Silverlighters (12 page)

14

I shook my head, disorientated. The empty ache inside me seemed so much worse at that moment.

I thought I had overdone it with training, and had a migraine aura; silvery, shimmery stars floated across my vision in the darkening night, as bright as the stars shining above me.

I took a deep breath, and the cold night air rushed into my lungs, making me cough.

“Ellie?”

When I turned I saw Jonathon walking toward me, the candles flickering behind him. The emptiness filled a little, warming me slightly. But I feared it would never truly leave me.

Jonathon was wary, his body tense, his hands jammed into the pockets of his black leather jacket.

I was shivering, and on the verge of tears. An odd sense of melancholy had risen in me and was growing stronger.

I couldn’t seem to pull my thoughts together into anything coherent.

Jonathon pulled off his jacket, and swung it around my shoulders. The smell of him mingled with the leather, enveloping me.

His hands stayed on my shoulders as his jacket settled over my back, the heat from his hands doing more to warm me than the jacket.

A shudder racked my body.

“You’re freezing.” Jonathon pulled me against him, and I rested my face against his chest.

Then the nausea hit me.

“I – I need to go home,” I said as the stars shimmered across my vision again.

My head started to throb, the stars pulsing in time. I hadn’t had a migraine so severe, so sudden, since the day I turned sixteen.

My knees buckled.

I felt Jonathon scoop me up as it began; dark ink spilling into my vision, from the outside in. So that I was seeing through a tunnel that was growing narrower and narrower, until …

I opened my eyes.

My dad and Jonathon were staring down at me, their brows creased with identical looks of concern.

I was on the couch in the living room. My throat was dry and sore. My lips were tender.

“Can I have some water?” I asked, pulling myself up.

“I’ll get it.” Jonathon couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.

“What did you do to him?” I asked my father.

He ignored my question. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. How long was I out?”

“Twenty minutes.” He felt my forehead, his eyes dark with worry.

“I’m fine. Honest. Just tired.”

“I – I thought–” he broke off. “I was about to take you to the hospital.”

This got my attention. “Wow. You
were
worried.”

Then Jonathon returned, and I greedily gulped down the glass of water he handed me, watching him as he stepped back, and glanced warily at my father.

A laugh bubbled out of me – they were acting like a couple of characters from a cheesy sitcom, when the boy first meets the dad. But as they both looked at me, I turned the laugh into a cough.

“Sorry,” I choked out, holding up the glass. “Went down the wrong way.”

Jonathon cleared his throat, backing toward the door, his head down. Like he didn’t want my father to see his face. “I better go.” He opened the door.

“Thank you. For bringing her back,” my father said, his voice hoarse.

Jonathon nodded, closing the door firmly behind him.

My father stared at the door, the frown returning. “What do you know about that boy?”

I shrugged, suddenly wary. “Not much. Why?”

The anger I expected never came. I would have preferred anger – anger I understood.

What I didn’t understand was the way my father’s shoulders had turned slightly inward. Or the lines of worry and frustration that creased his forehead and seeped down his face, eating into his eyes.

He rubbed his jaw, the movement fast and irritated, the scratchy sound of his beard grating at my sensitive nerves.

“Never mind,” he grunted as he turned away.

His shoulders straightened as he drew in a deep breath, and when he turned around again, the mask of calm strength had come back over his face.

I often felt like I wore a mask, but it had never crossed my mind that my father wore one, too. That he was anything other than the strong man I saw before me, as steady and unyielding as a rock. Or that he had fears too.

It made me realize just how often we wore masks to shield ourselves. To hide how we felt and protect us from the worlds hurts.

Or to protect those around us.

I sighed. I was completely wiped out, and the need to be on my own was sudden and overpowering.

“I’m going to bed,” I said softly.

My legs were shaky as my father helped me to my feet, neither of us saying anything.

Wearing a mask took a lot of energy.

“By the way,” my father’s voice followed me up the stairs. “You’re grounded.”

I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so exhausted.

