Unbroken

by A. J. Matthews

  She was floating in a warm, comfortable darkness, and the voices were pulling her out of it, but she liked it here . . . wherever “here” was. There was no pain. No panic. No worries. She thought she remembered something weird happening to her vision, that she had been seeing things with an odd intensity that made the edges of things vibrate, but down here in the darkness, there was none of that. Everything was warm . . . and dark . . . and soothing.

  I don’t want to go back, she thought or—maybe—said out loud. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. She concentrated on staying right where she was and not allowing herself to be drawn back by the voices that were still speaking in excited tones around her.

  She finally realized she was lying on something hard, so she knew she wasn’t home in bed or in a hospital or anything. Besides, if she was home in bed, what were all these people doing in her house, talking about her like she wasn’t even there?

  “. . . call nine one one . . .”

  “. . . should give her a few minutes . . .”

  “. . . something to drink . . .”

  No! Don’t do this to me! she wanted to cry out. Maybe she did say it out loud. She honestly couldn’t tell. But she felt safe here, and she realized that for a long time, now, she hadn’t really felt safe. Things in her life seemed always to be crushing down on her . . . things she didn’t want to think about . . . things she didn’t want to remember . . . things that made her feel threatened . . . but down here . . . in the darkness . . . she felt none of those things.

  What’s there to feel threatened about? she asked herself. My life is just fine . . . Isn’t it?

  But even as she asked herself that, she knew she was kidding herself. She didn’t believe her own lie because she did feel threatened every day of her life . . . threatened and guilty. The worse part of it was, she couldn’t talk to anyone about it . . . Not her husband or her friends or her daughter. There was no one she could talk to about how she felt.

  How could she when she wasn’t even sure herself?

  But it didn’t matter now . . . not down here . . . in the darkness . . .

  “. . . even know what you’re doing . . .”

  “. . . have any better ideas . . .”

  With each passing moment, Kiera became increasingly aware of the hard surface she was lying on. She let out a low moan—at least she thought she did—as she rolled her head from side to side. Something like pebbles or grit crunched against the back of her head. The sound echoed inside her skull and set her teeth on edge. As the voices grew louder—it sounded like a woman and two men—she realized they were talking about her.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “That return must have been going a hundred miles an hour.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. It wasn’t that good. She just wasn’t paying attention.”

  Kiera let out another moan, and this one, she was sure, was audible, because one of the men said, “Hey. She’s coming around.”

  “See?” the other man said. “I told you she’d be all right.”

  Kiera thought she should recognize the voices, but she still couldn’t place them.

  “Jesus, Kiera,” someone said and—finally—she recognized Jon O’Keefe’s voice. “You gave us quite a scare there.”

  Kiera tried to open her eyes to see where she was, but she was afraid of what would happen if she did. Even now, a long streak of vibrating white light shifted across her vision like a wind-driven cloud, flickering with a dangerous internal lighting.

  No . . . Please, she thought, trying to will the pain and rising panic away. She felt her elbows and back grind against the hard, gritty surface that was hot against her back. For an instant, she imagined she was lying on a large skillet.

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  For some vague reason, that thought disturbed her. She knew it was just a cliché, but it had come from someplace deep inside her, and it filled her with inexplicable nervousness.

  “Open your eyes, Kiera, and look at me. Can you do that?”

  “. . . Jon . . . ?” Kiera finally said. She licked her lips, feeling how dry they were even though she remembered—or thought she remembered—having a drink recently.

  A drink of what?

  Someone—probably Jon—raised her head and cradled it so it wasn’t on that hot, flat surface. Then someone—probably still Jon—started rubbing her forehead with a moist towel. The sensation was amazing, but it also brought her closer to consciousness, and with that came the first real jab of pain that pierced her head like a hot spike just above her left eye. The strand of hazy white light intensified like the afterimage of a photographer’s flash, making her wince.

  “Damn! Did I hurt you?”

  Kiera wanted to say no, but the pain behind her left eye was gathering strength like water building up behind a dam that was crumbling away. She knew she couldn’t hold it back much longer.

  “I have a . . . wicked . . . headache,” she whispered so softly she wasn’t sure anyone heard her.

  She started to raise her left hand to her forehead, but the effort proved to be too much, so she let it flop back onto the hard surface. Only then did she remember that she had been playing tennis with Jon, Liz, and Alex. She must have fainted and was now flat out on the tennis court.

  “Sorry about that return,” someone—it must be Alex—said. “I, uhh, didn’t mean to . . . I thought you were ready.”

  “Yeah,” Kiera whispered as she licked her lips again. “I thought I was ready, too, but I—”

  She caught herself before she said anything more. She had no idea what she might have said while she was out of it, and she wanted to be careful now about anything she revealed. These people—especially Jon—were her friends, but she had to be careful. She had secrets to protect. Jon would understand, but Liz and Alex certainly wouldn’t.

  “You caught it on the side of the head,” Jon said. “I’d really like it if you’d open your eyes.”

  Kiera concentrated as hard as she could, still not quite daring to do that, but she knew she had to if only so her friends would know she was all right. She wanted to get off the court and into the shade. After taking a deep breath and holding it, she slowly raised her eyelids.

