Flicker

by Melanie Hooyenga

  A sickly sweet odor wafts over me. I jerk my arm as hard as I can, but his hand is like a vice. I open my mouth to scream but a damp cloth covers my face before I can make a sound. My grip loosens on my camera as I slip to the ground and into darkness.

  *****

  I'm moving. I'm barely conscious and lying on my side on something cold and hard. It feels like there's sand inside my head.

  Music plays not far from me. I open my eyes and a fresh ripple of fear grips my stomach. I can't see anything.

  Well that's not true. Faint light trickles past the edges of whatever's tied around my head. I reach to pull it off but my hands don't budge. I wiggle my fingers. My arms are tied behind my back.

  My chest tightens.

  Stop. Take a deep breath. I can't panic now. I roll onto my stomach and moan.

  "Are you awake?"

  Turner. He took me. He kidnapped me. My chest convulses. Why didn't I tell Dad what was going on? I'm such an idiot. It never occurred to me that the man from the picture might change his actions—I thought I'd have to stop him from taking the girl. My being there must have kept her away, so when he got here—

  The vehicle stops suddenly and I'm thrown across the metal floor. More light sneaks beneath the blindfold and I can see the ridged surface of the-is this a van? How did he get me here without anyone seeing? I try to remember the place we were standing. Maybe that gap in the trees led to a path.

  "We're almost there."

  Almost where? I have to do something.

  I roll over and the light changes. It's not as strong.

  I roll back. Definitely brighter facing this way. There must be a window just above me.

  The fear ebbs ever so slightly, pushed away by a determination so strong it nearly lifts me off the floor. If I can get this stupid thing off my head, maybe there's enough light…

  I press the side of my head against the floor, feeling for a groove. The cold metal bites into my cheek. I drag my face against the edge but it doesn't catch the blindfold. The metal is too smooth.

  I roll until I bump into something harder, sharper. I shove my face against it and gasp as it slices into my flesh. Heat washes down my face but I don't pull away. Whatever cut me is caught on the blindfold. I slowly pull down, slipping the cloth off my eyes and onto my forehead.

  I flop back over, toward the light.

  "Hey! What are you doing back there?"

  I open my eyes. The light blinds me, seeming even brighter after not being able to see. The flicker isn't strong, but it has to be enough. I stare at the light, welcoming the fangs that leap from the sun, through my corneas, and into my skull. My vision blurs when my fingers start to tingle, a mixture of tears and blood coloring everything a light pink.

  The van slows but I've already started. My toes tingle and I hold my breath, waiting for the heaviness to weigh me down.

  A hand grabs me. "How'd you get that off your face? You shouldn't be awake yet!"

  I close my eyes. I'm turned away from him but I don't know if he can see my face and maybe he'll think I'm unconscious again.

  The van comes to a stop.

  The tingling fades.

  Rough hands turn me onto my back, shake me. My mind refuses to connect this monster with the man I trust.

  I go limp.

  "Are you awake?" He shakes me again.

  His breath overwhelms me, a disgusting mixture of whiskey and onions that tickles my nose. Is this what the other girls faced? I fight the urge to sneeze, hoping he doesn't notice I'm holding my breath.

  He lets go of my shoulders and I'm slowly letting out my breath when he slaps my face. It takes every ounce of strength not to react. Needles stab my cheekbone where I cut myself. A warmth slides over my chin and drips onto my shoulder.

  But I still don't move.

  Moments later we start moving again. Despite everything that's happening, a small glimmer of hope lights inside my chest. He didn't put the blindfold back on.

  I don't dare open my eyes until the light flickers through my eyelids. The tingling starts quickly, sweeping from my fingers to my toes. If I could hold my eyes open with my fingers, I would, but instead I fight my instincts and stare at the window until the crushing weight slams me into the floor.

  Just a couple seconds longer.

  Finally, finally, the heaviness lifts and I'm rising up, up, up and—

  I'm in the jungle gym, pressed against Cameron, his tongue sliding against mine.

