by Shiloh White
“Damian was there.” I said, recalling the scene. “He was orchestrating everything the whole time. He got that knife to your hands."
Dart shoved his hands in his pockets. Bitterly, he looked up at the ceiling like the fog in his mind was clearing. “It must have been him,” he said. “I never saw him, but I remember his voice from the club last week...He said dark things. Told me there was no other way. That either Scott or I deserved to die, and that it would—"
Dart's voice cracked. The sound weighed on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Lieutenant Hollister turned around and studied the expression on his face.
“Those were his words.” I said, stepping closer to him. Maybe a little too close. “Besides, you weren't yourself then. Scott's going to be okay. And he's going to accept your apology."
Dart shook his head and slid his hands into his hair. “It's not Scott I'm worried about...” he looked at Lieutenant Hollister with a grim expression, and then I caught his eye.
For a second, I just saw darkness there. Seeing it made my hair stand on end. I knew it was from Damian, and it wasn't fair. I wished I'd never been involved with that guy, and yet, I wanted to be the reason to never be involved with him ever again. I wanted to take him down.
Dart must have seen the conflicted look in my eyes, because he fought back his grim expression into a light smile. Definitely face, but a smile nonetheless.
“I mean,” he continued, “he'll totally be fine with a knife wound, you know? After all, we are besties.” He gave me a mischievous grin, just like the one Chug had. Only Chug didn't have a scar on his lip or a seriously pale face. I appreciated his effort to lighten the mood, but it didn't take the worry from me.
“What are besties?” Lieutenant Hollister asked. I waved my hand at her to show he was just being ridiculous.
“It's Topside talk.” I said. The Lieutenant rubbed her temples.
“Well, that's enough of that,” she decided. “And of Dart's dark story, and most importantly, Damian. We're down to a few minutes, so I'd rather focus on getting you back safely."
She turned left down a new corridor, and opened the door to the TransPort room. Dart walked inside after her, flipping some lights on. Lieutenant Hollister sat down over at a long table and turned on the nearest computer. She leaned back in her seat and asked Dart, “I don't suppose you're feeling well enough to prep one of these so soon?” Dart glanced and me and smiled again. A different grin than the one he forced onto his face a moment ago. It felt genuine.
“These new machines do most of the work,” he said, “but I'll manage.” Dart walked over to the computer and plopped down in a chair in front of it. Lieutenant Hollister moved out of his way and ushered me over to the TransPorts.
✽✽✽
“The one we're using is over here.” she said, pointing to one of many white giant egg-shaped pods in the middle of the room. I wished we could have used one closer to the front—anything to keep from being alone with the Lieutenant again.
It wasn't that I didn't like her. It was just that, I'd demanded so much of her moments ago. I felt by just being here, I was making her job so much more difficult. And yet my mind nagged me not to let it go. To stand firm in my conditions.
“About our agreement—"
“I took a long way around the hall to think about your requests,” Lieutenant Hollister said, “and I'll do everything I can to make them work. Although I have two conditions of my own."
“What are they?” I asked.
Lieutenant Hollister reached over my shoulder and pushed the button on the pod behind me, and a slab of the wall retracted, revealing an opening and a small barstool-like seat inside.
“First,” she said, “I'll only be filling through these requests as long as they aren't a direct threat to the Depression Force. The moment they become a problem, I'll have to terminate our agreement."
It seemed fair enough. Unless Mr. Reggie decided he'd be leading a war on the Depression Force anytime soon, everything would probably work out. “Okay. What's the other one?"
“I want you to stay on Topside from now on.”
I paused and played back her words in my mind to make sure I heard her correctly. Yeah, I did. And I was just as surprised.
“Why?” I asked. How do you just tell someone all of a sudden, Hey, you know this amazing place you found? Full of great friends and powerful paint weapons at your disposal? Yeah, you can't visit anymore.
Lieutenant Hollister folded her arms and shifted her feet, putting her weight on her right leg, like she was preparing for a long conversation she wanted to avoid.
