Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
GHOST
The Code: Rule #9
You cannot trust anyone—not even your blood.
30 years ago…
“Momma?” I whimper, holding up the boo-boo for her to look at. Thick, sticky red liquid pours from my hand down my arm, but it doesn’t hurt. I’m worried because I know she’ll be mad if I spill on the carpet again.
Momma pulls the glass pipe from her thin lips, fixing me with hazy blue eyes. “Are you fucking serious, Boy?” she scoffs. “What the hell did you do to yourself now?”
I use my good hand to point toward the corner of the room. A pair of scissors lie on the floor in a puddle of the same sticky stuff coming from my hand. With despair, I realize some of it has even gotten on Momma’s present.
Forgetting about my hand, I rush back over, tracking red spots across the carpet in my haste to save the gift. When Daddy was still here, he would give Momma presents, and it always made her happy. I wanted to do it too. Wanted her to smile at me the way she would before he left.
I grab the flowers in my good hand and run back to Momma, a big smile spreading my pudgy cheeks.
“Here!” I cheer, presenting the bundle of wildflowers wrapped in twine to her proudly. “I made this for you!”
Momma looks down her nose with a scowl, jerking away from the present I worked so hard to make her. “You got blood on them. They’re ruined.”
My heart sinks, and my hand falls to my side. “I’m sorry, Momma. I didn’t mean to?—-”
“Yeah, you never mean to.” She interrupts, sighing as she places her pipe on the greasy coffee table. “Come on, Boy. Let’s stop the bleeding before you fuck up my carpet anymore.”
I follow Momma into the kitchen, feeling a horrible tightness in my chest .
I just wanted to do something nice for her.
She presses a rag to my hand, not bothering to be gentle. Tears well in my eyes, though it's not from pain. I don’t mean to hurt myself. I just can’t help it. I don’t even realize it’s happened until I see that awful red stuff. That awful, awful red that ruins Momma’s carpet.
“I’m sorry I’m no good, Momma,” I whisper, the tears falling freely down my dirt-stained cheeks. I want to be good.
“It’s in your genes, Boy. You can’t help it. Oh, stop that—crying won’t fix it.” She sucks her teeth, checking to make sure the blood is quelled before pulling away from me. “There. All better.”
I look down at my hand, caked with dried red and dirt. There’s a deep gash allowing me to see inside myself, and I pull the skin apart curiously, poking at the squishy pink and yellow stuff deep in my palm.
“Oh my God! Stop that!” Momma screeches, her face white as she watches my curiosity unfold.
“What’s wrong, Momma?” I ask, pulling my head up to her with my finger still deep inside the gash. “What did I do?”
“Just… stop being so fucking weird,” she grumbles, yanking my hand away from the gash with a di sgusted expression. “No wonder your father left. I seriously can’t with you… I need to smoke.” She stumbles off toward the couch, leaving me without so much as a look over her shoulder.
I sit on the counter, inspecting the wound closely now that Momma won’t get mad. I just want to see what’s inside. I have to know what causes that sticky red stuff to flow.
A few minutes later, my inspection is interrupted by a knock on the front door.
“Boy! Get the door!”
I jump off the countertop, hearing—rather than feeling—something pop as I hit the ground. I look down at my legs, and notice my left ankle is sitting strangely off-center, growing in size, and purple. When I put weight on it, it crumples beneath me, and my brows come together in a frown.
That’s never happened before.
Shrugging, I hobble toward the front door, being careful not to put my full weight on my left side. I wrap my bad hand around the doorknob before I remember, and I cringe as more red stuff stains the handle.
Momma’s not going to like that.
Another knock sounds, and Momma whips her head to me. “The fuck is taking you so long? Answer it.”
I pull open the door, but all I see are two sets of legs wrapped in some fancy-looking cloth. I reach my hand forward, desperate to feel it. Like usual, nothing happens when I take the fabric between my fingers. No sensation.
“Jesus fuck. What happened to you, kid?”
I jerk my head up to the sky, frowning at the faceless strangers. Both are wearing white masks—like I’ve seen some of the neighborhood kids wear on Halloween—but I’ve never seen this exact type before. There are no features, not even eyeholes for them to see through.
I tilt my head, wondering where that voice came from, if not from a mouth.
“What do you want?” I demand, taking on a similar tone I’ve heard Momma use when she answers the door.
The blond-haired mask closest to me chuckles. “You got some fire in you, huh? Where are your parents?”
I glance behind me to where Momma lazes on the couch. I don’t know if these men mean her harm, but I’m not taking any chances. I won’t let them hurt my mom .
“She’s not here,” I lie, pulling the door farther closed so they can’t see inside. “I’m… alone. What do you want?” I repeat, mimicking her pitch perfectly this time.
The other black-haired man sniffs the air, then pins that expressionless circle on me. “I guess they have them smoking Rebound younger and younger.” He looks over my shoulder into the house. “We’re not gonna hurt her, kid. We just want to talk to her about a business proposition.”