  I pull back quickly.

  He traces his hand along my cheek, then jerks back. "What the hell? Why are you bleeding?"

  "Um… I think I hit my head on the side of the… the thing…" There's nothing sharp up here. It's a kids' jungle gym.

  He pulls me into a sitting position and cradles my face in his hands. There's a streak of blood on his nose. "It's bleeding pretty bad. I should take you home."

  "Yeah. That's probably a good idea." I've flickered into a lot of weird situations, but this is the first time I've gone from being tied up in the back of a kidnapper's van to kissing my boyfriend. And the first time I've brought an injury with me. The tears start before I can stop them.

  Cameron presses his sleeve to the cut. "Hey, what's wrong? There's something more than just this."

  Turner’s betrayal nearly crushes me. How do I being to explain? "I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed with everything. You, being suspended…"

  He kisses my forehead and pulls me close. "I can take you home if that's what you want."

  I nod into his chest, grateful for this brief moment of calm. Because as soon as I get home all hell's going to break loose.

  Chapter 37

  I get home earlier than I did last time, so Mom and Dad are just sitting down to dinner and aren't pissed off at me for being late. I'm so freaked out by everything that's happened in the past couple hours that I forget what I look like.

  Mom leaps from the table. "Oh my God! Biz, what happened?"

  I touch the gash. It's stopped bleeding but dried blood crusts the side of my face. "I hit it on…" I trail off, hoping she won't notice.

  Dad also hurries to my side, but the expression on his face isn't wild and panicked like Mom's. It's calm and determined. Experienced. He studies me as if he knows something more is going on but isn't about to ask right now.

  Mom whirls into action, soaking a towel in the sink and cleaning my face. "This is deep. I know you hate the hospital, but I think this needs stitches."

  "Can't you just put a bandage on it? I just want to lie down."

  She peers closely into my eyes. "My instincts tell me that's the last thing I should let you do, but I'm going to trust that you'll tell me if you start to feel worse. And I fully intend to check on you every half hour."

  "Deal." I catch Dad's eye as Mom steps back and give him a small nod. I don't know what I'm expecting, but I get the feeling he already knows, even though I'm not supposed to tell him until tomorrow.

  He follows me up the stairs and closes the door behind us. "What really happened?"

  "Dad, I need to tell you something."

  He sits on the bed, folds his hands in his lap.

  "You aren't supposed to know this until tomorrow but I need your help."

  He cocks his head but doesn't interrupt.

  "I know about you, about how you flicker. I do, too." He takes a sharp breath. "I know that you already suspect it. I'm repeating right now, and tomorrow we talk about this. I normally try to keep things as close to how they happened, but I'm in a lot of trouble."

  "What happened to your head?" His words are slow, deliberate.

  "Tomorrow when we're at the park I accidentally take a picture of the kidnapper.”

  “Was it the man from your other pictures?”

  I shake my head and a jolt of pain shoots down my neck. “I don't realize I have the pictures until I get home—that's when I tell you—and so I went back to try to stop him. But things got screwed up and he took me instead."

  Dad
leans forward, his mouth set in a firm line. "Did he hurt you?"

  He doesn't need to know the man hit me. "I did this trying to get my blindfold off. I flickered again from inside the van. That's how I'm here now."

  The color drains from his face. "You flickered inside a flicker?"

  My heart stutters. "Yes." If he hadn't reacted that way I'd be able to handle this, but now I'm heading into a full-blown panic attack. "We need to tell the police. I don't know how to explain without telling them the full story, but we have to stop him." I hesitate and Dad leans closer.

  “There’s something more.”

  “I know the kidnapper.”

  “What do you mean you know him?”

  The ache in my chest strengthens. A sob escapes my throat. “It’s Turner.”

  His shoulders slump. “All this time?”

  “I didn’t stick around long enough to ask. But I got the impression he’s done this before.” A phantom pain grips my wrists where they were bound. “Do you really think he took all those girls? Even Katie?”

