A song I knew by heart.
You can stop the pain, Roman.
You. Can. Stop. Everything.
Everything.
Everything.
Can stop.
At first the tree was just a shadow. A storm cloud waiting for lightning. It swelled up ahead, branches swaying, coaxing me closer. Reaching for me.
I reached for Bryn. For her smile as I stepped off that train in France. For her arms around me as we lay on the bank of the River Seine. For her voice next to my ear, whispering the story of us as I lay unconscious in a hospital bed in Albuquerque.
I could hear her now. Telling me to let go.
Like the knife. Like Carlisle.
Let go of the pain, Roman.
Let go of it and it will let go of you.
I tried. I tried to let go of the ache. But my memories of her came like a flood, cresting and crashing, the pain scrambling them into chaos. When the sea parted all I could see was her body and I let get of the wheel instead.
The headlights careened off the trunk of the tree. I was so close I could see how smooth the bark was.
Be with her, Roman.
Go to her.
The impact was swift. Everything crunched and cracked and shattered. My fingers bent back against the wheel as my head slammed against the seat. My neck twisted, shoulder popping out of place as my tongue split against my teeth. Blood poured from my nose and mouth as the broken windshield ripped me to shreds. I trembled against every sting, my throat so full of blood I could hardly breathe.
And I was awake for all of it.
There was no blackout. No painless escape.
I tried to move and I couldn’t. I tried to inhale and I couldn’t. I even tried to rip the shards of glass from my skin, leaving giant holes in the hope that I’d lose enough blood to pass out.
I did not pass out. I sat in my own brokenness. Trapped.
Please. Please.
The engine purred, glass crunching as the car ripped itself from the tree. It reversed, my fingertips barely scraping the wheel as it backed onto the road. It jostled and I screamed, my lungs burning too. But it just kept going, winding back over the hill and into the dark.
This isn’t you. This isn’t you.
The keys Carlisle had tossed me jangled against my knee.
You saved him. You saved your mother. This isn’t you.
The car slammed to a stop and something wrenched my foot over the gas pedal, my ankle shattered and barely able to take the weight.
But you didn’t save Bryn.
My foot pressed it all the way down, a groan escaping as I tried not to choke on my own blood. My hands flew to the steering wheel, my eyes watering as the pain shot from the tips of my fingers straight to my chest.
I shook, waiting for the pain to knock me out. To kill me. I waited for something to kill me.
I barely saw the tree before the impact. This time it was not swift. This time every broken bone, every gash, and every bruise woke up slow. Ripping. Shattering. Bleeding. Slow.
Every pain amplified another. Nothing dulled. Not the throbbing or the burning or the screams tearing from my throat. My hands wafted, afraid of resting anywhere.
Don’t move. Don’t move. Move. Move. Move. Don’t.
Before I could think past the pain, the car yanked itself from the tree again, wind howling through the cracks in the frame. Metal littered the road as it raced in reverse again. Farther and farther until all I could see were the headlights and the asphalt.
And the moon.
It was bright white, shadows so defined I swore I could see every crater. There was nothing threatening or menacing about it. It looked down on me, the only one watching; the only one seeing the smoke and shattered glass and splattered blood of my mistakes.
My memories.
It’s only a memory.
The car crested the hill. My fingertips inched around the steering wheel. I squeezed, gripping it tight. Headlights washed the leaves, the driver’s side tire barely slipping off the road, and then I wrenched the wheel to the right.
A howl clawed up my throat as I twisted the wheel, turning, turning the car back onto the road. I took a deep breath, leaning on the gas pedal until the rustle of leaves was replaced by the scream of the engine and all I could see was the moon.
71
Bryn
The cold bottom of the spoon pressed to my tongue. I tasted oatmeal, still dry and too hot. I swallowed.
Tracey led another bite to my lips. I watched the spoon until my eyes crossed. I let the oatmeal sit on my tongue, absorbing the heat. I swallowed.
She scraped the bowl, leading the spoon to my mouth for the last time. It grazed my lips and I bit down, yanking it into my mouth.
She twisted it. “Bryn, let go.”
I turned my head, trying to force the metal to the back of my tongue. I gagged, eyes watering.
“Bryn!” She slapped me, trying to pull my lips apart.
I choked, feeling the air stop.
Tracey pushed the call button.
My chest tightened. Everything tightened. I watched the window, waiting for the light to fade. It was speckled black, my heartbeat in my ears. It slowed.
I fell against the mattress and Tracey yanked out the spoon, tossing it to the floor.
“Breathe, Bryn! Breathe!”
More hands held me down, another mouth trying to devour me the way the shadows had. I waited for them to rip through the walls but they filled my lungs instead, air pushing them open. I coughed, retching up oatmeal, dry flecks sticking to my lips.
