The Bodies We Wear (16 page)

I don’t see her again for several years.

It’s been an entire week and still no Chael. Don’t think for a second that I’m still looking for him. Not me. I’ve moved on.

It’s late night and I’m at my usual place by the bar. I’ve picked up a coffee from the shop down the street and I lean against my streetlight, prepared for another evening of watching.

It does get boring sometimes.

I’ve been doing double training with Gazer this week. I’ve been tossing knives like they’re going out of style. The dummy in the basement is so full of holes Gazer finally decided to replace it after I severed its cotton-stuffed neck. Each morning I run for five miles without stopping to rest like I normally do. I do push-ups on my bedroom floor each night before I go to sleep. For some reason, the situation at the party has made me that much more determined to kill my enemies.

Graduation is lost to me now.

It’s time I step up the game.

I decide that within the next few weeks, I’m going to get my revenge on the next person on my list.

Ming Bao.

Ming never touched me. No, he was the one who killed Christian. He used to be a professional boxer back in the days before getting expelled from the league. Turns out Ming had a bit of a gambling habit and liked to bet against himself and lose his fights. A dirty cheat. He has a reputation for being a tough guy on the street. He’s got bigger muscles than brains and that makes him dangerous.

The night we both died, Ming held my best friend down, pinning Christian’s arms behind his back while bringing a thick-muscled arm down and across his neck. I can still remember him laughing while Christian struggled and gasped for air.

Ming is mostly Rufus’s lapdog. The two of them work together a lot. In the six years since I’ve been monitoring them, I’ve seen them go after the children of eight families, do numerous drug deals, burn down two buildings, and kill seven men. Two of the murders were the result of drug deals gone bad. Four were hired hits. One was an innocent victim who happened to be in the wrong place.

I have witnessed these crimes and it has taken every ounce of willpower to stay hidden. Twice I have anonymously called the police but in vain. Both times they’ve managed to elude the cops. Thankfully, the kids didn’t die, although one of them passed on last year, another victim of a Heam overdose. An addiction that Rufus and Ming encouraged.

I have stayed in the shadows for all these crimes. In a way, my revenge will belong to others too. People I’ve never met. Victims who deserve more.

I want Ming to know what it feels like to have the air knocked from his lungs. I want him to look up at me while I squeeze the last remaining breaths from his body. It’ll take some real skill and determination because even I’m not stupid enough to go up against him in a fair fight. My fighting skills may be equal to Ming’s, but my entire body weight is probably half of his.

Tonight he’s drinking at the bar with Rufus, which is interesting because they don’t usually hang out together here. The bar is Rufus’s territory. He doesn’t like to do business there. Never mix business with pleasure.

This makes me especially curious to know what’s going down.

I’m going to find out.

It doesn’t take long before the two of them leave the bar. They stop for a few moments while Rufus lights a cigarette. When he looks up, he spots me; his hand pauses with his finger still on the button of his lighter. Shadows flicker across his face.

I step back against the wall, dissolving into the darkness. I’ve got to get back into the game. That’s twice now I’ve been stupid enough to let my face be seen. Ignoring the way my heart jumps into my chest, I breathe in deeply, trying to convince myself that it doesn’t matter. Sure, Rufus looked right at me, but he probably assumes I’m just another gutter rat looking for some action. In this neighborhood, there’s a girl on almost every corner. I get propositioned a lot when I stand here. Some nights I’m beating them off with a stick.

After about fifteen seconds or so, I peer around the corner, still trying to figure out what I’ll do if they’re coming for me. But they’re not. They obviously didn’t even notice. They’ve turned in the other direction and are walking off. I wait about a minute and then follow. They head off toward the docks and I keep a block behind them, prepared to duck into the shadows if I have to. But not once do they turn around to see if they’re being followed.

Silly murderers. They should know better.

A few blocks further, they’re joined by a third man. Phil Sabado. He’s the last on my list. He’s about as useless as Trank and twice as dumb. The only reason I haven’t paid him much attention is because he had the least to do with our deaths. He mostly leaned against the wall and worked as a lookout. I’m pretty sure he was stoned the entire time. As far as I can tell, he’s an alcoholic and a druggie. Even Rufus doesn’t pay him much attention unless he needs the extra muscle. He doesn’t like Phil. He only uses him when absolutely necessary.

Something must really be going down tonight if he’s bothering with both Phil and Ming. I wonder if he’d be including Trank if he were still alive.

