Lost and Found (22 page)

Scrambling from her, I pushed myself back until my shoulder blades hit a metal filing
cabinet. My left shoe had come off and my backpack was lying on its side by the door,
one of the straps ripped.

"Jesus," I muttered, sucking in air, pressing my back as far into the cabinet as my
skin would allow.

She moaned - the crazy lady. When she stirred I flinched as if struck, denting the
metal drawer behind me with my head. Instead of getting up for another attack, she
curled into a ball and began to sob. It was an eerie sound in a space as large as
the warehouse. The cries drifted in and out of the aisles with a strange kind of ebb
and flow, like the building itself was breathing her sorrow.

The smell hit me again. It was the scent of dirty
living
bodies, shit and urine mingling with fresh and rotten blood. This was where they
were kept - the women. In a dungeon, in squalor - left to rot, die, and be used however
the men saw fit.

Raising a shaky and bleeding hand in front of me, and speaking as soothingly as my
damaged throat would allow, I said to her, "I'm not here to hurt you." The simple
statement was absurd even to me, especially after punching, slapping, scratching and
kicking the small yet surprisingly wily woman clear across the room.

A holler boomed outside, sounding faraway but dangerously close at the same time,
and the woman's sobs cut off abruptly. We both stayed frozen like that. The girl curled
in a tight ball, hands clamped around her mouth, me with my arm projected in front
of my body, fingers splayed open to reveal an empty palm. We waited. Listening to
each other's hushed and erratic breathing.

"Riley!" Drake's voice boomed again.

"Drake!" I squeaked, causing the woman to jerk. "In here," my voice wavered. "Drake!"

Every muscle in my body protested as I dragged myself toward the door, flinging it
all the way open to look out into the darkness. Something rustled behind me and I
braced for the woman's hands on my body again but instead she had retreated deeper
into the room, hiding in the shadows.

"Where are you?" Drake hollered, his voice closer but still not close enough.

"Here, the far corner…over here!"

He found me resting on my forearms, my hand freely bleeding from a bite wound, my
face bloody and my arm leaking a dark amber color. My clothes were soaked with the
blood of the first man Drake had killed.

"Holy fuck!" he breathed, dropping down to his knees to pull me into his arms. His
face was splattered with red droplets, his dark clothes soaked in the same wet sprinkles.

"Fine," I mumbled, "I'm okay."

"Like hell," he lifted me to my feet and snaked an arm around my waist to hold me
up.

"My shoe," I said.

"Huh?"

"I lost…my shoe."

He blinked, his eyes watering. And then his chest heaved into mine as he began to
laugh. "You lost a fucking shoe? That's it. That's all you have to say?"

My body swayed in his grasp as I looked down. That's when my mind finally broke, when
I took in the pathetic sight of that white, socked foot. Not many people remember
that moment - the very
second
when their reality finally leaves them and the hysteria walks in - loud and proud
to be there.

I laughed so hard it hurt. So hard in fact, that tears flowed down my face, leaving
clear tracks through my sticky finger painting. I laughed until the only pain I felt
was a sharp stitch in my side that threatened to separate my muscles from my ribs.
Drake held onto me as if he feared I would run away and we laughed and bled against
each other until a scared voice interrupted from just behind us.

"
Riley
…
is it really you?"

It wasn't supposed to happen. I mean, not
really
. Finding Mariah was a dream; a fantasy I clutched to in order to stomp some of the
survival guilt back down my throat. Yet, there she was standing before me. Battered,
used up and broken - but alive.

We stared at each other in the poor light, recognizing only our voices. Drake's arm
was still wrapped tightly around my waist but even with the support, my knees threatened
to buckle beneath the weight of my body.
It was actually her.

"Mariah?" I squeaked.

She looked awful. Her brown and curly hair was longer, the matted clumps showing several
small bald spots on her greasy scalp. Part of her left earlobe was missing and she
stood before us practically naked. Only a torn pair of boy shorts and a men's ribbed
tank top covered her pallid skin. At one point, her meager clothing might have been
white in color, but in the dark employee room, the stretched out material was dirt-grey
and bloodied.

In an attempt to defy gravity by sliding out of Drake's grasp, I stepped toward her
with my bleeding hand out in a non-threatening way again. Without another word, she
ran into my arms, knocking me into Drake. Hot tears flowed from my eyes as we pressed
against each other, the chill of her flesh absorbing what was left of my body heat.
I gave it freely, since it was the only thing I had left to
give. Her frail and frozen limbs sucked my heated life-force dry, draining me until
I was empty.

***

At first, the cool ground was inviting. As I slumped against the concrete wall where
Drake leaned me just before passing out, I fingered a crack between the bricks gingerly,
as if a story was tucked deep inside the mortar waiting to be discovered by the right
set of hands. The only story they told though was one of death - one of immorality
and injustice. It was written out in bloodstains along the half-dozen dirty twin mattresses.
It was a nightmarish story about lust and desire and pain.
It was Mariah's story.

