Wicked Hunger (11 page)

“No, I want to go in,” I say. “I’m ready.”

Even still, Zander has to tug on my hand to get me to take a step forward. We make it to the front doors, and as soon as we step in
, the gloom of the place presses in around me. It affects Zander, too. The way his shoulders drop and his expression pales betray him. He always handles these visits better than I do, but he is the one who has the most reason to never want to set foot in this hospital. He’s the one who found out what Oscar did. I shudder at the thought and fight to keep tears from falling. Before I’m ready, the visitation room is standing before me.

Of course, it’s not the regular visitation room with couches and rocking chairs and people playing checkers and reading books. Only the non-violent residents get to use that room. Zander pushes the door open and tows me into the room where Oscar waits for us. I close my eyes
to the sight of the plain metal table with shackles bolted onto the top and legs, against my oldest brother being attached to those chains. I can’t stand seeing him like this. I have to shut away everything else and picture myself dancing. Ballet. In my head, I run through my favorite dance,
The Red Shoes
,
a piece that is very technically difficult and requires absolute control. I work through the skills and elements one by one until I feel my emotions calm and settle. Only then do I open my eyes.

Oscar used to look a lot like Zander, fit, handsome, tall, and magnetic. Most of that is gone, now. The sallow tone of his skin and sunken crags in his face have aged him and stolen any hint of the good looks he once had. His muscles are flaccid, though I know they still contain more strength than most people have. Although his height hasn’t changed, the way he hunches and hides from the world makes him look small. “Oh, Oscar,” I whisper quietly.

It takes Oscar several minutes to even realize we’re in the room. When he does notice, his whole body jerks against the chains. Fists slam down on the table and his eyes rise to meet Zander’s. At first he doesn’t say a word, but his nose wrinkles in disgust. The sneer isn’t normally something I would scrutinize. Given Zander’s lies lately, I wonder for a moment if Oscar tastes it, too. I wish I could ask him, but Zander’s presence isn’t the only thing that holds me back. I doubt Oscar could even answer a question like that judging by the way he’s acting today.

The purplish color around Oscar’s eye sockets make his blue eyes look so much darker than they used to, but they pierce Zander all the same. He shivers under his brother’s glare and says nothing.

The quiet twists Oscar’s features. His head tilts to one side and a hideous smile that shows strangely white teeth appears as his lips turn up. “I know you,” Oscar says slowly. The harsh edge to his voice makes me step back. His eyes slither from Zander to me. “I know you, too.”

Neither of us responds. I can’t make my mouth work in the face of his disturbing voice and appearance. Zander doesn’t seem to be having any more luck than I am.

“I know your faces,” Oscar growls, “but they’ve changed.” He shakes his head viciously. “They’ve changed from what I remember.”

The sharp ping of his hands slapping down on the table startles me into jumping.

“Younger, happier, hopeful, that’s how they used to be. No more young and innocent for us. No more happy, no more hope. No more happy, no more hope,” Oscar chants. “No more happy, no more hope. No more happy, no more hope.”

“Stop it,” Zander finally says.

“No. I won’t stop. I won’t stop until you admit it. No more happy, no more hope, especially not for you,” Oscar hisses at him.

“Shut up!”

Oscar’s eyes widen and fixate on Zander. His finger waggles back and forth in front of his face. “Shame, shame, I know the truth. You can’t hide it from me. I know.”

Zander’s fingers crush mine in their grip. I have no idea what Oscar is rambling about, but Zander is shaking next to me. I want to ask him what is going on, but I’m afraid of this getting out of hand. My frightened and distraught mind struggles to find something to distract my deranged brother. “Oscar, did you like the CD I left you last time we were here?”

I don’t have a lot of hope that he’ll actually answer me. Hope that he even remembers me giving him the music, let alone him actually listening to it, is even slimmer. So when he turns to look at me and speaks, I am caught off guard.

