by Shiloh White
“Lucas!” I yelled, closing my eyes again as light flashed all around me until all I saw was white.
✽✽✽
I opened my eyes again, but all I saw was black. I rubbed them desperately; hoping the light didn't blind me permanently. My head was heavy and there was ringing echoing painfully in my ears. As my vision came back, I noticed I wasn't on the playground anymore. I was lying on my stomach in an old-looking brick street accompanied by a thick fog.
I sat up, and something warm and wet trickled down my forehead. I put a hand up to it, and brought back down blood.
How could that have happened? I was in the alleyway a moment ago, and then there was a playground and my brother. Was it another flashback? Last time, I was unconscious. Then there was the first time; when I was falling through the Dust. I was sort of asleep that time too. I would've had to have been in order to wake up.
So why was this time different?
I was wide awake, and my running in the grass made me run for real, too. But why did I see those memories?
The next time I saw Mr. Reggie, I needed to ask him more about these flashbacks.
In the meantime, I was still a little dizzy, but I needed to figure out where I was. I stood up and shook off the rest of the ringing from my ears. I looked around for Scott, but all I saw were dimly lit street lamps down both sides of the street. They were all curved into a fancy and unique shape. I took a couple steps forward out into the middle of the street to get a better view. There wasn't much to see, though, since the fog started to get too thick too far down either way the road went.
“Scott! Where are you?” I called out.
What answered was NOT Scott. I heard crazed laughter echoing off to the left side of the street. It made my spine cold, and gave me chills. And it was getting louder; definitely coming this way. That was enough decision for me.
I turned right and booked it down the street, away from the noise. Mr. Reggie's advice echoed in my ears: “You can't be sure what you'll see next…” I didn't even want to hear the laughing, let alone see what was making it.
I kept running, even after the laughing stopped.
I stopped when I noticed the fog started to peter out and light filled the street, which changed from stone to asphalt. I could see Scott again, running off in front of me. He ran across the street towards something. Across the street, there were a few older looking buildings here and there. One building stood out above all the others. It was covered in purple and green stripes that took turns glowing. There was a big sign on the front in cursive neon white letters that flashed I-N-S-A-N-I-S...
INSANIS.
The club who's owner had my paintbrushes. I saw Scott jog over to it, and duck inside the front entrance. So much for teamwork.
I walked slowly to the sidewalk across the street to get a better look at the entrance. It was wide, like an old-fashioned movie theater on the corner of a street. I waited a second to watch for anyone else, and then I started to run inside.
I was almost there when this huge dude walked out of the entrance. I stopped cold, and turned around, walking slowly the other way so he wouldn't pay me any attention.
When I turned around to see if he was gone, He was just standing there with arms folded, looking' angry at everything. He must have been the club's bouncer.
How was I going to get past him? I thought about waiting until he was looking somewhere else and then ducking past him, but before I could put the plan into action, some other guy came from around the corner. He cradled something in his arms I couldn't make out, until he stepped into the light of the club building. I gasped, and held myself back from running after that guy then and there. He was holding a black satchel-like bag I could recognize anywhere. It was my art bag.
He walked past the bouncer like he wasn't even standing there. The bouncer said nothing and kept his eyes faced forward.
Now I had to get in there. I didn't have much of a plan, but I couldn't let that guy disappear with my bag. That was the way back to Chloe.
I made the executive decision to just try to get past him. I pulled up my hood and turned around, back towards the entrance, keeping my head low. A bunch of laughing coming from the entrance caused me to stop inches from behind the bouncer. Two women in flashy clothing walked out of the entrance, and stood on either side of the entrance. I couldn't make out what they were saying, and I really didn't care. They were all distracted laughing. I snuck around the side of the entrance. I was almost to the door, and they still had no idea I was there. I put my hand out to grab the door handle and totally jinxed myself.
A big heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks. “Are you lost?” he asked with a gravelly voice that sounded like he had a cheese grater where his vocal chords should be.
I didn't dare turn around. I didn't know if Insanis was a 21+ club or not, but I wasn't trying to blow my cover if it was. I just stood there and said nothing for what felt like a forever. Then the bouncer leaned down and said, “Where did you think you were going?” All I could think of to answer with was eww. His breath smelled just as bad as he sounded. I bit my tongue to keep from gagging.
One of the women giggled and I saw her move out of the corner of my eye. I could've sworn she winked at me. Then she said to the bouncer, “Oh come on. She could probably use a little break.”
“Definitely a break.” the other woman agreed. The bouncer groaned and took his hand off my shoulder, just in time for circulation to keep my arm moving. “The job's pretty boring tonight, so just bring me a drink when you've had your fill of the place.” he said. I gave a small, awkward chuckle and said, “I will, if I can remember after all the partying.” At this, all three of them started laughing again, and I didn’t wait for them to stop. I took my chance and slid in through the front door.
✽✽✽
I was barely inside the front door when noise of bumping music and a roaring crowd blared through my ears. I shut the door behind me and walked down a dark hallway littered with glow sticks, and electric blue lights filtering in from the other end. It ramped upward and then turned to the left, which opened up into the main room.
