The Dying Breath (9 page)

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Authors: Alane Ferguson

BOOK: The Dying Breath
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The warmth inside her vanished. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, pulling her hand free.
“Typical, evasive Cammie,” he said, his eyes locking on to hers. “Don’t talk about it and it doesn’t exist, right?” His tone carried the slightest hint of chastisement.
“Can’t we just pretend that there isn’t a killer after me? Just for a couple of hours,” she begged. “Please, Justin, I really need the mental break. I want to . . . forget.”
He sighed. “Okay. No more hard truths tonight. You do look really tired.”
“Great. That means I look awful. Tired is a euphemism for gross.” She tried to smooth her hair with her fingers but knew it was useless. Stupidly, she hadn’t bothered to change since she’d gotten home, or done anything to clean herself up
. Perfect
, she thought. The only comfort she had was that Justin had seen her look worse.
“I didn’t say that,” he answered, seemingly amused. “You know you’re gorgeous. I just think maybe I’m being selfish, dropping by when it’s already”—he glanced at his watch—“eight o’clock on a school night, which sounds incredibly weird when I say it out loud.”
“Mammaw told me I don’t have to go to class tomorrow if I don’t want to and I’ve decided I’m sleeping in. I already texted Lyric so she won’t pull me out of bed at the crack of dawn. Stay. Distract me from my misery.”
When he looked doubtful, she said, “A true friend would think of something to cheer me up. So . . . what do you want to do?” She looked around her kitchen, suddenly realizing their house wasn’t exactly equipped to entertain anyone under the age of fifty. Here, encased in a kitchen full of cherubs, she saw with fresh eyes how old-fashioned their lives appeared. “I’ve got cards. Or do you like games?” she asked, feeling lamer by the minute.
He raked his fingers through his too-long hair. “How about a movie?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We’ve only got one television and it’s in the living room and my grandmother’s in there,” she said, keeping her voice low.
“Ahh.” His eyes twinkled. “And she doesn’t like me.”
“No, she likes you,” Cameryn clarified. “She doesn’t
trust
you.”
He gave a wicked grin. “Wise woman.”
What was that supposed to mean? Cameryn flushed as Justin closed the distance between them. “Kidding,” he told her. “Actually, I planned ahead. On the off chance you invited me to hang out I brought two choices of movies, although from the shadows under your eyes I doubt you’ll stay awake for either one.” Reaching around, he pulled two DVD cases from an inside fold of his jacket. “Comedy or”—he held up a second plastic square—“action movie with exploding guts. What’s your pleasure?”
“Comedy,” she said. “I’m definitely in the mood to laugh.”
“Excellent. Let’s ask your mammaw to join us.”
Cameryn waited a beat before saying, “You’re not serious. You want my
grandmother
to watch a movie with us? Why?”
“Because even though you’ve decided that all you can handle is friendship, I’m looking ahead. If we’re going to be together then winning over your mammaw and your pop is on my agenda.” He wagged his eyebrows. “Okay?”
As they settled into the couch, a foot of upholstery respectfully between them, her grandmother watched, eagle-eyed. She’d been pleased by the invitation, Cameryn could tell, and Cameryn marveled at how effortless Justin made it all seem. He’d chatted up her grandmother as if they were the best of friends, and as the opening credits rolled she felt Justin move closer. In some ways his presence soothed her. Light flickered across his face as the scenes changed, and from beneath her lashes Cameryn watched Justin instead of the movie. There was no denying how handsome he was—the sharp juts of his cheekbones changing as the reflection slid across the planes of his face, hair curling softly against his neck, his shoulders broad. In the background she heard the creak from her grandmother’s chair interrupted by quiet bursts of laughter.
The edges of the screen blurred as she tried to pay attention, but the dialogue wove through her mind, musical notes tied to language instead of words. She floated in this world like a bubble, drifting from one scene to another until suddenly she was back in the autopsy room. But this time it was Kyle on the table and Justin who held the knife. The blade gleamed at Kyle’s shoulder but Cameryn yelled for Justin to stop. At that moment Kyle’s eyes snapped open. His icy hand grabbed her arm—
“Wake up, Cammie. It’s just a dream. You’re only dreaming.”
