9

Vic

They’d just finished dinner when the phone rang. His mother got up from the table to answer, which she wouldn’t have done if they’d still been eating. She’d let it go to voice mail first. Family dinner was important, she liked to remind them.

“How was school, Vicente?” his father asked as they cleared the plates.

Mama was still in the kitchen as they moved past her. She made hmm noises as she listened to the caller.

“Fine,” Vic answered.

“Jesse, help your brother,” their father said.

“I’m supervising!”

“Jesse . . .”

He sighed but moved to scrape any leftover bits into the trash.

“You know, if we had a dog, he could lick the plates clean,” Jesse said.

“That wouldn’t be very sanitary,” Eduardo said.

“But it would be faster! And it would save water!”

Vic figured his brother was kidding. He always wanted a dog, but their dad was allergic.

Vic loaded the dishwasher carefully. His mother liked these dishes. She’d gotten them at Target. They had a yellow-brown top, like mustard, with black on the bottom of the plates and bowls.

The smell of Eduardo’s cooking—they’d had enchiladas tonight—lingered in the little kitchen.

Vic put the last plate into the rack as his mother hung up.

From the look on her face and the way she aimed it at him, Vic knew he’d done something wrong.

The problem was that he didn’t know what. He hadn’t done anything.

“Did you call a girl ugly, Vicente?” his mother asked. “A girl named Emily?”

He felt his chest clench, like he couldn’t breathe so well, but at the same time, it wasn’t like he’d been alone. All the kids had done it, even the other girls.

“Yeah,” he said.

“That’s not very nice, Vicente,” his father said in his sad voice, the one that made Vic feel like the sun had gone behind the clouds.

“Everyone was doing it,” he protested, though he knew that never worked with his parents.

“If everyone else jumped off a cliff, would you do it too?” his mother asked.

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“Are you going to spank him?” Jesse asked, looking gleeful at the prospect.

“No, we are not going to spank him,” their mother said. “But we are going to go over to Emily’s house so Vicente can apologize to her.”

Vic felt his face light with fire.

“Can’t I just call her?” Vic asked. “Please?”

“I’ve already spoken to her mother,” Maria said. “We’re going now.”

“All of us?” Jesse whined. That never worked either.

“All of us,” Maria said, glancing at her husband.

“Get your coats, boys,” Eduardo said.

The waiting, the piling into the car as his mother drove, following directions she’d written on a pink sticky note, was so much worse than a spanking. A spanking would have already been over. He could sit in his room and let his bottom cool. He didn’t know if the heat on his face ever would.

Something darted under a bush. A shadow—no, a cat.

Jesse and Eduardo stayed back, standing near the car while Maria walked Vic to the door. It was a nice house, bigger than theirs, with two stories. It was very new.

Emily and her mother appeared as the door opened. Vic did not know if they would be invited in. He could not decide if that would be better or worse than standing on the porch.

Vic started to mumble but his mom’s hand fell on his shoulder and gripped it, telling him to speak up, and to speak clearly.

Emily’s mother was like a bigger, older version of her: round-faced, with blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. Vic’s face still burned, hot as it had in the car, maybe worse.

“I’m sorry, Emily,” he said, meaning it.

“Look her in the eye, Vicente,” his mother said, her grip tightening.

He did. Emily’s eyes were brown, though much lighter than his. She wasn’t crying though. He was, or at least close to it. So many things were running through him. He felt hot.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

Emily looked to her mother, who nodded. They stepped back and closed the door.

They piled back into the car.

“That feeling, Vicente, the way you feel right now?” his mother said. “That’s how you made her feel. Your words can hurt people. Remember how you’re feeling so you don’t make others feel that way as a joke or for fun.”

The bite. The ice.

And the moment on the porch played out, again and again. Sometimes there was smoke inside the house, beyond the open door, behind Emily and her mom. Sometimes it was behind him, something dark and looming.

Vic surfaced to find another well-fed devil standing over him.

Only the burn on his cheeks, as hot as the smoke-filled room, told him what the lesson had felt like. The pain of that moment, the shame and guilt, what Maria had been trying to drill into him, was gone.

He breathed, long and ragged, trying to feel anything. And yes, he could. He wasn’t dead or numb, but how much of himself was tied into what he’d felt, how much of who he’d become? Without those pains, those feelings or experiences, would he be the same man?

Jodi was still in whatever memory the devils had stirred up for her, but they’d left Mel alone. Maybe they’d tired of torturing her. Maybe they were happier with fresher meat. Maybe she was all tapped out of feelings, so hollow they had nothing to feed on.

There had to be a point when there was nothing left to dig for, nothing left to consume.

“Careful,” Vic growled, watching them crowd Jodi. She sobbed and calmed, sobbed and calmed. “You don’t want to overeat.”

Whatever life she’d lived, she’d clearly felt it deeply. They seemed more interested in her. God, what had she been through that they found it more tempting than a gunshot wound?

