Locked Inside (16 page)

I don’t care. I hate Skye! Marnie thought suddenly. I hate her for leaving me.

The Sorceress did not reply.

The Elf was saying something, but Marnie wasn’t sure what it was. It took her a moment to find her voice. “I’m sorry,” she said then. “I didn’t hear you. I was … thinking.” She chanced a look up at the Elf. He was sweating again. He was sick.

And she, Marnie Skyedottir, was an ass.

“Are you all right?” she said. It was a stupid thing to say, but there was nothing else.

Predictably, the Elf nodded tightly. “Yeah.” But when Marnie turned and reached out to help him ease back down on the cot, he let her. And then he closed his eyes, for a long moment.

She discovered that she had made up her mind. She heard herself say, “You’re right. I’ll tell you
everything, okay? And … And I—I apologize. You do deserve to know.”

“Apology accepted,” said the Elf without opening his eyes. He flung one arm over his forehead. “Talk. I’ll listen.”

I
t felt to Marnie as if she talked forever. With her eyes closed, the blanket over her, her hands under her cheek, and the Elf breathing quietly yet audibly behind her, it was not unlike being in some hypnotic state. Dreamily, her voice barely louder than a whisper, she told the Elf everything she could articulate, without even trying to figure out what was and wasn’t important. The Elf didn’t ask questions or prompt or try to interpret or say anything at all beyond the occasional “yeah” or “uh-huh” whenever Marnie paused to say, “Does that make any sense at all?” or “Do you know what I mean?” Yet she knew he was listening, listening hard; she could feel his attention, sense his focus on her words, even—she imagined—sense him thinking.

She began by talking about being at the Halsett Grille with Leah Slaight but soon felt compelled to backtrack into her history with Leah. The Elf let out
a snort of laughter when she related the covalent bonds/Matthew 5:39 episode. Then, as she told about the meeting with the dean and Mrs. Fisher, she could feel him tense and for a second she thought he would speak. But he didn’t.

He listened.

At first Marnie found it distinctly odd to speak at length like this, out loud, without having her words guided by—or, more likely, meant to defend against—someone else’s desires or expectations. She couldn’t help suspecting that if the Elf had been feeling better, he would have interrupted more. He was no saint of patience, and once or twice when she headed off on an apparent tangent, she could actually feel him move to speak and then stop. In the back of her mind, she found this amusing, even a little endearing. In his place, she thought, she’d never have been able to stay quiet.

If this was in fact what listening was, she knew no one had ever listened to her before in her life. Her stomach twisted and she felt her stream of words stumble for a moment before she gathered herself again.

She found herself helplessly diverting into tales of her history at Halsett, and then at the other boarding school, and from there to Max, and from there, of course, to Skye.

Skye. Back and back and back and back to Skye. Somehow, every branch of the story seemed finally to leave Marnie with Skye’s name on her lips. Marnie would hesitate, then jump away to another branch after speaking only the minimum, only what
was necessary, only the facts. She’d firmly reconnect to the main thread of her story, only to wander off again on some byroad and there once more be confronted, inevitably, with Skye.

The third or fourth time this happened, she suddenly realized that she had circled and circled but had yet to speak of the days when she’d been imprisoned alone in this place. Or rather, of the talks, if they could be called that, with Leah. Instead she dwelled overlong on her development of the strategic plan to explode the seltzer bottle. She thought then, What am I doing? She fell silent.

The Elf said, “Seltzer?”

Marnie nodded automatically.

“I’d like some,” the Elf clarified, and Marnie sat up and reached for the bottle. She noted the water level. She watched the Elf prop himself up—was it her imagination or did he look less flushed?—and take a sip. A tiny sip. Still, it seemed somehow wrong to refuse again when he handed the open bottle to her. She upended it and allowed a small amount into her mouth. She let it rest there for a very long time before she swallowed. She wondered why she wasn’t hungry at all; and then wondered if the Elf was. She asked him, knowing that he’d say no. He did.

He said calmly, as if he could read her mind through all the surface-level chatter: “Okay. The thing you’re avoiding. Are you gonna tell me?”

He sounded better, Marnie thought. And she found she couldn’t lie, couldn’t evade, anymore. He deserved to know. She looked back at him, straight
into those incredibly beautiful Elf eyes. She said, low: “She thinks—Leah thinks—she says—she’s my sister. Half sister. Skye’s daughter.”

