CHAPTER Four
“THE SUICIDE CLUB?” I ASK, GLANCING AROUND
the room. The others look downright gleeful, smiling and laughing, but I have a horrible feeling I’ve crossed into some hideous version of reality. “I don’t understand.” Dallas grins, taking a long sip from her cup before answering. “We’re not going to kill ourselves, silly.” Silly? I wonder what’s in her plastic cup.
“It means we’re going out. You should be happy to leave this dreary place for a while.” She glances to the side. “Are you happy, James?”
There’s a pinch of jealousy. She’s not just asking if he’s happy about going out, she’s asking if he’s happy with me. James looks her over, trying to gauge the situation.
“Yes,” he answers dismissively. “Now, what exactly is the Suicide Club?”
Dallas’s smile falters slightly under the authority in James’s tone. She turns to me instead, her posture taking on an irritated quality as she sets her drink down. “You remember the Wellness Center?” she asks. “This is the opposite. It’s like a place for those of us who don’t want to wear polo shirts and khakis.
For those who want to celebrate choice—the choice to kill ourselves if we damn well please.” She shrugs. “We don’t want to die, but it’s fun to explore our dark sides when the rest of the world is intent on burying it.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” James says.
“And it sounds dangerous.”
Dallas shakes her head. “Not even. It’s actually the safest you’ll be from The Program’s influence. You can be yourself, James. When’s the last time you were that?”
“F*ck off,” he mutters, examining a hangnail on his thumb.
I can see her words hurt him and it infuriates me. James is always himself. He may not remember his life, but he wasn’t changed. He’s still him. That’s what I believe, anyway.
“I think we’ll pass,” I say, reaching to slip my hand in the crook of James’s elbow. “Thanks, though.”
“You’ll go,” Dallas says, then softens her voice. “You should go. It’s a great place to recruit new members. That’s where I met Cas.” She looks over at him. “You were so handsome,” she teases. “Those big brown eyes and long hair, I think I would have brought you home even if you were depressed.”
“Let’s not share all our secrets now. . . .” Cas replies, fighting back an embarrassed smile. I can’t tell if they’ve had a thing or not, and frankly, I don’t care.
“So we’re on the run from The Program, but we’re going to a club?” James asks, pointing out the obvious flaw in this plan.
“Why not just call the handlers ourselves and ask them to meet us there?”
“You’re so funny,” Dallas says with a mock laugh. “Sure, the Suicide Club has risks, but the proprietors are careful. It’s never in the same place twice—completely underground. Only those of us in the know hear about it, and even then only the day of. It’s not like they advertise.” Dallas leans her elbows on the table. “Not everyone wants to be well-behaved all the time, so they go to the Suicide Club to let loose for a while. And when it comes to rebels, this is the best place to find them. We get to see what they’re really like. We just have to pick through the really disturbed to find the fighters. Isn’t that how Realm found you, Sloane? Because of your bad attitude?”
At the mention of Realm, both James and I turn to her defensively. I don’t take Dallas’s bait. Whether her words are meant to hurt me or to come between me and James, I won’t give her any more opportunities than she already tries to take.
She does hurt me though, and I try to squash the memory of Michael Realm and how desperately I miss him, worry about him. Dallas watches with a sort of satisfaction—the girl who told me her secrets is hidden behind makeup and whatever booze is in her cup. She takes our silence as agreement.
“We leave in an hour,” she says. “I’ll get something appro-priate for you to wear and I’ll send it to your room, Sloane.
They won’t let us in with you looking so bland. James.” She smiles. “You’re fine the way you are.”
James and I stand there like a couple of idiots, staring at her, and Dallas goes back to laughing and drinking with the other rebels as if we don’t exist at all.
James looks me over skeptically. “I’m supposed to be okay with you going out like this?” he asks, rubbing his chin as he circles me. “I think I can see your womb.”
“You can not.” I laugh and turn to follow his slow assessment.
He looks at me doubtfully. “It’s short.”
“Not that short. The boots are kind of hot, though.” I lift my foot, modeling the spiked black leather boots Dallas sent over. They’re a little big, but I’m hoping that will stop them from hurting me too much.
