Locked Inside (12 page)

Without Marnie’s assistance, the Elf slowly, deliberately, heaved himself onto one knee. He grimaced and, automatically, Marnie shifted closer and offered him a shoulder and arm. Favoring his left leg, he leaned on her as they struggled upright. He was heavier than he looked. And at least a foot taller than Marnie.

She felt small and delicate.

More or less vertical now, the Elf shifted his attention—and that calm, calm voice—back to Leah. He smiled suddenly, moronically, right at her. “So when this girl said Marn had been having lunch with you before she took off, I decided to come talk to you. You are Ms. Slaight, right?”

Leah was shaking her head. “No,” she said. “No!”
Her knuckles whitened on the gun, and simultaneously Marnie felt her own hand tighten on the Elf’s arm.

“No?” said the Elf. “But isn’t this—” Suddenly he had fished a small piece of paper from his jeans pocket. “—R.R. 1, Number 107, Back Nippin Road?” He looked up inquiringly. “Home of Leah Slaight, chemistry teacher?”

In that moment Marnie stopped trying to second-guess him. She had no idea where he was going with this. But she was suddenly sure that he was going somewhere. She knew him; he would have a plan—

She went back to listening. She had missed something.

“So, the thing is,” the Elf was saying earnestly to Leah, “people know where I am. They knew I was coming out here to see you. And actually, my friend Dave just dropped me off here. He’ll be back shortly.”

For a moment, Marnie’s heart leapt with belief. She saw Leah’s gun waver. She saw doubt bloom on that waxen face.

The Elf wasn’t paying any attention to Marnie now. He had actually taken a small step—well, a limp—toward Leah. He was looking straight at her.

“So I have an idea,” said the Elf calmly. “I think Marnie and I should just leave here now. I figure we go back to the school, and pretend that Dave and I just dropped her off there. That she ran away, just like they think. And we forget that anything else ever happened. Just … forget about it.”

No way she’ll go for
that
, thought Marnie. But she discovered she was holding her breath.

“Ms. Slaight?” said the Elf. “What do you think?” His voice was soft now. “We just all shake hands and, well, go home. We get a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow, wake up to a new day.”

So soft, that voice. So clear. So reasonable.

Was Leah listening? Did she believe? Maybe. Maybe. She was frowning … and earlier, she’d wanted to believe that she and Marnie could be sisters, that she could trust Marnie. Maybe she’d want to believe a second time … maybe she was unbalanced enough … needy enough …

But then it happened.

“Dave will be back soon,” repeated the Elf, and it was probably something about how he said it. Perhaps it simply came out too quickly. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything at all, but merely let the silence sit. It hardly mattered. In one instant there had been hope. In the next it was gone.

The Elf was no fool. He heard the change in the air. Marnie actually felt his realization in his body, through her hand on his arm. She heard the tiny exhale of dismay.

“You’re lying,” said Leah Slaight to the Elf, and the words rushed out of her fiercely. “You’re as much of a liar as she is!”

The Elf moved. Marnie would never understand exactly what he thought he’d accomplish. She felt him shift, and then all at once he was a step closer to Leah, in front of Marnie.

And a shot rang out.

Marnie screamed. The Elf crumpled to the floor.

N
ever would Marnie have believed that she would welcome being locked back into the basement cell. But her relief was enormous, if momentary. No matter what Leah might do later, the Elf was alive now. Leah’s shot had hit him in the right thigh; he was in no serious, no immediate, danger. And neither, incidentally, was Marnie. It was a miracle. She felt the blood pulsing in her veins as it never had before; she was alive, alive. And yet …

She shivered. As if pulled, she went back to the door and listened for a moment. Silence; the kind that spoke emphatically of the lack of human presence beyond. For the sake of thoroughness, Marnie grasped the doorknob firmly and turned it, pushing hard at the door. Oh yes, the padlock was back in place. And despite Leah’s assault on the door itself during Marnie’s abortive escape attempt, it felt no less sturdy than it had an hour ago.

She exhaled audibly. Behind her, she could hear the Elf’s breathing as he lay on the cot. She glanced back at him, saw his chest rise shakily and then fall. They had managed to do a kind of three-legged stagger across the floor to reach the cot, and Marnie had had to kick the half-empty seltzer bottle out of their path. It had rolled off, its mouth trailing more water across the floor. Somehow the sight of it had made Marnie even more queasy.

