Pretty Monster

by Somers, Jill

  She found Tommy and Izzo in the living quarters, huddled together on one cot, whispering.

  Not a good sign, she thought grimly.

  “Hey,” she said, ignoring the looks she received from those she passed as she approached Tommy and Izzo. Everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business in that little building, which of course meant everyone knew that Quinn had staged her own version of the investigation Tommy and Izzo were involved in.

  Tommy and Izzo both turned to look at her—too quickly.

  “Hey,” Tommy said guardedly, smiling politely. “What’s up, Quinn?”

  “I just wanted to touch base with you. About what you learned. Crazy, isn’t it? This Friday, our imminent demise?”

  Tommy smiled awkwardly; Izzo didn’t even fake it.

  “How did you say you pulled that off?” Quinn asked them. “Just curious.”

  “Maybe if you’d been at the meeting where we planned everything,” Izzo pointed out, “you might already know.”

  Strange, Quinn thought. Izzo had always been so shy—so quiet. Where was this coming from?

  “Right,” Quinn said, trying to keep her voice even, “but I wasn’t. So maybe you could fill me in.”

  “We don’t owe you anything,” Izzo snapped, surprising Quinn further. “You might have the majority of the group wrapped around your finger, but not us. From the day you got here, I knew you were trouble, Quinn. And you kept proving me right, over and over again. Why all these people trust you is beyond me, but I don’t. So I’m not going to tell you anything.”

  To be fair, the girl had a point: Quinn had done plenty in her time at Siloh to lead anyone to distrust her. If that was truly Izzo’s motive for what she was saying, perhaps Quinn would be satisfied with that.

  But she wasn’t satisfied. There was something more. The hatred in Izzo’s eyes—it wasn’t hatred caused by the story she was telling. It was deeper—darker. It was a hatred someone had brainwashed her into feeling.

  And why wasn’t Tommy saying anything?

  “Okay,” Quinn said, taking a seat on the edge of the cot without being invited. “Touché. I don’t blame you for not trusting me. Let me talk, instead of ask. Let me tell you this. I know Savannah. I know her, and I know her business partner, Cole Crowley. I watched him give the command to shoot an innocent, sixteen-year-old boy—my best friend—who had done absolutely nothing wrong. I know what they’re both capable of: murder and deceit. I know that they both have experience conning people into believing that they’re not evil—that they have reasons, motivations behind everything they do. But it’s not true. They’re pure evil.”

  She watched their eyes closely. Tommy’s, she had a read on. They were nervous. Afraid. Her words were getting to him.

  But Izzo…

  “Come on, Tommy,” she said, standing up and grabbing him by the arm. “We don’t need this.”

  Quinn sighed, grabbing Tommy by her other arm and looking him in the eyes. “Tommy,” she said, locking on, compulsion mode activating. “Talk to me.”

  Tommy’s lips parted, and he was close—so close— to saying what he wanted to say. The truth.

  But Izzo pulled him away, and Quinn was left knowing only one thing:

  They were lying.

  • • •

  Night settled in, and with it came Quinn’s fear and desperation; chiefly, the knowledge that she was running out of time.

  Izzo and Tommy had said Friday, which, if they had really been lying, could only mean one thing: it was going to happen sooner.

  Now that they knew she was onto them, sooner could be any second.

  She couldn’t pound on Dash’s door quickly enough.

  “Forget plan B,” she said the moment he answered. “You, me, and Rory. She has to see it. It’s the only way.”

  Dash shook his head, looking tired. “They’ve already figured it out. It’s Friday.”

  “They’re lying! You said it yourself—Savannah’s more than capable of poisoning their minds. You should have seen the hatred in Izzo’s eyes. Out of nowhere. And Tommy… I’m sure of it, Dash. Rory has to have that premonition.”

  “Then you’re going to have to let her.”

  • • •

  She wasn’t sure why, exactly, the idea had come to her not to use the others from plan B. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them. It wasn’t that she thought they were hurting the cause.

