Page 68 of Riot Act
This first chapter isn't as long as the introduction to the serial killer story. It's just shy of two thousand words, but I like the language. I like that, even though the unnamed boy gets out, the piece is suspenseful and full of dread. And so fucking what if it doesn't scare Chase? I've given her very little clue as to where she's supposed to take the story from here. I haven't given her any indication about what kind of story this should be, now that the guy without a name is safe from danger. Honestly, I'm intrigued to see what direction she'll take it in next.
I fire it over to her email before I can second guess myself and send the serial killer chapter instead. I've never told anyone about the dream. Like Theseus, that maze used to be my own personal hell. I was stalked down its dank, winding pathways every night, chased and captured by hellish monsters, each of which were more terrifying than the last. They would always catch me. They would steal a piece of me and swallow it down, eating away at me night after night.
They did it until there was nothing of me left.
Then, and only then, did the night terrors stop.
26
PRES
“He didn’t do it to upset you. He was just looking after your best interests. It’s best that we’re aware of this kind of thing, Presley. We can’t give you the help you need if we have no idea that you’re struggling.”
I’d looked Jarvis dead in the eye and grimaced. “I’m not struggling. I’m fine. The whole thing was an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt myself like that. I don’t even cut myself normally. I just…I had one bad night, and I wanted a release. That bad day ended weeks ago and I’m totally fine now. You don’t…you don’t need to baby me. I’m totally fine, I promise.”
My promise wasn’t worth shit with Jarvis, though. I could tell. She was dubious at best, and thought I was an outright liar at worst. Her expression had said it all.
“Even so. I’ll pop by later, around eight, before you should be getting ready for bed. It’ll be quick. I’ll just see how you’re doing and if you need anything, and that’ll be that. I’ll know I’ve done my duty. I can confirm with your dad that you’re okay, and everyone will be happy.”
“No, they won’t. I won’t be happy. I’ll be seriously pissed that my privacy is being invaded, yet again.”
She’d given me a sorry look, like she sympathized but there wasn’t really much she could do, under the circumstances. “I’m sure it’ll only be for a week or so. Once your dad’s gotten used to you being back here, this kind of thing won’t be necessary. Just give him time to get used to it and everything will be fine, Presley. In the meantime, I’ll see you at eight, okay?”
And she’d come by my bedroom at eight, just as promised. I’d borne the humiliation of her stepping into my room, surreptitiously glancing around, probably looking for sharp objects that don’t belong in the room of a teenager who was recently admitted into hospital with slit wrists. She’d made polite conversation for ten minutes, awkwardly asked me if I was planning on going to sleep soon, to which I replied of course, look, I’m in my PJs, and then she’d left.
Took me ten minutes to get changed, throw on a little eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss, and then I was clambering out on my window and onto the roof. Losing my room on the same floor as Carrie and Elodie was a blow, but now that I have cause to sneak out of the academy, I’m suddenly not too mad anymore. The drop from the roof outside my bedroom window is manageable. I barely even register the dart of pain in my ankles when I land. Still, I make a mental note to myself that I need to bend my knees more when I let myself drop in future. Then I’m away.
It’s too dangerous to skirt around the building and grab the car Dad left for me—I’ll definitely get busted if I do that—so I flit across the front lawn, clinging to the shadows, until I reach the end of the building, and then I duck down low, racing for a bank of trees.
I’m not seen.
No one comes tearing out of the academy, screaming at me to get back inside.
I’m in the wind, and the freedom that hits me with that knowledge is a heady and powerful thing. Once I can no longer see Wolf Hall, I emerge from the trees and opt for the road instead, walking alongside the blacktop, the night singing all around me. The roar from the cicadas is almost deafening in my ears as I hurry down the mountain. When I reach Riot House’s front door, it’s eight-forty-five and I’m sticky with sweat. My hair is plastered to the back of my neck, and I do not feel as fresh as I did when I jumped out of my bedroom window.
Pax was very clear about what I should do when I got to the house. He said come in and go straight to his room, which is a far better option than knocking: I don’t want to deal with the indignity of Wren or Dash answering the door, that’s for sure. But I half expect the front door to be locked when I place my palm against the warmed metal handle and depress the latch.
It isn’t locked. It isn’t even properly closed, now that I’m up this close. It’s held ajar by a tiny ceramic bird, wedged between the door and the frame. Weird. When I pick it up, I see that it’s actually covered in a spiderweb of tiny cracks, the fissures in its surface painted gold. It’s beautiful. There’s something vaguely familiar about it…
When I push the door open and step inside, I come face-to-face with someone I was not expecting to see here tonight.
Elodie.
My friend stands in the hallway, wearing the shortest skirt imaginable, her dark hair tied back into Harlequin-style pig tails. Her t-shirt is utterly see-thru. When she sees me, her face turns bright red. “Pres? Wai—wha—what are you doing here?”
I’m a horrible liar. Truly horrible. Or…I guess Iusedto be? Without missing a beat, I say, “Pax and I are working on a project. We’re studying.”
No sense in asking her what she’s doing here. I’d say that was pretty obvious. She doesn’t look like she buys my explanation at all, but she’s far too embarrassed that her nipples are visible through her shirt to question me at length. “Oh. Oh, cool.” She casually folds her arms over her chest, covering herself. “Well. I hope he’s not gonna be an asshole,” she mutters.
I shrug. “When isn’t he?”
“That is very true. I, uhh…I’m just waiting for Wren. He dipped out to get some—”
“Ice cream,” a voice behind me says. It’s Wren, of course, holding a brown paper bag of groceries in his arms. I didn’t even hear him pull up. He slips through the doorway, kicking it closed behind himself, effortlessly relieving me of the little ceramic bird as he passes me and heads across the foyer. Dressed head-to-toe in black, his hair wet, flicking into his eyes, he drops a kiss on the top of Elodie’s head, placing the little bird into her hands. She looks up at him, suddenly no longer embarrassed. I’m the one who’s embarrassed, in fact, as they trade a long look at each other, staring into each other’s eyes. A lot passes through them in that look. Whole civilizations rise and fall, and universes crumble to ash in the time that passes while they silently smile at each other. I feel wrong just witnessing the intensity of it.
Wren’s the one to break the moment. He gently runs the pad of one thumb over Elodie’s cheekbone; the action couldn’t be any more intimate if he’d lifted up her skirt and thrust himself inside of her. He doesn’t make a single comment about me being here as he heads into the kitchen with his bag of groceries. Doesn’t even look back at me. Elodie does, though. Her cheeks are flushed bright red, eyes dancing.
“I—” She shakes her head, screwing her eyes closed, laughing breathlessly. “Sorry. I knew Dash was out. Pax doesn’t come out of his room very often. I…I figured I was safe. I’ll let you go up and get on with your assignment, I guess.”
