Towering - By Alex Flinn Page 0,78

but I need my car back. Wyatt?”

I pressed the button to disconnect the line.

I made my decision. I would go. Yes, it was highly possible that I might die, that I might freeze to death, be eaten by animals, or captured by the same person who killed my mother. But I might as well risk it. If I could not leave, could not find Wyatt, I might as well plummet from this tower.

So, I went to the closet and took my warmest dress, a sweater, an extra pair of shoes. All my shoes were thin and unfit for snow, but I could at least have a second pair. I put on the coat Wyatt had brought, my mother’s coat with the note in the pocket. Then, I took a blanket. Then all the blankets. Then, I put some back because I could not walk with all the blankets, but I took two. After all, I was leaving forever.

I remembered what she had said on the phone about needing the car. Did she need it to see me? If so, that would give me more time before I was discovered. And maybe Wyatt would still come.

I emptied the pillowcase from my bed and stuffed it with everything. I made myself eat something and took the rest of the food with me. It might be a long journey.

I walked to the window and stared down. The sun had already fallen below the trees. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see anything but trees and snow. But on the wind, I heard a voice, whispering.

“Rachel,” it said.

It sounded like his voice, Wyatt’s voice. He said he had sensed me in my tower, that he had known I was there. Perhaps that meant I could sense him as well.

No, I just wanted so much to hear him.

I made up my mind. I tied the rope, dropped my belongings to the ground, then slid down the rope behind them.

“Ouch!” I fell, hard, on my ankle. It twisted strangely. Had I broken it? I rose, careful as possible. I could walk, but it ached. I gathered my pillowcase and the blankets. It was cold, so cold. I had been foolish to do this.

On the wind, I heard Wyatt’s voice, saying, “Rachel!”

“I can hear you. Where are you? Are you in danger?”

“Rachel?”

I wanted to run, but the snow was too high, the ground too rocky. My pretty shoes did nothing to protect my soft feet. I had no hat. I pulled up the coat’s hood, wishing I had my long rope of hair. But there was no way to get it. I looked behind me, and saw it, waving good-bye, already distant. I imagined myself, leaning out the window, seeing my hair touch the ground. No time for silly rememberings!

I turned away and trudged on. Ahead was nothing but snow and evergreens. And Wyatt. Wyatt. Behind me was the whole rest of my life. Which was nothing. I looked back at the tower. I knew, somehow, I could never go back there again.

I willed myself to walk faster. I had a dim memory (not a silly one this time) of being a little girl, running in the snow and feeling warmer. Yes! Movement made one warm. Stillness, cold. So the faster I walked, ran even, the warmer I would feel.

My ankle no longer ached. I kept going. I counted my steps. One, two, ten, a hundred. Surely, if I could walk a thousand steps, I would see something. A house. A town. A person who would help me find Wyatt. But I never reached even a hundred steps, much less a thousand. I kept losing count. The sun sank lower still in the sky. Though I did feel warm from walking, with night, the air would grow colder. Say what I might about my life before—I had never been cold, never hungry. Mama had always protected me.

Mama!

If only I could talk to her. I could, I knew, on Wyatt’s telephone. I had the means. But what would she do if I called her. Would she help me find him? Or would she send me back to my tower, where I would wish to die, having lost my only chance at happiness.

The sun was setting, and I looked at the red sky and begged for a sign, anything, to tell me what to do.

I heard only Wyatt’s voice, the voice saying, “Rachel!”

But that was enough. I decided I would chance it. I could, after all, show Mama the