“Any word yet?”
Mom shook her head.
“David is still out there,” Mom said, her words gaining strength. “And the police…we’ll find her. I don’t think she just ran off. She didn’t even take anything, from her room.”
Ms. Veers nodded at that, but the look on her face spoke disbelieving volumes.
“Lucy’s no dummy,” Mom said, and unbelievably, her voice rang with pride. “If she ran away she’d take clothes, food, maybe some money. Definitely her computer.”
I tried not to laugh at that. Watching my mom, drawn up, defending my ability to break her heart in a smart way, I’d never felt more love from another and more loathing for myself.
“Are you hungry?” Ms. Veers asked.
Mom hissed a restrained laugh, and I didn’t realize until that moment that it was a sound I missed, “Are you taking care of me?”
Mama Veers chuckled at that. “Taking care of each other, honey. Plus, I’m hungry.”
My mom looked like she was about to say something, but then she began to shake, and her lips clamped tight. I lunged a little—it looked like she was having some kind of attack. But before I could burst out of my stall, Ms. Veers wrapped her arms around Mom and tugged her tight to her chest. My mom didn’t sob, I don’t think she’s the type, but she did just sort of tremble, her eyes squeezed shut, rigid in Morgan’s mom’s arms.
Then, something buzzed, and both Mama Veers and my mom looked up. I barely choked off a chirp of panic before I grabbed my pocket with both hands, trying to stifle the minuscule sound of my vibrating phone. Three terror-filled gropes of my pockets, and the phone’s buzzing died.
“What the hell—?” my mom began, but a braying electronic ring sounded from her own purse. Mom glanced down and tugged her cell phone out of her purse.
Within seconds, they forget about the strange noise that had almost revealed my location. She pressed her phone tighter to her ear, mumbling affirmatives. It sort of looked like her plan was to shove the entire phone into her brain. Her knuckles were white.
“What?” she said, finally, louder. “It’s on?”
Mama Veers held her out at arm’s length, her face asking a hundred questions. Mom held up the one sec finger, her head cocked into her phone. I felt a thrill of panic and relief and surprise, second-hand emotions wafting off of my mother like dumpster fumes. It made me feel a little heady, actually, like paint thinner.
“Jesus…okay. Okay. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
My mom snapped her cell phone shut and clutched it one handed like a life preserver.
“What?” Mama Veers said when an agonizing moment had passed and Mom still stared blankly at the wall. “What?”
“Lucy’s phone is finally on…that was the p-police,” she said. I sucked in a sharp breath, and had the two of them been less distracted, they definitely would have heard it. I clamped a hand over my mouth.
“Yeah?”
“The phone company can track her phone with it on—did, track her phone.”
Mama Veers put a hand over her mouth.
“She’s here. At least…the officer said St. Elias Hospital. Or within a hundred yards.”
“Jesus,” Mama Veers said.
My mind echoed that sentiment. I felt caged, suddenly, filling with overwhelming panic. My cell phone? They could do that, outside of government conspiracy movies? Why the hell hadn’t anyone told me they could do that?
Mom began to glow with excitement. Years sloughed off of her haggard, worn face, and I could swear the dark circles under her eyes brightened a little. She was a woman transformed—not even Mama Veers’ skeptical expression could slow her down. Me…well, I felt my plan unfolding into chaos before my very eyes.
“The police are on their way,” Mom said, vindicating my fears. “In case…I guess in case it’s actually her attacker or something.”
She said the last part quickly, and with an air of denial. She might as well have said, “In case it turns out to be Big Foot.”
“You think it’s her?” Mama Veers said.
Mom grabbed her purse from the sink in a white-knuckled grip and bolted for the door.
“Let’s see,” Mom said, and was out the door. Morgan’s mom raced after her.
The cops were on their way…Mom would be looking for me. Abraham would be getting just as desperate as I was, which meant trouble. Desperate, dangerous people were unpredictable.
I counted to ten—with the Mother-May-I’s in between—then left the stall. When I’d first tore into the bathroom, I hadn’t taken much time to review my surroundings before diving headfirst into a stall. This time, as I walked out, I noticed my reflection. It couldn’t have been further from the wan, drowned girl with the raccoon eyes and the thin, blue lips. My skin, pink and flush, glowed with health and, not ashamed to say, very little acne. My hair had that Pantene-commercial volume and sheen, and it framed my face rather than choking it. Lips fuller and pinker than I’d ever seen them.