It was like a cork exploding from a champagne bottle. After it came streams and streams of words, tumbling from her mouth.

There’s no way—just no way—but I couldn’t help doing the math, figuring out how old Skye would’ve been … and it’s not impossible—but I don’t believe it … but there’s so much, you see, that I don’t know about her. About Skye, I mean. I don’t even know her real name!

Maybe she didn’t mean to keep secrets from me, it’s that I was so little—

My father—my biological father—I don’t want to know—I really don’t, it doesn’t matter, but sometimes—I can’t help wondering—nothing to do with this, I know …

Leah Slaight’s a madwoman, she really, really is, I keep coming back to that, I know that’s true, but—but—what if …?

And this kidnapping; you asked why Max couldn’t figure it out … it’s because he doesn’t know a thing about me, not really, I don’t let him, he’s tried but I don’t let him … it’s my fault that he’d think I might run away, do something stupid … My fault we’re going to die.

I’m sorry, I’m so very, very sorry—what the hell were you doing online anyway, Elf, you’re one of the good kids, aren’t you? I can tell; good grades, going to a good college, I bet—wait, it’ll be April fifteen soon, right? That means college acceptances will come … I bet ten thousand of them will be waiting at home for
you. My fault—I’m so sorry, Elf. I didn’t even ask, don’t you have a family … bet they’re worried … bet they’re sitting with all the college letters, out of their minds with worry—hey, why haven’t they come looking for you, didn’t you tell them where you were going? Oh, Elf, I’m sorry …

Later, Marnie never knew with certainty what she’d said aloud and what she hadn’t, or the degree to which any of it was coherent. She didn’t know when she started crying like a fool, nor when it was that the Elf grabbed her and held her so that she ended up babbling and sobbing and snuffling into the shoulder of his camouflage T-shirt. “Hey,” he kept saying soothingly. “Hey.”

As she calmed, Marnie had an abrupt memory of herself holding Jenna Lowry in a way that was not unlike this. Marnie had said, It’s okay, to Jenna then. Without knowing a damned thing, she had said that. No wonder Jenna had been angry, Marnie thought now. No wonder. In fact, Marnie was lucky Jenna hadn’t slugged her.

The Elf did not say, It’s okay. He just kept on with the heys. Another few weeks, Marnie thought, full of self-loathing, and who knew, he might even have had a Paliopolis score that was higher than hers. He did way better on human interaction, that was for sure.

She realized after a time that she was hideously uncomfortable; that she was crouched on the cot with one leg nearly numb beneath her; that she needed desperately to blow her nose. And—incredibly, because she’d drunk so little—to use Yertle.

The Elf kept saying, Hey. He was so warm. She
liked having him stroke her bristly hair. She liked the way his arms felt. She liked him, so much.

And, she suddenly realized, she’d never bothered to ask him one single thing about himself. What music he listened to. What he wanted to study in college. What his family was like. What he and his friends did when they hung out. Oh my God, she thought. She didn’t even know his real—

The Sorceress in her head interrupted snidely.
Oh, please get off it. This isn’t a date!

Which was true.

He was so warm. She wondered what would happen if she turned in his arms and hugged him back. If she tipped up her head and—

No! You stink, remember?

Marnie cringed. She took a deep breath, muttered, “Sorry. Thanks,” pushed away from the Elf, and, gulping in more air, turned her back on him. Surreptitiously she wiped her nose on her sleeve.

She could feel him behind her. But she wouldn’t turn and look. She wouldn’t say anything. She didn’t dare. She’d got him shot. His leg was probably screaming in pain. She was now on the point of getting him killed. And … and she
smelled.

After another minute, chin held high, forcing her numb leg to work, she managed to make her way over to Yertle.

M
arnie didn’t look at the Elf, but she knew he was doing the polite thing, back turned and all that. She was so full of uncertainty about what she should say now, to make it very clear that she was back in control of herself and didn’t need help or pity or … or anything, that the Elf surprised her by simply speaking. “Marnie, I’m terrified too. As if you couldn’t guess. But I thought it should be said.”