I realized then that “crowd” was an understatement.
The inside of the club was like a rectangle concert stage bathed in lights, and it was packed. People stood and were partying wherever they could fit. To my far left at the front of the room, there was a stage where two DJs were controlling the music that blasted through the entire club. Against what I assumed was the back of the room, where the hallway let me out, there was a waist-high bar. A few people were talking and laughing and drinking stuff I could smell (and wish that I didn't) from where I stood. Around the outside of the room, there were two steps that led down into the middle, and that's where the noise was coming from.
People down there were dancing with glow sticks, lighters and matches, party poppers, and other party accessories I didn't recognize. They were whooping and shouting to the music. I wasn't even sure how they could hear the words over the noise of the speakers. The bass in the room was knocking the breath out of my lungs. I wanted to get out of here as fast as possible.
I scanned the room for Scott, to see if maybe he already made it inside, but I had no idea where to look. I took a few steps into the room to get a better view, and I noticed someone was pushing past a group of people on the dance floor. He almost knocked one of them over, making it to a door at the opposite end of the room. He stopped and took a look around, and I saw it in his hand. It was the guy with my art bag.
I didn't hesitate. I took off in the guy’s direction, sticking to the edge of the room near the bar. It smelled disgusting, but it was better than drowning in the sea of people. Occasionally someone would come get a drink, just to run back down into the dancing. I stopped so a few girls up ahead didn't crash into me as they got refills.
I wondered if he was the club owner. If he was, would he help me? If I explained the situation, maybe he'd understand. After all, wh
at use could a club owner have for a bag of paintbrushes anyway? I was starting to feel confident about going to get it back, as I made my way for the door. Then the music changed tracks and a new beat began, even louder than the last one.
“EEK! THIS IS MY FAVORITE SONG!” one of the girls at the bar squealed somewhere to the right of me.
She was louder than the music playing—louder than I thought was humanly possible. Then her and her friends at the bar all got up and ran down onto the stage, and I got pushed into the crowd with them.
I tried to push back up to the steps, but people packed in tighter. Whatever efforts I made seemed to drag me even further away. Anxiety started to rush into my stomach. I thought after the Depression Zone, it wouldn't be a problem. But the sheer amount of people and noise around me made me freeze, and stop moving on my own. All of the people dancing around me started shoving me back and forth, and my body locked up. I felt the music shaking the entire room; the bass was beating in my throat and lungs. I looked down at my hands and saw them shaking. I needed to calm down somehow.
“WHOOOOO!” Someone screamed next to me, pulling out a match and lighting it. I quickly snatched it from her hand and waved the fire out. Then I pushed it down hard on my arm. The heat burning on my arm helped to wake me up. I used the charred piece of the match to draw something, anything—it didn't matter. Just the fact that I was drawing, paint or no paint, was helping me to focus. I put the match in my pocket, and hit the ground with my hands and knees. I crawled past people, silently hoping I wasn't tripping anyone.
I stood up once I made it to the stairs, and just above them, there was the door. I moved my hand to knock, but who was going to hear that with all this noise?
My art bag was back there. I needed it back.
I grabbed the door handle, ready to go inside. As I went to turn the handle, a cold feeling spread from my hand up, making my whole arm heavy.
I looked down at my hand slowly, and resting there on top of my hand were someone else’s cold fingers.
19. I Run Into The Guy Who Ran Into Me
I followed the hand to see who was standing behind me, and gasped when I saw his face.
It was the man from the Square who ran into me; the one the green suit and purple tie. He towered above me, with a polite smile that felt a little more creepy than polite.
“It's much too loud out here, don't you think? Let's step into my office, and we can talk there.” he said. I nodded slowly, hoping I heard him correctly. I stepped out of the way so he could walk in, then I followed him through the door.
“It's a little funny to be seeing you again so soon, don't you think?” the man asked, shutting the door behind us, along every sound outside of the small room. Unless you opened the door, you'd never know there was a club going on.
I was a little distracted by the room to answer his question. The office must have been his, since it matched his sense of fashion. The walls were all purple, and the ceiling was green. Against the wall opposite to me, there was a door painted the same purple as the walls. I only noticed it because it had a green doorknob. That would've been how the guy who had my bag got out.
The next thing I saw was the floor of the room. It was a black-and-white checkered carpet. Directly in the middle of the carpet, there was a small off-white desk. Sitting on top of it were a phone and a notepad, and my art bag, smack-dab on the middle of the table.
The man walked around me, and pulled a chair from the other side of the desk. He sat down, and we both stared at each other for a moment.
“Oh please, have a seat.” he said, pointing to a chair against the wall to my right. I didn't budge, keeping my eyes on him. Something about this guy was giving me a weird feeling in my stomach. It felt like a whole different atmosphere than when he ran into me.
“I—”
Before he could insist, the phone on his table started to ring, cutting him off. The man held up a finger to me, as if to tell me one moment, and picks up the phone.
“Hello?” he asked. Then silence.
“Yes, it's just arrived;” he said happily, “so don't go any further before we meet.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and hung it up.
