Locked Inside (15 page)

“I know,” said Marnie patiently. “If it opened in, I’d have pulled out the hinge pins.”

“Gonna break it down,” said the Elf. “I’m
stupid.
’S only wood, right? I can do it.” He let go of the door, staggered backward, and threw himself against it. It thudded and tossed him back. Marnie felt her body jerk as it had when she’d been on the other side of that very door, with Leah shoving. Leah had made headway then, but the door hadn’t been locked with that sturdy padlock on the other side. Still, the Elf was heavy … maybe … She jumped up and managed to catch him just as he bounced off the door a second time. She nearly fell with him.

“Cops do this all the time,” panted the Elf.

Under the shortened T-shirt, Marnie’s arm was right against his skin. He was, if anything, hotter than before. Cops had training, she thought; cops used their legs. Cops were probably athletic, and somehow she doubted that the Elf spent much time at a gym. She thought of the poor Rubble-Eater. “It’s thick wood,” she heard herself saying. “A heavy lock. I don’t want you to get hurt—”

“What’s
wrong
with you?” snarled the Elf. “You wanna stay here?” His bald head gleamed in the harsh light of the overhead bulb. He wrested himself away from her and landed against the door again—with less force than before. He slumped and clung to the door frame. “You’re useless!” he hissed over his shoulder.

Marnie’s teeth clamped together. Useless! She’d had a perfectly good escape attempt under way earlier—far better, far more intelligent than the Elf’s strongarm tactics—and
he
had ruined it. “Fine,” she said between her teeth. “We can
both
throw
ourselves against the door.” She thought again of the Rubble-Eater.

“Good,” mumbled the Elf. The fingers of one of his hands peeled off the door frame, and Marnie stepped close to grab him before he fell.

“Just don’t blame me,” said Marnie, helping him take a step or two back, “if all the racket brings Leah down here with her gun.”

“Hope it
does.
One … two …”

They both threw themselves against the door. The impact of their combined weight was considerably less than Marnie would have imagined. She could feel the downward drag of the Elf’s body in her arms; downward, not forward. He was wheezing now. In her inner ear, she could hear the Sorceress laughing sourly.

“Again,” said the Elf between his teeth.

“Maybe if we rested first and then—”

“We don’t know how much time we
have!
” The Elf tore himself free from Marnie and landed against the door once more. This time it barely thudded and he fell, twisting on the bad ankle. A grunt escaped him. Of pain? Anger? All at once there was something, too, about the look of his neck. How could the nape of a neck look so vulnerable, so defeated?

Before she could think, Marnie had her arm around his shoulders. “Get up,” she said. “We’ll try it together again. Even if we can’t break it down now, we can—we can weaken it for later.”

He shot her an incredulous look, but got willingly to his feet. For the first time Marnie felt his full weight on her shoulders and understood he
hadn’t really been leaning on her before. She swallowed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered how very, very dry her throat was. “Come on,” she said to the Elf. She knew now for sure that this was not going to work; they were not going to break the door down. But it didn’t matter.

They threw themselves against it several more times. With each attempt, the amount of force lessened. Impossibly, the door seemed to have gotten stronger. Marnie knew she wouldn’t stop until the Elf said to—and that this wouldn’t happen until he could not get up off the floor, even with her help.

When he finally did collapse, on his knees in front of the impervious door, Marnie—panting, on her knees herself—found she had to turn away, so that she wouldn’t see how his shoulders looked, hunched in defeat.

He surprised her, though, by talking again. “We had to try,” he said, somewhat uncertainly.

Marnie nodded. She looked over at him; his back was to her. She said creakily, “Yes.” Her eyes wandered across the room to the seltzer bottle. She couldn’t see the level of liquid clearly. She licked her dry lips. “Elf? Would you like a drink?”

Silence. She knew he had heard her. Finally he said, his voice as creaky as hers: “Okay. Maybe a little one.” A pause that went on a bit long. Marnie knew he didn’t have the strength to move yet. “In a minute,” he said eventually.

Marnie didn’t feel much like moving either. The seltzer bottle was a few feet away, near the cot. She could crawl there. She thought about that for a while and then suddenly realized she had done it.
She was on her hands and knees next to the cot, reaching out for the bottle. Grasping it. She collapsed back onto her heels—realizing vaguely that her feet hurt; she’d scraped them even more raw on the cement floor, and her tights were in pieces around her ankles. She squinted at the bottle, at the water level.

