14
I shook my head, disorientated. The empty ache inside me seemed so much worse at that moment.
I thought I had overdone it with training, and was getting what I thought was a migraine aura. A series of silvery, shimmery stars floating across the darkening night. As bright as the stars shining above me.
I took a deep breath, the cold night air rushing into my lungs, making me cough.
“Ellie?”
When I turned I saw Jonathon walking towards me, the candles flickering behind him. The emptiness filled a little, warming me slightly. But I feared it would never truly leave me.
He was wary, his body tense, his hands jammed in his pockets, and I realized I was shivering.
I was on the verge of tears, an odd sense of melancholy surrounding me. I couldn’t seem to pull my thoughts together into anything coherent.
Jonathon pulled off his jacket, swinging it around me. His hands stayed on my shoulders. The heat I felt coming from them was doing more to warm me than the jacket.
My body shuddered, and I was helpless to stop it.
“You’re freezing.” Jonathon pulled me into his arms.
I rested my face against his chest as he rubbed my arms.
Then the nausea hit me.
“I – I need to go home,” I said as the stars shimmered across my vision again.
My head started to throb, the stars pulsing in time. I hadn’t had a migraine so severe, so sudden, since the day I turned sixteen.
My knees buckled.
I felt Jonathon scoop me up as it began; dark ink spilling into my vision, from the outside in. So that I was seeing through a tunnel that was growing narrower and narrower, until …
I opened my eyes.
My dad and Jonathon were staring down at me, their brows creased with identical looks of concern.
I was on the couch in the living room. My throat was dry and sore. My lips were tender.
“Can I have some water?” I asked, pulling myself up.
“I’ll get it.” Jonathon couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.
“What did you do to him?” I asked.
He ignored my question. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. How long was I out?”
“Twenty minutes.” He felt my forehead, his eyes dark with worry.
“I’m fine. Honest. Just tired.”
“I – I thought–” he broke off. “I was about to take you to the hospital.”
This got my attention. “Wow. You were worried.”
Jonathon returned, and I greedily gulped down the glass of water he handed me, watching him as he stepped back, and glanced warily at my father.
I laughed – they were acting like a couple of characters from a cheesy sitcom, when the boy first meets the dad. But as they both looked at me, I turned my laugh into a cough.
“Sorry,” I choked out, holding up the glass. “Went down the wrong way.”
Jonathon cleared his throat, backing towards the door, his head down. Like he didn’t want my father to see his face. “I better go,” he opened the door.
“Thank you. For bringing her back,” my father said, his voice hoarse.
Jonathon nodded, closing the door firmly behind him.
My father stared at the door, the frown returning. “What do you know about that boy?”
I shrugged. “Not much. Why?”
“Never mind,” he grunted.
I sighed. I was completely wiped out. “I’m going to bed.”
My legs were shaky as my father helped me to my feet, but I needed to be on my own.
“By the way,” his voice followed me up the stairs. “You’re grounded.”
I would have laughed if I hadn’t been so exhausted.
The sudden migraine had taken it out of me. My limbs felt heavy, and my muscles tingled as I made my slowly way up the steps.
“Forever,” he muttered under his breath.
I rolled my eyes, the movement making the backs of them ache and throb.
Being grounded would make absolutely no difference to my life. He followed me to school. Drove me home. Knew my whereabouts every waking moment.
But at least he couldn’t follow me into my dreams. They were mine and mine alone, and I gladly succumbed to them.
My thoughts were consumed with Jonathon and the rest of them that weekend. I never did get to ask him my questions, and tried to find an opportunity to sneak out, but my father kept me busy, never letting me out of his sight.
I pulled the scrap of newspaper out of my diary, and just stared at it, seeing a different headline.
Had my father really been that close to death? Is that what it meant?
The thought chilled me.
As I wondered where the article had come from, my thoughts drifted back to the night of the explosion. To the man standing in the shadows, so that I couldn’t see his face. And the woman who ran into me.
Something bloomed in me as I remembered how familiar she’d seemed as I watched her hurry away.
Hope flared. Could it be possible?
It had never even crossed my mind that night. Why would it? I watched her die. And I didn’t know what I knew then.
I wore Jonathon’s jacket all that weekend. I never took it off. I could smell his healthy male scent, and when I breathed in deeply, the emptiness inside wasn’t quite so profound.
I kept the article in the pocket, and often pulled it out, just staring at it.
In it I saw all of my questions, going right back to the moment when I pulled it from my father’s pocket. The first moment the truth stared me in the face and I realized things weren’t what I thought they were, no matter how I tried to rationalize it at the time.
I was so naïve, but I didn’t know the questions to ask back then.
I pulled the article out again on Sunday morning at breakfast.
My dad looked at it, his expression suddenly wary. Guarded.
“How did you get this?” I asked.
He took a deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment. “It was on the table when I got out of the shower.”
“But – someone had to leave it there. It didn’t just get there by itself.”
“I know,” he said, his teeth grinding in frustration. He really didn’t know who had left it.
“You didn’t see anyone?” I pressed.
“No. Whoever it was – they were already gone when I looked out into the hall. After that I wasn’t really thinking. I just knew we had to get out of there.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“There was something on the bathroom mirror.”
“Someone came in while you were in the shower?” It seemed impossible.
“No. It was done earlier. The steam brought it out – it was written with soap.”
“What did it say?”
“It was just numbers. I didn’t realize their significance until I saw that.” He glanced down at the article I was fingering.
“Numbers?” My brain put it together. “The time? That’s how you knew how long we had?”
He nodded.
I opened my mouth, but quickly snapped it shut. If I was wrong, if it wasn’t my mother, I would be opening up a whole world of hurt.
* * *
They didn’t return to school on Monday. Or Tuesday. By Wednesday I was sure I’d never see them again. That they’d seen what they came for.
I was angry at myself for not getting answers when I had the chance. Angry over a migraine I had no control over. But I knew it was more than that. I wanted – needed – to see Jonathon. He’d helped fill that empty ache a little. Had made something come alive inside me. Of course I didn’t fully realize this until he was gone.
I kept seeing his face in my head. The way he would glance up whenever I looked his way, as though he could feel me watching. The slight flick of his dark, streaky hair and the little dimple when he grinned that adorable half smile, the corner of his lip lifting slowly.
When they did return, they acted differently towards me. Something had changed.
The only problem was, they knew the rules, and I didn’t.
As soon as I saw Jonathon standing next to my locker I ran towards him. I’m not sure if I was planning on hitting him or hugging him. But he opened his arms, folding me into them, and I clung to him, just breathing him in. For a brief moment I felt safe. Like things would get better. Like I existed.
Nothing in my world made sense anymore, especially the feelings that Jonathon stirred in me.