The Girl In Between series: Books 1-4

by Laekan Zea Kemp

  “Sam…” My voice slipped to a whisper just as Sam slipped out of the room behind the others.

  I didn’t understand. Sam knew me. Even in my memories, even in my worst nightmares she’d remembered me. She’d guided me through Anso’s maze, the two of us revisiting my childhood home and the monsters that lived there. She’d led me to the farmhouse where I finally saved my grandfather from the fire that had raged since his funeral. Hers were the first dreams I’d taken and just before she’d disappeared she’d told me what was to come and what I was supposed to do.

  “Sam.” My eyes burned, tears scraping down the back of my throat.

  The nurse sat next to me, pressing a hand against my forehead. It slid down my cheek. “You’ve had a long day. You should really try to get some sleep.”

  I gritted my teeth, mustering as much strength as I could. “Where am I?”

  The nurse looked down at the stitching on the sheets. “You’re in a safe place.”

  Before I could try for another breath and demand a different answer she stood. Then without a word she flicked off the lights and closed the door behind her.

  I stared at the ceiling, at the water stains and the shadows of—shadows.

  The shadows.

  Sebastían had twisted them into a cyclone, grey walls closing us in as the ghosts of Anso’s children had taken over our bodies. They’d been talking to each other, arguing or maybe just remembering. But they were angry. That much was certain. What had he said? Before he…touched me. What—?

  I replayed Anso’s daughter’s words: “Why did you wake me? After all this time.”

  I remembered the scrape of his cold finger against my forehead and then he’d said…“I didn’t.”

  My fingers twitched, wanting to reach up and graze the skin where he’d left his mark. What had he done?

  The door creaked open and all I could do was tremble.

  Sam’s small hands appeared first. She eased inside; pressed a finger to her lips. She closed the door, leaving the lights off, and then she crawled onto my bed.

  “I’m sorry you’re here,” she said.

  “Where is here?” Panic forced the words out. “Where am I?”

  She hesitated.

  “Sam…” My voice quavered. “What is this?”

  She finally looked at me. “The end.”

  58

  Roman

  The smoke didn’t clear until I stepped straight into it. It clung to my throat, dry and scraping down with each breath. My steps eased around the car, crunching glass. Then they sunk, the grass stained with blood.

  I didn’t know if I was dreaming or if something else had hurled me back to that time and place. But the air swirled around me like chains, whatever was holding me there not in a hurry to let me go.

  “I wish I could have seen it.” Carlisle grimaced.

  He was close enough to touch, brushing my arm and making me bristle. I couldn’t speak.

  “I should have been in the car with you,” he said.

  I backed away, confused. “What are you talking about?”

  His brow furrowed. “You don’t remember?”

  I didn’t remember much from that night…or the nights before…or the nights after. My memories were scattered in as many pieces as the glass beneath my feet, nothing whole…until Bryn.

  “We were supposed to meet up with Jimmy. Well, that’s what we’d told him. We always ditched him at the last minute once we realized we didn’t feel like sharing.” Carlisle stretched, letting out a breath. “And those were usually the nights we’d end up getting so shitfaced I could barely get out of bed the next day.”

  I thought about all of the nights that had almost killed me—the pills and the alcohol and the homemade concoctions Carlisle had crafted as some kind of demented hobby. My life had been one science experiment after another, Jimmy the control that had kept me just on the other side of comatose.

  Carlisle almost laughed. “Who knows how many near-death experiences we dodged just because we had to split our stash three ways instead of two…”

  I bristled. “You can hear my thoughts?”

  Carlisle smirked. “I’m one of them.”

  59

  Bryn

  I woke curled up in a ball, my fists beneath my chin, the blankets pulled over my head. The restraints were gone and so was the fatigue, my muscles jumping at the brush of someone’s hand. The blankets slipped, revealing my mom’s face.

  “Mom. What—?”

  She shushed me, easing my shoulders back onto the bed. “It’s okay, Bryn. You’re okay.”

  I wanted to bury myself in her embrace, to beg her to take me home. But most of all I wanted answers. I tried to force out the same question I’d asked Sam the night before. Just before the IV I was hooked up to doled out another dose of sedative and she disappeared. But my mom was keeping her distance the same way Sam had been.

  I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead, trying to recapture every detail, to be certain that it wasn’t just a dream. The end. Sam had said this was the end. What if my mom said the same? What if she didn’t?

  “Mom…” I waited for her to look at me. “Where am I?”

  “Bryn…” Her gaze fell. “You’re in a safe—”

  “No.” My voice was hard. “Where am I?”

  The ease slipped from her voice too. “You’re in a hospital.”

  “What happened to me?” I tried to sit up. “Did I have another episode?”

  She examined me, brow furrowed in confusion or maybe surprise. “Something like that…”

  “Mom, I need to know what happened. How long was I asleep?”

  She sighed, patted my knee. “Bryn…you should get some more rest.”

  “No, I need you to tell me the truth.”

  She pinched her eyes shut. “They said—” She stopped. Then she stood.

  I reached for her wrist and she snatched it against her chest.