The sudden migraine had taken it out of me. My limbs felt heavy, and my muscles tingled as I slowly made my way up the steps.

“Forever,” he muttered under his breath.

I rolled my eyes, the movement making the muscles in my eyes throb dully.

Being grounded would make absolutely no difference to my life. He followed me to school. Drove me home. Knew my whereabouts every waking moment.

But at least he couldn’t follow me into my dreams. They were mine and mine alone, and I gladly succumbed to them.

My thoughts were consumed with Jonathon and the rest of them that weekend. I never did get to ask him my questions, and tried to find an opportunity to sneak out, but my father kept me busy, never letting me out of his sight.

I pulled the scrap of newspaper out of my diary, and just stared at it, seeing a different headline.

Had my father really been that close to death? Is that what it meant?

The thought chilled me.

As I wondered where the article had come from, my thoughts drifted back to the night of the explosion. To the man standing in the shadows, and the woman who had run into me.

Something bloomed in me as I remembered how familiar she’d seemed as I watched her hurry away.

Hope flared. Could it be possible?

It had never even crossed my mind that night. Why would it? I watched her die. And I didn’t know what I knew then.

I wore Jonathon’s jacket all that weekend. I never took it off. I could smell his healthy male scent, and when I breathed in deeply, the emptiness inside wasn’t quite so profound.

I kept the article in the pocket, and often pulled it out, just staring at it.

In it I saw all of my questions, going right back to the moment when I pulled it from my father’s pocket. The first moment the truth stared me in the face and I realized things weren’t what I thought they were, no matter how I tried to rationalize it at the time.

I was so naïve, but I didn’t know the questions to ask back then.

I skimmed through the brief article again, and certain words and phrases launched themselves at me.

Father and daughter ... dead ... suspected gas leak.

The press had spoken to Bianca. She was the ‘family-friend’ mentioned in the article that told them we were home – that she had spoken to me on the phone only minutes before the explosion.

I pulled the article out again on Sunday morning at breakfast, holding it under the table where my father couldn’t see it.

He was lost in the newspaper, his dark eyes scanning side to side, the pages rustling softly as he slurped his morning coffee.

Every now and then he looked at me, as though he could sense the weight of my questions.

“You should eat something,” he said.

“I’m not hungry.”

He turned another page, the strong tendons in his arm standing out with the movement.

I put the article on the table in front of me, carefully smoothing it out with my fingers.

My father didn’t look up, and neither did I, but the rustle of paper stilled, and the hand with the coffee in it paused before it reached his mouth.

He sucked in his breath, and straightened. He took a large, noisy gulp of coffee, then set the cup down with a soft clunk.

When I looked up he was still staring at the newspaper in his hands, but his eyes were no longer scanning it, and the lines of his face had hardened beneath his shaggy beard.

The dark circles under his eyes seemed to grow deeper, darker, ringing wary, guarded eyes.

“How did you get this?” I asked softly.

He closed his eyes and swallowed heavily, his Adam’s apple jutting out and down with the movement. “It was on the table when I got out of the shower.”

“But – someone had to leave it there. It didn’t just get there by itself.”

He put the newspaper down, his large hands balling into tight fists on top of it. He still hadn’t looked at me since I put the article on the table.

“I know.” He bit the words out, his voice tight with frustration. His eyes drew slightly inward as he rubbed at his beard irritably with his knuckles.

It made me notice that since we’d moved the flecks of silvery-gray in his beard had grown even more pronounced, making his beard look lighter than it used to. The same thing had happened to his hair, but it wasn’t as noticeable.

Whatever this was – whatever was going on – was aging my father. The planes of his face were still smooth; the only creases marring his face were the ones I was causing with my questions. But the beard made him look older than he was.

“You didn’t see anyone?” I pressed.

“No. Whoever it was – they were already gone when I looked out the apartment door. After that I wasn’t really thinking. I just knew we had to get out of there.”

The fact my father was actually answering my questions was kind of amazing. But it only led to more questions.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

He finally looked at me, his eyes widening as he studied my face.

