The Dark and Hollow Places
Page 23

“B-before Elias,” she stammers. “Well, mostly before.” Words tumble from her lips and she keeps pacing in quick little circles as if her body can no longer contain the energy inside.
“We’d always known each other—he was my best friend’s brother—and I was fascinated by him and one night we kissed and then …” She swallows and I watch her throat tighten.
My own chest crushes with the weight of her confession. Jealousy builds up in my stomach at the thought of her and Catcher kissing. Of him running his fingers down her perfect face and how it must feel when he touches mine.
She stops moving, stares at me across the room. “And then he got infected and I did everything I could to be there for him. I disobeyed my mother’s orders, I broke the town rules, I risked my life—risked everything for him.”
What she says makes my heart pound slower, as if my blood’s become too thick for movement. I press the back of my hand over my mouth, feeling ill. “So what happened?” I dread the answer.
She’s staring out the window at the night and the reflection of her smooth skin appears warped and broken.
“He pushed me away,” she says simply, a small shrug with one shoulder. “I met Elias. He figured out Catcher’s immunity. I …” Her gaze deepens, lost someplace far away. “I got into trouble and we had to leave. We went back into the Forest and that was it.”
She swallows. “I fell in love with Elias and realized …” She looks over at me and her cheeks pinken as she shrugs.
“Realized what?” I ask her.
Her face burns an even deeper shade of red and she squirms a little. She takes a breath and holds it before finally saying, “That perhaps the feelings I’d had for Catcher weren’t that strong after all.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Because I was willing to let him push me away. I was willing to let him go and I know now that I’d never be able to let Elias go.” She hesitates and then adds in a firmer voice, “I’d fight for Elias in a way I was never really willing to do with Catcher.”
And I realize something at her words: I wasn’t willing to fight for Elias. Hadn’t ever been. I’d let him walk away from me and join the Recruiters and I never said anything to stop him.
I stare at the way my sister holds herself as she watches me think, her body rigid, face strained. And I realize that she’s actually afraid of me. Terrified she’ll lose Elias to me. That he and I share something that she never could.
She’s right, of course. He and I share a past of struggle and loss. We share the same guilt for leaving her in the Forest. We share the same memories and pain.
And we both share a love for my sister. Would Elias give her up for me if I asked? Could I ever ask it of him? Of her?
I think of Elias the night years ago that he made me feel beautiful. I think of the feel of his fingers along my skin. The words he whispered in my ear. I wonder if I could have said something to make him stay.
All these years I’ve wondered if I’d done something wrong. I’ve played that night over in my head a million times, willing it to end differently.
It’d never occurred to me that the years in between could change us so irrevocably. That I not only became a different person when he was gone, but that I also don’t know who he is anymore.
And if I wasn’t willing to fight for him then, when I thought he meant everything to me, why would I ever fight for him now when he’s a stranger? When he loves my sister and she loves him?
“I’m not interested in Elias like that,” I tell her. “He loves you, and even if I did have some kind of say in the matter, I’m not sure I could ever care for him the way you do.”
Her whole body relaxes and tears glisten in her eyes. Her bottom lip trembles slightly. “Thank you,” she whispers.
Just having said the words makes me feel lighter, as if I’ve let go of some dark gray burden.
“What about Catcher?” she asks, coming to sit next to me, the bed groaning under our weight.
“What about him?”
“Are you going to fight for him?” She tilts her head as if sharing a secret, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
I think about the look on Catcher’s face when he told me I was beautiful. The horror and want and need. The agony. And then I remember what he said when we first met. “He told me he’s broken. I don’t know if he even wants me, or anyone else, for that matter.”
My sister slips her hand into mine. “The broken ones need someone to fight for them even harder,” she says, her thumb tracing over the scars on the back of my fingers.
Chapter XXV
“I don’t know,” I tell her, remembering how it felt when he pushed me away. I don’t want to risk feeling that hurt again.
My sister shrugs as she stands from the bed. “You’re the one who told me that we can’t live our lives in fear,” she says as she walks from the room. She pauses in the hallway. “By the way,” she adds, “if you were wondering, Catcher told us he’s heading to the City tonight. Said it would be a while before he made it back. He’s probably already down at the cable-car platform by now.”
It’s a few seconds before I can move but I finally jump from the bed and hurry to the window, staring down at the river. Little bonfires burn along the wall, Recruiters huddled around them as they rotate off shifts protecting the shore.
I see Catcher making his way toward the cable car and my heart lurches. I wish I could be sure that he wouldn’t reject me—not again. But I know I have to risk it—I have to see him before he leaves. I have to tell him I’m sorry for being so angry on the roof.
I have to fight for him.
Quickly, I pull on my damp coat and run through the flat to the stairs and out into the night. I race toward the platform, watching as Catcher strides to the car that will take him away.
“Catcher!” I scream, not caring that I’m drawing attention to myself. Not caring about anything but seeing him. Touching him. But he’s already in the car, pulling the door shut. I stoop and grab a handful of snow. As hard as I can, I throw it at him and it explodes against the side of the car.
I grab another. “Catcher, wait!” But the Unconsecrated in her little wheel is already lumbering forward, grinding the gears that will propel Catcher away from me. I climb up to the launch platform as the car hovers over the middle of the river.
He stands looking out the broken back window, his hands tucked into his pockets and a small sad smile on his face. My breath hitches. I still have the remnants of a snowball in my hand, a streak of red from my thumb smeared across it where I somehow cut myself. I take a few steps toward the ledge and then I let it go.
It sails through the air and Catcher doesn’t even try to dodge it but instead lets it hit square on his chest. Where his heart is. He doesn’t move or do anything but stare at me. In the darkness his cheekbones look sharper under his skin and dark shadows fan around his eyes.
