anxious—I can see it building in her eyes. Like she’s an object of intense curiosity, Charlie studies her every movement with a scowl on his face.

  “What the ’ell’s wrong with you now?” he snaps.

  “You’re hurting him. You need to stop hurting him.”

  “I ain’t stoppin’, sweetheart. I’m gonna ’urt ’im some more, and you are going to sit there in silence, and you’re gonna pay attention. You’re gonna ’ave to ’urt people, too, if you’re going to make it in this world, Lacey.”

  A single tear dangles from the tip of one of Lacey’s eyelashes. It wobbles, and then falls and hits the table. Still no blinking. She’s standing on the precipice of a very high cliff right now and she’s about to go over the edge; I’ve spent enough time with the girl to know her inside out by now, and she is not in a good place. None of us are in a fucking good place, but Lacey isn’t equipped to deal with this kind of stress.

  “I won’t,” she whispers. “Just let him go.”

  The old man snorts, leaning closer to the table. A blind man could see Lacey isn’t quite right, that she’s mentally struggling to deal with what’s happening around her, but not Charlie. No, her own father refuses to see it. He reaches across the table and slaps her across the face, so hard he splits her lip. Lacey cries out, clutching both her palms to her cheek, her eyes spilling over with tears.

  Taser or no Taser, I can’t let that go by without reacting. I don’t even think about the consequences. I jump up and lunge, reaching for the fucker sitting opposite me. I want my hands wrapped around his throat. I want to throttle the fucking life out of him. I want—

  White lightning ripples through my body, way stronger, way more intense than the taste I got earlier. Someone screams. My head hits the table, and then I’m falling. Falling to the ground. I can’t see through the pain. Can’t breathe through it. Can’t think through it. All I can do is hear…

  Hear the screaming.

  That old saying, the bigger they are, the harder they fall? That saying is true. Zeth goes down hard. His head impacts with the corner of the table as his body seizes and locks into a rigid stance, and he topples sideways, unable to put a hand out to break his fall. He takes a second knock to the head when it hits the ground.

  “StopstopstopstopstopstopSTOP!” Lacey repeats the word so that it runs into itself, digging her hands into her hair. I slide off my chair, pain singing out loud and clear as my knees hit thin carpet. I grab hold of Zeth’s arm, trying to figure out the best way to help him. I can touch him without being shocked, so long as I don’t touch him in between where the two probes are biting into his skin. However, I can’t touch the actual probes themselves otherwise I’ll be hit with the full force of the current, too. Fuck. Fuck! What the hell am I supposed to do?

  Hands grab at me from behind, firm and rough, dragging me back. I flail my arms and legs, trying to wrestle free, but I feel like I’m sinking underwater with a lead weight tied around my ankles. There is nothing I can do to free myself.

  “Stop! STOP!” Lacey screams.

  “Fucking whore.” O’Shannessey’s face is suddenly in mine, shoved right up close. “You’re gonna regret the day you ever stopped us from taking the girl.”

  I try to twist my way out of his grasp, but O’Shannessey clearly isn’t going to let that happen. It’s not a move I’m proud of, but I do the only thing I can think of: I bite him on the forearm he’s using to try and choke me with. He howls in pain, but even then he doesn’t let go.

  Zeth’s boot heels bounce up and down against the floor with the force of the shock being administered to him. I need to stop it. I have to. Just as I’m about to make one final last-ditch attempt at pulling myself free, I hear a sound that freezes the blood in my veins. A gunshot. I instantly go limp. A pair of polished black Italian leather shoes appears in my line of sight. The room has fallen deadly sile
nt. I hear Charlie’s knees creak as he bends down between Zeth and me. The tick-tick-tick of the Taser as it does its work. My labored breathing rasping in, out, in, out in quick succession over my teeth.

  “Women who get caught up in my world never tend to make it out alive, Dr. Romera. Celia, the Duchess… and so many girls I don’t even know the names of that I’ve sent down to California to be sold by Perez and his Neanderthal flunkies. They all die.” He looks at me, then—cold, dead eyes. Not an ounce of humanity within them. “You all die. Eventually.”

  I lash out with my foot, but O’Shannessey gives me a short, sharp jerk—a warning. Behave. “What about Lacey?” I spit. “She’s your daughter. You’re dragging her into this and you don’t even know her. She’s not—”

  “Perfect. I know. She is not perfect.”

