Fragmented Souls, page 16
“Why do we need to talk about this again?” Luke mutters, stomping into the room and perching himself on the arm of Harley’s chair, shaking his wet hair on her and flexing his shirtless upper body.
“Because we don’t want to get caught,” Harley says, trying not to push him onto the floor.
“Well, since Uri, Jimmy and Luke were picked for this little operation and I wasn’t, I will be taking a beauty nap before I have to use all my energy to give Harley a makeover,” Tequila yawns, walking up the stairs.
“You enjoy it!” Harley jokes, smiling at Ace, who mimics Tequila’s yawn.
“Well, you aren’t wrong.” Tequila winks.
“Don’t you mean cat nap?” Ace asks.
“Does it look like I want to have the face of a cat when I wake up?” she replies, disgusted by his comment.
“Too late,” Rey laughs, nudging Johnny.
“If I were you boys, I’d sleep with one eye open tonight,” she calls down in a sing-song voice.
Their smiles instantly fall. Last time she said that to them, they both woke up with Q-tips glued into their nostrils. It took Finn and Harley forever to take them out.
“Anyway,” I say, bringing the group back on task. “When we go tonight we need to stick to the shadows and do our best to hide Harley’s face.”
“Well since it’s a speakeasy and no one can drink anywhere else, I’m almost certain people will be too hammered to see properly,” Luke chimes in. Even though he’s right, I still want to make him look like an idiot for talking, but since Harley gave him a good beating already, I’ll let him be.
“And from what I’ve studied about the underground of Dead Man’s Hill, the tunnels are too dark to see one foot in front of you, so we’ll have to make sure flashlights don’t shine on her face,” Uri adds.
“You can take a walkie talkie, in case you need backup,” suggests Finn, eyeing Luke suspiciously as he scootches closer to Harley.
“We’re only going to find Durçk’s contact and leave when we get the information. No partying or socializing, okay?” Harley orders, directing that comment at me, but I am in no mood for a party. Rey groans in objection, flopping to the floor, his arms and legs outstretched.
“Dude! You’re not going with them,” Buckey reminds Rey, stomping on his stomach.
“So we can party it up here,” Ace suggests, poking Rey’s nose.
“You guys have to be careful about making too much noise,” Harley says sternly. If they draw too much attention to themselves, we’re going to have a hard time leaving this place or even staying in the house.
“We are splendidly, sophisticatedly, astronomically, careful human beings — mademoiselle,” Johnny reassures, bowing to Harley. She sighs, about to say something, when Emma bursts through the door, holding a bundle of new clothes.
“Outfits — I have your outfits. Everyone must get ready,” she puffs, her arms full of clothing bags.
“It’s only three!” Luke groans, taking some of the bags from her.
“Yes, but it’s ‘Roaring Twenties’ tonight and you boys have to wear tuxes and I’m guessing none of you have ever worn a suit. You will need lots of time to figure it out.” She drops most of the bags on Luke, holding onto two and pulls Harley to her feet. They disappear up the stairs, leaving us boys to our own devices.
Chapter 12
(Harley)
The dress I’m given is a deep crimson, silky between my fingers, stopping just above my knees. Fringe dangles from the bottom, ruby beads embroidering the rest. I don’t belong in such a delicate, beautiful dress.
I haven’t been able to sit still for the last hour as the time for my friends’ potential death creeps closer. I keep making excuses to leave the chair Tequila forced me into. I run downstairs, my hair half done, the first layer of makeup painted across my face, to fight with Jimmy about tagging along.
He didn’t take me seriously at first, joking about how the makeup looked weird, but as I continued to talk, he became cold and stern, trying to convince me that if I prevented him from travelling to the speakeasy with us, he’d find his own way there. Since we are evenly stubborn, we got nowhere. He stormed off, leaving me alone with my thoughts, with no more excuses to get out of Tequila’s makeover session.
