The Cipher

by Kathe Koja

Hands and knees and on my feet, braced as I rose, I was shaking from the inside out and I put my mouth against the door, lips mashed and moving against the wood, and I said, with the clear diction of absolute truth, “If you all don’t get your asses away from this door and out of this hallway I’m going to come out there and do things and I’m going to start with you, Malcolm,” and without thinking I reached out my hands through the door and grabbed hold of someone, I felt a headful of hair in my grip and I banged that head, boom, against the door, once again for good measure because I knew just by the feel that it was Malcolm’s, knew it before his squeal and bucking jerk to escape and I released him, grinning to myself and glad to have hurt him, heard Nakota’s happy gasp and felt, yeah, her touch on mine, felt the strong greasy heat of her greed and “I’ll break your fucking hands,” I said, and squeezed, brutally hard, kept squeezing, increasing the pressure until she finally screamed, till I felt her body, independent of her will, try to get away. And I let her go. With regret. Because no matter what it still felt good to touch her.