After the Ending (17 page)

“I think I’ll call you ‘Wings’. What do you think?”

She nudged me with her nose and raised her head to study
me with an intensely blue eye. I had the odd impression that she was accepting
the name.

“Alright, Wings. Let’s get you washed up so we can rest,”
I said, stroking her graceful brow.

She nudged me again, eagerly this time.

As I washed her, I took note of her beautiful
coloring—large, coffee-brown splotches colored parts of her coat and mane,
contrasting with the snow-white around them. What I’d thought was mud caking
her legs turned out to be dark, crusted blood. Wings, however, showed no signs
of injury.

“What happened, Wings?”

She snorted softly and looked away.

Was it that bad? Or
am I going crazy and having an imaginary conversation with a horse?

She snorted again, and I eyed her suspiciously.

When she was finally clean, brushed, and happily munching
on dewy grasses, I settled myself in the barn. With a sleeping bag, a bed of
hay, and a roof over my head, I knew my life could have been much worse at that
moment.
Jason and Chris could’ve been dead. Jack could’ve been dead. Crap,
I
could’ve been dead.

Even though I’d just found my dead aunt’s body and even
though I was separated indefinitely from the few living people I loved, my mind
remained unnaturally calm. The thought that I’d done the right thing by
protecting my friends comforted me, and my exhausted body coasted toward sleep.
With my dog cuddled next to me, I almost felt content. Almost.

Zoe

The steam was like a blanket. It enveloped me in its
protective warmth, shielding me from the chilly air that awaited outside the
locker room. We’d only had access to cold water at the cabin, and a hot shower
was something I hadn’t been sure I would ever have the luxury of enjoying again.
It was better than I remembered—it was intoxicating. I savored the feeling of
the nearly scalding water as it washed over my adulterated skin, lessening the
tension that saturated my battered, weak body.

Although my muscles protested nearly every movement,
especially my shoulder, something about the physical pain was comforting. It
was a declaration that I was a survivor; despite the insanity and danger of the
last couple weeks, I was still alive. I may have been wincing in pain, but I
was still breathing.

Grudgingly, I shut off the water and reached for my
favorite oversized towel—it had been among the few possessions I’d taken from
my house in Salem. As I limped toward the locker where I’d stowed my clothes,
my wet flip flops squeaked against the cement floor.

The locker room was dimly lit; the single working light
bulb leaving the room full of shadows.
Why didn’t anyone fix the lights?
I wondered, only to shake the question from my mind.
I don’t want to know
.
There was, no doubt, some deplorable reason Jones and Taylor would’ve left
people to wander in almost complete darkness, vulnerable and unaware.

After pulling on a pair of navy blue sweatpants and a
white camisole, I reached into the locker for my long-sleeved shirt and
hairbrush, only to find I’d forgotten them.
Of course I did
. I’d been
scatterbrained all morning.

I looked through the nearby lockers, hoping to find a
misplaced sweatshirt or extra towel to wrap around my shoulders for the short
trek back to my room. In my search, I caught a glimpse of myself in a small
mirror hanging inside one of the lockers. I was instantly thankful for the
room’s dim lighting.

Dark, wet hair framed my pale, battered face. My once
delicate features were grossly altered. Normally, my lips were soft and pink,
but now they were raw and split in several places. My eyes were bloodshot and
shadowed, and the left side of my face was swollen and stained with deep purple
and red bruises. At the sudden memory of Taylor’s breath on my neck, I looked
away. I was glad the bulbs had burned out; I didn’t want to see the extent of
how badly he’d hurt me. At least I could cover up the rest of my wounds with
clothing.

The heat of the shower was dispersing throughout the
room, and I could hear the wind outside, whirling around the building. It
seemed to be vacuuming out every last ounce of warmth. I shivered, eager to
return to my room and the warmer clothes that awaited me there.

Dipping my head down, I wrapped the towel around my wet hair
and secured it with a twist. I gathered up my dirty clothes as quickly as I
could before hobbling out of the locker room. As I passed through the heavy
metal door, I grabbed the green hand towel I’d hung on the handle, signaling
the showers were in use by a woman.

Only six more doors
, I noted as I shuffled down
the hallway. Although the barracks were huge, our numbers were few, and we
occupied only a portion of the dorm-like building’s first floor. The rooms were
modest, each containing only a bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe, and a desk—though
the number of boxes we’d filled while relocating the previous inhabitants’
belongings suggested otherwise.

