How to Lead a Life of Crime

chapter TEN



ANGELS AND DEMONS





I’ve learned only one thing since I got here. I’m not quite as smart as I thought. It took a couple of days before I realized that being excused from all classes wasn’t a reward. It was a punishment—for losing sight of my goal. For getting off course. I’m not here to make friends or rescue damsels in distress. I’m here to win the prize I’ve been promised.

I forgot my mission. And I’ve been sentenced to solitary confinement for my crime.

The gym has every type of exercise machine ever built. I spent the first two days torturing muscles I’d never used before. Running marathons on the treadmills. Shadow-boxing on the enormous red exercise mat. When the other students showed up in the gym at 5:00 p.m. for their self-defense class, I was annoyed that they’d invaded my private space. But soon I began looking forward to their arrival each day. I even asked the instructor for permission to take part in the lessons. By the end of the first week, five o’clock couldn’t come fast enough.

You’d think that watching someone work out for ten hours a day wouldn’t be terribly entertaining. But I seem to be the most popular show in town. The catwalk glass is always transparent first thing in the morning. It fogs and clears at least a dozen times throughout the day. If I’m completely still, I can hear the sound of footsteps. I resist the urge to shout curses at the ceiling or fling weights at the walls. I’m not sure I’d survive if Mandel took my single hour of human contact away. And I doubt that’s the worst that could happen. He can do whatever he wants to me down here. There’s nothing I could do to stop him. And that must be the lesson he’s trying to teach me.

After the solitude had turned into torture, I tried holding imaginary conversations inside my head. Sometimes with Jude. Sometimes with Joi. Then one afternoon I heard the sound of my own voice. I’d been speaking out loud. The catwalk glass was clear. No one was watching, but I had no idea how long my lips had been broadcasting my thoughts. The watchers couldn’t know about Joi, and I didn’t want them eavesdropping when I spoke to Jude. So I tried to fill my brain with nothing but static. The effort made me angry. That rage became my constant companion.

Every night, I pace my cage. Anything, anything, I tell myself. You have to do anything. I no longer care if anyone’s watching behind the mirror. I have to keep Jude and Joi from visiting me in the darkness, so I stage executions inside my head. I murder my father the way he murdered his. Or I beat him until his face is as broken as Jude’s. Every morning, I emerge from a dream in which I’m drenched in his blood. Mandel must have known this would happen.

• • •

If my calculations are correct, when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll have two days left in the Incubation Suites. Forty-eight hours that might as well be forever. At least today appears to be drawing to a close. It’s already five o’clock, and my fellow newbies have filed into the gym for self-defense training. I have no idea what’s happened to them over the past weeks, but the difference is startling. Their accents are gone, and their posture is perfect. Even Ivan speaks in clear, well-formed sentences that make me wonder if he might actually be sentient. They removed the bandages from his nose yesterday, and I can see they made a few improvements. It’s straighter. More refined. Ivan the Terrible has the schnoz of a Roman emperor. I guess it helps to be handsome if you’re completely insane. Ella is poised and deadly—like a princess with a pistol and a PhD. I haven’t heard Aubrey talk in days, but for a while she spoke like a television news anchor. Felix doesn’t smile as much anymore.

Our self-defense instructor, Mr. Green, knows there’s nothing he can teach me. And it’s pretty obvious that thugs like Ivan are the reason these classes exist. But the three other newbies had so much to learn that Mr. Green couldn’t teach them alone. I’ve been paired with Ella from the very beginning. Ivan has Felix. The instructor works with Aubrey, who needs the most guidance. She didn’t pay much attention during the first two weeks of class. When she should have been watching the instructor, her eyes were always pleading with me. She gave up the day they removed the stitches in my forearm. The next time I saw her, she’d slipped back into her trance.

Aubrey probably thought I’d never figured it out, but I always understood what she was trying to say. That the chip can be removed before the incision has healed. The information never made much difference to me. I just wish I’d been able to ask how she knew. But there was never a chance to speak privately, and I couldn’t risk more punishment. Aubrey must have seen something in rehab—something that scared her. After I rescued her from Ivan, she tried to warn me. But I’m already long past saving. Aubrey shouldn’t have wasted her time.

• • •

Today I’m supposed to be attacking Ella, but she’s decided to turn the tables. She’s on the offensive now, and I’m the one deflecting blows. The girl holds a grudge. She really wants to hurt me. I suspect she’s been practicing at night in her cell. Ella must know she has no chance of winning. Nature made me bigger and stronger. But I have to admire her persistence. I even consider letting her land a punch. But she suddenly stops throwing them. The catwalk has fogged over. At this point, we all know what that means.

Mr. Green looks up and nods. He’s been expecting our visitors.

“Ella, Felix, and Aubrey—clear the mat!” he calls out. “Ivan and Flick, let’s see what you’ve got.”

The people up on the catwalk want to be entertained. I imagine Mandel and my father standing side by side, and the rage returns in a rush. A demon of unimaginable power overtakes me. I now know exactly how it feels to be possessed. If you don’t try to fight it, it feels f—ing fantastic.

I can tell from Ivan’s grin that he’s been waiting for this opportunity. He’s probably been strategizing for weeks. I doubt he’ll let me get close enough to drag him down to the floor. He’s taller than I am, and his reach is much longer. Anyone watching would assume he had the edge. But when his fist comes flying through the air, I dodge it with ease. I’ll draw the first blood this time.

I hit with far less force than I’m able to muster. Just a quick jab to the jawline. He responds with a blow that might have knocked out most of my teeth if it hadn’t missed my face by an inch. This time I target his pretty new nose. He forgets his plan and rushes straight for me. A quick kick to the knee sends him down to the mat. There’s more than enough time for me to go in for the kill, but I let him jump back to his feet. I don’t want the fight to end. It’s not about winning. I want Ivan to suffer.

I stalk him around the gym, throwing punch after punch—but always giving him just enough time to recover. He’s battered and bloody, barely able to stand. But he won’t admit defeat, and that’s exactly what I’ve been counting on.

Suddenly Ivan’s arms drop, and he’s no longer looking at me. He’s staring up at the catwalk instead. I assume it’s a trick. He’ll clock me as soon as I turn around. But then I notice that everyone else in the gym sees the same thing he does.

The glass has cleared. A message has been sent. Our visitor is calling an end to the fight. It’s a blond girl, and she’s up there all alone. It’s hard to be certain from this distance, but she doesn’t seem old enough to be an employee or alumnus. She looks like an angel. The kind you put on top of a Christmas tree. I expect her to flutter down from the heavens, but she just smiles and walks away.

“Rusalka,” Ivan mutters under his breath.

“Who?” I ask. “Do you know that girl?”

Ivan grins. A thin stream of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth; then he spits two teeth on the floor.