“I was afraid you'd ask,” she said, “but hear me out. If Damian has discovered ways to raise Disorder besides coming after you, then it's no longer your responsibility to fight. Or worry."
I threw my hands up in disbelief.
“You're kidding me.” I said. “He got my sister kidnapped. Killed my brother. And...Woodstock."
“Chloe was kidnapped by your brother, and Disorder was the reason Damian got the chance to kill your brother in the first place. Damian just happened to be nefarious in the right place at the right time for that to happen."
“So now you're defending him? Is it because he's your brother?” I jabbed my finger at her face, driving my point right between her eyes. She grabbed my wrist and leaned in close. Her electric blue eyes looked like they might actually shoot shock waves at any second.
“Don't speak like you know him. You know neither one of us. The battles I've fought with him, people I've lost to him...your brother and your friend pale in comparison—"
“Hey guys, I dunno if you heard me the first time, but the TransPort's ready, and—oh..."
I turned and saw Dart frozen by a pod a few feet away. His pale face was quickly flushing, like he saw something he shouldn't have. I suddenly became very aware of how angry the Lieutenant looked, and just how tight she was gripping my arm. Her eyes hadn't moved from me, but she responded to Dart:
“Stay with the console. Lucy will be leaving shortly."
“Yes, ma'am.” Dart gave me a sympathetic look, then disappeared behind the white pods back to the front of the room. My eyes reluctantly moved back to the Lieutenant.
It's our job to fight this battle,” she said, “and this condition isn't to protect Damian. It's to protect you. You're not a Depression Force Officer. You have no training. You're a high school kid"—Lieutenant Hollister's voice faltered for a moment, and she looked away. Her hand released my wrist from her grip and she stepped away, shaking her head—"and your battle is much harder than what we'll be fighting. Don't take it lightly."
She gestured to the TransPort, letting me know our conversation was over. I walked inside and sat on the stool, looking out the opening at the Lieutenant. She walked up to the side of the pod and went to push the button, but stopped. She sighed and her eyes closed for a second. Then the Lieutenant looked at me with a composed smile.
“Thank you for rescuing my Officers, Lucy.” she said. “Now go home. And stay there."
58. I Make a Probaby Impossible Promise
In the silence of the pod, the only sound was the clacking of Lieutenant Hollister's shoes as she walked away.
Each clack felt like it was right in my ears, and each one reminded me how pissed I was. Both times I'd been here—although I was scared pretty much out of my mind the first go-around—I'd completed some amazing feats. Saved my sister, conquered my Depression (well, almost, thanks to Justin somehow being alive now), fought back Damian, and now I'd taken on the Academy with the help of some ex-Depression Agents, saving two of the Lieutenant's own best Officers.
And even though the Lieutenant thanked me for that last part, now she wanted me to go home? My battle would be harder than hers? Don't take it lightly? What the heck did that mean?
As far as I was concerned, she was essentially asking me to sit on the sidelines, and I wanted no part in that. Not when that murderer was a part of this battle. Definitely not when I'd
just found out how to use my Handle the right way. Who was she to send me home? I could help them here.
And yet, how exactly did I plan to go about staying? Just sit in the pod until they agree to let me fight? Only, time passed different here. I would be turning my back on my family...
That wasn't an option. I wasn't abandoning my home. Who was to say Damian wouldn't go after Chloe again? Or someone else, like Anna? No matter which way I looked at it, home was pretty much a choice already made for me.
But what chance would I stand against Damian on Topside turf? My Handle had only worked once there, and I hadn't gotten it to work since. Was that what Lieutenant Hollister meant by a harder battle?
I let out a confused shout inside the egg—err, pod, torn by two different arguments.
“Having trouble?” Dart's voice came over a small speaker, filling the TransPort.
“No,” I sighed impatiently.
“So you remember how to use one of these?”
“Yes. Unless you got a technology upgrade in the last week, I'm supposed to imagine a path and a door, right?"
