Tortured: Book Three of the Jason and Azazel Trilogy (5 page)

* * *

I dreamed. In my dream, I was in a cheap hotel, lying
on the stained bedspread, completely naked. I could feel the air from a
chugging ceiling fan, which was badly fastened to the cracked ceiling.
 
My arms and feet were tied to the bedposts. I struggled, but I couldn't pull
away. I looked around the room, panicking.
At the foot of the
bed stood two figures.
They were wearing long black hooded robes. They
were holding a bell. I wasn't close to the bell, but I could see that it had an
engraving of the sun rising over the ocean. I couldn’t see their faces.
 
They were speaking to each other.
"If we do this," said one, a female voice, "do you think it
means we're evil?"
"Evil?" said the other male. "It's just what comes
naturally."
"Naturally to you," she said.
 
"Naturally to everyone," he countered. "Everyone wants her.
Everyone wants to take her violently. Look at her skin.
So
soft, so vulnerable.
Imagine how it will sound when she screams."
The female giggled. "I like it when they scream."
"I know you do, my sweet," said the male.
I thrashed against the ropes on the bed. It was clear that something very bad
was going to happen to me here. I was going to have to do something about it.
If only I had a gun.
Magically, the way it sometimes happens in dreams, I looked over on the bedside
table, and a gun was there. I reached for it, but, of course, I couldn't even
brush it with my fingertips.
"I'm not vulnerable," I told the black-robed people. "I'm tough.
I can take care of myself."
"No," said the female. "You're weak and scared.
And flawed.
We're the strong ones."
"If you touch me, I'll kill you," I said.
The black-robed people laughed. "You won't kill us," they said
together.
"I can hear you now," said the male. "No, don't. Not like
this."
Not like this. That was what I'd said, a long time ago, to Jason in hotel when
his hands were ripping at my clothes—
And
the male in the robe lowered his hood. It was
Jason. He climbed over the foot of the bed to lie on top of me, laughing.
"Not like this," he said again, mocking me.
I shook my head. "No," I said. "No, don't be Jason."
Jason was opening his robe over top of me. He wasn't wearing anything under it.
"You know you want it," he said to me, his face hideously close to
mine, twisted into a grotesque leer. "You love me."
"No," I said. "No."
The female lowered her hood. "Of course we love Jason," she said.
She was me.
I glanced from Jason's grinning face to my own. She (me) looked at me, laughter
in her eyes. "We love Jason, because he taught us to kill."
"You're mine," Jason whispered to me, his hands on my body, twisting
and pinching me. It hurt.
"No," I said again, but it was barely a whisper.
She (me) was pushing Jason off of me. "No, no," she said. "You
don't know how to do it. I'm the only one who knows how to do it." She
shoved Jason off, onto the floor.
He climbed back up, a wounded look in his eyes. "Am I that bad at
it?"
She (me) brandished the bell and pushed my legs apart. "I'm the only one
who knows how to do it," she said, cackling.
Everything went black.

* * *

I woke up breathless and sweaty, spasms racking my
pelvis and thighs. I gasped, opening my eyes.
Sunlight was pouring through the windows of my dorm room. I leapt out of bed,
tumbled into the bathroom, and threw up in the toilet.
 
There was nothing in my stomach for me to vomit. Instead, my empty stomach
heaved on itself, bile rising in my throat. I spit, wiped my mouth with my
hand, and collapsed on the floor next to the toilet.
"You okay?" called Palomino from the bedroom. "I thought I was
the one who was supposed to have morning sickness."
"I had a nightmare," I told her, getting up off the floor. I crawled
back into the bedroom and back towards my bed. Once there, I felt under the
mattress for the bottle of vodka I had there.
 
"Was it a gross nightmare?" Palomino asked.
"Yeah," I said, taking a long swig of vodka and gagging at the taste.
 
"Jesus, Azazel!" exclaimed Palomino.
 
"I just . . ."
 