Mr. Macho Cyberspace Hero thought it was important to say he was scared? Marnie blinked and suppressed the stupid impulse to deny that
she
was frightened. A secret bit of her was relieved that he thought that was why she’d turned away from him. “Okay,” she said uncertainly. She got up cautiously from her squat. She stayed where she was, across the room from the Elf. She watched his back as he spoke.

He said, “I have a few things to say, okay?” And after the barest of pauses, he continued. “Point one: I’d really rather not die. I’m not ready to give up. We haven’t fully tried thinking our way through this yet. There might be something we haven’t realized. Some way out.”

Marnie knew this cell better than the Elf. She’d explored it before he came. If Leah really had abandoned them, if Max didn’t somehow see past all the red herrings Marnie had unthinkingly piled in the way, they were dead. “You sound a little better,” she temporized.

“Yeah, yeah,” said the Elf. “I feel a little less woozy than I did before. My head’s clearer.” He hesitated. “You done over there?”

“Yes,” Marnie said.

The Elf turned. There was a focused, determined look on his face. “Come back and sit down, so I can look at you while we talk?”

After a moment, Marnie sat. There was no sensible reason to refuse.

“I know you’re pessimistic that Leah will come back,” the Elf was saying. “And now that you’ve told me about this sister thing I understand why.” He hesitated and then added, “But what I’m thinking is, if she’s truly crazy, then she might still come. You know? Sure, it’s logical for her to abandon us, hope we die or whatever—but maybe she’s not logical.” He leaned toward Marnie. “Is that possible?”

“Maybe,” said Marnie doubtfully.

“You think she won’t be back.” A statement, not a question.

“I think we’re going to die here,” said Marnie bluntly.

“I know, but—” The Elf stopped and sighed. He put one hand up to his head, and Marnie noticed that he had dark stubble. She’d read somewhere that hair and nail cells still grew after death. Maybe by the time their bodies were found, the Elf would have a full head of hair. His family wouldn’t recognize him.

“It’s just not productive to think that way,” said the Elf.

He wanted productive thinking? “Well, by all means,” Marnie snapped. “Let’s banish all negative thoughts. Come on. Let’s throw ourselves at the door again, so we’ll feel like we’re doing something. Or do you have a better idea this time, Elf? Something more
productive?
”

Marnie stared defiantly at the Elf, whose jaw had dropped.

Then, unexpectedly, he grinned. “You drive me up the wall. You always have, even in Paliopolis. Look.” He stopped and then said, in an oddly tentative voice, “Marn … do you think you could try remembering for more than five minutes that I’m on your side?”

I can’t afford that! Marnie thought uncontrollably. Then she was appalled at herself. Where had that come from? Why? When she knew that here, now, they were a team …

She turned her face away. Eventually she said flatly, “I know that. I’m sorry. I just … you must think I’m nuts.”

He was quiet for so long that she figured he was trying to find a way to say yes. A nice way, of course, because the Elf was a nice guy. A nice, normal teenage guy with a family and buddies and good grades and college plans and everything. Probably he had a girlfriend, too, and he was looking at Marnie and wishing he were safely with her. She wanted to throw up.

He said, “I think you’re scared. I think this is terrifying, probably more terrifying for you than I can imagine. And I think …”

Marnie couldn’t stand it. “What?”

“I think you’re really used to being alone.”

It was like a stab in the throat.

She tried to think of something to say. She wondered why it was so awful, hearing something aloud, from someone else, when you’d said it to yourself a million times. When you knew, yourself …

The Elf said, “I know what that’s about. Believe me, I do.”

Marnie made a shrugging movement.

“Look at me, Marn,” the Elf said. He sounded kind of impatient.

Marnie took in a little puff of breath. She set her mouth in a straight, firm, tight line. She turned back. She tried to say, “What?” but the word only formed on her lips and didn’t quite make it out into the air.

The Elf said, “Do I
look
like Mr. Popularity?”

Finally Marnie managed to say something. “You have friends. This buddy Dave guy.”

“I have
a
friend,” corrected the Elf. “And he’s
marginal too, in his own way.” He paused and then added, “Don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t have a problem with that. And it’s not as if I go around collecting losers. I just—I kind of like people who …” He paused. “People who are a little different.” He looked directly at Marnie. “You’re a little different. I like that. Do you believe me?”