Traveler

by L. E. DeLano

“See…? Footprints. We weren’t over here today, and there was that dust storm yesterday morning. These are fresh.”

  “Keep it down. Let’s start checking the houses.”

  “They’re small feet.”

  “A kid?”

  “Or maybe a girl.”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a wealth of inflection in that last word that makes my breath freeze in my chest. I have to get out of here. I can’t just hide—they’ll be expecting that. Plus, in the dark, I can’t find a place that I know they won’t discover in daylight. I have to get out of here, and I have to do it now.

  It sounds like there are only two, or possibly three of them, and they were right outside this house somewhere. I curse myself for not thinking about the footprints. In the fine layer of ash that’s settled over everything, the footprints would be clearly visible in the dim moonlight. I probably even tracked footprints onto the hardwood floors.

  I get up and carefully pull back the drapes, checking the mirror across the room, but it’s so dim, I don’t know it’ll make enough of a difference—I can barely make it out from here even with the curtains wide open. I run over to it anyway, pressing my hand against it, willing myself to emerge more clearly from the dark shadow barely outlined in the glass. I don’t have much time, and every sound is reminding me that they’re getting closer.

  Nothing.

  I can’t afford to keep trying, and the mirror is far too large to take with me. Shattering it is out of the question—they’ll hear that from a mile away—so I move on, down the stairs, not even entirely sure of where I’m going to go. If I could get around them somehow, maybe I could hide in the first house, since they will have already searched there if they came in off the road.

  I have to make this fast. I get my bearings. The back door has rusty hinges and is likely to squeak. It’s also on the other side of the house from where I want to go. I make my way to a room that will have a window on the side of the house closest to the one next door. I’m just going to have to hope they’re searching each house together, and not individually all at the same time.

  I manage to open the window in what would have been the dining room, wincing every time it goes up another inch because it makes noise. I get it open as wide as I can risk, praying that there won’t be a breeze to rustle the drapery and put them on my trail again. If they have anyone stationed outside, they’ll see me easily. It occurs to me that even if there’s no one standing watch, they’ll see my footprints again in the fine ash that seems to be all over the ground.

  I look around quickly for something I can use to sweep my tracks, and I find a long-handled feather duster in a cupboard in the laundry room. It’ll take extra time, but I don’t have a choice. I grab it in my hand like a club and make my way back to the window, moving as quietly as I can. I can hear them more easily now with the window open, and they sound like they’re checking a house across the street. I risk a quick glance out the window, and I can see them clearly now. There are three of them, and they are moving toward the house directly across from this one.

  They all have knives of some kind clutched in their hands. Probably to make it easier to skin you and eat you. The thought digs into my brain with icy fingers, freezing me into immobility. Then I realize I’m wasting a golden opportunity. Their backs are turned, and they’re not yet in the house, where they could easily look out a window and see me.

  I throw my legs over the windowsill and drop to the ground. I have the duster out and I walk quickly backward, sweeping it side to side, running as best I can while trying not to kick or trip on debris as I go. I make it to the side of the other house, then push on toward the back, just making it around the corner as one of them turns around.

  I flatten myself against the wall, and I work on keeping my breathing even so I can hear them better. Was I seen? He was turning as I rounded the corner—it’s entirely possible. I am shaking, and sweat drips down my back even though it is cold out here. Please … please … please … I am murmuring soundlessly as I strain to listen. After a few moments, it’s clear no one is shouting an alarm. I move as quickly as I can, stepping around and over anything that might crunch or jangle or trip me, wincing when I stumble a bit and something clangs softly.

  One more house. If I can make the run across, I can get to the first house and then maybe, while they’re searching the other houses, I can run for the road and the rubble pile again, go back the way I came. Maybe I can follow the stream farther down and find someplace where the water is clearer. Why didn’t I do that in the first place? Because I’m stupid, that’s why, I mentally berate myself.