I let out a long breath.
Was I a vampire? Just a monster, draining the living to become a mockery of it? Suddenly, I didn’t want to look at that reflection anymore. I wanted nothing to do with it. It was more of a perversion than a reflection—if I didn’t think stealth and my survival weren’t, at the moment, synonymous, I would have smashed that stupid mirror to bits. I settled on turning away and sneaking out of the bathroom.
No one in the hallway, but I did hear the unmistakable sound of elevator doors clunking together. Two moms heading downstairs, I guessed, one of them in a frantic cloud of elation. I took a deep breath, made a point to turn my phone off, and followed my nose.
The
bête-noire
trickled in, and despite the urges of my body and the jelly-like strength of my legs, I went toward the source. I used it like a bloodhound, or a really twisted game of Hot and Cold. There were three more doors left in the hallway, before it swung to the left. All three were patient rooms.
I peeked in the little glass-and-wire window of the first room, and my heart flip-flopped. Morgan. Lying in bed, wearing a flimsy white paper gown, with a string of tubes draping down from an IV and into her wrist. Still, her skin was rosy, and the way her long golden hair splayed draped across her pillow, I couldn’t help but feel the smallest stab of jealousy. She looked more like Sleeping Beauty than a coma patient.
Ugh
.
I shook off the badly-timed envy moment and peeked around the room. Abraham wasn’t in there—in fact, nobody was
. Empty.
I opened the door slowly and pulled the stun gun out of my pocket. I groped for its little metal teeth to make sure I was pointing it the right way, then I crossed the threshold. One of the fluorescents on the ceiling flickered, and I jumped and almost tased myself in the leg.
“Morgan?” I whispered, fruitlessly. She didn’t move or stir.
I crossed the room and took an eyeful of her IV, trying to sort English words out of the technical hieroglyphics. I did manage to make out “Thiopental” on one of the bags, which I was eighty-percent sure was one of the drugs Ophelia had mentioned. One of the ones they don’t use much anymore. Abraham had been out of the game for a while, was my guess.
But it was pretty simple from there. The IV computer required an access code—but I had a more elegant solution in mind. As gently as I could, I picked up Morgan’s hand and examined it. The IV tube disappeared into a large squarish Band-Aid looking thing with a hole cut in the center. Ophelia called the needle a
cannula
, and I peered at it closely. It wouldn’t feel good, and there might be some bruising later, but I could just take the IV out without causing too much damage. It took me a while to work the Band-Aid off—you could tape a desk to the ceiling with that stuff. Finally I managed to scrape it off enough to free the
cannula
.
I eased it out of her arm, trying my best to quiet the squeamish protests of my girly brain. It came up, and blood with it, dripping down her arm and flecking her white hospital gown with a Rorschach pattern of blood. I held my hand tight to the wound until it calmed down, and put the Band-Aid back in place as a stop-gap bandage.
I pretended to be a tough nurse from a medical drama, but mostly I wanted to yak.
I grabbed Morgan’s arm and shook it, hoping for a reaction but receiving none. I didn’t think it worked like that—just shut off the juice and
all better
, but maybe I was hoping for it. I leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“I love you, honey,” I said. “I’m gonna fix this. I promise.”
I knew she could see me, from the windows of the train car in that Grey place. Or at least, I hoped she could. I didn’t want to think of those horrible, slouching monsters catching up to them. Were they locked in those very train cars right then, watching twisting corpses slam their fists against the steel like some bad zombie movie?
I ran my hand over my face and wondered if they were looking through Zack’s windows too, in that faraway Grey land. Would they be able to tell me what I was walking in to? Probably. I could picture Puck and Zack and Morgan, staring in horror as I walked into an ambush. Then again, can you call it an ambush, when you see it coming? Or is that just suicide?
I squeezed my best friend’s hand again, and left her room. I didn’t even tuck the stun gun back into my coat. Instead, I flipped it in my hand and tucked it tight to my wrist. No point in giving away everything, right?
I checked the second room, but the lights were off. The third room was lit. I sneaked up to the door and peered inside the window. Zack, looking very…well, Zack-like, lying in his bed. He looked pretty tan against the white of the pillow and the hospital gown, and I realized I needed to hang out with less attractive people. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of panic at seeing him so…helpless.
