32

ALORA

MAY 6, 2013

I crack open my eyes, scared of what I’ll see. I’m stunned to find it’s night. The moon is a thin sliver, a smile mocking me.

I’ve had another blackout.

My skin crawls. I try to sit up, but my body doesn’t cooperate. Then the events from this afternoon invade my thoughts. Learning of Naomi’s death. Trevor forcing me into his truck. The car hurtling toward us at the intersection.

“Oh no,” I whisper, taking in where I’m at. Even in the moonlight, I realize I’m near the pier at the river.

A crushing weight constricts my chest. The suffocating air closes around me, choking me. I roll to my side and curl up, gasping and fighting back tears. My hand finds my necklace and I clasp it, feeling the smooth stone pressing into my palms

What is wrong with me?

I don’t understand any of this. I don’t know how I got out of the truck, how I’m not in a hospital right now—or worse, how I’m not dead. It’s like the rules for reality have changed. You’re not supposed to escape a wreck without getting hurt. I force myself to sit up and check for injuries. There’s no blood. Not even a single scratch. Only my arm hurts where Trevor grabbed me.

And I’m even worried about Trevor, despite what he did to me. I wonder if he’s okay.

Aunt Grace has to be flipping out. It takes a lot of effort for me to stand, and I have to stay still for a while before I’m steady enough to walk. The other times I blacked out, I woke feeling dizzy, but nothing like this.

As I half walk, half stumble through the forest, an owl hoots somewhere above me. Leaves and twigs crackle with each step I take, each one sounding like a gunshot, but I don’t care. It’s not like anyone would be out here wanting to hurt me at this time of night.

I make a noise that sounds like a cross between a strangled laugh and a snort. And then I cry. I lean against a tree until the tears stop.

Yeah, when I get back to the inn, Aunt Grace is probably going to drag me off to a psych ward. I’m a freak. A lucky freak, but still a freak.

Another thought surfaces. I don’t have to tell Aunt Grace I blacked out. I could let her think Trevor released me or I escaped and hid from him. She might buy it. Then she won’t have to take me to get my head examined. I could go on pretending everything’s fine.

Even though it’s not.

I rub at my face and push on.

At the edge of the forest, I stop. The inn is fully lit, illuminating Aunt Grace’s truck and several cars. Crap, I don’t need this. I guess it’s to be expected since I was taken against my will, but I don’t want to listen to a bunch of questions when I don’t have the answers.

Before I know it, I’m almost at the back porch. I expect voices to blare from inside, but instead an eerie quiet blankets the house.

A lone figure sits on the top step. A sigh of relief escapes me when I realize it’s Bridger. He’s leaning forward with his arms propped on his legs, rubbing one of his hands. He doesn’t notice me yet.

And I run toward him, calling his name. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to see him until now.

His head snaps up and his eyes grow wide, then he leaps off the steps. When he reaches me, I throw my arms around his neck. His arms wrap around me and he holds me tight. I feel safe, like I belong in his arms.

Shocked, I pull away, my face and neck burning.

“Where have you been?” he asks.

I can’t answer. I don’t know what to say yet. Tell the truth, or go with the lie. It’ll be easier if Aunt Grace thinks I found a way to escape Trevor. That would mean no trips to the doctor and no medical bills.

But there’s one problem—I’d already decided earlier to stop pretending. Me going to the doctor will hurt Grace financially, but I can’t ignore these blackouts anymore. I mean, what if I’m dying? It’s not worth it to keep something like that to myself. Because back in Trevor’s truck, as the car was racing toward us, all I wanted to do was live.

“I had another blackout. One minute I was in the truck with Trevor and then the next thing I knew, I was at the river.” Funny, as I’m telling Bridger, lightness spreads through me. It feels wonderful and the words keep pouring out.

Bridger runs a hand over his mouth. “So you don’t remember anything from the time you were in Trevor’s truck until you woke up at the river?”

“Yes,” I say, wondering what he’s getting at.

“Do you realize you’ve been missing for about four hours?”

“No,” I say, starting to get nervous. Four hours. What did I do during that time?

“People have been searching everywhere for you. They went through the woods, and Grace had them comb the area around the pier because that’s your favorite place. They got back a half hour ago and you weren’t there.”

The light feeling evaporates, confirming I’m either insane or dying. Or both.

“Bridger, who are you talking to?” someone calls from the porch. It’s Aunt Grace. From where she’s standing, I know she can’t see us while we’re swallowed by the shadows.

I don’t wait for him to answer. I rush toward the porch, calling her name.

“Oh dear God!” She flies off the steps and folds me into a tight embrace. It’s hard to breathe, but I don’t care. When she finally lets go, she takes me by both shoulders. “I thought I’d never see you again. Where have you been?”

My gaze flicks to Bridger and he gives me a tiny nod. So I let myself open up to her and tell her the truth. Even knowing she’ll drag me to the head doctors.

I expect her to yell at me for keeping the blackouts from her, but she doesn’t. She just pulls me close again. Her voice is thick with emotion as she says, “We’ll worry about that later, sugar. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“Me too. By the way, how is Trevor? The last thing I remember was that car heading toward the truck. I don’t know how he kept us from getting hit.”

Bridger looks away, but Aunt Grace gasps. “You mean you were still in the truck then?”

“Well, yeah. He must’ve sped up or something.”

“But . . . how is that possible?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” My eyes flick from her to Bridger.

Aunt Grace’s head snaps toward Bridger. “You didn’t tell her?”

“No,” he says.

“Tell me what?”

“The car hit Trevor’s truck,” Aunt Grace says in a quivering voice. “He’s at Emory in Atlanta, in the ICU.” She exchanges a look with Bridger before continuing. “And apparently before they flew him to the hospital, he blamed everything on you.”