Vial Things (A Resurrectionist Novel Book 1) (12 page)

“Of course not,” Jamison says calmly and I hate him for the way he can make me feel like I’m the raving lunatic and he’s the picture of sanity talking me down. “I burned the house because the crime was sloppy. I found a couple names and addresses to follow up on, so it’s not a total loss, right? If Allie doesn’t work out, we’ve got others to—”

“Not a total loss?” I say in disbelief and he falls silent. I rub a frustrated hand through my hair, realize too late it’s stained with Allie’s blood. It doesn’t matter. I’m covered in it anyway. “Stop. Listen to me. We were wrong about some things, Jamison. Very wrong. It’s just some sort of genetic defect. It doesn’t stick long. That’s why your mom’s faded. It’s not what you said it would be.” I tear my eyes away from Allie. Guilt rolls through me. Allie trusted me with her secrets and I’m spilling them like I spilled the blood of that old man. But I don’t want power or fame or even new shoes if it means more death. “It’s over.”

“Allie said that, huh?” His words come quiet and low. I push the phone against my ear to hear them. “If she’s not lying...” A dangerous pause spins out between us. “We may need to adjust our technique.”

I drop cross-legged onto the mossy forest floor, next to Allie. Last time he’d gotten impatient, Brandon ended up dead. “I gave her some pills. That’s why I can call you. She’s pretty much comatose.” The words are out of me before I’m aware I’m going to say them. “Should I forget it? Leave her here? I mean, she’s worthless if we can’t get anything off her, right?” I hate myself for giving him the power to decide for me. “I can do it,” I insist, testing the lie out, praying it slides across my tongue as easily as all the lies I’ve told to Allie over the months. “I can walk away. She doesn’t have to get hurt. We can—I’ve got syringes. I’ll get you her blood and you can—”

“I bet she lied,” he says before I get a chance to finish. “She could make it permanent if she wanted. Do you think she could have? Lied to you? Are you positive she didn’t heal you? That cut was deep. I made sure of it.” I open my mouth to protest but hold back.

He’d meant for that cut to be deep. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“How much do you trust her?” he says instead. I hear the unease in his words. This is everything we’ve worked for. And it’s such a disappointment. Right now, her power’s flowing through my veins. I want it to burn. I want to feel untouchable, invincible, anything.

She didn’t tell me I could help at all until it was her only option. What if she was playing it off like she just needed a bump to heal faster when really I
could
resurrect someone? Why wouldn’t she want me to think it was temporary? I have nothing to go on but Allie’s word.

“Because if we’re done with her, she’s a loose end. Be sure.”

I swallow hard and shift the phone to my other ear. “It’s possible,” I concede. “That she’s lying. Even if she’s not, I won’t let you kill her.” The instant it’s out, I know I messed up. I shouldn’t care what happens to her. I shouldn’t be fighting for her.

The guffaw Jamison unleashes shoots chills down my spine. “You won’t
let
me? You think I haven’t had the chance?” The laugh cuts off abruptly. “I saved her life for you.”

My noise of disbelief only seems to make him madder.

“These people I’m working with,” he says. “They set a trap for Brandon. Some mansion in Fissure’s Whipp the night I killed him. Who do you think was sent to take his place?”

I clutch the phone in my hand, uncertain. “Her,” I say finally, because he seems to be waiting for me to answer.

“That’s right. Her. And luckily I was in enough with their group that they kept me in the loop. I called them off. She’d already sniffed them out and taken off though. She’s smart, I’ll give her that much.”

“I know,” I say quietly.

“Do yourself a favor for me?” he says. “Don’t get caught up in her. I kept them from taking her so you could try things your way, not get some sort of romance going. You think she’s going to want you when she knows how you used her? The things you’ve done?” There’s a pause. “Don’t be stupid about this. You’re after the power, not the girl.”

“Then I’ll bring you a syringe of her blood and we can leave her out of this.” She’s unconscious. She’ll never know. I can take it now and get it to him somehow.

“Don’t you think if it worked like that, I would have done that from the start?  It’s gotta be fresh. It clots faster than normal blood and there’s no power once it’s watered down.”