I just couldn't face the dream. You didn't have to be Carl Jung to figure out
what it meant. But I didn't want to think about it. Not Jason's violence. Not
my violence. Not the fact I couldn't have orgasms. Okay, so I was bothered.
Fine.
Did it mean I had to have those horrible nightmares?
 
"I just need this," I said, taking another long draught.
 
"I think doing that is just going to make you throw up more," said
Palomino, looking concerned. She'd never seen me drink in the morning. She'd
never seen me drink so much. I kind of felt guilty about that . . .
 
. . . but then the easy swimming sensation of liquor took over my thoughts, and
I didn't feel guilty about anything.
 
"I don't throw up," I told her. "Not anymore."
"Azazel—"
"Whatever," I said to her. "Shut up about it, or I'm calling
Chance and telling him he's about to be a dad."
"Don't you dare!" she said, sitting up straight in her bed.
I shrugged. "Don't worry," I said. "I was joking anyway."
"It wasn't funny," said Palomino.
"I'm taking a shower," I said. "I have class." I took
another nip from my vodka bottle. It was almost empty, but that was okay. I had
more bottles of vodka underneath my bed. I'd probably be taking one with me in
my purse today.
"You're going to class that drunk?" Palomino called after me.
"I'm not drunk," I told her.

* * *

"What do you think about the pole shift
theory?" asked George Churchill.
I was in my science class. My drunkenness was fading away, and I didn't like
it.
Professor Halverson sighed. "George," he said, "what does this
have to do with plate tectonics?"
"I just want to know your stance on it," said George. "I know
it's not accepted by the mainstream scientific community, and I want to know
why."
I still had most of the small vodka bottle I'd brought with me to class left. I
could go to the bathroom and take a few gulps of it. I raised my hand.
Unfortunately, someone else did too, at that exact moment.
Professor Halverson called on her first.
 
"What's a pole shift?" she asked.
Professor Halverson sat down at his podium heavily. "Okay, okay," he
said. "You've succeeded in derailing me from my lecture for a few minutes.
But all the information in Chapter Seventeen is on the exam, no matter
what."
I lowered my hand. He was going to talk for a while, wasn't he?
"The theory goes that the earth's north and south poles will shift to a
completely different location suddenly," continued the professor.
"This would cause massive climate changes and disastrous consequences like
floods and storms. Essentially it would be apocalyptic."
"Why would that happen?" asked the same girl.
"That's why it's so ridiculous," said Professor Halverson.
"People think it will happen in 2012, when the Mayan calendar ends. They
think the world will end. But there's no scientific basis for this theory. It's
nonsense."
I raised my hand again.
"Ms. Smith, you have a comment?" asked Professor Halverson.
"May I use the restroom?" I asked.
Professor Halverson looked annoyed. "Fine," he said.

* * *

Chase was sitting at our usual table when Jason and I
arrived at lunch. I didn't see Palomino anywhere. I considered walking around
the dining room, trying to find her, but I was really too drunk to walk in an
actual straight line, so I didn't think it would be a good idea. I'd had to
lean on Jason just to get to the table to sit down.
 
"What's wrong with my sister?" Chance demanded when I sat down.
 
Jason just shook his head.
"I'm fine," I told Chance.
Jason heaved a huge sigh. "Azazel, you stay here, okay. I'm going to get
us both some food. You need something in your stomach to soak that liquor
up."
"Liquor?" said Chance. "You're drunk?"
"Shh!" I told him. "Someone might hear, and I might get in
trouble."
"Just watch her, please?" Jason said to Chance.
"I don't need watching," I told Jason, but he was already walking
over to the food line to get our trays. I turned back to my brother. I was
feeling a little unsteady. It probably hadn't been a good idea to excuse myself
to the bathroom during science and kill the bottle of vodka. I wasn't sure how
much I'd had to drink this morning, but it was a lot. I tried to smile at
Chance. "I'm fine," I said.
 