Marnie’s hand left the doorknob and rose to her cheek.

It was as if part of her mind were aerially posed over a maze, looking down on herself and the Elf, trapped inside. She could see all possible avenues of action. Every cul-de-sac, every dead end, every blind alley, every trap. But no way out.

Marnie turned her back on the locked door. She looked at the Elf. At the seltzer bottle. She found she had wrapped her arms around herself.

“Marn. You—okay?” The syllables came out of the Elf in little puffs. He was trying to sit up; his forehead was furrowed.

Marnie crossed the room in three strides. She knelt by the side of the cot. “I’m fine. Be quiet for now, Elf, all right? Concentrate on breathing.”

He eased back down, his keen eyes only half open. For the first time Marnie noticed his ridiculous camouflage clothes. And those combat boots! When you added in the bald head, he was the perfect picture of a thug. The kind of kid adults called the police about. Marnie remembered Jenna Lowry’s clean-cut hockey boy and repressed a bubble
of hysterical laughter. It just went to show—actually, she wasn’t sure what it went to show. Something. Nothing.

First things first. “Are you in a lot of pain?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’s not bad,” he said, and she recognized the lie in his voice. For the first time it occurred to her that the Elf had thus far behaved like some macho hero stereotype. He hadn’t even yelled when Leah shot him. Who did he think he was, some cyberspace adventurer with ten virtual lives? The Elf, for real?

“Listen,” he said. He was making an effort to talk in a normal rhythm rather than in gasps. “I’m an idiot. I want you to know I know that. I heard screaming. I should have gone back to the car, called the police on the cell phone—but I—somehow I just knew it had to be you. I didn’t think past helping you. I just ran toward the screaming.” His lips twisted. “Real smart. Like the girl who gets knocked off in the first five minutes of a horror movie.”

“It’ll be okay,” Marnie said automatically. “Just try to relax while I—”

“You think it’ll be
okay
?” He sounded incredulous.

“Yeah,” said Marnie. “Somebody besides you is sure to show up here, right? If you found your way to Leah, somebody else will too. Max—he’s my guardian. Or someone.”

“I met Max,” the Elf said. “I talked to him—he thought maybe you were with me. He asked me
who else you hung out with in Paliopolis. No one, I said. That I knew of. But I said I didn’t know everything. Didn’t really know you.”

The Elf had opened his eyes fully now. They met Marnie’s without evasion, searching. “Although,” he added, “I feel like I do. Almost.”

Marnie looked back. She looked directly into his eyes, and for a moment she felt as if he could see what she saw, know what she knew, fear what she feared. And those eyes. The lashes were almost enough to compensate for the bald head—

The world tilted terrifyingly on its axis.

Suddenly, oddly, the Elf was smiling. “You know, I don’t believe we’ve actually been formally introduced—”

No, Marnie thought. The word came up in a desperate cry inside her.
No!
She wrenched her gaze away. “Elf,” she interrupted, “I don’t have time for that stuff, okay? I need to look at the gunshot area. And that ankle.” Her voice came out too loud, too flip, and she cringed inside, even as another part of her settled down, appeased but wary, watching, on guard.

There was a little pause. The Elf seemed puzzled. He said, “Okay.”

Marnie took a deep, relieved breath. “Okay,” she said, and lifted her chin. “Ankle first. It’s the left one, right?”

Thankfully, the Elf turned his face away, to look toward his ankle. “Yeah.” A little too quickly, he added, “I’m sure it’s just a sprain,” and Marnie felt her lips tighten. Please. Who was he trying to impress? Abruptly, and for some reason she didn’t care
to examine, Marnie yanked hard on the Elf’s left combat boot.

As it turned out, Mr. Macho Cyberspace Hero had a satisfyingly loud yell, when you took him by surprise.

I
t
was
most likely a sprain, Marnie thought, when—more gently—she got the boot off. The Elf’s ankle was swollen badly, but at least to Marnie’s tentative, embarrassed fingers and eyes there was no sign of an actual break. His breathing became a little harsher, but she had no idea what he was really feeling; after that first squawk he had reverted to his Cyberspace Hero imitation.

“Okay,” Marnie said a little too briskly. “Let’s move on to the bullet wound. Do you think you could roll onto your side, so I can see the back of your other leg?”

