What's Left of Me
Page 10
she said, and each word carved into me until I was raw and bloody on the inside, everything scooped out.
I tried to block my pain, but I was never as good as Addie at putting a wall between us. She must have felt it. My pain, my guilt—
My anger.
I wrapped myself around the last one, feeling it heat the hollow space inside me like a sun.
Addie gave a long, shuddering sigh. Or it started as a sigh. It ended as a sob.
Once upon a time, I had been strong enough to resist fading away. I’d been reduced to smoke, stripped of everything but a voice only Addie could hear. But I’d held on. I’d refused to go.
I prayed now for the strength to face whatever came next.
The phone blasted us from our nightmare of water and coffins. It was pitch-black. The darkness choked us, digging claws into our throat.
Addie groped across the bed. Our fingers met with an endless landscape of pillows and blankets. The phone screamed and screamed. Finally, our hand slammed down on something hard and cool—the nightstand. Addie reached for the black shape beside the taller black shape, which might have been the lamp.
“H-hello?”
“Good mor—well,” an unfamiliar voice said. “I suppose it’s not really morning yet, is it?”
We were too groggy to form sentences.
“Hello?” said the voice.
Who—? Oh. Oh, right. The wake-up call.
“Yeah—” Addie said. “Yeah, I’m awake.” She sat up, propping ourself against the mattress with one arm. “I’m awake,” Addie repeated, our voice a little stronger. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” the receptionist said. “Have a good day.”
There was a click, and the line went dead. We sat in the darkness, the phone still pressed against our ear.
Addie gave no reply. Her silence hurt more than any words.
Slowly, she slid off the bed and padded to the bathroom. The tiles pricked icy needles into the soles of our feet. The sink faucet turned silently—no squeak like the ones in our bathroom at home. The water that came out heated up so quickly Addie almost burned our hands. She had to switch off the hot water completely. The cold water felt more natural, anyway, as it slapped against our face and ran down our cheeks.
She undressed and dressed again without ever turning on the light. There was a change of clothes in our bag, but our school uniform already lay in a rumpled heap on the floor, so Addie pulled it on instead. She brushed our teeth, stuffed our things back into our bag, and then sat on the bed to wait in the heavy, somnolent darkness.
It may or may not have been three thirty when there came a quiet knock. Addie didn’t move. She’d been staring at the door since she’d sat down, so she didn’t even need to shift our gaze.
“Addie?” he said, intruding on our silence, cracking and burning away the last fragments of our dreams. “I’m coming in.”
The door clicked open. Light poured into the room from the hallway, swallowing the darkness wherever the two touched. Mr. Conivent stood blinking in the doorway.
“Are you still in bed?” he said. His voice was lower, harder, sharper than I remembered. He reached inside and flicked on the lights. They seared our eyes.
We stared at him. He stared at us. Our hand tightened on our bag. Then he smiled and laughed a little.
“What are you doing sitting here in the dark? Come on, let’s go.” He beckoned, and we stood. “You aren’t leaving anything behind?”
Addie shook our head.
“Good, because we can’t come back.”
The ride to the airport wasn’t too long, but it was quiet. The radio murmured on and on as the sleeping town slipped by, melting into a never-ending stretch of highway. Each streetlight was a gold flash in the corner of our eyes. We were silent but for one question, which Addie didn’t dare ask until the journey was more than halfway over.
“Where’s Devon?”
There was a slight pause before Mr. Conivent answered. “I sent him ahead in a taxi.” He took his eyes off the road to give us a small smile that only made his next words more chilling. “He’s a little upset at the moment, so I think the two of you would be better off separated for now. Don’t worry about it. Someone will meet him at the airport.”
“We’ll be on the same plane, though?” Addie said.
“Yes,” Mr. Conivent said, a growing edge in his voice. “But we weren’t able to get seats next to one another. You won’t see him.”
It was still dark by the time we checked in at the airport. Addie and I had never been on a plane before; the excitement we might have felt was replaced by a sharp, twisting pain in our stomach.
“Come on,” Mr. Conivent said as we lagged at a window, watching a plane lift off from the runway outside. We couldn’t make out details, mostly just flashing lights in the gloom.
Addie followed him through check-in, then to security. We’d seen things like this on television, but never been near one in real life. We’d heard enough about them, though. Whenever someone at school got to go on a plane, they came back bursting with stories and wouldn’t shut up for ages.
It was early, the security area almost deserted but for us. Mr. Conivent started emptying his pockets and gestured for Addie to do the same. “Put your bag on the conveyor belt. And make sure there’s nothing metal in your pockets.”
Addie hesitated, and he motioned with his head again. “Come on, Addie.”
Addie eased the duffel bag’s strap over our head. The bag began moving away from us as soon as she set it on the belt.
“Nothing metal?” Mr. Conivent said. “No keys? Money?”
She shook our head.
“All right, then,” he said. “Go through that archway over there. I’ll be right behind you.”
Addie walked toward where he pointed, but stole a glance over our shoulder before stepping under the arch. Mr. Conivent was talking with an officer. The latter mumbled into a walkie-talkie between sentences. Before we could catch more than a few words—“here?” “Yes, he—” “three”—a man in uniform on the other side of the arch called for us to come on through.
