Damage (29 page)

Even if I have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, even if I’ll never grow up to become a professional dancer or see my mother or father or home again, I have the sense to be grateful. Sometimes I’m even happy.

“I love you,” Jesse whispers, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles on the top of my hand.

I smile. “I love you, too.”

“I think Penny’s asleep.” He nods to where Penny lies on a lounge chair in the shade on the other side of the pool. He carried her there this morning and we served her breakfast while she watched the tide move out. She’s getting better at finding her way around in her wheelchair, but she still feels most comfortable lying down.

The crash shattered so many bones in her legs that they’re still in braces six months later and probably always will be. But right now she’s asleep with a smile on her face. I’m glad. I hope this island will continue to be a place of peace and healing for her and that some day she’ll walk again. No matter how gloomy the predictions of her doctors, it’s not hard to imagine a miracle happening at this cottage by the shore. It’s so beautiful here, so perfect.

Sometimes it’s hard to believe it’s even real.

Wake up, asshole. You … and … always were a dumbass.
Rachel’s mean, squeaky voice drifts through my head as it does from time to time, but she doesn’t appear. She hasn’t shown up in real life since the night of the crash. Jesse thinks that second accident must have done something to us, altered our brain function in some way. He doesn’t see the Thing anymore, either.

If only the people hunting us knew that we were broken, that there’s no longer anything special about me and Jesse. Maybe then they’d give up and we could go home.

You … are … Wake up!
Rachel’s voice becomes a scream of frustration. I wince and my shoulders hunch around my ears. My heart begins to beat faster and that old, familiar anxiety thrums faintly in my veins.

Something’s wrong, something I can’t quite put my finger on …

“You okay?” Jesse’s knuckles brush along my cheek.

“Rachel’s talking again.”

“Tell her to shut up,” he says. “I hate seeing that look on your face.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Will you?” His forehead wrinkles and fear flickers in his eyes. “Will I?”

I sit up and scoot onto his lounge chair, wrapping him in my arms and holding tight. “We’ll be fine. We’re safe now.”

“I know.” His arms come around me. They’re warm, but not as warm as they should be after hours lying in the sun. Jesse says he feels cold a lot, despite the fact that the temperature rarely falls below seventy degrees on the island. “But doesn’t it feel like … ”

“Like what?”

“Like … ” He pulls back, squints as if he’s trying to see through fog. “I don’t know, but sometimes it’s hard to believe this is place is real.”

I shiver. I was just thinking the same thing, but that doesn’t make it any less crazy. “You feel pretty real to me.” I kiss his bare shoulder, smell the sunscreen he put on and a hint of his Jesse smell. But only a hint. It’s not as strong as it should be when he’s this close. It’s … strange.

He hugs me closer. “You do, too, but … I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?”

“Well, it’s … like, I remember feeding Penny this morning, and I remember picking bananas, but I don’t remember the last time I ate. Why can’t I remember something like that?”

My stomach clenches at the mention of food, but I’m not hungry. I rarely feel hungry here, and I can’t remember the last time I ate, either. “We had to have had breakfast. Or at least dinner last night.”

Jesse shakes his head. “I don’t remember last night. I don’t remember going to bed. I never do, and I know I should remember going to sleep across the hall every night when I’d rather be in your room,” he says.

His words would make me blush if I weren’t also finding it impossible to remember what I’d done last night. What time had I gone to sleep? Had we watched television before we went to bed? Does the cottage even have a television? A second ago, I would have sworn it does, but when I try to focus on the details of our new home, the edges of my memory get blurry.

“You’re right,” I say, my heart speeding again. “I … I can’t remember last night, or this morning before we brought Penny breakfast. What time did we wake up?”

“I don’t remember. I only remember lying by the pool and I … have we even gone swimming?” His eyes squeeze shut and his free hand pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m losing it … I can’t concentrate.” He groans and pulls his other hand from around my waist as he rolls onto his side.

I touch his back, feel him shudder beneath my fingers and know I should be worried. But I’m not. I’m starting to feel strangely peaceful again. The soft shush of the waves and the gentle warmth of the sun are working their magic. It’s impossible to worry here. No matter what Jesse thinks, no matter how upset he is right now, everything will be okay.

Wake up! Wake …
Rachel’s voice is muffled now. Soon it will grow so faint I won’t be able hear her anymore. Then I can lie back down beside Jesse and take a nap in the sun. We’ll both feel better after a nap, and when we wake up we can get Penny and go up to the house and make something to eat. I’ll even write down what we have for dinner so that Jesse and I can remember it later and laugh about how forgetful we’re becoming.

“Have we ever gone swimming, Dani?” Jesse asks, his voice thick. He sounds like he’s about to cry and a sliver of concern pricks at my calm.

“Don’t cry, Jesse. I love you. Everything’s going to be okay. We’re together.”

“I don’t think we are.” He chokes on his next breath and his voice becomes a sob. “I just want to know if we’ve ever gone swimming!”

Worry for him cuts through my foggy peace like cold air let into an over-warm room. I pull in a breath and look at the pool. It’s only five feet from our chairs and as blue and clear and tempting as ever, but I can’t remember jumping into the water. I can’t remember it closing over my head, soaking into my hair, washing me clean.

I’ve never been in that pool; I’m suddenly sure of it. And I’m just as sure that I have to get in. Immediately.

