Don't Breathe a Word (5 page)

Chapter 9

My arm ached where something small and hard had been pressing into it.

I'd fallen asleep, my head tucked into a pile of leaves and my backpack clutched in my arms. The lights were all off in the DAR house now except for the streetlamps overhead. My stomach cried out for food.

Capitol Hill transformed at night. People were everywhere, streaming into restaurants and cafés, used bookstores and clubs, as dark figures lurked in doorways. I had to keep moving.

By now, everyone would know I was gone—first my family, then my friends. Then Asher.

As long as they believed it was a kidnapping, everything could stay as it was—except without me. My parents could continue to look the other way, and Dad could keep his job. Asher wouldn't destroy my family as easily as he dismantled me.

I pulled my hood closer around my neck. My street power might make me invisible to the general populace, but I had much to learn about hiding from people like Stench. Even the memory of his odor pricked my nose.

I tucked my hands in my pockets and set off in search of a place to spend the night. After my encounter with Stench, finding the guitar boy was more urgent than ever.

The later it got, the easier it was to hide in shadows. It had to be eight or nine o'clock already—it got dark late in August. There were still grey and pink streaks in the sky.

All the good spots seemed to be taken—bushes, apartment bins, the alley behind the school. A lot of people seemed to be going in and out of the church, and the warm smell of some-thing—chili, maybe?—wafted out of the open door. If I could sneak my way into that church, there had to be a million places to hide. But not tonight, when there were so many people going in and out. I would lose my invisibility the moment I crossed the wrong threshold.

Eventually, I ended up back on Broadway, lured by lights and the smell of Dick's Drive-In french fries.

The line was long, long enough that even Stench would probably stay away. A trio of kids leaned against the brick wall of the bank, and they looked familiar—a skinny girl, a short, wiry guy, and a taller one in the shadows. The girl sucked on a cigarette not much slimmer than she was. She looked like she could use some french fries, too.

I couldn't make out the tall boy's face, but something about him seemed even more familiar. Could he be the one I was looking for? He didn't have a guitar with him, so I couldn't be sure. And I wouldn't approach him with the other two standing by.

I got my fries and gulped them down, salty warm goodness filling me with courage. The boy's eyes were on me as I gobbled fry after fry. It couldn't be him—he looked angry, and every fry I ate seemed to darken his face more. Like Asher. It was time for me to go.

In the end, I found a place to squat—a garden shed of a carport at some house, full of plastic bags and big enough for a person to curl up. I could wait until the homeowners left for work in the morning, and come back after they'd gone to sleep for the night. It wasn't ideal, but at least I could hide from Stench until I found what I was looking for.

The next day went better—Stench disappeared, and I wondered if maybe he'd moved on. I stayed on the other side of the street from Mohawk, as I decided to call the hulking boy who'd tripped me, and the girl who hung on his arm. The two of them shared cigarettes while bullying change out of anyone who walked past. After awhile, the cops came and drove them off, and I found my way into the Starbucks.

It wasn't as easy to use the bathroom this time—Bach the barista wasn't there, and the girl at the counter wouldn't give me the key until I bought something. So I invested a dollar twenty-five in an oatmeal cookie and a quick bath in the sink. A fresh coat of eyeliner made me look more like a student than a vagrant. Maybe today I could find a supply closet in the school or church and plan my future.

Police cruised through the neighborhood on a regular basis, but none of them seemed to be chasing me. What if I turned my cell phone on? Would there be a hundred text messages from Neeta and one curt voice mail from Asher asking me what the hell I thought I was doing?

I couldn't risk it. One weak moment, and they could GPS me within a mile. Then the police would be all over the neighborhood. Hopefully, they'd start by looking for a kidnapper. That would keep them from hauling kids off the streets.

As it was, I seemed to have come to a nonverbal agreement with the others—I stayed away from them, and they stayed away from me. After a few days, I started to get my bearings. I had food. I had shelter. I had purpose.

Then Mohawk showed up.

He towered over me, a good two heads taller and three bodies wider, like a human refrigerator. “You need protection.”

“What do you mean?” I asked warily. If I needed protection from anyone, it was him. Him and Stench. Up close, he had a strange twitch to him, like something was crawling under his skin. He couldn't seem to keep his hands off himself.

