"That's what he's trying to figure out. He wants to unite with Wisty -"
"Ew," my sister interjects. "Ew, ew, ew, ew!"
"Silence!" screams ERSA suddenly, and she's sounding quite a bit more human-and stressed-out-than I've ever heard her. "If there is any more nonessential speech, you will spend the remainder of your time gagged and shackled!"
Chapter 67
Wisty
BYRON IMMEDIATELY RELEASES his sweaty hand from mine. Or maybe it's my hand that's sweaty. After all, death is really close now. Really close.
"ERSA," Byron calls out, proceeding from our dark dining corner to a slightly less dim area of the basement, "the condemned have requested use of a proper bathroom. One last time… before the execution. I've refused the request, but they've been insistent. What should I do?"
I've heard about last meals, but last potty breaks?
"They may not leave the basement," says ERSA, but then I swear I hear her sigh. Can a machine sigh? "There is a toilet behind door B12. I will release it for five minutes."
"Yes, ERSA. I'll accompany the prisoners to make certain they're…"
Byron trails off as a door in the wall clicks open. "Compliant."
Next, Byron sweeps us into a room about the size of an old-fashioned telephone booth. "Quick. We need to hold hands," he says.
"But I haven't gone yet," I protest. I actually do need to use the toilet. As you might imagine, I'd been avoiding crouching in a corner. With no toilet paper.
"You don't have time to go. We need to use your magic ASAP."
"And why would it be working now?" Whit asks. "We've been trying to use magic since we got here."
"You saw what happened with the food. I haven't figured it all out yet, but there's something about the power that was transferred through Wisty to me, I think." Great. I turn the guy into a weasel, and he gets the ego of a lion. "Maybe it's like evolution. Each generation develops new characteristics to cope with new forces in nature -"
"Generation? Cripes, Byron, it's not like we had a baby together -"
"Just be quiet and hold me, Wisty. This is serious."
Talk about evolution… is this really Byron Swain coming to the rescue-again? He's changed. He clutches my hand, and his feels warm and confident.
Byron turns to my brother. "Whit, do you believe me?"
"I hate to say it, but what choice do I have? Sure, Byron. Do what you can."
"You two have nothing to lose. And neither do I-I'm dead regardless. Quickly now, look for a spell. Something about… water."
Whit opens his journal and flips through a few pages. He finds an entry he likes. Although you hide in the ebb and flow Of the pale tide when the moon has set
And here's the weirdest thing: the air is kind of hurting my lungs a little; it's too dry or something – The people of coming days will know About the casting out of my net
Whit's face-I don't know how to describe it-it's gotten pointy, and his lips seem oversize and – And how you have leaped times out of mind Over the little silver cords
Byron grabs the journal out of Whit's hands, and I gasp. My brother's skin has gone silvery, and something bizarre is going on with his neck. It's as if he has… scales?
Byron finishes the spelclass="underline" And think that you were hard and unkind, And blame you with many bitter words.
We're turning into fish! What good will that do, ending up as fish on the bathroom floor?
Have I trusted Byron one too many times?
And why is he so huge all of a sudden?
Then there's this unusual popping sound, and… the two of us are resting in Byron's outstretched hands, looking up at his giant face.
We've apparently turned ourselves into guppies. And now we're 100 percent relying on Byron to go find us a fish tank?
"Wisty," Byron's voice seems to boom inside my head. "I meant what I wrote. I love you. I know you think it's the worst thing you've ever heard. But I can't help it. You're everything I always wished I could be. Funny, relaxed, strong. Smart, rebellious, and you don't care what others think-unless it's your family. You know what's important. You're perfect."
I'd love to say Thanks, B., but I'm seriously drying out here. My skin, my mouth, my gills… they're all stinging like mad.
"You and Whit are on your own now," he continues. "I know I won't make it out of here alive. Not when The One finds out what I've done."
Suddenly we're moving away from his face and toward a white porcelain bowl.
"Good-bye, Allgoods," Byron says. "What I do now, I do for love!"
Chapter 68
Whit
Plop!
Plop!
Terrific. We've just been dumped headfirst into a toilet-and a gross one, too.
And before Wisty and I even have a sec to take a lap around our "wading pool," up through the refracting surface of the water I see Byron reaching for the toilet handle.
God, no! That traitor isn't going to -
But he is. And when you think about it, considering the downward spiral we've been on lately, getting flushed down the toilet really may just be the ultimate poetic justice. I still can't figure out if the creep is saving our lives or just getting a kick out of flushing down the pipes his former nemesis and the girl who'd so often rejected him.
But when the full force hits, none of it matters anyway. After the shock of the initial crash of water, which comes close to knocking me senseless against the sides of the pipes, it's one dark and scary shot straight out of the school building. The water power is so strong I can't even twist my head far enough to see if Wisty's behind me. It's killing me not to know if she made it.
I'd been a champion swimmer in school, so the sensation of being a fish isn't as odd for me as I might have thought. But this is like trying to do laps in an ocean during a hurricane, so no, I've never trained for it. And I'm worried about how Wisty's handling it… until I remember that she's done time as a rodent in a gutter.
Wisty, hang in there, I'm thinking. Just remember to breathe.
The pipes are getting wider and wider, which doesn't offer much relief since there's these waterfall noises that keep getting louder-and the too-gross-for-words stuff coming down the pipe with us is getting thicker and thicker. Just the thought of it makes me nearly suffocate.
Just remember to breathe, Whit, I say to myself. Which is actually pretty good advice, because when I do, I realize that my sense of smell isn't on a human scale.
So I breathe even more deeply, and I catch sight of Wisty. At least, I assume it's her and not some other guppy busting out of "prison" via the sewer.
We make eye contact, and I think, Follow me, hoping that the message somehow comes through in my face. I'm glad we've spent so much of our lives understanding each other without saying a thing.
We're going faster and faster-a real raging river-until suddenly we find ourselves in still water: a storm sewer. From there we make our way downstream and into a maze of lazy subterranean canals under the city.
Before long Wisty and I see something we haven't seen in a long time-light! Real, honest-to-God daylight! We stare at it, mesmerized as it grows and grows. We start to see blues and greens and yellows and -
Why is the light growing so quickly when we're not even swimming hard? And what's that almost deafening, roaring sound?
"Swim back!" I try to scream. But I can't. I'm a fish.
And it's too late anyway.
Chapter 69
Whit
You know those nightmares where you're falling and you're entirely helpless and you wake up with a start? This rush is kind of like that, but not.
It's not, because it's not ending.
There's no control. There's nobody to help. I can't even hope to see Wisty in this powerful, downward-spiraling torrent. All I know is that I'm lodged inside a roar with nothing to hold on to but my useless panic.