Vial Things (A Resurrectionist Novel Book 1) (21 page)

My eyes dart to the body wrapped in the tarp.
That’s what happens when you cross Jamison
, I think. If I don’t get Allie and Talia out of here, he’s going to torture them until there’s nothing left but blood and bones. I have to stay close. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m in.”

I expect him to say something else. Smile. Congratulate me on a choice well made. Instead, he goes back to dragging the body. What’s left of the head clunk-clunk-clunks down the wooden stairs.

He’s gathering the corners, gray-brown liquid leaking onto the planks through the blue tarp as he lifts his dead father into a wheelbarrow, legs first, then torso. The scene sinks in and I know the Jamison I grew up with is gone. I don’t know this monster in his place. For the first time through all of this, I’m more than just scared. I’m utterly terrified of him.

And I still help him. One good thrust from me and the body’s in the wheelbarrow. Everything’s taken on a surreal quality as we wheel across the gravel drive, through the grass and to the hole Jamison’s dug on the side of the barn. The sun’s high. It must be around eleven. The air’s so thick it makes breathing an actual chore. The hole’s deep—not six foot, but close. I look at the two shovels, the giant mound of loose earth. I’m already exhausted and we haven’t even started yet. “That’s a lot of dirt to move,” I say.

Jamison doesn’t ask for my help when he upends the wheelbarrow. “It’s not getting filled in until night. Too damned hot.” The body slips half out of the tarp on the way down, lands bent over itself, like his father stopped mid-somersault on one side of the makeshift grave.

“We need to spread this over him,” Jamison says, pointing, and I notice the bag of lye leaned up against the weathered boards of the barn. “Saw it on a movie. It turns the bones to mush.”

“Yeah, okay,” I manage.

“So...” He fades off, and then raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

He runs his arm over the beaded sweat on his forehead, his eyes squinted against the sunlight. “You didn’t help me push him down here. The least you can do is make sure he’s got an even coating of that stuff on him.” He hefts up the bag. “Go ahead and jump down and I’ll pass it to you.”

Not a damned chance. I’m not getting in that hole. “Jamison—”

“Are you in this or not?” he snarls and I take an involuntary step back.

I think of Allie in the cellar. The chains on her wrists. I think of him drawing syringes of blood, her arms covered in bruises that would heal if he gave them time. I’m starting to think my imagination isn’t twisted enough for what he’ll really do. I can’t help them if he doesn’t trust me. I swallow hard. “I said I was in, didn’t I?”

I lower my legs over the edge and slide into the hole. More than the body, the tarp, the lye Jamison’s passing down to me, it’s the cold that unsettles me. The air swirling around my ankles is least twenty-five degrees colder. It makes me think of the cellar again and Allie. I just want to get this over with and get to her.

I set the bag down and reach for my knife. “All of it?” I ask, glancing up.

Jamison’s silhouetted against the sunlight. His gun is out. It’s pointed at my chest.

“Your problem,” he says quietly. “Is that you want to save everyone.” I hold up a hand, the knife dropping onto the cold dirt below my duct-taped sneakers. “We were going to be gods, remember?”

“We are,” I say. “You and me.” Words babble out of me. “I’m on your side. You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t
want
to.” His face is pinched, the gun trembling in his hands. “You said Allie was strong, right?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. I’m not even sure it’s loud enough to hear.

“Then I’m more like her than you thought,” he says. “I do what has to be done. I’m a survivor.” In his hands, the gun steadies. “At any cost.”

He fires.

I
don’t know how much time passes before I hear footsteps cross the floor again. The door unlocks and when the light clinks on I wince against the sudden brightness. There’s only one shadow at the top of the stairs. From the movements alone, the stiff set to his shoulders, the cocky carefree way he clomps down, I know it’s Jamison.
Where’s Ploy?
I think frantically.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Talia calls. “Seriously, do not make me pee on this floor.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve had a busy afternoon.” Jameson holds two bowls balanced on top of each other as he slips the key into his pocket. He moves one bowl into each hand. “Are you hungry?” he asks as if nothing’s wrong. As if we haven’t been locked up in some dingy cellar in the dark for hours.

“No.” I hold the cuffs out in front of me. “I could use a Band-Aid.”

His eyes flick to my wrists. “What the fu—”

For the first time, there’s light to see what damage my escape attempts have done. Blood crusts the manacles, the skin of my hands, my mouth. The scabs on my wrists are wide and raw where they’d tried to heal and were ripped open again. They’re already starting to scar. Seeing them makes it hurt that much more. He shuffles forward and sets the bowls down. I clutch my hands to my chest protectively.

When he reaches for me, I let him unfurl my arm. It’s not like resisting is going to get me anywhere. His fingers skate along the wounds. “What the hell did you do?”

“I tried to tear my hands off.” The truth is worth it to see the horror on his face. “Didn’t you both think of that? I could rip them off and worry about reattaching them later. Be gone before you noticed.” I savor every bit of his revulsion, holding my arms out like an accusation. “I couldn’t chew through the tendons. It hurt too much.”