"Why are you drunk, Zaza?" asked Chance. Chance was the only person
alive who was allowed to call me Zaza. Everyone else who used to call me that was
dead. Usually, it just reminded me of them. But with Chance, it didn't feel
bad. It felt comforting.
I bit my lip. "I've been having dreams," I said. I picked up the
napkin on the table and began twisting it. "Chance, you know, there are
things that Jason and I did.
Things that I did.
You
don't know this, but Gordon and Noah aren't off doing some weird job for
Grandma Hoyt together in
California
.
There's no easy way to tell you this. They're—"
"Who says you get to sit at this table?" interrupted a voice.
It was Palomino. She was gripping her tray so tightly her knuckles were losing
color.
"Mina," said Chance, looking both happy to see her and concerned by
her anger. "Sit down."
"I'm not sitting with you," she said. "You'll have to
move."
"I'm not moving," said Chance.
 
"I don't have anyone else to sit with," said Palomino.
"Well, neither do
I
," said Chance.
"Azazel is
 
my
 
friend."
"She's my
 
sister
. Besides, I have to watch her.
She's drunk."
"I know. I watched her get wasted the minute she woke up this
morning."
Jason returned the table, sliding a tray full of steaming mashed potatoes and
gravy in front of me. "Hi Palomino," he said. "Are you and
Chance trying to work it out?"
"I want him to leave," Palomino said.
I looked up at Jason. "I can't eat this," I said.
"You have to," he said, sitting down. "It'll make you feel
better."
"Smelling it is making me nauseous," I said.
"Eat," Jason said. He turned back to Palomino. "Are you joining
us?"
"Not with him," she said.
Chance hung his head. "You know what?
Fine.
I'll
move."
"No," I said. "I don't want you to move. This is all silly
anyway. She just needs to talk to you." I looked at Palomino. "You
should just tell him."
Palomino sat down. "Don't even think about it, Azazel," she growled.
"Tell me what?" said Chance.
"Nothing," said Palomino icily.
And then everyone was quiet.
I looked down at my mashed potatoes, which seemed a little blurry. I wondered
if the amount of alcohol I'd had to drink was impeding my vision. Could alcohol
do that? I picked up my fork and poked at the potatoes. They kind of smelled
good, but in a foreign way, like something I liked in a different state of
consciousness.
I looked over at Jason, and he gave the potatoes a meaningful look. Ugh.
Fine.
I took a tentative bite of potatoes. They did taste
good. The cafeteria staff at the
Sol
Solis
School
used the real thing, not instant potatoes. I chewed and swallowed, then took
another bite, bigger this time. As I swallowed that, I felt sanity returning,
my drunkenness beginning to fade. I didn’t want that. I put down my fork.
"This is stupid," I said. "Palomino's pregnant."
I don't know why I said it. I wasn't thinking clearly. Drinking tended to fuzz
out my brain. I wanted my brain fuzzed out, because I didn't want to face my
dreams or myself. But it had the unfortunate side effect of making everything
else fuzzy too.
 
Jason dropped his fork.
Chance choked on his bite of roast beef.
Palomino stood up, her chair squeaking against the floor. "I hate you,
Azazel," she said. She stormed off. I was pretty sure she was crying
again.
Jason and Chance both gaped at me.
I shrugged. "Well, Chance, don't just stare at me. Go after her," I
told him.
I took another bite of mashed potatoes. Maybe it would be better not to be so
drunk after all.
 
For several seconds nothing happened. I shoveled mashed potatoes into my mouth,
feeling less and less drunk with every bite. Then Chance stood up. He was
shaking.
 
"Chance . . ." I started.
But he walked away without looking at me.
I took another bite of mashed potatoes.
A big one.
"How long have you known this?" Jason asked me.
I swallowed my potatoes. "She told me not last night but the night
before."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I just did," I said.
"No," said Jason, "you just announced it to the entire table,
and you said it kind of loud, so who knows who else heard."
I flinched. "I didn't realize I said it so loud."
"Well, you did. And you kept things from me. And we promised no more
secrets."
"It wasn't my secret," I said. "It was Palomino's. I didn't
think I should tell you."
"But you didn't have any problem blurting it out just a second ago."
 
