Chapter 2

The hallway was all creams and whites, smooth like velvet and immaculate. Vases of fresh flowers sat upon stone pillars, and paintings of peaceful landscapes hung perfectly spaced along the walls. Hell wasn't supposed to be beautiful, but it was. It didn't stink of sulfur or death. Little air fresheners, tucked discreetly into corners, misted the atmosphere with fresh rain. Murderer wasn't sprawled in blood across the last door. Instead, a gold plate engraved in pristine script read Dr. Daniel Clyde, Head of Chemical Therapy.

Therapy. Another ridiculous word to cover up another. The world was shaded in antonyms. Hot was cold. Up was down, and therapy was purgatory. Who were they lying to? Us or themselves? Perhaps it was simply an illusion to draw the holy into the fire. Regardless, I walked the hall each week, and tonight, I walked it again, dangerously unannounced. Most people didn't know the devil required an appointment, but he did, and showing up without one was a good way to die. I knocked twice, and ignored the voice urging me to turn back.

Danny wrenched the door open, saw me standing there, and scanned the hallway. His pallor reddened, a glimpse of his true form, then he pulled me inside and shoved the door shut. "Are you insane?"

"I know."

He pivoted and strode over to the window, scanned the lot below, then twisted the blinds closed.

I stood silent, choosing my words. It had to be tonight. There was no time to wait, and I couldn't let those children die. I wasn't sure why. Things like that happened all the time, and just like everyone else, I didn't look. I stepped back, sinking deeper inside the bubble we all kept around ourselves, focusing only on the survival of myself and those closest to me. I couldn't look away this time. I'd never even seen their faces, yet they dominated my focus. I saw myself, a child without a family, begging any who would listen for love and protection. If I ignored this, ignored them, I'd become what I hated most, and that was worse than any consequence Danny could provide. "I wanted to ask for a favor."

"A favor?" He turned, posture rigid. "I just did you a favor this morning. You think it's easy to explain why I'm giving you a quarter of the dosage?"

The urge to laugh brewed, but my chest was blessedly too tight to oblige. What difference did one more lie make? Compared to all the others, this one was easy. But I didn't say that, because that would have been too honest, and honesty would have clashed with the carpet. "This isn't about treatment. The woman who was taken—"

He waved me off. "She's already gone."

He said it so casually, as if she were a bag of trash already disposed. A spark formed in the pit of my stomach and flared before I could snub it out. "I know that, Danny. I watched them drag her away."

A blanket of stone fell over his face, and his attention dropped to the cellphone on his desk. I tensed. He wouldn't make the call unless he absolutely had to. He knew, if he did, he'd risk having his own dealings questioned. 

"You aren't losing it on me, are you, Willow?" His voice was low and calm, another lie.

"No." The sunlight that filtered through the cracks in the blinds dulled, gray mixing into the gold. I was taking too long. This was taking too much time, and we hadn't even started yet. I stepped forward, closer to him, arms loose, face relaxed, pliant and obedient, just like they wanted us. "I need her address."

"Her address..." He looked me over, from my worn shoes to my plain, white T-shirt, and one corner of his mouth twitched. "You want to loot her house?"

"I want to check on her kids."

"Ah, I see." He grinned as if I'd just told a joke, and I was the punchline. "They'll be gone tonight. You know that."

"I want to get them out."

His head shook.

He didn't say what I already knew, but I heard him as if he had. They were already listed. The minute she was taken in, their fate was sealed. It wasn't like the government would just give up when they weren't there. They'd come looking, and anyone with a connection would be searched. Me and everyone in the same clinical group would be suspected.

He tutted and collected a stray chunk of my hair between his fingers. "It's noble of you, truly, but impossible."

Impossible. Didn't he know? Impossible was our reality. One central government was impossible, until it wasn't. Mass killing people based off criminal record, class, financial status, education, was impossible, until it wasn't. Impossible was just another illusion, the worst one of all. "I understand the risk." I held his gaze levelly and swallowed all the words I wanted to say. "I'm willing to pay, the same as always."

His interest drifted to my lips. It was the deal we'd made. Favor for a favor. He'd allow me to keep my body whole if I allowed him to use that body at his request. It kept Merle and Julia alive, and it was all I had to trade for the lives of two more.

He sucked in a breath, mulling over the risks. It didn't take him long. He ran his fingers deeper into my hair. "What do I get?"

Bile rose, but I swallowed it. "Same as always."

"No. This is different. I need more from you."

A shiver raced down my spine, freezing me until I was cold and solid, impenetrable. Ice formed into blocks and piled high inside my mind, building a wall for me to hide behind. He wanted more, and my cup was drained. I'd already given him all I had, all that was left. "How much more?"

"Whatever I want."