I sneaked into his room, a little bit surprised to not be immediately jumped by Abraham. The
bête-noire
filled my head with bowel-shaking ugly fear, but I was keeping a handle on it. Still, he should be so close…
I tried to put that out of my mind, and went to Zack’s bedside. There was clear evidence of family members—flowers, purses, extra blankets and empty Coke cans. Why they weren’t in the room, I had no idea. The idea of them all leaving to go to the bathroom or hit the cafeteria seemed a little far-fetched. Was Abraham trying to clear out the civilians? How
nice
of him.
But that meant I had even less time, if Abraham was so ready for me.
I repeated the same steps I’d used on Morgan, and freed the IV needle with a similar splash of bright red blood. I held his hand, trying to stem the flow, staring into his closed eyes. The handsome, square line of his jaw. The dark hair, the spikey front deflated a little, lying over his brow. I brushed it out of his face, trailing my fingers down across his cheek. Something warm sparked inside of me, and calm tears put a sheen over the world. He could see me, I thought, from the train car. Maybe he was seeing me for the last time.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I couldn’t just stay dead, like everybody else. I’m sorry you’re here. God…”
I put my hands on his shoulders and laid my head on his chest. The steady rhythm of his heart, the shallow rise and fall of his chest lulled me, wanted to draw me down. This close to him, I couldn’t smell hospital anymore—just him. Just Zack.
I heard a noise, and it ripped me out of the moment. I spun around, leaping off the bed, and stared at the tiny square window.
Mom. Her eyes wide, staring at me. Oh no.
I ran for the door and threw it open.
It happened fast. I suppose that’s the only way it could have happened.
I jumped out of the room, but as I did, the air seemed to shimmer and distort, like looking over a campfire. Mom disappeared—just flicked away, like a cheesy effect in a bad movie. The hallway darkened, too, and my eyes tried to adjust to the shifting scenery. Standing in the center of the hallway where there had been nothing but air, was Abraham.
Dizziness swept over me, and I hesitated. Abraham, still draped in immaculate white doctor’s clothes, moved like a blur and wrapped his arms around me. I screamed and felt a wave of heat burn my skin, like I’d just bear-hugged an oven. I let out a choking gasp, tried to fight, tried to struggle, but he was a rock. Pulsing rings of light tore out of his body, flickering the darkened room like a strobe light. Each pulse that swept over me weakened my resolve, filling me with warmth and light and happiness.
He was made of happiness, radiated it. Everything I had ever wanted…they could be mine. Just let go, the warmth told me. Let it all go. My knees weakened and buckled, but Abraham held me up. Wouldn’t let me fall. My head slumped—my cheek fell against his chest. I breathed in his scent and closed my eyes.
“Lucy!”
My eyes opened. I felt light…like I might just float away.
“Lucy!”
It wasn’t easy to see, both because of the pulsing light and because my eye lids just…didn’t…want to…open. When I managed to turn my thousand-pound head a little, I saw Zack, on his bed, tearing at the tubes sprouting from his right arm. Zack, rolling to a crouch on his bed. Zack, diving at me and Abraham like a handsome cruise missile.
He knocked us both down and out the door, and my shoulder cracked hard against the tile floor. A tidal wave of cold pain raced up my arm, and I screamed and rolled away from them. I clutched at my shrieking shoulder, and as I did, I realized the excruciating pain had lifted some of the fog. Well that, and the fact that Abraham was no longer holding me in a death grip, filling me with his…whatever-the-hell it was.
I dug in my pocket as I rolled—only seeing Abraham and Zack out of the corner of my eye. Finally, my hand closed over the little plastic stun gun, and I whipped it out of my pocket. I crawled to my knees and looked up.
I saw Abraham kneeling, holding Zack by his throat. No, that’s impossible…Zack looked, physically, like he could snap Abraham in two. He outweighed him by a good forty pounds, at least. Zack’s muscles were toned, and he was at least three inches taller than Abraham. And Zack fought. Even as Abraham began to stand, holding Zack at arm’s length like he was stuffed with feathers, Zack swung his arms like a jackhammer, raining blows down on Abraham’s face. He jerked and cursed and spit with each punch, but they weren’t doing the damage they should have. Abraham looked like an annoyed pedestrian in a driving rain rather than a man in a brawl.