  The sky was a piercingly bright blue backdrop to the three indistinct blurs that loomed above her. The dark silhouettes shifted in and out of focus because a jagged diagonal line of white light cut them in half. But it was what she saw inside that beam of light that made Kiera react. As the indistinct outline of a figure rose in a slow motion, Kiera tried to track it, but it seemed to move closer and recede at the same time, darting back and forth across her vision with every twitch of her eyes.

  “You’re not really focusing, here, Kiera,” Jon said.

  “My head hurts something fierce,” Kiera whispered, again so softly she doubted they heard her.

  “I still think we should call nine one one,” Liz said, her voice tight with worry.

  “I’ll get my cell,” Alex said, but before one of the silhouettes moved away—Kiera couldn’t distinguish which one was Alex—she cried out, “No!”

  As much as her head hurt, she didn’t want to go to the hospital. She knew this was more than a migraine. It had to do with something that had happened a long time ago . . . something that had been eating away at her all of her adult life.

  Forcing her eyes to focus, she looked up at Jon’s face. For a moment, she imagined him as much younger. He was a teenager again, and he was tending to her after she had gotten hurt on another night long ago.

  “I’ve been having really bad headaches ever since yesterday,” she said.

  “Well, getting hit on the side of the head probably doesn’t help.” Jon smiled weakly.

  Kiera struggled to sit up but couldn’t do it without Jon’s help. Supporting her under the arms, he got her to her feet and then guided her toward the shaded area of the court. She knew she couldn’t have gotten there unassisted, and she leaned her weight
against him.

  “Just give me a little time,” she said weakly. “I’ll be all right.”

  Her vision was clearing gradually, but the bolt of white light that cut across it was still there, twitching and wavering whenever she shifted her eyes. And the blurry figure inside the light was also still there. Whenever she concentrated on trying to see it more clearly, it faded away; but whenever she looked past it or tried to ignore it, it suddenly loomed in close. At times, it seemed as though the figure—and Kiera had no doubt it was a person—was reaching out to her. She couldn’t tell if it was a threatening or an imploring gesture, but she shrank away from it.

  Moving slowly, not wanting to jolt her head and make the migraine any worse, she finally got to the fence and, with Jon’s help, sat down, leaning back against the chain-link fence. Her breath hissed out in a long, low sigh as she closed her eyes, but when that made the white line all the more intense, she quickly opened them again.

  “Have you been having headaches a lot lately?” Jon asked. He was so close his breath was warm against her skin. Kiera thought for a moment he was about to kiss her, and she had another quick flash of when they had dated back in high school.

  “It’s nothing . . . really,” she said, but she knew she wasn’t convincing anyone, even herself.

  “Look,” Jon said, “I’ll drive you home in your car. Liz can follow in ours.”

  “No. I can drive,” Kiera said. She looked at Jon but couldn’t focus long on his face because the white line still wavered in front of her eyes.

  “The hell you will,” Jon said. His face was still close to hers, and now she struggled against the sudden impulse to lean forward and kiss him.

  What’s going on here? . . . What am I thinking?

  She knew she didn’t have any romantic feelings for Jon. Not anymore. What they had back in high school was long over. They were just friends now. Nothing more.

  “I insist,” Jon said, and by his tone of voice, she knew he meant it.

  Liz stepped forward and handed Kiera a water bottle, which she tipped back and sipped from with a nod of thanks. The water felt unbelievable as it washed down her throat, but it didn’t come close to touching the throb of pain behind her left eye. She imagined the pain was like a hungry tiger, tensed and ready to strike without warning.

  “You up to walking?” Jon asked.

  “I told you. I’m fine,” Kiera said, but when she tried to get up, she found she couldn’t. Letting out a low moan, she sagged back against the fence and would have fallen if Jon hadn’t caught her.

  “Yeah. You’re doing just great,” he said, holding her in an awkward embrace that struck her as more intimate than necessary. She glanced over at Liz, wondering if she noticed it, too, or if this was all just her imagination.

  Her legs felt as stiff and brittle as sticks as she allowed Jon to lead her slowly down to her car. She fished her car keys from her handbag and handed them to him, surprised and more than a little frightened that she couldn’t see them when she looked right at them because of the white line across her sight. There was no way she would have been able to drive.

  Am I going blind? she wondered as a shiver raced up her back. Or am I having a stroke or something?

  Jon unlocked the passenger’s door and helped her into the car. It amazed Kiera how much effort it took just to lift her legs and swing them around. As Jon went around to the driver’s side, she sighed and, closing her eyes, leaned back against the car seat. Without even looking at what she was doing, she snapped on her seat belt.

  She was grateful the pain hadn’t come back full force, but she was still worried that the white light was just a prelude, that the pain was about to strike at any second. Jon sat down and adjusted the seat and rearview mirror. Then he looked at her and smiled. Kiera couldn’t see his face clearly, but she smiled back and nodded.

  “You know,” he said, “this is all because of how you live.”

  Kiera winced and shook her head.

  “Please, Jon. I don’t want to get into that now.”