  I edge up to the corner on the second house, moving my head by the barest fractions until I can see out. No one is there. I can hear them in the houses now, calling for me, promising me food, shelter, a helping hand. If I didn’t know what Finn taught me, I would believe them. They sound sincere.

  I take a deep breath and race across to the first house, half turning so I can obliterate my tracks again, and finally, I am safe up against the back wall. I need to try the door or find a way to get through a window, if I can. Once I’m inside, I might even be able to find a mirror and hopefully some more light. I try the back door, but it’s not only closed but slightly warped and immovable. I start checking the windows and find that the one nearest the road has been broken out. I manage to get my leg over the sill by stepping up on a cinder block lying under the window. I reach inside to brace my hands against the inside of the window frame and pull myself over.

  And a pair of hands closes down over mine, pulling me through.

  I land on the floor in a heap and scramble up to my knees.

  “I’ve got her!” a man cries out loudly. He’s filthy and he smells indescribably bad and in the dim moonlight, I can see the contrast of his gleaming teeth against the darkness. He’s grinning at me like I’m a five-course dinner.

  38

  Caught

  “Don’t worry, honey,” the man tells me. “I’ll make you a deal before the rest of them get here—if you’re nice enough to me. My name’s Vince.”

  I get slowly to my feet and start backing toward the window. He steps in closer. “Won’t do you no good to run,” he says. “They’ll be on you before you get far.”

  He folds his arms, straining to see me in the dim light.

  “You’re a real treat.” I see his teeth again. “And I’m getting really tired of Josh. He’s pushy. If you’re nice enough to me and Bobby, we’ll probably get tired of Josh before we get tired of you.” He smiles again. “You think about that while we wait.”

  I am shaking all over, fighting not to pass out because I’m hyperventilating so badly. I’m going to have to dive through the window and hope I can outrun them. I’m still in my glitter-Jessa body, though. I may not be as malnourished, but I don’t know how fast I can run. It’s the only hope I have, and I have to go now, before the others get any closer. I don’t know if I can make it, but I know I’m not going down without one hell of a fight.

  I start to turn, but Vince second-guesses me, yanking me hard by the hair. I let out a scream as my head is twisted, hard, and he pulls me up against him. He grins in my face—like he’s glad I’m fighting him. His breath is foul, and I feel like I’m going to vomit. How long do I have before the rest of them are here? Minutes? Seconds?

  I do the only thing I can think of to do. I twist in his arms, then I cup my fist in my hand and I use the added force of it to push my elbow back into him as hard as I possibly can, just like Finn taught me.

  He doubles over and the air comes out of him in a whoosh. His grip on my hair is momentarily loosened as my knee connects solidly with his head and I yank myself free, ripping some of my hair out as I go.

  I try to run for the window again as I hear the door bang open behind me, but it’s too late. Vince grabs my arm, swinging me down, and I hit the floor, hard. I roll to my knees, expecting him to come at me again, but my mind registers that I’m watching him struggl
e with someone else in the shadows, possibly the hated Josh. Maybe he overheard the plan and is eliminating his enemy first. Now is my chance. I have to get out of here.

  They crash into the closet door and I am diving for the window, hitting the ledge painfully with my chest and scrambling to pull myself through. Two strong hands grab my hips, pulling me back in, but I’m fighting with all my might, kicking hard.

  “Jessa!” comes a whisper, urgent and then repeated until I realize who it is.

  Finn pulls me back against him, hugging me fiercely. “Come on! We only have a minute before they’re all here.” He leads me to step over Vince’s body—I don’t know if he’s knocked out or dead, and I don’t really want to know.

  “We could run for it,” I pant.

  “We’ll never make it,” he says. “They’re expecting that.” He pulls me along, up the stairs and into a bedroom. Here, the windows face a mirror over the dresser, and there are no curtains to obscure the thin light of the moon. But is it enough? The mirror has a large crack down the center, and I can still barely see myself.

