Mortal - Chapter 19

Premise: In this young-adult dystopian novel, people can no longer die. But they still feel pain, and suffer--and it's maddening. Because of the chaos that ensued, the US Government created a program to figure out how to kill people. When Garrett, a teenager, falls into a coma for weeks as a result of an experiment, the Program sets its malicious sights on him.

This is the nineteenth chapter of the novel, Mortal. Click here for the beginning of the story. Or, click here to view all chapters.

I’m shivering. And it’s not even cold.

 I sit on one of the ottomans with my toes dangling off the soft edge, knees bumping against my chin as I stare at the microwaveable meal sitting on the coffee table beside me. It’s still steaming, and the melted, plastic covering is strewn to the side, smeared with marinara sauce.

I hear a frustrated breath of air, and force myself to glance at Lucy, whose back is against the couch as she fiddles with her camera, switching out its lenses. After the big explosion of pure terror once the Secretary left, she hasn't said one word. Edward was pissed at her for bringing him up here, but I couldn’t blame her. She had called the man twice on his phone, and she really couldn’t say no to a federal badge slapped in her face. Once the red in Edward’s face dissipated, it turned green, and it looked like he was going to puke all over his floor. He had called, texted and emailed Bern about fifty times. Each. Bern still hasn’t responded. And so Edward found the excuse to drink a lot.

Edward has given up on the story for now, and is trying to figure out a way he can keep me here. He’s been talking to his big-shot lawyer from Harvard for about an hour now.

I can’t believe that I’ve only been free three days, and I already have to go back. It’s sickening, really. It reminds me when I was twelve until sixteen, waiting for when I would be officially accepted into the program. I know I didn’t do much then. I can’t seem to remember anything else but waiting, with some guy in a suit baby-sitting me all the while. I am waiting now, too. Waiting for my freedom to be snatched from me. Only this time, I know what to expect.

I feel a prick on my neck and turn to see Lucy watching me, cradling her camera on her stomach as she hunches into the black leather. It looks uncomfortable.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says calmly, and for a moment, I’m dazed, for her voice now sounds foreign after being alone in my thoughts for so long.

I wait. Expecting feigned sympathy. Maybe it’d be real, but I’d take it up the same way.

“You’re thinking fake, frozen chicken parmesan is a bit grotesque, but it actually has a nice flavor to it.”

I blink in surprise and look to the plastic tray. So that’s what it is. “You’re not a very good mind-reader,” I say bluntly.

Her lips pucker out, and her eyes glint like she would be smiling if not for her façade of being offended. She puts the camera around her neck and rises, only to sit next to me on the coffee table. She dips her finger in the marinara and sticks it in her mouth, sucking the skin clean.

“You look cold,” she observes.

“I’m not.”

“And sick.”

“Debatable.”

She slides her hand off the table, and her fingertips find the crevice between my hand and shin. She smiles slightly at me, and my stomach feels like it’s ripping apart.

The shorter layers of her hair fall into her eyes as she cocks her head at me. “Are you scared?”

My mouth dries at her question, “Yes.”

She turns her body away from me, but keeps her hand in place like I’ve just found out the secrets of the world, and she wants to give me some space to contemplate them. Maybe she didn’t think I was scared. Or maybe she turned because she knew I didn’t want the bawling assurances that would only make her feel better in the end. And if that’s it, I’m glad.

After a silent moment, she returns her gaze to me, and her hand pulls away. “Hey,” she says, “You want to help me?”

“With what?” I ask.

Lucy lifts her camera up to her chin, “My job. Today there’s a reenactment in the park. I want to take some pictures of it for the magazine.”

I stare at her, “A reenactment?”

“Yeah, like some ritualistic battle. It’s been going on for about a couple of weeks, but today’s the day they finally do something.” There’s a wild look in her eye as she grins.

I think back to my history lessons and try to think of any major battle happening in Chicago. I can’t think of any, and the date doesn’t sound familiar either. “What battle?” I ask, scrunching my brow in confusion.