Tracey fell back, barely holding herself up by the wall as the doctor brought me back to life. He shined a light in my eyes as the other nurses placed me back in my restraints. I sobbed, tears like fire down the back of my throat. It ached, raw and cut open. And they just left me there. Cold and covered in my own vomit.
They left me there.
72
Adham
The Rogues flickered, their skin flaring at every sound and slight breeze before something cold snuffed out the heat again. Instead of watching the light, I watched the shadows in between, the darkness swelling and slipping into corners like snakes.
One of the Rogues jumped. “Something…” His lips sputtered. “Something pushed me.”
His light glinted off something wet before vanishing again. I could hear it, the scraping so faint it whistled. Almost…whispering.
“Nobody move,” I said.
I channeled my mother; I channeled all of those nights sitting up in that tree outside Cole’s bedroom. The light barely crept from my fingertips, stealing an inch at a time. It struck one of the chandeliers, chasing the darkness from the top of the grandfather clock. The wallpaper flashed gold, light tracing the crown molding as it crawled towards the ceiling. It grazed something red and then the light sprang back. But not before we saw what was dripping. The ceiling bubbled, choking up blood. And then it disappeared, nothing left but a dark red stain as the light leapt back into my skin.
“I don’t like this,” Cole said.
There was a strange echo to his voice. Somehow, he was the only thing I could sense—no other sounds, no other racing pulses vibrating in the dark. I snapped my fingers, igniting a small flame. The walls were gone and we stood in a dark prism. Just the two of us.
“Where did every—?”
“No…” Cole froze, staring into the black.
“Cole, what is it?” I scanned the emptiness. Nothing moved.
“No, no, no…” He backed into me.
“Cole!” I spun him against my chest.
His eyes widened and then he whispered, “Don’t move.”
Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. I choked on rust, feeling the sting for the first time. Cole took a step back, his shirt soaked too. His hands trembled, palm nicked on the sharp point as the beast tore it out of me.
73
Bryn
I waited. For hours. For days. The sun never sank dow
n but I could feel every nightfall. I could feel the cold, the darkness reaching for me, the slow drawl of my name. It fell on me hard like rain. That voice. I knew that voice. Or maybe it knew me.
But I didn’t.
I didn’t know me. I didn’t know where I was or what I’d done but I knew it was terrible. I could tell by the way my blood stalled in my veins and the way my chest cracked open with every breath. I’d done something terrible and something terrible had been done to me.
74
Felix
My hands wafted in the dark. “Dani?” My knuckles grazed metal. “Dani…”
I counted the bars, following them from corner to corner. I reached up, barely touching the top of the cage. The sound of metal ricocheted, something being dragged across the bars. I tried to find the center, to stay out of reach.
The darkness peeled away from itself, making shapes that weren’t so menacing. A breeze cut through the bars before ruffling the leaves of the trees. I was in the clearing.
In a cage…in the clearing.
So was Dani.
The sight of her struck me. She gripped the bars. Silent. Staring.
“Dani…?”
I gripped the bars too, shaking them, trying to wrench one free. They hummed and my hands leapt back.
Dani looked up, the breeze ushering in a low buzz. Her mouth trembled, eyes watering. And I didn’t have to look.
I pressed my forehead to the bars and stared into her eyes. “I love you.”
She fell against them too, trying to force herself through. But I knew they weren’t coming for her. She landed on her knees, a sob ripping from her throat. Because she knew it too.
75
Bryn
I scratched at the walls. It was the only way to make them stop whispering to me. I ripped line after line, shapes winding in and out like vines. They slithered out from every corner. Thorns. Thorns. So many thorns.
The pencil cracked and the nurse watching over me handed me another. I stared at the sharp point and the nurse stood, afraid of what I might do with it. I pressed it to my finger, breaking the skin. Then I traced the red onto the wall, giving the trees eyes. The eyes stretched into faces. Some smiling. Some screaming.
I could still hear them but I couldn’t tell what they were saying. The sound swelled, their voices like fire. I groaned, holding it inside me.
The nurse ripped my hands away, my scalp bloody. He pinned my arms at my sides, waiting for me to grow still. I waited too, for the screaming to stop, for the pain. He carried me back to the bed and I reached for the restraints first, yanking them over my legs, then the blankets. I cowered, watching the wall as the lines moved on their own and made new shapes. A breeze shifted the vines, making them shiver. When the blood red eyes I’d pressed between the leaves started to blink, so did I.
76
Domingo
The scraping nudged my senses—something being dragged across the floor. I lit up, the glow finally holding. Stassi was standing on a chair, flowers draped over her shoulder as she wrung the scarf she’d been wearing into a rope. She fitted it around her throat, the end disappearing into the darkness above our heads.
“Stassi, what are you—?”
She kicked the chair out from under her. I threw myself at her feet, catching her legs just before she collapsed. Her mouth quavered, a desperate smile breaking through. I slid the scarf from around her neck. It was bruised, the skin broken in places as if she’d fallen from somewhere steep.