It wasn’t Kyle’s hand, but Justin’s, that held hers. Blinking, she looked over to the empty rocking chair. “Your mammaw gave up,” Justin answered before she could think to ask the question. “She went to bed, but not before she reminded me that your pop was on the way.”
“What—what time is it?” she asked thickly.
“Ten thirty.”
“Wow. I can’t believe I fell asleep. And you
let
me?” She rose up from his shoulder. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I let you sleep because you needed it. You’re heavier than you look, though. My arm is completely numb.”
Cameryn punched his shoulder. “Stop!”
“I’m serious,” he laughed, but this time he caught her wrist as she tried to hit him again. “Listen, I should go. It’s late and your pop won’t like it if he finds out his daughter slept with me.
Ouch!
”
Switching to her left hand she caught him in his upper arm.
“Man, you hit like a guy. No, I cannot let you do that again,” he said. He grabbed both wrists.
Trapped, she looked up at him. His hair was tousled as though he’d been sleeping, too. She was aware of the illumination from the television, of the way their breathing cadenced together, of how close his face was next to hers so that she could feel his heat. All traces of playfulness vanished as he released her right hand and touched the bottom of her lip. She felt herself shiver. Her hand rose up to touch his cheek, stroking it with her fingertips.
When his lips brushed hers it was sweet, tender. “Is this okay?” he whispered.
She nodded.
“Because I can wait, Cammie.”
“I know you can. But I can’t.” This time it was Cameryn who kissed him, and she realized this was what she’d wanted. Death and fear faded away as she drank him in. Justin. Her Justin. It was the letting go that felt so good as she allowed herself this single light in the darkness.
No more running
, she promised herself.
No more thinking, no more evasion. Just . . . being.
As he pulled back, light caught the scar on the edge of his chin, as thin as a thread.
“I’ve always wondered. How did you get that?” she asked, touching it gently.
“Now
that’s
a story. But not one for tonight. It’s late, Cammie. You should go to bed and get some rest.”
“You’re leaving?”
He sighed deeply. “If your father finds me on the couch with you he might shoot first and ask questions later.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
He grinned and pulled her close. “You have no idea how good that sounds. I can be here tomorrow when my shift’s over.”
“I’d like that,” she answered softly.
“Then I’m going to say good night.” He kissed her again, harder this time, and Cameryn felt her heart kick in her chest. “No, stay here,” he said when she attempted to rise from the couch with him. “I’ll lock the door on my way out. Sweet dreams, Cammie. Promise me you’ll think only good thoughts tonight.”
“Promise you’ll come back as soon as you can.”
He shot her a crooked grin. “Deal.”
Muffled footsteps echoed in her kitchen, followed by the quiet click of the lock. Happy, she hugged herself as the slash of headlights slid across the window, bright as stars. With a conscious choice she had chosen to leap into life. Death, in all its forms, had been left behind.
Chapter Seven
THIS TIME HER
dream was a good one. She was with Justin. The two of them were tucked into a small canoe on a deep mountain lake surrounded by sunflowers that grew right to the water’s edge, like a ring of fire. Justin pushed the oars while Cameryn watched the muscles strain beneath his skin. Wind whipped at his hair. “Do you want to keep going?” he called against the wind. Now he was rowing toward a ribbon of water, only ten feet in length, an umbilical cord of blue connecting the lake with the ocean. With another deep stroke he warned, “The ocean is more dangerous. Are you sure you want to go on?” Waves crashed into the side of their rowboat but she was not afraid. In the distance she saw the tip of a whale’s undulating tail, and she smiled happily and said yes. . . .
Something from beyond was reaching into her dream. Reluctant, she resisted the pull to the surface of consciousness, fighting hard to stay under with Justin and the whitecapped waves. It was no use. The noise came again, a note from an instrument, a small ring, the flute from a wind chime. Was she in class? No, she could feel the pillow beneath her head and the comforter clutched to her chin. She felt the plastic nose of Rags, her stuffed dog, pressed into her side. Her eyelids fluttered open and Justin disappeared into the ocean as though he were a mist. Groaning, she realized she was in her own bedroom, alone, with only Rags for company.
