Hex

Chapter 3

          Jake's definition of a good night's sleep hadn't changed in the year Andi was gone. She stirred awake when she heard him get back up and around, and when she glanced over at the cheap, black and white wall clock saw it was eight in the morning—only four hours, maybe less. Though, he seemed to be making a conscious effort to be quiet, which was far from typical. Normally in the morning they all would tromp through the house with little concern for anyone else's beauty sleep. They had all kept strange hours, usually exhausted enough to sleep through the noise. If they were supposed to be awake, they could count on one other to come and literally drag them out of their beds. There had been several times when they were younger and on summer break that Jake would have to lift Andi’s mattress and send her flailing onto the unforgiving, rough wood floors to get her out of bed and into the car.

         She heard Jake go into the kitchen. There was surely a typical collection of sounds that drifted through normal homes in the mornings, and their house had most of them. Especially when the four of them were younger and in school. There was the sound of back-pack zippers, hairdryers and hairspray (that was Lily), music streaming from a second-hand radio, the sound of cereal being poured. Low voices progressively getting louder and less groggy. The clatter of pots and pans, the click of the gas stove turning on, the white noise of the shower, the rattle of jars in the fridge as the door was opened and closed. The shuffle of boots, clothing and backpacks.

            But in their house – whichever one it might be at the time – there was another collection of sounds, familiar and strangely reassuring to Andi as the rest. The loading of guns, pouring salt into jars, the shuffle of arrows, the scraping of knives, duffel bags being filled with old books, boxes of ammo. The sound of gearing up, arming themselves; all part of the daily routine. And Jake was doing the same that morning. Cleaning and loading guns while he cracked eggs into a pan and packed up a duffel bag.

            He didn't come and wake her, and she let herself drift back off to sleep, the morning sounds mixing into her hazy dreams.

            At first she floated, suspended. Cool, tranquil water, soft with gentle white noise, which slowly gave way to something darker, less fluid. It was as though she were suddenly dropped. Her sense of things were colder, a smell like mold and rust clogged up her senses, her lungs. She stirred, the softness of the water gone, and her skin rubbed up against the harsh, wood walls, a dampness in her hair, under her nails. She pushed against it, kicked against it, and while part of her mind was sure her pulse was pounding in her ears, she panicked when she couldn't feel a heartbeat in her chest, which felt like it was caving in.

            She was still reacting, still kicking and swinging, when she was jolted awake, grappling around, trying to regain her bearings. Jake was there, and she realized that he had been talking to her, and that one of the things she had hit had been his face.

            “Andi, calm down! It's fine. You're fine, okay?” he stood next to the couch, one hand out defensively, the other over his nose, blood already seeping out between his fingers.

            Andi sat up, trembling, gasping, the cold sweat on her skin making her feel ill. She pushed the blankets off of her, putting her feet on the warm floor, searching for solidity “I'm sorry,” she said, her voice shaking.

            Jake only groaned through his hand, leaned over in pain, both from his nose and his already injured arm.

            “Really, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you,” she said again.

            Jake straightened, pulling his hand away, blood trickling lightly from his nose. “It's fine. Not like it's the first time,” he said, turning to grab some of the gauze he had left out the night before, bunching it up against his nose, while Andi continued to catch her breath.