Captives (34 page)

“We will.”

Belbeline led Omar into a dark room clouded with vapors that smelled sweet and minty, and of something else that tickled his nose. The room was filled with small tables and chairs, couches, oversized pillows, and recliners in black and silver that were arranged on either side of a low, two-sided glass bar that stretched down the center of the room and glowed brightly with blue light—the only light in the room. The barkeep stood on a floor that was lower than the one Omar was walking on. Dozens of people sat vaping, talking, kissing.

Belbeline walked to the bar and set her vaporizer on the counter. The purple metal tube rolled a little over the glass. She spoke to the barkeep. “Give me my usual, and vape me with a five. Pink, strawberry, grass. And my man here, I’m going to buy him a PV. You have a silver bullet?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, fill it with grass … a two. Black. No flavor. And get him a —” She looked at Omar. “A black velvet to start.”

“You got it.” The barkeep held out a pad, and Bel pressed her hand against it.

“We’ll be in the corner.” Belbeline took Omar’s arm and led him to the far side of the room, where they claimed a black leather sofa and a tiny square table. “Girls where you live probably don’t dress like us or dance like us, huh?”

“Uh, no.” He laughed, trying to picture Shay in Bel’s dress.

“You and I, Omar … We’re going to have so much fun together.”

Omar ran his fingers over the scabs on his knuckles, wondering what kind of fun Belbeline had in mind. It didn’t seem fair that so many were dead because of him, yet here he was with this beautiful, friendly woman. He’d expected God to punish him for what he’d done, but his life here only seemed like a reward.

That bothered him more than he cared to admit.

The barkeep arrived with a tray. He set two glasses on the square table before them. One was a goblet-like glass filled with clear liquid; several olives rested inside. The other glass was tall and thick, filled with two stripes of dark liquid and froth on top. He also set a silver plate between the glasses. The vaporizers sat propped on little indentations in the plate, Belbeline’s purple vaporizer and a thick silver one. “You guys behave, now.”

“Oh, we will.” Belbeline reached for the glass with the clear liquid. She took a sip, then set the glass back on the tray. She pushed the other glass toward him. “Find pleasure in life.”

Omar picked up the glass, which was cold in his hand, and took a sip. His top lip sank into the froth, and the liquid below was cold, fizzy, and had a bitter, creamy taste. It also tasted smoky, a bit like unsweetened chocolate, but it seemed like some sort of beer. He started to put down the glass, but Belbeline set her hand on his arm.

“Don’t give up. Give yourself a chance to get used to the taste.”

He took another sip, liking the way the drink seemed alive and whispering.

Belbeline picked up her vaporizer and took a long breath. “Since you’re so sweet, I bought you one,” she said on an exhale, her words hoarser than normal as a pink cloud of vapor seeped from her lips. “It’s a personal vaporizer. Most people call them PVs.”

“Thanks.” Omar wasn’t certain he wanted one, but it did seem as though he was the only national without one, and the guys had wanted him to try it. He wasn’t sure what was holding him back. “But what are they for?” Omar had watched an entire show about it and still didn’t know.

“Whatever you need, or want,” Bel said. “You can vape anything. People take their meds this way. Some also like to vape stimulants.” One side of her mouth quirked up. “There are all kinds of juices from plain flavors, which is like candy, to harder stuff. You order a hit level, which is how powerful the vape will be. And if you want, you can also ask for color, which will color your fog.”

“Fog?”

“Your breath when you blow out.”

Omar stared at the silver tube. “So what’s in mine?”

“I got you grass, only a hit level two. You ever tried marijuana?”

“No.” Some people in Jack’s Peak smoked marijuana. And Omar had heard stories of Jordan’s grandpa smoking it. “It wasn’t allowed in our village.”

“Well,
everything
is allowed here. And grass will help you relax, so we can go downstairs and really dance.”

Omar swallowed, embarrassed by his hesitation. He’d much rather go back to the dance floor now. “Don’t you smoke marijuana, though? I guess I don’t understand how a vaporizer is different.”