“Maybe you're not really getting it yet. I saw that old junkie with you. He's been looking for you. He asked me about you. If you want, I could take care of you.” He took a step closer and put his hand on my arm. “Of course, you'd have to do something for it.”

I stepped backward. “Stay away from me.” So that's why those girls were hanging out with him. What did he make them do to pay the price? Out of nowhere, a picture of me in Asher's apartment flashed through my mind. But that was different. Nothing could make me want to be with someone like Mohawk.

He stood rooted to the spot, scratching the back of his hand in a rhythmic motion. “If you think you're gonna survive out here without protection, you're gonna find out the hard way.” I started walking fast, and his voice carried.

“He's gonna rape your ass, you stupid bitch! Then you'll be crying for me.” I crossed the street and dove into the used bookstore, his words still ringing in my ears.

Chapter 10

Now that I was on the street, I realized I had no plan and only a tenuous grasp of my street powers. If I had to buy something at Starbucks every day to use the bathroom, my money would run out fast—even faster in fall and winter, when I would need a coat, a pair of boots, a dry place to sleep. I would spainge, but I would not go crying to Mohawk no matter how desperate I got.

By then, maybe I would find the boy with the guitar. I recognized myself in his music. The memory of it gave me hope.

A few days passed without seeing Stench. Mohawk stayed on his side of the street, and I stayed on mine. How he could stay so huge when I was losing a pound a day, I didn't know. Pretty soon I'd be as skinny as that mousey-haired girl with him.

No one talked to me except for one girl with a shaved head and haunted eyes, who said, “Hope it's worth it. This place will eat you alive from the inside out.”

So would the life I left,
I thought.

At least I was able to breathe. My inhaler supply would last for a while if I could stay away from triggers and remain calm, but I kept one in my pocket just in case. Eventually, I'd have to find some way to get more.

I found the police weren't looking to find me—they were looking to harass me, any chance they got. “Hey you,” one shouted from his cruiser, “get outta here and go home or I'm gonna bust you, ho.” The haunted girl's words came back to me.

Just when I thought I was safe, Stench reappeared.

I passed by the alley behind Neumos, which I'd learned served as a latrine for the street population. My hair, white and cropped, stood out, even on a sunny day. He spotted me in a heartbeat and grinned a black, jagged grin.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he cooed. “I've been looking for you.”

I bolted toward the Safeway—neither
safe
nor the
way
, because they thought I was one of the shoplifting crowd. Their red vests stood out like police uniforms, and their usually friendly faces turned dark the second I came through the door.

“Can I help you with something?” one of the Safe-bots asked, then under his breath added, “Go to a shelter, why don't you.”

I didn't have time for this. I headed toward the other door via the produce section. Safe-bot must have thought I was going to tuck apples under my shirt, because he followed me, and suddenly I felt like I was dragging a crazy, menacing train in my wake. I clutched my backpack and headed for the other door. I would make a run for it through the parking lot and somewhere . . . anywhere.

The doors whooshed open to a blast of sunshine and warm air. I looked behind me to see if the Safe-bot followed, and suddenly a bulk of canvas and sweat and fear gripped me in its arms. My scream muffled into his chest, suffocating me with fabric and stink.

“That's right,” Stench whispered in my ear. “Come to Daddy.” I fought, but his grip was too strong. He started to drag me along the wall to the back of the building.

“Hey! Take it somewhere else!” the Safe-bot shouted.

Stench twisted me so he could put his hand over my mouth. The smell of his skin overpowered me, hurling me into a state of panic and nausea. I had to calm down.

Safe-bot looked back and forth between me and Stench.

Stench chuckled, his hot breath on my ear. “Sorry about my daughter,” he said as I wrestled to get myself free. “I hope she didn't steal anything.” He tightened his hold, using my backpack to pin my arms.

The Safe-bot was about to go. I was invisible to him, a throwaway human. I had no other options.

I bit the palm over my mouth as hard as I could, and Stench yanked it away.
STOMP HIS FOOT!
my brain screamed. I lifted up my heel and slammed it down hard.

He staggered backward, still holding my backpack in his hands.