He looks exhausted and lonely and I ache wishing I could leap across the distance between us. To pull him to me and let his heat devour me.
I hold my arms out wide. “I’m sorry,” I scream at him, but I don’t know if he hears me. Instead the car just continues to take him back to the Dark City, the cables jolting. I can see when it lands, see him stepping out among a sea of Unconsecrated.
“Catcher.” My voice breaks. I want to tell him to wait. To come back. To simply let me touch him and look at him and make sure he’s okay. I need to know that everything’s all right with him and me and this world.
I just need to feel the heat of him.
But I don’t know how to tell him all this. That I’m scared and I don’t know how to be normal. I’m broken, just like him, and I’m not sure I can fix myself.
“Catcher.” This time my voice is barely a whisper. “Please,” I add.
He looks up at me, his face gaunt and oh-so sad and lonely. I want to know if he’s been eating and sleeping and taking care of himself. I reach out a hand to him but he’s so far away. He stands there, a rock in the river of Unconsecrated undulating around him. It’s like he doesn’t exist to them.
And then he raises one hand to his mouth, fingers touching his lips. I raise my own hand to my lips as he fades into the wash of death and disappears.
I stand there shivering, wishing he’d come back, but there’s nothing. Just the dead struggling out onto the partially frozen river before the ice cracks and swallows them, lifeless fingers clambering for the stars.
“Doesn’t look like he’s too interested in you,” a voice says. I turn to find a Recruiter climbing the platform steps. He weaves toward me. “His loss.” His ss come out as a slurred hiss. He stops out of reach, his mouth breaking into a slow grin, then adds, “My gain.”
I freeze. My eyes dart everywhere, trying to determine the best escape. The platform’s long and narrow, stairs down to the island on one end and the other hanging out past the wall over the river. There’s a rickety railing of sorts with a rope ladder leading down to the shore. But even if I were to crawl through it I’d just end up on the wrong side of the barricades with no way to get back inside.
Below me a few Unconsecrated who’ve found purchase on the tiny shore reach up for me. One of them’s bald with a white tunic, like the woman in the cage inside the main building. Their moans rip away on the wind.
I shove my hands in my pockets, feeling the small lump of my switchblade there. It’s not much and probably couldn’t cause any mortal wounds, but it makes me feel calmer just holding the cold metal.
I shake my hair back from my face, knowing that the light from the fire at the end of the platform will highlight the scars along my cheek and neck. I hope it makes me look fierce—like a fighter.
The Recruiter’s smile grows wider. “Not many women on this island anymore,” he says. “Not ones you’d want to have a lot of fun with, if you know what I mean.” My stomach turns as I think of the Unconsecrated woman in the death cage and the others lining the hall beyond. He hasn’t moved any closer, just stands there knowing he’s blocking my only escape. “I keep telling Ox he should parade y’all around more often but he seems resistant to the idea. For now.”
My hand’s wrapped so tight around the knife handle in my pocket that I can feel the designs etched into it. “I’m just on my way home,” I tell him.
He laughs. “Aren’t we all.”
“Catcher’s coming right back.” I lift my chin. “He said this would be a short trip.”
“Not if I don’t set the crank on the plague bag down there he’s not,” the Recruiter says, gesturing at the Unconsecrated still turning the useless wheel, the gears disconnected. “Car’s stuck on that side of the river until I say so.”
I try to glance around discreetly and assess the situation. Except for a few other Recruiters huddled around their fires along the wall, we’re the only two out here. I’m sure none of them cares about what’s going on here—even if I screamed or called for help, I doubt anyone would notice. Which means I just have to get out of this situation on my own.
“Good night,” I tell him pointedly as I keep my hands shoved deep in my pockets and move down the platform. I step around him toward the stairs but as I pass he grabs a fistful of my hair.
“Back off,” I growl at him, but he doesn’t let go.
“It gets lonely out here,” he says, rubbing the ends of my hair along his jaw. “I just want to smell something clean and soft.”
My mouth goes dry. “Let go,” I bark, jerking my head away, but he yanks me until I’m arching my back, about to tumble over. He starts to move farther down the platform, pulling me into the darkness where no one will be able to see us. My feet scramble across the warped icy wood and I lash out at him, but I can’t gain much traction.
“Let go!” I shout again, beating at him with my fists and clawing at his eyes. He only yanks harder until my neck feels about to snap and I’m finding it difficult to even breathe.
“We’ve been keeping you all safe here on this island. Don’t you think we deserve some reward for that?” He winds his hand tighter through my hair, tangling it around his fingers.
I try to talk but he’s pulling my neck back so far my voice comes out as a gurgle that makes him laugh. I swipe at him but he easily dodges. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. “Not unless you want me to.” He’s pulled me to the very edge of the platform and starts to unwind the scarf from around his neck, keeping his grip on my hair tight enough that any movement is too feeble to make a difference.
It’s when he starts to tug my arm from my jacket and ties his scarf around my wrist, looping the other end around the railing, that I realize just how far this trouble is escalating. That if I don’t act quickly, I might not be able to stop him at all.
He reaches for my other arm and I wrench my elbow up, connecting with his jaw. He shouts and starts to fall backward, tipped off balance. He stumbles a step, dragging me with him, and then the railing collapses and he falls off the end of the platform. His weight jerks against my hair, pulling me to my side on the rotting wood as a blinding pain tears across my scalp and neck. Frantic, I loop my legs around one of the remaining railing supports to stop myself from sliding after him.
I can barely breathe under the agony of his weight dragging on my hair and I flail for some way to make it stop. With his free hand he scrabbles for the edge of the platform but the wood’s old and wet with snow and crumbles under his fingers. “Help me!” he screams. Already I hear the Unconsecrated below shifting toward him, their footsteps a squelching crunch as they slog through frozen mud at the river’s edge.