Alive

Chapter 39

Oliver

(Thursday, May 23)

The second Elle stands up, I know something's wrong. Something's off. Maybe it's in her scent. The blood I can smell, dried and crusted on her skin somewhere under the dress. Maybe it's the dress itself. Smells like someone else. Looks nothing like what she would wear. I mean, it's pink.

I don't know. All I know is I got here. I'm here. I've come for her. And tonight we leave it all behind. This shithole, this entire world. Tonight's the night I free her. From whatever this is. A room full of people. Stupid people. Chattering people. People dressed like Dad always dresses. These clothes humans like to wear to feel better than other humans. And they did this to Elle. Stuffed her in their clothes, painted her face, tried to make her one of them. But they're fucking wrong. Elle's not one of them. I might be less, but Elle? She's so much more. Elle's the moon.

My moon.

So I kick the dead guy aside, then jump down from the platform. People are whispering, eyeing me up and down, and there's still this dread in my stomach like I'm walking into a trap. Like Elle's wide eyes are supposed to send me running. But they don't. I'm not leaving without her.

She's all I can see as I walk across the room. People scramble out of the way as I move. There's something tense in the air, but I don't mind it since it's because of me. They're scared. Terrified. They should be. I mean, I took out the security guards no problem.

"Oliver." Elle's small voice is loud in the quiet room. And like a break in the spell, something about it throws people into action. There's talking. Screams. People jump up, head for the exits. Not the guy beside Elle, though. None of the men at that table. They all stare at me. Watch as I approach. But they should know better. They should run.

So I run instead. Start to jump toward the table, when someone catches me. This guy from one of the circular tables, squeezing my arm as his other winds up behind him. He's got this crazy look in his eye, as crazy as his misplaced confidence. He wants to restrain me. I want to kill him. And that's the trick. The reason I've got him on the ground a second later. Fighting is easy when you don't give a shit about holding back. I pin down his arms, grab his hair, force his head back, bare my teeth as I lean down.

"That's enough."

I stop. Frown as my mouth closes on its own. Kirk? What's he doing here? How didn't I smell him before? Or maybe I did. Maybe that's what was off. His shadow falls over me, and my eyes land on two black polished shoes. The man underneath me twists, shoving me off as he scrambles back. And I'm frozen. Like I'm waiting for something. Another command. An explanation. Something.

And I get something. A blow to the head. A kick under my ribs. There's a flash of white over my vision, like I can't even understand how much pain I'm in. And the next thing I know, I'm on the ground. Kirk's foot is on my neck, and I can't move.

The room is quiet. So quiet, except I can hear Elle breathing. Soft and fast. It's so easy to pick out. And then there's another sound. Laughter. Someone near Elle, a guy from that long table, chuckling at first. He gets louder, and then there's the noise of his chair scooting back as he starts clapping.

"Magnificent performance." The man's voice is scratchy. Like there's a frog in his throat or something. And the next word is thick. Even deeper. "Bravo."

There's another silence. Kirk doesn't say anything. I wait for my ribs to stop aching, but it feels like they're splintered. Like the bones are pressing sharp against my skin. People murmur amongst themselves. Then another clap sounds, somewhere across the room. Another, and another.