I had apparently wound my hair too tightly inside the
towel—my already aching head was starting to feel like it was going to explode.
The pressure was too painful to ignore, so I shifted my things into my left arm
and attempted to pull the towel loose with my free hand. Abruptly, I tripped on
my own flip flop and lost my balance, my ankle shrieking in pain.

“
Motherfu
—” Thankfully, I
caught myself before I fell onto the cold, unyielding cement floor. I
straightened with an irritated grunt and yanked the towel once more. When it
gave way, my hair fell over my eyes, blocking my vision.

I took a step forward…and hit something solid and warm.
“Shit!” I stumbled back, dropping my dirty clothes and damp towel. Strong hands
grasped my upper arms just in time to keep me from crashing into the wall,
making my bruised shoulder throb.

“Are you okay?” a deep voice asked, low and tense.

Peering through the tangled, black curtain of my hair, I
saw Jake—he was frowning. As soon as our eyes met, he let go of my bare arms.

I was surprised to see him, the man who had saved my
life, and words escaped me. I’d wanted to talk to him all day, to thank him for
helping me. However, before I could say a word, he strode down the hallway and
disappeared around a corner. Only then did I note that he’d used both arms to
prevent my clumsiness from adding more bruises to my battered body.
He was shot
in the shoulder…I saw it! Maybe it was just a flesh wound?

I limped the rest of the way to my room, shaken by the
encounter. I snatched a purple, long-sleeved shirt from the wardrobe, put it
on, and began hobbling back and forth.
Why couldn’t I just say “thank you”?
It’s not that difficult!

I stopped in front of the small window and peeked through
the mini blinds, just as I’d done when I’d awakened. I could see the woods
beyond the compound—the pines jutted up into the sky like arrowheads along a
steep ridgeline. The window afforded me a safe view of the place that haunted
me every time I closed my eyes. Chills pricked my skin as I remembered the
horrors that had taken place in those woods the previous night. No matter how
many showers I’d taken, I hadn’t been able to scrub away the memory of Taylor’s
filthy fingers sliding along my flesh. I could almost feel his hot breath on my
face.

“
Ahhh
!” I yelled as I spun away
from the window, too frustrated to mute my outrage. It was infuriating that I’d
put myself in that position. Knowing how close I’d come to being that
insatiable pervert’s next course made me want to kick my own ass. I wanted a
do-over. I wanted to show the bastard that I could hurt him the way he’d hurt
me. I wanted to see fear in
his
eyes. But I knew that was impossible.
Besides, if I was being honest with myself, I never wanted to revisit that
terrifying moment—ever. I’d do whatever it took to make sure I never felt that
hopeless or powerless again.

Gathering my wet hair into a ponytail, I thought about
Mr. Jake Vaughn.
Why’d he push me away in the woods?
Even in the
hallway, he’d fled as fast as he could.
Was he embarrassed that he was
wounded? And who was that blood-covered woman?
I couldn’t figure out why he’d
been avoiding me after saving my life. Not that I expected him to comfort me
with words or to wrap his arms around me—although my face felt flush thinking
about the latter. I flung the thought away.
I can’t believe he even
had
to
save my life!
I was pissed at my ineptitude, feeling both disappointment
and regret.

I tried not to be offended by Jake’s rejection, but my
efforts failed, and I clenched my trembling hands.

You know, it takes
more muscles to frown than it does to smile,
Dani would have told me.
You really shouldn’t do that, Zo…I know you
don’t want
those
wrinkles.
I
couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the words she’d said to me so many
times.

Dani’s imaginary voice added,
Look on the bright side,
reminding me to keep my pessimism in check. I was lucky to be not only alive,
but relatively unscathed after my close call with the spawns of Satan.

I’ll talk to Jake tomorrow,
I told myself
.
Taking a deep breath, I focused on relaxing the tension that had seeped back
into my body. I pictured towering redwood trees, seagulls swooping over the
ocean, and a puppy-aged Jack chasing floating seaweed at the edge of the surf.
And then I thought of Sammy…and Dave. I saw flashes of red, hating him for the
pain he’d caused me. Worse, I hated myself for ever giving him the
opportunity
to be such a douchebag.

“Son of a bitch!” I sat down on the bed, working up to a
really good scream, when knuckles rapped on the door.

Sarah bounced in with a stack of clothes. “Hey, stranger.
How’re you feeling?” She busied herself by placing my clean laundry in the
wardrobe.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said sarcastically, feeling completely
useless.

She faced me, wearing a sympathetic smile. Her eyes were
prettier than I remembered—chocolate-brown with long, dark lashes fanning
around her eyes. With her elegant angles and bubbly personality, it was no
wonder Biggs liked her so much.

