lost in a mind-numbing shock that I remember well.
“You’re not the other ones,” she
whispers.
I nod, unsure of what to say.
“And you’ve brought Bailey back. Is
he alive?”
I nod again and reach for the cuff.
The girl watches my hand.
“You’re wearing a funny hat,” the
girl says, “and you’re all wet, which means this is just a dream.”
I roll up Rain’s pant legs and see
that both ankles are deeply gouged from the cuff. He’s waking up again, moaning
and shivering. He must have some awareness of where he is, because he starts
muttering, “no, no, no”.
I push his pant legs back down and
cuff him on his left leg over the fabric. I keep the cinch loose, but it must
still hurt, because he flinches, and his eyes open.
“Bailey,” the girl whispers to him.
“You’re with me and Rick again.”
Rain’s eyes drift to her and then
to me, then to this cuffed ankle.
“No, it’s not like that,” I start,
but then he loses consciousness again.
“We’re the good guys,” I whisper.
***
“Alright, listen up.” Gabe’s voice
is a little strained, but loud enough to echo through the barn. “My name is
Agent Adama with the X-Files division. You’ve all been kidnapped and held
prisoner by a deranged and violent cult. They’ve been pumping you full of drugs
to keep you passive. Drugs that cause really bad trips and major
hallucinations. Whatever crazy shit you think you might have seen or
experienced over the last couple of days was just a result of the drugs. My
partners and I took this cult down. Killed every single one of those bastards.
But there are more hidden cells all over the country. They are very secretive
and deadly and will come after anyone who gets in their way. The police and
medical assistance are coming to free you. I strongly advise you not to talk
about what has happened here, or the cult may come after you again. Oh, and
don’t mention us either. We’re so hardcore and badass that the government
disavows all knowledge of our existence.”
Gabe stops, looks around, and his
aura flickers again, all angry spikes of red. “I uh…” his voice is suddenly
thick with gravel. “We’re very sorry for all the terrible things that have
happened to you, but you’re safe now. Try to…I know this sounds like bullshit,
but try and move on. My partners and I will keep fighting this cult. We’ll
waste every single one of those sick fucks.”
It’s time to go, but I haven’t
moved. I’m still in the last stall on the right, listening to Rain whimper,
watching the gnats feed on the eyes of the dead boy who I think must have been
really handsome before he came here. I randomly notice that Rain is the only
one not wearing clubbing clothes.
I feel Tarren coming up behind me,
and I know I should stand up. Face him. Walk out. But I just keep kneeling,
keep letting my senses reel and overwhelm me.
“Come on,” Tarren says. His voice
is soft, not angry like I’d expect.
“Nothing will be the same,” the
girl whispers. “Ever again.” I recognize that traumatized expression.
“No it won’t,” Tarren and I say at
the same time. We look at each other. More accurately, my eyes latch onto the
rock steady flow of his aura. My body naturally attunes to his energy output,
and that muddy blue—hard as the granite in his face—pulls me back from the edge
of panic.
I stand up and back out of the stall.
Before we go, Tarren leans over the dead boy. With the cuff of his sleeve, he
wipes away the gnats from the boy’s eyes and closes his lids.
This is how Tarren amazes me
sometimes, with his strength, with these tiny glimpses of his heart just when
I’d given up on him having one.
“Thank you,” the girl says. “Now he
won’t stare at me.”
“Come on,” Tarren says to me again,
but this time his words are a growl. At last I see his energy slipping away
from his iron grip. All bloody reds of fury. I wonder what his aura would look
like if he ever truly let it go, who
“You’re not the other ones,” she
whispers.
I nod, unsure of what to say.
“And you’ve brought Bailey back. Is
he alive?”
I nod again and reach for the cuff.
The girl watches my hand.
“You’re wearing a funny hat,” the
girl says, “and you’re all wet, which means this is just a dream.”
I roll up Rain’s pant legs and see
that both ankles are deeply gouged from the cuff. He’s waking up again, moaning
and shivering. He must have some awareness of where he is, because he starts
muttering, “no, no, no”.
I push his pant legs back down and
cuff him on his left leg over the fabric. I keep the cinch loose, but it must
still hurt, because he flinches, and his eyes open.
“Bailey,” the girl whispers to him.
“You’re with me and Rick again.”
Rain’s eyes drift to her and then
to me, then to this cuffed ankle.
“No, it’s not like that,” I start,
but then he loses consciousness again.
“We’re the good guys,” I whisper.
***
“Alright, listen up.” Gabe’s voice
is a little strained, but loud enough to echo through the barn. “My name is
Agent Adama with the X-Files division. You’ve all been kidnapped and held
prisoner by a deranged and violent cult. They’ve been pumping you full of drugs
to keep you passive. Drugs that cause really bad trips and major
hallucinations. Whatever crazy shit you think you might have seen or
experienced over the last couple of days was just a result of the drugs. My
partners and I took this cult down. Killed every single one of those bastards.
But there are more hidden cells all over the country. They are very secretive
and deadly and will come after anyone who gets in their way. The police and
medical assistance are coming to free you. I strongly advise you not to talk
about what has happened here, or the cult may come after you again. Oh, and
don’t mention us either. We’re so hardcore and badass that the government
disavows all knowledge of our existence.”
Gabe stops, looks around, and his
aura flickers again, all angry spikes of red. “I uh…” his voice is suddenly
thick with gravel. “We’re very sorry for all the terrible things that have
happened to you, but you’re safe now. Try to…I know this sounds like bullshit,
but try and move on. My partners and I will keep fighting this cult. We’ll
waste every single one of those sick fucks.”
It’s time to go, but I haven’t
moved. I’m still in the last stall on the right, listening to Rain whimper,
watching the gnats feed on the eyes of the dead boy who I think must have been
really handsome before he came here. I randomly notice that Rain is the only
one not wearing clubbing clothes.
I feel Tarren coming up behind me,
and I know I should stand up. Face him. Walk out. But I just keep kneeling,
keep letting my senses reel and overwhelm me.
“Come on,” Tarren says. His voice
is soft, not angry like I’d expect.
“Nothing will be the same,” the
girl whispers. “Ever again.” I recognize that traumatized expression.
“No it won’t,” Tarren and I say at
the same time. We look at each other. More accurately, my eyes latch onto the
rock steady flow of his aura. My body naturally attunes to his energy output,
and that muddy blue—hard as the granite in his face—pulls me back from the edge
of panic.
I stand up and back out of the stall.
Before we go, Tarren leans over the dead boy. With the cuff of his sleeve, he
wipes away the gnats from the boy’s eyes and closes his lids.
This is how Tarren amazes me
sometimes, with his strength, with these tiny glimpses of his heart just when
I’d given up on him having one.
“Thank you,” the girl says. “Now he
won’t stare at me.”
“Come on,” Tarren says to me again,
but this time his words are a growl. At last I see his energy slipping away
from his iron grip. All bloody reds of fury. I wonder what his aura would look
like if he ever truly let it go, who
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