“Right,” he chuckled. “Just checking. See ya around, Luce. And thanks for what you did for us. And…what happened to Woodstock, it wasn't...”
The speaker went silent for a moment.
“It wasn't fair,” Dart continued. “Damian's plot cost him his life. But without him, and you and Chug, Damian would have taken a whole lot more, including both Scott and myself. So again, thank you. And don't worry. We'll do our best to find out what corner of the Dust he's hiding in, and when we do, I'll break his nose myself as a personal favor to the both of us. But you have to promise something."
“What?” I asked, just about fed up with promises and conditions and agreements. The speaker stayed silent for another minute, and I almost thought Dart was pulling another prank on me. But then he spoke again.
“You have to promise to stay safe, Lucy, for when we finally do get him.” It was my turn to be quiet. Did the Lieutenant tell him to say that? Or did he mean it?
Although I was unsure, my entire body wanted to give him an answer, and I couldn't stop myself from saying “Okay."
I waited for him to say something else, but the speaker stayed quiet. As unsure as I was about pretty much everything right now, I'd just made a choice. Now it was time to act.
I shut my eyes and left the Dust.
59. Paint And Consequences
I woke up on the floor of the hotel room, just underneath the open window. The breath of the cold air slowly sneaking into my room sent a chill throughout my whole body that pulled my eyes open. I sat there for a moment, staring into the dark room just...being.
I absently pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked at the time. 4:30am, Sunday, January 14th.
Two hours. I glanced up at the hotel bed next to me, thinking of taking a short nap, but I knew it'd be impossible to sleep.
Damian was out there somewhere. Dart and the Lieutenant were more than likely prepping their next move against him. Disorder was sitting somewhere, stretching his evil grubby mitts over both Topside and the Dust. I didn't even know if Scott was okay right now, but I did know Halsey was sitting by him, waiting to get an answer. That and, the bus was leaving soon.
Which meant I needed to pack. But moving seemed like an action still miles away.
The cold air caressed my hair and the wind played with it, surrounding me with a hypnotically calm feeling. Every time a thought crept into my head about the problems from the Dust, Dart's words and my answer resonated inside my head, blocking the other thoughts out.
As mad as I was about it, I chose to come back to Topside.
Maybe it was the cold air, but sitting there, I knew now this was where I needed to be. Lieutenant Hollister's words floated inside my head, and I was still pissed at what she said. But in that moment, I began to grow more tired than angry. And since there were no crazy people trying to murder me that very second, I chose to just sit under the window in the dark and quiet hotel room.
Then my hands gravitated to my art bag and before I knew it, I had a whole mural down my right arm.
From the wrist down the outer part of my forearm I painted a cloak, just like Lionel's. I turned my arm inward and admired the rest of my creation: it was a line in red paint that started as a red paintbrush, then the faint outline of Stark's hunting knife, which looked more like an ax when it was done. (I didn't have much arm room to work with, okay?) From there, the red line trail morphed into a medical syringe after Lara, then a bow tie for the school uniforms at the Academy.
At the end, I was going to draw Chug's gun, but I ran out of room pretty fast. (Stupid short arms.) Plus, a gun probably wasn't the best idea anyway. Instead, I finished the red line of paint in a detailed swirl to signify Zone-Hopping.
Once all the paint dried on my right arm, I used that hand to draw a single thing on the back of my left hand.
After finishing the last curve of the nose, I had to marvel at its likeness. I'd always been better at drawing and painting with my left hand, but over the past couple years, I practiced with my right hand. I wasn't quite as good yet, but looking down at the big round beak, scraggly fringe of hair on the top of the head, the short ruffled feathers and wings, and the three toes on each foot—just a single line for each—I smiled.
It was just meant to be a silly painting since I didn't know what else to draw for him, but the more I got to sit and really think about him—more than just “he's gone"—the painting became much more. It was a reminder of a valuable lesson in fear and courage.