“Tchaikovsky was never my favorite. I like Beethoven better. The madness in his music makes me feel less alone.”

Following up such a lucid comment from Oscar is completely impossible. I’m too shocked to respond. I can’t remember the last time he spoke to me in such a clear way.

“Alone…alone,” Oscar sing-songs. “I am all alone. Hopeless and forgotten, I’m alone now.”

“No you’re not, Oscar,” I say quickly. “We’re still here. You’re not alone.”

“Have you come to take me home? Home to our broken home?” He says it mockingly, but there is hope in his eyes. My lips break into a frown that threatens to split my face in two.

“Someday,” Zander says quietly, “but not today.”

“Promises.” Oscar closes his eyes. Then he suddenly slams his head against the table. The crack of skull on metal twangs through the room. A man at the door moves to come in, but Zander holds him back. Slowly, Oscar lifts his head back up. The unfocused quality of his eyes makes his sneer even worse.

“Someday isn’t a real day. It will never come. I’ll be stuck here forever, getting poked with needles and fed drugs and being broken even more than I’m already broken. Promises are nothing. I won’t believe you. It’s all fake!” he screams. Red in the face with anger one minute, he’s back to normal a moment later. Well, he’s back to the way he was when we walked in today, glaring and maniacal. Somehow, he seems to focus on both me and Zander at the same time. “If you believe I’ll ever leave here still alive, you’re crazier than I am.”

“You’ll get better soon,” I say quietly.

Oscar’s hyena laughter fills the room. “Better?” he trills. “Are you stupid? There is no better. You know that. You’ve got the same thing I do. You’re sick, too. You’re one slip away from landing in the room next to mine. You both are.” He breaks out in psychotic laughter again.

“That’s not true,” Zander says forcefully.

Snickering like he’s heard the funniest joke in the world, Oscar rocks his body back and forth. “Alec-zander and Van-essa. Baby brother changed his name. Little sister changed hers too. Neither one can stand to hear their given names. They hate who they are, try to hide their true nature and hope reality will just go away. Zander and Van pretend they’re normal. They’re delusional, insane. I’ll wait here in my personal hell until they join me. I’ll wait and wait. I know they’re coming. It’s the only thing that keeps me from losing it completely. Baby brother and little sister come hoping they will one day take me home. I let them come with their foolish dreams, knowing the hope belongs to me. One day they’ll come and they won’t leave, and then
my
dream will come true. Baby brother and little sister dreaming, dreaming, building their nightmare one visit at a time.”

The room falls silent and I hate the sound even more than Oscar’s voice. In the quiet, I can hear his words whispering their way into my head and taking root there. The absence of sound lets me hear his insanity digging into my brain and settling in. We’re given half an hour to visit, but I’ve had all I can take for today.

“Zander, I want to go,” I whisper.

“Go?” Oscar asks. “You can’t go, silly little sister. You belong here. There’s no home for you to go home to anyway. Nobody left to love you.”

“Yes there is,” I argue.

“No. There. Isn’t.”

“Zander loves me. Grandma loves me. Even you love me, Oscar.”

That part of him has to be there still. He can’t have completely forgotten playing tea party with me when no one else would, or walking me over to Laney’s house when I was too little to go on my own. He’s my big brother. He has to see that still.

“I don’t love you anymore,” Oscar says. “I don’t love anyone anymore. All I am is hate and anger, pain and destruction. I don’t love you anymore. I don’t love you! I don’t love you anymore! Get out! Leave and don’t come back. Don’t come back or they’ll keep you here forever. Get out! Get out! Get out!”

On the last sentence, he pounds his fists against the table and doesn’t stop. Over and over again the metallic bashing washes over me. He takes up the chant again at some point, but my eyes are closed and my hands are over my ears by then. Suddenly, I am moving, but I don’t open my eyes to see where I’m going. I don’t even realize Zander has my arm until the door closes behind me and the noise stops. I open my eyes at the sudden lack of screaming and banging. Zander stands in front of me pretending to be stoic and calm, but the twitch at the side of his mouth gives him away.

