smokeSCREEN: bookTHREE

Fourteen years ago, did the crafty cardboard box hanging off the front of my little desk receive a valentine, signed with his real name?

I like to think it did.

"You're fucked up," Sophie laughs.

"Shut up," I sneer.

"Smitten!"

"Fuck you."

"We have a smitten kitten, here – OW!" She crashes to the ground on the far side of the bench.

"Shut the fuck up, SK8TER!" I bark, rising to my feet.

The music beats on, but the writhing mass of a crowd is frozen, all staring. Through that still backdrop, Cypress quickly emerges and steps forward. He helps Sophie up, whispers something to her and shoos her back to the crowd. The crowd seems satisfied all is well, and they go back to fraternizing, while Cypress whips those big blues up to meet mine.

"What's up?" he says.

"Sophie's being a skeeze."

"She was just joking around," he tells me. I narrow my eyes at him and raise an eyebrow.

"How would you know? You were all the way over there."

"I can read lips," he says.

"Oh, what – you were watching the whole time?"

"Yes." He finds two cigarettes and lights them.

"Why?" I take a drag, and he shrugs, reaching out to graze my cheek with a finger.

"'Cause I watch you, Crow."

My heart stops. He flashes his grin.

"C'mon – we'll talk about this later. I want you to meet Josh."

"Who's Josh?" But I can hardly struggle against him – after all, his hand is loosely holding mine – and he leads me towards the crowd. He wolf-trots through it and we emerge somewhere in the center. He claps a tall, gaunt boy on the shoulders and spins him around.

"Josh," Cypress says. "Meet Crow. Crow, meet Josh. Josh is the lad who shot Cat through the shoulder."

Josh smiles a gentle, non-assuming smile.

"And that old one," he says. I extend a hand.

"Anyone who can shoot Cat deserves a handshake," I say. He freezes – eyes darting up to Cypress. Cypress just shrugs.

"It's cool, man, I promise you. But up to you."

Josh nods, hesitates again, then quickly grips my hand, smiling softly.

"The old one too," I say. "Did that old one have like, sores on his face?" Cypress nods.

"Yeah – why?"

"Well, old ones from around here don't. And if the ones from the States have those sores…"

"He was just a scout," Cypress says. "No, if he was a scout, he would have reported back as soon as he'd seen us. Why would he go all the way to the roof? He wasn't a scout, he was…"

"A scout for who?" Josh says. Cypress pushes a smoke at him and drags me away.

"Find Lisa – I'll find Michelle – meet up at the Floor."

"Alright."

* * *

* * *

i wish i woulda' met you / now it's a little late / what you could have taught me / i coulda' saved some face // they think that your early ending was all wrong / for the most part they're right, but look how they all got strong / that's why i say // hey man nice shot / good shot man / that's why i say hey man nice shot / good shot man // a man / has gun / hey man / have fun / nice shot

* * *

* * *

Cypress throws aside some candles and slaps a map down on the table. Lisa places a gun on the edge nearest her to keep it from curling, and they both light cigarettes.

"Where's Michelle?" Cypress says.

"I'm here," she calls behind me. "Goddamn, I wish we were Floor Two sometimes… what's going on?"

"Alright – Cat's downstairs, right?" he says.

"Yes."

"Why was she out there that day?"

"When?"

"Five weeks ago – that first night night I let her go. Why was she there? Why were you guys going there?"

"We were looking for her. Phoebe told us not to, but Cat never just runs off like that, so we went."

"What explanation does she give?" Cypress asks. We all look to each other.

"She never…"

"Whenever we ask about it," I say, "she tells us she doesn't want to talk about you."

"Why the fuck was she there?" Lisa says.

"And why was the old one there?" Cypress says. "He was obviously with the ones in the South End – his face was all fucked up. So why does a Ceta from the Tower go the exact same hard-to-reach location as an old one from the group that happens to be the new power in the city? Coincidence?" he asks.

"…or conspiracy?" I finish.

"Why did Phoebe never have us make a move against the old ones?" Michelle says. "Why did she never send out more scouts to guage their capabilities?"

"Phoebe didn't want you to follow Cat – meaning she was willing, for some reason, to break Rule Three."

"Why would she do that?"

"Maybe she didn't want you knowing why Cat was out there," he says.

"Phoebe sent Cat…" I say.

"…to meet an old one..," Lisa continues.

"…for what purpose? And then why did she send us straight south to them?"

"Is anyone here stoned?"

"No."