  I wasn’t going to say that. It hurts me that Charlie does say it, because Lacey is perfect. She’s just also very traumatized by the shitty hand life has dealt her. I fire her a quick glance over my shoulder, and the blonde woman is on her knees, arms up by her head, protecting herself. Her eyes are fixed on Zeth; she’s silently crying. The table we were sitting at a moment ago is on its side, contents smashed or strewn all over the floor.

  “Lacey’s broken. That is very, very clear to me now. But I have a little time to fix her before I go, Doc. And then she’s gonna be in charge of the little empire I’ve carved out for myself. Then she will be as black-hearted and strong as her daddy. Ain’t that right, Lacey girl?” He stops, looks up at Lace, like he expects her to answer. She rises to her feet, a void expression on her face, and drops down beside her brother.

  “Give it to me,” she whispers. She holds out her hand. Charlie considers her open palm for a moment, and then shrugs.

  “Fine. I don’t want him dead just yet anyway.” He slaps the Taser into Lacey’s hand, and she immediately turns it off. The tick-tick-ticking stops, and so do Zeth’s jumping muscles. He exhales softly, like he’s been holding his breath that whole time.

  “What should I do with her?” O’Shannessey asks, tightening his grip around my neck and chest. Dark spots begin to dance in my vision. I try to prize my fingers underneath his forearm, but the task is impossible. From the corner of my eye, I can see Zeth’s arm moving, though the motion is weak. His eyes are open. That’s one small blessing. If his eyes are open, then he hasn’t lost consciousness…which I may or may not be about to do.

  “Go find out what’s taking Sammy so long. Take her with you.” Charlie smiles, and I know what he’s going to say next. Panic grasps hold of my heart and squeezes tight. “And…kill her.”

  I open my mouth to scream as I gather up the last of my energy, trying to wrestle free, but it’s not my voice that comes out. Another scream, wild, high-pitched and desperate, rips through the air. Lacey. Everything slows. I see the events of the next four seconds as snapshots, still frames, frozen flashes of memory that will be forever burned into my mind.

  Zeth trying to sit up, hand outstretched…

  Lacey’s arm swinging around…

  Lacey’s mouth pulled down, eyes spilling over with tears…

  Charlie turning. Charlie surprised…

  The fork in Lacey’s hand driving deep into Charlie’s throat…

  The old man falling back, landing on his back…

  Then, blood. So much blood.

  Silence.

  Zeth’s hoarse voice. “Lace. Lacey, come here.”

  Charlie collapsing to the ground, hands shakily trying to stem the flow of blood flooding forth around the piece of metal sticking out of his neck.

  The room tilting sideways.

  Me hitting the ground.

  O’Shannessey moving, letting me go.

  O’Shannessey hollering, reaching for his boss.

  And then not reaching for his boss.

  Reaching for his gun.

  And then the sound.

  And then the shock.

  And then more blood.

  And then Lacey…

  …falling to the ground.

  “NO! Oh, God, no! Please, no. Please. No, no, no.” I feel like I’m moving under water. I feel like there are hands dragging me down into a deep abyss and if I let myself sink I will never resurface again. Never. I scramble to Lacey’s body, my arms and legs not working properly. There’s more shouting. Charlie Holsan’s hand lifts, grasping hold of thin air as he tries to capture my attention. Anyone’s attention. People appear from somewhere. I don’t know how many or who they are. I don’t care. There’s more gunfire. I look down at Lacey’s tiny body, the burned hole in the center of her shirt turning red, the blood soaking the material out, out, out like a blooming flower.

  Her eyes are still open; they’re looking right at me. “Only so many times…” she gasps. Her voice is a wet rattle in her throat—blood seeping into her airways. Her hand flutters, trying to touch her chest. I take hold of it instead, clasping it tight. “So many times a person can be…fixed,” she whispers. Zeth’s beside me then, his face pale as a ghost’s. He looks down on his sister and there are tears in his eyes.

  “No. Not fucking happening,” he says.

  Michael then, over Zeth’s shoulder with a gun in his hand. O’Shannessey on the floor beside his boss, both men’s eyes fixed on the ceiling with the stare of the dead.

  None of it computes. None of it registers. None of it makes sense.

  “What can you do?” Zeth says, turning to me. “Tell me what you need me to do to help.” But I can see the truth in his eyes, even clearer than I can see it in Lacey’s—he knows there’s nothing to be done. There is no help. I shake my head, a fractured sob bursting free from my lips.