Neither me nor James had been interested in going out, but now that I’m dressed in this short black skirt, ripped T-shirt, and enough makeup to make me unrecognizable to my family, I feel sort of . . . good. Like I can be someone else for tonight.
“With you dressed like this, I’m probably going to end up in a fight,” he says.
“I know.” I smile. “Dallas and the others are waiting in the main room, so we should probably hurry before she gets even more pissed off.”
“Is that possible?” he asks, walking to the dresser. He pulls a T-shirt from the duffel bag and then turns to me.
His cheeks are scruffy from not shaving; light shadows are painted under his eyes. “Sloane,” he asks softly, “are you sure this is a good idea?”
Anxiety knots in my stomach. “I’m pretty sure this is a terrible idea,” I say. “But I don’t know what else to do. We could refuse, or even take off with Lacey—but the truth is we have nowhere to go. We can’t leave without getting some answers or we’ll end up defenseless, getting dragged back into The Program.” James pauses, absorbing my words, but he must not have a better plan because he just yanks off his shirt before pulling the clean one over his head. I wait at the door, but then I notice I’m still wearing my ring, the plastic ring James gave me at the river.
It looks childish next to the very grown-up clothes I’m wearing, so I slip it off and set it on the dresser. James lifts one eyebrow, questioning my motives.
“It’s too sweet,” I say with a smile. James scans my clothes once again, and with a heavy sigh, he agrees. I’m someone else tonight.
In the front room I find everyone gathered, the scene so out of place I’m starting to think it’s just a hallucination. Dallas stands there, a gothic vision in black and red. Cas is next to her, his long hair wild along his face, black liner around his eyes. Everyone looks like they just walked off some trashy version of The Addams Family, and that includes me.
“I’m underdressed,” James says.
“No,” Dallas says with a smile. “You’re perfect. I was hoping you’d drive us tonight. We need someone normal-looking behind the wheel. Not that you could ever be average.” I roll my eyes and turn away. It seems petty to tell her not to notice my boyfriend and I like to believe I’m above that. But if she does it again, I might just scratch her eyes out.
“Where is this place?” James asks.
“The club’s on Kelsey, about twenty minutes away. I’ll navigate.”
James nods, but then something catches his eye. I follow his gaze to where Lacey is standing in the doorway. She’s not dressed for the Suicide Club. Instead she’s wearing baggy sweats and an oversized sweatshirt that reads Oregon Ducks.
“I’m not feeling well,” she says, her makeup-free skin startling in a room of painted faces. “I’ll go next time.” Cas immediately crosses to Lacey and touches her arm.
He leans in to whisper in her ear, and after a moment Lacey pulls back to stare at him before she nods slowly. I want to know what Cas said, what he knows about Lacey that I don’t.
She’s my friend—he’s just the guy whose nose she broke. Cas puts his arm across her shoulders and begins to lead her out, but I’m quick to jog after them into the hallway.
“Lacey,” I call to her. She glances back at me, her eyes weary.
“Please don’t worry about me, Sloane,” she says. “It’s not good for you or James. I just need a little sleep, that’s all. Go have fun—we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“I’m going to stay with her,” Cas says. “I’ve been to the Suicide Club enough times. Dallas can do without me for one night.” He turns to smile gently at Lacey, but she doesn’t return it. Instead her eyes drift toward her room like she wants nothing more than sleep. Solitude.
“I don’t think I should leave you.” I start toward her, but Lacey’s posture straightens with agitation.
“Sloane,” she says, “I love you, but please, it’s nothing personal. I promise. I’m just tired, and I haven’t been alone since leaving Oregon. I want some space.” She turns to Cas, shrugging his arm off her shoulders. “And that includes you, Casanova. I don’t need you hovering over me or trying to get into my pants.” Cas laughs loudly and then bites back his smile. I’m not sure if he really was going to hit on her or if Lacey just knew how to embarrass him so he’d back off. He holds up his hands in a show of surrender, and Lacey thanks him. She starts toward her room, disappearing around the corner before I hear the click of her door shutting.
