M.I.A.

Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-Eight:

Corey

Sydney stoops to pick up the towel, but she pauses mid-bend when her eyes find the body in the bed on the other side of the room. At least, it looks like a body. Mia looks dead.

But I know she's not. If she were dead, she'd be gone. Unless, of course, she's died in the time since Cutter left her this morning.

I rush to her side. "How is she?"

Frank looks up at me, eyes sad, and shrugs. He's faded around the edges, as if he's depleting.

"I can't," he says weakly. "I can't do this anymore."

"What?"

He looks into the corner. "Keep watch. I can't watch him...I can't. And them?"

"What?" I demand. "Frank, we have help now!"

He shakes his head. "They keep coming up here. Keep looking. Keep watching her. I can't stand to see them no more."

"You're not making any sense!" I yell.

He glances up, as if seeing me for the first time. "Oh, you're back. You're back." A mad smile plays across his face. "Okay. Okay. If you're back, I'm gonna go now."

"What?!" I growl. "No, no, Frank. Not now. We need to help them—"

But Frank's going, fading. And pretty soon I can't see him. And if a ghost can't see another ghost, I'm pretty sure that means something final.

Panicked, I look back to Sydney, still frozen mid-stoop and still staring. Her expression is wide and wounded. Taking it in, probably. It will take her a full moment to register the horror that her sister has endured. To get past the thick, stained bandages, the odd pajamas, the gaunt face, the sallow skin, the pain and shame and misery. She may be even too afraid to touch Mia for fear she'll dissolve or be cold...dead.

The door to the hall opens and John is suddenly there, too. And he's frozen, but not for nearly as long as Sydney has been. He opens his lips and practically dives across the room. Collapsing at Mia's side, he's touching her face, yelling her name and shaking her. When she doesn't respond, his fingers find her pulse.

Sydney slowly straightens, her expression desperate, her chest heaving and her tears falling. "Is she?"

John's shoulders sag and he collapses into Mia, embracing her frail body and burying his face in her sour scent and ratty hair. I can barely hear him moan, "You're alive."

Sydney takes a step forward, then hesitates. "What do we do? We have to get her out."

John's head snaps up as he takes in the full situation. He stands, his fingers clawing at the cuffs. "We have to get her out of these! Find the key, or something to cut them. A tool box. I'll look up here, you go downstairs and look."

Sydney stays frozen for a moment, just staring.

John growls at her as he gets to his feet, "Go!"

Spurred into action, Sydney stumbles out of the room, taking the hall at a run and practically falls down the stairs, which gets Delilah barking up a new frenzy. Panicked at the bottom of the stairs, Sydney casts about, her eyes searching and her breath heaving. "Tools. Tools. Fuck, where are the tools?!"

Her brain seems to function then and she pounds back through the hall and skids to a stop in front of the basement door.

"No!" I yell at her. "Not there!"

But she doesn't hear. Sydney throws the bolt on the door and wrenches it open, the stench from below like a wave of carrion. As Sydney gasps and throws her hands over her nose and mouth, Delilah suddenly falls eerily silent. In the dark, I can almost see her expectant eyes gleaming in the darkness.

Sydney lowers trembling fingers and peers into the impenetrable darkness. "N-nice doggy."

She steps closer, standing at the edge of the precipice. I can hear Delilah breathing down below, like a bellows. Her too-long claws click on the cement floor as she circles under Sydney. Swallowing hard, Sydney reaches out and probes the sides of the wall just inside of the door, looking for a switch. When she finds nothing, she reaches out and above her, looking for a pull cord.

When she finds nothing, she rocks back on her heels and stares into the dark.

John calls from upstairs, "Anything yet?"

"No!" she replies. She turns her attention back to the door. "You can do this, Syd. You've always liked animals and they've always liked you. See, he's probably just standing there waiting for you to pet him."

"No,you twit. Not down there!" Frustrated, I cast about in search of anythingto tell her otherwise.