32. Liz
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
liz
She can hear people speaking. She can’t see their faces, but she can tell they are concerned—the quiver in their voices, the deep tones, the intermittent words that reach her through her slumber.
She is so exhausted. The girl could sleep for a year and still want more.
This is the first time she has let herself be vulnerable, let herself just... finally... rest.
She feels safe. Safer than she has ever felt. He is here, somewhere in this same hospital. He is fine. She knows it.
Footsteps approach. The mattress sinks.
A warm hand finds hers.
“Oh, you’ve been through something big, haven’t you, little girl?” A woman sighs, and the girl likes that sound. “I want you to know that you’re safe now, and that you can wake up. I know you’re tired and hurting, but we need to know you’re okay. Please, little one. It’s time to wake up.”
The hand moves to her forehead. The girl shivers. She wants to keep sleeping, despite the pleading in the woman’s voice for her to wake up.
Why does she have to wake up? There are no more chores. No boy to look after. Can’t she just sleep?
She thinks back. They escaped. The police found him first—she watched from behind a tree as they grabbed him, as he panicked in their grasp.
Then nothing.
The next thing she remembers is the policeman lifting her from the cupboard floor. The way he held her—careful and warm. A blanket was pulled up over her. The noise of the hospital. Lights sliding past overhead.
That’s all of it.
Now she just wants to sleep next to the unfamiliar gentleness of this stranger.
“Okay, sweety, you sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. You’re such a brave girl, do you know that? You’re safe now. You’re safe.” She pauses. She pauses for long enough that the girl almost peeks her eyes open, but then says, “I hid your unicorn under your pillow.”
My unicorn.
The mattress lifts. Footsteps recede. The girl swallows. She doesn’t usually mind being alone. She doesn’t open her eyes. Just lies there.
Then… footsteps. Faster. Heavier.
“Get it over with.”
A body beside her.
A pillow against her face.
Soft at first.
Then not.
I can’t breathe.
She tries to groan. Her eyes open, widen—only white cotton. Her hands fly up to claw at the pressure. When that does nothing to relieve it, she thinks about giving up. It’s easier. Something stops her—fear, adrenaline, anger.
Kon.
She reaches behind her head and pulls out the unicorn. Slashes the air with it. Uses everything she has.
She is too little. Too weak.
“Hurry up.” The same voice.
She swings anyway, gasping, groaning, blinking puddles into the fabric over her eyes. She hits something, and it grunts. The pressure builds, firmer, harder, shaking, unyielding. Her arms grow heavy, then weightless.
Then there is no air.
DEAKON
“What do you mean?” the boy asks. The man is hovering over his bed, looking at him with pity and concern.
The boy doesn’t want any of it.
“What do you mean?” the boy repeats. His hand moves without his knowing it, finding the soft sheets below him. He blinks at the lights. Too bright. The man pats his shoulder—a long, firm pat that feels like it could leave a bruise.
The boy can’t remember the last time someone touched him there. Maybe no one ever has. He forces his eyes up to the older man. “Say it again.”
The boy doesn’t understand the words the man has been repeating to him. Or perhaps he refuses to, because that would mean believing them, and believing them would mean they are true. And they cannot be true.
“I’m sorry. She’s gone.”
They said they would find her.
Keep her safe.
They used the word protect.
We will find her.
The boy turns the words over, the ones he heard in the woods. He prefers them. “Liz fell. We did everything we could,” the man says.
What does that mean?
What did they do?
Why didn’t they ask me?
I could have told them.
She gets scared in the dark.
She sometimes falls on steps.
She is allergic to bee stings.
She is very bad at math.
She thinks there is a girl in her class who doesn’t like her. Have they asked that girl?
Why didn’t they ask me?
The boy’s stomach lurches. He swallows against it and keeps his eyes on the man. “How many days has it been?”
The man breathes out loudly. “One day, Deakon.”
One day?
Liz.
“She’s gone, Deakon. She has gone somewhere better.”
The boy frowns.
Somewhere better.
She would have brought me.
She would have said goodbye.
She would have taken my hand.
Somewhere better?
I don’t understand.
The boy suddenly smiles. “She doesn’t know where I am,” he says. “Tell her and she’ll come back.”
The man shakes his head slowly. “No, Deakon. She’s gone to heaven.”
She wouldn’t go anywhere without me.
“Where is heaven?”
The man exhales. He blinks at the boy for a moment before turning to speak to someone behind him. The boy doesn’t like this man. Or the other one.
“Where is heaven?” the boy says, louder now. “I need to know how to get there.”