  “Zeth.” Lacey’s other hand finds her brother’s. Her eyes are already starting to shutter. I’ve seen it happen a million times before. A patient’s eyes are still open, still technically functioning, but they’re not showing the patient what’s in front of them anymore. I have no idea what Lacey’s pale blue eyes are showing her right now, but she smiles. And it’s a beautiful, surprised smile. “Zeth. It’s…it’s going to be okay. Now, everything is going to be…okay.”

  Zeth shakes his head. I’ve seen men come apart before. I’ve seen Zeth coming apart these past couple of weeks, showing more and more of himself to me every day, but now…now is an end to every wall he ever built to keep the world out. It comes crashing down on him. And it crushes him. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I should have done better. I should have done better. I should have done better.”

  I can see the will of effort on Lacey’s face as she struggles to focus, to have just one more cognitive thought. “You did…your best. You gave me…your best. The only one…who ever did. Thank…”

  I see the moment when she goes. There’s a light inside people, their souls shining brightly through their eyes. I’ve witnessed that light go out many times before. I recognize the moment for what it is—whatever made Lacey Lacey leaving her body—but I just can’t believe it.

  I don’t even believe it when her hand falls limp in mine. It only hits me when Zeth chokes out a single sob. When he lets go of her hand and carefully places it on top of her chest. When he stares down at her lifeless body, a look of utter shock written on his face.

  I go to him. I wrap my arms around his shaking, battered and bruised body, and I hold him. He doesn’t acknowledge me. He just continues to stare at his sister. On the floor beside us, Lacey’s body lies in a pool of her own blood. Her expression is strangely serene, and it hits in a wave of hurt that she was right. Everything really is okay for her now. Everything really is okay.

  The poor girl who only ever ate the moons out of her favorite cereal because she hoped it would make her invisible. The poor girl who made herself small to feel safe. The poor girl who only ever wanted peace. Conceived of violence. Lived a life of violence. Poor Lacey, the girl who only ever wanted peace…

  She dies in violence, too.

  I. Can’t. Breathe.

  Michael picks up
Lacey’s body, his face blank and lost. We follow him. Zeth doesn’t say a word. He’s still completely shut down, apparently nothing going on in his head. Tears still streak silently down my face as we make our way out of the rundown movie theater, leaving Charlie and O’Shannessey’s bodies behind us, along with the dead bodies of two other men I don’t recognize. Michael says they’d come to kill Zeth. I feel no remorse for their deaths.

  We’re in a car then. Not one I recognize. It’s bright outside. The sun is shining. I sit in the front with Michael, while Zeth sits in the back with Lacey, her head in his lap. He doesn’t touch her. He stares out the window, blinking at the world. It doesn’t even occur to me to ask where we’re going. The towers and high-rises, the concrete teeth of the city, grow smaller and smaller in the rearview. Seattle disappears.

  An hour passes and not a single word is spoken. Michael pulls off the freeway at an obnoxiously big home-and-hardware store, the kind where you can buy chainsaws in bulk. While he’s gone, I reach my hand back through the gap down the side of my seat, and Zeth puts his hand in mine. Michael returns bearing two flat head shovels and a flat look on his face. The shovels go into the trunk. I don’t need to ask what they’re for.

  After that, it’s the sky and the freeway and the spreading forest, dark and ominous, that invite us in, deeper and deeper. We don’t see another car for twenty minutes as we pull off the freeway again and wind our way down roads that start off as blacktop and end as dirt tracks, choked and bumpy with the roots of so many trees. I don’t know how long we sit in the car before I realize we’ve stopped moving. A long time, I think.

  “We have to move,” Michael says eventually.

  Zeth’s fingers twitch, his hand still in mine, but other than that he doesn’t move.

  “Zee? We can’t take her back to—”

  “I know.” Zeth takes a deep breath and it’s as though he comes back to life. Unwillingly, but…alive. He opens his door, and then with the greatest care, climbs out and lifts his sister’s body from the backseat. It’s cold out, but it’s not raining. The sun spears down through the tightly packed trees, golden pillars of light that seem to be holding up the sky over our heads. Michael retrieves the shovels from the trunk and heads into the forest first. Zeth clenches his jaw, watching him go for a moment, and then nods, some inner battle waging inside him perhaps, and then he follows. I am last. I watch the muscles in Zeth’s back twist and shift as he walks ahead of me, and I want to stop him. To hold him. To comfort him. But I can tell he doesn’t need that right now—he needs a moment to figure out what he’s feeling. We all do.