Flicker (26 page)

Dad also hurries to my side, but the
expression on his face isn't wild and panicked like Mom's. It's
calm and determined. Experienced. He studies me as if he knows
something more is going on but isn't about to ask right now.

Mom whirls into action, soaking a towel in
the sink and cleaning my face. "This is deep. I know you hate the
hospital, but I think this needs stitches."

"Can't you just put a bandage on it? I just
want to lie down."

She peers closely into my eyes. "My
instincts tell me that's the last thing I should let you do, but
I'm going to trust that you'll tell me if you start to feel worse.
And I fully intend to check on you every half hour."

"Deal." I catch Dad's eye as Mom steps back
and give him a small nod. I don't know what I'm expecting, but I
get the feeling he already knows, even though I'm not supposed to
tell him until tomorrow.

He follows me up the stairs and closes the
door behind us. "What really happened?"

"Dad, I need to tell you something."

He sits on the bed, folds his hands in his
lap.

"You aren't supposed to know this until
tomorrow but I need your help."

He cocks his head but doesn't interrupt.

"I know about you, about how you flicker. I
do, too." He takes a sharp breath. "I know that you already suspect
it. I'm repeating right now, and tomorrow we talk about this. I
normally try to keep things as close to how they happened, but I'm
in a lot of trouble."

"What happened to your head?" His words are
slow, deliberate.

"Tomorrow when we're at the park I
accidentally take a picture of the kidnapper.”

“
Was it the man from your other
pictures?”

I shake my head and a jolt of pain shoots
down my neck. “I don't realize I have the pictures until I get
home—that's when I tell you—and so I went back to try to stop him.
But things got screwed up and he took me instead."

Dad leans forward, his mouth set in a firm
line. "Did he hurt you?"

He doesn't need to know the man hit me. "I
did this trying to get my blindfold off. I flickered again from
inside the van. That's how I'm here now."

The color drains from his face. "You
flickered inside a flicker?"

My heart stutters. "Yes." If he hadn't
reacted that way I'd be able to handle this, but now I'm heading
into a full-blown panic attack. "We need to tell the police. I
don't know how to explain without telling them the full story, but
we have to stop him." I hesitate and Dad leans closer.

“
There’s something more.”

“
I know the kidnapper.”

“
What do you mean you know
him?”

The ache in my chest strengthens. A sob
escapes my throat. “It’s Turner.”

His shoulders slump. “All this time?”

“
I didn’t stick around long enough to
ask. But I got the impression he’s done this before.” A phantom
pain grips my wrists where they were bound. “Do you really think he
took all those girls? Even Katie?”

Dad rises from my bed and engulfs me in his
arms. “I don’t know. We need to figure out a way to tell the police
without exposing you.” I nestle my head into the safety of his
chest. He may not be as strong as other men but his unfaltering
love more than makes up for anything he may lack. "I'm so proud of
you. I'm terrified of what's going to happen when you catch up to
your present, but I'm not going to let your sacrifice be for
nothing."

My sacrifice? What the
hell does that mean?
I pull back and level my gaze at
him. "What don't I know?"

He shakes his head slowly. "I don't know for
sure, but the trauma you're putting on yourself could be more than
your brain can handle. This goes beyond a simple headache. I'll
have to make sure you're at the hospital in time."

Once I get past being thoroughly freaked
out, Dad and I come up with a plan. He calls the police and tells
them he's noticed someone loitering near the park around lunchtime,
when all the little kids are there, and that maybe they should
check it out tomorrow. At first they don't want to listen to him,
but they have so few leads that they finally agree. I worry we’re
not acting fast enough, but if there’s any chance those girls are
still alive they need to surprise Turner.

And the waiting begins. My anxiety is so
strong it's like another person in the room, and the courage that
got me to this point evaporates, leaving me a quivering mess,
hiding beneath the covers.