For the first time he seems to make the connection. The wounds on my wrists above where the cuffs are, the blood dried to a tight mask on my lips and face. “Like an animal in a trap,” he says softly. The contrast of his voice to the anger in his eyes almost makes me flinch, but I hold my ground until he speaks. “If you’re going to act like an animal, Allie, I’ll have to start treating you like one.”

A chill rushes through me.

“Jamison,” Talia calls. “Please. I promise I won’t try anything. I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Just a second,” he says. His eyes don’t leave my wrists. “Don’t ever try anything like that again.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Why? The waste of blood makes you mad?” Anger brings tears to my eyes and with them comes a vicious disappointment. I don’t fight it. This time, I let him see. My voice comes out quiet and broken. “Where’s Ploy?”

“Not here,” he says as he tosses my wrists free. He shoves a bowl into my hands. I can’t help my wince as I grasp it out of instinct. “You are a special breed of crazy, Allie.”

I raise an eyebrow at Jamison in mock amusement. “Still better than the murdering kind, I suppose.”

I’m never going to get out of here. The realization pounds through me. I can’t even imagine that I’m going to be killed quickly. No, we’ll stay locked in this basement until we’re bled dry or he loses his temper.
Which I’m not really helping with right now
, I think. I have to get on his good side, convince him I’m a docile little victim.

When I glance up at him though, there’s none of the rage I expected. For the first time since Talia’s apartment, he looks uncertain. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. “I promised I wouldn’t. I know you won’t believe me now, but give me an attempt to prove it before you do something like this again, okay?” There’s something so close to kindness in his voice that part of me aches to latch onto it, accept his words as true.

I think about my plan to play nice. “Okay.”

“Promise me,” he says. He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him when I say it.

I want to spit in his face. Claw his eyes out with the broken shreds of fingernail I have left. “I promise,” I say instead. “Talia has to go to the bathroom really bad.” It’s his chance to prove himself to me and we both know it.

“That’s why I came down.” He releases my chin and moves around to Talia. “I’m trusting you not to do anything stupid,” I hear him say. The chains clank to the ground one by one.

“I’m not going to make it,” she says. “Can we run?”

I close my eyes as Talia and Jamison bolt up the stairs. I wonder if I should start over on the wrists again and get the job done this time. It’d be awful hard to make it upstairs without hands though, and Ploy and Jamison would be back before I heal enough for my hands to be decently reattached. Not to mention I’ve got nothing to stitch with. Also hard without hands. The blood loss alone would probably kill me. By the time I came to, they’d have found out what I did and it’d all be for nothing anyway.

I sigh hard and my eyes drift down to the bowl. In it is a hamburger on a bun and a handful of salad. There’s no fork. I dig in with my bloody fingers, not caring, ravenous. Healing takes energy and I haven’t been able to bring myself to sleep. The next best thing is calories. I need to be strong. Maybe Talia’s right and I shouldn’t count Ploy out yet. He might be our only chance to get free.

As Talia comes down the stairs, I’m picking the last crumbles of meat from the bottom of the bowl. Jamison is behind her. He’s got the gun, and Talia’s medical bag over his shoulder. He waits while Talia clamps her wrists into the manacles, checks the locks, and then comes toward me. “You ate,” he says, sounding almost surprised. I wonder if he expected me to go on some sort of hunger strike.

“It helps with the healing,” I tell him.

He nods once. “I’ll bring you another one if you want?”

“That would be nice.” For a moment, we only stare at each other. Finally, he takes one of my wrists. He brushes a cold, wet towel against the worst spot and I hiss a breath through my teeth.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. There’s the pressure of a fingertip, a tingling numbness as he spreads some sort of cream over my torn skin. He pushes the cuff of metal as far up my arm as it will go and then starts to wrap the wrist he’s working on. “Does it hurt?”

What do you think?
my brain spits out. “Yes,” I say, leaning the back of my head against the pole. He makes quick work of the second wound.

When he’s finished, he holds my hand in his. “Remember that pain next time you think about trying to escape,” he says. “It’ll help you make smarter choices.”

I slip my hand away. I hate him touching me. “Where’s Ploy?” I ask. I know I shouldn’t push him, but I can’t help it.

Jamison’s eyes are solemn. He doesn’t speak, though he clearly wants to say something. I watch as he stands awkwardly and toes at Talia’s bag. A boxed syringe tumbles out onto the dirt floor. He murmurs something I don’t catch.

“What?”

He shakes his head and then the words come, slow, tinged with a swampy accent. “It would have crushed him to see you like this, Allie.”

I stiffen. “Would have?”

“You knew that damn well, too, didn’t you? It’s probably why you mauled yourself, to make him feel sorry for you. But it doesn’t matter now, does it?” I sit in stunned silence, his words echoing through my head.
It doesn’t matter
, he’d said. Why didn’t it matter anymore?

Without warning, Jamison squeezes my wrist, right over the bandages he just finished so carefully tying.

I whimper, my jaw dropping in surprised agony.

He rips me forward as he points up the stairs. “He didn’t have the heart for this, but I was making it work,” he hisses into my ear. “You ruined him.” He tightens his grip and black dots cloud my vision. “It’s your fault, what I had to do to him.” My breath catches in my throat as pain grates up my arm, through me. “Screw playing nice. You give me any more trouble and I’ll gut you like I did your mother, understood?”