  Jon started up the car but was still looking at her.

  “You’ve got to stop punishing yourself.”

  The rumbling sound of the engine made Kiera wince and grit her teeth. She braced herself, squeezing the door handle so tightly her fingers were going numb. Once again, unbidden, the memory of what had happened back in high school came rushing back to her. Maybe it was simply because this was the first time since high school she had been a passenger while Jon was driving. She made a soft whimpering sound in the back of her throat, wishing the memory would go away.

  Before shifting into gear, Jon said, “Are you sure you don’t want to swing by the hospital? You’ve really got me worried.”

  Kiera reached out with her left hand and touched him gently on the forearm. Memories and fears were so mingled inside her that she couldn’t tell what she was feeling as tears filled her eyes.

  “Remember that night—?” she said, her voice so low it was barely audible above the sound of the car’s engine.

  Jon looked at her and said, “That’s what I’m talking about.” For a moment, the unnaturally bright gleam in his eyes pierced the line of white light, shooting at her like laser fire. “You gotta let that go, but if you can’t, I don’t want you to talk about it. Ever!” The anger in his voice frightened her, making her flinch as if he’d just slapped her.

  “I hurt my head,” she said, raising her hand and rubbing her left temple. “Remember? That night, I banged my head on the dashboard.”

  The dark silhouette centered in the glare of the white light suddenly leaped forward. For an instant, Kiera thought it was Jon as hands reached out to grab her. She whimpered and shied away, pressing herself against the car door.

  “I mean it!” Jon said so emphatically Kiera thought he actually might slap her to make her shut up.

  “But I—”

  She hated to hear the weakness in her voice, and for a moment she thought the figure was reaching out to her with a sense of desperation . . . of need.

  “Don’t you think, after all this time, we should talk about it?”

  Looking over his shoulder, Jon snapped the gearshift into reverse and stepped on the gas. He backed up so fast Kiera wasn’t ready for it, and the motion snapped her head forward. There was an instant of blinding pain, but it quickly subsided.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Jon said evenly. “You can’t let this thing eat at you all the time like this.” His features were set in grim, hard lines as he looked ahead at the road and started driving. “You have to forget all about it, because if you start thinking about it too much . . . We . . . You’d just be jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

  Kiera started at the exact words she had thought only a short while ago. She turned and stared out the side window as he pulled onto the street and drove away. When they passed the high school, Kiera wondered if Nate was still in his classroom, getting ready for the first day of school next week. Even if he was, though, she thought he might just as well be on the moon for all she was concerned.

  Something was seriously wrong with her, she knew, but right now, all she wanted to do was get home and lie down. She had to get rid of this headache. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the headrest, and all the while, the indistinct figure behind her eyelids reached out to her. The problem was, she still couldn’t decide if this person wanted to help her or hurt her, but she was sure she knew who it was.

  CHAPTER 2

  Last Gasp

  1

  “Oh boy,” Kiera whispered when she and Jon crested the hill in front of her house, and she saw the battered black Mustang parked in front of the garage.

  “What is it?” Jon glanced at her just before he pulled into the driveway and stopped beside the parked car without seeming even to notice it.

  How would he know what that rusted, old Mustang means to me?

  During the drive home, Kiera had her head back and her eyes closed.
The white light—at least a trace of it—still weaved and danced in front of her eyes, but it was fading gradually, leaving behind a dull pain centered behind her left eye.

  She made fleeting eye contact with Jon, knowing that her worry and tension were obvious. She debated telling him what was upsetting her but decided not to. He was worried enough about her as it was. No sense dumping more of her crap onto him.

  “You want me to come in with you? Make sure you’re all right?” Jon leaned close to her, and for a second, Kiera thought he was going to kiss her.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head slightly, but even that bit of movement made her wince. She was reaching for the door handle when Jon shifted closer and took hold of her wrist.

  “Hang on a sec,” he said, turning so he was facing her, his mouth close to her face. Once again, Kiera had the impression he was going to kiss her, but he released her hand and straightened up. “Let me get the door for you.”

  Before Kiera could say anything, he got out of the car and came around to her side. His back was turned to the house, and just as he was opening the door for her, the side door opened, and Trista stepped outside. Although Trista’s hair wasn’t as vibrantly red as her mother’s, it glowed with auburn highlights in the sun. Two steps behind her was the owner of the battered black Mustang—Robbie Townsend.

  Robbie was a tall, lanky twenty-four-year-old who had served a few stints in the county jail for traffic violations and drug possession. He blinked in the sunlight, like he wasn’t quite used to seeing it. His skin looked unnaturally pale, especially so close to the end of summer. Greasy strands of long, dark hair hung down to his shoulders, and his bare forearms, thick and muscular, were covered with tattoos. Just looking at him made Kiera’s flesh crawl.

  When Jon heard them behind him, he paused and looked at them over his shoulder. He smiled when he saw Trista, but Kiera saw him tense when he noticed Robbie. Leaning down to help her out of the car, Jon whispered into her ear, “Okay, now I know what upset you.”

  “Don’t get me started,” Kiera whispered as she shook her head.