I debate calling Cameron, but he's already
done his part. If this doesn't work and they don't catch the guy… I
couldn't bear for him to know. Better he be surprised like everyone
else. Assuming everything goes the way it's supposed to and I don't
end up a vegetable, or dead, I'll tell him everything
afterwards.

Dad tells Mom that he'll check on me and we
spend the evening swapping stories about the stunts we've pulled
when flickering. He was more of a trouble-maker than I am,
deliberately pulling pranks on teachers and getting suspended every
couple months.

"You?" I ask, shocked.

He shrugs, a sly smile brightening his face.
"Not everyone uses their super powers for good."

"Speaking of being suspended…"

He quirks a brow. "You?" he mimics.

"They think I'm cheating. Which I guess
technically I am, but it's not like I'm stealing tests or sneaking
answers into the classroom. I still have to memorize what's on
it."

He chuckles softly, a deep throaty sound I
haven't heard since I was a little girl.

My eyes flutter closed.

"How long have you been awake?"

I quickly do the math. Saturday morning,
about an hour yesterday, and about an hour now. "Not long enough to
be this tired. I didn't get much sleep Friday night, but I'm not
usually this exhausted." I can barely keep my eyes open. And forget
lifting my head. Even forming words is getting difficult.

"The double flicker might have different
effects. You should sleep and let your body catch up." He pauses.
"What time did you leave the van?"

"I don't know for sure. Maybe one
o'clock."

"If they catch this guy things might get a
little crazy since we gave the tip, but do not wait to take your
pills."

I nod obediently, grateful to finally have
someone who understands.

"I think you should take one now."

"But the doctor says I shouldn't take one if
I don't have symptoms."

The corners of his mouth droop and the humor
vanishes from his eyes. "If it gets as bad as I think it will, an
extra dose of medicine is going to be the least of your
problems."

Chapter 38

I might actually die.

Those four words are stuck on repeat in my
head.

I might never see Cameron again. Or Amelia.
Or even Stride Right.

What will my parents do? Will Dad tell Mom
the truth?

Will everyone know, or will they think I
died from some freak explosion in my brain?

Or what if I don't die and I end up a
vegetable in one of those nursing homes, where people visit every
other Tuesday and sit around uncomfortable, not sure if I can hear
them and wondering how long they need to visit the girl who hasn't
moved or spoken or even blinked in years.

That would be worse than death.

I took my pill hours ago and Dad left me
alone in the darkened room, but as tired as I am, I can't sleep.
This could be the last time I have coherent thoughts. The last time
I'm able to express myself. Why am I hiding in my room?

I call Cameron.

"Hello?" His sleepy voice reminds me that
it's the middle of the night.

"Oh crap, sorry. I didn't realize how late
it is."

"Biz? What's up?" He clears his throat and I
can picture him running his hand through his tousled hair.

"I couldn't sleep and wanted to hear your
voice."

"Did your parents freak out?"

That seems so long ago. "The blood scared my
mom, but Dad convinced her to let me just sleep."

He doesn't answer.

"Cam?"

"Hmm?" He yawns. "Sorry. I'm really
tired."

Disappointment stings my heart. "It's okay,
go back to sleep."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, we can talk tomorrow." My heart
aches, but it's not his fault. He doesn't have a clue what's going
on and I made the decision not to tell him. I give up my plan to
call Amelia. It would just be the same thing.

I have to do this alone.

Well maybe not entirely alone. When I wake
up, Dad's at the foot of my bed, reading a book. Sunlight streams
through the open window.

He sets down the book when he sees I'm
awake. "How are you feeling?"

"So far so good. But I couldn't sleep."

He smiles, a sad expression that worsens the
ache in my chest.

I look at the window again. "What time is
it?"

"Almost eleven."

I bolt upright. I've slept away half of what
could be my last day. I need to talk to people, to do things,
to—

Dad puts his hand on my foot. "Calm
down."

"I didn't say anything."

