Sarah Harian - The Wicked We Have Done

I zip the pack up, swing it over my shoulder, and turn.

“Evie.”

He stands in the doorway, head tilted to the side, sucking on his finger like he’s always done. A habit he’s never broken.

My brother.

“Todd?”

He giggles. “Hide-and-seek, Evie. You count. I go!”

And then he runs.

“Todd, stop!” I yell, darting into the hall. He races to the end, giggling like mad, and rushes into the only open door.

I sprint into the room, where Casey is alone. And changing.

He straightens, shirt coiled around his wrists. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Did a little boy run in here?” I spout, simultaneously gaping at him. I’d been right before when I’d ventured to visualize his brawn. What I hadn’t imagined were the zigzagging scars roping his torso.

He slides into his shirt. “Excuse me?”

I swipe the hair from my eyes to scan the room. “I . . . err . . . a little boy. About five.”

He acknowledges what I’ve said by leaning back against the vanity. I’m noticing a trend to the response of his body language—this one is popping up often. It means, Are you a fucking idiot?

“I see now,” he says. “You’re mentally insane. That’s what probably attributed to your crime.”

So Todd didn’t run in here.

Why would Todd even be here?

Maybe I am insane.

“Does that mean no?”

Casey rolls his eyes. Only then does he notice my backpack.

“You leaving?”

“Thinking about it.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Is that so?” I tug the hanging strap around to my other shoulder. “Care to enlighten me?”

“Do what you want.” He nods to the window that showcases the valley, the near-impenetrable pine. “But you don’t know what’s waiting out there.”

“I don’t know what’s waiting out there, but I know what’s waiting in here. I’ll take my chances.”

His lip twitches. “You talk like you aren’t the most dangerous one of us.”

I tighten the straps of my pack. “If I’m so dangerous, why the hell are you persuading me to stick around?”

He’s calculating, still as stone.

I cock my head. “Planning on being vindictive, are we? Keeping me around so you can punish me yourself? Heard you’re good at that.”

Before I can shut my mouth, he has me up against the wall, arm to my throat, the air knocked from me out of sheer surprise.

“Don’t think I fucking won’t,” he growls.

I wonder if they’ll let us kill each other in here. People get killed in jail, right? This wouldn’t be different. “All talk and no game,” I spit. “Maybe you should stop being such a pussy and do it already.”

“Do what ?”

“Kill me.”

His whole aura practically shakes with rage.

“I know I’m gonna die, Casey. You could make it easier. Save us a feud.”

Something shifts in his expression—playtime is done. A deeper loathing takes over. He backs away from me. “Get out.”

I ball my hands into fists.

“I said get out !”

I wait a few seconds to prove I’m not affected by his smoke and mirrors, and push away from the wall, leaving the room.

The hall is dark. It’s the time of day when no one’s yet thought to turn on the lights because you can see enough to trip your way through the shadows. My hands are shaking. I don’t know why, not quite. I didn’t mean what I said—that I wanted him to kill me. I needed to see his reaction, to see if he took me seriously. It’s hard to gauge the insanity levels of others when you’re so screwed up yourself.

A woman stands at the end of the hall in a short nightie. Her eyes are Bambi orbs.

I pause, waiting for her to move. She doesn’t look real.

Doesn’t look real at all.

And she’s not an inmate.

“Casey,” I hiss, but the door is shut.

Maybe she’s the owner of the house. Maybe she’s been hiding. I open my mouth to say something, but my voice has vanished.

She creeps to me, shoulders erect. Her head hangs at an angle, stringy blonde hair falling limply around her shoulders, eyes sunken in their sockets.

She’s unbelievably thin. Her rib cage protrudes around her nonexistent breasts. With a bony hand, she flips back her hair, revealing the mottled bruises on her neck. “Shh.” She reaches out, like she’s going to place a finger to my lips. I shut my eyes, waiting for her touch.

“Don’t tell him I’m here. I want it to be a surprise.”

I open my eyes to ask who she means. But she’s gone.

I exhale and breathe in slowly through my nose. Exhale. It was the traveling, the train trip, that’s causing these visions. Or the drug they used to knock us out. First Todd, now her. I’m having side effects. Hallucinations.

That has to be it.

I hurry downstairs. Valerie and Jace are in the kitchen, doing their damnedest to stay away from the boys. We’re all trying to stay away from two boys in particular, although interacting with Casey isn’t exactly a walk in the park either. But Salem and Gordon are both vocal in their conversation, inebriated chatter filling the cavernous downstairs. Everyone either has their packs on or near them. We all got the message that they are important.

“There’s food.” Valerie holds a glass of water—or vodka—close to her mouth. “In the fridge. If you want it.”

The last thing I am is hungry. Squatting, I scrounge the liquor cabinet for the perfect bottle—an aged scotch—before uncapping it and taking a long pull.

Smooth. I feel the effects immediately. The horror threading my spine begins to ebb.

“Damn, girl,” Valerie says as I bring the bottle back down. Jace remains distant, rubbing her arms as she observes the boys.

“You two been seeing anything strange?” I ask. “Things—people—that shouldn’t be here?”

Valerie crosses her tattooed arms across her chest. “Having an episode? You’re not gonna go bat-shit crazy on us, are you?”

I might be. Because Todd and that girl—I saw them. Who’s to say how sane I am?

Jace takes the effort to drag her gaze away from the boys. “People?”

I open my mouth to explain, but I’m distracted by Casey, who’s now hovering at the base of the stairs. He glances from us to the boys on the couch. I guess neither conversation is appealing to him.

The lights flicker, the buzz of electricity a prevalent force against my ear drums. They sputter out.

When the power returns, Valerie hisses, “Holy fuck.”

The girl from the hall stands at the top of the stairs. Valerie can see her. I’m not going insane. She’s real.

Blaise, who has been lying on the couch since this afternoon, suddenly sits up. He starts to mutter. A prayer, maybe? He jumps up, swings his backpack over his shoulders, and bolts out the door.

Salem acts like he’s going to follow in Blaise’s footsteps, but stays planted in his chair, watching the girl cautiously.

Casey realizes the attention magnet above his head.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Salem groans.

“Who is she ?” Jace asks.

“One of the cunts who testified against me.”

An audible growl escapes Valerie’s throat. She clutches the kitchen island in front of her, the muscles in her forearms dangerously tense.

How can Salem’s victim be here, in the Compass Room? Someone must have paid her to make an appearance, but that means she was willing to be in the same room with him.

She leans forward on the railing, breasts trying their hardest to spill from the triangle restraints of her nightie. “Hey, baby,” she purrs. “Missed you.”

“What the fuck ?” whispers Valerie.

Jace’s hands clamp her glass of juice tightly. “How is she here? How is she inside, like us, how . . .”