Chaos (Kardia Chronicles) (Entangled Teen) (10 page)

He peeled off a red Visitor sticker, and I smashed it against my coat.

“See you next week.” I patted him on the shoulder and spun around toward the bank of elevators, bypassing them for the stairs. Elevators were like airplanes—metal orifices of doom—and I avoided them whenever possible.

Claude would be gone by the time I left, replaced by one of the night guys. The warm exchange with him carried me to the intensive care unit in a relatively good frame of mind, and it wasn’t until I walked into Eric’s room that the familiar feeling of wanting to run out screaming washed over me. So strange how, even though I saw him every week, I never remembered. My brain always filled in his image like the quintessential jock boy he used to be. Fit, hot, good hair. Like a guy you’d see in a deodorant commercial. Vital. Alive.

Now, hanks of straw-colored hair lay against his pale forehead. After months in the hospital, his body was so shrunken, he could’ve passed for a middle schooler. My heart ached at the sight. I stood next to the bed, watching his narrow chest moving up and down, and for the hundredth time found myself wishing harder than I’d ever wished for anything that it wasn’t all just smoke and mirrors. A trick of modern science performed by pulleys and pumps, by wires and widgets, all designed to force air into him in an effort to keep this shell of Eric “alive.”

Thoughts like those always led down the same dark, hideous path. What about the rest of him? All the stuff that mattered? His thoughts and his dreams. His soul. Was he in there somewhere, sad and lonely and afraid? Or worse, howling in pain, desperate to break free from the prison I’d put him in? Sometimes when I closed my eyes, I could hear it. Just one long, unrelenting scream.

Then those thoughts reminded me of the memories I’d seen in his head, right before everything went dark. That one clear moment between the time I was acting on instinct and the time I figured out how to stop. It was a second long, maybe less, but it was the worst second of my life and if I could forget anything from my past, it would be that moment. Right after the accident, as I had tried to help him, to push my energy into him, I’d also opened myself to his memories. The last ones that swirled around in his head before the nothingness rocked me every time I thought of them. It had been like his life was flashing before his eyes.

Warmth, so complete and soothing. A soft cloth wrapping around me and a smiling face. The most beautiful thing I’ve. “Ahhhhhm gonnnnna GIT CHOO, GIT CHOO, GIT CHOO, GIT CHOO!” she cooes as she tickles my belly.

Baby Eric’s belly. His squeal still rang in my ears, the joy so sharp it bordered on pain, and I could feel the love he felt for her, so strong it made me want to cry even now.

Flip to the view of a bumpy road and a feeling of unadulterated freedom as the wind whips at my face. Mommy’s nervous voice calls behind me, “Be careful. Keep both hands on the handlebars!”

Then another shift, to the face of a fluffy white dog.
Gypsy. Her head on my lap propped next to an open chemistry book, soft muzzle under my fingertips as I stroke her face.

Fu-uck.

My stomach pitched and saliva pooled in my mouth. If banging my head against the wall would take those memories away, I would have done it, I swear. But they were part of my penance. Penance that would never be enough. Every time I saw Eric’s mom now, I wished I could trade places with him.

I sucked in a steadying breath, slipping my hand into my pocket and closing my fingers around Alex’s ring for a second. I could do this. I
had
to do this. Also part of my penance.

“Hi, Eric. It’s me, Maggie.” I bent and pulled the book I’d brought from my backpack. This one was about Jackie Robinson. Eric loved baseball and had played on the varsity team at school before… I tried to mix it up when it came to reading material but always took what I knew about him into account when making my choice at the library. No Jane Austen for this guy.

I lowered myself into the chair closest to his bed and let the book fall open on my lap. My hands were still freezing and my fingers weren’t cooperating, so I talked while I thawed, babbling about school, the movies that were coming out, and other stuff to fill the yawning silence before finally grabbing the book when I could feel my hands enough to flip the pages.

“The year was nineteen forty-seven,” I began. “The same year the instant camera was invented and India gained independence from Great Britain.”

I read until my throat was too dry to continue, then I got some water from the tap that tasted like a full 50 percent chlorine and read some more. A nurse came in to check his vitals and administer some medicine, but as soon as she was done, I kept on. Seven chapters and a couple hours in, my eyes got heavy and I let them drift shut for a minute.

