CHAPTER 14
I am surrounded by the blackest black, my limbs move as if I am drowning in a pool of syrup. I cannot speak—or scream. My chest aches, I can barely breathe, and I don’t know why.
All I know is that I have to find him. Who, I don’t even know, until I see the speck of white against the black backdrop. I don’t know if it takes me seconds, minutes, or hours to reach him in the sticky invisible pool.
His back is to me. He is tall, lean, and dressed all in white. His jet black hair curls at his neck, under his ears. The slopes of his shoulders are oddly familiar, though I’m positive I have never seen him before. I cannot see his face or hear his voice, but I know he is looking for me, calling for me.
I’m here, turn around, I try to say, but my mouth doesn’t work. Still, the boy starts to turn as if he hears me. I wait to see his face, for him to see me—and the anticipation is unbearable.
As if out of nowhere, a tiny spot of red appears in the middle of his back, and grows outward in a circle, until it covers his shirt. Blood; it drips into the black abyss, disappears.
My mouth opens and, though I cannot hear it, I know I am screaming.
Nathan’s voice boomed in my head, and pulled me from the dream as he begged me to wake up. The boy in white faded as I went to Nathan. I bolted up in bed, and my scream cut off abruptly when my eyes fell on him. His hands were taut on my shoulders, eyes wide with concern as he stared at me. Several long seconds ticked by before he lowered his arms from my shoulders.
“You okay?” he finally asked.
I nodded numbly. “I think so.”
What in the hell did I just see? Who was that boy?
Nathan brushed a strand of sweat-drenched hair off my forehead and tucked it behind my ear before returning to press his palm against my head. His mouth twisted into a grimace. “You’re burning up.”
Now that he mentioned it, I realized I felt kind of lousy. My body ached, my head hurt, my stomach churned, my clothes were soaked from sweat, apparently I had a fever, and I was certain I would throw up any moment.
“I’m never drinking again,” I muttered.
“You only had two beers.” Nathan held onto my wrist with a finger over my artery. Once he finished checking my pulse, he felt my forehead again. His frown deepened. “I don’t have anything for a fever.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll sleep it off.”
So long as I don’t have any more nightmares.
I started to lay down, but the movement made the room spin. I jumped from the bed and ran for the bathroom as the contents of my stomach rose into my throat. As I fell to my knees in front of the toilet, I kicked the door shut with my foot.
Not that the door helped anyway. It was a violent kind of sickness I succumbed to, the kind that emptied my stomach and battered me with dry heaves when I had nothing left to throw up. By the time the merciless waves subsided, I could barely stand on my wobbly legs. I managed to pull myself to the sink and washed my mouth out. That nearly made me throw up again, but I managed to rinse enough to get rid of the foul taste in my mouth. With the way my legs were trembling with every step, the walk back to the bed was agonizing, if not embarrassing.
I must have been dying because I had never felt this horrible, ever.
Nathan sat on the edge of the bed as I crawled in and pulled the covers up to my chin. He claimed I had a fever, but I was freezing.
“You okay?” he asked softly from behind me.
What kind of question was that? Wasn’t the answer obvious? I peeked over my shoulder, wishing I had the energy for the snarky retort that question deserved. The movement nearly made me run for the bathroom again, but I held it together. More than anything, I was tired.
“I just want to go to sleep,” I groaned.
The bed lurched as Nathan stood and I mentally cursed him for the rolling in my stomach. I heard him in the kitchen as he rummaged through the cabinets and mumbled to himself. He returned to my side, looking defeated—and pissed off for being defeated—and bent down to my eye level.
“I’ll run into town for some medicine in the morning,” he said. “Is there anything I can do now?”
I hoped I wouldn’t need it by then. “No, I’m okay.” I shivered and tugged the sheets higher.
Nathan left and, a moment later, I heard him toss another log on the fire. I smiled into my pillow as I felt the room heat up around me. A warm fog surrounded me and I drifted into a dream-free sleep.
It could have been a few minutes or a few hours—hell, it might have been days—before Nathan woke me to force some pills into my mouth. He made me swallow them with a sip of water, then let me slump back into bed. I fell asleep instantly.