“Smoking is against Safe Lands law. It’s unhealthy, and it gives you bad breath. Plus it can start fires. Vaporizers don’t even have a smell, unless you get flavor.”

Was that why marijuana was bad? Papa Eli had never said why. Perhaps the Safe Lands had found a way to eliminate all the dangers. Doubts nagged him, but would it hurt to try it once?

Omar picked up the silver tube, wanting to please Bel. “How do you do it?”

Belbeline snatched the vaporizer from his fingers. “I’ll get it started for you. New PVs don’t work quite right at first.” She put her lips around the end and took a few quick breaths. The tip lit up bright blue with each draw. With almost no emotion on her face, she blew out a quick puff of black vapor, sucked longer, then blew out a long stream of vapor that felt cool as it hit Omar’s face. “That’s better.” She handed it to him, a ring of red lipstick around the end of the silver tube. “Now you try.”

He put the end into his mouth and sucked. Nothing happened.

“Push the button,” Belbeline said.

He tried again, this time pushing the small circle on one side. Hot air filled his mouth and burned the back of his throat. He opened his mouth and croaked, “It’s hot.”

“Take shorter breaths until you’re used to it. They have cold PVs too, you know. They’re kind of fun if you want chilled vape.”

Omar took a short breath, and the hot moisture filled his mouth like breathing in steam from the sauna. He held it there, not sure what to do. He swallowed and choked.

“Don’t swallow it, dim. Breathe it all the way into your lungs.”

Omar tried again. The hot air passed into his mouth, down his throat, and filled his chest with a slight burning.

“Now blow it out,” Bel said, her sapphire eyes more like black diamonds in the low light.

The stream of vapor came out in a black plume, like a curl of smoke from a dirty chimney. He smiled and tried it again.

Belbeline inhaled on her own vaporizer, and exhaled a bright pink stream into Omar’s black one. He laughed, and for a while they simply sat and blew vapor at each other.

The nerves in Omar’s body began to tingle, even behind his eyes. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest, faster, it seemed, as if he’d been running. “Did they turn up the music?” he asked Belbeline, who was fishing an olive out of her drink.

“That girl is waving at you.” Belbeline put the olive in her mouth and tucked it into her check. She nodded over Omar’s shoulder. “Do you know her?”

Omar squinted across the dark room. Mia sat at a little round table with two men and a woman. Mia smiled, spoke to one of the men, then stood and walked toward him.

Lights seemed to flash as Mia came over. Omar squinted against the brightness and leaned against the sofa, feeling like he could melt into it. His arms prickled like static was in the air.

Mia stopped before their couch, her posture straight as a lamppost. “I just wanted to say that even though the way you did this was
wrong—that people shouldn’t have had to die—I do agree with you. Life here is better than it was in Glenrock.” She glanced at Belbeline. “Who’s your friend?”

Omar turned to look at Belbeline and remembered that she’d wanted to dance.

“I’m Belbeline Combs.”

“Are you a dancer?” Mia asked.

The sound of Belbeline’s laugh warbled in pitch from high to low and back to high. Omar winced and shook his head to get rid of the sound.

“Right now I task as a masseuse at the Highland Grove Spa. I’ve also tasked as a barista. I love to dance, but just for fun.”

The olives in Belbeline’s glass reminded Omar of tiny frogs sticking out their tongues. He snorted, trying not to laugh.

“Well, you’re pretty enough to be a stage dancer,” Mia said.

“Thank you …?”

“Mia. I’m from Omar’s village. I’m here with Rand MacCormon. He’s a piano player for Maroz Zerrik and Nelessa Kade.”

“I’ve seen their show. They’re amazing. And Rand is quite the Valentine.” Belbeline ate another olive. “He and I go way back.”

“Oh.” Mia’s smile faltered. “He took me to a steakhouse. The food was so good!”

Omar fought back another desire to laugh but failed, chuckling deeply.

Mia turned her gaze to where Omar sat, which made him laugh harder for some reason. “What’s the matter with him?”

