Chemistry (10 page)

“You won’t go to jail. We can just… make it look like a suicide or something.”

“Sure, that’ll work.”

“No, I’m serious. Say she kills herself because she feels so bad over what she did to Phoebus. If we hang her and leave a note…”

“No,” someone interrupts. “I won’t be part of this.”

“Too late, Robin, you’re already part of it. Anyway, it’s not like this is an innocent person. She stabbed Phoebus in the back. Remember? She’s a murderer.”

My hands freeze at the word
murderer
. So Phoebus is dead. And I’ve killed him.

“But I can’t…” says the voice I now know belongs to Robin.

“Then don’t. Just leave and don’t say a damn word to anyone. If you do, we’ll say you were in on it. Walk away, Robin, you pussy. Just don’t get in the way.”

As utterly stupid as my actions may seem, you must give me credit for improvisation. When Robin leaves, I follow him, footstep for footstep. And when he’s outside the greenbelt, I confront him, assure him I’m going to help Esmeralda, and demand his flashlight and coat.

“Who are you?” he says.

“No one,” I hiss. “And what difference does it make to you? I just want to get her out of there. Is that unacceptable to you? You’d rather throw your entire life away? Even if you walk away right now and do nothing, you’re still party to a murder. It’s willful negligence. But if I get her out, wearing your coat and pretending to be you, she’ll tell the authorities you saved her. And if the others get the better of me, it’s no skin off your back. I’ll just tell them I forced you to give me your things.”

At this point, I’m acutely aware that my anonymity is the key to this plan’s success. No one would believe Claude Frollo could threaten anyone into giving him anything. But if Robin believes I’m someone else…

“What have you got to lose?” I say to him, trying desperately to hide the tremor in my voice.

He shakes his head and sloughs off his jacket. “I don’t care what you do,” he says. “Just get her out of there. I’m done with this whole thing.”

I approach the greenhouse armed with a new identity. More false courage, but it’s all I’ve got right now. The guys inside are still debating what to do. I square my shoulders and march in. One of them sees me and laughs. “Change of heart, Robin?”

I nod and shine my flashlight in his eyes. I’ve got to be careful to use the light whenever anyone stares my way. While Robin and I are about the same height, I’m thinner than he is. Anyone looking too close might notice the difference.

“Knew you’d be back, Rob.” They return to their plan. “So we meet here at dawn with all the supplies. Deal? And anyone blowing any whistles on this is immediately at fault. You’ll take all the heat. Got it?” A general sound of affirmation follows. “Good. Just remember who we’re dealing with and what she did to Phoebus.”

They all advance and put their hands in the circle. It’s so ridiculous it’s all I can do to keep from laughing. But I join them. I put my hand in the center and break with them like we’re going to a tournament, instead of planning the death of an innocent girl.

One by one, they leave. Someone approaches me, and I shine my light in his face. It’s the goalie. Last name Pierrat, if I recall. He’s an asshole and a half. “We’re all bringing something,” he says, “so everyone takes an equal share of the responsibility. We decided while you were gone.”

“I’ll stay,” I say in a husky voice I think might resemble Robin’s. “To keep watch.”

“I figured.” He laughs. “You’ve had your eye on her from the start, haven’t you?”

For a moment, I’m horrified I’ve been found out. Then I realize I haven’t, and I’m even more horrified.

“Just remember she’s supposed to kill herself in the morning, so don’t go too crazy.” He pats me on the arm—thank God the coat I’m wearing is thick enough to disguise how spindly I am—and heads out without a worry. The fact that Pierrat can’t imagine anyone would come back to the scene of a crime for any reason other than to do further injury to the victim says something undeniable about him. If I had any courage left in me, I would beat his face in with Robin’s flashlight. But I’m starting to tremble already, and the most important thing, at this point, is getting Esmeralda out of here before anyone discovers me.

When the last of Phoebus’ special forces has gone and I can no longer hear their feet crushing the undergrowth, I finally allow myself to look at Esmeralda. The sight of her makes me dizzy. I feel like throwing up, not because she’s so disgusting, but because my mind cannot entertain thoughts of anyone doing her harm without my body reacting violently. And it’s obvious to me they have done her a world of harm.

