Dead River - By Cyn Balog Page 0,77
idea how to get back. I clasp my hands over my mouth. “Oh my God. He’s gone.”
He moves closer, tentative, and scans through the pines. “Who is he?”
“Leave me,” I whisper into my hands. I don’t know how long I’ve been crying, but my palms are slick and salty with tears.
Suddenly a fireball bursts in the distance. I don’t even look at it, almost as if I expected it, and yet I don’t know where it came from. Justin steps back, his mouth forming an O. “What the—”
He starts to take a step toward it, but as I’m moaning “Please, can’t you leave me?” another fireball bursts behind us. It rocks Justin, and he steadies himself as I remain still. The rain begins to fall steadily now, and the fire melts to nothing, but Justin surveys the area, and I know that in all the years he’s been here, he’s never seen anything like it. But still he won’t leave.
“What the hell? We’ve got to get out of here, Ki. Now.”
“Leave me,” I beg, knowing there will be another eruption, possibly closer, if he stays. I don’t know how I know, but I know.
But I can’t expect him to leave. He’s just found me. Instead of obeying, he narrows his eyes. “Wait. You’ve been missing for nearly twenty-four hours and now you’re telling me you don’t want to be found? Jesus, Ki, did you do this on purpose? Because of me?”
I simply stare at the spot where Trey once stood. I can’t comprehend what Justin is saying. Because of him? Why because of him? Everything from this world is strange, like walking into a foreign country. I turn to him as he tries to put his arm around me. Even he looks different. His arm around me feels different, heavier. Wrong.
“No, I didn’t do this on purpose,” I whisper, because I know that if I admit I did, I’d have to acknowledge that everything that happened to Trey is my fault.
And it is.
Why can’t I see him? Is he gone? Off to the next place? Away to where I will never see him again?
Tears flood my eyes again. I start to speak, to explain, but I don’t know how to explain this. Justin puts a warm hand over mine, and it’s only when my hand starts to sting in his that I realize my limbs are frozen. He says, “You’re like ice. You can explain later. Let’s go back. Your dad is waiting for you.”
My dad. It’s those words that lift me. Justin helps me to my feet, and they feel like they’re tethered to the ground with elastic bands as I walk unsteadily toward the path that will lead us to the rest of civilization. To my old life. How can it be that it’s only been a day since I’ve been part of it? I slump against Justin, and the one thing that feels familiar is how effortlessly he piles me into his arms. In the rhythm of his footfalls, I’m lulled to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When I wake, I’m in the middle of a big, fluffy bed piled high with white comforters and pillows. It’s Angela’s cabin, bright lacquered log walls covered in rustic frames holding wilderness scenes, windows open to the green pine boughs outside. I prop myself up on my elbows and inspect my white nightgown, unable to recall where or when I got such a strange piece of clothing. As I’m contemplating the contents of the bag I dragged up here, there’s a creaking in the doorway, and Trey appears.
He’s perfect. His face may not be clean-shaven, but his wounds are gone. He smiles at me.
This isn’t real, is it? I don’t say it. I don’t need to say it. He understands every word. He nods and slips a hand behind my neck, pulling me up to him in the most real kiss I’ve ever felt in my life. His lips burn mine, etching a permanent impression there. When he pulls away, I reach for him, wanting more, and when my hands graze his skin, I hear his voice, clear inside my head.
I’m moving on. Wanted to tell you something, though. I shouldn’t have denied it.
No, I say. Don’t. Say it to me when you’re holding me for real. Because you’re not moving on. I won’t let you.
You’re not moving on. My eyes flicker open. Unlike in my dream, this time the room is bathed in darkness. There is no strip of light under the door;