18. Negotiations
18
Negotiations
I must have looked worse than I felt—maybe it was all the blood—because my one-way ticket to solitary confinement included a pit stop in the infirmary. The gurneys were occupied by Jax, Jette, and York, which left me handcuffed to a chair in the corner of the room, waiting for the doctor to arrive.
Besides a busted knuckle from punching Jette, I’d come out of the cafeteria fight unharmed. I owed a large part of that to Clyde, and I made a mental note to tell him so the next time I saw him. With less than a week left in Thorngate, and the guards crowing about my “extended stay” in Seg, I was beginning to worry I had already seen my cellmate for the last time.
Six days in isolation didn’t sound like too long, while also sounding like forever. The seventy-two hours I’d spent in prison so far had passed at a snail’s pace. Without the ability to leave my cage to stretch my legs, or see the gloomy sky above the yard, the boredom alone might kill me.
I pushed up my sleeve to pick at the nicotine patch practically glued to my skin. Its effectiveness was wearing off. Bad timing. Unless the crabby healer was willing to pack me a to-go supply of the things, I was about to be quitting cold turkey.
From the gurneys, the peanut gallery chattered.
“He blinded me,” Jax moaned. “That fucker blinded me.”
“We’ll get him, boss.” Jette aimed a menacing glare in my direction. “He won’t get away with that shit.”
My wink and blown kiss prompted a cry of outrage as she jerked against the shackles securing her to the bed.
York mumbled something unintelligible while lying back, holding his face. His jaw hung unhinged below the cover of his hand.
At last, Ripley Vaughn bustled in with a brown paper fast food bag and a surprised expression.
“Looks like you lot had a tussle,” he said to the trio on the gurneys. When he spotted me, his eyes narrowed. “And you’re back.”
He set his food on top of a low cabinet. The smell of a griddled hamburger wafted to my nose, and my stomach twinged in response. The few bites of mac and cheese had barely curbed my appetite, and I was nearly willing to spork out my own eye if it would get me a bite of whatever was in that bag.
“I didn’t know traitors got takeout,” I told the doctor. “Was that part of your deal? Tell the Capitol everything they want to know about the Hex, and you don’t have to eat the shit they serve in the cafeteria?”
He wore the black paper mask again, but I didn’t need to see his expression to hear his scorn as he replied, “Wait your turn to speak, or I’ll feed you to this one.” He moved alongside the gurney where Jax writhed. “He eats people, you know.”
Which explained the bad breath and pointy teeth.
The lamps hummed overhead as I looked around the cramped room. An antiquated autoclave rested on a rolling cart, a small effort at sanitization in the otherwise grimy space. Locks on the cabinets hoped to keep junkies out, which meant there were better things to be had in this place than nicotine patches. Making nice with the ex-Hex member may have had fringe benefits I hadn’t considered.
Ripley turned toward his patient for inspection. All I could see of Jax’s face was a thick mask of blood. His wounded eye sunk in the middle of it like a lava pit: red and bubbling. The spork handle barely protruded. Too bad it hadn’t punctured his pea-sized brain.
“Bloody hell,” Ripley groaned. “What’s happened to you?”
“That piece of shit blinded me, Rip.” Jax aimed a trembling hand toward where I sat.
Ripley followed the indication to me. “The same piece of shit you jumped in the showers yesterday?”
Jax nodded, and the doctor joined in agreement.
“Then you’ve learned a valuable lesson. Always finish what you start.”
“ I’ll finish it.” Jette tugged again on her restraints. The blood had begun to dry on her face like warpaint paired with her mohawk.
Did anyone in this prison not want me dead? I was used to having a target on my back—or my hand, in this case—but I was also used to having the gang’s support. I would have had Ripley’s support now if he wasn’t a turncoat coward.
“Hey, Jax,” I called over. “If you want a Hex mark so bad, you should take the good doctor’s. He’s not using it.”
Both men glowered at me. Ripley stepped away from the bedside and walked quickly to my seat.
“Children who can’t behave themselves can wait outside.” He grabbed the back of my chair and dragged it across the linoleum floor.
“Children?” I retorted. “How old are you ? Like fifteen?”
He could have been as aged as Grimm and the others, but few witches chose to stop time in their teens. Stuck looking like gangly puppies. It was the worst stage of life.
I glanced over my shoulder to see where we were headed. Besides the entry, I’d seen one other door. Likely a storage closet, and one we rapidly approached now.
“Hell, no.” I planted my feet, but the flat-soled slip-ons that passed for shoes in this place failed to slow our progress.
The door opened and Ripley hauled me across the threshold, then spun the chair around and dropped it. The metal legs settled with simultaneous thunks.
Standing in front of me, he slid the mask down to his chin and spoke. “I have work to do, and patients who need me. You look fine, so you can wait. Nice work, though. A much better showing than last time. I doubt they’ll bother you anymore.”