I slipped out of the straps and ran—down the street and past the brownstones and the trees and St. Mark's Cathedral and into the Cornish College of the Arts parking lot, toward the heavy doors of the school.

Summer students were milling around the labyrinth of hallways. I didn't stop until I found the women's bathroom, where I counted my breaths to calm the hollow rattle I could feel rising. I pushed away the thought that Stench had taken all but one of my inhalers. For now, I only had to breathe.

I must have looked like a ghost, because when I ran in, a girl not much older than me with a baby carrier strapped to her chest caught my eye in the mirror. She spun around.

“Are you okay?” she asked. The baby, tucked against her and wearing a pink striped hat, watched me with huge brown eyes.

“Y-yeah,” I said after a moment. The girl bounced a little, and the baby kicked her legs.

“You sure?”

I caught sight of myself in the mirror—ghostly, yes. My heart pounded with glee, shouting
alive, alive, alive
. I didn't have my backpack anymore, but I was still breathing. Maybe this was a test, to see if I was serious.

“Yeah. Thanks.” I disappeared into one of the stalls. If I stayed here long enough, maybe I could figure out what to do next.

The cell phone in my pocket strained against my hip, grazing the secret mark of Asher's power. I would not call.

I would not give up.

I would survive, no matter what.

Chapter 11

Chop Suey looked completely different in the twilight as I made my way back to the garden shed—just a brick building with blacked-out windows and a signboard, not like a hopping club. A crow meandered back and forth on the sidewalk like a sentry—every time I saw one, it sent a shiver down my spine.

“We
have
to go to Chop Suey this Friday. Freezepop is playing,” Neeta had said earlier this summer, when she'd invited me to hang out with her, Ellerie, and Ari. Asher was working at the crow lab that day, so I had no excuse to say no.

When Ari snorted and the rest of us looked at her dumbly, Neeta said, “You know . . . Rock Band? ‘
Frontload'
? It's an all-ages show.”

“Yeah,” drawled Ari, “that's exactly what I'm worried about.”

“Shut up,” Neeta glowered playfully. Since she'd been hanging out with Ellerie and Ari, Neeta's new passion was music games. Apparently Ellerie had Rock Band and every sequel, and they'd spent the last six months pounding out tunes. Ellerie was actually pretty decent on the drums, but Ari's less-than-enthusiastic guitar couldn't get them past the next batch of songs. Neeta had the pipes, and she wasn't afraid to use them.

Right now, she was belting out lyrics to “Frontload.”
Got me feeling incredible . . . got control over meeeee . . .

“I think it would be fun,” Ellerie added, tapping her hands on the dashboard.

“Joy?” Neeta looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Asher could come, if he wanted.”

If only she knew what powers were controlling me. “Yeah, sure. I'll ask him,” I said slowly. I already knew what he would say.

But he surprised me by saying yes.

A few days later, in just a clingy dress and the bracelet, I huddled with the girls on the sidewalk outside Chop Suey. Each of us held foamy lattes from Stumptown Coffee—all except for Ari, who sipped an Italian soda from a straw poised suggestively between her pearly pink lips.

Asher would be here any minute. My friends were impressed by him—Asher Valen, obscenely wealthy View Ridge Prep boy with a passion for crows, who had somehow taken an interest in me. Ellerie and Ari pumped me for the details of our courtship as Neeta silently braided tiny braids in her hair. Had I met his dad? What was he
like
?

I had met his dad, but only on a few occasions involving hundreds of people at one event or another. He'd sniffed in my general direction—that is, until I warranted a closer inspection. When my dad was on the hiring block.

The Seattle IMAX was launching the world premiere of the latest 3-D sci-fi flick. The director was there, chatting with an exclusive group who had donated large sums to his wife's educational charity. He had a household name and everyone clamored to get close, even the shiny people with star status of their own.
That's the guy from Black Eyed Peas,
Asher whispered about one.
And that's the director's wife
. He pointed out a beautiful blonde. So it surprised me when the director approached Asher's dad as if Mr. Valen were the celebrity.