He taught me no matter how bad I thought my mom was, there was one way worse just hiding a layer deeper—although she was a part of Disorder now—and he had to face her head-on. He was also loyal, and to the right people. In the short time I knew him, I heard about one mistake he made and he paid with his life to fix it, and ensure the safety of his friends.
Woodstock.
I'd painted the little yellow bird from those old children's cartoons. It was all I could come up with. And it was enough. Enough to turn the window's whistle into a cold hiss of air that stole a tear from my eye.
I set my paintbrushes down and wiped the tear into my sleeve. I was sure it was time to go now. I capped the paintbrushes and put them in the bag, then went to shut the window.
I was about to shut it when I caught a glance at our school bus in front of the hotel. Surrounding it was most of our class. I noticed one student in particular as she lugged a suitcase into the back of the bus and pulled a bag over her shoulder. Then she leaned against the side of the bus and pulled out her phone.
That looks a lot like Anna, I thought. But that couldn't be the case. I'd been awake for a while, so unless Anna got down there ridiculously early, she was still in the bed across the room from me.
Just then, my phone buzzed against the carpet. I bent down from the window and picked it up. It was a text:
“DUNNO IF YOU'RE STILL ALIVE, SICK, OR EVEN HERE ANYMORE, BUT IF YOU PLAN ON NOT RUNNING AWAY OR DYING IN A HOTEL ROOM, THE BUS LEAVES IN 40.” — ANNA.
I peered out the window again at the girl leaning against the bus. As I did, she looked up at my window and slid a cell phone into her pocket. I rushed to hide myself from view. That was Anna down there. But that meant... I ran across the room and flipped the light switch on.
Anna's side of the room was completely empty and tidy. In fact, it didn't look any different than it did when we first arrived. The covers were a bit crumpled from where she sat down on her bed, but that was it.
My mind started to race with questions and what ifs. The most prominent one was what if Anna came in the room again after she called me? Maybe that's why she figured I was running away.
I glanced down at the little yellow bird on my hand, and what Woodstock said rang in my mind. He wouldn't abandon his friends anymore. And he didn't.
Despite her bitter words, I knew Anna was a friend I couldn't let go. Really, her words were my fault. I turned
my back on her, along the rest of my life, and almost died because of it. As much as I did want to go back, there was no way to do that right now. So I grabbed my stuff off the bed, and left the hotel room to face my friend.
60. Hello, Anna, My Old Friend
I rushed out of the lobby with a clump of other students.
The ones who noticed me shot glances my way. Some laughed. One kid muttered crude comments about the girl who cried 'sickness' to get her own room. I ignored them all. I was fed up of school students—any and all versions of them.
When I exited the hotel, I saw Anna still leaning against the bus, taking in the morning air.
I snuck along with the group so Anna wouldn't see me while I put my stuff on the bus. Up by the front, Mrs. Nary made a three-minute warning call. A couple kids rushed back inside to use the bathroom. Most of them just got onto the bus, including Anna's loud boyfriend. Still, Anna lingered by the back of the bus, her foot propped up against the tire. Her head turned slightly in my direction, and I knew I'd been seen, out of the corner of her eye.
Well, here we go, I thought.
I walked over to her slowly and warily, shoving my hands in my pockets.
“Hey,” I said, “I'm sorry about—"
“Save it.” Anna said. I curled my lips shut. “I don't really want to hear it,” she continued. “I'm surprised you even chose to show up. Figured you'd have made it out of the Capitol by now."
“What?” I asked. “I didn't—I'm not running away."
“Could've fooled me. Heard nothing from you the whole trip. For all I know, you could have died of whatever sickness you claimed to have."
“Anna—”
“STUDENTS, PLEASE BOARD THE BUS FOR ROLL CALL!"
Anna pushed off the side of the bus and went to go get on. I grabbed her arm and stopped her.
“Wait!” I told her. Anna wheeled around, pulling her arm free.
“What for?” she said. Her face was red and upset. She looked like she was trying not to burst, and did a poor job of holding herself back.