“First time trying a vaporizer.”

“Oh.”

Was that it? The vaporizer was the reason he felt silly?

“Well … enjoy your night,” Mia said. “Bye, Omar.”

Omar watched her go, giggling at how she wobbled on a pair of very high-heeled shoes.

“I think you’ve had enough.” Belbeline snatched the vaporizer from Omar’s fingers.

“Hey!”

“I’m just glad I only got you a two.” She tucked his vaporizer into her purse and took a long drink from her frog-filled glass. “Let’s go dance.” She bounced up and pulled Omar by his hand.

He stumbled after her, out of the dark room and down the stairs.

“These stairs are steep. I wonder if people ever fall down them.” He concentrated on the last two, feeling proud to have made it. “How do you walk in those shoes?”

“Carefully. But it’s worth it—I feel gorgeous in high heels.”

“You’re mad gorgeous.”

Belbeline giggled. The thumping music grew louder as they neared the dance floor. Then, as if missing a few minutes of his life, Omar and Belbeline were back in the mass of writhing bodies.

The night went by in erratic time. Some moments lingered in Omar’s mind: dancing with Belbeline and eating something called an orange. Others were a rush of images: meeting up with Belbeline’s friends, swimming in an indoor pool with his clothes on, kissing someone—not Belbeline —more dancing, drinking, and vaping. Like a child, Omar felt like he could do whatever he wanted forever and ever and ever.

Omar awoke on the floor of a strange apartment, clutching his vaporizer to his chest and shivering violently. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his clothing was damp, and his socks and shoes were gone. He pushed up to his feet and almost puked. Breathing through his nose to keep the nausea at bay, he brought the vaporizer to his mouth, then thought better of it, worried it might make him feel worse.

Where was he? Soft music played nearby. Across the room, a man danced alone in front of a mirror. A soft snore lowered Omar’s gaze to where a couple lay in each other’s arms, sleeping on the length of the sofa. The rest of the apartment looked empty.

Through an opening in a wall of fluttering curtains, a swimming
pool glowed, the lights beneath its surface making it look bright and electric. Omar walked outside, but the slightest movement made his head throb. A cool breeze gripped him, his moist clothing making the chill worse than it likely was. The pool was on the roof of the building. How did they keep it from accidentally flooding the rooms below?

The stars were dim overhead, muted by the city lights. Only two rooftops away, a vehicle passed through the sky. A second, more careful look proved that it was actually driving along the top of the wall that divided the Highlands from the Midlands. On the Midlands side, an image of two dancers hung on the side of a building, their sweaty bodies knotted together, caught in an intimate moment that looked vaguely familiar.

Why would people allow themselves to be photographed while they were doing that? They’d probably had too many stimulants and couldn’t remember what they’d done. The thought sent a shock of panic through Omar. Had he done anything like that last night? He recalled the task director’s warning. Surely he’d remember being held that way. And he hadn’t vaped anything really strong, right?

He spotted one of his shoes on the edge of the pool and picked it up. It was full of water, which he dumped out onto the deck. It took him much longer to locate his other shoe, eventually locating it on a chair with his balled-up socks. He tucked his socks into the dry shoe and looked for Bel. He couldn’t find her and figured it was time he left the apartment.

It was even colder in the hallway and elevator. The air-conditioning, he supposed, ran constantly. Omar shuddered, goose bumps appearing on his forearms. He tried to use his vaporizer, but it merely tasted like ashes. The cylinder was warm, though, and he pressed it against his cheek.

The elevator stopped in the lobby. He walked toward the exit, and a doorman opened the door for him. “Good evening, sir.”

“Can you call me a taxi?” Omar asked, trembling.

“Of course, sir.”

“Thanks.” Omar started toward a bench, then turned back and
asked the doorman, “Is there somewhere to get this checked?” He held up his vaporizer.

“The bar is through that doorway, sir.”

Omar wove his way into the bar and collapsed onto one of the stools.

A somewhat kind-looking man walked over and leaned his elbows on the counter. “How can I help you?”