Chapter Thirty-eight: In Which There are Flashbacks
"What's funny is that you're covered in bleach and alcohol." A crooked, bloody-toothed sneer. A flash of light. Tiny, insignificant.
And then it's not so tiny anymore. It grabs for him, seizes his clothes and his skin and burns him he's burning burning burning always burning.
Jeff bolted to his feet and wavered there. Max's face—was it Max's? Was he here? Was he there? What was real? Was he real?-was still irritated, confused. It shivered like a mirage—not Max, Keith. Or was it Max? Who was Max? Why did it matter? They could burn him. "Man," he said. "What's your deal?"
"Jeff?" Jack's voice changed. It was less annoyed now. More cautious.
But they wouldn't burn him. He wouldn't let them. Who were they? Were they Jack and Max or Troy and Keith and Randy? Their faces were blurring, shifting faster than he could keep up. One second he was in front of the compound, in cold, clean Nebraskan air, and the next he was in a small bathroom, his head ringing and his clothes soaked, the heavy, sharp scents of vodka and bleach and blood stinging his nose.
Then Max stood up. He was still short, small, but Jeff saw fire in his eyes. Saw his own reflection. There was no thought—there was only act only survive only not burn. He jumped—not forwards, although he clutched his knife in his hand, but backwards, scrambling and tripping away away away from the fire the fire the fire beautiful it's beautiful you know even when it's not it's not it's not it's not it hurts.
There were voices in his head, noisy and clashing and confusing. He backed away from them, baring his teeth. Away away away please go away leave me alone. We're already beautiful, no more no more no more please. Voices— were there words? There were the sounds, the twists of tongue and clicks of teeth that made Jeff and okay and leave and knife. Knife. He tightened his grip around his knife's hilt, felt it smooth and solid against his palm.
The air was heavy. Too heavy, too familiar. How could he be at the compound when it smelled like he was burning? Sizzling flesh, crackling skin, screaming. Helpless, hurting, not safe. He could see the flames around him, jumping and claiming and beautiful, so beautiful it hurt. His breath came faster, rushing through his lungs and feeding his pounding heart. His muscles shivered, jerking with fear. Run run run go run away away danger danger danger go run.
But where could he go? There was the door, he could go down the stairs to his mother and father, but he knew what happened there. And then there was a field, wide and open, and a man with white eyes who could catch him anyway, no matter where he went. Where was he? Fuck, he was terrified. He just didn't want to hurt. Is that too much to ask?
He ran towards the field. The voices rose and he was trapped. They were going to burn him. They took his knife. He thrashed against the arms that held him, snarling as viciously as he could, snapping and clawing. Away away away please please please don't burn leave us alone alone alone is safe alone. But he wasn't released. He was held tighter. There was something at his back, something that pulled his legs to his chest and something that held his head, covered his eyes, left him in the dark.
He paused, panting through his teeth. Give up? Never never that's not us. But just breath. Just for a minute. They'll burn us burn us no no no— enough. Even if they do please don't if they do we'll fight. Breathe. Breathe. He was tucked up, small and cramped, shielded from the wind. It felt safe, but he wasn't an idiot. Not safe here, not while it smelled like burning and agony.
They moved him. He started struggling again, but it was useless. Jack. Jack was holding him. He wanted to wail in frustration. He felt sick, his stomach turning. Futile, all his attempts were futile. He was stuck, he was going to hurt. No escape, not with Jack. They took his shirt. They'll burn our skin only our skin no protection it hurts it hurts I hate fire we are fire. But they pulled another one over his head, one that smelled warm and sugary and dark.
And it was dark. His head was pushed down and a hand clamped over his eyes, hiding the world from his sight. So he couldn't see them burn him, couldn't avoid it. He whined, low in his throat, and pushed back against Jack. "Let go," he said, his voice tight and fearful.
Jack's arms tightened. "Shh, it's okay," he murmured. His breath was hot against the back of Jeff's head, stirring in his hair.
"Jeff?" Not Jack's voice. Clearer, smoother. Eyeless. "Hey, listen to me."
Listen to Eyeless? Always always always but what if he hurts us? He won't. He takes care of us. He's leader, that's what leaders do. He loves us. Right? "What?"
"Attaboy. You're fine, alright?" Eyeless said. "Just breathe. Slower. Calm down." He tried. He really did, for Eyeless. He tried to count seconds between breaths, and as he did, he noticed how his body shook, how his head spun. "Good," Eyeless murmured. "Are you alright now?"
Jeff shook his head. Nowhere close to alright. He inhaled dark and sugar and not-burning, trying to steady himself. We're fine, we're fine, they're ours, they won't burn us, we're fine, fine, fine. "Do you know where we are?" Eyeless asked.
"Yeah."
"Where?"
Compound," Jeff said.
"Let him see, Jack," Eyeless said.
The hand over his eyes was removed and Jeff lifted his head. The area around them was dark and empty, a good distance closer to the field than they had been. Eyeless and Jack were the only ones close to him. His own shirt had vanished and been replaced with a familiar, too-big, feathery-shouldered one. He couldn't smell much besides Jack— who, Jeff noticed with a growing sense of mortification, was shirtless and still wrapped around him. Here, we're here now, he thought. Act like it. "Lemme go, bastard," he said, worming against Jack's arms.
"Can I, Eyeless?" Jack asked, trapping Jeff against his chest. Jeff growled and thought about biting him, but thought that maybe that wouldn't encourage them to release him.
"Go ahead," Eyeless said.
Jack released him and Jeff scrambled to his feet, stretching himself out and feeling his muscles twitch with the remains of adrenaline. Safe free safe okay it's okay, okay? Okay. With his lizard brain quieting its yammering, Jeff felt heat rising in his face and refused to meet Jack's eyes or Eyeless's sockets. "Sorry," he muttered, hunching his shoulders-which rustled with feathers. He dragged Jack's shirt off and handed it back to him. Jack accepted it with a quiet, concerned look that irritated Jeff. "I'm fine," he snapped. "Just fucking alcohol."
"Is it...flashbacks?" Jack asked.
"No, it's fucking unicorns."
"Yeah," Eyeless said. "But that wasn't a bad one. Jack, go grab him a new shirt, would you?" And once Jack was gone, Eyeless stuffed his hands into his hoodie pockets and turned to look at Jeff. "Tell you what, I feel like hell and I'm going to bed soon, so I'll make this quick."
"As a mercy killing?"
"Yeah. Try to, anyway."
"How's your stomach?"
"I feel like hell."
"Alright."
"We need to talk."
"Okay."
"About Jack."
"Not okay."