“There is,” I said, my voice coming out slightly defensive.

He was already out of the shower and had packed his bag by the time I reached the apartment. He had plenty of time to chase after the woman who’d pushed past me. I was sure she was the one who’d left the article.

My father surprised me by answering. “There was something on the bathroom mirror.”

“Someone came in while you were in the shower?” It seemed impossible.

“No. It was done earlier. The steam brought it out – it was written with soap.”

“What did it say?”

“It was just numbers. I didn’t realize their significance until I saw that.” He glanced down at the article I was fingering.

“Numbers?” My brain put it together. “The time? That’s how you knew how long we had?”

He nodded.

I opened my mouth, but quickly snapped it shut. If I was wrong, if it wasn’t my mother, I would be opening up a whole world of hurt.

15

They
didn’t return to school on Monday. Or Tuesday. By Wednesday I was sure I’d never see them again.

I was angry at myself for not getting answers when I had the chance. Angry over a migraine I had no control over. But I knew it was more than that. I wanted – needed – to see Jonathon. He’d helped fill that empty ache a little. Had made something come alive inside me. Of course I didn’t fully realize this until he was gone.

I kept seeing his face in my head. The way he would glance up through his lashes whenever I looked his way, as though he could feel me watching. The slight flick of his brown, streaky hair, and the little dimple when he grinned that adorable half smile, the corner of his lip lifting slowly.

When they did return, they acted differently toward me. Something had changed.

The only problem was, they knew the rules, and I didn’t.

As soon as I saw Jonathon standing next to my locker I ran toward him. I’m not sure if I was planning on hitting him or hugging him. But he opened his arms, folding me into them, and I clung to him, just breathing him in. For a brief moment I felt safe. Like things would get better. Like I existed.

Nothing in my world made sense anymore, especially the feelings that Jonathon stirred in me.

When his arms relaxed, I pulled away, biting my bottom lip. I still felt shy with him, and uncertain of the way he made me feel.

Looking up at him, I said, “I guess that means I have to give your jacket back.”

Jonathon smiled, but even though his eyes were warm, they were conflicted. He also seemed nervous. On edge even.

Questions flooded my mind. What was going on here, and why was he nervous?

Did I make him nervous? Or was it something else?

He tucked my hair behind my ear, then his cool fingertips ran along my jaw line.

A pleasant shiver ran through me. He had no idea what he was doing to me.

Or maybe he did.

He cupped the side of my face in his hand, and leaned closer.

I tilted my head, pressing into his warm palm, and searched his face.

The way he was looking at me was so tender, but his eyes were telling me a different story.

I had always been pretty good at reading people, but with Jonathon it was hard.

Something flashed in his eyes and he looked away. It was only for a second, but I know what I saw – guilt and remorse.

When he met my eye again, it was gone.

He took his hand away, and moved back a step, looking over my shoulder.

I could still feel the lingering trace of his hand on my cheek, and was confused by the sudden change in him.

It was like a shutter had come down over his face, reminding me he was one of
them.

I tried to turn, but he grabbed the sides of my head so that I couldn’t.

I knew why immediately. They were behind me.

Jonathon’s eyes softened. He leaned closer. “Hold onto it. You might need it.”

“Hold onto what?” My face flushed. “Oh – the jacket.”

I could feel their eyes on my back and wondered how long they’d been standing there, watching what I thought was a private moment.

My voice was soft, and husky with emotion. “Where were you, anyway?”

I didn’t like this me – the one that was ruled by hormones. The one that came across as needy.

“We had to – to go back home for a few days.”

Jonathon suddenly stiffened and turned his head.

Sure enough, when I looked up, I saw Madison over his shoulder.

Confused, I turned around. I had been so sure they were behind me.

They were. And they weren’t watching us, they were watching Madison.

My skin prickled. I had no idea what was going on here, but I didn’t like it.

There was an underlying current in the air. One filled with danger.

I turned back to Jonathon, my head spinning. “That girl seriously needs to get a life of her own,” I muttered. “They all do.”