I’m a little unnerved that he knows this. “She’ll trust me more now. That’s why I took her from the cabin. I got her away from the bad guys,” I say. “I need a little more time.”

“For what?” he yells, his façade of calm shattering. “To get in her pants?”

“No. To get in her head. Did you know it only works once or twice? That normal people get immune to it.” From his pause, I can tell he didn’t. “See? I am finding things out. Maybe she’s lying about that. Maybe there is a way to make it permanent. Maybe since I saved her, she’ll tell me the truth.” On the other end of the line, Jamison goes quiet. “I’m still on your side,” I add.

“Was I supposed to be wondering about that?” he asks.

“Well, you didn’t tell me there were others who knew about her,” I say.

“Okay. I should have told you but—”

“You said Brandon was a slip up. A mistake. Jamison, I saw what you did to Allie’s aunt. Am I supposed to believe you slipped up with her, too?”

His voice sheds the apologetic tones like a cracked skin.  “If I said I didn’t do it?” He sounds weary. “If I told you she did it to herself, the aunt?”

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. It’s ludicrous as far as excuses go. “How stupid do you think I—”

“You were there. Did you see it?” he says, cutting me short. “On the floor? A tube made of blue glass next to the body. We didn’t take it with us. It should have been there.”

I don’t remember anything like that. But the deliberate sidestep Allie took sticks out in my memory, a tinkling crunch from under her shoe. She didn’t react to it. “Go on,” I say.

“I truly went there to talk. I wanted to convince her to trust me. I wanted her to see I could use the powers for good. If that’s what they wanted. But her aunt was less cooperative than I’d hoped. We scared her. She bolted and Corbin went for her and she yanked out that little tube and chugged the stuff inside.”

Corbin. The man I killed. His name was Corbin. “What was it?”

“Poison?” he guesses. “Brandon had one, too. These guys I’ve been working with said it messes up the blood so bad that it kills the resurrectionists. Allie’s aunt...she laughed and said we’d never get what we wanted. Then she keeled over. She wouldn’t talk, or couldn’t, I’m not sure. Then she started shaking and choking. Corbin said she could ID us. That there might be some sort of antidote we didn’t know about. He said we had to make sure she couldn’t,” he says quietly. “He was mad when I wouldn’t help. I told you no more deaths.”

“Promise me.” I sound like a little kid, desperately trying to hold onto childish beliefs I know are fantasy. Santa Claus. The Tooth Fairy. “Promise me that’s how it happened.”

“Look, I’ll make you a deal,” he says. “Convince Allie to change you permanently if she can. Once she does, you give me the power. I won’t go near her. I won’t have to, right?” I go stock still. “You two can ride off into the sunset if that’s what you want.”

“You won’t hurt her. You won’t go near her.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he says, his voice singsong before the sarcasm drops away. “If you can give me that power, I promise.” I lick my lips as he pauses. His voice lowers. “But we both know that’s not how it’s going to play out, don’t we? Lying to her is eating you up. She’ll kill you when you come clean.”

“A little more time,” I manage.

“Don’t blow this for us,” Jamison says. “If you want her left alive, get what we want and get rid of her.”

He hangs up before I can say anything else.

What if I’ve just made everything worse? What if she really can’t change me?

Rubbing my hands over my face, I groan, trying to figure out what options I’ve got. I can tell her the truth when she wakes up—that I started out using her and things changed, just like they did for her. Coming clean now means gambling with not just my life, but hers too. Even if she doesn’t kill me for what I’ve done, confessing will lose me Allie and once Jamison finds out, it’ll lose me him, too. I could lie, but I’ll never be able to come up with a reason convincing enough for her to forget everything else and go on the run with me. She’s got vengeance in her. She won’t leave without finding out who murdered her aunt. Which leads back to Jamison. Which leads back to her finding out who I am, what I’ve done. Which leads to her and me both dead. “Damn it,” I mumble into my hands.

I trudge over to my backpack and stash the phone again after shutting it off. When it’s safely hidden, I kneel down beside Allie. She doesn’t stir when I call her name.

