Luminous (18 page)

The marching came closer.

The sounds were steady and even.

The footsteps never faltered, driven like a steady hammer to nail, gunshots at a firing range. It was almost upon him—the press of hot, dampened Flow pushing everything out of its wake. Wish cowered, waiting. He didn't want to die, but couldn't help wondering what it'd feel like if he did. He wondered if it'd take long. He wondered if it was happening now. Was the sword hanging over his head? He couldn't stand not knowing. He looked.

Wish peeked over his collar under the cover of his hair at the bright black boots stalking by. The young psychopath's strides ate up the Flow and spat it back like some parasitic worm. He didn't see Wish, didn't even pause to sneer; the Angel of Death kept walking, storming toward somewhere else in space. Wish watched him go, refusing to breathe.

It was an old, familiar terror: too scared to speak, too scared to tell, and no one ever believed him, anyway.

The boots walked into the nothing as Wish sat unnoticed, sculpted in fear.

He unwound only when his muscles began to burn, when his knuckles shook with strain and sharp spasms bit the base of his spine. Uncurling like a hedgehog, meek and cautious, Wish kept expecting the inevitable predator-pain.

He couldn't believe it—it worked! He'd passed within inches, if that.

Relief crashed through him with the promise of a major migraine.
Paranoid, am I?
Wish smirked.
Then what the hell was that?!

He wiped his hands on his pants and headed elsewhere. His laughter, when it escaped, bubbled out in spurts of maniacal soda-can froth.
Piece of cake;
he giggled. Should he try to warn the others? Sissy was a goner, for sure. Bones, too, probably. He couldn't risk it. There wasn't time. Maybe he could find Abacus or Maddy and hide out with them. Wish might not be the only one left, after all.

Smarter than the average bear,
Wish congratulated himself.

It was tough to hide in a world where nothing really existed, so he'd tucked himself behind somebody else's wish, and waited for the threat to walk right on by.

 

THIS
time, there was no knock, no warning, Tender walked right through her bedroom wall with a secret smile on his face. Consuela jumped up from her desk, cold with fear. Had he known that she'd been spying on him? Had Wish said anything?
Tender's going to kill me!

He was as confident and cool as ever, as if he'd never once cracked open his mouth and swallowed layers of black pain from the Flow.

“Hello, Bones,” he said. “Sorry to intrude, but I knew this couldn't wait.” He flicked his head to move his bangs from his eyes. “I figured out your problem and—as promised—I'm here to help!”

The creepy, numbing buzz hadn't left her limbs, which tingled awake without having fallen asleep first. She remembered the ants. And Tender's screaming. She was proud that her voice sounded calmer than she felt.

“Help?” she asked warily. “With what?”

Tender grinned as if they shared a joke. “Oh, come now. V wanted to do it all by himself—right past wrongs, that sort of thing. Make it up to you,” he said. “And we all gave him his space and ample time, but I think you've had enough and would rather just get out, right?”

Consuela stammered, “Get out?”

“Get. Out.” Tender overenunciated. “Go home. Go back to your life. That is what you want, isn't it?”

Her head spun, thoughts twisting one-eighty.
“What?”

“I asked,” Tender said smoothly, stepping forward and looking pleased with himself, “if you wanted to go home?”

She blinked up at him.

“Home.” She repeated the word, visions of her parents and Allison and her car swam to the surface; school and pizza and walking out of her room and away and away and away . . .

Consuela was hopeful enough to ask.

“How?”

Tender clapped his hands as if he'd been waiting for that question. “Well,” he said theatrically, “let's see what our lucky contestant can find behind Door Number One.” He grabbed her bedroom door handle and cranked it down, pulling it open with a flourish. Consuela stared.

There were hardwood floors, cream-colored walls, the worn, Indonesian runner, and the framed family portrait at the end of the hall.

Home.
Her mouth felt dry. She forgot to breathe.

Tender stepped aside.

“How about here and now?” he said.

She was afraid to move, afraid to blink, afraid to believe it. Her feet were glued to the floor.

“That wasn't there before,” she whispered.

“Of course not,” he said. “But this is the Flow, which can be anywhere at any time and right now it is at your house, on the second floor, just outside your room.” Tender leaned on the door with a self-satisfied smirk. “Now you say, ‘Thank you,' and kiss me good-bye.”

Consuela stared at him and was surprised when he glanced away, embarrassed; a flush brightened his throat, but hadn't made it to his cheeks.

“The kiss is optional, of course,” he said. “But I thought you'd be grateful.”

I am, aren't I?
She was too nervous to be sure. Suspicion blinded her. It didn't seem possible, but then nothing had seemed that way since she'd found the lump. More to the point, it didn't seem
right—
but she couldn't figure out why. She kept staring at the framed photograph down the hall, willing the image sharper, proving itself real, knowing it would look clearer if she stepped forward. She remained where she was.
Why can't I just go?

“That's real?” she asked, stalling for time to think. “That's the real world?”

“As real as it gets,” Tender said gently.

Consuela almost frowned as a thought occurred to her. “Why me?”

Tender paused. “Excuse me?”

“If this is real, if the Flow can go anywhere,” she asked carefully, “why don't you use it to go back?”

Something in his eyes flattened and his proud smile grew stiff.

“You presume that I
want
to go back,” he said through his teeth. “I don't
ever
want to go back.”

“But the others . . . ?”

“Neither Sissy or V or Joseph or Wish want to go back either—despite what they say out loud to convince one another how much they miss home. They know their lives are no longer pretty or
they're
no longer pretty—” He shook his head. “But we all
want
to stay here in the Flow, otherwise we wouldn't be here.” He tapped his chest and winked. “Maximum impact, remember? We do better here. But you—” He lifted his hand to touch hers; she flinched. “You don't belong here. V's said it a thousand times. You've said it yourself. You have to go back. V is being stubborn and selfish by making you wait when all he had to do was swallow his pride and ask for help.” He glanced at her under his thick black eyebrows. “You should never be afraid to ask for help.” His eyes quirked, full of double meanings. She gazed out the door to a familiar world.