When I woke again, it was light outside. I rolled over, tried to peel free of the sheets that clung to my damp skin, and was hit by a wave of nausea. I ran to the bathroom and crumbled to the floor in another fit of dry heaves. Nathan intercepted me on my way back to the bed, and handed me more pills. I looked up at him in confusion.
“It’s been five hours since your last dose,” he told me.
I took the pills without protest and stumbled back to bed. After that, I lost track of time. The day turned to night and still I slept, waking only when Nathan made me take more pills, and left the bed only to dash to the bathroom.
Whatever he gave me kept my fever down some, though I suspected it was still high. The bed sheets were soaked from my sweat, and I alternated between flashing and freezing. Nathan went from concerned to stoic as he managed the regimen of pills and kept me as comfortable as he could as I went through my cycles of sleeping, sweating, shivering, and dry heaving.
It seemed to last an eternity. It had to have been several days at least. At one point, I mumbled something about going to the doctor. I wasn’t sure how long a person could survive without food or water, but I was sure I was approaching that limit. Nathan had said something about it being almost over, and I wondered how he knew that, but again, I lacked the energy to pursue the conversation and fell asleep without asking.
I trusted he wouldn’t let anything happen to me.
I dreamt little considering how much I slept. The dreams I did have all included the boy in white. They were dull and varied little. Sometimes his shirt turned red from blood, sometimes it didn’t. I never saw his face. Despite my frustration with that, I came to look forward to the dreams. I didn’t feel sick in that odd, dark dream world. There was something about them—about the boy—that eased me...until the blood showed up.
Twice, I was startled awake by its appearance. Both times, Nathan was at my side in seconds. Regardless of our strained relationship, I was glad to have him there with me.
I lost track of how many phases of light and dark had passed before I woke without Nathan looming over me with another dose of pills, and didn’t immediately fall back asleep, or run to the bathroom. I lay still and waited for the nausea to hit me. It never did. I had woken on my own this time. Nathan was nowhere to be seen. It was light outside, and bright. Maybe midafternoon.
I threw back the covers and slowly put my feet on the floor. When the room didn’t spin, I stood, and was happy to find that my legs were no longer weak and rubbery. I bounced on my toes with a little smile. It was over.
My clothes were vile from all the sweat, and I was glad Nathan wasn’t around to smell me. I gathered a fresh change of clothes and ran to the bathroom to shower. The hot cascading water and a thorough scrub was exactly what I needed, and I felt like a new girl when I stepped out twenty minutes later. I even brushed my teeth without gagging.
I felt great and, amazingly, didn’t look as horrible as I had expected. My skin looked normal, not ashen like it had the few times I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes were gone. My lips were no longer cracked and pale. It was like I had never been sick. The only reminder was my growling stomach and parched throat.
I ventured into the kitchen for something to eat. Seeing that Nathan
had picked up the makings for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I made myself one. I refrained from chugging down a glass of water, and drank it slowly as I nibbled on the sandwich, testing my stomach. When the first few baby bites didn’t come back up, I tore into the rest like a ravenous animal.
“Feeling better?”
My mouth was stuffed to capacity when I spun around to find Nathan carrying a stack of fire wood in from the back porch. He dropped the logs next to the fire with a loud clatter.
I chewed quickly and swallowed the enormous mouthful. “I think so.”
His eyes were fixed on mine as he angled across the room toward me. He was more intimidating than usual, and I took another bite of my sandwich as he approached, needing the distraction. I glanced around at everything in the room except him, unable to meet the intensity of his gaze.
“Look at me.” He stopped in front of me and put a finger under my chin to tilt my head back.
I swallowed the bite I had in my mouth and desperately wanted to take another one, but I did as he said, and looked up at him. He gazed down at me, and never in my life had I ever felt so small and vulnerable. My eyes drifted from his, seeking release.
“Kris, look me in the eye,” he barked, pulling my reluctant eyes back to his.
What was he so worked up about? He was as unreadable as always, but I thought I detected a trace of concern. Did he not think I was okay? I was about to tell him I felt fine when he dropped his hand from my chin and turned away abruptly.
“I can’t believe I missed it,” he mumbled to himself.
I watched him warily. “Missed what?”
His expression was bleak when he turned to me. “You’ve started to develop.”
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