"So we're being rational?"

"Yes."

"What does this add up to?"

"Phoebe has some secret alliance with the old ones in the South End," Cypress says. He just stares ahead. "Who here knew about this?" he says first. We all shake our heads. I realize I really don't know if I believe them. Cypress stands.

"Then let's find Cat."

* * *

I whip the petite blonde by her hair into the wall of the kitchen, as Lisa and Michelle close in on either sides. Cat struggles to stand, but slips on the greasy floor and falls.

Cypress pushes ahead of me, lifts her to her feet, and speaks, hot and harsh, inches from her face;

"Why were you on the fifteenth floor of that apartment building five weeks ago?" he says. "Don't…" The tip of his sword trails up from her stomach to her heart. "…lie," he finishes. Cat sobs and pushes a clump of hair out of her eyes.

"I was just there to confirm it – it was all Phoebe's plan, Cypress. I was just a messenger."

"A messenger for WHAT?" he barks.

"Cypress, calm down," Lisa begins, but he shouts back;

"If Phoebe struck a deal with the old ones, what did she offer them?" He looks back to Cat. "What was the trade, Cat?" Now we all look to her, and she seems to make a descision deep down inside, before breathing deep and saying;

"At first, the meeting was just to make our offers. They wanted twenty five of us in return for a truce. They wanted her to like… ship us out to them."

"So Phoebe sent the six of us down there as a peace offering," I say. "What did they want us for?"

"And seeing as they didn't get us – or anyone else in the Tower – what did they get from Phoebe – why have they been leaving us alone?" Cypress finishes.

"I don't know," Cat says through tears.

"You went down there with us, knowing these old ones were there – why not at least warn us?"

"Phoebe told me if we were captured it would be okay – that they wouldn't hurt me," she sobs. Cypress sheathes his sword and stalks away, smashing a pile of plates to the ground.

"They wouldn't hurt you…" he says.

"What about us, huh Cat?" I say. "What about your fuckin' Floor? Rule TWO!"

"If I didn't she wold have killed him!" Cat yells, pointing to Cypress. "She would have killed him right there! At least that way we had a chance!"

Michelle leans in to the tiny blond and growls;

"We – could – have – fucking – DIED."

"Did you know what they were going to do with me? Did you know?" Lisa says. "What?"

"I don't know – I don't know anything. I was just supposed to meet the old one, and then not talk about it… I was just a messenger… I was just a messenger…"

I hear Cypress light a smoke behind me.

"What do you think?" Michelle asks, looking to Lisa.

"I think… Phoebe sold out Westwood."

No more plates crash to the ground. I don't even hear him going – but I hear the doors at the end of the hall open and close.

"What about her?" I ask, motioning to Cat. Michelle grabs Cat's collar and heaves her up – pressing her against the freezer.

"You broke Rule Two, Cat," Michelle says, narrowing her eyes. "Now what are we going to do with you…?"

* * *

* * *

get up / get up / put your body in motion / get up / get up / put yout body in motion // if you're curious and you've got the notion / man, do it /// just start the commotion ///

* * *

* * *

I break out the main door of the Tower just in time to see Cypress throw Phoebe to the ground, and start dashing for the station wagon, calling for the other men.

So much can change in ten minutes.

As the engine roars and the car barrels towards the open gates, Cypress makes a quick stop for the men to jump in, before tearing off into the night.

"Snipers!" Phoebe's calling. "Take out the tires! STOP THAT FUCKING CAR!!"

Nobody's moving – they're all staring at Phoebe. I'm running for the gates. I'm not positive – but I think I'm calling after him. A few others are trying to stop me breaking free of the gates. They're clawing at me – dragging me back in.

I hear Michelle's calming voice behind me – telling me to stop – it's alright.

Nothing's alright. I thrash wildly, kicking out and dislodging my captors, bolting out into the street and turning west.

"CROW!" Michelle calls. I think it's Michelle.

But I don't look back. Soon the shadows have me. Soon I'm alone.

Under the stars.

By the time I've run a mile or so from home I realize all my weapons and tools are back at the Tower.

Huh, I think. Oh, well, and press on. Turning back doesn't occur to me.

I'll find him.

* * *

I'm crossing the park – going south of the river. I'll use what's left of the Moray Bridge to get back to the north side later on, then sneak to Westwood by sunrise.

Now I crouch and stick to the side of a tree – watching the firelight dancing through the veil of trees a hundred or so yards ahead.