She’s slumped in a corner. Her arms are tied to a table behind her back. Her feet are bound together. She’s been stripped to her underwear, humiliated and left to freeze. Worst of all are the old socks they’ve stuffed in her mouth to gag her. Her perfect voice is silenced. Her brilliant smile is gone. Her laughter… I cringe at the memory of it.

This is my fault. This is my fault.

I can’t tell whether she’s awake or asleep with open eyes. She doesn’t seem to be seeing anything. I gulp and kneel beside her. “Don’t scream,” I say, just in case she can hear me. “They’ll come back if you scream.” Then, as gently as I can manage, I pull the gag from her mouth.

Her head lolls, and she lets a long drop of saliva fall from her lips. She’s not the Esmeralda I remember. Her hair is matted and filthy. She smells terrible. She’s sick. The acidic stench of her vomit fills my nostrils. I close my eyes and take a moment to breathe. I am not this person. I am not brave. I do not step in and risk myself for the sake of anyone. But somehow, I feel as though I’ve personally tied her here, gagged her, and left her to die. I’ve taken the sun from her. I’ve taken the song from her lips and the dance from her feet.

I let my book bag slide from my shoulder and take out the bottle of water. Every sound here is muffled by the plants that have overtaken the place, grown huge and died, or survived on leaks and morning dew.

“Drink this.” I hold the open water bottle to her lips. I don’t know whether they’ve bothered to give her any food or water, but I’m guessing they haven’t. She sips the water dreamily; it’s more instinct than decision.

Being so close to her like this, I feel like a devil who has found an angel in hell. She shouldn’t be here, but her being here is the only way she would ever sit beside me, the only way she would ever look at me without scorn. In other words, though this may be hell to her, it’s as close to heaven as I’ll ever come.

“Who are you?” Her voice is low and hoarse, but she can speak and that’s more than I’d hoped for.

“I’m someone who wants to help you.” I pull my hood strings tighter to hide my face and begin to work at the ropes binding her arms. “How do you feel? Do you think you can walk?”

She shivers. “I’m so cold.”

“I know,” I say. But she doesn’t feel cold. She’s burning hot. I can’t help trembling as I touch her skin with my bare hands for the second time. I try to stay focused. “You have a fever. I’ll get you out of here. I know somewhere safe we can go.” I hope she understands that I intend to subvert the authorities for her. I don’t know if she’s illegal, a runaway, or some kind of criminal. I don’t want to know. I only want to know that she’s safe and that she’s mine.

When I release her arms, they fall weightily to her sides. Her head rocks back as though she lacks the energy to hold it up. I remove Robin’s coat and drape it over her, guiding her arms through the sleeves. It’s backwards, but it will keep her warm.

“Your blood sugar is probably low,” I say, hoping that’s the only thing wrong with her. “But I don’t think I can carry you all the way back. You’ll have to walk.” I rummage in my bag for the apple and cheese. She needs to eat before she can be expected to stand on her own. But she won’t take any food from me. She won’t even lift her arms.

“Okay.” I tear off a tiny piece of cheese. “Okay, we’ll try another way. One bite at a time.” I push the cheese past her lips and watch her effort to chew it. With each bite she wakes up a little more. The dark circles under her eyes, the heaviness of her body… I can’t believe they’ve done this to her. Even if she had been guilty, this is too much.

When she’s finished the cheese, I move on to the apple, breaking a piece off for her and slipping it into her mouth. When the tips of my fingers brush her lips, as wrong as it probably seems to you, it feels like a second kiss to me.

We continue our strange picnic until she’s finished half the apple and another slice of cheese. Eventually, she’s able to drink water on her own, and I start to relax. I’m so grateful for the time I’ve been given, but intermingled with that gratefulness is the fear that she knows I’ve done this to her, that she hates me more than ever.

“Do you know why you’re here?” I say, careful to speak in a whisper so my voice is not recognizable.

She nods, and then shakes her head. “I thought I did, but…” And she breaks down. She chokes on sobs too heavy for her body to handle. She shudders and lets all her weakness show. I feel like every barrier between us has just collapsed in a pile of red brick and rubble. And in a moment of either pure bravery or stupidity, I reach out to take her hand.

