Survivor - By Kaye Draper Page 0,78

and slammed the door, shattering the frame. Peter left me alone for a long time.

I squared my shoulders and marched to the window, intending to open it and leave. No way could he keep me here. The first few steps were easy, but then I felt my movements slow. It was like trying to walk through a sea of tar. The closer I got to my destination, the worse the feeling grew, until I couldn’t even lift my feet. I fought, and struggled, cursed and grunted with effort, but I couldn’t move one more inch toward my destination. I could turn around though. I walked back to my bed with ease. The compulsion I was under wouldn’t allow me to leave the house.

I collapsed on the bed, pounding my fists on the mattress in a frustrated rage. When the anger was spent, the tears came and I cried until I thought my heart would break. Finally, numb, I watched the sunlight make its way across the room. Then it started to fade and shadows appeared.

There were light footsteps in the hall and Peter appeared. “Get your coat and shoes,” he said softly. “Then come to me so I can put you under.”

I pressed my head to the car’s passenger-side window as we drove, taking comfort from the chilled glass as my mind ran the same well-worn paths again, and again. Why hadn’t I seen Chelsea’s accident with my new “abilities”? Why had I failed her? What could I have done differently? I was awash in grief and guilt. When we reached the parking garage, and the car finally came to a halt, I turned to Peter. His eyes were silvery and his aura was overpowering. I nodded and looked into his eyes, willing myself to go blank and be swept under. He would control me like a doll if I didn’t resist, and that was exactly what I wanted. I could go under his control, or I could not go at all. I likely wouldn’t even remember what had happened, but it was a small price to be able to save my little sister.

*****

My parents’ house was filled with a restful stillness. Mom and Chelsea were sleeping, but I knew that Dad was still up. I could hear his quiet movements, and sense the slow beating of his heart.

I paused just outside the study. The room was hushed, and a small fire danced merrily in the fireplace. A bit of sap popped and I heard Dad shift in his seat, then the shush of sliding paper as he turned a page. I smiled sadly as I remembered him sitting by my bed, reading. I knew that ever since my car accident he had suffered from sleeplessness. I had thought this would improve after I moved out, but here he was, a cheesy western clasped in one thick hand while he looked for a place to escape- an alternate reality where everything could be solved with a hard look and a six-shooter. A place where good always won and the damsel in distress was always rescued from the mustached villain.

I slipped into the winged chair next to his, and he looked up in surprise. He cleared his throat and marked his place before setting the book aside. “Hi Dad,” I said softly.

He took a sip from the tumbler that sat on the end table. “What’s the matter, honey,” he said quietly. “Couldn’t sleep?” I could ask him the same thing. We’d all had a long week, but Chelsea was home now, and she was staying here until her casts came off. It was hard to take care of yourself with a broken arm and leg.

I took a deep breath and refused to go along with his everything-is-okay attitude. “I know you worry,” I said softly. “Maybe even more than Mom.” Because he was our protector- our man, the glue that held us all together. “But you’ve done a good job. You’ve done everything you could,” I hurried to assure him. “You think it’s not enough, but it is.”

This wasn’t just about Chelsea. It was about me. The daughter who hadn’t come home okay. I took his hand and gave it a squeeze, seeing that his eyes looked a little misty. “I know you’ve hung on to me- the old me- for a long time, right here.” I put a hand over my heart in illustration, ignoring the fact that the slow thump beneath my palm wasn’t normal.

He sighed and gave me