I think Allie really would kill Jamison if she had the chance. Maybe even before he told her how involved I am in this. I shake away the thoughts. Now, I’m imagining Allie killing my best friend because it’s easier than telling her the awful things I’ve done.

“I can fix this,” I murmur. Could she be lying to me? If I can get her to make the change permanent in me, I can give Jamison what he wants. No one else has to get hurt. “I can find a way out for all three of us.”

I’ve bought myself some time to figure out what to do.

I get to work.

I
open my eyes to branches four feet above my face. Footsteps crunch leaves. Close. Ploy. If it’s anyone else, I don’t have a chance at fighting them. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Even before I move, my muscles are screaming. I roll my head to get a peek and realize I’m not in the open. There’s a shelter of sticks and brush. The sleeping bag is wrapped around me.

Blinking, I sit up. Dark spots swirl through my vision as my head starts to spin. Apparently, getting shot to death feels a lot like a hangover. I’m debating whether I’m just nauseous or actually going to throw up when Ploy ducks in through the low entrance. I eye him warily.

“Hey, you’re awake.” He gets on his knees and shuffles closer under the low ceiling. A bruise shades his left cheek, green and yellowed. The bone must have been broken. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like crap.” I’m not sure I want him knowing how weak I am, but I can’t exactly pass myself off as anything else right now.

“Those pills must have been pretty intense.” His voice lowers. “I couldn’t wake you up.” There’s a hint of fear to his words.

My throat is parched. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have taken anything.” In truth, it probably had more to do with the fact that his blood wasn’t strong enough, copycat cells. Most of mine was on the kitchen floor. I shouldn’t have told him
anything
about how to bring someone back, but that’s easy to say now that I know he would have gotten me out of the house. I’d panicked. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

His forehead wrinkles. “You were in pain, Allie. Hurt. Bad.” He’s right, though it doesn’t look like I’ve cost us too much time. And then he goes on. “I figured once the sun started to set you weren’t going to get up, so I made sure we were hidden,” he says as he rummages through his pack. He hands me a smashed granola bar. “Eat that. Sorry, it’s a little beat up.”

“Wait, what about sunset?”

He stares at me for a moment. “It’s morning.”

My stomach gives a hungry lurch as if to confirm. The thought of being utterly defenseless for so long only adds to the queasiness. My brain’s foggy. Words are fighting their way back into my consciousness. Crunching leaves. Ploy pacing on a phone call.
Apparently, you nicked my spleen or something?

I wince and give my head a shake. That can’t be right. He’d been talking about being attacked, the stab wound.
The drugs
, I think.
They messed with my dreams.
He doesn’t have a phone and mine’s dead. But in the dream, he hadn’t said ‘he nicked my spleen’, he’d said ‘you.’
You nicked my spleen.

“How long do you normally take to get moving again once you...you know, die or whatever?” he asks and I try to focus. He saved me. Jamison was coming but Ploy did what I said with his blood and got us both away. Kept me safe while I was out.

“That was my first time,” I say and he looks up sharply. I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You swiped my back-from-the-dead V-card. Congrats. Hope it was good for you,” I say, wincing as I stretch to calm my over-fired nerves. Every muscle is tight and tired.

The barest hint of a smile tips up the corners of his mouth. “If it’s any consolation, you got my stab-a-needle-into-a-girl’s-heart virginity. Pretty sure
that’s
a lucrative one.”

The chuckle I force hurts. My lungs feel like they don’t quite remember their function yet. I cough hard and taste blood. Peeling the wrapper off the granola bar, I take a bite to kill the copper flavor.

When I finish chewing and look up, Ploy’s staring at me. “I brought you back,” he says, as if he doesn’t quite believe it. Technically, he only sped up the process—my genes would have done the job on their own—but I let him believe what he wants. Because in truth, if he hadn’t gotten me out of the cabin before Jamison showed up, my genes wouldn’t have done much good. “You said it was temporary. Me being able to do this.” He touches his chest, his heart, almost unconsciously. “Or were you lying about that too?”