Her feet stood a few steps away, ash-black heels tucked close together, stubby toes
curled down into the linoleum with her arms entwined out before her in a braid. As
I blinked in the sight of her, I marveled at how slender her figure had become - almost
starved to oblivion. She was all skin and bones, so thin her breasts were barely nubs.
Over the last year, my own soul had been gutted again and again, yet life had continued
anyway. But Mariah had lost all signs of life. Except for the basics - sleep, eat,
breathe and repeat again in the morning. Perhaps we weren't as different as we looked.
What was left of either of us?

"We should go. Can you walk?" Drake asked tenderly, sending a cautious sideways glance
at Mariah.

After a quick nod, he hoisted me back to my feet and helped me locate my fallen shoe.
There was nothing, no items of clothing to cover Mariah with, so Drake zipped her
into his thick canvas coat and pushed us out of the rank room with an urgency I didn't
need to question. Her feet padded in unison with the scuffing of my shoes as we rushed
from one aisle to the next, Drake searching in the darkness for someone or something.

"Are they all…dead?" I asked just above a whisper.

"No, shush…keep moving," he snapped.

We escaped the way we had entered, through the side door that was still propped open
from my embarrassing entrance not even ten minutes before. Drake clasped my hand and
tugged me behind him, and I pulled tightly on Mariah's hand - the same one that dug
into the flesh of my neck moments before. I shivered at the thought of my skin embedded
beneath her nails, but of course, she didn't know it was me. That's what I told myself
-
she didn't know
.

The sunlight felt alien; an orb of light so bright after being in the dark warehouse
that it didn't seem real. My pack swayed violently from one shoulder as we ran to
the sidewalk, taking cover behind the expertly planted rows of shade trees that had
grown up and over the power lines. It was hard to tell which of us was bleeding the
most. Drake had oozing wounds on both arms and though he tried to hide it, I saw him
clutch at his waist more than once.

"What is it?" I asked, trying to lift his shirt off his abdomen, "What's wrong? Are
you hurt?" What a stupid question. Of course he was; we all were. In response, he
impatiently swatted my hand away and looked up and down the street as if it simply
wasn't the right time to bleed to death.

"I don't know where he went," he said, using his hand to block the sunlight from his
eyes.

"Who?"

"A guy took off but I couldn't follow him," he paused to glance down at me before
scanning the street again, "I heard you screaming."

"Oh."

I didn't remember screaming as Mariah tried to tear my head off, but it didn't surprise
me. She scared the shit out of me. Silently and with no objection or complaint, she
ran down the streets with us, Drake in the lead with me pulling her behind like a
toddler. We ran most of the way back to the house after making unnecessary turns every
other block, stopping only to gasp in breath and for Drake to scan our path for any
followers.

By the time our feet stumbled over the front stoop of the house, it wasn't even noon
yet. Drake was the only one of us that stayed alert, watching from the front windows
for nearly half an hour to make sure we hadn't been followed. Mariah and I were collapsed
on the living room floor on our backs, uncaring about what kind of grimy stains we
left on the expensive beige carpet.

When he finally stood over us, one leg in between mine with a Glock still clutched
in his maroon-streaked hand, I started to giggle. It was the only emotion I had left:
insanity.

Drake shook his head, allowing just the hint of a smile to tug at his mouth. "You
are one crazy woman, you know that?" I giggled harder, letting the shakes take over
my entire body in waves. "You did it. You actually found what you came for," he said
breathlessly.

Still giggling, I turned my head to the side to face Mariah, but as she stared up
at the ceiling I knew I hadn't found her soon enough. How did one come back from the
hell she had endured over the last year? Was it even possible?
Could
Mariah come back?

But Drake was right. I did find what I came for. My giggling fit stopped - cut short
in my throat. Yes, yes, Mariah was saved but at what cost? I lost Connor and Kris.
Darkness bubbled up inside me. I sat up and stared between Drake and Mariah as my
stomach acid churned and toiled. It was right there, clear as day. And the expression
on Drake's face as he stepped around me to collapse into one of the heavily cushioned
armchairs said it all.

Would Mariah be worth it? Was finding her worth losing the others?

That sick feeling in my stomach rushed up my throat and I clamped my mouth shut in
an effort to keep the water inside me down. The realization hit me then - what was
left of me would never recover from the guilt of screwing up.
Never.
The difference this time around was that there were others waiting for me - depending
on me. I only hoped they wouldn't miss me too much.

***

For hours we showered and took turns tending to each other's wounds. Drake had several
bullet grazes on his arms, and a shallow stab wound just to the right of his belly
button that I had no clue how to treat other than to stitch it up. For the first time
since leaving the lodge, I missed Win so much I wanted to cry. After being patched
up the lot of us looked like Frankenstein experiments. Mariah seemed to be in the
best shape with just one scrape along the side of her head and the two deep, purple
bruises below each eye from my head-butt to her face. She was damn lucky her nose
was still on straight.