A sob breaks out of me, and a second later Zander's arms are around my shoulders. I don’t miss the fact that he’s shaking as much as I am, but I pretend he isn’t crying and he does the same for me. Standing in the hall of the building we hate more than any other, we hold each other and wish…wish things were different, wish everything Oscar said to us wasn’t true.

As soon as we get home and shake off the disturbing experience of visiting Oscar, Zander corners me about Noah. Zander is always pretty protective of me, for good reason, so his reaction doesn’t surprise me. His questions range from whether or not my hunger reacts to Noah to why I didn’t try to get out of working with him, and just to be safe. It takes a while to convince him that working on an English project won’t put either me or Noah at risk. Not mentioning the Jeet Kune Do is key to making that argument work. I feel a little guilty leaving that out, but I figure Zander is hardly the one to judge me about keeping secrets right now. The last question Zander asks is whether or not I actually like Noah.

His last question is hard to answer. Already strung out after seeing Oscar, not to mention angry at Zander for seeking out Ivy, I can’t really say how I feel. If Noah honestly wants to hang out with no hidden agenda, well, that’s pretty hard to resist. He’s certainly handsome and he seems like a nice guy, but every time I think I might be starting to like him, Ketchup pops into my head. I just don’t know yet.

Before leaving, Zander warns me to be careful. His reminder that my birthday is only a few months away is hardly needed, though. It’s been on my mind constantly. I remember all too well both him and Oscar reaching their sixteenth birthdays. Emotionally, they were wrecks. Hunger-wise, they were even worse off. Their desires would be manageable one moment, then flaring into an inferno the next. They were dangerous to be around.

I wasn’t allowed to see them during that time. Even Mom and Dad tried to stay away as much as possible. Oscar had to be sent away for a while after our dog and several of the neighbors’ dogs went missing. Dad slipped on the stairs and twisted his ankle shortly after Zander turned sixteen. Even such a small amount of pain was too much for him to handle. It took me and Oscar to pull him off of Dad.

After that, Zander locked himself in his room and refused to see anyone. He became a total recluse until things calmed down. Oscar handled the changes differently, but I push those kinds of thoughts away before they can really develop.

I spend the rest of the night in my room thinking about everything I don’t want to deal with right now. Noah is a problem, not only because of my confusion over him, but because he expects me to try something I was expressly forbidden to participate in. I know my limits, and this may well be beyond them. The only reason Grandma ended up agreeing to Zander playing football was because of the way his hunger leans. Zander enjoys the chase. He feeds off the fear that leads up to the pain. His hunger can be patient. Mine can’t.

My sixteenth birthday scares me even more than thinking about Zander and Oscar because my hunger is by far the least controllable. I crave total pandemonium. The messier, the better. If I lose control, I really lose it. If I can’t handle practicing with Noah…I know the results won’t be good.

My phone sits on my desk patiently. It waits as if expecting me to use it, to call Noah and cancel. Logic begs me to do it. The allure of having a friend that I didn’t have to save in order to earn, one that wants to be around me just because, is too much. The phone remains unused for the rest of the night while I dream horrible dreams of losing control and mauling Noah as Ketchup looks on in fear and disgust.

Hours later, as I sit in the living room trying to focus on my homework, the images from my dreams keep popping back into my head. Tearing Noah apart is disturbing, but watching Ketchup turn his back on me is heartbreaking. It doesn’t help that no one else is around to distract me. Grandma is grocery shopping, and I have no idea where Zander went. He was gone when I woke up this morning. That is more than a little worrisome.

I called Laney the second I realized he was gone to ask her what she and Ivy were doing. Used to my occasional weirdness, she told me they were swimming and asked if I wanted to join them. I dodged that invitation quickly, as I have done frequently of late, and hung up. He isn’t with Ivy, but my anxiety is still riding high. He hasn’t answered any of my texts today. That is unusual, and infuriating. Where is he?