  “I tried this in the other house,” I tell him, gasping for air. “It didn’t work. I couldn’t—”

  Downstairs a door flies open, and I can hear them pounding up the steps.

  “Get your hand on the mirror and don’t let go of me.” He holds one hand in a steel grip and I concentrate as hard as I can, pushing on the mirror with my other hand next to his.

  His face is shadowy in the reflection, and he’s squeezing my other hand so hard it should hurt. Instead, I cling to it.

  The other two men burst into the room a moment later, and I catch a glimpse of their startled faces in the mirror. They’ve brought light with them—a makeshift torch—and it’s all we need.

  Finn calls my name to get me to look at my reflection instead of theirs, and a heartbeat later, we are through.

  We’re back in the glitter world, in my bedroom.

  I sink into the sparkling fuchsia carpet, putting my face into it, and I begin to cry, in great heaving sobs. I cannot stop shaking. I feel Finn turn me over gently, rolling me into his arms as he lies on the carpet next to me. He lets me get it all out, rocking me slightly as his arms tighten around me.

  “Did they … hurt you? Are you all right?”

  “All right?” I say incredulously. “I could have died! And so could you!”

  “You’re safe, Jessa,” he reassures me. “Safe now.”

  “How did you get to me?” I ask, then I shudder, hard.

  “Mario. I was meeting with Rudy, trying to get his help, when Mario interrupted us.”

  I set my head against his chest, and I cannot move. I am indescribably tired. The relief flooding through me is like anesthesia, and I feel like I could close my eyes and be unconscious without any effort at all.

  He smooths my hair, pulling my head back a little so he can look me in the eyes. I bring my hand up to self-consciously cover my nose and mouth. I have rivers of snot running down my face.

  “I have to blow my nose,” I say.

  “I’ve got it.” He pulls away and gets to his feet, walking over to my nightstand and pulling two fluorescent tissues out of the gilded box next to my lamp. He kneels down, handing them to me, and I sit up, doing my best to clean myself off.

  I stuff my head tiredly into my hands. “Oh God, Finn.” I look up at him. “This is how you lived?”

  His eyes shift down to look at the carpet. “Yes.”

  “Is that”—I can barely bring myself to ask it, but I have to know—“is that how I died? Someone like them?”

  Finn’s eyes lock with mine, and they are so haunted, I feel like I can’t breathe. “There were six of them, and they had you surrounded. They would have killed us both, but you would have taken a lot longer.” His jaw is tight, and it takes a second for him to finish. “I managed to get my knife in your chest and ended it quick.”

  I look into his green, green eyes. “Am I the reason you stayed—over there? Even when you had it in your power to shift and get out of there?”

  “Yes. I had no idea you were a Traveler, too, not then. You weren’t aware yet.”

  “So you stayed around to protect me.”

  “Yes,” he says, twisting a lock of my hair around his finger. “For all the good it did you. I ended up killing you anyway.”

  “You saved me from being tortured to death.” My voice is surprisingly strong. I can’t stress enough to him that there’s a difference here.

  “I know. But it was still my hand that threw that knife.”

  “If we hadn’t been able to get away this time, would you have done it again?”

  He swallows hard. “Probably. I don’t know.”

  How weird is it to know how much someone cares about you by the way they’re willing to kill you first? And I suppose it’s equally weird that I would have done the same for him.

  His hand comes up to cup my face, and I feel his thumb gently stroking my jaw.

  “All I know,” he says, and his eyes are burning bright, warming me and chasing all the cold away, “is that no matter how many times I lose you, I can’t seem to let you go.”

  Then his mouth comes down to meet mine, and the warmth bursts into flame inside me, stealing my breath and curling my fingers into the front of his shirt. He pulls away slowly, kissing the tip of my nose, then my forehead.

  “I’ll keep you safe, Jessa,” he promises. “Anywhere you go.”

  “I want to go home, Finn,” I finally say. “All the way home.”