  “Mom…” The first tear burned down my cheek. I knew she could hear them in my voice and it was the only thing that made her turn around. “Please. What did they say?”

  She lowered her voice. “We just shouldn’t be talking about this right now, Bryn. They said it’s not a good time and I agree. You need to rest. Then we can talk.”

  “I want to talk now. Please.” Tears poured down my face, pressing the collar of my gown cold and wet against my skin. “I just woke up in this strange place and no one will tell me anything. I’m scared, mom.” She reached for me. “Please, I’m so scared.” I felt her heart beating, my pulse racing twice as fast.

  She brushed my cheeks, tears in her eyes too. “There was an accident.”

  My stomach dropped. “What kind of accident?”

  She sucked in a breath. “Your grandmother.” She paused. “Dani…Felix…”

  “What happened?”

  The words barely broke from her lips. “There was a fire.” Her mouth quavered and she bit down, staring hard at my face. “You set it.”

  I didn’t move. “What?”

  Fear drove her to her feet again. She backed away.

  “Are they okay?”

  She didn’t look up as she said, “No.”

  The word wrenched the air from my lungs. I gripped the sheets, trying to get it back. “Are they…?” I couldn’t say it.

  She couldn’t either. Instead, she only nodded.

  With the bed beneath me there was nowhere to fall. My heart sunk instead. Then it shattered. I couldn’t breathe.

  And my mom just stood there, shuddering at every gasp and sound as if she were afraid I was made of those flames; that I might ignite at any moment.

  “Roman,” I forced out. “Did something happen to Roman?”

  The color drained from her face.

  “Mom…” I was terrified of the truth but I searched her eyes for answers anyway. They were stoic and I found nothing. “Where is Roman?”

  This time when I said his name, something in her snapped. She searched the bl
ankets for the call button and then she pressed it. Fifteen-seconds later two nurses were rushing inside.

  “She said it again.” My mom reached for her bag, shrugging it over her shoulder as if it weighed more than she could carry. “She said his name again.”

  The nurses crowded me as she slipped out the door. The male nurse pinned me down while the female nurse slipped the leather restraints back over my legs.

  I kicked. “Let go of me!”

  I tried to remember what it had felt like to lift all of those crates on the ship where Malin was being held or what it had felt like to slow Ian’s captors long enough for us to escape. I tried to channel the power, staining for whatever strength I had left.

  Please. Please.

  Nothing. My mind was too tired. My body was silent. They tightened the straps until my arms and legs were throbbing. Then they left me there until everything went numb and I finally had no choice but to close my eyes.

  60

  Roman

  I waited for Carlisle to attack, to touch or taunt me. Instead, he moved to get a better look at the wreckage, examining it with a mix of worry and wonder.

  “Are you a ghost?” My voice escaped before I could shove it back down.

  Carlisle smiled and I knew he could hear the fear in it. “Not quite.”

  I straightened, my glare searing. “Then what are you? What do you want?”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets, kicking at a shard of glass. “This isn’t about what I want.”

  My palms started to sweat. “Then what is it about? I don’t know where the hell I am or why you’re here. I need to get back to—”

  “Bryn?” He raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be in such a hurry to get back to her right now.”

  “And why not?”

  Carlisle made his way to the passenger side door and wrenched it open. “Just trust me…” He slapped the hood of the car. “Now get in.”

  I stepped back. “What?”

  Carlisle braced himself against the car. “I said get in. Look, we don’t have a lot of time.”

  The driver’s side door fell open. I stared at the empty seat, at the bloodstains and broken glass. Then I slid inside. Carlisle put the car in reverse, my foot barely leaning on the gas as we pulled back out onto the road.

  I still didn’t know why I was there but for some reason nothing was stronger than the need to be in motion. “Where are we going?” I asked him.

  He looked straight ahead. “Home.”

  61

  Bryn

  My mom didn’t come again for four days. Sam didn’t either. They kept me in my restraints except when it was time to eat. Breakfast was a slice of toast with jelly and an apple, which I ate while one of the nurses watched. Lunch was chicken noodle soup with a small carton of milk, which I also ate while one of the nurses watched. On the second day I threw my carton of milk against the wall and it exploded in a white chunky mess. The third day I didn’t get lunch.

  The dinner in front of me was the same as it had been every night: Salisbury steak with a dinner roll and green Jell-O. Tracey, one of my many revolving nurses, pretended to scribble on my chart while she waited for me to take a bite. I’d been eating the minimal amount since I arrived, something about the food making me almost as groggy as the sedative that was stitched into my wrist.

  I’d ripped the IV out four times when I’d had a free hand during meals. But each time they’d knock me out with something stronger and I would wake up with even more time lost. And not just hours in this hospital but memories. For some reason I could sense that there were holes, each one widening every time I slept. So I wouldn’t.

  I pushed my tray forward, my signal that I was finished. I’d taken approximately three bites, one of each item.

  Tracey sighed. “Bryn, you know you have to eat more than that.”

  “Why?” The Salisbury steak sauce dripped like jelly from my fork. “Because it’s so delicious?”