“Sorry about that,” the man said, looking up at me with a smile that looked a little strange on his face.
I stared at him, then at my bag. I didn't know what to say and was a little unsure what to make of the whole situation. The other guy was bringing the bag to him the whole time. So, what did this man want with it? Did he even know what was inside it?
“I'm sorry,” the man stood up from his chair, “I just realized you might be a little uncomfortable. After all, you're in a room alone with a stranger. One you've seen before, but a stranger all the same.” He put his hand out to me and said, “My name is Damian. I'm the owner of this fine club, Insanis.”
“I'm Lucy.” I said slowly, warily shaking his hand.
“Well, please, have a seat, Lucy.” he encouraged me again, sitting back down himself. “And do tell me why you were so eager to get into my office.”
I wanted anything but to sit; that put me further from the door. I especially didn't want to answer him. (I mean, how would you answer to “Hello! Have a seat, and remind me why you're in trouble?”) But cooperation could give me a better chance at getting the bag back, so I sat.
“I forgot my bag at a restaurant.” I told him. “I went back to get it, the lost and found sent me here. I came to look for the owner.”
The way I spoke, I felt like I was reciting something I was told to say. Damian nodded and looked down at the table.
“Is it this black one?” he asked with that weird grin on his face again.
“Yes.” I said quickly.
Damian leaned forward and folded his hands together, resting them on the table.
“Is it important to you?” he asked, practically whispering.
“Of course it is,” I wanted to say. My mouth wouldn't open, though. The weird feeling in my stomach was spreading all over my body. I could feel my leg bobbing up and down beneath me, but I didn't take my eyes off his. They were green, and one of them seemed to be permanently twitching; half-open, half-shut. I realized that's why his smile looked off. I watched him close his eyes one at a time; first the one that twitched, then the other. Then he sat back in his chair and took a deep breath.
“I'm a very busy man, and my time is important to me, Lucy...” he said slowly. Then he opened his eyes again and stared at me, but they were like a whole new set of eyes. More stern and scary. It wasn't just his eyes, though. His whole atmosphere felt different.
“I know you were planning to break in here and take it,” he said, tapping his finger on the desk impatiently, “so don't feed me a story. Why is this bag so important to you?” he asked again, sounding a little more worked up.
Something inside started to itch at me. I felt like I was going to go mad if I didn't tell Damian why I really came to this room. I bit my lip, but it made no difference. “I'm here to save my sister, and the paintbrushes in the bag are going to help me!” I shouted, and then quickly covered my mouth. The words might as well have flown out of my mouth. I didn’t mean to say them, but I had no chance to stop them.
Damian smiled again; his twitching eye throwing off the rest of his face.
“Well, the bag belongs to me now.” he said obviously, as if I couldn't tell from it sitting on his table. “And I don't give away things for free...” he trailed off.
He stopped tapping his finger, and stared vacantly like he was listening for something a million miles away. His eye's twitching even slowed to a halt. I found myself trying to hold my breath and figure out whatever he was waiting for. Then his eye picked up where it left off twitching, and Damian stood up from his chair.
“Do you know why Depression is dangerous, Lucy?” Damian asked, slowly walking to one side of the room. His voice sounded different again, along with how he carried himself—like a professor or someone intelligent. I kept my mouth shut any
way. I couldn't think of anything to answer him.
“Depression is dangerous,” Damian continued, walking to the other side of the room, “because it knows us. For every plan we make to escape it, the agents know—Depression itself knows to prepare ten outcomes to make that plan fail.”
Coldness hung on the word fail. It made me want to shiver. “You see, the simple fear of failing is what makes up most of those outcomes.” Damian said, slowly walking back to the middle of the room.
“And everyone has fear.” he continued, leaning over the table with both hands, “Me. Your friend outside...” My friend outside...I couldn't even see Scott out there. I should have waited for him to try to get in here. Damian stared me in the eyes, studying my green eyes with his own.
“What is your fear, Lucy? Why are you afraid to fail?” he inched closer to my face, close enough for me to see every twitch of his eye. He mouthed one word, and I shivered and bit my lip.
I thought of her, Chloe trapped in that room with the Depression Agent, and how I didn't think I would make it in time. I got that same itch to say it out loud again. I tried my hardest to fight it off, biting down hard on my lip until there was a metallic taste in my mouth. I didn't want to tell this creepy guy anything else about me. But my mouth still wanted to let the words. It opened up and was about to answer, and the only thing that stopped me was a knock at the door.
It cracked open a little, and the bumping music echoed through.
“Sir,” a gruff voice said from outside the door, “there's trouble with a D.F. Officer out by the bar.”
My heart skipped a beat. Scott was by the bar. I looked down at my art bag, and wondered how quickly I could snatch it and run out of the room. But then I'd have to make it past the guy on the other side. Then there was the sea of people to worry about again. Shoot...
Damian gave a long-winded sigh, and stood up from the table, picking up my bag. Now the plan was a surefire bust. “Well, our time has been cut short, Lucy.” he said as he reached inside and pulled out a yellow cup with a loop on the side of it, with a paintbrush in it. It was one of my paintbrushes.