          ***

Back on the empty street, back to reality, where the roads were coated in dirt. The trash twisted and twirled as a smoggy breeze carried it off to nowhere. That was me: trash on the road, used and discarded, left to decompose until someone made me disappear. Each move I made was accompanied by a sharp ache, like salt on a burn or sweat in a cut. My legs wobbled, stretched too far. Knots throbbed on my arms where his fingers had dug in and searched for bone. He'd burned me with his touch, left me charred, and I could smell him on my skin. Heady and thick, the putrid scent of smoke masked by men's cologne. I'd missed curfew, and the officials were already silently working their way around the city. That was probably Danny's intention. I get caught. I get killed. He doesn't have to worry about me just showing up at his office again.

He'd kept me too long and demanded everything. He'd taken and done until each step I took was a shadow of his torture. Still, I pushed on. The address he'd given me wasn't far from home. If I moved quickly, I had a chance.

I cut through yards and in between houses, ducking into the shadows each time a set of headlights shone on the street. The dull hum of electric trucks, the jangling clatter of their bulk rumbling over the potholes, the squeal of breaks. They sounded how the school buses used to, back before public schools had been unneeded. But they weren't school buses. They were death. A distant cry echoed into the night, followed by a jumble of words spoken through haunting sobs. A scuffle. Shouts. Whoever they were taking was putting up a fight. I hurried to the next yard and toward my destination, away from the sound, praying they'd be able to hold them up long enough for me to accomplish my task.

Lita's house was small and dilapidated. The remains of once white paint coated the worn wood in splotches, and the roof to a small porch hung low to one side, ready to collapse. The steps groaned at my weight. "Hello?" I tapped on the door. "Kids? If you're in there, I need you to open up."

Silence. I wasn't surprised. No doubt Lita had taught her children to hide, to stay quiet, to never open the door for anyone but her. But when the officials arrived, there'd be no hiding, and the flimsy lock wasn't enough to keep the flies from coming inside. I pulled out my ID, wedged it into the crack of the door-frame, then jerked on the handle. It gave a click, then swung open to reveal the dark squalor within. Toys and clothes were strewn around the room, trash and soiled dishes left to lay wherever they'd landed. A mixture of spoiled milk and mildew singed my nostrils, and I tripped over a bowl, the remains of whatever was inside spilling out onto my shoe.

"Kids?" I hissed, creeping through the living space. "Your mother sent me. We have to get out of here before the bad people come."

A soft thud sounded from the next room, and I rushed toward it, stepping over and around obstacles, heart pounding in my ears, until everything froze. I stared, dazed. Both children were there, huddled together, little mice amongst the filth, and for a moment, I had no idea what to do. I'd been so focused on saving them but seeing them changed everything. It made them real. It gave them life, and I was the only thing standing between them and their deaths. I couldn't fuck it up. I couldn't fail. 

My gaze locked with the wide, frightened eyes of a girl no older than six. She looked like a ghost, lit up by a rising moon, her eyes inky black and alert. Behind her back, she shielded a boy even smaller than herself. He gripped something small and square with chubby, cherub fists as if whatever it was would grant them invisibility.

"It's okay," I whispered as serene as I could manage. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help."

She searched the room as if planning an escape, but she didn't move to make one. My heart cracked at the sight of them, lost, abandoned, scared enough to know something was wrong but too young to know what to do.

"I know you're scared, but—"

Voices drifted toward us from the front door. I didn't think. I gripped their wrists and hoisted one onto each arm, tight against my hips as I tilted and stumbled in an unbalanced sprint for the back. They didn't cry, didn't scream or beg to be put down. They remained frozen solid against my sides, matching the cold leftover from Danny. Only they were different. Innocent. Deserving. Precious ice sculptures who would shatter if I let them fall.

The kitchen was in the rear of the house, and the backdoor stood off to one side. The voices swelled as I fought to turn the knob without relinquishing my grip, and the conversation drew nearer.

"I hate taking the kids," a man rumbled.

"They're better off. Look at this place." Something clanged as if kicked or tossed.

I flinched and gripped the door harder, but my fingers had liquefied, and they slipped and rolled like drops of rain on a windowpane.

"Besides," the same one continued, "They kill the young ones different. They give them a cup of juice that just puts them to sleep. They even let them pick a toy to keep until it's over.  At least, that's what I heard."

I held my breath, eyes burning, shaking so hard I could barely keep my grip on the two kids, let alone manage the door. Each boot-step in our direction was like the ticking of an old clock. At any moment, it's hands would align, and the bell signaling our final hour would sound.

The little girl reached out and quietly turned the handle for me. I wanted to praise her, give her a shake and whoop until the fear left her face.

But I didn't. I couldn't, and as the door swung inwards, and footsteps echoed back from where we'd been, I stumbled into the night and broke into a full sprint across the back yard. Sore limbs and battered muscles burned in protest. My stomach churned with neon green, but I refused to stop. Refused to slow. The children hung on for dear life, their fingers too small and delicate for the force in which they used.

A break in the fence was too narrow for us to fit through together, so I released them and directed them forward, following behind with a grunt as splintered wood ripped clothes and tore skin. "It's okay," I reassured, gathering them back up with quivering arms.

The voices grew distant as I cut down the next street toward home.