  “It’s not so bad.”

  “And how would you know?” I asked.

  She hugged the chart to her chest. “Us nurses eat it all the time.”

  I shoved the fork topped with Salisbury steak in her direction. She jumped, her elbow knocking the fork onto the floor. She stared at the trail of sauce on her skin as if it might start eating through her flesh.

  I raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I thought.”

  She took the tray without a word, two male nurses immediately venturing inside to place me back into my restraints. I didn’t struggle this time, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t want a stronger dose of sedative. I looked up at the male nurse with glasses. I couldn’t remember his name but he never slammed me onto the mattress like the others.

  “Do you think I could have something to write with?”

  “For what?” the more aggressive nurse cut in.

  “I want to write a letter to my mom.”

  The nurse with glasses wrinkled his chin. “Sure, why not. I’ll see what I can do.”

  There was no clock or calendar or even a good angle of the sun through my barred window. I didn’t know how late it was or how close to morning. It didn’t matter. Even though my mind was racing, the sedative would pull me under soon and the day would start all over again. Only this time I wouldn’t be empty handed.

  I’d have a piece of paper and something to write with. And once I filled those pages with everything that was racing through my head, once I could read them back and put the pieces together, filling in the holes and mending my memories, I’d finally be able to make sense of where everything went wrong. And then I could make it right.

  I heard the click of the door and I tensed, afraid of who was wandering outside the bounds of the hospital routines I’d been slave to for days. Then I saw a flash of blonde.

  “Sam!” I tried to sit up, the restraints sending me back down.

  She shushed me. “We have to be quiet.”

  I nodded, relieved that she’d come back. That she hadn’t been some kind of dream. But seeing her also reminded me of how much time had passed, how long I’d been trapped.

  “Sam, I need to get out of here. Something’s wrong with this place and my memories…”

  She placed a small hand on my chest, my heart drumming against her palm. “Bryn, it’s not safe.”

  “I know. That’s why we have to get out of here.” I stared down at my restraints. “You can help me. You can untie these for me.”

  Sam’s cheeks flushed. “I can’t.”

  I deflated. “Why not?”

  “It’s not safe for me to be here. I’m not supposed to be here.”

  I eased off the bed as much as I could, trying to examine her face. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s like before…in your dreams.”

  “You mean after we escaped Anso’s prison and I was reliving all of those memories?”

  She nodded. “They were yours. Not mine.”

  “Is this a memory too? This place?”

  Something heavy slammed against the far wall of my room. It thudded, scraping down, down. Someone moaned. When I looked up the door was falling closed, Sam’s hospital gown drifting behind her.

  I stared at the ceiling again, feeling the restraints against my wrists and ankles. I imagined them burning to ash, shriveling and falling apart. I imagined myself floating, running. On fire. I imagined the moon and my mom and Roman.

  Where are you?

  I had never waited for Roman to save me before. I had never needed him to. But what if he was the only thing strong enough? My memory of him was the only thing strong enough to fight off the sedative. I clung to his face and the sound of his voice. I stared at the restraints and the walls and the window, nothing shifting on command, nothing letting me go, and I waited for him to come for me.

  62

  Dani

  Blood trickled from his lips. He was barely conscious. Maybe I didn’t need him to be. While Adham and Felix searched the night for Roman, the ot
her Rogues scooping up the splintered plywood and trying to piece the wall back together, I knelt in front of Oswald.

  He choked, whatever warning he was desperate to get out stopping short. I didn’t need his permission for what I was about to do. I didn’t need his voice. All I needed were his memories.

  “What are you doing?” Cole whispered, kneeling too.

  “Getting the information we need.”

  “How?”

  I snatched the small pocket knife hanging on Cole’s hip and then I sliced my palm, pressing the wound to one of Oswald’s. Cole latched onto me, afraid of letting me drift too far. I was afraid of drifting too but not as afraid as I was of the world ending, taking everyone I loved down with it.

  A life of solitude had made Oswald’s mind weak. I could sense him trying to push me back out, to shift the memories like packing boxes in a storage facility as he tried to hide the valuables. But Roman’s arrival at his secret hideout had reignited Oswald’s obsession with El Dorado and his memories of its folklore were all right there on the surface.

  I sifted through each day, turning page after page right along with Oswald. He had notebooks full of questions and theories and anecdotes. Musings, hate-filled ranting, and detailed plans of revenge. He’d sketched pictures of Roman, some in color, some in black and white. Some were of him beaming, flames wrapped around him like armor. Others were of him fallen. Beaten and bloody and dying.

  Oswald had been fantasizing about it for weeks. Dreaming of it, something planting the desire in him like a drug.

  The cold scraped my thoughts. A whisper I recognized. I could feel Cole tightening his grip on me and then I realized I was shaking.

  Dani?

  His voice was far away, trying to lure me back. But I wasn’t finished. Oswald’s memories sketched themselves in a manic mess, his thoughts still trying to hide something. I saw prongs and metal. Locks clicking open and closed. Chains. Trees.