The night’s theme is the 1920s, which, according to my history class, was when flapper girls existed, prohibition struck, and the age of jazz was born. Pretty suitable for a speakeasy, considering that’s when they were created. Out of everything, the dress was the only thing I didn’t argue about putting on, and despite my many complaints, Tequila managed, with great effort, to get me into a pair of short black heels that squeeze my toes. Emma tried to get me to put on a wig, but even though it would help disguise me, there was no way it was going to happen. So instead, we curled my hair and pinned it back with a shiny rose.
It’s weird how Emma can afford all these outfits. She doesn’t seem like the wealthiest of people. Something’s not right with her situation, the extra food, the outfits, her over-sunny personality. It’s a gut feeling I can’t get rid of, and the problem with a gut feeling is that it’s hard to prove anything. The sooner we get this information, the sooner we get to leave.
Too many things cloud my mind as Tequila shows me her finished product. She has a natural talent for turning people into something they aren’t. My skin is clear, unscarred, my eyes bolder, and my lips plump. She might have done her job so well that a stranger could look me dead in the eye and never recognize me from the posters.
That would be too much to ask for.
I make my way down the stairs, already completely exhausted from the events of today. For the first time in my life, I’ve become the person I buried deep down in the darkest parts of me, chained and locked away, promised by myself to never set free.
“I have never seen you with that much makeup on,” Rey notes, releasing me from my thoughts. I look him over, and his polka-dot boxers and striped shirt make me choke back a giggle.
Ace jumps over the couch, hugging me and kissing my cheek. He tells me how beautiful I look and wishes me all the luck in the world, only to be reprimanded by Tequila for potentially messing up her masterpiece. The rest of the gang sits around the TV, a dozen empty bottles already scattered over the table and floor. I don’t want to provoke their drunken words, so I walk straight out the door onto the porch.
The cold air wakes my flesh, the moon bright against the stars. I’m starting to miss my home, something I never thought possible. The boys wait for me in full tuxedos, their shoes polished along with their hair.
“Nice top hat!” I chuckle.
Uri turns, beaming at me. He takes his hat off, bows, and takes my hand in his, planting a kiss on my cut knuckles. “You look very handsome tonight, Ms. Hudson.”
“And you, Mr. Winston, look very dapper on this fine evening.” We giggle at ourselves, forgetting that in a couple of minutes we will be walking the streets where Hunters could so easily spot us. Uri’s suit is a tad too short for his tall build. His pants stop above his ankles, but black socks almost hide that fact. You can see the shadow of tattoos covering his arms, peaking out of the too-short sleeves that pinch his armpits. He was born for these types of situations, charmingly handsome, brilliant beyond belief.
“Cut it out!” Luke says, shifting uncomfortably in his tux, which seems too tight and itchy for his liking, but he still manages to look devilishly handsome with his blonde hair pushed back. I’m genuinely sad boys no longer dress this way.
Without warning, my heart does a little skip in my chest as Jimmy turns toward me, his good looks rendering me speechless. His hair is slicked back, giving it the appearance of the night sky as it reflects the moon. Instead of his tuxedo being white and black, it’s merely all black, fitting him just right. A stunning red rose pokes out of his breast pocket, pulling the look together.
“Do I look okay? Is the rose too much? Tequila made me wear it. She said it matched your dress. Wow! You look really good!” he exclaims, blushing and nervous. I can tell it’s taking all his efforts not to run his fingers through his hair.
“You look marvellous! Went a little heavy with grease, but we’ll blame it on Tequila,” I wink, straightening his bowtie. I’d say out of all his old-fashioned looks, the way he wears this one is my favourite. As I look into his eyes, the image of him falling limp, blood trickling from a small hole in his forehead, flashes through my mind. I fidget with the rose in my hair, distracting myself with another concern.
I lean forward, “Don’t you think it’s weird how Emma had all of these expensive clothes on hand, when it’s only her and her mom that live here, and she doesn’t look like she has a lot of money to spend on frivolous things?” I whisper, worried Luke will hear me and become even grumpier than he already is. Jimmy’s smile doesn’t falter.