Lucy rolls her eyes, “It’s basically a joke. It’s more of a reenactment of a reenactment. About a decade back, people got bored. And thus, began the epic historics of the battle of Turkey Kettle.”

I look at her like something weird just happened to her face.

“I’ll tell you about it on the way to the park,” she says.

Finally, I gather my thoughts and realize why I’m so thrown off by her suggestion, “But shouldn’t I stay here…with all that’s happening?”

She lifts her eyebrows at me, “Why? Eden knows where you are, and the Secretary gave you a few days to pick your poison. He isn’t going to jump out of a bush and tackle you, I swear,” for emphasis, she presses her palm to her heart.

I frown, dropping my feet to the floor. “There’s no way Edward will let me leave.”

Lucy sighs, fluttering her eyes, “I don’t give a damn what Edward wants. It’s what you want. And he doesn’t have to know.”

I bite my lip and look back to the office. Edward might not even know that we’re gone. And if I only have a few days until I’m forced back to Eden, then… “Okay,” I say, looking her in the eye. She smirks at me.

Lucy looks me over and says I look like a hoodlum. She makes me change out of Edward’s sweats and into something she deems appropriate. Both of us look through his meager closet and manage to find something closer to my size in the very back corner: A peach-colored polo and grey dress pants. She sticks a comb in my hand and shoos me off to the bathroom.

Once I’m ready, we go down to the main lobby and step out, and a few journalists watch me with confusion as we leave. No doubt they’re wondering where I came from and how long I’ve been up there. The sun blazes into my back as we walk down the street, following several other people. I glance around, my stomach squirming as I can’t help but feel someone is watching me. Lucy seems to notice my uneasiness, and slips her hand into mine and squeezes. She’s wearing big, tortoise-shell sunglasses and her hair is pulled into a ponytail. She smiles tentatively at me, and I wonder why she is even speaking with me after last night. I’m wary, so I casually pull my hand away to brush a few pieces of hair out of my eyes.

Lucy raises the camera to her face and squints right before she takes a photo of the many legs in front of us. I give her a questioning look, so she explains, “Turkey Kettle is like a holiday here. It lasts about a month and there’s all these festivities downtown. It’s kind of a big event that the magazine wanted to cover.” She shrugs and lowers the camera.

We wait with a huge crowd of people at a cross-walk. I turn to face her and she’s crouching on the sidewalk, taking a picture of what can only be shoes in the jungle of legs and a couple of dogs. “Lucy, is there something you need help with?”

She peers up at me. “You mean with the photography? Well…”  She rises to her feet, but her eyes lower. I know I’ve caught her in a lie. She didn’t need help. She wanted to help me.

I give her a cold glance, even though she’s avoiding me, and turn around, towards the magazine. Yes, I wanted to try to enjoy myself for a few hours. But she lied, meaning she just wanted to cheer me up, like she felt she had no other choice. And we aren’t friends. We were yelling at each other less than twenty-four hours ago.

“Hey!” I hear her call, but I ignore it. “Garrett, wait!” I quicken my pace, but it’s too late, her fingernails dig into my arm and she pulls me towards one of the brick buildings that line the street. She pushes her sunglasses onto the top of her head, revealing her questioning eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want your pity,” I say after a moment, flustered.

Lucy watches me move back and forth as she leans into the wall. “Good,” she says finally, “Because I’m not giving it. Garrett,” she sighs like she thinks I’m being difficult and I suppose I am, but I won’t admit that. “I asked you to come because I thought it would be fun. I know what it’s like to feel trapped, to face something that makes you feel so small.  And believe me, being alone with your thoughts…” she looks up to the sky, her eyes fluttering, “Is not something that’s fun.”

She must see my resistance crumple because she smirks, “Come with me.”