Jonathon chuckled, and his hands came up to rub the sides of my arms.

“If only you knew,” he said softly.

Then he leaned forward, making my heart flutter with anticipation. He brushed the hair away from my face, and whispered something in my ear, his breath hot, his voice low and urgent.

I know it was stupid, but I felt hot, burning tears spring to my eyes.

I had let him get under my skin. Somehow he had gotten past the barrier I normally put up to protect myself.

As his words pounded at me, I took a step back as I tried to work out what his game was.

I threw a quick look at Madison, but she wasn’t looking at me, she was looking at Jonathon. And for the first time I saw something in her eyes that wasn’t hard and cold. She was looking at Jonathon with pity.

I expected him to leave, but he didn’t.

And this only confused me further.

His hot, whispered words were a complete contradiction to his actions.

He gently turned me, one hand on the small of my back as he guided me to the door.

I wasn’t used to this sort of gentle tenderness, and it made me feel strangely vulnerable. But it also made me feel better. It gave me strength.

Before we went out the door, I glanced back at Madison, my emotions churning as Jonathon’s words ran through my head.

I bit down on the squeak of surprise and fear that tried to escape my lips, unable to look away.

The mask had come back over Madison’s face again, but she was no longer alone.

This time they were all standing there, forming a half circle around her.

I knew they could move fast, but I hadn’t expected to see them. Not when they’d been standing on the other side of me and Jonathon only a few seconds before.

A shudder passed through me. It was so damn creepy the way they were always there.

“What’s wrong?” Jonathon squeezed my shoulder, but he already knew.

Jonathon pressed me gently forward, out the door, but not before I saw the slight, almost imperceptible nod Madison gave him.

Then Beck was there, walking beside us.

She looked curiously at Jonathon, and I shrugged, a small, happy smile springing to my lips. I couldn’t help it.

Despite what he said.
That was also the day Jonathon started sitting at my table at lunch. He was already there when I walked into the cafeteria, sitting across from Beck.

Madison and Morgan glared at him from the other side of the room, but Lanita and Andrew were watching me.

Jonathon looked stiff and awkward, and it crossed my mind that maybe he was as uncertain as I was.

Despite their perfection, none of them fit in, because it made them stand out.

Beck looked up and started throwing me meaningful looks, and waggling her eyebrows, her eyes darting between me and Jonathon.

She had the same gleam in her eye that she had the day she rescued me from Jenifer’s clutches. It was the first real spark of life I’d seen in her since Chris died; somehow, almost two weeks had managed to slip by.

Melissa was another story. We had no idea where she went in those days, she’d totally dropped off the planet. She was like a zombie as she sat through class. That was when she bothered to show up.

Jonathon turned, his eyes lighting up when he saw me.

For a moment I forgot what he had whispered in my ear.

I should have listened.

I sat down next to him, wondering why he would warn me to stay away from him, when his eyes were so warm and welcoming.

It made no sense.

Lunch that day was tense, and the conversation was stilted and awkward. I was too aware of them watching us. Too aware of the fact that Jonathon was sitting at our table.

I knew I had to try and get him alone, but I was still processing what he said. Still trying to make sense of it.

I made many attempts to get him on his own over the following days.

At first I thought it was just circumstances getting in the way.

Beck was still clinging to me, no longer the bright, vivacious girl I met that first week.

And of course
they
were always close, their cold eyes boring into me.

Sometimes I would stare right back at them. Or I would act as though I didn’t notice. But always I wondered. How could they know things that hadn’t happened yet? Where did they come from? Or was the question when?

I never really believed in time travel, even then. After all, time was a man made concept. Something humans had created to mark the passing of days. I told myself that there had to be another explanation. A logical one that made sense.

It wasn’t long before I figured out that Jonathon was actively avoiding being alone with me.

I thought I knew why – he could see the questions in my eyes. Questions he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, answer.

It didn’t cross my mind that he was just as scared as I was, or that he was trying to protect me in the only way he knew how.