“Yes, but it’s a kind of normal thing here — ya know. They probably go to the speakeasies all the time. Stock up on the clothes over the years,” Jimmy says.
I sigh, agreeing. Maybe he’s right. I’m just on edge from my dream. I don’t think it’s a good idea for all of them to come, but I feel safer knowing that they will be there.
“I feel like I’m sending my kids off to prom,” Rey shouts from the couch, “Except you Luke — if you were my daughter’s date, I’d probably knock you out.” Finn stifles a laugh as he hands me a purse with a walkie talkie inside that I won’t use. If trouble did find us, calling for backup would take too long and put more people at risk, but letting them think I would will keep them calm.
“Protective, how kind,” Luke says, his lips curling.
“Only the best for my little duckling,” Rey replies, grinning at me. He and Johnny make fists, punching their hands, glaring at Luke.
Emma struts out the door, a long emerald dress hugging her body, a thin diamond band around her head and a white feather scarf hanging off her shoulders. I thought what I was wearing was too much.
“Ready!” she says, shoving something shiny in her purse. I choose to ignore it, readying myself for action.
“Okay, here.” Finn hands Jimmy and Uri small flashlights no bigger than their hands and gives the rest of us long grey cloaks to cover our outfits. “Don’t turn them on until you get to the tunnels, the battery won’t last long enough otherwise. Be careful, we’ll see you when you get back.” He helps me into the cloak and hugs me before closing the door behind him.
“Does everyone know the plan?” I turn to them, everyone nodding but Luke. “Would you care to elaborate, Luke?” I say, only to make sure he’s in the right headspace. He was fine after we fought, almost happy with me, but in between then and now, he’s become bitter.
“We stick to the shadows on our way to the school, walk through the tunnels, get to the speakeasy, get the information and get out without getting killed or giving your identity away. It’s not that hard,” Luke grumbles, the scent of liquor on his breath. He steps off the porch and into the silent darkness.
“And stick together,” I mutter. I start toward Jimmy, but Emma slips in front of me, sliding her arm in his, pulling him forward. The nerve this woman has.
“Ms. Hudson.” Uri offers his arm to me, relief on his face, probably because he doesn’t have to walk with Emma.
“Mr. Winston.” I link his arm with mine, using him as a crutch because even though these heels aren’t that high, I still find it hard to walk without tripping, my feet aching after a couple of steps. I have no idea why Tequila chooses to wear heels.
On our way to the school, we try to blend in with the others dressed in long cloaks, their hair done up and heels clicking against the cobblestones. I wonder how they manage to get away with this every night and not get caught. Where do the Hunters think these people go, tipsy and dressed for nothing but a party? They could be like the Hunters in The Sticks who don’t care what people do or that they’re mixed up in illegal business. It’d be hard not to drink when you live in a dirty, unfriendly town like this.
We reach the school in eight minutes, all piling into the tunnels, through the trap door hidden under a sandpit. A group of clearly not sober people stumble in with us. They introduce themselves, giving me a quick embrace, not looking into my eyes. They linger a little too long with Jimmy and Uri before squealing with delight when they see Luke and Emma, catching them up on the latest gang rankings and Hunter beatings.
I weasel my way to the back, behind Jimmy and Uri, so the flashlights don’t accidentally cross over my face. I lock my fingers with Jimmy’s, his clammy palm uncomfortable against mine, cold and rigid. I can only hope that Luke’s right, and by the time we get to the speakeasy, most people will be too hammered to recognize my face.
The tunnel feels the same as it did in my dream, the air perfumed and smoky. The stones surround us, amplifying every sound: dripping water, screeching bats, and loud laughter of the people in front of us. With the flashlight’s help, though, the darkness doesn’t seem so claustrophobic, so similar to my dream.
“It’s a bit creepy down here,” Jimmy whispers. His words bounce around us, all the way to the front and the sounds of people agreeing with him make their way back to us.
