The Dream Where the Losers Go (18 page)

Ann
, Skey thought suddenly, her heart leaping into her throat. What if the Dragons went after Ann? What would Balfour do to her? What would the Dragons do to any of the girls in this lockup—girls nobody wanted, girls locked away, forgotten. Losers.

But what would the Dragons do to her if she told? Or if she refused to let them in? She would be punished, and Jigger would almost certainly dump her. Since the first time they had made love, all she had wanted was more of the feelings that came with him, but he had never asked for something like this. How could she let the Dragons into a place full of sleeping girls? Girls with scratched wrists, slashed wrists. Girls tattooed with the names of all the boys who had never loved them.

When Terry left Ann’s room, Skey moved over to the wall and started tapping on it.
Tap tap. Tap tap tap?
In the next room, Ann stopped pacing for a few seconds, then started again. With the exception of her attempt yesterday,
it had been over a week since the two of them had done any tapping. Lifetimes came and went in a week.

On the other side of the wall Ann continued to pace, and Skey let it go. She had her own pain to search out. With a sigh of relief, she lay down on her bed and slid her hand around the rock in her pocket. Then she sent her mind into the dark.

T
HEY TALKED FOR
hours. From what she could gather, Lick wasn’t able to remember anything that had gone on between them in the dark, so she explained the layout of the tunnel system, the meeting places and the possibility of pits. Then she told him about the carvings, how she could feel them and he could not. Finally she began to tell him the stories she felt at her fingertips, the stories of her life. He listened as he had before, remembering what she said. What she didn’t say.

She found one that twisted in agony, its nicks and bumps so sharp, she almost cut her fingertips. Barbed wire. “This is the way my mother screams,” she told Lick. “This is the shape of her screaming.”

“Why is she screaming?” he asked.

“She never said.” Pressing gently, she ran a finger over the carving again. Her skin snagged, almost tearing open. Almost.
Almost
.

“Does she scream a lot?” asked Lick.

“Not anymore,” she said. “My mother barely makes a sound.”

“What did you do when she was screaming?” asked Lick.

“I hid,” she said.

“Was she screaming at you?” asked Lick.

“No,” she said.

They breathed a long pause.

“Where was your dad?” Lick asked finally.

“With her,” she said.

Lick held the silence carefully. “Is that why you don’t like to be touched?” he asked.

She hesitated. “Touching is a lie,” she said slowly. “It hurts like it hurt my mother.” She paused again. “It makes you feel good when it’s the dragon’s claw.” Another pause came, and she whispered into it. “I don’t know when it’s true. I can’t feel what’s true in it.”

“Feelings are tough,” Lick whispered back.

“Feelings are shit,” she said. “I want to get rid of them.”

“Is that why your mother stopped screaming?” he asked. “She got rid of her feelings?”

She saw her mother in front of the TV, face empty and pale, flickering with the images on the screen. “Yes,” she said.

They sat for a long time without moving, watching the dark.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

T
HERE WAS A KNOCK ON
her door. Mumbling irritably, Skey opened her eyes. Her clock radio read eight fourteen. “Yeah yeah,” she sighed.

“Can you open up?” asked Terry.

Skey switched on the light, blinked rapidly for a few seconds and opened the door.

“Someone is here to see you,” said Terry.

Alarm flashed through Skey. “Who?” she asked, her eyes skittering nervously.

“Come with me and see,” said Terry, starting across the unit. Heart thudding, Skey followed her along the entrance hall and down the stairs.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“In here,” said Terry, turning into the first floor visitor’s lounge. Then she sat down, leaving Skey standing in the doorway and facing two police officers: a woman and a man.

“Skey Mitchell?” asked the man.

Frozen to the spot, Skey stood staring.

“Perhaps you’d like to sit down,” said the woman.

Without a word, Skey sat.

“We’re here to ask you about the attack on Elwin Serkowski,” said the woman. “Perhaps you’ve heard about it.”

Skey’s mouth twisted like thin metal wire. She nodded.

“Some students thought you might know something about it,” said the woman, leaning forward in her chair. “Elwin seems to have lost all memory of the event. Temporary amnesia.”

