Eliot raised a whatareyoutalkingabout eyebrow.
You’ll do great, he could have sworn she said, though that didn’t make sense, at least not yet. She pushed him from the closet through the lobby and back into the sanctuary, where everyone was on their feet, hands raised, guitar guys amped up and power-chording, three sets of the reverend’s giant projected lips saying,
Come and you will be healed!
Onstage they were smashing their hands on an old man’s head, and Eliot stood mid-aisle wondering for a second before it all clicked, how anyone could’ve possibly known he’d hurt his funny bone. The people onstage returned the old man to his feet.
Healed! said Sherman. Healed and saved! And then the Lord said, “Be strong, do not fear; your God will come to save you! Then will the eyes of the blind be opened and the ears of the deaf unstopped!”
The bile began gnawing the walls of Eliot’s stomach as soon as Sherman said that word, and he started to move away, but quickly there were hands on his back and all around him, and it wasn’t like with the girl, they were much stronger. He tried to find his mother in the crowd, but up onstage, the lights were blazing, blazing like the light his father’d seen. So bright he couldn’t see anything at all.
They laid him on the floor. Reverend Sherman loomed over him yelling who knows what, his knee pinning Eliot’s shoulder, and when they turned his head to the side he tried to fight back, but there were so many of them now, people pressing on his arms and legs and chest. They poured something in his ear and it was scalding, slick, and razed through him. Eliot thought he saw the outline of his mother, or maybe it was the girl, but either way he’d busted one hand free and said:
Help! Make them stop! until the people got control of his arms again.
Beneath the white-hot glow of the spotlights, the oil searing its way down his ear canal and deep into his head, Eliot felt himself scream.
at some point, Eliot’s story is so harrowing Charlie can no longer multitask, and finds herself struck frozen in the middle of the quad. Austin takes her gently by the elbow and guides her back into the shadows, where they continue to learn the details of his betrayal. When he is finished, she wants to hug him, but he doesn’t look like he wants to be hugged. He looks like he is ready to fight.
I’m so sorry, she can’t help but say.
Austin runs his hands over his face, as if to clear away the visual of his roommate’s melting flesh. Eliot doesn’t say anything, leads them across the unlit parking lot.
They climb into Eliot’s truck, Charlie pressed between the two boys in the cab, all three of them pitched a bit forward, too close and too tense to lean back in their seats. Austin turns on the map light and Eliot flinches, but nods to show that he should leave it. Charlie gives him directions to Slash’s place, and tells them her plan.
Wait here, she says.
She runs up the steps, bangs on the plywood. No answer. If this is going to work, they need to avoid being seen. She returns to the curb and says through the window:
One other place. But leave the truck.
Eliot parks in the alley and she takes them to the Gas Can—no streetlamps, no signs of life along the way.
The Robespierres have just finished a set. Charlie can tell from how sweaty they are, and the way Slash shrugs and gives Greg back his dime bag. She holds a hand up to catch Slash’s eye. He is about to do a shot, does a double take instead.
C! he says. Didn’t know you were coming tonight.
Change of plans, she says.
Charlie takes the shot glass from his hand, downs whatever brown liquor it contains. Slash smiles.
Hey man, he says to Austin.
Austin nods.
Charlie points to Eliot: E-l-i-o-t.
S-l-a-s-h, he says back.
He and Eliot fist-bump.
You wanna party? says Greg. What are we celebrating?
But Charlie just ignores him, and the boys don’t understand what he’s said.
Look, I figured it out, she says. But we need your help.
Slash looks at her blankly.
It! she says.
What are you talking about?
The guillotine thing. The thing we’d be better off without.
when they get to the bar, Eliot wonders whether he’s made a mistake. Charlie’s plan is dangerous enough as is without dragging more people into it. Then again, they don’t have the equipment to pull it off themselves. He tracks Charlie’s sight line to a group holed up in a booth in the far corner. He can’t remember the last time he’s even been to this side of Colson. The place is filthy, and he wonders how sophomores came to hang out in a dive like this. He knows Charlie went to Jeff, but these guys don’t look like they’ve seen the inside of a classroom in a while.
Charlie introduces them. One of them knows how to fingerspell, but booze has always been better than small talk as far as Eliot’s concerned. With each shot, he feels more assured that they can pull this off.
They return to the house and Slash checks to make sure they don’t have their phones—another good sign, it means they’re careful, too—then peels back the plywood to let them in. They follow him to the basement.
Well fuck, Eliot says when they descend the stairs.
Even though he agrees with Charlie’s idea in theory, it feels different when he sees the pressure cookers splayed out on the table like that. He tries to follow a conversation between Charlie and Slash, then Slash and his crew. He can see they are debating whether to delay their plans for whatever they were originally going to blow up in order to reallocate their equipment. He is brimming with a nervous energy that makes him want to shout, or just run away from the place, but what good has that done him so far?
You o-k? says Charlie.
If she is at all worried about standing in a room full of homespun explosives, she doesn’t show it. He looks to Austin, who also seems unfazed.
Yeah, Eliot says, and on his hands it feels true. Just thinking.
We’re not hurting anyone.
You can go back if you want, says Austin. We trust you not to say anything.
Charlie gives him a nod of encouragement, traces her gaze down his neck.
No, he says after a while.
She smiles, the real one again. Austin does, too.
And you trust these guys?
Yes.
Yes.
Slash breaks from the huddle with his friends and approaches.
You didn’t take the bus, did you?
Austin looks to Charlie to translate. Eliot and Charlie shake their heads.
His car.
Where is it?
Eliot points to the back of the basement, describes the skinny alley behind their house.
Okay, lemme think.
Lem looks up from her work and hands Eliot a roll of blue electrical tape, which he takes without knowing why.
Go fix your plate numbers, she says.
What? Eliot says.
It’s the first time he’s spoken aloud in a while and he’s not even sure he’s made a sound at first.
Your license plate. You know, like make a 3 into an 8, or a D to a B or something?
She mimes ripping and then pressing small strips of tape out in front of her.
D…make B? Slash tries.
Okay, Eliot says.
Greg is upstairs, Slash says, points to the ceiling. He’ll let you back in when you’re done.
Outside, Eliot’s eyes are assaulted by the morning sun. He feels foolish doing this in broad daylight, but there is no indication that the neighborhood is any busier than it had been when they arrived. Last chance, he thinks. You can still leave. But he doesn’t know if this is true.