It takes us about forty-five minutes to get to Asterfield Park, but neither of us seems to mind the long walk, nor do the others, creating a giant, sweating mass around us. While we walk, Lucy tells me all about the Battle of Turkey Kettle. It started exactly a decade ago, which means the celebrations will be bigger than they ever. Ten years ago, there was a feigned confrontation in the park between this group of jobless and imaginative people—which Lucy openly termed “druggies.” The jobless and imaginative people split themselves up into two teams: the Safers—although the guy who proclaimed the name actually said Saviors but had a lisp. Nonetheless, Safers stuck.) and the War Ants of Democracy, more commonly known as WADS. It took me a while to wrap my head around such a weird culture, and I still haven’t made up my mind on whether or not Dr. Long was right, that it’s chaos out here.

Lucy then explained the tactics of each side. There were finger sacrifices and tree swinging and poison darts and underground tunnels and messengers that always brought back a box or two of donuts. The Battle of Turkey Kettle was a massive tradition of an elaborate joke.

“I think that’s why people like it,” Lucy had suggested with a chuckle, “It keeps their minds off of more serious things.”

I asked her how it got its name once we were nearly to the park, and she told me that about three-quarters through the battle, a scattered bunch from the Safers and WADs split from their group and formed an alliance. To create that bond of trust, the Safers offered a turkey leg to the makeshift leader of the WADs, and the WADs gave up a tea kettle to the Safers. The third group, Turkey Kettle, ends up winning the battle with a surprise attack of combined skills.

“Sounds interesting,” I say, a big grin cracking through my lips.

“There’s more,” Lucy chimes with mystery. There’s a bounce in her step as we reach the last cross-walk. I can see the tops of trees now, we’re almost there.

“What?” I ask.

Lucy presses her finger to her lips as she looks at me mischievously, “Not telling. And don’t even try asking anyone else. Because they won’t tell you either. Chicago takes this very sacredly.”

She’s right. I get up the courage to ask a girl a few years older than me, and she laughs in my face.

There’s bright, green tape all around Asterfield Park, but it’s hard to see for it wears the camouflage of thousands of people, pressing into each other, as they peer into the park with hands and sunglasses shielding their eyes. Lucy lifts her camera and takes a picture. Then she turns to me. I watch the wall of people and am eager to have look into the battlefield. Lucy pulls me forward and we squeeze past a few people until she steps behind me and pushes me farther. Half of my body is right by the green tape, the rest is pressed against this chubby man with a sunglasses tan line on his red, bald head. I ignore the smell of sweat and look past the grouping of trees and into the clearing where about five men wearing helmets with plastic antennas are digging a large narrow hole. I look elsewhere, but can’t find any movement.

“Not much happens right now,” a voice breathes into my neck, and I twist my neck slightly to see Lucy squinting at me. “Wait until night. I thought we could walk around for a bit.” I think she’s notices the flash of reluctance across my face, “I promise,” her lips curve upward, “You won’t miss a thing.” And she pulls me out of the suffocating mob of people.

The streets around the park are just as packed with people. Small booths with games and greasy food border the curb, and illuminate the darkening sky with warm light. There are no cars on these streets, only humans with the occasional dog tethered to a leash. There’s music playing from speakers somewhere, and the combination of that with the loud chatter of pedestrians irritates me at first, but I soon get use to the sound, and it fades to the back of my mind.

Lucy buys me kettle corn and a soda from one of the venders which I reluctantly accept, and I promise her I will pay her back, thinking about the dollar bills stuffed in my Project Eden pants. She tells me to shut up after that.

I am tense and suspicious of everyone in the crowd. Everyone who even slightly brushes into me as they pass by, I glance at their wrists to see if they have a tattoo of a number. It makes me sick thinking about how Project Eden works. They copied the tattoo idea from VitCorp, all of the workers had them for special identification, but at Eden, they are prisoners. I am afraid some Corpse or an Eden guard will walk up to me and take me back. Even the police officers, whose main purpose right now is to prevent cars from entering these marked-off streets, twist my gut if I see their eyes wander past me. Lucy is twirling around, taking pictures of practically everything. Finally, she sees me standing there awkwardly, with my bag of untouched kettle corn and drink in hand, and walks over to me.