I didn’t tell him that no one would bother me where I was going next. I was too distracted by the room I found myself in. Not a closet at all, but rather a modified prison cell. Instead of bars, it had walls. Instead of a creaky bunkbed, a single cot. The same toilet and sink but, where Clyde’s desk occupied one wall of our cell, this space had a kitchenette complete with a hot plate and electric kettle.
I gave a low whistle. “Nice digs for a rat.”
He stared at me, deadpan. “You can come off your high horse anytime. I gave up everything to be here.”
Considering I was currently doing everything I could to get out of this awful place, I couldn’t fathom choosing to live like this.
“Was it worth it?” I asked. “I’d think not since the gang’s stronger than ever.”
Was I trying to convince him to rejoin the Hex? Or to hate me more than he already did?
He didn’t look angry, though. Instead, alarmingly tranquil. “I can sleep at night. Sit in quiet with my own thoughts. Can you?”
Even the seconds of silence following his question made me itch, which proved answer enough.
“Sit tight.” He tugged up his mask. “Don’t touch my stuff. I’ll be back.”
He seemed less interested in murdering me today, a plus, but I hadn’t begun to broach the subject of his return to the gang. And I wasn’t inclined to wait while he patched up Jax and his minions.
When Ripley stepped past me, I chased him with a question. “I notice you aren’t wearing your necklace. Not your color or something?”
He stopped beside me. In profile, I saw his mouth twist. “You would do well to stay out of situations you don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand,” I replied.
A heavy breath escaped him, leaving his bone-thin frame looking even hollower. He pushed the door closed and moved back, lowering the mask to face me squarely.
“You know as well as anyone that you take orders from a cruel man. You should also know his brutality is not limited to your experiences. He makes everyone around him suffer at one time or another.”
His eyes fixed on mine, steady and calm. I almost wished for the return of the scalpel-wielding psycho I’d met yesterday. Crazy was easier to grapple with than the unnerving calm before me now.
“That necklace belonged to a young woman who suffered unspeakably at Grimm’s hands,” Ripley continued. “For years, I did everything I could to protect her, and my weakness was exploited over and again until it became clear I could not save her.”
Vinton’s new zombie? Was she the same girl Ripley spoke of now? None of the guys kept women around. Too risky, I’d been told. Was this why?
“It was because of you that I finally accepted my failure,” Ripley said. “What Grimm did to Maggie and I? That was his plan for you and your brother. History repeats itself.”
My stomach twinged again, but not from hunger this time. What were Grimm’s plans for Donovan? Throwing him into the gang was like dumping chum into water. Bound to draw sharks.
I hoped my growing concern didn’t show on my face as I asked, “What happened to her? Maggie?”“She died.” He looked aside, studying the floor. “And I believe that was the kindest fate she could have hoped for.”
Heaviness settled on me. Like the magic dampeners in the prison had cranked up a few notches, or maybe it was the weight of guilt by association. Did Ripley wonder where I got the necklace? Or how Vinton pilfered it off a dead girl’s corpse?
“What about your brother?” Ripley asked, stirring me from contemplation. “Donovan, was it? How is he?”
I paused. “He… he’s dead, too.”
Something in the doctor’s frown made it clear he knew I was lying. He didn’t call me on it, though. Instead, he grunted and replied, “Better for both of you that way. I’d hate to think you’ve been stuck in the same trap I was, martyring yourself for the sake of someone else’s wellbeing.”
I wasn’t a martyr, though. It wasn’t as dramatic as that. I was just a concerned older sibling who saw the writing on the wall.
“Listen, Ripley,” I said quickly. “I think I know something about your girl. Unless there was more than one of those necklaces.”
He huffed a breath. “It’s a fake, I assure you. Manipulation is a game I’m no longer interested in playing. And, if you’re going to ask me again to rejoin the Bloody Hex, don’t bother. My answer hasn’t changed.”
A wail from the infirmary commanded his attention and he brushed past me, reaching for the doorknob.
“Vinton has a zombie,” I blurted.
His fingers retracted, curling into a fist. “For how long?”
I shook my head. “Couple days, maybe? I haven’t seen her. Just… heard.”
There was something too familiar about all of this. Something recognizable in another man’s admission of defeat at Grimm’s hands. It looked like my future—maybe even my present—while I played an integral part in the manipulation game I’d been a victim of more times than I could count.
Ripley looked down at me. Rage and sorrow were at war in his mismatched eyes. “If you’re lying—”
“I’m not.”
“Then I have no choice.”
Relief brought levity I desperately needed. Then I felt guilty for that, too.
“Tell me where I need to be and when,” Ripley said.
“I will. As soon as I know.”
He gave a curt nod, exiting to the infirmary and leaving me sitting in his cell, thinking.
Maggie the zombie was bait in a trap. Ripley must have known that as well as I did. His return under duress was the furthest thing from what I’d originally thought. I wasn’t being replaced at all. But he wasn’t being welcomed back, either. If anything, I may have been leading him to slaughter.
The knowledge put a damper on what should have been a celebratory moment. But I could revel in my success later when I told Donovan the good news.
It wasn’t until the guards returned to escort me to Seg that I had an entirely new revelation. Did prisoners in isolation get visitors?