“I wouldn’t have lied to you,” I say, my voice soft, a bit bitter though I don’t mean to make it sound that way. “It’ll be gone in a month.”

“You’re sure?” He’s holding his hand in front of him, slowly turning it over as if he expects to find the answers he wants tattooed on the other side. Where’s his sudden doubt coming from?
There hasn’t been any time for me to get away.
The words drift through my mind in Ploy’s voice, fragments of a conversation I can’t place.

I offer him a weak smile. “My cells changed yours. As soon as your body starts producing new cells they’ll treat mine like an infection and kill them off. You’ll be able to heal basic cuts and scrapes until everything’s flushed from your system. Broken bones, anything worse, and you’ll be knocked on your ass just like you were after you showed up dead on my doorstep. If it works at all. I told you, it goes away unless you’re born with it.” It’s all information he already has; I’m careful not to give him anything new.

The suspicion in his eyes catches me off guard. “You probably want to change,” he says, suddenly shuffling, bent over, toward the entrance. “Your shirt’s wrecked.”

“Okay,” I manage. When he’s gone, I take stock of myself. Blood is crusted to my side. The material sticks to my skin when I try to pull. It’s not until I get it over my head that I see the bandage he’s taped over the wound. The gauze is freshly changed.

My backpack is next to me. As I reach for it, I see the pile of leaves, the vaguely Ploy shaped indent in the middle where he’d clearly slept, giving me the sleeping bag. It makes me pause. Leaves. Something falling in the leaves. I remember it.

“There
was
a phone,” I whisper before I can stop myself. I remember my head on the backpack and the phone tumbling into the leaves. He reached for it as my eyes slid closed, but I listened. He talked to someone.
Should I forget it? Leave her here? I mean, she’s worthless if we can’t get anything off her, right?
I freeze. Ploy wouldn’t say that. It must have been a nightmare.
You won’t hurt her. You won’t go near her.
The sentences bubble up in broken syllables stained with anger.
I won’t let you kill her.

The granola bar is a sour ball in my stomach. I’ve been still too long. He’ll know something’s wrong. I search for the small pair of scissors. When I find them, I carefully peel off the bandage. The tape strips away the dried blood and leaves behind two twin lines of clean skin. The stitches are already gone. He removed them, just like I did for him at the apartment. I grab the first shirt I touch and pull it on.
She doesn’t have to get hurt.

We were wrong about some things, Jamison.

The line drops into my mind like a corner puzzle piece. One side of a conversation builds itself in my mind. Ploy was on the phone. He was talking about me.

With Jamison.

Ploy is with Jamison. The man who killed my aunt. The man who killed...Brandon? But that doesn’t make sense.

I’m nauseous, my skin crawling and I can’t be sure if it’s the after affects of healing or the shaded nightmare dribbling back to me in fits and starts.
Ploy wouldn’t do that
, I think frantically.
He likes me and I...
. I twist and heave into the leaves.

“Allie?” I hear Ploy call.

“Don’t come in here!” My voice shakes. I should have known. I wipe a weak hand across my lips. I’ve got to run. Get away from him. Instead, I close my eyes for a beat and force a slow breath. Calming down will help me think. I’ve been passed out and helpless for nearly twenty four hours. If he was going to kill me, he would have done it already. Instead of being a consolation, the realization only confuses me. If he’s after my blood, he could have waited for Jamison to show. But he didn’t. Why? The word pounds through me with each frantic heartbeat.
What’re you after, Ploy?

I crawl out of the makeshift hut. I manage to get first one foot, then the other, underneath me and stand. My legs are tingly, numb. Each breath burns. Either my organs were more damaged than I thought or the pills haven’t quite worn off. I won’t think about spinal cord damage, permanent weakness. Glancing around, all I see are trees, the puddled start of the swamp. There’s no way I can make it out of here by myself. Not as weak as I am.  Blood loss is a simple fix. A deflated lung, not to mention whatever else was hit, takes time to heal.

Even merely sitting, my breaths are sharp and gasping. I catch Ploy watching me out of the corner of his eye. His lips were on mine the night before last. I’d begged him to keep going.

