Betrayal - By Lee Nichols Page 0,54

misses you guys.”

Sara pulled into the hospital parking lot. “Where do I park?”

“Turn left,” I said. “I was just here with Natalie when she almost drowned.”

“That really happened?” Harry ran a hand over his face. “I thought she was being a drama queen. I’m such an ass.”

“What do you mean, almost drowned?” Sara asked. “When did that happen?”

“At the beach party,” I said. “A ghost tried to drown her.”

“The one that killed Coby?”

“No, but that one sent this one. It’s a long story.”

“I can’t believe we’re talking about ghosts,” Sara said.

“Because you are narrow-minded,” Harry said. “I’ve spoken to you about that before.”

“Oh shut up—you’re drunk. If you were sober, you wouldn’t believe a word.” She stopped at the emergency-room entrance. “I can’t park here.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, “if you can open the door for me.”

Harry stumbled from the backseat to let me out. When I brushed past him, he fell to the ground.

“Oh God, Harry,” Sara said. “We’ll meet you inside, Emma.”

Harry mumbled something cryptic about a bucket and a horse, then threw up in the bushes.

“Just get Harry home,” I told Sara.

“We’re not leaving you alone. Not after … everything.”

“Yes, we are,” Harry said, straightening. “Jeeves, take me to rehab!”

“What?” Sara asked. “Are you serious?”

“Cross my heart and hope to—” He peered around. “Is he still here?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“In that case, I’m deadly serious. Serious as a heart attack. I need rehab, stat. They have a room with my name on the door.” The manic light faded from his face. “And damn, if you don’t take me now, I might start thinking I don’t need to go.”

Sara glanced at me.

“You know he needs to,” I said.

Sara nodded and started to grab my hand, then remembered and touched my arm instead. “Emma … I’m sorry. We both are.”

“I’m not!” Harry insisted. “I’m magnificent.”

We ignored him, and I smiled at Sara, with tears in my eyes. Then they drove off and I stumbled into the emergency room. The double doors went swish and I caught the eye of a passing nurse.

I showed her my hands and said, “Ow.”

15

The nurses wondered how I’d managed to give myself second-degree burns over both hands, and I told a disjointed story about confusing a pot of cold water with a pot of boiling water. They looked at me funny, but bandaged the burns and gave me a hard-core painkiller.

I told them I wanted to go home, then admitted I didn’t have a ride. I couldn’t work my iPhone with my fingers bandaged, and I didn’t really want them calling Natalie in the middle of some ghostly event, so they left a message on the museum’s answering machine.

They tucked me into a bed surrounded with curtain walls, even though I wasn’t remotely tired. Then the painkiller hit and I fell asleep almost instantly, to the sound of crabby patients and crying babies. I dreamed that acidic ghast-drool was dissolving my hands.

Then a voice interrupted my dream. “Wake up, sweetie. We don’t have much time.”

“I don’t want to go to school,” I murmured.

“Emma! Wake up!”

I woke, groggy and disoriented. “Muh?” I sat up, and forgot the flare of pain in my hand when I saw my father and mother standing beside the bed. “Oh my God. You came. You’re here!”

“Shh,” my father hushed me. “They don’t know.”

“Who?” I asked. “Why are you hiding? Nobody thinks you killed anyone.”

“Shh,” he said again. “Let us look at you.”

I looked back at them. There was more gray in my father’s dark hair, and a stubbly beard marred his usually clean-shaven chin. He looked like he’d aged ten years since I’d last seen him two months ago.

My mother looked worse. She had dark shadows under her eyes, and her black sweater and pants engulfed her slight frame. Her face was gaunt and her skin jaundiced—she looked old and ill.

Fear clutched my stomach. “Are you sick?”

“I’m fine.” She ran a hand over my hair. “You look so grown-up and beautiful. I like your hair.” The short haircut she’d never approved of was finally growing out. “I’ve missed you.”

“Why did you leave me like that?”

“To protect you from Neos—to draw his attention away from you.”

“Well, that didn’t work,” I said. “How could you not tell me who I was? Who you were?”

“We knew you were special, Emma,” my father said. “We knew your powers far outstripped our own, but we didn’t know how to protect you.”

“We needed to buy time when we realized Neos was returning,” my mother continued.