Addie obeyed, then nearly jumped out of our skin when something started beeping. A step backward brought us back under the arch again. The beeping began anew.
“Hey, hold still,” the officer said, grabbing our wrist and drawing us aside. He was dressed a little like Mr. Conivent—dark pants and shoes, white shirt. Official. “Did you empty your pockets?”
Addie pulled our hand against our chest as soon as he let it go. “I don’t have anything,”
“Well, hold out your arms—that’s right. Straight out like that. I’ll just pass this sensor over you, okay?”
The black wand flashed as he bent and moved it along our right leg. But when he passed it up our left one, it started beeping like the arch had.
“You’re absolutely sure you don’t have anything in your pocket?” the officer said. “Check for me one more time.”
“I don’t usually put anything there,” Addie said, but she reached into our skirt pocket anyway. “I—”
Something small and smooth brushed against our skin. Addie closed our fingers around it and pulled it free: a small black disk, slightly larger than a quarter, with a tiny light set in the middle. Almost—almost familiar, though I couldn’t imagine where we’d seen it before.
“See,” the officer said. He didn’t sound angry, and Addie relaxed a little. “Something like that might set these things off.”
I said.
“Here, I’ll hold that for you,” the officer said. Addie put it in his hand, and he glanced at it before passing the wand over our body again. This time, the thing stayed quiet. “All done,�
� he said, giving the coin back to us. He even smiled a little.
“Is there a problem?”
Addie spun around. When had Mr. Conivent gotten so close?
“Not at all,” the officer said. “You’re free to go.”
“Wonderful,” Mr. Conivent said, and he was smiling the same way he had when he’d seen Addie walking down the stairs back at home. “Get your things, Addie. We’re behind on time as it is.”
“What was that all about?” he added as Addie grabbed our bag and jogged along behind him.
“Nothing,” Addie said. But our hand closed tightly around the coin.
The airport was arranged into gates, each labeled by a shiny black number on a plaque. By the time we reached the correct one, a line of people was already waiting to board the plane. Mr. Conivent strode to the service desk, leaving us behind a young woman and her two children. The boy, maybe seven or eight and looking highly uncomfortable in his dress clothes, stared at us with big blue eyes.
Addie tried not to be as obvious as she watched Mr. Conivent argue with the woman at the desk. The latter kept gesturing to the computer. We couldn’t see Mr. Conivent’s face, but his shoulders were stiff.
“Your hand’s shining.”
Addie looked down, frowning slightly at the little boy who’d spoken.
“Your hand,” he repeated, pointing to our right side. Addie stared. A bright red light pulsed out from between our fingers. The coin. The light we’d noticed before had come to life and was flashing slowly on and off.
“What is it?” the boy asked, leaving his mother’s side.
Addie’s frown deepened. “I don’t know.”
The boy stood on tiptoe, trying to get a better view.
“Tyler?” The line had moved. The young woman grabbed her son’s arm and pulled him forward, ignoring his protests.
“What’s that?” said a voice over our shoulder.
Addie jumped, nearly ramming our skull into Mr. Conivent’s chin. He straightened. How did he manage to keep sneaking up on us like this?
“Nothing,” Addie said. Our fingers curled shut.
His hand clamped around our wrist. “May I see?”
Mr. Conivent plucked the black coin from our palm and held it to the light. Our eyes traced his movement, pinpointed on the blinking coin until he returned it to us.
“Funny-looking thing,” he said.
Addie tried to smile. “I got it at a joke shop.”
“Did you? What does it do?”
“It’s—”
I rattled off the first thing that came to mind.
“It’s part of a bigger trick,” Addie said. “And it never really worked, anyway. I just found it in my bag—I have tons of junk in there.”
“All right,” he said. He’d already turned away. “Well, let’s go, then.”
The tunnel leading to the plane echoed with grumbling suitcase wheels. A flight attendant stood by the plane’s mouth, smiling at us when we reached the threshold.
We stepped into the plane. Mr. Conivent walked as briskly as he could down the narrow corridor, but he kept having to stop as people found their seats or loaded luggage into overhead compartments. Were Ryan and Devon here already? They had to be; we’d been one of the last people in line.
She raised our eyes and lowered our fist to our side. The woman and her children in front of us finally found their seats, and we heard the mother mutter to herself, “Thank God we’re by the bathrooms.”
Ahead of us, an older man grappled with his suitcase, and Mr. Conivent had to stop again, his lips thinning. The coin in our hand was warm.
Addie turned slightly, hiding the coin in case Mr. Conivent glanced over his shoulder. The light was no longer flashing. Instead, it glowed an unwavering red. She frowned at it, our bottom lip caught between our teeth. We didn’t notice when one of the bathroom doors opened.
But when we looked up again, there was no way not to notice the dark-haired boy standing in the aisle. And no way not to recognize who he was.
Thirteen
What happened next happened very quickly and almost silently. Devon’s finger shot to his lips. He ducked back into the bathroom. The door shut.
