Parrish Vanguard will die.
He will be as limp and lifeless as JJ was inside that awful, awful box.
“I just want Parrish back; I just want you to fuck off and die.”
Mr. Volli sighs heavily, adjusting his chair so that Parrish and I can see one another more clearly.
“If you’re so worried about the boy, come and find him. Daughter, I’m giving you all of the tools necessary to accomplish your task.” Mr. Volli shakes his foot absently, tapping it in midair as if he’s lost in thought. “As I said before, I’m only doing this because I care for you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t bother.” He stands up and moves over to the chair, putting his hands on the back of it. “Go on now. Tell her what she needs to do next.”
Parrish starts to cough then. It gets so bad that his body strains against the ropes holding him to the chair. For a second there, I really think this is it, that he’s going to die in front of me, today, now.
“I love you,” I tell him, because he needs something more to get through this. A glimmer of hope to grasp in his hand and hold onto like his life depends on it. “I love you, Parrish. I know we’ve only known each other for three months and … well, fuck I don’t care. I don’t care if my feelings are hormonal or immature or stupid. It’s how I feel right now. It matters. It means something.”
He looks up at me again, breathing heavily, and attempts to wet his lips. They’re dry, his tongue is dry, and the move does nothing to help him.
“I love you, too,” he tells me, wasting what little energy he has left to deliver the news. “I feel the same. I …” he trails off as Mr. Volli puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes hard enough to make him wince. “Dakota, you need to tell Maxine that you don’t want to see her anymore.”
The blood drains from my face and I’m forced to lean my body back against the wall to keep from falling over. No. Please no. Anything but this. Fucking anything but this.
“You need to tell her that she isn’t your real sister, that she never was, that you don’t love her like you thought you did. You can’t see or talk to her anymore. Not on the phone, not via text, nothing. No more contact.” Parrish exhales sharply, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Dakota. I’m so sorry.”
“Wait,” I call out, before the video call ends, and I’m left drifting in the hateful winds of my own fate. “Just … wait. I want to make a deal.”
“A deal?” Mr. Volli queries, and I wonder yet again how I never realized that his behavior was just that of a puppet. The more I look at him, the more I see it. I can’t entirely rule out the possibility that he’s just crazy, but I really don’t think so. “What sort of deal, sweet daughter of mine?”
“I want you to give Parrish a bed and unchain him. I want him to have access to a shower. Clean water. Food. Ointment.” I lift my chin up and square my shoulders, gathering my resolve together into a single blow. The thought of saying those horrible things to Maxine is … it’s staggering. Like my soul is being drawn and quartered. But I can live through that hurt. I can apologize and explain things to my sister later.
Parrish cannot be brought back to life. As much as I love necromancers in video games, as much as I enjoy the fantasy and mysticism of that, it isn’t real life. This is. Death does not come with the option of a continue or a new game, a restart, a do-over. It’s the great equalizer, the final act.
“That’s quite the ask,” Mr. Volli tells me, releasing Parrish’s shoulders and moving around him to stand in front of the camera again. He looks right at the screen, his gaze penetrating straight through me. Even though I know this is the same man that I saw at school today, the vibe is completely different.
Justin’s vibe. The Seattle Slayer’s vibe. My bio dad’s vibe.
“I will not give you all of those things at once. I will, however, allow you to choose a few in exchange for an equal return on your end.” He nods at me, the glittering black stag mask stuck firmly to his face. “Which of those items do you want: his freedom and a bathroom, the bed and some ointment, or the food and water. Granted, he is being nourished and hydrated through IVs currently.”
I swallow hard, trying not to get too excited.
As I said before, I do enjoy a good idiom. And if it sounds too good to be true … Whatever I offer up in return is going to hurt. Badly.
