Authors: Cheryl McIntyre
“Good, Keely. Now, when?”
“Tomorrow
. Eight o’clock.”
“Friday? That is a special day. I look forward to it.”
With a start, Keely blinks her eyes several times. Looks around the dark basement apartment. The familiar orange glow from the street lights shine on the wall. Nick’s soft snores comfort her speeding heart. She lay awake for hours trying desperately to remember what her father had looked
like. She recalls seeing him, the light d
im around him, but all she can e
nvision is the
syrupy red about his mouth.
Turning on her side, Keely knocks her phone to the floor. She picks it up and checks for missed calls or texts. Nothing. Bites her lip before deciding to try Bryon again. The voicemail picks up immediately. There is a message indicating that his mailbox is full. She closes her eyes and ends the call.
When the sun finally comes up, Keely moves silently off the couch and into the bathroom. She shuts the door most of the way, leaving it open a crack. She doesn’t care what Nick says, she isn’t taking chances with tho
se whispering D
emons. She sheds her clothes
and
takes a steaming
shower. Feeling clean after t
he visit with her
father isn’t easy.
It takes two hair washings, three rounds of body washing
,
and all the hot water.
By the time she emerges from the bathroom, Nick is awake. Blankets are folded neatly beside him where he sits gulping coffee and avoiding looking at her.
“I’m going to school today.”
He
still
doesn’
t look at her, j
ust asks, “Why?”
“I want to talk to Mr. Giordano. And I want to find Bryon. If he isn’t there, maybe someone at school knows something.”
“I need twenty minutes. Is that all right?”
The cold compliance is unnerving. “Yeah. We have plenty of time.”
Nick sets his mug on the tray and makes a quick stop at his dresser before quietly closing the bathroom door behind him.
A loud noise sounds from her stomach.
Breakfast time
. She makes herself a bagel and sips orange juice while she waits for Nick. Unwraps the towel from her hair and brushes it slowly. Puts on socks and shoes. Powders her face and glosses her lips. Puts on mascara carefully, taking her time to coat every lash. Then she sits with legs crossed beneath her. Waiting.
They still have nearly forty minutes until school starts, so Keely decides to wash the handful of dishes sitting in the sink. In the trash by th
e counter, she notices
her
and Nick’s
shirts from last night. Tattered and bloody.
She flips on the water and soaps up a rag. A shout from the bathroom makes her jump and drop a glass. It shatters across the countertop. Keely vaguely notices it as she runs to the door and throws it open.
“Nick?”
He
pulls the shower curtain aside, covering his lower half. “What’s wrong?”
“What? What’s wrong with you? You yelled.”
“Cold shower. Sorry. Someone used all the hot water.”
“
Whoops, s
orry.” Keely tells herself over and over to keep her eyes on his face.
“It’s fine. I’m done now anyway.”
“Oh, right. You probably want me to leave.” She laughs awkwardly. Back
s
out the door. Just before closing it, her eyes betray her and drag down his chest before making their way back up to his face that is intently poised on her.
The door clicks shut and Keely laughs at herself. Funny that she may be facing death tomorrow, but today, she still has hormones. And apparently can still get embarrassed. Who would have thought?
Back in the kitchen, she cleans the broken glass and washes the dishes. Finishes just as Nick is ready to go. They ride in silence to school. Walk side by side through the doors, but Keely feels very a
lone. Home room goes by slowly, as does her next few classes
. As she heads to History, a nervous anticipation worms its w
ay through her. If Bryon isn’t there, she does
n’t know what to do next. Go to his house? Call the police? Should she contact
the Hierarchy
? Not that she kno
w
s
how, but she could go to
Michael Lazlo
and he could call the right people. He
would take her seriously
,
she i
s sure, ev
en if Nick and friends won’t.
Nick stops Keely at some lockers near the door. “He isn’t going to be
in t
here.”
She squints up at him. Rubs her lips together. “How do you know that?”
He takes a deep breath. Places an arm on a locker, blocking her from the room. “It’s him, Keely.”
Can
’t
anybody just talk normal anymo
re? It’s like speaking in code
or starting halfway through a conversation. “What’s him? What are you talking about?”
Nick puts the other arm on the locker on the other side of Keely, blocking her from going either direction. Fr
om any passerby’s point of view
it
might look
like an intimate moment between a boy and a girl, but from Keely’
s perspective, it means she i
s about to get
news she will
wan
t to run
away
from. Nick already kno
w
s this, anticipates it
,
and prepares
for it. Always the
Boy Scout
.
“I think Bryon is the one telling Apophis where you are, how to get to you.” He studies her face. Waits.
Keely thinks this over. Her first reaction is just plain no. No way. But as her mind works, she sees how it could be possible. But Bryon wouldn’t, couldn’t do that to her. She opens her mouth to say as much,
then closes it. She does
n’t truly know what Bryon would
or wouldn’t do because she doesn
’t truly know Bryon. She thought she did. She thought he was her best friend, but he turned out to be a hired hand. A baby sitter.