I’m still for a moment, unsure of what to do. Other than the nosebleed and wanting to be alone, Lacey doesn’t seem to be falling apart. There are no signs of real depression—dark eyes, spirals, erratic behavior. After all, she’s been cured. She lost Kevin— Kevin—and maybe she needs a little more time to come to terms with that. We all do.
Cas walks back into the main room, and I decide to let Lacey have a night of peace, vowing to harass her tomorrow.
She’ll have to talk eventually. We’ll get through this together. I reenter the room and scan the area for James. I find him sitting on the table with Dallas standing close-by, talking animatedly.
James says something I can’t hear, and she laughs, leaning in to casually touch his knee. The tingling burn of jealousy spreads through my chest.
Dallas glances up, sensing my presence, and then lets her hand fall from James. She faces the room. “Well,” she announces with a loud clap. “Now that we’re all back, it’s time for a little fun.” She motions to the stairwell and quickly, the room starts to empty. James turns and finds me, taking in my outfit like he’s just remembered how scandalously I’m dressed. He bites his lip as he approaches, and my earlier jealousy fades when he takes my hand.
Cas appears next to us and Dallas starts in our direction.
“I think I’m going to stay behind,” Cas says, exchanging a look with Dallas. “Keep an eye on things here.”
“If this is about Lacey, I don’t think she wants you to bother her,” I say quickly.
“What’s wrong with Lacey?” James demands.
I shrug. “She wants some space.” James tries to discern any hidden meaning in my words, but there is none. “I think she’s just tired,” I say seriously.
“Is that your diagnosis, doctor?” Dallas asks. I clench my teeth and turn to her. “Even if you’re right,” she adds, “we don’t leave people at our safe houses alone—depressed or not. They can inadvertently set us up, or maybe even on purpose. The suicidal aren’t at all predictable.”
“She’s not suicidal,” I snap.
“Sure,” Dallas says. “Either way, Cas is staying behind. And we have a club to get to, so if you two wouldn’t mind moving your asses . . .”
I look up at James, but he’s lost, turning over the situation in his head, analyzing our options. After a second his light-blue gaze falls on me. “What do you want to do?” he asks.
“I need you, James,” Dallas cuts in, more sober than I had guessed. “Lacey will be here in the morning and the three of you can play psychologist. But right now the rebels need you.
We’re not exactly deep in muscle around here.” She glances at Cas. “No offense.”
“None taken.” He buries his hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t seem disappointed to miss out on the Suicide Club. In fact, I think he’s itching to get out of his black clothes and wash off the eyeliner.
Dallas grows impatient with James’s silence, and her hardened layers begin to unravel. “Please come with us tonight,” she says. “I need backup, whether for incoming rebels or handlers.
I can’t do this alone. And Cas gets his nose broken too often.
There’s something about you, about both of you,” she allows,
“that’s inspiring people. We’re dying off here. We need more members and I don’t know when the next Suicide Club will happen.”
Her plea must hit James in the right way because, without consulting me first, he nods. James isn’t a fighter, not really. But he has a good heart and even pretending to be a dick half the time can’t mask that. I love that about him. And now, with a mix of anxiety and outright fear, I let him pull me away to leave for the Suicide Club.
The building is unmarked. Its gray stone front is menacing with iron bars over the windows, dead bougainvillea crawling up the side. The defaced sign above the door used to belong to a tattoo shop, and a sketchy one at that. Dallas directs James to the back, and we park near the other cars at the entrance. It’s so strange to be out, a group of teenagers without any sort of supervision from a handler. The taste of freedom is overwhelming, like I’m spinning out of control, drunk on life.
There’s a bouncer at the entrance of the Suicide Club, a scary-looking guy with a studded bracelet and an affection for overly tight tank tops. He studies each of us, flashing a penlight in our eyes. They say when the sickness—the depression—takes hold, our eyes actually change. And that if you know what to look for, you can see the deadness there. It’s been only a short time since I met Liam outside of the Wellness Center. He’d gotten sick, spewing horrible words at me. I saw him in the thrall of the epidemic, the way his eyes weren’t quite right.
I guess that’s what the bouncer is checking us for now, making sure we don’t spread our thoughts of suicide to the others.
When James is cleared ahead of me, I actually let out a relieved breath. And when I’m in after him, I finally stop shaking.