  It was just that, when it came down to it, her abilities had the same weakness Dash had pointed out shortly after meeting her: they were tied to her emotions. And as much as she cared for everyone in the YA, and even many outside of it, there were only two people on that island who she felt a deep, burning whirlwind of passion towards. One was romantic. One was… familial. Almost maternal.

  Dash and Rory.

  Besides, if she was going to successfully force herself to let Rory see the visions she didn’t want her to see, she needed to focus. No distractions.

  The first thing she would have to do, she decided as she closed her eyes and took their hands, was stop focusing on the future—stop focusing on having a premonition. As Rory and Dash had both pointed out, that was up to Rory.

  There was one other thing she could think of to focus on that would draw enough emotion out of her to power up Rory: Kurt.

  It was always hard, thinking about Kurt. But something new happened this time: her rage at the injustice of what had happened to him spread. It spread to thoughts all of the other injustices she had learned of since coming to Siloh. She thought of Charlotte, the heroine she had known as Blackout, a woman who had not only been murdered but had also been set up to look like a mass murderer. She thought of everyone in the original resistance, who had been slaughtered right alongside Charlotte. She thought every other person in the world who had been killed for absolutely nothing.

  The more she focused, the more she attempted to think of nothing but them, the wearier she became. She was exhausted. Exhausted by all of the pain. Exhausted by all of the cruelty in the world. As the exhaustion set in, she found her mind flashing back to something different entirely: Dash.

  Not Dash now, touching her hand, transferring his massive powers into her, but Dash then, years ago, when she had been nothing but a small child in a pink blanket. She wasn’t even sure why, exactly; that Dash had nothing to do with the situation at hand. He wasn’t even real; he was a made-up memory; he had nothing to do with anything.

  Maybe it was because she was reaching the brink, she mused. Her exhaustion was draining her powers. She was about to lose consciousness, to give up, to wind up right where she had started, and then the fight would be over, and Savannah and Crowley would win. It was the same mindset that little girl had before the event. That she was going to die. And that was when Dash—or whatever alternate reality version of Dash had been with her that night—had come to her.

  Her thoughts of that Dash, whatever the motivation, kept her going. She let Dash’s power continue to flow through her and into Rory.

  And then, abruptly, it all stopped. Rory pulled away from them, eyes huge, voice tiny.

  “It happens tonight.”

  • • •

  Their session had taken hours, as it turned out. Long enough for dinner and the evening meetings to pass, for everyone on the fourth floor to curl up and settle in for bed. Long enough for everyone who had been promised refuge in exchange for their betrayal of the resistance—the alliance—to escape.

  They sprinted up to the fourth floor together.

  “Evelyn!” Dash shouted as they barged inside. “Michael!”

  Evelyn and Michael looked up at them from the conversation they had been having with their son, alarmed. Quinn could see it in their eyes. They knew what it was about.

  “It’s been foreseen,” Quinn told them, using her abilities to project her voice loud enough for the entire floor to hear it. Those who had been asleep rose; those who hadn’t fell silent. All eyes were on her.

  “The attack,” she s
aid. “It happens tonight. Just before sunrise.”

  Charlie shook his head, looking to his parents, shocked, confused. “No,” he said. “No… they said Friday. They heard Friday. We need more time to prepare.”

  “Who said Friday?” Dash demanded, looking earnestly around the room. “Izzo? Tommy? Roxy? Where are they now?”

  Eyes everywhere flittered around the room, terrified to realize that he was right: they were nowhere to be found. They were already gone.

  “But how could you have seen it?” Haley asked them, stepping forward from her own conversation with Ridley. “Just the three of you? We couldn’t generate enough power for a premonition between nine of us.”

  Quinn wasn’t concerned about anyone’s hurt feelings over not being invited; she had bigger fish to fry. “It doesn’t matter. It’s been seen.”

  “By who?” asked someone else—someone Quinn didn’t recognize. “Who is this alleged seer?”

  “It doesn’t—” Quinn started to say, but Rory cut her off.