When they reach the docks, they turn and move past the darkened offices and around to the back. It’s a literal maze of shipping containers stacked upward toward the sky. I wait till they disappear around the bend before I start following.

It’s an arduous task. I can hear them talking but because of the way the voices bounce off the metal boxes, I can’t tell exactly where in the yard they are. I have to take caution at each corner, waiting before I turn the bend. If I get caught, not only will I have to come up with some quick excuses for why I’m here, but I might end up having to run for it, risking my cover and myself in the process. I know I keep repeating myself to the point of stupidity but it’s become my mantra. Don’t get caught.

Don’t get caught.

Stupidity never wins.

I turn a corner too quickly and suddenly I’m down by the docks. The shipping containers have ended and there is nothing in front of me except concrete and a hell of a lot of dark water.

And a large group of men.

I duck back around the corner again; thankfully, none of them were looking my way. Turning, I go over to the closest container and start climbing. It’s not that hard. They’re not stacked as high here and it only takes about three of them before I reach the top. Moving carefully along, I creep down the row until I’m right above them. Unless they happen to look straight up, there’s no way anyone is going to spot me. I get down on my hands and knees and crawl forward until I’m in a comfortable enough position to watch for a while.

Rufus and Ming are there, along with four other men I don’t recognize. Phil stands about twenty feet away and he’s picking his nose. Nice. A cream-colored sedan is parked close by. They’re talking and their voices are too low for me to hear. It frustrates me immediately because I know they’re talking about something that could benefit me. Something really illegal. Why else would they come here of all places to have this discussion?

One of the men goes back over to the sedan and pops the trunk. Removing a brief case, he brings it over. More talking continues. Voices rise up and I start catching the conversation.

“What the hell is this?” From Rufus.

“This is all we’re giving you.”

“That wasn’t the agreement.”

There is a loud burst of swearing and I lean forward to the point where my head is sticking right over the edge of the container. If one of them happens to look up, I’ll be spotted in an instant. Stupid me. I’ve been so caught up in the actions beneath me; I should have done a better job checking the perimeter to make sure I was alone. I don’t even have a chance to react when the hand goes over my mouth.

Not that I would scream. I know better.

The hand yanks me backward and there’s a silent scuffle as I’m pulled away from the edge. Twisting my body around, I raise my hands, ready to fend off my attacker, but stop the second I recognize the face.

I should have known. My friendly neighborhood stalker.

Chael.

I open my mouth to complain but he puts a finger against his lips to silence me. I shrug and he motions at me to follow him. Although I’d like to stay put and watch the show beneath me, I’m more curious to follow Chael. I haven’t seen him since the night Trank died and I have a lot of questions for him.

I especially want to know why he’s here.

And how he knows the last words that were spoken to me before I died.

We silently move back several containers, until I decide we’re far enough away that no one is going to hear us whispering.

“What do you want?” I hiss at him.

“Not here,” he says. “We need to keep moving.”

I plant both my feet on the metal beneath me. I’m not going anywhere. From where I am, I have a good view of the harbor. The blackness spreads out for miles; I can’t tell where the water begins and the sky ends. A bit of a breeze pushes my hair in front of my face and I brush a few strands away.

“Just tell me what you want,” I say. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

He grabs me by the arm. I can see the fierceness in his eyes. He’s very angry. At me? Yes, I think so.

“You need to leave,” he says in a low voice. “You are getting involved with something that is far beyond your comprehension. You’re going to get yourself killed. Those men down there aren’t playing games. They’ll shoot you without thinking twice.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say. My blood is beginning to boil and I’m finding it hard to keep my voice down. Anger and whispering never go hand in hand. “And if you think I’m playing a game, you’re an idiot. I have my reasons, not that I need to explain them to you.”

“God, why are you so stubborn?” he snaps.

And the gunshots go off.

We both drop to the ground, flattening ourselves against the container. Someone screams, a high-pitched squealing noise. The gun fires again and the sound shuts off like someone pressed a button.

“Come on,” he snaps. The anger is still there but now I see something new in his eyes. Fear. It’s real enough that I don’t argue or pull against him when he grabs my arm and leads me over to the side of the container.

We climb down, me first, him right behind me. When I reach the ground, I’m tempted to run off but he’s too quick. He lets go from ten feet above and drops gracefully to the ground beside me. Within seconds, his hand is back on my arm and he’s pulling me away from the docks.

But this time I fight him.

“We can’t,” I say. “Those were gunshots. I have to see what they did. Someone might need our help.”

“Not likely,” Chael says. “Anyone in that group probably deserved it.”