So – we have a campsite. I didn't see the wagon abandoned anywhere – perhaps they hid it better than I imagined.

Creeping forward, I now hear the fire crackling – still no voices.

I sneak under a low fir tree and poke my head out into the campsite. Instead of a company of healthy young men are four old ones – three men and a woman. They sit around the fire silently, staring into it. None of them speaking.

Now a walkie-talkie comes to life with a burst of static and staccato language;

"Bobby! You guys set up?"

One of the men stands and lumbers over to the CB radio, picking one of the sores on his face as he grabs the mouthpeice.

"Fuck off – we're eating."

"Are you in the forest yet?"

"We'll get there before sunrise," Bobby says, flicking away something he discovered in a sore.

"Be set by five," the voice on the radio tells him. "And be ready to run – when it all starts burning, these winds might change."

Burning?

* * *

I dash up the Park Bridge to Portage Avenue and skid to a stop in the middle of the street. I look east – home. I glance west. The old ones are burning the forest.

It's late summer – fall is just beginning, and it hasn't rained in over a week.

The forest will go up quick.

I turn to start walking west, but I'm taken off my feet by someone and pulled off into an alley. They set me on the ground and throw me into the brick wall – a hand at my throat.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Old ones! In the forest – they're going to burn it!" Cypress stares at me long and hard.

"…shit. We never thought of that."

"What?"

"The power runs on sunlight – if they burn the forest, Westwood won't have the spotlights at night."

"They won't be able to see what's coming," I say. "What did Phoebe do?"

"I told her… some stuff about Westwood. But I never told her about the power system. Now they have everything they need…"

"Cat must have," I tell him. "Floor Thirteen knew – you told us."

He lights himself a cigarette and slumps to the ground.

"Everything's fucked. Phoebe… Phoebe still doesn't get it, y'know?"

"Well… c'mon, Cypress, it's pretty smart of her. The Tower stays safe and our only other enemy is taken out." He closes his eyes. Perhaps this was the wrong thing to say.

"Westwood isn't our only enemy, they're our only possible ally. The old ones have almost twice as many people as either of us do – once they've disposed of Westwood without Tower intervention, they'll turn on us. The only way we'd stand a chance is together – but no one fucking gets that." He stands and sucks hard on his smoke. "Get out of here – get back to the Tower."

"Where are the others?" I ask.

"They took off in the wagon back to Westwood – put the place on high alert."

"Why are you here, then?"

"To tell you to go home," he says. He's serious – but it's not all he has to tell me. His eyes are huge even in the darkness.

"Then I'll probably never see you again," I say. "That ain't cool."

"I know, he says, but that's…"

"That's the furthest fucking thing from cool! You can't just leave!"

"This is the way it-"

I kiss him. I kiss him very, very soft.

"…the way it has to be."

And the kiss turns harder. And we're gripping each other so tight.

"Just stay," I whisper to his ear. "Just stay…" He takes my face his his hands and leans back, staring at me. "Just stay." He closes his eyes and holds me again. "Just stay."

* * *

* * *

i would die for you / i would die for you / i've been dying just to feel you by my side / to know that you're mine

i will pray for you / i will pray for you / i will sell my soul for something pure and true / for someone like you

i would burn for you / feel pain for you / i will twist the knife and bleed my aching heart / and tear it apart

i will lie for you / beg and steal for you / i will crawl on hands a knees until you see / you're just like me

i would die for you // i would kill for you // to be close to you // to be part of you // cause i believe in you // i believe in you // i would die for you.

* * *

* * *

In the center of Assiniboine Park is a castle, complete with a courtyard and a bell tower. When I was a child, I remember my mother would take me on walks to the park. I thought the Queen lived in that castle.

Now Cypress leads me through the ruined first floor of that castle, and up the bell tower. Halfway up he silently opens a closet and motions me inside, before proceeding the rest of the way up the stairs.

Now a conversation ensues with someone upstairs – another man, judging by the bass. One man comes back down the stairs, and continues on. Soon Cypress opens the closet and grins.

"We always have someone posted up here – he's running home to warn them about the forest."

Up the stairs, we discover a small bedroom with black partitions around the windows – so someone can look out the window, but the light from within will not escape. From this tower, you can look out over nearly the entire Assiniboine forest.

"Great location," I tell him. "Didn't we have this…"

"Eight years ago," he nods. "We took it the summer of year five." He turns up an oil lamp in one corner and takes his gloves and boots off, finding a cigarette.