“I don’t know how it is where you came from,” she tells me, bobbing her head, “But here,” she picks up a piece of kettle corn and inspects it critically, “We eat this kind of thing.” Lucy pops it in her mouth and urges me to do the same. I do, eventually.

She shakes her head at me. “My lord, you could be a nun. Live a little, why don’t you?” She winks at me and jumps into the crowd, moving towards the end of the street.

I watch her. She doesn’t seem to understand at all. And I think I like that about her because she makes me not want to understand and be just as oblivious. I follow after her.

I meet her at a face painting booth, and she grins at me when I arrive. “Don’t worry, Garrett. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. I’ll get you smiling soon enough.” She pushes me into the spinning red seat, and asks the painter with the mustache to give me a butterfly.

“No,” I say flatly.

Lucy smirks evilly at me before turning to the painter, “Don’t listen to him, I’m the one paying.”

I don’t feel like I have much of a choice after that. I glare at Lucy the entire time as the man tickles my face with paint. I have the unpleasant urge to scratch my entire face off.

“Don’t be like that,” Lucy chides after a minute, “You’re making your butterfly lop-sided.”

When he’s finished, the painter hands me the mirror, and I stare back in disgust. The butterfly’s body is the bridge of my nose and has pink and purple wings that span under my eyes to my jaw. The butterfly looks shriveled because I was scrunching my nose the whole time. A laugh escapes me. I look ridiculous. I have only seen myself in the mirror a few times— on the verge of death and with a butterfly across my face. I find the contrast funny. I drop the mirror and look at Lucy who is waiting eagerly to see my reaction. She is right. I smile.

“The things an ugly butterfly can do,” she says.

The day passes into night and I’m having fun, something I thought never could be possible, especially given the events earlier today, the events earlier in my life. In fact, I can’t seem to stop smiling or laughing. I urge Lucy to buy one of those stupid ant hats, and she agrees and she gets someone to take a picture of us together with goofy expressions. She tells me all these odd things about Edward, like the fact that he’s afraid of monkeys, and she once walked in on him naked, and nearly lost her internship because of it. We play this game where you squirt water into this tiny hole, and some short kid beats both of us, mostly because we were too busy trying to make each other loose.

Once it’s nearly eight, Lucy takes me back to the park, and away from the large crowd of people watching.

“Where are we going?” I ask from behind her.

She holds her hand out, and I grab it. “Hang on,” she says.

Lucy leads us around the circumference of the park, and we find a trail going into the park that hasn’t been cut off by green tape. We follow it. There are a lot of trees in this park, and we’re far enough in that I can no longer see the city around me. The sun is almost gone, so it is hard to see, but luckily small lamps planted in the ground soon light up and we can see clearly the path ahead of us. We come across the green tape again, tangled in the trees, and Lucy sits down in the wet grass an arm’s length away.

“Why here?” I ask as I sit beside her, peering into the darkness. There doesn’t seem to be anything of interest.

“Something different to see,” she whispers, leaning back against a tree. She lifts her camera. “We’re in WAD territory.”

I grin and flick one of her rubber antennas. She smiles back, and snaps a shot when an entire tree bursts into flames. I jolt back in surprise, but Lucy is unfazed, biting her lip in concentration, with her camera bumping into her nose.

“Is this safe?” I ask incredulously, watching darkened figures with antennas on their heads moving back and forth around the tree.

“Safe,” she repeats, “What do we need to be safe from?”

I try to ignore her naivety. “By the looks of it,” I begin humorously, “It seems to be from ourselves.” Another tree bursts into flames.

She doesn’t look at me, but I can see her big eyes, glistening from the ground lamps near us, “Yeah.” And this time, I believe she understands more than most, and it makes me curious, wondering what she’s been hiding from.

We’re silent for a while, watching the two trees get smaller and smaller, and the flames, which shrink from the size of burning pillars, to campfires. I hear a loud cheer off in the distance, and I smile slightly, thinking that I understand why I like this. A strong sense of community, a community that I’d want to be a part of: Where there is fun and light-heartedness, and not depression and terror.