“And I could just go now?” She said. “Just walk out the door and close it and be home?”

Tender looked out with her, saying nothing, leaning against the jamb.

“It's up to you, Bones,” he said finally. “It looks like a nice life.”

“What are you waiting for?” he whispered.

She searched for it. It was something. Unfinished.

“It's not my time,” Consuela said quietly, not quite believing that she'd said it. It was as true as she could make it, although it seemed as if they were both saddened by her answer. Tender pressed his belt buckle slowly, a gentle pressure. Consuela didn't dare blink as he weighed something behind his eyes.

“Okay,” Tender said flatly, and closed the door with aching slowness. The latch caught with a sliding click. He let the handle go with a showman's regret. “Have it your way.” He waved his hand and her window smeared open, punctured by the Flow. Tender walked toward it.

“If you change your mind, come find me.” His voice lilted, almost mocking. “When the time is right.”

She watched the Flow slip closed behind him, her window coalescing back to normal and the volatile feeling passing like rain. Consuela's hand hovered above the door handle but she withdrew it and glanced at herself in the mirror, half wanting V to be there, spying, half wanting to privately convince herself she'd done the right thing.

She searched the reflection of her eyes, but she found no answers there.

She heard Sissy's crying through the door, artless and broken. Consuela hesitated, not wanting to intrude on grief—she thought of mourning as a private thing done with wringing hands and tugging hair. She didn't know Sissy well enough for that. But she still had to tell her Abacus was out and that she'd left a message. Correction: Tender left the message. She only hoped it said what she'd told him to say.

She was conscious of lurking outside the door.

Knocking cautiously, Consuela let herself in. There was only splintered crying. She had no idea that Sissy had been so close to this guy, Nikki.

The Watcher's chair was empty and the sounds came from around a corner. Consuela crept carefully past the bookshelves, noticing the great, gaping hole where the dictionary had been. She was somewhat prepared when she found Sissy on the floor, propped up against the wainscoting, her hair hanging down over her dripping face and the bottle clutched in her hand. The Watcher sniffled thickly, limp tremors shaking her body. She looked like a marionette with all its strings cut.

“Sissy?” Consuela got down on her hands and knees and touched the girl's shoulder. Her face came up—full and whole, but red and swollen. Consuela could see the pink on the insides of her lids, loose around bloodshot eyes.

“Bones?” Sissy said, then burst into fresh tears, pulling Consuela into an awkward hug. Consuela tried to comfort Sissy's raw hysteria with a confused sort of patting. Sissy was damp and smelled like a warm chemical spill.

Consuela tucked her chin over Sissy's skull and rocked her almost roughly, like a kind slap to clear the senses. She couldn't help thinking that both Wish and V were better at this.

“Shh,” she said helplessly. “Shh. Shh.”

“N-n-n—” Sissy burbled, trying to speak. Her crying was so hard it choked her. She gagged.

“What is it?” Consuela felt the uneasiness return. She had an icy premonition. “This isn't about Nikki.” It wasn't even a question. Sissy shook her head violently. The bottle thunked against the carpet with mute anger.

Consuela couldn't feel her hands.
Isn't that weird?
In her own skin, she should feel everything, but the world had gone dead and cold in a sort of slow-motion moment. She felt that she knew the answer even before asking, but she had to say it. She had to hear it said out loud.

“Who?” she asked quietly.

“YEHUDAH!” Sissy screamed, fell sideways, and vomited on the floor. Consuela grabbed her shoulder and tried to hold back her hair, like the time after Allison tried chugging her brother's beer. Consuela's hands shook along with Sissy's and the two of them crouched over the acidic puddle of puke.

Sissy convulsed weakly in three quick bursts, but nothing more came up. She cried louder through a cracking throat.

“They killed him!” she spat at the floor. “They killed Yehudah!”

Consuela went all pins and needles. “They who?”

“It! Him! Her! They!” Sissy wailed. “I don't know!”

“Sissy . . .” Consuela pleaded.

“Killed him!” she cried. “Killed Nikki! Someone's out there killing us!”

Consuela tugged her friend sideways, away from the mess, scooting them across the floor. She snagged a box of everlasting tissues and pressed a handful against Sissy's blue eyes. Her tremors were contagious. Consuela could feel them in her chest.

“Yehudah's dead?” Consuela repeated, thinking of the dark-haired boy on the chair and the smell of baby powder. He was too nice to be dead.

“They—” Sissy stumbled over the words as her eyes rolled; her tear ducts failed her, although her eyes still shone in the recessed light. “They chopped him into bits. You wouldn't know it was him except . . .” She shuddered. “Except they left his two fingers together, intact, on the floor.” She dry-heaved against Consuela, whose heart beat like a train.

“Oh God,” Consuela stammered, surprising tears filling her eyes.

// TenderTenderTender //
echoed in her head.
Really? Tender? But then, why didn't he kill me? He even showed me the way home . . .
She remembered Tender feeding on the hallway floor. Panic lurched.
Or did he?

“How could they have gotten him?” Sissy babbled helplessly. Her breath sounded like a stick dragged across a picket fence. “His wards were impenetrable. No one could pierce them in either world. Killian O'Shea was proof of that.”

Consuela shook her head, ignoring her own fear, trying to wrap her brain around someone being there one moment and not the next. She knew it happened but not that it could be happening now. She squeezed Sissy's shoulders.

“Maybe he was like Wish,” Consuela said slowly. “Maybe he could only do things for others, but not for himself.”