Creepier than you think. I remember the feeling of something pushing me forward, so I have to make a conscious effort not to swing my arm back because I know there’s nothing there. There’s nothing there.
“You’re wrong!” the high-pitched voice taunts. I squeeze Jimmy’s hand harder, grabbing Uri’s arm as well, pulling myself forward, so close to them that I keep stepping on their heels.
“You okay?” they both whisper.
I nod, forgetting they can’t see me, “Yeah,” I say, my body shivering, praying the speakeasy doesn’t look like the one in my dream. The high-pitched voice starts to sing his little song again. I count backwards from one hundred, replacing his voice with my own. In a way, I’m grateful for the darkness because if people saw me at this moment, walking with my eyes squeezed shut, clinging to both Jimmy and Uri like a scared child, they’d think I was crazy.
After what feels like forever, loud music sings all around us, the flashlights revealing a metal door, the word ‘Ryker’s’ engraved in fancy handwriting on the surface.
Three knocks. Pause. Two knocks. Pause. Three knocks. A piece of the door slides open, hooded brown eyes scanning us as bright lights glare in our eyes. I duck my head, Jimmy and Uri shielding me, Luke covering the gaps.
“Code,” a deep voice demands.
“Fire breathing rubber duckies,” a girl giggles, having trouble with the words.
“Try to get through the password once without laughing, Jenna,” the man grunts, rolling his eyes.
“Can’t!” she giggles.
He shuts the flap, and two seconds later, the metal door opens. All at once, bright light, music and the smell of liquor mixed with cigars and pretzels hit us. At first, I can barely see anything as I’m guided forward, someone sliding my coat from my shoulders, but when my eyes adjust, the sight completely takes my breath away.
It’s nothing like my vision. The wood floors are polished and unscuffed, despite the many heels gliding over them. Brick wraps around the whole room, stopping where it meets the wooden roof and dangling silk fabrics that brush against the ground. Beams supporting the room have fake ivy strung around them, white and purple flowers pinned to the green. The whole place is one big dance floor, people singing and spinning, some being lifted into the air, some squealing when their partners try and fail. Few people occupy the black velvet booths that line the walls, their tables covered with red cloths, and flickering candles placed in the middle. There’s not a mirror in sight.
As we turn the corner, there’s more. The bar looks exactly as I saw it, dark wood shelves holding loads of liquors, their colours ranging from dark purples to baby blue to black. The only difference is that here there are mirrors, reflecting the gold lights projected to make the bottles glow. If I weren’t so skeptical of this place, I might be in awe of everything. I don’t want to look for the curtain of diamonds, but it’s already facing me. Flaming ruby beads hang over a small doorway and though it’s not the diamond curtain from the vision, I still feel a bitter taste on my tongue.
“You guys wait at the bar. I’ll look around,” Emma offers, leaving us to debate what kind of liquor to try first, our playful banter allowing us to ignore the underlying tension for a moment.
“We might have to build one of these when we get home,” Jimmy gawks, sliding onto a black stool rimmed with red.
“Above ground, though,” Uri adds, gesturing for the bartender. A weight I didn’t know I was carrying lifts from my shoulders when I see the bartender is a middle-aged woman, covered in tattoos, no white flame pin anywhere in sight.
Luke slides onto a stool beside me. His mood is completely changed, now happy and brightened, most likely with the help of coming here buzzed, I suppose. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, pulling small bills from his pocket.
“I don’t know if I should,” I object, not wanting to be drunk when I have to talk to Durçk’s contact, who could be holding my brother’s whereabouts and his life in her hands.
“Come on, Harley. One won’t hurt,” he pleads, looking boyish and playful, like the person I met so long ago.
“Fine,” I say, giving in a little too quickly, “I’ll have the silver one.” Luke grins, leaning toward the bartender. I look to Jimmy, who holds a glass of bright yellow liquor in one hand and has a brightly dressed girl brushing against his other. That was fast. I think. He has a true gift for attracting pretty girls.