“Watch this,” Lucy whispers excitedly and pulls a flashlight from her bag and darts the light near a tall, looming tree. The WADs ignore the flash of light pointed in their nervous faces. One WAD walks towards them, carrying a piece of burning wood. He moves into the group’s circle and holds the wood at eye-level. The WADs surround him and stick their tongues out, pressing against the wood. Howls of pain and laughter follow after. I stare in disbelief, “That’s…disgusting.”

Lucy laughs and moves her light towards one of the campfires. A couple of WADs are soaking themselves with some sort of liquid. The next part happens so fast, I have no time to blink away before I realize what they are about to do. They jump into campfire and their whole bodies go up in flames. There are screams, but they sound more like screams of thrill than pain.

“Fire ants,” Lucy muses, suppressing a giggle.

The WADs run around in circles, bumping into each other, screaming at the top of their lungs until they can’t seem to take it anymore and dive to the dirt and roll. I can only think of her. Therese.

It is such a horrifying thing to experience. Feeling your flesh just melt away, every nerve screaming, ringing in your ears, and every time you breathe in air, you inhale smoke instead. But this is fun to them.

My jaw clenches with my fists, and I’m forced into a continuous wince, listening to their screams, but imagining hers.

Lucy directs the flashlight at my face, concern in her eyes, “Garrett, what’s wrong?”

I blink back the tears and look away from her. “Every damn thing,” I mutter. People out here think pain is a joke, so why would they care that Project Eden tortures when it seems everyone tortures themselves anyway?

“I’m sorry,” she says, and pulls my hand into her lap. “I should have--”

“Don’t,” I snap coldly. No pity. Not now.

“Okay,” she says numbly, and lets go of my hand, and I quickly return it to my side. My fingers press through Edward’s shirt, and I feel the thick bandage that covers the stitched hole made from a bullet, and I only grow more upset. My breath becomes ragged and stiff as I remember that I only have a few days before I have to return to that hell. I remember what the Secretary had said before he left, and my head spins. My parents were talking about me…and gave Project Eden an idea? What could that be? How could my parents, who are crazy enough to try and kill me and themselves, help Eden in any possible way? And Lucy. Something about her is making me nervous. She was angry and uncaring towards me before today. What has changed?

“You know,” Lucy begins, cradling herself, “Before I knew the truth about Project Eden, I enjoyed this kind of thing. Now…” she frowns, flashing the light in her face, so that her green eyes sparkle, and her soft, pale skin blends into the glow, “Now it just makes me sick. Sometimes I forget. I like to forget. But I don’t think I can anymore.”

I look at her warily, “You said that people won’t care.” Lucy said that people wouldn’t care once the story was published. It looks that way, as I can still hear the distant hollers and shrieks of people burning themselves, but if she confessed to a change in her own feelings, then maybe…

She nods slowly. “I did. And I still don’t think they will. But that doesn’t mean I’m right.”

I rip a few strands of grass from the ground, rub them between my palms, and shiver. It has cooled down quite a bit, and there is a faint breeze strong enough to flitter Lucy’s hair, but I don’t think that’s why.

Lucy takes off her ant hat and falls onto her back with a soft sigh. I do the same, finding the sudden urge to be level with her. We look into each other’s eyes for a long time because those are the closest things we have to stars in what is a smoggy sky in a big city.

“You could go,” she whispers, her lips barely moving. I hear a shrill whistle from the battle followed by loud cheers. “Before Paracot comes back for you.”

Her suggestion makes a lot of sense. But I don’t want to agree with her.  “He’d find me if he really wanted to. At least if I stay here…while I can, I can help Gild with the article.”

“You’ve given him enough,” she says.

I bite my lip, and she closes her eyes for a time long enough that I begin to wonder if she fell asleep. I know that I have given him enough. It doesn’t matter if the quality of the article is bad or not, he’ll still get people to read it, to buy it, to make him a fortune. “Yes, but he hasn’t given me enough.”

Her eyes snap open at this, and I know she realizes what I’m talking about, my suspicions of VitCorp. Her voice wavers, but she remains calm, “Do you think you have enough time to find what you’re looking for?”