  Dad rises from my bed and engulfs me in his arms. “I don’t know. We need to figure out a way to tell the police without exposing you.” I nestle my head into the safety of his chest. He may not be as strong as other men but his unfaltering love more than makes up for anything he may lack. "I'm so proud of you. I'm terrified of what's going to happen when you catch up to your present, but I'm not going to let your sacrifice be for nothing."

  My sacrifice? What the hell does that mean? I pull back and level my gaze at him. "What don't I know?"

  He shakes his head slowly. "I don't know for sure, but the trauma you're putting on yourself could be more than your brain can handle. This goes beyond a simple headache. I'll have to make sure you're at the hospital in time."

  Once I get past being thoroughly freaked out, Dad and I come up with a plan. He calls the police and tells them he's noticed someone loitering near the park around lunchtime, when all the little kids are there, and that maybe they should check it out tomorrow. At first they don't want to listen to him, but they have so few leads that they finally agree. I worry we’re not acting fast enough, but if there’s any chance those girls are still alive they need to surprise Turner.

  And the waiting begins. My anxiety is so strong it's like another person in the room, and the courage that got me to this point evaporates, leaving me a quivering mess, hiding beneath the covers.

  I debate calling Cameron, but he's already done his part. If this doesn't work and they don't catch the guy… I couldn't bear for him to know. Better he be surprised like everyone else. Assuming everything goes the way it's supposed to and I don't end up a vegetable, or dead, I'll tell him everything afterwards.

  Dad tells Mom that he'll check on me and we spend the evening swapping stories about the stunts we've pulled when flickering. He was more of a trouble-maker than I am, deliberately pulling pranks on teachers and getting suspended every couple months.

  "You?" I ask, shocked.

  He shrugs, a sly smile brightening his face. "Not everyone uses their super powers for good."

  "Speaking of being suspended…"

  He quirks a brow. "You?" he mimics.

  "They think I'm cheating. Which I guess technically I am, but it's not like I'm stealing tests or sneaking answers into the classroom. I still have to memorize what's on it."

  He chuckles softly, a deep throaty sound I haven't heard since I was a little girl.

  My eyes flutter closed.

  "How long have you been awake?"

  I quickly do the math. Saturday morning, about an hour yesterday, and about an hour now. "Not long enough to be this tired. I didn't get much sleep Friday night, but I'm not usually this exhausted." I can barely keep my eyes open. And forget lifting my head. Even forming words is getting difficult.

  "The double flicker might have different effects. You should sleep and let your body catch up." He pauses. "What time did you leave the van?"

  "I don't know for sure. Maybe one o'clock."

  "If they catch this guy things might get a little crazy since we gave the tip, but do not wait to take your pills."

  I nod obediently, grateful to finally have someone who understands.

  "I think you should take one now."

  "But the doctor says I shouldn't take one if I don't have symptoms."

  The corners of his mouth droop and the humor vanishes from his eyes. "If it gets as bad as I think it will, an extra dose of medicine is going to be the least of your problems."

  Chapter 38

  I might actually die.

  Those four words are stuck on repeat in my head.

  I might never see Cameron again. Or Amelia. Or even Stride Right.

  What will my parents do? Will Dad tell Mom the truth?

  Will everyone know, or will they think I died from some freak explosion in my brain?

  Or what if I don't die and I end up a vegetable in one of those nursing homes, where people visit every other Tuesday and sit around uncomfortable, not sure if I can hear them and wondering how long they need to visit the girl who hasn't moved or spoken or even blinked in years.

  That would be worse than death.

  I took my pill hours ago and Dad left me alone in the darkened room, but as tired as I am, I can't sleep. This could be the last time I have coherent thoughts. The last time I'm able to express myself. Why am I hiding in my room?

  I call Cameron.

  "Hello?" His sleepy voice reminds me that it's the middle of the night.

