Page 81 of The Initial Insult

The door was closed

once

But has not always been.

It was open when—

the swinging boy hoped someone would stop him.

(no one did.)

the sobbing woman hoped someone would hear her

and come.

(he did / he did not.)

The screaming baby had no thoughts

only need

and Mother did come.

(not everything ends badly.)

It was open then—

so I go there,

through time and space

and doorways.

Loose now.

In the place where humans

make their noises.

Chapter 73

Tress

“Felicity?” I’m shaking her, reaching over the wall that I’ve built, my panic rising. “Felicity!”

She moans, dangling by her wrists. She’s unconscious, her legs like jelly. I let go of her to grab my backpack, and she falls forward completely, bells jingling, only held up by the manacles. She’s bleeding freely, red channels running down her arms. It’s a dark red in the light of my phone, her skin a horrid, sickly gray.

I drop my backpack on the ground, rifling through it with my good hand for the keys to release her. There’s another roll of duct tape and pliers and a pack of gum—Where the hell did that come from? I think wildly. There’s a bottle of Oxy and a baggie of weed and some cherry ChapStick, and I don’t see the key.

“It’s here,” I say, then turn the light back on Felicity. “It’s here, I’ll find it. I’ll get you out.”

Get her out of where I put her. What I did to her.

I dump the contents of my backpack on the floor and hear a metallic zing . . . somewhere. I flash my phone around, looking for the glint of light on metal. I spot it and grab, with the wrong hand, pain lighting up my entire arm as I close my fingers around the key. The cat got something deep in there, his claw caught on tendon, or muscle.

I am not okay.

But Felicity is worse, and that’s on me.