Skey found a spot on the wall and focused on it, letting the rest of the room fade into a blur.

“We’re not suggesting you had anything to do with it,” said the woman. “But if you have any knowledge of who was responsible, we’d like your help.”

The high white whine in Skey’s head was growing louder. Cracks opened across her brain, brightness oozed everywhere. Putting out a hand, she groped for a wall. Had she gotten caught in a meeting place? Was she standing at the edge of a pit? Was she already falling and she didn’t even know?

“Skey,” she heard someone say from a long ways off. Over and over, a voice kept repeating her name. “Skey,” it said again. “Can you hear me? It’s Terry.”

The room came back into focus, and Skey found herself bent forward, both arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Tired, she was so tired. Slumping forward, she rested her head on her knees.

“It’s all right, Skey, everything’s okay,” said Terry in a soothing voice. “Everything’s just fine. How about we go back to the unit now?”

With a nod Skey straightened and saw that the police were gone. When had they left? Numbly, she followed Terry upstairs and into her room.

“I think we’re going to give you a break from school tomorrow,” said Terry.

Again, alarm jerked through Skey. “No,” she said quickly, “I can’t. I have to do a group presentation in English. It’s on Shakespeare. I have to be there.”

“I’m not sure you can handle it,” Terry said dubiously.

“I can,” said Skey. What would the Dragons do if she didn’t show? What would they start planning? She had to be there to keep them sane.

“Skey,” said Terry. “You had some difficulty speaking with the police.”

“I can handle school,” Skey said quickly. “I go to all my classes. I’m doing everything I’m supposed to. Call Ms. Renfrew tomorrow at the Counseling Department at lunchtime and ask her to check on me. I meet my tutor there on Wednesdays. I can even call you and check in if you want.”

“Is your boyfriend picking you up before school?” asked Terry.

Skey’s gaze flickered, but she forced it back to Terry’s face.

“We’ve already contacted your mother,” said Terry. “She gave us Alan’s number and we called him. He’s on your approved list now.”

“Oh,” said Skey. Sometimes she forgot Jigger’s real name. “Great,” she added brightly.

“So he can pick you up outside the door instead of waiting at the bus stop,” said Terry.

Skey nodded and looked away.

“Skey,” asked Terry, touching her arm. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” said Skey, forcing her gaze back to Terry’s a
second time. “Look, you’ve got lots of people you can check with to see how I’m doing. I’ll be okay at school tomorrow, you’ll see.”

Terry nodded slowly, then said, “We’ll call the Counseling office at lunch and check in with you.”

“Okay,” said Skey, tossing off another bright smile.

Still, Terry hesitated in the doorway. “Skey,” she said finally, “do you know anything about the attack on Elwin Serkowski?”

White fire swept through Skey. “No,” she said, her voice unexpectedly harsh.

Terry stretched time to its breaking point, then nodded and closed the door.

“W
HAT ABOUT YOU?
” she asked. “What are the stories of your life?”

“Nothing like yours,” said Lick. “Just me and Mom, a house and a dog.”

“What are you afraid of?” she asked. “Why don’t you want to go back?”

“Why don’t you?” he countered. “There’s some reason you come here. Something you want to get away from.”

“I already told you about that,” she said quickly. “My mom. The screaming.”

“It’s something you’ve forgotten,” persisted Lick. “You said this was a place for safety and forgetting.”

“No, I didn’t,” she said, fighting off a surge of fear.

“Yes, you did,” said Lick. “
Think of the dark where you can’t see what happened to you
and so you can forget it.
Those were your exact words.”

Fear surged again, then twisted into anger. “Stop it,” she screamed suddenly. “Just shut up about it, would you?”

Silence swelled between them, then shrank, leaving only the sound of their breathing.

“What I forgot is none of your business,” she said finally. “It’s nobody’s business but mine.”

“All right,” he said. “Just so long as we both know it’s there.”

“Yeah, so it’s there,” she said irritably. “So what?”

“So you’ve got something, and I’ve got something,” said Lick. “Except I know what mine is, and you don’t remember.”

“So why won’t you tell me what yours is, then?” she asked.

“Because it’s mine,” he said simply.