I shake my head slightly, and I slide closer to her so that our faces are only a few inches apart. “I don’t know,” I admit, “But what about you, Lucy? You know something.”

She pulls away, recoiling from my hard statement. “I’ve told you, Garrett,” she responds coldly.

I lift my elbow onto the ground and prop my head in my hand and look at her. “I don’t know why you won’t tell me. What are you hiding from? Why won’t you help me?”

Lucy’s nose crinkles, but there’s a softness to her eyes, “If I had thought it would help you, I’d tell you.”

So Lucy has confessed to her lies. There’s something she’s not telling me. But what is it? “Lucy…what else do you know about—“

“Garrett,” Lucy places a hand on the side of my face, and stares into me with a fierce intensity that quickens my heart beat and dries my mouth, “Please.” She holds me there for what seems like an eternity, and I am immobilized, trapped in the thoughts of what she is saying with her practically glowing eyes.

Finally, she releases me, and I sputter for breath, not seeming to have breathed while she held my jaw. We are silent. We look up at the sky with our hands clasped on our stomachs.  Questions linger in my mind in a sort of eerie haze—the dark, wispy sky is how I imagine them. I glance to Lucy, whose eyes are peacefully closed. And I’m sure she is sleeping with peaceful dreams. I am envious. Lucy, who likes to forget and plays naïve, who knows far more than most. I would like forget. To be a soldier in the battle of Turkey Kettle who so easily transforms their nightmares of life into fantasy.

My eyes close with a soft smile on my lips.

There she is. With her gun and black tears. The bang of her bullet impacting my skull jerks me awake.

It seems I am incapable of forgetting.

My chest heaves as I look around, taking in my surroundings. Large droplets of rain plunge from the sky and still my crawling skin. Lucy is beside me, sleeping, her hands under her cheek like some serene angel, except for the troubled frown wrinkled into her perfect skin. We’re at the park still, and I can tell by the sky that it’s still early in the morning, the sun barely beginning to bleach out the black of night. A tail of lightning splits the musty air, followed by an ominous grumble sounding distances off. I stiffen to piercing shouts and yelps of war cries. The noise of battle distracts me enough, so that I misinterpret the sound of heavy breathing for my own or Lucy’s; that I ignore the sharp snap of a tree branch underneath a heavy boot. Just as I turn behind me, a muscular arm reaches across my shoulder and tightens around my neck. My premature yelp barely escapes before a hand clamps my jaw closed.

The hardening rain blurs my vision and burns my skin. I try to struggle out of the hold, flailing my fists into the arm around my throat. The arm’s grip does not loosen, but rather squeezes harder. A muffled scream is choked out of me, and the air within me has fled along with my dying voice. I try to inhale through my nose as I’m pulled up to the trail, through the mud and tangled roots, but no sufficient amount of oxygen is able to reach my burning lungs. Fear writhes through me, like a venomous snake, locking up my joints and muscles so that I can’t bear to break free. My skin is hot even though I am being soaked with cold rain. There’s a roar in my ears that I can only understand to be my heart beat. My mind scrambles to find thoughts as tendons on my whole body tense through the skin, and my head becomes heavy like I’m under thousands of feet of water. Project Eden has found me. They are taking me back now, so that I may die at their hands over and over again and remain alive nonetheless.

My head bumps against a tree, and the arm around my throat drops, and I wheeze in air, blinking back red and black spots that swirl across my vision. I jerk to my hands and knees and try to stumble away, but the figure steps on my hand, and I scream—less about the pain and more about getting noticed. The figure crouches in front of me and lifts my chin with a stubby finger so that I may see him, and I shiver at the sight. Blood spills from his split lip that I’m pretty sure I did not cause. There’s a maniacal glint in his eyes, and a scar on his high cheekbone.  He’s wearing a helmet, like Lucy’s, and I know he’s an actor in this reenactment. But what does that have to do with me?

