"I want to help you," he shouts.
He sounds hurt. No longer angry like he was when he tied me to that chair but if he is who I think he is then why would he do that? Why would Mark want to hurt me?
I crawl along the ground, careful not to disturb the brush and give away my position. Inside I fight against the part of me that wants to jump up and run to him. Throw myself into his arms and never leave. The Mark I loved would never tie me to a chair. Never hurt me. This Mark is not that man.
The ground is damp and sand sticks to my hands and legs. I watch for the slither of the water moccasin, sure that I won't survive another bite now that Samuel has gone. But the only things I see are tiny lizards, scurrying out of the way as I slink across the land. Stones dig into my hands. Roots stick out of the ground like claws that grab and scratch my legs. I can't see where I'm going and I'm not getting very far. I lie still and listen.
Mark isn't calling anymore and I don't hear footsteps behind me. Perhaps he's given up. Or maybe the snake bit him. That thought makes me feel a little happy. Serve him right for tying me to a chair. My wrists are still bloody and they sting like hell. When I reach a taller patch of scrub, I stand as much as I dare and start to run.
Now there is no time to stop and listen. The only hope I have is to reach the car. I push my way through, looking for the path Norma and I took in the dark but nothing looks the same and yet everything looks the same. For all I know I could be running in circles but as long as I'm running away from him, I don't care.
Then I see it. The metal roof glinting in the light as the sun climbs higher in the sky. Norma's car. I barrel into it, yank the driver's side door open and slip inside. But the keys, where are the keys? Not in the ignition. Not on the floor. I fumble around. They must be here somewhere. They have to be. I can't have made it all this way for nothing. And now he's coming. The tall grass parts and his arm pushes the scrub out of the way. I slam the door closed and lock it, knowing it's only going to be a matter of time before he gets me out of that car one way or another.
I'm still looking for a key. I know Norma has a spare somewhere. Fumbling in the glove box, old Twinkies and packs of gum spilling out onto the floor. Papers that flutter out like old leaves as I rummage for one stupid little key.
"Open the door Ana."
He's here at the car. I can't look at him. Don't want to see the man I fell in love with and gave every part of myself to. The man I was responsible for killing and the man who is somehow inexplicably back, standing outside the car with his hand on the window.
"Leave me alone," I scream.
"I can't."
He knocks on the glass. "Look at me."
"No," I shout back.
I'm looking on the floor for a key. Under the seat or pressed between the cushions. My hand slips down the side and suddenly I feel something. Fingers close around the cold metal and my sweaty hand loses purchase as I try desperately to pull it out.
"We need to talk. You need to listen to me."
"The only thing I need to do is get the hell away from you," I shout.
And with one final tug the key comes free. I jam it into the ignition and start the car. It grumbles a few times, smoke bellowing out the back, then chokes to life. I slam it into reverse. The wheels spin, slipping in the slick, wet sand. Oh God, please get me out of this. Please don't let the car get stuck. I ease off the gas a little and the car squeals backwards. Mark's hand slips from the window. I don't dare look at him. My eyes are firmly behind me.
But the path is deep and narrow. I'm not a good driver at the best of times. Branches snap against the car as it fishtails backwards. I'm never going to make it. Mark is running towards me in the wake of the car. He'll catch me if I don't step on it. I press the gas pedal as hard as I dare. One branch snaps off a tree and shatters the back window. Glass shards sprinkle over me like summer rain. Then the wheels catch on something. Probably a root or a fallen tree limb. The car slams to a halt and I'm thrown forward, hitting my head on the steering wheel. Pain like all the other times but I'm used to it now. The pain is my friend. I welcome it gladly and use it as a weapon. It feeds me strength when I think I can no longer go on.
The car is wedged in-between two old oak trees. I can't get the door open and now Mark has caught up with me. This time I look blearily up at him. See only concern on his sweet face. It has to be a lie.
"Are you all right?" he shouts over the sound of the engine.
I don't answer.
"Ana, please. Let me help you."
"Why do you keep saying you want to help me? You tied me to a chair. What kind of a sick fuck does that?"
"I'm sorry," he says. "I thought you'd freak out if you saw me. You thought I was dead, didn't you? I was afraid for your safety."
"Yeah, right. Because tying someone to a chair is much safer."
"It wasn't like that. I promise."
I want to believe him. Have told myself since that day at the abortion clinic that I would track him down and when I found him I would run into his arms. He'd kiss me and hold me and we'd make love for hours. This is so not how I saw our reunion going.
"How did you find me?" I ask.
"Someone sent me a note. Told me to come."
"A note? You're fucking kidding right?"
"Ana, I'm serious."
His face is beside me. I look into those brown eyes, the ones I lost myself in before. How easy it would be to do it again.
"I don't know what to think," I say. "I'm so confused."