I can’t seem to focus on anything but the disturbing dreams and frightening images of what Zander might do to Ivy. I stare at the words of my history book, tapping my pencil against the coffee table. They make no sense, blurring, turning blood red, leaping off the page to bite at me. Sick of trying, I toss my pencil at the book and slam it closed. I’d call Ketchup to come distract me, but he isn’t allowed to come over, and I can’t drive. If I asked him to pick me up, I’d be at his mercy for the rest of the day. He wouldn’t let me go until he absolutely had to either. I don’t think I could handle that much time with Ketchup. The temptation would be way too great. Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I wander into the kitchen in search of something to eat instead.

Usually, I’m pretty particular about what I eat, but when I find a box of lemon cookies hidden in the back of the pantry, I pull it out. I stick a couple of cookies between my teeth to hold, and reach in for another one. The sudden ringing of my phone in the dead quiet of the kitchen startles me so badly I drop the box, bite down on the cookies I was holding in my mouth, and spray crumbs all over the place. Including down my shirt. Spitting and swallowing to get the rest of the lemon and powdered sugar mush out of my mouth, I pull my phone out of my pocket and answer the call before it goes to voicemail.

“Hello?” My voice comes out loud and I’m breathing way too hard.

“Uh, Van?”

My hands fly over my shirt in an attempt to get rid of the lingering crumbs at the sound of his voice. There’s some part of my brain reminding me that Noah can’t see me, but I keep brushing regardless. “Noah? Hey.”

“Did I call at a bad time? It sounds like you’re busy.”

“No,” I say a little too eagerly, “I just practically dumped a box of cookies down my shirt.”

Noah laughs. “Why did you do that?”

“It was an accident.”

“Sure, sure,” he teases.

I roll my eyes at him and smile as I try to get the rest of the crumbs out of my bra.

“So,” Noah says, “I was just calling to see if you still wanted to get together and work on our project this weekend.”

Zander’s warnings and my own fear come zipping back into my mind. I told him it wasn’t a big deal to hang out with Noah, that he was just my English partner, nothing more, but standing in my cookie covered kitchen, knowing he’s waiting for me to respond makes it very difficult to take Zander’s advice. Noah’s interest seems so genuine. That’s a pretty rare thing for me outside my little circle of friends. The lingering doubts in my mind are pushed away when I remind myself that Noah did save me. Don’t I owe him something? I’m more than a little familiar with the debt that saving a person’s life incurs. Backing out on him seems impossible.

“Um, yeah, I guess. If you want to.”

“I do. You busy right now?” Noah asks.

I glance down at the mess I just made. “Right now?”

“Sure. The gym I take Jeet Kune Do at has open gym hours on Saturday afternoons. I could show you some of what I know, and you can tell me if you want to use it for our project or not.”

It’s a simple request, but my hand starts shaking. If my grandma finds out, she’ll ground me for the rest of my life. If I agree, something worse may happen. Physical activity helps calm my hunger, but dancing is way different than fighting people for fun. I don’t know how I’ll react to that. What if I hurt Noah?

I won’t, I argue with myself. If things get too intense, I’ll tell him I don’t like it and want to try something else. He’ll understand. It won’t be a big deal, and if it is, maybe we just won’t work together. That would certainly solve my problem of getting too close to him, although it would rob me of the chance to have a normal, uncomplicated friendship.

I’ll only try it this once. If I can’t control it, I’ll never do it again.

“Uh, Van?” Noah asks.

“Sorry, I was just trying to remember if I have to do anything this afternoon.” Cookies down my shirt, long odd pauses, the way I accused him of basically being a jerk the first time we talked, Noah must think I’m a nutcase.

“Did you come up with anything, or should I come pick you up?” he asks.

I take a deep breath, and a huge risk. “Sure, I can come, but give me half an hour to take a shower, okay?”