No. In her heart, she does
n’t b
elieve that. Her heart believes
in Bryon. “I see how it seems possible, but I don’t think it’s him.”
“I don’t want it to be true either, but I th
ink it is. If we walk in there
and he’s not there…”
“That doesn’t prove anything. Something could have happened to him, Nick. I mean, think about it. Why if he was a traitor to the dark side, would he up and leave when the fat lady is warming up for the big performance?”
“I did think about that.
You agreed to give yourself up
so why spy anymore? Apophis knows where to find you now
if you don’t show up. But he’s got you so backed into a corner, he knows you’ll show. Bryon isn’t needed. He g
ot out before he was exposed
.”
Keely shakes her head
refusing to buy it until she has cold hard proof. She wants
the smoking gun.
“We are going to have to agree to disagree,” she utters and ducks under his arm and into class just as the bell rings.
She takes her seat and a quick look around. He’s not there. But she already knew he wouldn’t be.
“Hey, Dana?”
Dana slides into the desk beside Keely. “What’s up?”
“Have you seen Bryon?”
Dana rests her chin on her hand and thinks. “No, haven’t seen him. He called the other night,
Tuesday,
said he was coming over, but never showed. Why? He say something about me?”
“No. Well, I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in a couple of days.
Not since…Tuesday
too
.
”
“He’s probably skipping. Hope he’s not sick.” She rubs her nose. “Maybe I should stop by with some soup. Help nurse him back to health, ya know?”
Keely nods
no longer listening to Dana.
Where is he?
What happened to him?
Keely looks back at Nick who stares at her somberly.
How could she go tomorrow not knowing that Bryon was all right? How could she go without saying goodbye?
Sometime, a very long time ago, Keely was once happy.
That feels like another lifetime.
Like another person’s lifetime.
If she somehow gets
out of this alive, she decides she is starting over. She will
embrace who s
he is. She will not
live her life scared. She will be happy again. She will
smile every
day. L
augh
as much as possible. S
pread this happiness to her friends and family.
She will need to
first make some friends, then
she will
spread the cheer. A new Kee
ly. She mentally pinky promises
herself.
She is distracted with
her idea to board the happy train. Too consumed with her worry about Bryon.
Too caught up in her parents kidnapping.
Too much going on in one person
’
s mind. It’s no surprise really that she is completely oblivious as Farah Fritz steps on top of her desk. It’s not that shocking that Keely doesn’t notice Farah step from desk to desk until her knee
s are
right in fr
ont of her
face.
Keely stares at the knees in shock for only a moment before trailing up the frame to Farah’s coal black eyes glaring down at her. Keely’s lips part as she intakes a quick breath. Farah pulls a steak knife from the back of her designer jeans and Keely is sure this is it. She dies here, right now. No saving her parents. No goodbye’s to anyone. No happy new Keely.
There is shouting. Screaming. Kids moving in chaos all around them.
It’s all blurry and slow in her peripheral.
She can hear her name coming from Nick’
s
lips. Knows he’s making his way toward
s
her. Only, as fast as he is moving, Farah is moving faster.
It all happens so quickly. Half a heartbeat after Farah lands on Keely’s desk, she
shoves
the jagged steak knife
into her neck, all the way to the handle. Slides it
roughly and
quickly
,
slicing
her own throat. Her eyes, that aren’t really her eyes, never waver from Keely’s.
Never show emotion.
Not until the very last moment when
whatever D
emon was
possessi
ng her leaves
and Farah is thrust back in her body just in time to feel the shocking pain.
A pain Keely remembers clearly.
She gives Keely a helpless look as she drops the knife and grabs her t
hroat. A second later she collapses
, knocking the desk, with Keely in it
,
to the ground.
Warm liquid covers Keely’s face.
Runs i
nto her mouth.
Down the front of her shirt. O
nto h
e
r
lap. She is trying to kick free but she’s trapped under the tipped desk and a bleeding Farah. Air. She needs air. Just when she hits
a
full panic attack, Nick is pulling her away.
They don’t stop. Out of the room. Down the hall. He picks her up, one arm behind her ba
ck and one beneath
her knees. Out of the building.
Into the car. He holds her in his lap. Down the street and to his apartment. He takes her
to the shower.
Nick turns the water on. Climbs in with her.
Starts wiping away the blood with a wash cloth as the water pour
s over them. It
turns pink around Keely. She thinks of her father.
Nick utters soothing words that she doesn’t fully hear
. Pulls her shirt off of her. It’s cold and sticks to her arms. He throws it to the back of the tub then unbuttons her pants. She has to stand and it takes all of her strength. The wet jeans are harder to remove than the shirt and once off, Keely sees pink stained skin and whimpers. Nick rubs the rag across her lap hard. Scrubs the blood away until the water sprays out ice cold and runs down the drain clear.
“I can sti
ll taste her,” Keely mumbles as she
trembles. Again, she thinks of her father.