Maybe two inches of seltzer left.

“It’s not much.” The Elf was at her elbow. Marnie turned her head; her eyes were almost level with his. He’d crawled too. His forehead was damp with sweat. Were his eyes looking a little clearer, though? His voice was a mere thread.

Feed a cold; starve a fever. Or was it the other way around? Either way, you were supposed to drink. Her fingers were trembling. She uncapped the bottle and held it out to him.

He didn’t move his eyes from hers. “You first.”

“Oh, no.” The word got trapped in her throat. She had to try again. “No. You.”

After a long moment, the Elf took the bottle and held it up, examining, like Marnie, the level. Still looking at it, not drinking, he said to Marnie, “It’s been a full day since she left us here.”

“No!” said Marnie. “It’s been a few hours.”

The Elf held out his wrist. There was a watch on it. Marnie wondered how she had missed noticing it before. It was the kind with a day and date as well as the time. She blinked in shock. Then she looked up.

The Elf rested the bottle on the floor, as if, even near empty, it was too heavy to hold. “How long between her visits before?”

Marnie knew where he was going. “I don’t know
for sure. I wasn’t feeling very well some of the time.” Her hand drifted up to the still-tender lump on her head. Noticing that the Elf s eyes had followed the movement, she pulled her hand away and added quickly, “I think she probably checked in once a day.”

The Elf was looking grim. And tired, and a little crazed. Then his face smoothed out again, became blank. “Do you honestly think she’s coming back?” he asked.

Marnie found that her eyes had fixed on the seltzer bottle. She couldn’t drag them away. She watched the Elf’s hands as he lifted it again. All at once the bottle’s mouth was against her cheek. Her lips. She thought his hands were shaking slightly.

She turned her face away. “No.”

“Just a sip,” he said, still in that rasp.

The bottle was against her face. Its mouth against hers—

“No!” Marnie snarled. She grabbed the bottle, not caring that it meant grabbing his hand as well, and started to push. “Put it away!”

Somehow his other hand was over hers, on the bottle, stilling their battle. He said, “She knows it’s all the water we have, doesn’t she?” When Marnie didn’t answer, he said it again: “Doesn’t she?”

Marnie found she couldn’t actually say yes. “She’s crazy. Maybe she forgot.”

He sighed. “Have a small sip. Please, Marn. Go on. Good. Good girl.”

I’ll good-girl you, Marnie thought. She let the few drops of flat seltzer linger in her mouth as long as she could. Then she allowed them to trickle down
her throat. She closed her eyes for a second. She had never appreciated how wonderfully
wet
liquid could be.

He was still holding the bottle near her. She pushed it away, and this time he let her. She watched him hesitate, then take a small sip as well. Then he twisted the cap back on and put the bottle down.

“How much did you pour over my stupid leg?” he said.

“As little as I could,” said Marnie quietly, and watched him nod.

After a while, she helped him back to the cot. He needed to lean fully on her to get there. She had hoped the sweat meant his fever was breaking, but his skin felt as hot as before. Most worrisome of all, after a few minutes she asked him to take another small sip of the seltzer … and he did.

W
eird how she wasn’t embarrassed anymore.

Worry and fear—and, yes, the tight tentacles of a ferociously controlled panic—had pushed that emotion right out. It seemed almost natural when the Elf automatically shifted over on the narrow cot, nearer the wall, to make room for Marnie. She hesitated only because she thought she should look at the bullet wound again first.

“Why?” said the Elf. “There isn’t anything more you can do.”

Marnie blinked. True, but … “I’d like to know,” she said. “Wouldn’t you?”

“No,” said the Elf. His hand clamped over the bandage as if to protect it from her.

She gave in. She moved to lie down, this time with her back to him. She could feel his breathing, harsh in the stillness. She guessed his eyes were shut. She guessed he was in pain. Her own body was
beginning to ache from the attack on the door. It would be worse tomorrow, and even worse the day after that. Assuming they were still here. Assuming they were still alive …

How long, Marnie wondered morbidly, did it take to die of dehydration? “Hey,” she said. “You okay, Elf?”

