Shawnda slams her hands down on the table, clenching her fists so tightly her knuckles turn whiter than the bland walls. "You're new here, which means I'm the one who's leaving this time," she says, looking over at me with an ominous glare—one she’s probably hoping will scare me. However, I see the weakness in her unsteady eye-movement, the unease and tension within her hiked up shoulders, and the nerves behind her pulsating vein protruding from her neck.
"They're not letting either us out of here," I tell her with a hiss as I throw the back of my head against the wall. "All of this is just a trap to see how bad we are before they start the process." I take a moment, allowing the silence to stir up her thoughts. I observe her every movement as she fidgets in the seat, squirming with obvious discomfort. "Sometimes, I wonder if there is only one way out, you know?"
"What do you mean, like hallucinating or some shit?" she asks.
"Nah, I mean, taking myself out, out—like ending it all, kind of thing." I stand back up slowly, making it look like it hurts to pull myself up to my feet. With one foot carefully placed in front of the other, as if the effort is needed, I amble across the room and restart my slow pace.
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, feeling her anxiety emanate while she holds her peripheral stare at me.
"Will you stop?" she shouts. "You're making me nauseous."
"Oh … sorry, I'm just trying to make a decision."
"What decision?" she asks.
"What I said ... figuring out if this is all worth it—starving every day, waiting for the next fix—hoping the money comes in just so we don't have to feel like this." Shawnda lowers the side of her face down to rest on top of her folded arms, and her mouth parts as if she’s dying of thirst. "Oh man. Are you okay?" I ask her.
Her lips close and I watch the effort it takes for her to swallow what sounds like sandpaper. "You know, you're so right," she says with a rasp to her voice before dry heaving over the side of the table. Once she stops gagging, she lifts her head and wipes the back of her arm across her mouth. "What's worse, is the bastard left us with nothing to complete your plan. That's why he's just a plain old fucking bastard."
I walk up to the table, refocusing my attention on the tin can. I already know this test was premeditated. I look inside the tin and find a small blade as well as a piece of string, so I dig my hand inside and retrieve both. "He left us this," I say questioningly, as I place the objects down on the table.
"A blade with no coke. Not cool, not cool," she grumbles before another dry hack interrupts her thoughts.
"We can use a blade for more than just dicing up blow," I tell her.
What am I saying? I wanted to help people. I went to school for eight years to fucking help people. I don’t even know what’s coming out of my mouth at the moment. I know I’m fighting for my survival … I think, but God, is this worth it?
6
Axel
"I thought Harley would put up more of a fight when I brought her to meet Shawnda," I tell Everett, who’s sitting next to me as we watch the live video footage of what’s happening in the confined room.
"Well, it’s not like Harley knows Shawnda’s an ex-con who sold her daughter for heroin, killed her husband for coke, and almost died from an overdose two days ago. That might have pushed Harley to act a little quicker," Everett says while leaning back in the chair.
"Whatever. I didn’t want her to know anything about Shawnda. I want to watch how she handles this without prior knowledge. For all Harley knows, Shawnda could be a tired mother with a few kids."
"Ah," Everett says, snickering. "I know moms get tired, but this woman has a certain … look about her that doesn’t scream ‘soccer mom.’"
"It doesn’t matter. She’s either going to prison for life or dying due to her addiction, so she makes a perfect test subject for Harley."
"Did Roberts send you Shawnda or did you find her on your own?"
"I found her. I don’t want him know we possibly have Isabelle yet. Not until I know for sure."
Everett runs his fingers through his hair and rolls his eyes. "Oh, you’re just being a nice citizen and cleaning up the streets of Boston. How nice. How do you know about her daughter and husband?"
"There’s a search warrant out for Shawnda’s arrest," I tell Everett. "Look, when you spend all your time hunting people down, you tend to find what you’re not looking for sometimes too."
"I hear ya, man," Everett says, pulling out his phone. The video is just showing Harley and Shawnda in a stare down, and I’d kill to know what’s going through Harley’s head at the moment.
"Isabelle Hammel is known for her skills and psychiatric research, which means she’s likely versed in high-level interrogation techniques. If she wanted to, she should easily be able to persuade a person to do what she requests without so much as lifting a finger. Her knowledge and training could make her a walking weapon," Everett says, reading something off his phone. "The only problem is, no one has seen or heard from Isabelle in almost a year now. She could be dead, but confirmation is still needed."
"Dude, you think I don’t know about this shit? I haven’t been searching for Isabelle blindly just because Philips told me to find her. In any case, I’m not sure how accurate the description of her skills are. We need to find out."
"So, do you think Isabelle is still alive?" Everett asks.
I lean in to get a better look at the video, watching what’s happening in the room. Harley’s acting like she's doped up too, which she's not. Or if she is, she's damn good at hiding it, but she sure as hell isn't detoxing.
Holy shit.
Did she just—Damn.
"Yeah, I do think Isabelle is still alive," I tell Everett.
"What the fuckety?" Everett shouts, while catching a glimpse at the video. "You gotta be shittin’ me, dude."
"I have no words," I tell him.
"You think that chick’s Isabelle?"
"I still have no idea. I mean, she looks like Isabelle, but I can't connect the hows and whys of this. She wore fucking Burberry scarves everyday back when we took that class together. This shit doesn't just happen, you know?"
"It can," Everett says. "It can go both ways. Look at us hot beefcakes now versus five years ago."
I ignore his humor. I can't laugh when I feel like I'm sitting at the top of ninety-degree-angled roller coaster.
7
Harley
Shawnda lifts her head again, with a narrowed look in her eyes this time. "You want to be the one who walks out of here, don't you?"
"Nope," I lie. "I'm not going make it more than a few days anyway. I've been living off crumbs, and my new home is the curb outside. Honestly, I don’t want to be the one who walks out of here, you know?" I tell her.
"Yeah, I don't want to be that poor fucking loser either," she says. Her head falls back a bit, as if she were about to fall asleep, but then she manages to right her posture as I take a few steps toward her.
I reach for the blade. "Do you mind if I—"
"No way, you're not making me be the one who goes out there to get tortured by those shitheads."
I retract my hand, leaving the blade where it is, and she grabs the edges of the table, shaking it around from her uncontrolled tremor.
She’s not ready yet.
If I weren’t playing mind games, I’d call her a moron since both of us can use the blade to do what we want, but she can’t think in a straight line, so suicide in succession hasn’t crossed her mind.
"We've all tested the waters before …" I say to her.
"You're full of it," she replies.
I slap my hand over my chest and gasp. "No way, I can't lie. I have this thing where my eye twitches every time I fib. It's my freaking tell-all. It's gotten me in so much trouble, so I gave up on even trying to make up stories," I explain with theatrics.
"Well, your eye ain't twitchin' right now," she points out.
"Yeah, because I want this shit to be over. I've wanted everything to be over for so long, and there hasn't been a motivator as big as this situation we’re in right now." I pinch my thumb between my teeth and glance up toward the ceiling, giving the appearance of thinking things through. "You know, you look like a good person who can straighten out. I’m seriously just a loss cause at this point. You deserve a chance. I don’t. Trust me." As I look back over at her, I force a quick blink in my right eye.