I don’t know what the words mean, but the way he says them has my hair standing on end. “I don’t know…”
“Hey, kid, how about you and I go outside and play for a bit while my partner talks to your mom? Doesn’t that sound fun?” Suddenly, the first mask reaches forward and claps his hand on my shoulder. I don’t feel it, but I’m watching so closely I know the exact moment his hand touches me, and I jump back.
“Whoa. Easy, tiger,” the man murmurs, holding his hands up.
“Boy? What the hell is going on?” My heart hammers as Momma shuffles to the door, and I try to shove it closed. The man’s foot is quicker than me, and he pulls it back open with ease .
“Hello, ma’am. How are you doing today?”
I shake my head at Momma to warn her, but she’s not looking at me. Why won’t you look at me?
“What do you want?” she sneers, throwing open the door. “I don’t have anything your kind wants.”
“Ah, you see, that’s where you’re wrong,” the dark-haired mask says, stepping in front of the blond one who tried to talk to me originally. “You have something that could be… very valuable to us.” To my surprise, his head tilts toward me, but I have no idea what that means.
Momma seems to, though. Her eyes widen, and for the first time in years, a genuine smile tugs at her lips. “Him?”
The black-haired mask nods.
“How much?” Momma asks, her voice rising in pitch.
The man shrugs. “The Sanctum is prepared to offer you as much as you see fit for this… acquisition. They are well aware of the value, you see.”
“Value?” Momma scoffs, seems to catch herself, and steels her expression. Then she rubs her hands together, reminding me of the little brown flies buzzing around our kitchen. “A child is a very precious thing, indeed. I’m thinking… Tw o fifty?”
Without a beat, the mask nods. “That is acceptable.”
Momma squeals with joy, and I find my face mirroring hers in a smile. I love when she’s happy. It makes me happy. She shifts her gaze to me for the first time, and my smile droops a tad when she sneers at me.
“What about Rebound? Can you get me more? He’s a very… special boy, you see,” she says, a laugh-like tone to her voice.
Special? My heart grows wings. She called me special.
The black mask tilts his head at her for a moment as if he doesn't understand what she’s talking about. But I do. Momma just called me special! This is the best day ever!
Finally, the man nods. “A shipment will be delivered by the end of the day. It is promised.”
Momma’s gaze flicks to me for a moment before falling on the glass pipe still smoking on the table. “Okay, then…”
My hand grips the door, meaning to pull it closed. I wonder if Momma will take me for ice cream later. The last time she smiled like that, she and Daddy took me out to Big Scoops and got me the tallest? —
I look up, confused when Momma stops me from closing the door. She’s not looking at me, and I pull on the leg of her pants. Why won’t she look at me? I thought I was special?
She swats me away and takes a step back into the house. When I try to follow, she holds her hand up. “No. You’re going with these men, Boy. They’re going to take care of you from now o—for a while. Okay?”
Wait—WHAT?
“But Momma?—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” she screeches, whacking the back of my head with enough force to send my chin into my chest. “You’re going with them, and that’s final!” My lip quivers as the blond mask hands Momma a thick envelope, which she tears open greedily.
Is this because I spilled?
“All two fifty is in here?” Momma asks.
The black-haired mask nods. “As agreed.”
Momma smiles, shoving the envelope into her bra. Then she puts her hand on the middle of my back and shoves me. My body lurches forward, and I would have fallen flat on my face if it weren’t for the blond-haired mask who catches my shoulders.
I look back at Momma, desperate for her to meet my eyes. I didn’t mean to spill, Momma! I want to shout. I promise to be better! I promise I’ll be good—just, please, don’t let them take me away from you!
“Do you want to say your goodbyes?” the blond mask asks. Momma just shakes her head, still refusing to look at me.
“He’s a good boy. He’ll do as he’s told.”
NO! No, please! I’m sorry! Whatever it is I did, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I promise!
The blond mask tilts his head. “You realize you will not be able to contact him from this moment on? Do you not wish to say anything? Do you not wish to say goodbye?”
The black-haired mask nudges the blond one gently. “She doesn’t want to, R-57. We got what we needed. Let’s go.”
The blond one stiffens but says no more. Taking me gently by the elbow, he leads me down the porch steps. Forgetting about my ankle, I place my weight on my left leg, and another pop rings out before my body crumples to the ground.
Both of the masked men jerk, matching gasps ringing through those strange microphones as I try to stand. I look down at what they’re staring at and find the lower half of my leg at a right angle.
Huh. I don’t think it’s supposed to do that.
“Forgot to tell you—he’s defective!” Momma calls right before slamming the door on them. On me.
“Fuck, are you okay, kid?” The blond one crouches down, his hands hovering above my leg like he’s scared to touch it. “What happened?”
I shrug, not understanding why this stranger seems so concerned. “It popped earlier. I wasn’t supposed to step on it, but I forgot.”
The black-haired mask joins the blond in a crouched position, only he’s brave enough to prod me. “Does that hurt?”
I shake my head. “Momma says it should, but it never hurts.”
The men face each other, and a silent conversation seems to happen between them. Then the black-haired one faces me, and for some reason, it feels like he’s smiling.
“Madam is going to love you.”