"I'm drunk," I protested.
"Right," said Jason. "Well, that makes everything better."
He stood up. "I'll see you in Calculus." And he walked off too.
I bit my lip. I sure knew how to clear a table, didn't I? I took another bite
of mashed potatoes. They really were very good. It would be a shame to let them
go to waste.

* * *

"Jason!" I screamed, rushing across the
courtyard outside the dining hall.
"Stop!"
I'd walked out of the dining hall, using the back door. Most people didn't go
out that way, but it was the closest way to get to my next class. I just had to
cross a small courtyard. Usually nobody was ever on the courtyard. But today,
I'd been greeted by the sight of George Churchill punching my boyfriend in the
nose. Jason's head had been whipped to the side. He'd stumbled backwards. But I
could see that Jason's fists were clenched, and he was about to use the
momentum from George's punch to fuel a punch of his own. I just didn't want
Jason to put George in the hospital.
Luckily, at the sound of my voice, Jason looked up to see me. George looked up
too.
My feet pounded against the ground as I raced over to them.
"What did you just call him?" George asked.
 
Damn it! I'd forgotten that Jason and I were undercover. Jason was going by
Jeremy. Jeremy Black. How could I have been so stupid? I ran faster.
In the second that George looked away, Jason balled up his fist and undercut
George, hitting him on the chin. George's head snapped back. He cried out.
Jason didn't let that stop him. He followed up his first punch with a second
one, this one hitting George's cheekbone. George's head whipped the other way,
blood spilling out of his mouth.
 
I was still running, but closing in on them. I leapt into the air and tackled
Jason. We tumbled into the grass, both breathing hard.
Jason pushed me off of him, struggling to get to his feet.
"Jason, no!"
I said.
George wiped his mouth with his hand, looking at the blood on it in shock.
"Why are you calling him Jason?"
"Shut up," said Jason to George. "You really need to learn to
keep your mouth shut."
"You plan on teaching me?" George said, still studying the blood on
his hand. It was as if he didn't quite believe that he could bleed.
"Hell yes, I do," said Jason.
"Let it go!" I shrieked. "If you hurt him bad, it will draw
attention to us."
George looked up from his hand. "Don't hurt me," he said. He suddenly
looked really afraid. "Are you . . . ?" He looked back at the blood
on his hand. "I won't say anything. I won't say a word. Just . . ."
He held up both his hands, palms outward. "I'll back off."
Wait. Did he know who we were? Did he know who Jason was?
Jason clenched and unclenched his fist. "You're not going to say
anything?"
"Nothing," said George.
"Especially not about
what she called you.
I wasn't here, okay?" He started to back away.
"And I'm sorry about that Palomino girl. I'm sorry I said anything."
"You won't say anything like that anymore," said Jason. It wasn't a
question.
George shook his head fervently. "No.
Nothing like
that."
He took a few more steps backward.
"You say anything, and I'll kill you," Jason said. He sounded so
serious.
 
George swallowed. Then he turned and ran.
Jason and I watched him go.
 
"Maybe I should kill him anyway," Jason muttered.
"Jason," I said in horror.
"He knows who we are. Why did you say my name?"
"I'm sorry," I said. "I just freaked out. You were punching
him."
"You should have heard what he said about Palomino," Jason said.
"You know," I said, "you can't just go around punching people
every time they say something you don't like."
Jason laughed dryly. "You sound like your parents."
I didn't respond. Sure my parents had spouted lots of psychobabble about
nonviolence and making constructive decisions, but in the end, they'd
engineered a really disturbing ritual, which was supposed to culminate with my
getting raped. Jason should know better than to bring them up.
 
"That guy could use beating up," Jason said.
"It doesn't matter!" I said. "We can't afford exposure, and you
know that."
"Whatever," Jason said. He started to walk away.
"Jason!"
He stopped.
Looked at me.
"I can't talk to you
right now."
 
I started to say something. Then I stopped. I just let him go.