Her features twisted as she took in my appearance. “Your
swelling’s gone down a little, but your bruising’s gotten a lot worse.”

“Great…” I sighed, making my sides ache, and flung myself
back onto the bed. I instantly regretted it.

“You don’t look like you’ve been resting,” Sarah said,
and I could feel her eyes on me.

“Of course I have. I’ve been doing absolutely nothing all
day.”

“Pacing and brooding isn’t resting, Zoe. And you really
shouldn’t be walking around on your ankle. Why don’t you sit and sketch or
something? It might help clear your mind.”

“How do you know I’ve been pacing?” I asked defensively.

Sarah grinned and picked up my hairbrush off the desk.
“Cooper’s been watching your shadow under the door all morning.” She motioned
for me to sit up, pulled my hair out of its elastic band, and began brushing.
“You need to
rest
. You’ve been through a lot and—”

“I can’t stand being useless,” I complained. “I feel like
I should be doing something. I hate being coddled.” Her final stroke through my
tangled locks jerked my head back. “That isn’t helping my mood either. I can
brush my own hair,” I snipped.

“Then do it, because you look horrible.” She relented and
tossed the brush onto the bed, ignoring my glare. “I’ll leave you alone, but
you’re just being—”

“Zoe,” Sanchez said, finishing Sarah’s sentence as she
strode into the room.

“Yeah, sure, that’s what I was gonna say.” Sarah studied
me appraisingly. “Not that you will, but let me know if you need anything.”
Shaking her head, she walked out of the room, shutting the heavy metal door
behind her.

Sanchez stared at me, her eyes narrow slits of contempt
and judgment. “You don’t look like you’ve been resting.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” I muttered, straightening the wool
blanket beneath me.

Please leave me alone,
I thought, looking around
the room for something to focus on—Sanchez still made me feel uncomfortable. I
wasn’t sure why she was in my room, but I wanted her to leave. Unfortunately,
she sat down at the edge of the bed and just kept looking at me.

Finally, she said, “I need to talk to you about
something.”

I raised my eyes to hers, waiting nervously.

“Dave told us what happened.”

Groaning, I dropped my head into my hands.
Here we
go…everyone knows now.
I suddenly felt like a criminal waiting for the jury
to decide my fate.
“
Us? So everyone knows?”

“I’m not completely sure. We haven’t had a group
discussion about it or anything. I don’t know who’d believe it anyway. But it
doesn’t matter.” Her eyes softened, and I thought I sensed sympathy. “You’re
safe with us, and we won’t let anyone else try to harm you, no matter what.” I
was surprised to hear sincerity and conviction in her voice.

“Of course we won’t,” Harper chimed in as the door swung
open. He winked at me and came over to kiss my forehead. “How’re you feeling,
Baby Girl?”

Relieved, I glanced up at him and smiled, but the
expression faltered as my busted lip pulled apart. At seeing my discomfort,
Harper winced and set a tray with water and meds down on the nightstand. “I’ll
try not to tease you while you’re healing. You look too pathetic.” My mood
lightened; I already felt better in his presence.

“
You’re not the only one who’s experiencing
these…changes.”
I blanched—it was the second time I’d heard Sanchez’s voice
in my head. When I looked back up at her, searching her expressionless face, I
noticed the dark shadows around her eyes. She looked exhausted and disheveled,
unlike her usual polished self.

Okay, what the hell’s going on!?
I screamed at her
with my mind, but she didn’t answer. Regardless, I couldn’t tear my eyes away
from her. I felt anxiety pouring out of her, charging my skin like electricity.

“There’s something I…,” Harper began, but his words were
drowned out by whatever was happening between Sanchez and me.

“I think Harper can
help us,”
Sanchez explained.
“I
haven’t told him about me yet, but he has theories about your unique skill. We
can’t be the only ones experiencing these changes.”

Thank you! I’m not crazy!
I knew that a few of
Dani’s companions were experiencing something similar, but reading about it
wasn’t as reassuring as witnessing it. I finally had concrete proof that what
was happening to me was real—my sanity was no longer in question. I wanted to
cry with relief.

Can you hear me?
I attempted to ask Sanchez, but
again there was no answer.

Oblivious to our mental conversation, Harper watched me
expectantly. “Did you hear what I said?” he asked.

Crap
. I’d forgotten to listen to him. “Sorry, my
head’s hurting. I’m having a hard time focusing,” I lied as I rubbed my temple
for added theatrics. When I looked back up at Sanchez, her face was
inscrutable.

“I said ‘There’s something I need to tell you’,” Harper
repeated.