“Addie?” Mr. Conivent said, her name half sigh and half warning. “What is it now?”
“Nothing,” Addie said. Our heart was thumping, but she turned and kept our expression placid. “I’ve just never been on a plane before.”
“There’s not much to see.” He beckoned for Addie to close the three or four feet between him and us. “Come on. We need to get to our seats.”
She followed Mr. Conivent down the aisle, farther into the belly of the plane. Despite the incredibly early hour, most of the other passengers were as smartly dressed as he was, the women in skirts and pantyhose, the men in pressed shirts. Our scuffed oxfords stood out in a line of heels and leather shoes.
“Thirty-four-E,” Mr. Conivent said finally. “Here we go. Give me your bag.”
Addie handed it over, then frowned. The seats on either side of 34-E were both filled by middle-aged businessmen in dark suits. Mr. Conivent was still trying to stuff our bag into the overhead bin. Addie tapped him on the arm. “There’s only one seat.”
Mr. Conivent nodded as he slammed the compartment shut. “I’m down that way.” He gestured back in the direction we’d just come. “On the other side of where we entered. If you need help, call for a stewardess. It’s not a long flight.”
Addie nodded, the coin hot in our palm. Devon’s face was captured in my mind, beckoning for us to be quiet. Addie sat down, and I hoped Mr. Conivent would leave, but he didn’t. He stood in the aisle like a sentinel. Eventually the man on our left roped him into a rather one-sided conversation as Addie fidgeted in our seat.
Finally, a stewardess in a blue-and-white uniform told Mr. Conivent he had to sit. Then another woman at the head of the plane began explaining what to do if the plane went down. Addie and I both listened. At least one of us would remember what to do. I’d thought we’d get a chance to run to the bathroom when the stewardess finished, but then the plane began moving and we couldn’t go anywhere.
The plane screamed, careening faster and faster down the runway. Then, with a lurch and a pop in our ears, it wrenched itself from the ground. Our legs jellified. Addie squeezed the armrests, our back pressed against the seat. She glanced only once out the window, but it was enough. We saw the dark shape of the airport below, growing smaller and smaller as we left the ground behind.
The seat belt sign extinguished ten or fifteen minutes later, and Addie mumbled an apology to the businessman in the aisle seat as she squeezed past him and stumbled down the aisle.
The bathroom doors were shut, but little panels declared UNOCCUPIED in bright green. Addie looked around before pulling open the door Devon had been hiding behind earlier. The tiny bathroom was empty. The one next to it was empty, too. So was the one next to that.
A man sitting nearby shot us a strange look.
Our hand closed around the handle of the fourth door. Addie jerked it open.
And this one was not empty.
“Shh,” Devon said before Addie could speak. He took our arm and pulled us into the bathroom, yanking the door shut behind us. We stood, squished between the sink and the wall, boxed in by the toilet and the door. And Devon. His face was half a foot from ours, his hands by our elbows, one knee pressed against our leg. We were folded together with nowhere to go, backs against walls, trying to breathe. Everything vibrated.
“You didn’t run,” he said. His voice was quiet, but something in it hummed the same tenor as the plane’s engines.
The sink’s hard edge dug into our back, keeping Addie from shifting away from his touch. “Ryan told you to run. Why didn’t you?”
A bout of turbulence rocked the bathroom. Addie squeezed our eyes shut until it was over. The bathroom was too small. Way, way too small.
“Of course I didn’t run,” she said through our teeth. “Where would I have gone?”
Devon looked like he was going to argue, but the bathroom trembled again and by the time Addie reopened our eyes, he’d swallowed what he was going to say. “You didn’t admit anything?” The words were hardly a question, more a confirmation. “You played dumb?”
“I’m not stupid,” Addie said. We couldn’t focus, not in this tiny, rattling place, with the door behind us and Devon so close. Sweat pricked the back of our neck, heat rushing through us in waves. Our chest constricted, a band cinching tighter and tighter and tighter until every breath was a war.
Devon frowned. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Addie said. Our voice was rough, but she listened to me, keeping our eyes on Devon’s face. “And I didn’t run. And now I’m here.” Our hands clenched.
Neither she nor Devon said anything for a moment. Our muscles trembled from the effort to keep still. Our gaze stayed firmly straight ahead. Was Addie separating Devon’s face into brushstrokes? Into light and shadow? I would never see the world in terms of colored dabs on a palette, the way Addie sometimes seemed to, but I’d seen her draw enough people to imagine how she might sketch the hard, smooth line of this boy’s jaw, the straight sides of his nose. How she might shade his hair curling across his forehead, almost brushing against his eyebrows.
I could picture some of the hues she would pick and mix—yellow ocher, burnt sienna, violet—to color in Devon’s face, which was also Ryan’s, as Addie’s was also mine.
“You brought the chip, at least,” Devon said finally.
“What?” Addie said.
Devon stared at us. “The chip. The black chip. Ryan put it in your pocket when he—you have to have it.”
Addie uncurled our fist finger by finger. She raised the chip but didn’t look away from Devon’s eyes. “You mean this?”