She recoils at my touch. And when she looks at me, my blood runs cold. I can’t bear to see the panic in her eyes. It’s almost as if…

“I remember you,” she says, and I stop breathing. “You’re the priest.”

She knows me. I’m the guy she hates most in the world. I can only sit in silence as my courageous façade crumbles to pieces. Now I’m loathsome to her. Now I’m the damned priest.

“It’s… not the nickname I would have chosen for myself,” I say, trying to sound as though I have not been completely deflated. “I can’t help where I live.”

But she’s not listening. Her breaths come short and shallow. Her tears are falling faster than ever. “Whatever you’re going to do to me,” she says, “just do it.”

“I…”

“You’re here to play games with me before I die, right? This is some kind of sick joke.”

“Please…” Too many words are trying to fly out my mouth at once, and I can’t seem to make any sense of them.

She, on the other hand, is eloquent as hell. Weak as she is, trembling as she is, she can string words together that cut with unbelievable precision. “You’ve been following me, haven’t you? I always see you watching. In the halls. At the dance. Then that… Cyclops friend of yours… tried to assault me.”

At this, I find myself backing away from her. How can she be so cruel? And to Valentine, of all people, who was only trying to help her.

“And you…” she plods mercilessly on. “I remember what you did.”

No.

“At the party.”

Don’t.

“I know what you did to Phoebus!” She bursts out crying again and I want to join her, but I don’t. Somehow, she’s getting something important through to me. It isn’t what she says, but how she says it that lets me see the truth. And this truth, far from disheartening me, is probably the last sweet thing I’ll ever hear from her.

I push my hood back so she can see my face. “Are you… Are you afraid of me?”

She doesn’t answer, but I don’t need to hear one. Her expression tells me everything. All the hatred I once suspected, her loathing me above all else in the world, was nothing more than a misinterpretation. She doesn’t hate me. She’s just afraid of me. And fear is a much easier reaction to neutralize.

“I never did anything to you,” she says, wiping her tears away with the sleeve of Robin’s coat—if only it were mine. “I barely even know you. Why are you doing this to me? Why do you hate me so much?”

“No, I… I…” You know that eruption my brother warned me about, that moment where everything I’ve been bottling up my whole life comes spilling out of me? Well, here it is. “I love you.”

She gapes at me. Her lips move as though she’s going to speak, but she doesn’t. Hers is a look of pure disbelief.

I can hear my blood pumping in my ears. My head is throbbing. But I’ve started down this hill at a sprint, and if I try to stop now, I’ll crash and roll down it instead. Either way, I’m getting to the bottom, so I may as well tackle it at full speed. “It’s true,” I say, wringing the shoulder straps of my book bag. “I love you. I know that sounds crazy, and you probably think I’m some kind of stalker or something. But if you just hear me out, I’ll explain everything. See, before I first saw you, I was happy.”

She sighs. “Me, too.”

This almost stops me cold, the idea that I am the only thing making her unhappy, that I’ve somehow caused all the pain in her life. What if it’s true? Well, if it is, then I need to make it right more than ever, but I can’t do that without her help, and she won’t help me until she knows the truth. “Esmeralda.” I dare to say her name to her for the first time since the party, but I don’t look at her as I do. I fear her reaction would break my heart. “Just please don’t interrupt me again. I have to say this one thing, and then I promise I won’t talk any more if you don’t want me to.”

She is silent, so I stare at my own trembling hands and plow on without giving her another moment to protest. “I mean I
thought
I was happy before I saw you. I thought I knew who I was. They called me ‘the priest,’ but it didn’t really bother me. I had my brother. I had Valentine and Peter. I planned to do big things, important things with my future. I didn’t need a relationship to complicate my life or take time away from what was really important. I noticed girls once in a while, sure, but it never really got to me. It never made me think I was missing something… until I met you.

“The day I first saw you I felt this… giddiness, like the whole world just rushed by me in a heartbeat. I’d never felt anything like it before. It was brilliant. You were brilliant. I couldn’t take my eyes off you, and I didn’t ever want to. It was troubling, too, but I decided I could master it. It was just a natural, human reaction. Probably the first crush I’d ever had. Perfectly normal, right? All I had to do was redirect my focus, but I couldn’t. And then that asshole started to pursue you.”

“Phoebus,” she whispers, and my head catches fire at the sound of his name.