The devils finally drifted away, but Vic wasn’t certain Jodi was coming back from the latest round of torture. He wasn’t certain he was coming back either.

The heat felt oppressive now. His clothes stuck to him.

“They won’t kill you,” Mel said quietly, drawing Vic’s eyes to hers. “But they will break you.”

Vic did not have to ask. He could see it in her eyes. They were heavy, like she carried too many years there, like she was ancient beyond her age.

“I’m not going to let that happen,” he said, reaching into his jacket for the hairpin.

“What year was it?” he asked Mel, bending his leg to get to work on the manacle. “When you got here?”

“I—” Mel blinked. She licked her lips, thinking. After a long pause she said, “Thirty-five.”

“As in 1935?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s been eighty-five years, Mel,” Vic said. “You’ve been here that long, going through this.”

“Don’t look so happy about it,” she said, eyes narrowed to slits.

“Sorry,” Vic said, meaning it. “I’m not laughing at you, but it means that you’re right. We can survive this. You’re still here, not dead or insane.”

Mel laughed. It was bitter, not that he could blame her.

“All we can do is survive,” she said. “They don’t give us a choice, this place doesn’t give us a choice.”

“Maybe,” Vic said, eyeing Jodi.

If Adam didn’t come in time, if Vic didn’t find a way out or get this damn lock open, would there be anything left of him?

“What did she mean?” Mel asked. “About her grandpa?”

“He’s—” Vic paused, thinking about how to explain. “He’s a monster. He wants to kill her, to eat her life so he can keep his.”

Mel’s eyes went wide.

“He’s dying?” she asked.

“He was,” Vic mused, realizing what she was saying.

The lock clicked again. There were pins in there. He had to go slowly, carefully, push each one in or he’d reset the ones he’d already put in place.

“I guess it won’t work that way down here,” he said.

“No,” Mel said. “Not anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Mel squeezed her eyes shut, like she had a headache.

“I don’t remember. But it wasn’t like this when I got here. Not exactly like this.”

“Can you keep trying for me?” Vic asked, still working the lock. One of the pins slipped and he had to force himself to calm down. “You’re the only one who knows anything.”

Mel nodded.

At least, if John wasn’t dying in this place, he might leave Jodi alone. They weren’t even certain he was down here. If the devils had caught him then they would have chained him up too. How much could they feast on someone like that, someone carrying the weight of John’s crimes?

Vic had to admit that he didn’t like the idea of John getting to forget the feelings—if he even regretted the things he’d done.

Most of the criminals Vic had encountered weren’t evil. They were usually lost, just trying to survive.

John was a serial killer who preyed on his own family. Still, Vic had no right to judge his fate.

Either way, Vic didn’t want to be around to see if the devils caught him or not.

The final pin slipped into place. It hadn’t taken very long, or it might have taken days. Vic had no sense of time here. Without clocks or hunger, day or night, even the need to pee—everything flowed together.

He got Mel’s cuff off with far less work.

Jodi still wasn’t awake.

A little voice whispered that Vic could leave her.

Vic took a breath, let it out. No. No, he really couldn’t, any more than Adam had been able to let her die when he’d had the chance to save her or himself.

“Love you, Wonder Bread,” Vic muttered, invoking the nickname Jesse had given Adam as he moved to get Jodi free.

“Hey!” she drowsily complained, jerking away from Vic as he worked at the manacle.

“Hold still,” Vic said. “I’m getting us out of here, remember?”

Breath heaving, Jodi kept still until Vic had her free. She staggered to her feet, her makeup even more wild, her hair damp with sweat. She looked ready to run for her life, and Vic couldn’t blame her.

Mel still hadn’t stood.

“You coming?” Vic asked, offering her a hand.

She considered it, then pushed herself to her feet.

“I thought I’d forgotten,” she said.

“How to walk?” Jodi sniped.

“How to hope,” Mel said.

Her lips pressed together, but she did not smile. Maybe she’d forgotten that too.

Squaring her shoulders, Mel asked, “Where do we go?”

“East,” Vic said. “Through the tunnel.”

“Why?” Jodi asked.

“Because I think you were right,” he conceded. “I think it’s the only way out.”

“’Kay,” Jodi said.

“Keep low,” Vic said, crouching. “But be quick.”

He moved out of the room and across the dance floor.

The dancing ghosts ignored them. At least he knew to watch for the devils now.

He hoped the green fire, what they’d eaten, would make them glow enough to spot through the smoke. They’d proved quicker than he’d expected. He had to hurry, get the three of them away while he could.

Vic led Jodi and Mel back toward the shore. He still didn’t trust the water, but he hadn’t seen any devils there, so he risked skirting it.

Mel stopped walking. She stared toward the horizon, where the sun would set in the real world.

“Hey,” Vic said, stepping in front of her to block her view.