"I can see it in your eyes. I didn't mean to
scare you last night, I just wanted to make you aware of the
dangers. You might have a headache like any other time and no one
will be the wiser."

I look away. "It's a little late to unring
that bell."

He sighs. "I know, and I'm sorry."

We sit like that for awhile. I'm grateful to
have him here, to spend time with the one person who doesn't need
me to explain.

At noon I take another pill and bury beneath
the covers.

At one o'clock the ice picks begin.

*****

I'd like to say I sat on the edge of my bed
while the police tried to catch the man, but the next thing I know
I'm waking up in a brightly lit room, surrounded by beeping
machines and bags full of clear fluid.

For once the light doesn't cause me pain,
but I close my eyes anyway. My fingers are tingling, but it's a
different feeling than what I've grown used to. Rather than
beginning at my fingertips and working its way up my hands, this is
more focalized, and, come to think of it, only in one hand.

I lift my head. My hand lies motionless next
to my hip, a clear tube protruding from a bandage in the center of
my hand and snaking to one of the bags suspended over my head.

This can't be good.

The door opens and Cameron enters, eyes
downcast. He's halfway to the bed before he looks at me. A smile
lights up his face. "You're awake!"

"How long have I been asleep?"

He pulls a chair close to the bed and covers
my free hand with his. "They've had you out for a couple days. Said
you needed time to recover after the surgery."

"Surgery! What'd they do to me?"

Cameron pulls back slightly, a look on his
face like he realizes he said something he wasn't supposed to.

"Cam, tell me."

"They had to operate. Your dad brought you
here Saturday afternoon and they found a mass in your brain. They
said if they didn't remove it you could die."

They operated? On my
brain? Does this mean they know?
A machine near my
head starts beeping and we both stare at it, transfixed. With all
these tubes and wires it's hard to tell what goes to what, but I'm
pretty sure that machine says I'm completely freaking
out.

"I probably wasn't supposed to tell you, but
it seems like you'd figure it out as soon as you woke up."

"Figure it out?" I repeat.

His eyes flick to my head, a reflex he's too
slow to control, and I pull my hand from his grasp.

Gauze covers the side of my head. I trail my
fingers around my hairline and find nothing but more gauze. I
flatten my palm on the top of my skull. More gauze. And a tube. The
monitor starts beeping again, but this time a nurse comes rushing
through the door.

She gives Cameron a stern look as she pushes
buttons to stop the beeping. "You should have told me she's
awake."

He drops his hands. "It's only been a couple
minutes."

"Go get her parents."

He gives my hand one last squeeze before
leaving the room.

"What happened to me?"

She pauses with one hand over a plastic bag.
"It's best we wait for the doctor. He can tell you exactly what
they found."

"What they found?"

She smiles, a pitying expression that does
nothing for her features. "Just be patient."

If there's anything I know, it's
patience.

She leaves a few moments later. As soon as
the door closes I swing my legs over the side of the bed and try to
sit up, but the tangle of wires and tubes keep me in place. They
also set off a new chorus of beeps and a particularly frightening
alarm.

A stream of doctors and nurses crowd the
room, followed by Mom and Dad, who stop in the doorway. I'm poked
and jostled, but I don't feel any needles so I bite my tongue and
wait for them to finish. Soon the beeping returns to normal and
they file from the room.

All but one man, who I realize I know. Even
without the EMT uniform.

"Martinez?"

He settles into the chair Cameron had been
in minutes earlier. "Hi, Biz. I bet you didn't expect to see me
here."

I glance at Mom and Dad, who are still
hovering much too far away. "Do they have to wait over there?"

"No, of course not." He waves them closer
and they press against the opposite side of the bed. Mom clutches
my bandaged hand while Dad rests a shaky hand on my shoulder. "Your
father found you collapsed in your home on Saturday and brought you
here. Because of your history of headaches we did a CT-scan and
found an abnormally large mass in your temporal lobe. My team
agreed the mass was potentially life-threatening and had to be
removed.