Towering - By Alex Flinn Page 0,27

any footsteps in the hallway, nothing but the wind. The door had been my imagination. Of course it had. My imagination trying to persuade me I wasn’t all alone, when I was. Giving up on sleep, I turned on the light and, once again, opened the diary.

12

Danielle’s Diary

He’s gone! I’m sure of it! He’s gone, and the world has ended. Ended!

Every day for a week, he came to me, and it was wonderful. We made love among the trees by the lake, and I saw visions I had never seen before. I used to think this place was ugly, gray, dead. With Zach, it was beautiful.

But now, he is gone. I have walked Ginger out to the road every day this week, and I’ve returned, having gained nothing but exercise. Has he left town? Or worse, has he died? Been hit by a car? Gotten sick?

Or has he merely decided he doesn’t like me anymore?

At night, I have been plagued by the strangest dreams, dreams in which colors have sounds and something chases me across the sky with spidery, flaming legs. I ran away from it, but also, toward something. Was it Zach? Before I could reach the end, I would wake, sweating, unable to scream.

I began to make plans to sneak away, to concoct a ruse to go to the Red Fox Inn.

And then, yesterday, I did.

Mom has been sick for several days. It’s only a cough, but from the way she acts, you’d think she was near death. We are running low on groceries. Earlier in the week, I offered to go shop, but she said it was unnecessary. She’d be better soon. But now, it’s been several days. We’re out of milk and almost out of bread. I told Mom this.

“We can get milk from Mrs. McNeill,” she said, “and I can make bread.” And then, a cough racked her body, doubling her up and making her hack grotesquely for over a minute.

When she finished, I said, “I wouldn’t eat any bread you made. I could get the plague. Besides, you should rest.”

“I’ve been in bed these three days, and it hasn’t helped. I can’t sleep for all this coughing.”

“Some medicine, maybe. Maybe Dr. Fine . . .” I stopped. I didn’t want her to go to the doctor because, then, she’d come to town with me. “I could call Dr. Fine and describe your symptoms. Then, he could phone something in.”

“He wouldn’t. Dr. Fine isn’t helpful unless there’s a check involved. He’ll want me to go there, and I’m too sick to go out.”

Could she be any more difficult?

“Oh!” I remembered the nighttime cold medicine I had in my bottom dresser drawer. Some kids at school said they took it to get high, but when I did, it only made me want to sleep forever and ever. Nothing like whatever I took with Zach. But if Mom took the cold meds, I could go out or do anything I wanted. “I just remembered I have this really good cough medicine. I’ll get it for you.”

“Nothing will help.”

“Try this.”

I measured the green fluid into the plastic dose cup, filling it a bit higher than necessary, but only a bit. I didn’t want to kill her, only to assure she slept a good four or five hours. I brought it to her, walking carefully so as not to spill it.

“Disgusting color,” she said, appraising it. “It must be effective.”

“Let’s hope so. But it tastes really bad.” I wanted to warn her. It would suck if she did a spit take and didn’t ingest it. “Maybe hold your nose.”

“It’s okay. I have no sense of taste today.” She raised the cup and drank it all the way down. Yes! “It burns a bit.”

“Why don’t you go lie down, and I’ll make you a cup of tea?”

Amazingly, she agreed to that. I took my time, making the tea, and when I went upstairs, she was already asleep, snoring, the phlegm rattling as it gushed in and out of her nose. Gross.

“Here’s your tea, Mom.” I said it soft, so as not to wake her. Nothing. Her purse was on the dresser. I reached inside, quiet as I could, keeping an eye on her the whole time my hands searched for her car keys. She had a keychain with an old photo of me in a Lucite frame. One side was cracked, and I felt the scratchy, thick edge. I pulled up on it.

A slight tinkling noise. In her bed, Mom