I lean my head back on the seat and close my eyes. I'm so tired. What would a normal person do? They'd still run away, wouldn't they? They'd go get help, find their way back to civilization. They wouldn't believe the person who was dead. But I can't get the image out of my head of him sculpting me. The way I stood on that pedestal and let him create my likeness in clay. The way he ran his hands over my body and made me feel things I never thought I'd feel. Until I met Mark I was dead inside and he brought a part of me back to life but when he died, that part of me died too. It was too much to think that someone like me would be given a second chance. But maybe I was. Only something is wrong. I can smell smoke.
29.
"Ana, don't freak out but the car is on fire."
Mark's voice is strained above the sound of the engine. I look and see actual fear in his face. Smoke is starting to fill the car, the smell so familiar and sickening. Immediately I panic. I barely escaped being burned alive last time. What are the odds of escaping two fires in one lifetime?
"Oh my God, get me out of here," I scream.
"Okay, listen. You have to turn the engine off."
I hear Mark's words but they don't make sense. Even though there is barely any smoke in the car yet, I can't breathe.
"You don't have time to lose it," he shouts. "Turn the key."
The key. Yes. I try and turn it but it's stuck. I twist it harder but nothing happens.
"It won't turn off," I scream.
"Alright. Never mind. Try and open the door."
I shove the handle but it won't budge. Slam my weight against it. Nothing. So I scramble to the passenger side and try the other door. It's stuck as well, the car jammed between two trees as snug as it could be. I'm not getting out of this car.
"Crawl through to the back seat and I'll pull you out the window."
Mark is right. I could squeeze through and out the window, trust him to help me. The man who tied me to a chair and left me alone in the dark. Am I really any better out there than I am in here?
Mark puts his face against the glass. I look into his eyes and try to see what's inside. Will he hurt me if I trust him?
"Ana, you have to let me help you," he says. "There is no time."
But I can't move. I see myself, the girl trapped in the car, and wonder if maybe she should just stay there. Lately the world seems like it's been trying to kill me. Maybe I should just let it. Is it really worth the fight?
"Ana," he shouts, desperate now.
Mark thumps his fists on the window. He must know that I can't move, can't think or breathe. He runs into the brush and comes back with a large piece of wood.
"Cover your eyes," he says.
I do, not wanting to see. But I hear the sharp thud as wood connects with the windscreen over and over again. It makes a horrible crunching sound. When I open my eyes the car is full of smoke but the glass has shattered, still held together by a spider web of lines. The flames lick higher in the mirror. Then I see something else. Movement. That thing I didn't want to see in the mirror back in Samuel's room. The thing I'm more afraid of than burning alive.
"Get me out of here," I cry.
"I'm trying," Mark shouts.
He shoves the wood through the shattered glass to make a hole and pulls it out of the car. Tosses it aside and reaches his arms in to grab me. Outstretched hands that want me to take a chance that he isn't just as crazy as I am.
I grab them, those hands that brought me so much pleasure and pain now my only way out. He starts to pull as the fire cracks and spits.
"Hurry," I choke.
But my leg is stuck. I'm half out over the steering wheel but it's caught on something. I can't get it free.
"Oh my God, I'm stuck," I yell.
I struggle and pull as the fire gets closer, eating the car like a hungry orange beast. I know the explosion will come soon and if I can't get out, we'll both die.
"Just leave me," I say.
He reaches out and touches my face, lifting it up to his.
"Ana, I'll never leave you."
“You have to.”
That’s when the first explosion hits.
30.
The sound is louder than anything I've ever heard before. The thrust pushing me forward and into Mark's arms. I scream as the heat and flames try to get me but my leg is free and Mark has hold of me now. I'm pretty sure he won't let go.
He pulls me out over the hood of the car, scooping me into his arms and running. I look back over his shoulder as the second blast engulfs the car in a giant orange fireball. If Mark hadn't pulled me out, I'd be dead by now. I can't look anymore. Bury my head in his shirt. It must be a dream. A horrible nightmare I'm trapped in. This can't be happening. It's not real.
Mark slows to a walk and then sets me gently on my feet. We look back at the burning car, black smoke now billowing up into the blue sky. It's a while before I realize he's holding my hand. I let go and step back.
"How is this happening?"
"I don't know," he says.
"Well how did you get here? How did you find me?"
"I told you," he says. "Someone sent me a note."
I look at him, not really believing anything he's saying. He reaches out to hold my hand again but I step back.
"I don't know what's going on here," I say. "But I'm not stupid. You'd better start explaining things right now."
He just stands there staring at me with that look on his face. The one he used to get before he kissed me. And the sick thing is that I feel it too. I want to kiss him more than anything, drink in his lips and rip off his shirt. I want him to make love to me and I know how wrong it is to want that.
"Why don't we go back inside," he says.
"Fine," I snap. "After you."
"Alright. But I did just save your life you know so I'm not sure why you are so pissed at me."
"Hello," I shout. "You tied me to a fucking chair."
"I told you I was sorry," he says.
I follow behind him as we step between trees and bushes. The tall grass tickles my legs. I think about the snake that bit me and open my mouth to warn Mark, then shut it again. The jerk doesn't deserve my warning. Let him get bitten by a poisonous snake. See if I care.