“You may want to wait to shower until after we go to the gym.”

“I’m covered in powdered sugar from the cookies, and I probably taste like lemons,” I say with a laugh.

“Hmm.”

That’s all Noah says, but the way he says it, slow and thoughtful, makes me wonder what he’s thinking about. A shiver runs down my spine, something that has never happened with anyone but Ketchup before. To be honest, it kind of freaks me out. But I also kind of like it.

“Half an hour?” I ask.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, that sounds great. Is your brother home?”

“No. Why?” I ask.

“Just wondering. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

After giving him my address, I run upstairs and take the fastest shower of my life. No way do I want him showing up before I’m ready. I can only imagine wrapping a towel around my wet body and hearing the doorbell ring. There’s no chance of me answering the door in nothing but a towel, so he’d be forced to stand out there like an unwanted salesman until I finished getting dressed. I already act like a total spaz every time I see him, so I rush through getting ready with the hope that, for once, I can have a normal interaction with him.

Still wet from my shower, my normally platinum hair almost looks like it has some color to it as I twist it into a ballet knot on my way down the stairs. Wet hair bugs me big time, but faced with a choice between blow drying my hair or putting on my makeup, makeup wins out pretty easily. I dash into the kitchen to find a notepad so I can leave my grandma a note, and step on an already broken cookie before remembering the mess I made. I brush off my bare foot with a grimace and reach for a broom.

The broom is right where it should be, but I can’t find the dustpan. I’m rummaging through the closet where we keep the cleaning supplies when the doorbell rings. The sudden noise makes me knock my elbow on a shelf and bump into a wire rack as I try to untangle myself from my search and hurry to the door.

In an attempt to look semi normal, I pause, take a deep breath, and then open the door casually. Noah, dressed in running shorts and a plain white tee, bursts into a huge grin as soon as he sees me. At first, I think he’s super excited to see me, which seems a little extreme, but nice. When his grin turns into a snicker, I get worried.

“Am I dressed wrong?” I glance down at my black leggings paired with simple black shorts and my pink tank top. It seemed like a decent choice, but maybe I was wrong. “I, uh, didn’t know what to wear, so I just put on some dance clothes. I can change if I need to.”

Noah’s laugh deepens as he steps toward me. I flinch back, but he brings his hand up and reaches toward my head anyway. I’m a second away from slapping his arm away when I feel something move in my hair. Noah’s hand comes away bearing a small sea sponge. He smiles again and says, “Your clothes are fine, but you might want to leave the dried up sea creatures at home.”

“I couldn’t find the dustpan.”

It’s a perfectly ordinary statement, but Noah starts laughing. “I’m sorry, but you say the weirdest things sometimes. What does a missing dustpan have to do with a sponge in your hair?”

“I was looking for the dustpan in the closet, and I bumped into a shelf. The sponge must have fallen off. What is so weird about that?” I ask, embarrassed once again.

“Nothing, nothing. It makes perfect sense now.” Noah offers me the sponge with an apologetic smile. “Did you need help cleaning up?”

“No, just give me a minute. I’ll use the vacuum instead.”

Noah tries to follow me into the kitchen, but I insist he stay put in the living room. I’ve said and done enough stupid things today to leave me red in the face for days. No need to make him think I’m a slob, too. I suck up the crumbs and write Grandma a note about where I’m going, leaving out certain details, of course. I could text Zander easily enough, but I don’t. Not in the mood for a lecture or more questions, I skip over his name and stop on Ketchup’s.

I open a message, but knowing what to say is not as easy. Thanks to Laney, he knows about Noah and that we were supposed to get together this weekend, but his reaction to that information wasn’t happy. I don’t want to hurt him even more by flaunting who I’m going to be with today, but I don’t know who else to tell. Laney can’t drive yet. The only other one of my friends with a license is Wyatt, but he’s out of town visiting his grandma.