Later, Mr. Valen came to Asher's side and gave me the once-over.
So you're Joy Delamere,
he said.
I've been assessing your father
. His eyes were so sharp and grey just like his son's, and I felt the same chill I did when Asher was assessing me. Only when his father did it, it made me a little sick. I'd heard he got a girl kicked out of View Ridge Prep. I could only imagine what he could do to me.

“Yes, I've met his dad,” I told Ellerie and Ari. “He seemed nice enough.” Luckily he judged both me and my dad worthy, and I never had to be scrutinized by him again.

The subject shifted to Asher's attractiveness. “He
is
pretty hot,” Ari observed, taking a loud slurp from her soda.

I warmed at the suggestion, because it was true. He melted me down and brought me back to life, poured into a new mold. That's how I knew he loved me.

So when Asher showed up at Chop Suey that night, his ratty Daft Punk T-shirt only added to the aura surrounding him already. Ari and Ellerie smiled shyly as he held me close.

Tonight's crowd was a mix of gamers, suburbanites, and kids with nowhere else to go. A mass was already building for the opening band, Ming & Ping, who were playing a feverish mix of Hong Kong electropop. A wall of all-ages sweat hit us as we entered.

Once we were in the club, Ari headed straight for a trio of street kids. A tall boy with a guitar case slung over his shoulder receded into the shadows, flanked by a shorter boy and a gaunt girl with spiky hair who looked like one puff of smoke might blow her away.

“What's Ari doing?” Neeta whispered to me.

“What do you
think
she's doing?” Asher exhaled, giving her a look familiar to me—the one where she's supposed to come to the conclusion that every word out of her mouth was equivalent to windshield spatter. When Neeta said nothing, he spelled it out patiently. “She's trying to score with the Ave Rats.”

Neeta frowned. “Drugs?”

Ellerie wasn't paying any attention—she was too busy looking for band people in the crowd. Balloon Boy was here, a kid who showed up at every all-ages show with a bag full of balloons, which he twisted into shapes and tossed into the throng. I think his mom had dropped him off.

A few minutes later, Ari came back pouting. The Ave Rats, as the homeless underage population was known, traveled in packs, bound more tightly than family. I couldn't fathom the kind of loyalty that would share socks, share needles, share blood.

“Poor little rich girl didn't find what she was looking for?” Asher baited. He gave her that half smile he gave me, when he knew he was in control.

“The big one said, ‘Sorry, I'm not the guy you're looking for.'” She imitated a deep, scornful voice.

The short boy with black hair looked over. He might have been cute if he cleaned up a little bit. The girl looked skinny but scrappy. I wouldn't want to mess with her. I couldn't make out the tall one's features, but I knew he was watching.

“What was that all about?” Neeta demanded. “Were you trying to buy drugs?”

I shrank a little in embarrassment. Ari rolled her eyes. “I just wanted to see if I
could
, Neeta.” She slurped her soda. “Apparently he's
not that kind of boy
.”

Asher tilted his head and eyed her appreciatively. “Ah, so now the truth comes out.”

Ari tilted her chin. “You don't know anything about my truth, Crow Boy,” she challenged. I couldn't fathom talking to him that way. “He's pretty steamy, though,” she said slyly.

“Maybe he's
another
kind of boy. I mean, he could totally be her pimp. Do you know the kind of stuff that goes on around here?”

Ellerie came back from scoping out the crowd. “What kind of stuff?”

Ari gave her a knowing look. “We're talking about homeless teen pimps.”

Ellerie's eyes went wide. “Did you see one?”

“Shhhh,” Neeta hissed. Ellerie craned her neck to get a better view of the alleged pimp.

Ari giggled flirtatiously and poked Asher. “There are four of us and one of you, Crow Boy. You could be
our
pimp.”

The short boy looked over his shoulder again, and skinny Ave girl scowled in our direction. The tall one in the shadows leaned closer to the other two like he was watching over them. A red light flickered on his face, and his eyes locked with mine.

In that moment I knew without a shadow of doubt that he was no pimp. There was something so close and knowing in that look. Vulnerable. No pimp could be like that.

“I mean, seriously,” Ari was saying. “Can you imagine someone having that kind of control over your life?”

The tall boy stepped into the light, his gaze still fixed on us. On me. As if he were listening to my thoughts. A shiver passed through me, like he was taking an inventory and didn't like what he saw. I held Asher closer.