“If they killed Rufus, I want to see it.”

“You can hear about it on the news. Now come on.”

I turn around, twisting my body out of his grip. Grabbing his shoulders, I use my strength to slam him up against the metal container. Dumb move. The noise echoes through the yard.

There are shouts from behind me. I turn to see people coming around the corner. It’s too far to tell but there are at least two of them. I can’t tell if it’s Rufus and Ming.

Chael grabs my arm and yanks me backward. This time I don’t have to be forced. I turn and we both begin to run. I hear the gunshot just as something whizzes past my ear and strikes the metal wall, sending sparks flying.

We round a corner and then another but there’s nothing but row upon row of metal containers. This place is one gigantic maze. I should have paid more attention when I came in. I look straight up at the sky but I can’t see anything but darkness. I can’t even tell which direction we’re running in. There’s nothing to look at that might give me a clue.

Even Chael seems to be lost. Finally, he slows down after the tenth turn or so and I stand there breathing heavily, trying hard to keep quiet and listen for the sounds of footsteps from behind us.

I hear someone shouting but it seems far enough away that I don’t think I need to start running again. I take several deep breaths, trying to convince my heart to stop pounding in my chest.

Chael isn’t even winded. He’s staring at me but his eyes keep glancing above my head for motion in the background.

“How do we get out of here?” I snap. “If you hadn’t dragged me all over the place, I probably could have found my way out. You’ve gotten me lost.”

“Right,” he says. “It’s all my fault.”

“It is,” I say, although I’m aware there’s now a bit of amusement in his eyes. He’s not buying my complaint in the slightest. He steps into the center of the row and looks up at the sky. He closes his eyes. It’s like he’s listening to the night. He stays this way for several seconds and when I’m about to finally open my mouth, he smiles at me.

“We have to go that way,” he says, pointing in the direction from which we came. “We’re not that far. Just a few more turns.”

“What? Have you got some sort of magic compass in your pants?” I snap at him. “How could you know that?”

“I just do.”

“And why did you call me honey bunny?” I say. He looks confused so I elaborate. “Last time. You called me honey bunny. Why that saying in particular? How did you know that both my father and my best friend used to call me that?”

“I know a lot of things.”

“Screw you,” I say. “I’m getting really tired of this stupid act. You are not all mysterious and powerful. You’re just an idiot.”

“This isn’t the time for explanations.”

My hand pulls back automatically. I punch him in the jaw. Hard. He doesn’t even try to block it. Instead, his hands drop to his sides and he looks straight at me as if daring me to hit him again.

“Stop trying to mess with my head,” I snap. My fingers remain clenched tight.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. Now tell me. How do you know about—”

“Hey!”

I turn around but I’m moving too slowly. Fifty feet away, Ming has turned the corner. He stops, brings up his gun, and points it right at me. I can’t move. I want to move.

Move!

The gun fires.

Chael throws himself in front of me and he’s forcibly shoved back when the bullet enters his body, pushing us both against the container, knocking the air out of me. I see blood spray against the container, a splash of brightness on the dull gray metal.

Ming isn’t letting up. He fires again and the bullet hits the metal a few inches away from my thigh.

Chael turns, grabbing my arm, practically yanking it from its socket, and pulling me back and around the corner as a third bullet hits the wall, right where my head was a few seconds earlier.

We run. Chael’s jacket is open and I can see the blood pouring from a tiny hole in his chest. His shirt, which was white, is rapidly turning black and wet in the moonlight.

He’s not faltering. He should be on his knees with a hole right through his chest. He should be lying on the ground dying. But instead he pulls me along and we take two more turns and suddenly we’re at the entrance of the shipping yard. In front of us are buildings, not shipping containers; wide-open streets and not narrow rows.

We take a hard right and then a quick left into the alley. We keep running. Eventually I turn around to look and there is nothing behind us except dirty concrete, rows of Dumpsters, and a few abandoned cars.

Chael slows down but he doesn’t stop until we’re at least a mile away. I’m breathing heavily and I lean against a burned-out van to try to catch my breath. I’ve never run so hard in my entire life and I’m suddenly thankful for all those mornings Gazer forced me out of bed and into my shoes. My stomach lurches and heaves and I lean forward, tucking my head between my legs to keep from throwing up. When I finally right myself, the nausea is gone but my vision is still slightly blurry.

Chael is watching me.