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
, Skey watched the side entrance door swing open onto a view of Jigger standing twenty feet away and holding open the passenger door to his car. Stepping into the brisk November wind, she slid into the front seat. Then she turned and waved to the staff watching through the wired-over window as Jigger closed her door and got in on his side.

“So, I’m approved?” he grinned, coming in for a short kiss, then pulling back—the staff was still watching. The car started up, the black gate loomed, and then they were through it and driving down the street.

“I can’t believe I passed inspection,” said Jigger. He howled once, a lone wolf sound, then asked, “You got that key?”

“Yeah,” said Skey, blanking her face. Lying was easier than saying no.

“So hand it over,” said Jigger.

“It’s in my room,” she said.

“What for?” he demanded.

“In case they frisk me,” she said. “They did last Friday, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, staring off moodily. “How’d you get the key?”

“A volunteer,” said Skey. “She must have holes in her pockets. She left it in one of the chairs she was sitting in.”

The lockup had volunteers, but they certainly weren’t given keys to the outside entrances.
Jigger wouldn’t know that though
, thought Skey, sliding him a sideways glance. Fortunately for her, he knew very little about life on the inside.

“You’re sure there’s no alarm on that door?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Skey said confidently. “It isn’t a jail, y’know. It’s a place for girls who are having problems. We’re not criminals.”

Jigger snorted. “Bunch of whores,” he said, and Skey flinched. “Not you, baby,” he added immediately. “I know you’re different. You’re just putting in time and then you’ll be free. You’ll be forever free.” Steering with one hand, he slid an arm around her shoulders and started playing with her hair. “Free as the moon and the stars,” he said softly.

She felt that distant from him, that far away.

“But for now,” he said, stroking her cheek, “you’re mine. All mine.”

O
NE MINUTE BEFORE
the end of homeroom period, Lick walked through the door and stood in a back corner, staring as if he had never seen the place before. Rising from her seat, Skey was about to call out to him, but he turned and walked to the opposite side of the room, where he took a seat. Sinking back down, she watched him. Everyone in the
room watched him. Oblivious, Lick sat looking straight ahead, without a shift or fidget, not a single loony spider crawling up his legs. His left eye was purple-black, his nose red and swollen, and his lower lip cut. A scrape ran the left side of his face.

“Elwin?” said Mr. Pettifer, getting to his feet.

The bell rang, signaling the end of homeroom. Rising with the others, Lick headed for the door.

“Elwin,” Mr. Pettifer called again, but Lick exited the room in a rush of thirty students. Right behind him, Skey kept pace. She could see bruises on the back of his neck. All she wanted was to reach out and touch him, touch some part of him, find out who this was, who he could possibly be.

“Lick?” called a guy, but the boy in front of Skey continued on, not responding. A girl stopped in front of him, asking how he was, and he stepped around her as if she was a tree growing out of the floor—something in his way, that was all. The crowd began to thin as students disappeared into classrooms, and the halls cleared. As soon as possible, Lick moved to the nearest wall and began to feel his way along the lockers. Closing his eyes, he whispered a long string of swear words.

It was the boy from the tunnel, the dark tunnel—the boy she knew. But he didn’t know her, he wouldn’t recognize Skey Mitchell by sight. And he didn’t know anything about this place, this school, this world—he had forgotten it all when he dreamed his way into the tunnel and left Lick’s life behind.

The halls were now empty. Quietly, Skey moved to the opposite wall. “Boy,” she called softly. “Boy, it’s me. Do you remember me?”

Eyes still closed, he turned toward her, a look of recognition on his face. “You’re here,” he said gladly. “You’re the girl with the stories in the wall.”

“Yes,” Skey said eagerly. “I’m here. Right here with you.”

“I don’t know where I am,” he said, keeping his eyes closed. “I think I’m in a different dream now. I don’t like this one. Too many people. How did you get here?”

“I come and go, remember?” said Skey. “I dream a lot of different dreams.”

“You wearing your pj’s in this dream?” asked the boy.

“Down, boy,” grinned Skey.

“Just asking,” he grinned back, without opening his eyes.

“Listen,” she said softly. “Listen, and I’ll tell you some more stories.”