IMOGEN
“It was you.”
The voice sent me flying up out of my half-sleep. And then I realized who had said it.
Finn.
He talked.
His eyes were open, staring directly at me.
“It was you,” he repeated. “You were the little girl.”
I nodded in disbelief.
“Umm …” I glanced around for something to say. How did he remember that story? “You thirsty?”
Finn nodded.
Oh, lordy, all the things I’d said to this boy when I thought he couldn’t hear me.
He took a sip when I held the cup to his lips.
He barely moved his body, like he was afraid of the way he looked and wasn’t sure what would happen if he started flailing around his giant limbs. He shifted his head about, taking in the room, taking in his skin, his arms, his entire shape. His hair—at least what was left of it—flopped around on his forehead, getting in his eyes.
He asked all sorts of questions, all at once.
“Who did this to me?”
“Where are we?”
“Where is my family?”
Bugger. Memory lapse.
I wasn’t prepared for this. I wished Jack were here. Or Finn’s sister. They could do this better. Jack may be stone cold, but at least he knew how to handle situations like this. At least Jack had a little more tact than me ….
But Finn was looking at me, waiting.
And so, I told him everything.
It took a while. And he didn’t say much. Chap didn’t even cry, which was good, because I don’t know much what to do with crying.
And now he knew everything I knew, about everything—except his dad being down in the basement, which I left out just in case this didn’t all go as planned. But mainly, Finn knew everything.
He laid there for a long time, not moving, not talking, just staring up at the ceiling.
I had left out one other thing. I didn’t want to be the one to say it because I knew what it felt like inside when you heard it for the first time.
When you found out someone you loved had died.
But then his wide eyes looked at me, and I felt like a horrible person for keeping it from him. So I pulled on my britches and said it.
“Also … Finn.” I fumbled over his name, annoyed at myself. “Also …”
That itchy feeling came back to my throat, and I tried to swallow it away.
Out with it.
“Also, they killed your mom. She died in the car wreck, is what your sister said.”
Finn didn’t move. The room filled with quiet, and I wondered if he’d heard me, but I wasn’t repeating it, so I hoped he did.
I swallowed. “And I’m sorry about it,” I said.
I think I saw a tear fall down his cheek.
I looked away.
“Like you,” he said finally. “Just like your mother.”