Miranda [Watty Awards 2013]

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

“Alexa!”

            My eyes flew open, and my whole body seized with a gasp. Panting for breath, I propped myself up on my elbows and scrambled back, as though Mimi would be waiting for me once again. I was prepared to fight.

            But Mimi was not there. It was only Jack, shaking me awake, leaning over me with a concerned look on his face.

            “Alexa?” he asked more quietly, eye flitting up and down. “God. Are you okay?”

            Taking a shuddering breath, I could not find it within myself to answer him. I did not want to lie.

            I reached up to push my hair out of my face, only to find that my shaking hand was touching cool skin, a sheen of sweat across my forehead. Tugging on the collar of my shirt, I could feel that the fabric was damp with perspiration as well. I must look like a mess.

            Jack repeated my name, putting his hands on my shoulders as I numbly looked around the hotel room, just to make sure. He had to call me one more time and give me a little shake to get my full attention.

            “Yeah. Yeah.” I shrugged his hands off, shifting to a more comfortable position. “Just a bad dream.”

            “Must’ve been a hell of a nightmare.”

            I shook my head, attempting to change the subject. “What time is it?”

            “About four in the morning, last time I checked. I couldn’t sleep anymore, so I took a shower. I came back and you were whimpering, so I woke you up.” His eyes held worry. “Are you sure that you’re okay?”

            I nodded. I was still trying to catch my breath, but I did my best to hide it, tried to lock away my emotions so that Jack wouldn’t delve too deep.

            Jack opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head and thought better of it. “I woke you up because of Lacy, too.”

            And there my heart went again, racing in my chest like a rabbit chased by a fox. I was not used to this amount of stress. “What about her? Is she okay?”

            “I don’t know.” He glanced behind him, at the lump of covers on the other bed. “She’s still sleeping. She feels really hot.”

            He’d barely gotten a chance to get his last word out before I was pushing him aside, nearly tripping on the covers in my attempt to get to her. Leaning over the bed, I saw a little curl peaking out from under her blankets. I pulled them down gingerly.

            She was not a healthy sight. Her forehead was covered with sweat, much like mine had been this morning, and her skin was pale and clammy. As I watched, her little hands, balled up into fists, started to rub away at her face, over and over until I pulled them away. Jack was right. Her skin was burning.

            I had no idea what this meant. Lacy was perfectly fine yesterday—what had changed? She couldn’t have become like this overnight, right? It just didn’t make sense to me. What could possibly be wrong?

            “She just seems . . . sick,” Jack said quietly. I could tell he did not have an answer he could offer, and I could tell that it pained him. It pained me as well.

            “She is sick.” I felt her forehead, like a mother would, although I knew that it was not the temperature that it should be. “But I don’t know with what.”