“What is—?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Blood trickled from the wounds. I tried to burn them closed but she caught my hand. She injected the memories straight into my skin. Of the fall. Of the days and weeks and months before.
The whispers were incessant, pricking me like needle points. Every ghost demanding blood. The past was a pang she couldn’t soothe and I watched as it picked her apart. Piece by piece by piece. Time gripped her like a serrated chain. Dragging. Heavy. Her memories gripped me; just as tight. Until I felt the weight of her dreams dragging me down too. So heavy I could barely stand.
I could barely breathe. “Stassi…”
I watched from her hiding place as Michael killed Cesar. I watched as she ran, spirits grasping at her. I saw the burns and bruises they’d left behind.
And then she stopped running.
Instead, she found a place by the window. She dragged the chair into that slant of light. She looked out at the birds and the clouds and the sky. She placed a serrated chain around her neck, not trusting the fall alone to do the trick. And then she jumped.
“I didn’t know.”
Her voice yanked me back out. Before I could stop her. Before I could save her. That slant of light confined itself to my skin again, the glow beginning to flicker and weaken.
Stassi pressed her head to my chin. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Blood dripped down my shirt, Stassi’s wound splitting wide.
“I didn’t know…I didn’t know…”
“Stassi.” I lifted her chin. “What didn’t you know?”
She traced a finger across my throat, the collar of my shirt soaked and sticking to me. I felt for the gash but my flaming fingers couldn’t force the skin back together. The blood doused the heat and all I could do was watch it drain from me.
77
Bryn
I dressed the monsters in thorns; chains the only way to keep them from coming for me. I scratched out every pair of eyes until the lead was shedding in piles on the floor. I pressed my hands to the mess and smeared gray over their mouths, trying to make the whispers stop.
There’s no such thing as just a dream
There’s no such thing as just a dream
There’s no such thing as just a dream
She stared at me through the scratches, her gaze cold. Winter scaled the walls and made them crack. They were small at first, the sounds slipping through just a gasp. But then the cracks widened, something long and black slithering out.
The leaves stretched, winking and waving at me.
I blinked back.
The vines slithered around my wrists and ankles. I shivered as it coaxed me forward. Towards the cracks. Towards the screams. Towards her.
78
Shay
The pennies and stones were stacked in towers and the insects were pinned to the wall in alphabetical order by genus. The lamp over Calvin’s worktable was still hot and I could smell the cake his mother had been baking just before he’d fallen asleep.
Today was his father’s birthday—a day I had only absorbed in pieces. A day that had left me in pieces too. But the snow against the windows of Calvin’s workshop and the freshly tracked mud were not remnants from Calvin’s memories—I hadn’t found myself in his dreams in almost a year—they were remnants from mine. From my memories of that day. From my nightmares.
I faced the door, knowing that any second he was going to manifest in a pool of blood. And then he was going to disappear, dragged out of the dream by something I couldn’t save him from. I couldn’t save him…
“Shay.”
My breath stopped halfway down.
Calvin had never said my name.
He’d never known my name.
“Shay…” His breath trailed off, as scared as mine.
I turned around, slow, afraid there’d be no one standing there. Afraid Calvin would be standing there, bloody and dying all over again.
He wasn’t.
Calvin was not dying. He was whole. Scarred but not broken. And dressed in a light blue hospital smock, he was smiling.
79
Roman
My hands fell off the wheel, something else taking control as my eyes fought to stay open. I glanced at what was left of the rearview mirror, the road cracked and streaking out behind the car in bright flashes. Light speckled my vision but it wasn’t until my head fell forward, chin resting against my shoulder, that I saw the sparks glittering from my f
ingers. The light moved slow, barely making it to my wrists by the time the car finally came to a stop.
It parked beneath a flickering gas station sign, the numbers and letters blurry. The buzz of the lights over the pumps made my teeth ache and the bell over the door made me wince. It fell open, then closed. Open. Closed.
Rain splattered against the windows, drops converging just as he stepped out of his car. My arms were still mangled, the light struggling to make it past my wrists. I used my knee to knock the windshield wipers and they screeched on, barely moving the stream of water.
It took three swipes for me to get a good look at the license plate. I never saw his face—he stepped inside the gas station before lowering the hood of his coat—but I didn’t need to. I’d seen this gas station parking lot before, the sign and the rain. Only this time it was in color. This time my dad was only a few feet away. This time I could protect him.
My fists clenched, trying to drive the flames higher. They reached my forearms, veins sparking like a faulty circuit. They flickered in and out, the heat barely rising to the surface.
Come on. Come on.
I could see my dad’s head above the shelves, fog painting the freezer glass as he let the door over the milk fall closed. I threw the car door open, groaning as my feet met the pavement. This time the pain stirred my flames, wounds evaporating with each step. I stumbled into a run, falling against the front door just as my dad reached the counter.
The Girl In Between series: Books 1-4 Page 137
