Ash and Cinder

19| The Dome

"You're alive," I say, it comes out more like a question. It doesn't click. Even with him standing in front of me. Dieter folds his arms over his chest. He's dropped a shocking amount of weight in less than a week. He's still round, but it's much less pronounced than it should be. He has the look of a house pet that's been left to fend for itself too long.

"I am." He runs his tongue over his top lip. "Find that girl of yours?"

Instinctively I edge over to block his view of the storage room door. He watches me with almost lazy interest.

"I'll take that as a yes," he says, his s's drag. A sneer breaks the casualness of his expression, his upper lip curls back, revealing cracked white teeth. "What was the cost of your pathetic rescue mission?"

Half-shrugged out of my skin as I am, I don't understand what he means. He doesn't talk much like Dieter. There's something dark swimming in his words, something cracked. The other Dieter—the one we lost in the forest—was just scared.

"How many people died?" he clarifies his original question.

"Five," I breathe. "Not including you."

He makes a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. The sneer warps. He lifts a newstab like the ones the Whitecoats carry around and pokes at it. His eyes wander over the screen as it lights up. "Five or... twenty-eight?"

He has to be pulling that number out of thin air because even that first night on the side of the hill there weren't twenty-eight of us. Alright, so he's out of his mind.

"You attacked them." He flings the tablet at me, it bangs into the wall and the screen flickers. I glance at it just long enough to catch a giant headline on the screen.

WIND WITCH KILLS DOZENS

"What the hell?" I mutter.

"You don't remember? It was only a day ago, is your memory that bad? Is it worse than mine? Does it hurt to think?" he seethes, molten hate bubbled on the corners of his split lips. Spit flies from his mouth. He's worked himself into a rage, red face and clenched fists and all. "They were doing their jobs!"

More and more of me sloughs off as the argument continues. I can't cool it enough to drag my mind back to its proper place.

"Since when did you side with them?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Since they showed me I didn't have a choice." He tugs the collar of his shirt down to show off violent red welts encircling his neck. His lips part in a wide grimace, revealing the ruined teeth that fill his mouth. Electric shock torture, and starvation, disorientation. The Whitecoats brainwashed him.

There were a few other Experiments they tried brainwashing on, troublemakers, one or two who tried to start a gang. After, those Experiments spent their time staring at nothing with blank eyes. It was freaky, but at least they kept their mouths shut. Dieter can't seem to stop chatting.

His expression drops, unsteady eyes fixing on something behind me. Turning, I find myself face to face with another ghost. Blazing stars, he'd better not be brainwashed too.

"Trick," King rumbles. His teeth, or what I can see of them, seem normal. Then he lifts his hands to show off the narrow black bands clamped around both of his wrists. Old-school shock restraints. "How is Delilah? Skyelar?"

He doesn't ask about the others.

"Alive," I answer, and that's enough for him. He nods once and shifts his attention to Dieter.

Dieter stands with his head cocked so far to the left it's practically sideways, eyes narrowed. A string of drool drips from his grimacing lips.

"You're not supposed to be in here, Dieter," King says, borderline delicate in his tone. Dieter reacts like he pulled a gun. His expression morphs into terror, mouth gaping. He claps his palm over his ear and his eyes bug.