When my eyelids fluttered open, I sensed a trickle of drool on my cheek and raised a hand to swipe it away. A glance out the window told me I’d been asleep for a long time and had stayed well past the dinner hour. I rifled through my jeans for my phone. Crap. Six thirty. Plus five texts from Libby, one from Bink, and two missed calls. Mom both times.

I whipped off a quick
Sorry, I’m on my way home
message and stood, but a low voice and an accompanying tingling sensation in my stomach froze me to the spot.

“Need a lift?”

Mac Finnegan lounged in the doorway, his body filling the frame. I swallowed hard and ignored my hammering heart long enough to shove the book back into my bag.

“No, thanks. It’s only a ten-minute walk.” For a second, I actually felt fear. What was he doing here? What had felt like paranoia was starting to feel legit. Was he stalking me?

“It’s dark and cold out. Come on. I need to talk to you in any case.” He had a polite smile fixed on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

I ran through my options and shook my head slowly. “What are you doing here, Mac? I feel like I can’t get away from you for some reason, and I’m getting sick of not being told what that reason is.”

One of the monitors attached to Eric stuttered to a stop, and Mac and I both jerked our heads to Eric. A second later the beeping started up again, and I blew out a sigh. My relief was so great that, for a second, I forgot I was in the presence of the enemy and spoke freely. “That happens pretty often, but it scares the crap out of me every time.”

Mac gave me a long, assessing look, and I resisted the urge to shift beneath the weight of his stare. Because fuck him.

“Does it?” His voice was low, the words careful as the polite smile faded.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded, a punch of something ugly hitting me in the gut, making me feel all icky inside.

“Nothing, really.” He straightened and stepped farther into the room. “You asked what I was doing here. My mam had a minor procedure, and I came to visit her. I was walking by and saw you sleeping in the corner there. But I might ask you the same thing. What are you doing here, Maggie?”

Not that I needed to answer him, but… “I come every week to visit Eric.”

“Were you guys friends? Before…?”

“You mean you don’t know the story?” Was that even possible? Everyone knew the story. A hundred and twenty-nine days ago, Eric and I had been on our last date. He’d left his house at seven thirty on a breezy summer evening and hadn’t been home since. Because of me.

“I’d heard rumors, but I take little stock in chatter like that.”

I nodded, reluctantly relieved to hear that. To most of them, I was just the unlucky girl who happened to be in the car with Eric when he’d smashed into a pole. To a few, it was my fault because I should have made him slow down. If they knew the truth, I probably would have done time for aggravated assault and attempted murder.

I shoved the guilt aside and focused on Mac, who still stood, waiting for some response. “Well, the fact is, the rumors are pretty much true. Eric and I went out and now he’s in a coma.”

The tears came again, and I cursed under my breath.

“Look, I’m late for dinner. I’ve got to go. And seriously, Finnegan…” I held his gaze. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this. Because I don’t trust you. And I don’t want to be around you. If you insist on meeting tomorrow, fine. We both know you have enough info on me to ruin my life if you wanted. But honestly? I can’t deal with your ass today, and this isn’t the place for our discussion.”

I slipped on my coat, hefted the bag onto my shoulder, and laid a quick, gentle hand on Eric’s leg as I passed him.

“See you next week,” I whispered, barreling out of the room, careful not to touch Mac as I passed. I needed to get the hell out of there before the waterworks started for real. The jerk definitely wouldn’t let me leave without bringing it up. Nosy prick. I just had to hope he had a heart under there somewhere and would cut me some slack until the following day when I had better control over my emotions.

I jogged lightly down the stairs, my hatred of elevators escalating with my frenetic mood, and was glad when I didn’t hear him following me. Finally, I got to walk away instead of him for once. Seemed like he was forever getting the last word, and it made me mad enough to punch kittens.

“You’re sure about the ride, then?”

The voice over my shoulder nearly gave me a heart attack. “Jesus!” I pulled to a stop, two feet from the hospital exit. “Way to roll up on somebody. You scared the crap out of me. If you were wondering what career path to take after high school, I suggest you look into stalking. You’re a natural.”