She blinked.

“That’s not for you. You have to be dead, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, swallowing hard. “It’s . . .”

“What?” he asked.

“I left something here,” she said. “Someone.”

“Are they still here?” Vic asked. “Are they alive?”

Mel shook her head.

“No. They—he—went into the water.”

Vic gave her a breath, the longest moment he could.

“Okay then,” he said, trying to rush her but not sound like it. “Let’s get out of here.”

Jodi hadn’t waited for them, but she’d stopped at the mouth of the tunnel.

No green lights. No masked figures.

“Looks clear,” Vic said.

“I don’t like it,” Jodi said.

“You’ve been in there before,” Vic reminded her.

“I didn’t know where we were before.”

“Me either, but I think this is the only way.”

He went first.

Staring into the darkness felt wrong, foreboding.

All of his senses said to walk away, to retreat, but that meant the devils, more torture, and endless memories he didn’t want to live through on a loop.

Something glossy slunk in the darkness ahead, low to the ground, an animal.

“Is that a cat?” Mel asked.

It was. A black cat. One Vic knew.

Spider.

“Yeah,” Vic said, grinning. Spider had been in his memories. “I think he’s here to help us.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Jodi said.

“But satisfaction brought him back,” Mel added.

Vic and Jodi looked at her.

“What? That’s how it goes.”

“Is it?” Vic asked.

“Yes,” Mel said, like they were the ones out of touch. “Besides, it’s not a cat, or not just a cat.”

“What is it then?” Vic asked.

“A psychopomp,” Mel said.

“A psycho-what?” Jodi asked.

“An escort for the dead,” Mel explained.

“Good name for a band,” Jodi mused as they moved forward, but Spider was gone by the time Vic could follow the train tracks.

He wasn’t surprised by the vanishing act. Spider came and went like a spirit.

Adam said he didn’t know what was up with Spider. He’d been his great-aunt’s cat. As long as Adam had lived with her, the feline hadn’t seemed like anything else.

Vic called him a friend. Spider had come to him, brought Eduardo’s ghost back for a chat that Vic had badly needed, but now he’d vanished again.

The darkness swallowed them as they walked on.

The flame from Jodi’s lighter didn’t help.

Vic met Mel’s eyes in the orange light, looking to see if she might know something, but she only stared forward, her face angular and pretty, if a little creased with fear.

The darkness thickened. At the same time it grew drier, warmer. It should have been a relief, but Vic stiffened, widened his eyes, hoping to see more.

There were faces in the dark, or at least the outline of faces. They were like the ones he’d see when hiking or driving through the mountains. Faint and abstract, they’d disappear if you blinked.

At least Vic had the railroad ties to follow.

“Keep an ear out for trains,” he said, hoping he’d feel one first, but not trusting his senses here.

Hopefully the tunnel was wide enough that they could press against the wall if one came along.

The flame from Jodi’s lighter flickered like someone was blowing on it, but Vic felt no breeze.

The tunnel ended in a door carved from solid rock.

Something was piled on either side.

Jodi waved the lighter over them.

They were masks, devil masks, empty and lifeless.

The sight sent a shudder up Vic’s spine.

“This is it,” he said, feeling it somewhere inside, in that place the Reaper lived. “This is the way out.”

“How do we open it?” Jodi asked, pushing on it to no effect.

“It won’t open for the dead,” Mel said quietly.

She was right. Vic could feel that too.

“Are you starting to remember?” he asked her.

“Some,” she said. Haltingly, she added, “I think it will get better when we’re away from the shore.”

“What do we do?” Jodi asked. She kicked the door with a sturdy combat boot.

“We need to prove that we’re alive,” Mel said.

She fished around in the dark, found a piece of slate, and grimaced as she squeezed it.

Vic winced.

“Why do people always cut their hand?” he asked.

“It’s a sacrifice,” Mel said. “To cut yourself somewhere vulnerable, somewhere important. And it has to be new blood.”

“Like Mom’s diabetes,” Jodi said. “You couldn’t pick a scab.”

Vic blinked at her.

“What?” Jodi snapped. “She had to prick herself. Sometimes she’d get one of those disks installed, but we usually didn’t have the money.”

Mel smeared the blood across the door in a long, diagonal slash. There wasn’t much of it, only a few drops, but they glistened. With a creak that sounded more like a rusty hinge than grinding stone, the door opened.

“How did you know that?” Vic asked Mel.

“I just did,” she said.

“Let me see,” he said, nodding to her hand.

She shook her head. “It’s not deep.”

“Can we go before it closes?” Jodi asked, stepping through.

Mel followed her.

Vic looked back once, for Spider, for anything.

The cop in him didn’t like that Mel had known how to open the door, that she’d had hairpins but had never escaped.

What had she been waiting for?

The door began to rumble, an angry stomach signaling its hunger.

Vic hurried through. It shut behind him.