The Elf succeeded in rolling so that he faced away from Marnie. Marnie got her first complete look at the gunshot wound and her stomach cramped. Oh, God. A long gully of flesh seemed to have gouged right out of the Elf’s leg. The wound had bled freely—he had left a trail across the floor a few minutes
ago—but now the blood appeared to be congealing. Marnie thought that was a good sign. She hoped it was. She was pretty sure the shot hadn’t hit an artery, or there’d be spurting blood … or he’d be dead.

“What’s with the camouflage shorts?” she asked, mostly to distract him, and herself. The Elf was twisting, trying to get a look at the back of his leg, and she thought that was a bad idea. “What’s with the shorts, period? It’s cold out—it’s only April.”

To her surprise, he stopped squirming. “It’s what I wear,” he said.

What if the bullet was still in there? Marnie uttered a brief silent prayer and then touched the gully cautiously. Then she pressed firmly. The Elf recoiled but still didn’t, wouldn’t, yell again.

Marnie honestly didn’t think there was a bullet. She sent up a quick hallelujah. “Not very fashionable, camouflage,” she commented, wondering what she could use for a bandage.

The Elf was silent.

“Do you realize you look like some kind of nutcase skinhead? With the boots and all, that is.” Should she try to tear up the blanket? Or squirm out of her own tights and use part of them as a bandage? She could rip them with her teeth.

The Elf was still silent. Marnie regarded his back thoughtfully. He was in a cotton T-shirt, in that same combat green camouflage, and she liked the idea of using cotton, but that would leave him half naked in this cold room. What if she managed to tear a strip off the bottom of the T-shirt? Then he could put it back on and wrap up in the blanket—which
would never cover his legs; he’d need to curl up … But wait, the ankle should be elevated, right?

The Elf was still silent.

“You okay?” said Marnie.

“Yeah.”

“Cleaning,” Marnie said softly to herself. Her eyes flicked to the floor, to the abandoned, half-empty seltzer bottle. She stared at it. Her mind worked grimly. Fact: The wound had to be cleaned. Raspberry seltzer probably wasn’t very antiseptic, but what were her choices?

“I’m not, you know,” said the Elf abruptly.

“Not what?” The only alternative Marnie could think of was spit, and no sooner had she had the thought than she cringed. She picked up the seltzer bottle. About a third of the liquid was left. She had a feeling that spit was a better idea. Wasn’t animal saliva antiseptic? Was human?

Kiss it and make it better
, whispered the Sorceress mockingly.

Marnie’s throat suddenly felt very dry. She swallowed.

“Not a nutcase skinhead. Not a skinhead at all,” said the Elf.

It took Marnie a moment to recall the conversational thread. “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t think you were. It’s just, you know, how you look.” She suddenly knew that it didn’t matter if spit was a better idea. She didn’t care if they both died; she was
not
going to spit up all over the Elf’s leg.

“I would never have guessed
you
cared about appearances,” he said.

Marnie stilled. Incredibly, her mind emptied of all thoughts of antiseptics and water supplies. Of Leah’s possible actions and inactions. Of how Max could be so stupid, thinking she’d run off to meet someone she’d only ever met online. Her hand went to her cheek.

All at once she was hideously conscious of her body. She had been here for days.
Days.
Her hair. Her makeup. This dress she’d slept in, that she’d never liked anyway … and the bump on her head … and her black eye … and—she must
reek.
Speaking of which—oh, God. Yertle. Over there. She couldn’t smell it anymore herself. But she knew he would. He must. Right now, even. Right
now.

Yertle.

Marnie stood there, frozen in the silence, holding the bottle of seltzer, and she wished there were an airshaft, with certain death at the bottom, that she could dive into. That would be infinitely easier.

Hold on
, whispered the Sorceress-voice.
Hold on.

Marnie breathed.

“Listen, Elf, I have to clean your leg,” she said finally. “I’m going to use some seltzer for that. And then I think I should use part of your shirt for a bandage. Okay?”

“Sure,” said the Elf. All she saw was his back.

“Okay, then,” mumbled Marnie.

In silence, somehow, together, they got his shirt off. He was painfully skinny. Stubbornly she emptied her mind of everything else and worked. It hurt him. But she did a pretty good job, she thought. The wound
looked
clean. She had used fully half of
the remaining seltzer, fiercely ignoring the knowledge that this was their only water supply, and had let him drink another inch of it.