I didn’t bother to dignify his repeated offer of a ride with a response and stepped into the cold. The air was so frigid, it stung my lungs, and without the debatable warmth of the sun, it made my bones ache. I mentally cursed my mother for insisting that Southern California was a lousy place to move because it didn’t have four seasons. Four seasons my eye. New Hampshire had two seasons. Fucking hot and fucking cold.

“I really think you should let me drive you.”

I stopped in my tracks and wheeled on Mac, who’d followed close enough behind me that I nearly slammed straight into him. He reached out to steady me, but I shook his hands off wildly, almost overwhelmed with the need to latch on…to connect and pull the energy from him into me.

I steadied myself before responding, fury making my voice tremble. “Yeah, I got that the first hundred times you asked me. And I said no. You ever see that PSA on TV? No means no.”

He frowned at that and took a glance around before leaning closer. “I can help you, Magpie.”

“Stop. Calling. Me. That,” I bit out through gritted teeth.

But my mental cursor was frozen, stuck on his words, and I couldn’t get my feet moving again. What was that supposed to mean, he could help me? Was this where he threw out some sort of squirrely blackmail plan where I had to give him a sack full of unmarked bills or else he’d release the tapes, and if anything happened to him—

Note to self: Stop watching
Matlock
with Gram.

“I-I don’t need any help.” I should’ve kept walking because there were plenty of times it would have served me well in the past and this was probably another one, but I hated leaving a loose thread. A mystery unsolved. And Mac was a mystery if there ever was one. So I didn’t keep going. I waited. Like an idiot.

“Are you sure about that?”

The annoyance that seemed to be just below the boiling point whenever I was within twenty feet of him bubbled over, and I went from apprehensive to furious again in two seconds flat. “Who are you, the goddamned Riddler? If you have something to say, say it. I don’t know how they do it in Ireland, but over here, we just spit it out without all this song and dance.”

“That’s the problem with Americans.” He shook his head regretfully. “You’ve got no poetry in your soul.”

Even then, with him lecturing me and that annoying, all-knowing look on his too-perfect face, I couldn’t budge. I needed to know. Who was this guy?

The wind howled, and I tucked my coat tighter around me. “Good. Great. But you’re here now, so out with it.”

“I know you.” He stepped closer, and I scuttled a little farther away, refusing to have to crane my neck at some ridiculous angle that made me feel like a soon-to-be victim in a bad vampire movie. Not because every time he got close, my heart beat triple time. Or because he smelled like sin and summer rain. And definitely not because he made my fingertips itch with the need to touch…

And take
, I reminded myself firmly. No boys for me.
Especially
not this one, who somehow seemed as dangerous to me as I was to him.

“Way to go on the whole ‘less cryptic’ front,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as breathless as I felt. All my senses were dialed up to eleven and I knew that, at some point when he finally got around to it, things were going to shift. I didn’t know what that meant for me or even whether it would be good or bad.

All I could be sure of was that everything would be different.

Two minutes later, I stared out the fogged window of Mac’s car, watching the ice-crusted trees pass in a blur. Sad that, with only a few words, he’d managed to get me into his car. I was like a pedophile’s wet dream. The whole “I lost my puppy, can you get in my van to help me find it” thing? I’d be all over that like Lady Gaga on a meat dress.

I sat in the plush long seat, sulking, wondering if I’d managed to get myself into yet another sticky situation—something I’d clearly been on a quest to perfect lately. Mac had said what he wanted to talk about was private and he would tell me if I went with him. I’m not the begging type, so rather than plead for answers, I resigned myself to a silent but warm ride. But we were halfway to my house, he still hadn’t uttered a word, and it was grating on my nerves.

“So I’m guessing your mom isn’t in the hospital after all, huh?” I asked accusingly.

He didn’t bother to answer and that was answer enough. He’d gone to the hospital just because I was there. I wondered again if I’d made the wrong move getting in the car. Maybe he really was a psycho-stalker. I mean, I’d called him that a bunch in my head, but I hadn’t actually
thought
it thought it until that moment. I was toying with the idea that he might be setting me up to make a kayak out of my skin when we pulled into my driveway and he finally spoke.