“Yeah.”

Silence again. The room rang with it. Marnie felt she couldn’t endure it. “Talk to me,” she said desperately to the Elf. “Talk about anything. School, your parents, your family. Your friend David. Anything. Just—Just talk.” She flexed her right hand. It felt empty. She wished he had reached to hold it again. She knew she couldn’t reach for his. She just couldn’t.

“Maybe later,” said the Elf after another moment. Oh, God, Marnie thought. She was a selfish fool. Asking him to talk! Was his voice hoarser now? Should she make him drink again? There wasn’t much left, but …

“You talk to me,” said the Elf. And then: “Please.”

“Oh,” said Marnie. Her mind went blank. Beneath that, new panic bubbled. She knew what he wanted.

“You were going to tell me …” He paused for breath. “… a long story. Your side of how this happened. Remember?”

Marnie thought about talking, about telling him how—at least in part. And why. And as she thought, she breathed more and more shallowly. Where would she begin? What parts could she say;
what should she leave out? Who was the Elf to her, to hear anything? To ask anything? She didn’t know him! She wasn’t the hired entertainment! Stories to die by … no,
no
…

“Or,” the Elf said, “don’t tell me anything.”

Oh, God. She’d hurt his feelings. But—

“Don’t you try to guilt-trip me,” she snapped.

She actually felt his whole body go rigid with anger. He said nothing for a full minute. When he did speak, the words came out in a rush, as if he’d spent the time building up enough strength to get it all out.

“I’m part of this! You didn’t ask me to be, but I am. Deal with it! Grow up! This isn’t virtual reality. You’re not the high-scoring player! And I deserve to know what’s going on.”

Marnie reached for her own rage, but it had dissolved. He was right. She knew he was. What had made her angry, anyway? She couldn’t remember. She put her face in her hands. She took a deep breath, and then another.

She just didn’t think she could talk.

“You okay?” the Elf said. He sounded tired, so tired.

Tired of her, probably. Marnie couldn’t help that. She took another breath. She felt the cot move; the Elf was shifting, laboriously getting up on one elbow to look down at her.

“Okay,” he said after a moment. “It’s all right. Nobody’s going to make you. Ve do not haf vays … Look, never mind. Marn. You don’t have to. If it’s too difficult. I—I just want to help.”

Marnie didn’t remove her hands from her face.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a mental patient,” she whispered.

Silence. Then: “I’m not. How do you want me to talk to you?”

The trouble was, she didn’t know. She didn’t know. Like a friend? What was that? How was that? She didn’t know.
He
had a friend, this Dave. His buddy, he’d said. That was a stupid word, buddy. Buddy buddy buddy. Rhymed with bloody …

That crazy woman thought she was Skye’s daughter. Marnie’s sister. She really thought it. What if the Elf didn’t understand why the very idea made Marnie so frightened?

I deserve to know what’s going on, he had said.

“You’ve been here five days,” said the Elf after a while. He was still looking at her; Marnie could feel it. “It’s a long time.”

Marnie felt her head move in a nod. She wanted to raise her head. She wanted to look at the Elf. But she just couldn’t.

She was burningly thirsty again. She wondered, idly, if you could drink tears, or if, like seawater, they would make you all the thirstier. Now was not the time to find out. She suspected tears accelerated dehydration.

The Elf’s life was at stake here too. His and hers. Two lives involved in this ludicrous mess.

Three
, corrected the Sorceress-voice unexpectedly.
Be accurate. Leah Slaight is a living person.

Two, Marnie repeated to herself firmly. Only two, Me and the Elf.

The Sorceress was silent. Marnie removed her
hands—and nearly recoiled off the cot. The Elf’s face was almost touching hers. He was leaning over her, frowning. For a moment she actually thought he was going to stroke her cheek. Reflexively she moved away a trace. He didn’t touch her. She was glad, glad.

“Crying?” asked the Elf.

“No,” said Marnie defiantly, but the Sorceress-voice was suddenly screeching at her.
I am so tired of you, Marnie! You and your cowardly ways
—

Shut up, Marnie thought. You—you icon. You’re nothing without me.

I am you, you drooling nitwit.

No, thought Marnie. No. Wrong. Wrong.

Skye would want you to be strong
….