  “It’s me. Okay?” Seeing Quinn’s frightened expression, Rory said to her, “We don’t have to worry about trust any more, Quinn. Anyone who’s decided to betray us is long gone.”

  Quinn looked around the room, scanning the faces. It did seem to be thinner in population than it had been previous nights, she hated to admit.

  “Angel,” Evelyn said. “I need you to scout the rest of the island. If what they say is true, there will be no one left from the other side.”

  Angel stepped forward. Quinn was unsurprised, but pleased, to see that she was still there with them, rather than the alliance. “And if they’re wrong? If they’re still here and they try to kill me?”

  “Angel,” Quinn said, walking over to her. She looked her straight in the eyes. “I know we never really got along, but I would never, ever intentionally send you in harm’s way. We’re not wrong. I promise.”

  Angel watched her for a moment, eyes still distrusting. But she seemed to realize what everyone else did: that those who were left were all to be trusted.

  She nodded and made for the window.

  “Okay,” Michael said, straightening. “Trent, come forward.”

  Silence. No movement.

  Quinn looked around, eyes wide. Where was he? What could he possibly be doing that was more important than this?

  “I’m sure he’s in the bathroom,” Haley said quickly. “Or… down on patrol, maybe.”

  Michael nodded carefully. “Haley, Ridley—go scout the rest of the tower. Round up everyone and send them here. Rita—do you have the master list?”

  Rita, the older, hyper-intelligent woman Quinn had met recently, stepped forward. She pulled out a clipboard. “I do.”

  “Everyone,” Michael said. “Form a line in front of Rita. Single-file. She will check you all in. We’ll find out who we’re missing. Positions around the island for the attack have been charted based on abilities. She will give you your positions as she checks you in. If Angel returns with confirmation that Savannah’s people are gone… We have only a few hours left to save ourselves.”

  • • •

  The line formed. Quinn heard murmurs, whispers, from every direction. The biggest trend she noticed was how many people wanted to flee.

  “We could just leave,” the man in front of her was saying. “With Savannah gone, the wall would be unmanned. We could let ourselves out. Escape.”

  “We could,” Dash said to him. “And even if we were able to brave the open water, we would still face the alliance, along with Crowley’s soldiers, when we got anywhere near dry land. And, sure, maybe we could take them. But then we would face a worse fate when the rest of the world heard of our breakout.”

  “And we would beat them, too,” said another woman. “They don’t stand a chance against us. At least in the real world, we wouldn’t be trapped on this island like pigs ripe for the slaughter.”

  “We won’t die,” Quinn promised them. “We won’t.”

  Angel made it back before Haley and Ridley did. She and Quinn exchanged a look upon her arrival; Quinn barely listened when she shared the news with the rest of them. There was no one on the island but them.

  Quinn had almost made it to the front of the line by then. From what she could see of Rita’s marked-up roster, there were a lot of people missing.

  Charlie, Michael, and Evelyn stood at the front of the line, watching Rita check people off, eyes wide, panicked.

  “Has anyone seen Trent yet?” Quinn asked, snapping them out of their trances.

  “No,” Charlie said. “But there’s obviously no need to worry. Haley and Ridley will be back with him. They’ll be back with lots of people. You know how we all get cooped up in this building. People wander.”

  He seemed to be convincing himself more than her, and when she realized why, it hit her like a punch in the stomach: Pence wasn’t there, either.

  She turned to Dash, heart stopping. Pence? she mouthed.

  He looked just as flabbergasted as her. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

  Haley and Ridley arrived a few minutes later. They were alone.

  • • •

  The final roll call for those left on the island totaled at 76.

  105 had been in the tower before sunset.

  Quinn tried to focus as Rita, Evelyn, and Michael tried to give them all their positions. She knew all hope wasn’t lost. Sure, Pence, Trent, and Roxy had been some of their most powerful means of defense. Sure, the resistance had stood a better chance protecting themselves against nuclear warheads with them on their side. But hope wasn’t lost. They could still beat this.