Light from the full moon flooded her bedroom so that she could see the outline of her lamp, and beyond that her computer with her screen saver morphing into geometric shapes. She’d left her computer on again—her dad would chew her out if he saw that, convinced as he was that every bad thing happened when Microsoft Outlook was left open. No matter, she would reboot in the morning. Yawning long and deep, she stretched her arms over her head until she gave a tiny, inadvertent squeak. Rolling onto her side, she looked at her clock. Red numbers glowed in the darkness in electronic blocks: 3:03 A.M. Groaning again, she wondered if she could ever get back to sleep. With her arm flung across her eyes, she tried to follow the wisps of her dream but moments later she knew it was no good. Emotions, once suppressed by sleep, rose up inside to crash together.
Justin and Kyle. Light and dark, good and evil—two divergent streams flowed into her conscience. It wasn’t hard for her to select which emotional channel she wanted to follow. The trick was to silence the other by submerging it back to the depths. But
aman cara
washed to the forefront, and she felt herself begin to shake.
Stop!
she told herself fiercely. Think about Justin. She could do this—it was just a matter of choice. Pulling her comforter to the bridge of her nose, she commanded herself to focus on the good. She would not allow herself to hear the whisper of Kyle’s voice, to picture him out there, watching, waiting. No, she would relive the kiss. The kiss and nothing more.
She squeezed her eyelids together as hard as she could. If she concentrated she could almost feel the sensation of Justin’s mouth against hers. Yes, that was the thought she wanted. She savored the feel of his cheek pressed into her forehead, the prickles from his five-o’clock shadow against her skin, and the way he’d wound his hand through her hair before he’d said his last good-bye—yes, these were the images she could replay forever.
Smiling, she remembered Lyric’s squeal when Cameryn delivered the news. With the phone cupped in her hand, Cameryn had whispered the story from the kitchen’s land line, aware that her father would be home at any moment but intent on sharing with her closest friend. When she’d finished Lyric had cried, “I knew it! I knew it! This is karma—I told you from the very first day you’d end up together. I
told
you I had a feeling! All those times you were in denial of my powers. Take that, doubter!”
Now, Cameryn found herself chuckling quietly at the thought of her friend’s over-the-top reaction. Lyric, with her crystals, had been on to something after all.
As her lids slid open she studied the pattern the moonlight made on her ceiling, trying to remember when things between herself and Justin had changed, realizing there hadn’t been an exact moment—it was more of an awareness of what had always been. In the same way the lake of her dream had turned into the ocean, her feelings had grown bigger, more precarious. Dangerous, the dream-Justin had said. The perfect word.
But could it last? In the autumn she would move to Durango to go to school while he remained in Silverton. Then again, they each had a car and weekends could be worked out easily, perhaps meeting at Purgatory since it was almost in the middle.
Stop!
she commanded.
You haven’t even graduated from high school. One kiss doesn’t mean you’re a forever couple! Get a grip, Cammie!
He might change his mind tomorrow and decide she was too young after all
.
Even as she said it to herself she knew it was a lie. Whatever this was, it was real. Justin. Justin and Cameryn. As though she were moving through her rosary beads she touched that idea over and over again, allowing herself to become accustomed to its feel. Cameryn and Justin. Another smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she sighed, ready to return to her dreams. Her eyes were just beginning to close when she heard it again—the soft two-note chime that had awakened her in the first place. It came from the computer, signaling that another e-mail had arrived. Spam, she thought, and hopped out of bed to turn it off. Sleeping would be hard enough without interruptions, no matter how small. Dancing through the cold, she dropped into her chair and moved the mouse, which caused the screen saver to vanish, revealing the biology paper she’d been working on. She maximized her in-box. Two new e-mails had arrived since she’d gone to bed. Who would send her e-mails at three A.M.?

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