His hand finds my throat again and holds on loosely, the knuckle of his thumb pressing against my jaw. It is difficult to swallow, but I can still breathe at least. Another flash of light that singes the air with electricity, and I can see his tattered lip attempt a chilling smile. I don’t move, unsure of my chances of escaping, with his strong hand lightly touching my neck. My arms shake as they hold me upright, and the paint on my face runs into my eyes causing them to leak tears. We look at each other for a long time— me, through the slits of my scrunched eyes, he with wide, sadistic ones. A lump forms in my stomach as I wait for him to make a move, whatever that may be. Then I hear her, and the back of my neck prickles.

“Garrett!” Lucy shouts, “Where are you? Garrett!”

The man’s weathered face creases, and his pointy fingernails dig into my neck. I weakly squirm out of his grip feeling a different liquid, a sticky wetness, slipping down my collar bone. I choke for breath as my ears begin to ring, yet I cannot collect my thoughts well enough to figure out what to do. Does this man intend to keep me like this forever? I struggle to mouth: What do you want with me?

The man licks his lips. He is about to say something. I jerk my head upwards when I hear something run into a branch, and regret it immediately. Head swimming with torpor and arms buckling, I see what caused the noise.

“Oh my God. Garrett,” Lucy freezes, clutching at the strap of her bag. Her eyes look impossibly large and her wet, dirty-blonde hair is plastered to her face. I wish I could trust myself to speak because I can see in her expression what’s about to happen. There’s an angry curl in her lip and her brow furrows. “Leave him alone,” she says softly at first but her voice begins to escalate into a shriek, “He isn’t a part of the battle. He never went past the green tape. Let go of him, you disgusting… I said leave him alone!”

Lucy runs towards us in a charge of fury, and the man’s hand tightens, like he means to form a fist if not for my throat in the way. I gasp and try to warn her with my eyes, but she isn’t looking at me. Once Lucy is close enough, the man smoothly moves his leg and swoops it under her, causing her to fall with a soft thud. She doesn’t seem to be hurt, just a bit dazed. Get out of here, Lucy. Get out of here.

The man loosens his grip on me then, and I suck in air, coughing. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why this stranger is trying to suffocate me, and why this man really isn’t trying to suffocate me either.

“If you want to hide,” the man finally speaks. He sounds surprisingly normal. “Run towards.”

I blink at him in confusion. His statement makes no sense. I shouldn’t have expected it to, really. Considering he’s captured me and is strangling me. But I figured something about him should make sense. He releases me and I gasp, falling on my elbow, but only after he shows me his right wrist. The wrist with the tattoo, the mark of a Corpse. He disappears into the trees and the curtain of heavy rain, and I roll onto my back, chest heaving. I can’t seem to get enough air, and with a trembling hand, I reach towards my throat where I can still feel his steely fingers digging into my windpipe. Air. Air—that’s all I can seem to think of right now.

“Oh my God. Garrett,” Lucy repeats in a soft moan as she crawls towards me. Rain—no, tears fall from her eyes. She grips my hand tightly while I continue to gasp for breath. “Oh my God.” Lucy says again, glancing in the direction the Corpse ran. “I…” her voice sticks in her throat, “I need to call the cops.”

“No,” I manage to rasp out, “You can’t.”

“Garrett, that man tried to kill you!” she shrieks, shaking her head. “We can’t just…forget about it!”

 I struggle to sit up. There’s a loud roar followed by another display of lightning. Lucy jerks in fright and a small whimper spits from her mouth. She’s scared. I should be too…why am I not? My mind must still be focusing on breathing.

“We’re not,” I say hoarsely, “We won’t forget. Lucy, that man was a Corpse.”

She stares at me blankly, teeth chattering, and bare arms convulsing. She nods reluctantly and rises slowly to her feet, back hunched. I pull myself up, with the help of her hand. We stand there for a moment. Feeling the rain pulse against our backs. Feeling the cold that reaches into our stomachs.

There’s only so much you can forget. We can’t anymore.

Thanks for reading everyone! See you next week with more chapters! xoxo, Liv