I have to grab a tree to hold me up. The rough bark digs into my arms. “I’m fine,” I say, but the way I’m swaying isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement of my health.

“You’re not fine,” he says as he takes my elbow. I want to shake him off, but force myself to accept the support. “You took a bullet, Allie, and you... You died in my arms.” His anger softens. “Hell of a thing to do, by the way. I’m gonna need therapy.”

I ignore the attempt at humor and lock eyes with him. “And if you hadn’t helped, I would have taken a lot longer to come back. He’d already called. I never would have made it out on my own.” I glance at the shelter he made. Was he not supposed to turn me over to Jamison? I search my brain for missing parts of the conversation, anything to give me a clue as to what’s going on.

He bites his lip. “If you’d listened to me when I said we should leave, you wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

“I thought we were doing the right thing,” I say. I’d thought there was a ‘we.’ I’d thought we were a team. The anger fades to a bitter disappointment. I’d thought a lot of things that were wrong. “Jason would have called people and this would have been over. I could have trusted him.”

“That easy?” Ploy asks.

For a long time, I don’t answer. “I guess I know not to trust anyone anymore.”

He winces, feigning hurt. Then he reaches for me, hesitates, and pulls me into a hug. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

I think of him bandaging me, checking to make sure I was breathing. Taking care of me instead of taking my life and I hate that I’m grateful. I bury my head further into his shoulder. It’s the only place to hide, and right now, I can’t bring myself to look at him. He betrayed me, but I can’t help but wonder if he betrayed Jamison a bit too and I don’t know what that means. “Did you read the notebook?” I ask.

Ploy shakes his head. “I honestly forgot you had it.”

If he’s after any resurrectionist, how could he simply forget I had a book full of their names and addresses?

“So what’s our next move?” Ploy asks.

I don’t hesitate. “A phone or Fissure’s Whipp. I need to get to my friend, Talia. I want to make sure she’s okay.” More so, I want to get backup I can trust and figure out how to play this new development. I glance at Ploy.
You stupid boy
, I think.
You’re in so far over your head and you don’t even know it.
I’ll use him to get out of the woods and to town. Talia will know what to do from there.

Talia will want him dead.

He doesn’t bother taking apart the shelter. “If they find it,” he says. “Maybe they’ll think we’re camping here. It’ll give us some extra time.” For just a second, his face darkens.

When we set off for the road, the sun’s high in the sky. My shoes squish with each step. Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades. Mosquitoes whine in my ears, leave raised welts where they stab through my skin, steal my blood. I wonder if it has any effect on them.

He and I skirt around the edge of the swamp, close enough to smell the algae blooms, the stagnant water. I’m not even sure I’m heading the right way. But it’s better than sitting still. Better than being stuck here with him.

Every half hour or so, Ploy asks if I need a break. Most times I turn him down. I’m afraid if I lose momentum, I won’t be able to start walking again. I lean too heavily on him. Anger, adrenaline and Ploy’s arm around my waist are the only things keeping me upright.

Finally, we make it to a road.

“You ever hitchhike before?” Ploy asks. Panting, hands on my knees, I shake my head. “Okay,” he says, slipping his pack off his shoulders. “You’re going to go stand on edge of the road there, and I’m going to wait here. When a car pulls over, just say Fissure’s Whipp. If they say yes, wave your hand low and I’ll come out.”

I don’t like it. I’m not used to this lifestyle Ploy seems so comfortable in. I’d never hitchhike on my own. I’m gasping great gulps of air, weak and exhausted from the hike. “Isn’t it safer to stay together?”

He scoffs. “Yeah, but a body like yours is going to get us a ride a lot faster.” He digs through his pack and passes me a tattered flannel. “Tie this around your waist. It’ll hide the blood on your pants,” he says and then glances up. He sighs at my shocked expression. “Look, that’s the reality of being on the road. You’re a pretty girl and you look like you’re in trouble and vulnerable. Use it to your advantage. As soon as he says he’ll give you a ride, wave me over. Get in the back seat,
not
the front, and slide over so I can get in with you. He’ll be too embarrassed to say no.”

“What if...”