  "Oh crap, sorry. I didn't realize how late it is."

  "Biz? What's up?" He clears his throat and I can picture him running his hand through his tousled hair.

  "I couldn't sleep and wanted to hear your voice."

  "Did your parents freak out?"

  That seems so long ago. "The blood scared my mom, but Dad convinced her to let me just sleep."

  He doesn't answer.

  "Cam?"

  "Hmm?" He yawns. "Sorry. I'm really tired."

  Disappointment stings my heart. "It's okay, go back to sleep."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah, we can talk tomorrow." My heart aches, but it's not his fault. He doesn't have a clue what's going on and I made the decision not to tell him. I give up my plan to call Amelia. It would just be the same thing.

  I have to do this alone.

  Well maybe not entirely alone. When I wake up, Dad's at the foot of my bed, reading a book. Sunlight streams through the open window.

  He sets down the book when he sees I'm awake. "How are you feeling?"

  "So far so good. But I couldn't sleep."

  He smiles, a sad expression that worsens the ache in my chest.

  I look at the window again. "What time is it?"

  "Almost eleven."

  I bolt upright. I've slept away half of what could be my last day. I need to talk to people, to do things, to—

  Dad puts his hand on my foot. "Calm down."

  "I didn't say anything."

  "I can see it in your eyes. I didn't mean to scare you last night, I just wanted to make you aware of the dangers. You might have a headache like any other time and no one will be the wiser."

  I look away. "It's a little late to unring that bell."

  He sighs. "I know, and I'm sorry."

  We sit like that for awhile. I'm grateful to have him here, to spend time with the one person who doesn't need me to explain.

  At noon I take another pill and bury beneath the covers.

  At one o'clock the ice picks begin.

  *****

  I'd like to say I sat on the edge of my bed while the police tried to catch the man, but the next thing I know I'm waking up in a brightly lit room, surrounded by beeping machines and bags full of clear fluid.

  For once the light doesn't cause me pain, but I close my eyes anyway. My fingers are tingling, but it's a different feeling than what I've grown used to. Rather than beginning at my fingertips and working its way up my hands, this
is more focalized, and, come to think of it, only in one hand.

  I lift my head. My hand lies motionless next to my hip, a clear tube protruding from a bandage in the center of my hand and snaking to one of the bags suspended over my head.

  This can't be good.

  The door opens and Cameron enters, eyes downcast. He's halfway to the bed before he looks at me. A smile lights up his face. "You're awake!"

  "How long have I been asleep?"

  He pulls a chair close to the bed and covers my free hand with his. "They've had you out for a couple days. Said you needed time to recover after the surgery."

  "Surgery! What'd they do to me?"

  Cameron pulls back slightly, a look on his face like he realizes he said something he wasn't supposed to.

  "Cam, tell me."

  "They had to operate. Your dad brought you here Saturday afternoon and they found a mass in your brain. They said if they didn't remove it you could die."

  They operated? On my brain? Does this mean they know? A machine near my head starts beeping and we both stare at it, transfixed. With all these tubes and wires it's hard to tell what goes to what, but I'm pretty sure that machine says I'm completely freaking out.

  "I probably wasn't supposed to tell you, but it seems like you'd figure it out as soon as you woke up."

  "Figure it out?" I repeat.

  His eyes flick to my head, a reflex he's too slow to control, and I pull my hand from his grasp.

  Gauze covers the side of my head. I trail my fingers around my hairline and find nothing but more gauze. I flatten my palm on the top of my skull. More gauze. And a tube. The monitor starts beeping again, but this time a nurse comes rushing through the door.

  She gives Cameron a stern look as she pushes buttons to stop the beeping. "You should have told me she's awake."

  He drops his hands. "It's only been a couple minutes."

  "Go get her parents."

  He gives my hand one last squeeze before leaving the room.

  "What happened to me?"

  She pauses with one hand over a plastic bag. "It's best we wait for the doctor. He can tell you exactly what they found."