"Is it okay…I mean, can I clean myself?" Mariah was fingering the edge of her filthy
worn out boy shorts while Drake knotted a stitch in the two-inch gash on my shoulder.

"Of course, you don't have to ask. There's an extra bedroom upstairs, the bathroom
is across the hall and the shower works…last door on the left." I winced as Drake
poked the needle through my skin again. "I'll leave out something clean for you to
wear, okay?"

She nodded at me and quietly retreated up the stairs. When her dirty feet were out
of sight, and the bathroom door closed above us with a soft click, I said over my
shoulder, "Poor girl. Think she'll be okay?"

With a soft brush of his thumb against my cheek, Drake looked up the stairs with a
sigh, "Riley, only time will tell that."

"And that's all we have left, right? Time?" I asked bitterly.

"It is what it is, I guess. Are you taking her back to San Diego? To be with the others?"

"Where else can she go?" I avoided looking at him, not ready to divulge the part about
me shooting Mariah's brother to death. I hoped she never mentioned Matt.

Another tug of the needle made me jerk slightly as he threaded it through my skin.
"Sorry, this is the last one."

"How many?"

"I hope you don't mean total?" he laughed.

"Never mind. No point in counting, I guess." His fingers moved gracefully along the
thread, pulling it tight into a knot before he clipped the ends off and patted my
arm. "All done. For now," he smiled.

"I promise not to tear open any more parts of my body, at least not tonight."

"Good. Because my fingers are tired of tying all those little knots."

Leaning forward, I lifted his shirt up to look at the one-inch line on his stomach,
running my fingers gently across the stitches. "Are you sure you're okay here?"

He made no effort to remove my hand. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Might take tomorrow off
from fighting bad guys though…if you don't mind?"

"You've earned the break," I laughed. After removing my hand, his shirt fell back
into place, hiding the spot where a small pocketknife had sliced into him. "Thank
you."

"No need to thank me," he smiled, staring at the carpet, "I told you I had my reasons."

The room felt hot and humid and the fact that I was covered in blood and things I
never, ever wanted to identify, I pushed up from the carpet and stood up with a groan.
"I'm going to get cleaned up," I told him.

"Save me some hot water, will ya?"

"I'll do my best." I started up the stairs, holding onto the railing to keep from
falling backwards. "I make no promises, though. Oh, and Drake?"

"Yeah?"

I waited until he looked up at me, the skin around his hazel eyes crinkled just slightly
from age. "Thanks again…you know, for everything."

With a smile big enough to melt my heart, if only mine wasn't broken beyond repair,
he said with a nod, "Anytime, kiddo."

***

The only sound in the room was the whooshwumpwhoosh sound of the fan as the blades
rotated slowly above my head. I was tired, more tired than I had ever been in my life
and even more so uncomfortable. No matter which side I rested on, my body protested.
Vehemently. I was stitched up in several places, making it nearly impossible to lay
in a way that didn't irritate one of my numerous, fresh wounds. Maybe I could do what
the Conehead family did, throw the mattress against the wall and sleep standing up.
But, that wouldn't work because even my feet hurt.

Whooshwumpwhoosh. Whooshwumpwhoosh. The sound might soon drive me crazy if I didn't
pass out. Was I going mad? Was the whooshing and wumping actually coming from my head?
I tried so hard not to focus on the day before but the madness was swallowing me,
a giant black hole inside just gobbling me up - feet first. It found its way to my
throat, sucking the life out of me, making it hard to breathe. With my eyes closed,
I struggled with my body's instinct to fight and stayed as rigid - as still as possible.

Let it take me. Let the nothingness consume me and end the suffering, the pain, the
guilt. Please, please take me away from this place.

***

There were hands on my throat again. My eyes flew open, heavy from sleep and dreams
about spinning fans and dark places. Fingers tightened, greedily digging into my already
sore and bruised skin. I sure as hell wasn't dreaming anymore.

There was a flash of a colorless male face. The feel of scratchy flannel rubbed against
my chest. Pressure from two knees dug into my hips and abdomen. The smell of nicotine
and sweet liquor filled the room. The taste of blood on my tongue after biting down
on it made me gag. A ringing in my ears threatened to blow my eardrums. And I couldn't
breathe.

The man sitting on top of me with his icy hands around my throat was not Drake. I
kicked; a pathetic sort of movement that did nothing to dislodge my attacker and an
even more pathetic sort of whine came out of my mouth.

This was it? This was really how I was going to die? After everything I'd been through,
everything I'd seen? I was going to be killed in my bed, in the middle of the night
with the fan spinning noisily above singing 'whooshwumpwhoosh' over and over?