“Are you all right?” I ask. I move toward him, wondering where the closest hospital is and if I can even take him there. There will be a lot of questions involved if I show up there carrying someone who’s been shot. A lot of questions. Maybe even an arrest. Should I take him to Gazer? Can I even get him that far? We’ve just run a marathon. He’s probably been dripping blood the entire time. How much can he lose before he dies?

“I’m fine,” he says.

“No, you’re not,” I say. “You’ve been shot. We have to get you somewhere. You’re gonna die if we don’t.”

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

Anger flares up inside me. I step forward, grabbing hold of his jacket, yanking it aside so I can get a better view of his chest. I can see the hole where the bullet tore through his shirt. Even in the darkness of the alley, I can see the blood staining the fabric.

“You’re shot,” I say. “See! Right there in your chest.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re going to die if we don’t get help.”

Chael puts his hands on top of mine, prying away my fingers. He lifts his shirt so I can see his chest. There’s still a lot of blood but no hole. His skin is bare and inexplicably intact.

“But you got shot,” I say. “I saw it. There’s blood.” I hold up my hands and sure enough, my fingers are stained red from where I grabbed his jacket.

“It’s okay,” he says. He reaches out and takes my hand, pulling it up against his chest, which is hot but not sweaty or bleeding in the slightest. There should be a small hole where the bullet tore through the flesh. But his skin is soft and unmarked. My stomach flip-flops again but not because of the running.

“That’s impossible,” I whisper.

“I was shot. But I’m fine now.”

“You were bleeding.”

“I heal quickly.”

I nod but I don’t understand this in the slightest. My hand stays against his chest, feeling the strength and warmth of his body as he exhales. My cheeks are burning; my pulse jumps into my throat and I want to swallow but I can’t. The lump there is suddenly too big. I can’t even speak.

“Come on,” he says. “I don’t think they saw us but we’re not safe yet. Let’s go somewhere and I’ll explain everything.”

I nod again and he takes my hand, leading me off into the night.

We end up in a park.

Quiet. Safe. Secluded. A good place to talk.

A good place to kill someone too.

Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that.

In the middle of the park is a duck pond, or what once was a pond. There haven’t been animals or waterfowl here for years. Now it’s nothing but a small watery bit of sludge. People have tossed their garbage here and I can see empty cigarette packets and fast-food wrappers.

We sit down on a bench that has suffered years of abuse from past visitors. There are thousands of scratches in the paint where people have proclaimed their love and proven their existence.

billy
❤
cat.

emma + don. tru luv 4-ever.

jezzzzz
wuz here.

We sit for a while without speaking. Chael doesn’t seem to know where to begin. I only have one question. Not really a question but something I need to know. Finally, I decide to take the plunge.

“Christian?”

He turns to me. The way he looks suggests he’s not just responding to my voice. No, he’s answering to the name.

And suddenly I see it. The green eyes. His beautiful dark hair that covers his ears. It always looked healthy, even when it hadn’t been washed. But especially the eyes. I used to spend hours looking at him when I was a little girl. The day after his burial I swore to myself that I’d never forget him. No matter how many years went by.

He’s been here all along. How did I not recognize it before?

“You’re dead. I know you’re dead. I went to your funeral.” My words are choked, and as the tears well up, I blink furiously to keep them back. “I saw your body!”

He nods, turning away as if my tears are too painful to see. He looks down at the ground for a long time. His hands rest in his lap and his shoulders hunch over as if he’s trying to force himself into a tiny ball.

“Don’t do that,” I finally say. “Say something.”

“You’re right.”

“About what?”

“I’m dead.”

I reach out and touch him and his body is warm against my skin. I touch his cheek and I swear I can feel the blood pulsing through his veins. He twitches slightly and pulls away. He won’t look at me and I can’t read the expression on his face. So instead I watch his chest as it rises and falls with each breath.

“You’re not dead,” I finally say.

“Okay, then,” he says. “I’m not dead.”

“I watched them bury you.”

“Was it nice?”

“What?”

“The funeral.”

“It was okay,” I say, and then shake my head in disbelief. “Who cares about that? It doesn’t explain how you’re here right now.”

“I would have liked to think my funeral was nice.”

“Quit ignoring my question.”

He pauses for a few moments and stares up at the sky. “I was dead. I came back.”

I want to scream at him. I want to jump up and head into the bushes, exposing the hidden cameras that are filming us. This has to be a joke. A sick joke. One of those stupid television shows where they make people believe all sorts of things before exposing the truth. I wait for the film team to emerge from behind the trees to tell me I’ve been playing a part in some insanely cruel game.