Tower by Erika Price

Author:Erika Price
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, urban fantasy, adventure, fantasy, magic, young adult, literary fiction, magical realism, new york, novella, psychic, general fiction
Publisher: Erika Price

"Calm down," she says, rocking in the seat, drinking me in with her large, dark eyes. "Some man told me he was holding a girl prisoner for like, decades, you think I just stood around with my jaw on the pavement? I left his ass there on the curb."

"And you came here."

"And I came here," Lemlem says, "Well," she reaches into the pocket of her skirt and withdraws a knife with a thick serrated blade. "I grabbed this from home and told my mother where I’d be, then I came here."

Lemlem places the knife on her knee and studies it. Her breathing is slow as she considers its surface, locates a speck of dirt, and picks it off the blade with a fingernail. I’m afraid to reach into Lemlem’s brain and find her thoughts and feelings. She is radiating truth, simple, bare truth, and she doesn’t waver. She isn’t hurried at all.

I can’t locate her intentions. Rescue? Justice? She has weighed all these words and found them overly simplistic. It’s not some over-arching moral system that brought her here. It was an urgent emotion, nothing more. That was all the reason she needed.

"Are you alright?" She asks. My face must me doing something wrong again. Or my body. I’ve taken my weight off the wall. My fists and forearms are clenched.

"Lemlem," I say. "Lemlem. Max really likes you. He told me all about you."

"Lupe," she answers. “He told me a lot about you, too. Though he never mentioned that you’re such a cute little button.”

My fingers find my shirt again and get tangled in the hem. She leans forward and asks, “What kind of weapon are you?"

I look into the carpet for answers, and finding none, think back to how both murders felt. Aaron and the woman on the television. Both were effortless, but not pleasant. At the same time, I can feel Lemlem regarding me and releasing her grasp on the knife, stuffing it back into her pocket.

"A reluctant one," I say finally.

"Too bad," she says. "Because I think…maybe your work isn’t done yet."

“I don’t want to kill any other people.” I close my eyes.

I don’t want to see Lemlem there, her fist in her pocket, her fingers on the knife, her thoughts on death. I don’t want to hear these thoughts. She doesn’t understand. She thinks this is simple, but death will not fix it. If she keeps thinking this way, she’ll end up like the woman on the television.

”I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I really don’t.”

It didn’t hurt to kill those people. It felt like nothing, at first. But it’s gotten worse over the last few hours. I don’t want to finish Jordan off. I don’t want to see the boss, or Max, or the boy with Williams Syndrome, or anyone on the television die. Ever. I want a Tylenol and a thousand real cigarettes.

“Lupe,” Lemlem says. It tears me back to reality. “What’s next for you?”

She says this like it’s the stupidest question in the world.

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