I stagger to my feet, lean over to grab Jesse’s hand, and haul him up to sit in his chair. My legs feel like hollow reeds that won’t bend without breaking, my pulse races like I’ve danced the entire
Waltz of the Flowers
instead of just gone from sitting to standing, and my mouth is full of ashes. The air tastes burnt, sooty, wrong.

“Come on.” I fight the dragging feeling sucking on my arms and legs, demanding that I lie down and go to sleep. “The water. In … the water.”

I see the spark of understanding in Jesse’s eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. His jaw is slack and his lips hang loose, as if he’s lost control of his facial muscles. Still, he manages to lurch to his feet and take a few wobbly steps before falling to his knees. I crash to the ground beside him, but the concrete doesn’t bruise me. I don’t feel the pain, only the stubborn warmth of the sun and the equally stubborn whoosh of the breeze. My eyelids are heavy, so heavy it seems impossible to keep my eyes open.

But the water is so close. If we can just get to the water …

“Come … ” I claw at Jesse’s hand, urging him to crawl along beside me. He manages to move one hand forward and then the other, but collapses at the water’s edge. I grab his shoulder and shake him. A part of me screams that it’s insane to try to force a person who can’t even walk into a pool of water. He’ll drown. I’ll kill him.

Another part of me insists that the water is the only way to save Jesse’s life.

“Cuh … cuh … ” I can’t form words anymore. My face feels puffy and loose, my tongue slips from between my teeth. Even if I can struggle those last few inches and fall into the pool, I’ll never be able to swim. This is suicide.

Right. Suicide.
It’s Rachel’s voice again, faint but clear enough for me to understand.
That’s what they said when you jumped off the roof.

But I didn’t jump off the roof. Rachel tricked me.

I’m not the only one with tricks. Get in the water. Wake up!

“Go.” Jesse points to the pool, obviously unable to move any other part of him. But that small gesture is enough to send adrenaline surging into my veins.

My eyelids fly up, my lungs fill with air. He’s pointing with his left hand. His left hand with all four fingers and thumb still healthy and attached. But I was there when he lost one of those fingers. I held his bloody hand in the car. I remember how sick it made me to know that we’d left a piece of him behind. If circumstances had been different, we might have been able to get him to a hospital and have the finger reattached, but we hadn’t. We’d crashed into the white car and just barely escaped with our lives.

At least that was the story we told. In truth, I can’t remember how we escaped.

That’s because you didn’t, you moron. Now wake up. I’m ready to play.

“Jesse, please.” I grab his hand. “Your finger.”

Leave the baggage.

“No,” I say, backing one hand away from the water’s edge.

You can’t save him if you stay there!
Rachel howls.
And I can’t hurt them unless you’re here. Come on!

“Jesse!”

Come on!

“Go,” he says, almost as if he can hear Rachel too.

“No, I—”

Now!

“Go!” He lifts his hand just enough to grab my shoulder and push me toward the pool. It wouldn’t have been enough to force me in if I hadn’t let it. But I do. If I lie down and go to sleep beside him, I don’t know if I’ll remember what I need to remember when I wake up. I have a feeling this isn’t the first time we’ve made the long crawl across the concrete, and I have to know if Rachel’s telling the truth. What if Jesse really does need saving?

I hit the water face-first, but there’s no splash, just the feel of something slippery oozing free of its confines—an egg falling free from the shell—and my eyes open somewhere else.

The new world is impossibly bright, but I don’t dare blink for more than a second. I can feel hands tugging at the backs of my eyes, trying to pull me back under. They want me to give in and let them take me, but I won’t go. I know what’s real now. The scratchy sheets tucked tight around my legs, the needle in my arm, the feeling that my body has gone unused and I’m hollow inside—this is what’s real. Terrifyingly real.

Finally. Do you have any idea how boring it is here?

I try to turn toward Rachel’s voice, but can only move my head a few inches. I’m so stiff. How long have I been like this? What’s happening? Am I at a hospital? Were we taken here after the crash? Have I been—

Relax, loser. The more excited you get, the more sleepy juice goes into your arm.

I blink again and the edges of Rachel’s silhouette come into focus. She’s sitting next to me on the bedside table, her feet swinging. I can see the motion, but it takes a few more minutes to pick out the details of her shoes and dress. Finally, her blurred mouth swims into focus beneath her blue eyes

Those meds are bad news. Want me to pull out your IV?
She reaches for my arm, but I stop her with a grunt.

No. What’s going on? Where am I? What are they treating me for?

They’re not treating you for anything.
She rolls her eyes, but pulls her hand away.
You’re in the bad place with the others. You’re a little guinea pig and so is he.
She points to the bed on the far side of the room where a still form lies hooked to as many monitors as I am.

Jesse. He’s thinner than I could have imagined him, pale and wasted with blue veins standing out against his closed lids. If it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of his chest, I’d think he was dead.

Why? What is—

They’re going to open you up soon. You have to get out of here. If they put that thing in your head we’ll both have to play by their rules.
Rachel jumps off the table, her shoes clicking lightly on the tile.
And they’re even more boring than you are.

Who’s boring?

The men and the women in the pretty white coats. They’re the ones in charge of the project.

The Vision Project. Isn’t that what Penny said it was called? Penny …

Where’s my stepmom?
I ask.
Is Penny here, too?

Penny’s dead.

I shake my head. It’s easier this time.
No. I’ve seen her. She was in the place where Jesse and I—

Rachel snorts.
That’s not your place. It’s their place. They made that place to keep you asleep and you and doofus made Penny because you feel soooo guilty.
She flips her hair and winks at me over her shoulder.
And you should. It’s your fault she’s dead.