“Asher would make a good pimp,” I said, almost to myself.

Ellerie chuckled, then stopped short. Ari put her hand over her mouth.

My heart began to pound in my chest. I tried to smile. “I mean, you could handle four women,” I said lightly. “Not that I'd want you to.”

I thought of how an unlit match could burst into flame from just a thread of smoke. A thread of smoke was all it would take to suffocate me.

I didn't want to look at Asher's face to see his reaction. He would explode, and then it would be over. Everyone felt it.

“C'mon, you guys,” said Neeta, breaking the tension. “Let's dance. Look—the band is setting up—”

“So is Balloon Boy,” Ari snorted. Ellerie giggled.

Seconds later, a cute East Indian guy with glasses came out onstage, the crowd crushed into the center, and even Balloon Boy calmed down enough to hear him shout out,
“This. Is. Freezepop!”

And two seconds later, a guy on a keytar, another on the sequencer, and a girl with a hot pink streak came out and started rocking. But I wasn't listening. I was waiting for the moment when Asher would blow.

The shorter Ave boy pushed his way to the front, and I looked back at the taller one. His dark hair hung around his eyes, but he was still watching my every move.

“Are you okay?” Neeta asked, and I shrugged. Asher wasn't touching me, but I could feel his heat prickling my skin.

“Yeah. Of course!” I shouted, a bit too loudly over the music. Neeta watched me a second longer and then let Ellerie lead her into the throng.

The melody pumped up the crowd with its electronic happiness, and even Asher's body started to move to the driving beat. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he wasn't upset after all.

A little while later, Asher said in a low voice, “I'm going out for a smoke.” And even though the room spun with music and noise and dancing, his words triggered a response. He meant for me to follow.

As soon as we were out of the club, Asher lit up a cigarette. He knew it could prompt an asthma attack. But if it did, he'd be right there to take me to the emergency room.

I followed him around the corner to the alley behind the club. He took a last swig of the beer in his hand and then threw the bottle viciously against the wall. I could barely see the shards of glass, shattered into a thousand pieces, through the tears suddenly springing to my eyes.

“Asher, I'm sorry,” I breathed.

In a split second he gained control of himself. “
Now
you're sorry,” he said quietly. “You wait until I'm upset to be sorry when you should have thought about that before you said it. What the hell, Joy?”

“Asher, I didn't mean to make you angry—”

But he was done with my excuses. Instead, his voice was heading to that dangerous, low pitch I knew well. “Do you think your family's going to be happy when I tell them I can't take care of your pathetic ass anymore? Do you think you're going to be sorry when your dad gets fired and he can't get a job in this whole fucking
town
?”

Dread coiled around my lungs. I counted to three, slowly, to try to catch my breath. Eyes closed. Calm.
One breath, two breaths, three breaths
.

“You're not looking at me,” Asher seethed. “How can we have a conversation when you're not looking at me?”

He came in close and took my jaw in his hands, so close I could taste the sugar and smoke on his breath. I almost wished he would hit me, because then I would have a reason to call for help.

Instead, he pinched a lock of my hair and let it fall through his fingers. Gently. So gently. “Slowly,” he said, helping me breathe. He held me up until my lungs recovered.

“Don't ever do that again,” he whispered, his voice cracking, as if the pain of my betrayal had broken him. He kissed me on the cheek, and I melted into his arms.

“Sorry,” I murmured. “So sorry.”

I almost crumpled when he released me and I was left on my own two feet. “I'm going to get the car now,” he said. “Be here when I get back.”

Of course I would be here. As soon as we got to his place, I would show him how sorry I was and how grateful I was for his forgiveness. I blinked back the tears that came readily now that he was gone and wildly tried to wipe them away.

A sound startled me, the hum of a melody I didn't know. When I spun around, the tall boy with the guitar was standing there in the shadow of a doorway. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he had witnessed everything.

“I saw how he treats you,” the boy said.

Around the corner I could hear the roar of a DeLorean coming closer. I felt utterly broken, but I couldn't break from his gaze. Any second the car would be here.

“If you ever need help, you know where to find me.”