  39

  Torn

  After transferring back to my deaf self—which didn’t take long, since glitter me really wanted to get home—I put in a call to my deaf counterpart, and she answered almost instantly. It occurs to me that as hard as it is, she likely misses her life as much as I miss mine. Finn and I arrive in the bedroom of my reality and it’s Sunday morning.

  I turn away from the mirror with a huge sigh of relief.

  “I know this body had a good night’s sleep last night, but I still feel exhausted.”

  Finn pulls me in close, wrapping his arms around me. “You’ve been through a traumatic experience,” he says. “It’s a perfectly normal reaction.”

  “I need to get a grip on myself.”

  His hand comes up to slide around the back of my neck. “I’ve got you,” he says, and once again, his lips are on mine.

  My hands slide up over his shoulders and time slows to a crawl. There’s only him and me and the absolute rightness of the feel of him against me.

  He pulls back and gives me a smug little grin. “Tell me the truth,” he says. “Am I a better kisser than the pirate?”

  I give him a wide-eyed, innocent smile in return, choosing my words carefully.

  “Nobody kisses like you, Finn,” I reply.

  He rolls his eyes and pulls me in, kissing me again, and I’m losing myself in it—that is, until my bedroom door opens.

  There stands Ben, right behind Danny. I give a squeak and hastily step out of Finn’s arms.

  “Danny! You could have just told me Ben was here!”

  “Hi, Jessa!” Danny says. “When did you come back? You should lock your door!”

  “Yeah, St. Clair,” Ben says flatly. “You should lock your door.”

  The look on his face hits me hard and then the memories rush in, swamping me.

  I sink down on the bed as he storms out, with Danny right behind him.

  Oh, the memories. So many memories …

  I’d arrived here, thrilled that I could hear—this was my deaf self’s third time traveling, and I hadn’t yet been to a reality that held Ben—or Finn for that matter. Not that Finn would matter to the other me—I had no experience with him at all. But Ben …

  I gasp aloud and tears pool in my eyes as the memories flood over me, drowning me in emotion. I’d spent most of that first weekend with Danny, delighted that he could speak, and since I was at my dad’s house, I was getting to know my father—a fat
her that Jessa never knew. I went back to Mom’s on Sunday afternoon and when the doorbell rang, I opened the door and Ben was standing there. He said “Hey, St. Clair,” and oh …

  I heard his voice for the first time. The very first time. It was warm and wonderful and I couldn’t help but throw my arms around him. I put my head to his chest and listened as he laughed, trying to figure out what had gotten into me. When he spoke again, my fingers touched his lips in wonder.

  And then my lips touched his. Of course they did. This was Ben, and I love him.

  From that moment on, we were inseparable. I told him that nearly falling off the roof made me realize what he meant to me—which I thought was a great cover story at the time. Ben didn’t question a bit of it. He told me he’d been crazy about me for months, and he asked if Finn was out of the picture. I assured him that he was the one I wanted, and that was that. Ben and I were dating. I hadn’t told this Ben yet that I loved him, but oh, I’d made sure he felt it.

  My mind plays over cuddling on the couch, dinners with my family, stolen kisses in the hall at school.

  “Uuuuhhhhhgggghh.” I bury my face in my hands.

  What a way to totally mess up a friendship. Oh my God, what am I going to say to him? The last thing I want to do is hurt Ben’s feelings. I need to find out just how invested in this new definition of us he really is.

  “Maybe you can tell him you were doing research for a story,” Finn says, trying to make a joke. It’s clear he finds this just about as amusing as I do. Which is not at all.

  I automatically hate the other me. Who do I think I am, playing with Ben’s feelings like that? I should be ashamed of myself. Stupid other me. I am really, really mad at me for this. I wish I could give me a piece of my mind. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror.

  “Do you realize what a mess you left me?” I ask myself.

  She’s not there, of course. She’s probably with Ben.

  “I have to talk to him,” I say to Finn numbly. “Let him down easy.”

  Finn sits down next to me. “There’s no such thing, you know. He likes you. A lot.”