31.
We sit in the kitchen on opposite sides of the table. I don't trust him. I don't even know who he is anymore. I look into his face and see the Mark I knew and loved but something is different. I just can't put my finger on it.
"Are you a ghost?" I finally say.
"If I was a ghost do you think I could have made you this tea?" he points to the cups on the table. "Or pulled you from that burning car?"
I think of everything Julia did and know that his answer is worthless. Of course he could be a ghost. Or I could be completely crazy. The irony isn't lost on me. I just don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do.
"I can't stay here," I say. "I have to get back. Find Norma and Noah."
Oh God, Noah. The reason I came out here in the first place. I have to get back out there and look for him. What if something horrible has happened to him? At least stuck out here in the wilderness, perhaps baby Julia hasn't been able to reach him.
"Of course you do," he says.
He tries to put his hand on top of mine but I pull it away.
"I don't want you to touch me," I say.
"Why not?"
He stands and comes around the table, stopping behind me. Then he puts his hands on my shoulders. Rubs them gently, his fingers working out the kinks and knots. I don't want him to. I want him to stop but I can't find the words. The way his fingers work my flesh, I want him to touch all of me. And I don’t.
"Isn't this what you want?" he asks softly.
"Yes," I whisper.
"Then why are you fighting it?"
"Because you're not real," I say.
"If I'm not real, what is? Are you? Is this place?"
"I don't know."
I'm so confused. I need Norma and her common sense and logic. She's the one who's kept me sane since I've been off my meds. The one who knows when I'm losing my grip on reality. Always ready to deliver a swift slap to the head to snap me out of it. Without her I'm lost. Floating around in a world I'm not sure is real. What happened to her?
"Norma," I mumble.
"Forget about Norma. You don't need her anymore. You have me now."
His hand rubs the back of my neck, lifting my hair. It sends shivers down my spine as his fingers graze my skin. Then his lips gently kiss the place where his fingers were only moments ago. I let out a soft moan feeling. It feels so familiar.
His arm reaches around and cups my breast. I lean back into him and let him touch me. Let him kiss me. Turning my face around so that suddenly our lips connect in a spark of urgency. He kisses me like he's been waiting for this moment forever. Needful. Hungry. And I kiss him back because I've mourned for him for so long that I can't help myself. But it’s not right.
"Wait," I say, pulling away.
"What's wrong?"
"What's wrong? Everything is wrong."
I get up and walk away from him, trying to give myself room to breathe. The old me would already have her clothes off by now but somehow, without even realizing it, I've changed.
"Nothing is wrong," he says. "Everything is just as it's supposed to be."
He steps closer but I hold up my hand. "Stay where you are."
"Why?"
There is hurt on his face but I ignore it. After all there was plenty of hurt on my face when he tied me to a chair and I still don't believe his explanation. How can I forgive him so easily? But then how can he forgive me for everything Julia did to him.
"I need some space. Just let me think."
"Okay," he says.
"Just leave me alone for a while. Alright?"
He nods and doesn't follow as I run from the kitchen. I need to put some distance between me and those hands. Those lips. I run through the dining
room, birds rising up into the rafters. Past the hallway and the rooms beyond, the one where Mark kept me tied up all night. I pause, wondering if I should go back to Samuel's room. Pull back that sheet and face the thing I'm so afraid of but I can't. Instead I keep going. I run up the stairs until I'm back in my own room. The one with the hole in the ceiling and the tiny cot I slept deliriously on. It seems so long ago that Samuel was in here giving me drugs, healing my wound. I sit on the bed, head in my hands. If Norma was here, she would know what to do.
I rummage through my stuff, looking for a cell phone. It's not here and I can't remember the last time I had it. Back in the car? If that's the case then it's long gone. But what about Norma's? What if she had it with her after all? It’s worth a shot.
I don't even know where she was sleeping but I wander from room to room anyway, looking for her stuff. She hadn't driven off in her car so she couldn't have gone far. Maybe her stuff is still here. Perhaps she's out there somewhere with Samuel, lost in the wilderness.
But all the rooms are empty. Most have tiny cots like the one I slept on but their rusted frames are propped against the walls, cobwebs hanging like tinsel. No one has been here for a very long time.
Still, even in its decay, the place is hauntingly beautiful. Colorful tiles line the walls, cracked but still hanging on. The ceilings are arched in places. Blue plaster floats down like snow from a falling sky. I run my hand along carved banisters and crown molding. Such a horrible shame that a gorgeous place like this has been abandoned. Left for nature to take it back one growing weed at a time.
One of the bathrooms has been taken over by vines. They've crept in through the window and are now growing across the ceiling. Green strands hang down like hair. Sea foam green tiles hang on what's left of the walls and grass grows on the floor. In the middle sits a claw foot tub. Standing in the middle of a ridiculous field of grass. I step onto it like a meadow, feel it soft and squishy beneath my feet. The stark green a surreal contrast against the white tub.
The Half-Truth (Drowning Book 2) Page 7