Everything inside me freezes. “What?”

He lets out a guffaw. “They thought it was my mom, didn’t they? I always wondered. It wasn’t the experimenting they killed her for, I know that much.” He digs in his fingernails and I bite down on a scream. “Your mother didn’t tell us we’d lose all our money. All our land. You ever see your mom cry, Allie? Tell you she was sorry, that she wished she was dead?” His voice quiets. “I just wanted to make things right. Talk it out. Figure a different way, so I could help my mom. But no one listened.” He shrugs, as if it’s all water under the bridge. “
Your
mother cried that night.” His fingers are snaking into my hair, slowly inching me closer to him as I lean against his grip. “And I wanted to believe her when she said she’d make everything right. But people lie under that kind of pressure. They’ll tell you anything. Just like your little boyfriend tried to do.”

I snap, my fingers clawing at his, tangled in my hair. His arm smacks against my wrist and I let out a wail, half heartbreak, half pain. “What did you do to him?”

Jamison doesn’t answer. He snags a chunk of my hair, rips the strands loose at he pulls away. Pacing, he rubs his palm furiously against his buzz cut. “
You
ruined him,” he mumbles. “Like your mother ruined things. Like your father, in the way. Like your aunt, too stupid to figure it all out.”

I swallow hard, fighting tears. “I’m sorry,” I whimper. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

He sneers. “Don’t patronize me, Allie. I’m not an idiot.”

“I know that,” I say, fighting calm into my voice. My wrists throb, my scalp. We’re never going to get out of here alive. But I have to try. “Is he dead, Jamison?” Guilt’s etched into his every movement.
I can use this
, I think. “You got mad. Things got out of control?” I guess. I raise my voice; make the words forgiving but confident. “How long ago? An hour? Two?”
Please.
It’s on my lips. I’ll beg. I’ll give Jamison the blood. Anything he wants if he lets me help Ploy. “I can fix him for you. Undo it.” It’s mostly a lie. All I want is for Jamison to free me.

“I took everything out of him.”

My plan falls away. “No. You wouldn’t do that.”

The guilt in his eyes shifts to rage. He tips forward, his mouth an inch from my cheek as I turn away. “I had to! I couldn’t trust him anymore! I did what needed done. I’m stronger than you!” he yells. His hand goes behind his back as he rips the gun from his waistband and levels it on me. “Don’t look at me like that. I have Talia. I don’t even need you.”

“Wait!” Talia screams, and Jamison falters just long enough that she can speak. “You promised him. You promised Ploy no more killing.” She’s taking great gasping breaths while I sit frozen, terrified to move. Grief swallows me. Ploy’s gone. Everyone is gone.

Jamison stares at me. His eyes are dead cold things, emotionless.

“You promised him,” Talia whispers. “You were his best friend. He told us. That promise had to mean something to him. You promised him you wouldn’t kill her.”

His lips curl in a snarl. “Yeah,” he says. “But I didn’t say anything about making her suffer.”

He reaches down and snaps up the box, strips the syringe from inside and pulls off the plastic. I don’t even bother to fight him when he grabs my arm roughly and shoves the needle into my vein. I wince at the pinch. When it’s full, he slips the needle into his own arm and pushes the plunger. A look of euphoria overcomes his face. Distantly, I wonder why. He doesn’t feel anything. I know that much.

Without another word, Jamison grabs the bag and heads up the stairs. He doesn’t switch off the light. The door clicks as it closes, and then again as he turns the key.

“Are you okay?” Talia asks quietly.

I don’t answer.

“Allie?” She scoots around the pole to me. “Listen, I should have told you earlier but—”

“You knew Ploy was dead?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “About this.” It piques my interest enough that I look at her. She reaches into her shirt, her bra. And then, in her palm, is a blue vial.

My heart starts to pound. “I don’t have mine,” I whisper. “It’s in my bag, at your place.”

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “We could split this one. It’d get the job done.”

I glance up the stairs to the door. “I know.” But the point of the vial is keeping our blood from getting into the wrong hands. I don’t know Jamison’s connections. If he’d know to get himself to someone willing to experiment, someone who already was. Synthesize the gene. Right now, a floor above, our secret is coursing through the veins of a murderer. My head starts a slow shake. “Not yet,” I tell her. “We have to stop Jamison. Ploy...”
He’s really dead
, I think, the words stuttering to a stop. I never even knew his real name. Sadness wells inside me, heavy and cold, but I won’t let it take me. “He...um...he told Jamison the effects were temporary. If we swallow that,” I say, pointing to the vial, “Jamison will just go after another resurrectionist. This’ll never end.”

Talia closes her fingers over the glass. “He’s going to make this bad for us,” she says quietly.

“Yeah.” I think of Ploy. Did he know what was happening? Was it quick? “But Jamison left the light on, didn’t he?” She gives me a confused look. “He makes mistakes when he’s angry. You do everything he says, play the good one. He’ll let his guard down, and when he does...” I lean my head on her shoulder.