Page 61 of The Broken Places

“You think you can let someone on my property without my permission, boy?” his grandfather yelled as he shook Milo’s body like a rag doll. The child was limp, his face purple.

Jett was frozen with fear, with horror, his head fuzzy, everything spinning and buzzing and swelling and receding. Jett dragged himself to his feet, using his hand to brace himself on the wall, reaching for Milo even though he knew he was already dead. Tar dripped from Jett’s eyes and into his mouth, trapping his tongue as it dried and hardened. “Look what you made me do!” his grandfather yelled. “Get out!”

And so Jett did, tripping over the threshold, slamming the door, shutting out the sight, another mass of flies rising in his body, scratching and biting the underside of his flesh.

A gust of wind sprang up, and Jett was whipped around, and he saw the little boy that was him running away, away, away. He couldn’t help Milo, not now, and he hadn’t then. He hadn’t then. Oh God, he hadn’t then. And so he ran after the little boy that was him, the one that had been wrapped in the safety of his body but had fled at that long-ago sight burrowed into the recesses of his twisted mind.

He ran and he ran and he ran, the rain coming harder and harder. Soaking. Pounding.Thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud thud.His fingers caught on the little boy’s shirt, and he grabbed him and pulled, wrapping him in his arms, both of them falling to their knees in the mud and the rain, sobbing and clawing and finally dissolving into one another. He landed on the soft earth, his arms wrapped around nothing, drawing himself into a ball, the soft brush of feathers drying his tears.Back, forth, back, forth.

“There you go. There you go. You’re okay, now. You’re okay. I’m here. I’m here. And so are you. So are you.”

Yes, he was here, not there. There was fabric beneath him, and the whisper of voices around him and the whir of a machine, and the scentsof flowers and coconut and mint and coffee too. This was now, and that was then, and oh God, that was then. He felt the tears sliding down his cheeks, and he remembered the then.He remembered Milo.

He lifted his heavy lids, the watercolor now clearing, the faces around him taking shape. Concerned. Smiling. “Hello, sweetness,” the woman said. Her name was Maisie. He’d met her in the before.

A man approached. Dr. Sweeton. He knew Dr. Sweeton. He was the man who’d tested him, and evaluated him, and asked him question after question after question. The doctor smiled and took his hand. “How are you feeling?”

How are you feeling?He took in a breath and let it out slowly. “Tired,” he said. His voice cracked. His muscles felt weak, like he’d just run a marathon.

“I imagine you do.” The doctor took out a small light and shone it in his eyes. It was bright and caused him to squint and look away. “Do you know what today’s date is?”

He thought about that. He’d signed the forms, and he’d sat in the reclining chair where they’d put a sticker on his skin with a wire that led to a machine that monitored his heart. He’d said he was ready even though he didn’t know for sure if that was true or not. He couldn’t really remember what he’d been thinking then. It seemed blurry and unclear, another life. But it wasn’t. It was ... what had the doctor told him? The therapy would take seven days. So that would make it ... “April seventeenth,” he said.

The doctor smiled. “That’s right. And what is your name?”

Jett.

But that wasn’t right. That was just a word a prostitute named Maria had called him when he’d rebuffed her advances for what must have been the tenth time and turned away.Always running off,she’d insisted.Jettin’ here, jettin’ there. Can’t stand still enough for a ten-dollar, three-minute blow,she’d said with a mucous-filled laugh.I’m gonna call you Jett!

The thing was, she’d been right. He couldn’t sit still. He wished he could. Not that that would have made him take her up on the ten-dollar blow. He’d turned back toward her and tossed her the last of a pack of cigarettes for some reason he couldn’t explain, because he usually didn’t give things away. Her eyes had lit up like she’d won the lottery, and she’d held that pack of cigarettes in the air and let out a whoop. And when he’djettedout of the hotel, she’d opened the door behind him and shouted to all the drug addicts and pimps and prostitutes milling about the street, “That’s Jett right there. I call him Jett cuz he’s always jettin’ off somewhere. But he’s all right! That dude is all right.” And someone had remembered that and called him Jett later—or, less often, J.D.—and it’d stuck, and so that’s who he’d become. But Jett wasn’t his name—not his real one, anyway. “Ambrose,” he said. “My name is Ambrose DeMarce.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Lennon pushed the cabinet door open, peeking out through the small crack. The room beyond was dim and empty, and so she climbed out of the small hiding spot, cringing as she unbent her sore legs. How long had she been in there? An hour? Maybe slightly more? She hadn’t dared look at her phone for fear the light would shine from the spaces around the door and give her away. She pulled it from her pocket now and glanced at it quickly. Yes, almost an hour. It was just a few minutes past eight o’clock, and she hoped that any dawdlers had left by now.

This was what she’d been reduced to. Sneaking past receptionists so she could hide in cabinets until the lights went off. But she’d heard noises that indicated people were arriving after the regular staff had left and knew that whatever she’d heard being referenced earlier on Dr. Sweeton’s call was, in fact, going on.

She opened the door, swallowing when a small squeak echoed in the outside hall. She waited, but when no sound came in response, she ducked out, leaving the door slightly ajar. She hurried down the hall, looking over her shoulder as she walked. There was something very eerie about a medical building after hours, and she was already freaked out as it was, by the fact that she was walking into a complete unknown.

And now she had to search the place in the near dark. The light from her phone might be seen around a corner, so she put it in herpocket, her hand running over the personal weapon that she’d taken from her home safe and had holstered against her ribs.

It was dark and quiet around the next bend, and Lennon was forced to feel along the wall as she walked. The hairs on her arms stood up, and she wanted badly to turn back. But dammit, she was here for a reason. And dark or no dark, she wasn’t going to chicken out.

She had to know.

Her shoes were virtually soundless on the carpet. When she made it to the next wing, there were milky lights along the bottom of the wall, directing her way.

She came to another bend and peered around it slowly, determining that there were no people in sight but a brighter light coming from around a corner up ahead. She pulled her shoulders back, gathering her nerves, stepped into the next hall, and pressed her back against the wall as she listened.

Her heart galloped, but above the noise of her own blood whooshing between her ears, she heard the sounds of voices and ... maybe the trickle of water? And a drumbeat? Murmurs? All of it was very faint, but she could tell it was coming from the place where the light from around the corner spilled.

Lennon pushed off the wall, and she walked on the balls of her feet, making it to the end of that hall and, again, peeking into the next. Double doors were open, bright light coming from within. The sound of flowing water was louder here, and now she could tell there were several voices—three or four at least.

There was a closed door to her left with a small window, light shining from within. She peeked in from the side and saw a large tank. Was that ... yes, it was a sensory deprivation chamber. What was this place? Some therapeutic center that Dr. Sweeton ran? And if so, why hadn’t she seen any advertisements for it when she’d looked him up?

The other doors in that hallway featured windows, too, but those rooms were dark inside, and Lennon didn’t bother to try any of thosehandles just yet. Instead, she headed toward the brightly lit room at the end of the hall wheresomethingwas obviously going on.

There was a sort of vestibule inside the open double doors, and another door on the opposite wall that was very slightly ajar. That was where the soft noises were emanating from. Lennon pulled in a breath, her heart pounding. She walked soundlessly to the door and, very slowly, peeked in from the side, her mind giving a single bleat of alarm at what appeared in front of her.

---