"Right, year five – when Claire almost challenged for the leadership," I say.

"Year five? Why didn't she wait until she was old enough to really kick Jackie's ass?"

"Well, it was year five – she had to make it that year."

"Why?" he stares at me blankly, not lighting the cigarette that hangs from his lips. I begin unfastening my boots.

"In the Tower, we decided on a pseudo-democracy. Jackie started off as the leader, but she said that she didn't have to lead forever. On year one, an Alpha from Floor One could challenge. On year two, an Alpha from Floor Two and so on…"

"Why hasn't Michelle or Lisa challenged Phoebe this year, then?"

"Neither of them ever learned how to play."

"How to play what?"

"Chess."

He stares at me blankly. Finally, he lights his smoke. Even in the dim light, his eyes are too blue. His shoulders fill out that heavy sweater perfectly – strong but lithe, he stands with an uneven, healthy posture as he stares.

"Chess?" he echoes. "The challenge is a chess game? I almost had to kill Claire, and the leadership challenge is a chess game?"

"We don't think the best leader is the best killer," I tell him. "The best leader can plan strategically. Make tough choices. Win without sacrificing an undue amount of pieces."

"…yeah, that makes sense," he says, preparing the bed. He stops, looking up at me. Those huge blue eyes. "Wanna' see something cool?" he asks. I shrug, but he goes over to a corner of the floor and yanks up one of the boards.

"While you were up on that roof access? I was here – half the fall, every fall, for years. Sometimes the Forks, too." He throws the board aside and reaches down, pulling up a large duffel bag.

"What is that?" He dumps the contents of the bag on the hardwood floor. Books of all varieties tumble to the floor and flow forth in a white, yellow and brown tide.

"Books," he says. "That's what I did up here all those years. I read. Annnd…." He searches the pile and picks out a particular hardcover book, flipping through it. A familiar logo is on the book, though I don't recall what it is. "I met everyone. Sort of. A lot of people look really different now. I can't find you – for example."

He hands the book over.

"It's a yearbook from our elementary school," he says, pointing to one picture. "There's me."

"Oh my God…" I cover my mouth. It sounds rediculous, but Cypress was too cute as a little boy. "Wait a minute… where's Michelle?"

"Back here."

"Where's Sophie and Cat?"

"Oh, they're… flip back a few – there."

"Wow…"

There we all are. Thirteen years ago. Little boys and little girls grinning for the birdie. Our little heads combed to perfection, complete with little bows and shiny little shoes. The boys wearing little ties. Little suit jackets.

"Sophie has green eyes," I laugh, staring hard at the picture.

"I know – you never see them under that toque." He's sitting on the bed beside me, grinning.

"Show me Lisa…"

He flips ahead a few pages. There she is. Next to Saku – they look like best friends. I flip back one page to where the Betas should be. "Where am I?" I ask.

"I don't know – how long was your hair then?"

"To my butt," I say.

He points to a little girl with long black hair, wearing a Catholic school girls' skirt and a white cotton blouse. I look down at my tattered skirt and cotton shirt.

"I guess things don't change too much," he says, standing.

"Were we in the same class?" I ask.

"Pretty much – but we're not in the same picture."

"Look at me smiling…" I say. For a moment, I feel a torrent of emotion. Things I'd forgotten how to feel. It rushes through behind my ears for a breif moment, pressing at the backs of my eyes. They fill with tears, and I slam the book shut.

"Show me you again," I say. He turns two pages and points.

A little boy with choppy spikes of hair grinning, as if he knows something we don't. A crisp white dress shirt, plain black pants. Cuff links. Blue eyes.

Holding a vibrating up of fruit punch. Standing in front of me. Shaking.

"…I remember you," I say, touching the picture. "…you were the kid who asked me to dance."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't," he laughs.

"I wanted to," I tell him.

"Really?"

"Every little girl wants a boy to ask them to dance."

"Everyone hated me at the school – they called me the Freak."

"I had the biggest crush on you," I say. He's staring at me again, perhaps trying to decide if I'm lying. "I'm serious," I tell him. "I remember you 'cause you switched over to our class halfway through 'cause you were having trouble with grade three, right? And then they switched you up to grade four…" He's just nodding. "What the fuck was that all about?"

"I had uh.. behavioral problems," he says. "They thought the grade three was too much for me, so they put me in grade two. Then their I.Q. test came back, and they thought I like, wasn't being challenged in grade three, so they moved me up to grade four the week before the field trip."