  But it wasn’t the lack of hope that was on her mind as she let it all sink in. It was Charlie’s face.

  Charlie’s face, and Pence’s betrayal.

  Pence’s… and Trent’s.

  She wasn’t sure which hurt more. Trent’s, in a way. She had kissed the guy. She had exchanged so many flirtations with him, so many jokes, so many interactions… They had been friends.

  But in a way, she almost couldn’t blame him. He had been rejected by her. Haley had finally moved on. He had never been included to begin with. Always the cool guy back in the real world; always rejected here at Siloh. It was just like she had discovered at Drax’s party when she had asked him about his history. “And then you came here,” she had said, “and you were the cool kid again.”

  “Am I, though?” he had asked her.

  She had thought, hearing him say that, that he was no different from her. She had thought he put up a tough shell to cover his vulnerabilities. But maybe it was more than that. Maybe his soft side had been hardened, too.

  And then there was Pence…

  Charlie and Pence had been together for years before Quinn arrived. They were some of the first members of the resistance. They had trusted each other implicitly. Everyone else had trusted them implicitly. If there were any two people she could have pointed to and said there was no chance in hell they were double-crossing the resistance, it would have been them.

  But that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that Pence had been double-crossing him.

  Quinn had barely known Dash a fraction of the time Charlie and Pence had known each other. They’d fought with and resented each other for half of that time. They’d only really been together for a few days. If Charlie had been wrong about Pence after all that time, how could Quinn possibly be right about Dash?

  He was whispering things to her. Touching her face. Telling her everything was going to be okay. But she wouldn’t let herself listen to him. She couldn’t believe anything that was happening, but above all, she couldn’t believe him.

  Not with so many people betraying their loved ones.

  She knew, on some level, that it wasn’t fair. She knew he had given her no real reason to doubt him. But they were on their deathbeds, and logic had gone out the window, and she was left with what she was always left with. Instinct.

  Their positions for the sh
ield were at opposite ends of the island. The most powerful had to spread out.

  She rode next to him in the elevator. Walked next to him all the way to the parting point. Him, Haley, Ridley, and Rory. She held the girl’s hand. Closed her eyes. Pretended, for the briefest of moments, that that hand was Kurt’s.

  And then they reached the parting point, and it was time for them to send Haley into the air.

  Haley turned to Quinn, eyes heavy. She seemed to sense every emotion that Quinn was feeling. Quinn wondered whether it was a new ability stemming from her goddess mode, but decided that it was probably just what best friends did.

  “You’re a hero, you crazy girl,” Haley said softly to Quinn, and she pulled her into a tight, fearless hug. “Now let’s save our island.”

  A tear trickled down Quinn’s cheek as she pulled back, looked Haley in the eye, and whispered, “Give it your all.”

  And then Haley kissed Ridley, and then Rory and Dash squeezed Haley’s hand, and then she was gone. Glowing golden. Floating up into the sky.

  It was time for the rest of them to say goodbye.

  Quinn’s exchange with Ridley was short—simple. He seemed to understand that she was all but lost; he didn’t even try to hug her. He simply put his hands on her shoulders, looked straight into her soul, and smiled.

  In that moment, Quinn noticed things about Ridley that she had never noticed before. She noticed the faint, intricate markings that were etched into his scales, just a shade lighter than the scales themselves—almost like art. She noticed the long, slender arch of his neck, so much more graceful than a mere regular’s. She noticed the way his body almost seemed to glow every time he inhaled, and darken every time he exhaled.

  He was beautiful, she thought to herself as she whispered goodbye to him. To see someone like him and be afraid… to see someone like him and dismiss him as a monster…

  The world was an ugly place.

  It was Rory’s turn.

  She was thankful that words weren’t needed between the two of them, because she was sure that if she parted her lips to speak, she would only cry. She knelt down on one knee, looking into Rory’s big, blue eyes—those eyes that were so much like Kurt’s. But she didn’t see Kurt in that moment. She just saw the girl that she had grown to care for more than life itself.