UnSouled (Unwind Dystology 3)

Argent sighs and shakes his head, giving Connor an exaggerated long-suffering look. “You see how it is?”

“Yeah, I see,” says Connor. He logs one more bit of information. This cellar is not in the house, but in the yard. Which means if Connor manages to escape the cellar, he’s maybe a dozen yards closer to freedom. “Won’t it be hard to keep it a secret that I’m down here,” Connor asks, “once everyone else gets home?”

“No one else comin’,” Argent says. This was the news Connor was fishing for. He’s ambivalent about it. On the one hand, if there were other members of this household, someone might be rational enough to stop this before it gets any further. But on the other hand, a rational person would most likely turn Connor over to the authorities.

“Well, I figured you’ve got a house, so you must have a family. Parents maybe.”

“Dead,” says Grace. “Dead, dead, dead.”

Argent throws her a severe warning look before turning back to Connor. “Our mother died young. Our father kicked the ghost last year.”

“Good thing too,” adds Grace, grinning. “He was gonna unwind Argent’s sorry ass for the cash.”

In one smooth motion, Argent picks up a water bottle and hurls it at baseball speed at Grace. She ducks, but not fast enough, and the bottle careens off the side of her head, making her yelp with pain.

“HE WAS JUST SAYING THAT!” yells Argent. “I WAS TOO OLD TO BE UNWOUND.”

Grace holds the side of her head, but remains defiant. “Not too old for parts pirates. They don’t care how old you are!”

“DIDN’T I TELL YOU TO SHUT IT?” Argent takes a moment to let his fury dissipate, then looks for an ally in Connor. “Grace is like a dog. Sometimes you gotta shake a can at her.”

Connor can’t hold back his own seething fury. “That was more than shaking.” He looks over at Grace, still holding her head, but Connor is sure her spirit is hurt more than anything else.

“Yeah, well, unwinding is nothing to joke about,” says Argent. “You know that more than anyone. Truth be told, our father woulda unwound us both if he could, so he didn’t have our mouths to feed. But Grace wasn’t ever eligible since there’s laws against unwinding the feebleminded, and not even parts pirates’ll do it. He couldn’t do me either, because he needed me to take care of Grace. You see how it is?”

“Yeah, I see.”

“Low-cortical,” grumbles Grace. “I ain’t feebleminded. I’m low-cortical. It’s the less insulting way.”

Although low-cortical always sounded pretty insulting to Connor. He twists his wrists, gauging the tightness of the knots. Apparently Argent is very good with knots, because the ropes don’t give at all. His hands are tied individually, so he’ll have to squirm out of both sets of bonds to free himself. It makes Connor think of how he had tied Lev to a tree after Connor had first rescued him. He had kept Lev against his will to save his life. Well, thinks Connor, what goes around comes around. Now he’s at the mercy of someone who believes he’s holding Connor captive for his own good.

“Did you happen to keep the sandwiches I bought?” Connor asks. “Because I’m starving.”

“Nah. They’re still in the parking lot, I imagine.”

“Well, if I’m your guest, don’t you think it’s rude not to feed me?”

Argent considers this. “Yeah, that is rude. I’ll go fix you something.” He orders Grace to give Connor some water from their stockpile of survival rations. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

Connor’s not sure if he’s talking to him or to Grace, but decides it doesn’t really matter.

After Argent is gone, Grace visibly relaxes, freed from her brother’s sphere of influence. She holds out the water bottle for Connor to take, then realizes he can’t take it. Grace unscrews the cap and pours it into Connor’s mouth. He gets a good gulp, although most of it spills on his pants.

“Sorry!” says Grace, almost in a panic. Connor knows why.

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell Argent that I pissed myself. He can’t get mad at you for that.”

Grace laughs. “He’ll find a way.”

Connor looks Grace in the eye. There’s an innocence there that’s slowly breaking. “He doesn’t treat you too well, does he?”

“Who, Argie? Nah, he’s okay. He’s just mad at the world, but the world isn’t around to be mad at. Just me.”

Connor smiles at that. “You’re smarter than Argent thinks.”

“Maybe,” Grace says, although she doesn’t seem too convinced. She looks back toward the closed cellar door and then to Connor again. “I like your tattoo,” she says. “Great white?”

“Tiger shark,” Connor tells her. “Only it’s not mine. It belonged to a kid who actually tried to strangle me with this same arm. He couldn’t do it, though. Chickened out at the last second. Anyway, he got unwound, and I wound up with his arm.”