Wink Poppy Midnight(27)

Goose bumps up my spine, into my scalp.

“They . . . they want to open your head, pop it open, pop pop Poppy, dig out all its little secrets, wriggling, wriggling like maggots, dig them out and crush them, squish, squish, pop . . .”

Wink’s voice got softer and softer.

“They told me things about you, Poppy. Come closer . . . come closer and I’ll tell you what they said. You want to know, you need to know . . .”

Poppy went to Wink. She went right to her, step, step, step, creak, creak, creak. She leaned down . . .

And Wink shot forward.

She grabbed Poppy’s arm, squeezing until her knuckles went white.

“Take her other arm,” she said, calm, calm.

I took it. I wrapped my fingers around the elbow I’d been kissing earlier, upstairs. I did it even though it made me feel sick. Weak and sick, deep inside.

Wink was stronger than she looked. She bent Poppy’s arm behind her and shoved it up hard against her spine. I wound the rope around one wrist, then the other, quick, before Poppy could fight back. I pulled . . .

But it was Wink who pushed Poppy to her knees. Wink who tied the knots, three deep and so hard Poppy’s hands were smashed up against the piano leg.

Poppy looked up at me. One long, comprehending look.

And then she screamed.

I’d counted on this too.

“There’s no one to hear you,” I said. “You can holler your heart out and no one will hear you.”

And I kind of felt like crying, after I said that. Just a little bit.

Poppy stopped screaming and started sobbing instead. It was messy and loud, full of tears and chokes and sobs.

“How can you? How can you leave me here?” Her big gray eyes were staring and pleading, lashes wet and shadow-black. “You know how afraid I am. Midnight, please.”

I looked from Poppy, to Wink, to Poppy, to Wink.

I couldn’t do this.

Wink would say I wasn’t the hero.

And Poppy would say I was a coward. If I let her free she would call me a coward for it later. I knew she would.

But . . .

I reached in my pocket and got out my jackknife. I flipped it open and grabbed the rope— Wink stepped in front of me, both hands up, like I held a gun.

“She’s not Poppy. She’s The Thing in the Deep. And you just struck her with your sword. She’s the monster and you’re the hero. This part of the story is over, Midnight. It’s time to go.”

She reached her small freckled fingers out to me.

And I took them.

We stood there facing the monster, side by side and hand in hand.

“I love you,” Poppy whispered. She choked, sucked back a sob, and then said it again. “I love you, Midnight.”

Tears slipped off the tiny crook in her nose, down her perfect chin, down her slender neck. Strands of blond hair stuck to her cheeks. She looked helpless, her arms in the air, her face wet, her eyes wide and scared. She looked young. Young as Bee Lee. Younger.

She said it again. “I love you, Midnight.”

I shook my head. And I did it with my chin held high and my knife in my hand. “No, Poppy. You never did. You never, ever did.”

And we left.





THE DARK. It was thick as drying blood, so thick I could have held it in my hands, if they were free, palms filled with it. I could feel the blackness breathing, panting, panting, the dark, the dark, the dark.

Not much longer now, it wouldn’t be much longer, my wrists were itching, burning, my arms were falling asleep, they felt dead, dead weights on the ends of my shoulders, but I wasn’t going anywhere, not yet. The scratching sounds came and went with the breeze, the breeze cleared the air, leaves and dirt and dew covering up the dust and dank and death, and I drew it in, sucked it in, like it was meant for me, like it would save me.

I screamed again. Scream, scream, scream. I was losing my voice, but it blocked out the dark, and the scratching, and the whispering, when had the whispering started? Had it always been there? Whisper, whisper, words I didn’t know, stupid words, lumpy words, swampy words, the unforgivables, Wink made them up, I knew she did, I’d known all along, but then who was whispering?

My wrists hurt, my heart hurt, it was beating so fast, so fast, I couldn’t keep up, Leaf was whispering to me, we were in the meadow, and I was beside him on the grass and he was whispering, whispering that I was ugly on the inside, but he was kissing my wrists anyway, kissing them hard, so hard they were burning from it, burning up, and my arms were wrapped around him, so tight they were going numb and this was why, this was why, whispers and heartbeats, whispers and heartbeats, all around me. I wanted to put my hands over my ears but I couldn’t, the whispers drew in closer, so close they were touching me, inside me, through my skin, into my insides, into my inner deeps, I couldn’t bear it, I couldn’t bear one more second of it . . .

I screamed. And screamed.

I tried to keep counting, counting my own flashing heartbeats, just to make sure, one two three, one two three . . .

But then, just like that, like a door slamming in the wind . . .

Everything went quiet.

Everything, for once, was quiet.





I COULD HEAR her screaming. We were half a mile away from the Roman Luck house and I could still hear. Midnight could too, he tensed each time. I felt it.