I press harder with my thumbs on its windpipe. Its kicks grow feeble, its voice a broken clatter. “Yes, that’s it. Kill me. No matter. There are plenty of others. This will not save you. Look at your arm. It will lead him to you like a vulture to rotting meat.”
I stumble back, releasing my grip on its neck. The brands on my arm radiate phosphorescent light. I claw at the runes that spell my last name, desperate to scrape them off, knowing that if I don’t he’ll find us. He’ll never stop searching until he finds us.
“Emily, behind you!”
At Jacob’s warning I turn. The crimbal raises its arm above my head, a geode paperweight clutched in its fist. My hand snakes out. Grabbing its wrist I slam it down against the ivory keys on the piano. In a dissonant minor the paperweight falls. I catch it in my other hand and drive it into the crimbal’s skull.
Bone crunches under rock. I’m pressing harder, grinding harder, smashing HARDER, pulverizing solid into sludge. Viscous blood dribbles between my fingers, heavy like mercury. Welts rise on my flesh where the blood touches me. It eats through my skin, spreading up my arm, exposing muscle and cartilage. I hear myself scream at the pain. I can’t stop screaming at the pain.
“Emily. It’s alright, your mom’s going to be alright…”
Gabe. Jacob must have untied him. But someone is pulling him back away from me.
I’m lying down staring at the ceiling. There’s a needling pinch in the crease of my arm at the elbow. Something presses around my mouth. It smells like lilac.
A beautiful black void settles across my shoulders. Jacob, Aidan, and Claire gaze down at me, their faces stunned and more than a little scared. But none of them is covered in crimbal guts, and after the night we just survived, that’s a win in my book.
Thirteen
The clock on the wall loses seconds every time I look. A panel of buttons lines the railing on my hospital bed. Not that I want to push them. Or could if I wanted to. My hands are strapped down.
“Do they really think I’m a threat to anyone?” I ask the voices in my head.
No one answers. Not the little girl, not the woman. Not Xander or Twist or even the White Faerie, though I’m not surprised at all that she’s gone.
Whatever they’ve put in the IV envelops me like a warm wet blanket. It doesn’t stop me from thinking and remembering, just from caring. About anything. And even though I suspect I’ll pay for it soon, I’m grateful soon isn’t now.
I drift along on a makeshift raft lashed together with apathy. I don’t care that there isn’t a rudder or an anchor or even an oar. The river’s current swirls around me, lulling me to the verge of deep sleep without letting me slip under.
Now and again gulls fly overhead. Sometimes they land on my raft and keep me company.
“How long does she have to stay here?” The Claire-gull asks.
“They said she’s coming home tomorrow night.” That squawk is Aidan.
“But we’re leaving in two days. She doesn’t even know!” The Claire-gull is upset. “She needs to wake up and tell them we aren’t going with them.”
“Calm down Claire. It’s not like we have a choice. We can’t stay here by ourselves. We’re kids.” This gull’s voice is deeper, like Jacob’s.
“Emma’s seventeen. That’s old enough. Mom’s been sick for months and Emma has been in charge…”
“She’s stressed out, okay? You saw her last night. The doctor said she had a drug induced psychotic break. That’s why she’s in this hospital, Claire. She can’t be in charge of everything anymore.”
“But Dad’s coming home…”
“Yeah, Claire. From prison. Mom’s family has never liked him. I heard Uncle Ian say we’re staying with them until Mom’s better.”
“Can they even do that?” Claire asks. “Take us away without Dad’s permission?”
“Yeah, I think they can. We’ll be gone before he gets home.”
“He’s been gone ten years,” the gull with Aidan’s voice says. “It doesn’t even feel like we’re related anymore. I’m glad we’re going with Aunt Meg and Uncle Ian.”
“Aidan!” Claire-gull is shocked. “He’s our dad. Mom always says blood is thicker than water. She says that no matter what, God commands us to forgive, even seven times seventy. She says the Atonement of Jesus will heal our hearts.”
“You’ve never met him, Claire. You weren’t even born when he went away.”
The gulls’ voices aren’t good company anymore. I want to plug my ears but I can’t move my arms. My feet twitch.
White-water rapids of claustrophobia threaten to overturn my raft. An alarm blares as I thrash against the smothering wet blanket of the sedative. Staccato beeps keep pace with my spiking pulse as the bed-straps constrict. I need to tell the Claire-gull. I need to tell her not to trust Dad.
Quick feet follow shouts in the hallway. Peace spreads thick and delicious through my nervous system. The ebb and flow of waves against the little raft hush all harshness, blocking out everything as I tip gently over the side. Bubbles of panic escape my mouth in a pleasant gurgle. Distant sunlight flickers through meters of silty water. I let go and sink…
How much time has passed? No more IV in my arm. The wall mounted TV glows blue in the dark room. A sports show is on. Gabe is here, slumped in a wooden chair, his head leaning awkwardly to one side. For a minute I just watch him sleep. His thick hair and smooth skin make my fingers tingle. And his lips, so full when relaxed…
I stifle the longing that shudders through me and focus on scanning my body: wiggle my toes…some pins and needles, but good. Wiggle my legs…fine. I clench and release my glutes and then my abs. Continuing up my torso I try to ignore the yellow straps across my arms and chest, wincing instead at the stabbing ache between my shoulder blades that must be from laying in one position too long. I hold my hands very still pretending I don’t want to move them anyway, but sweat beads on my upper lip. The walls close in.
“You’re awake.”
Aunt Nancy’s quiet voice pushes the shrinking walls back to their normal place.
“There, there, Dear. We don’t need these ridiculous restraints. Let’s sit you up a little. Are you thirsty?”
As she frees my arms the confusion the IV kept at bay floods over me—a tsunami of hopelessness. I can’t hold back my tears. They sting where they touch my cheeks.
Nancy clucks in sympathy. Adjusting my pillow she raises the bed so I’m sitting up and presses a Styrofoam cup of apple juice to my lips. I drink, grateful.
“That’s right. You just let those tears out. And no wonder. It’s been too much, hasn’t it, Dear?” She speaks in a whisper. Turning, she nods at Gabe. “That boy has been here all night. At first your Great Uncle Ian didn’t want to let him in. He said family only. But I had some words with him and promised I’d stay, too. Your Gabe is quite extraordinary, Emily. He told me what happened, and I thank the stars he was with you when you found Sandra.”
What did he tell her? Everything? You’ve never screwed up like this before! The woman’s voice is back shouting louder than ever and I couldn’t agree more. I’ve really messed up this time. I should have never confided in Gabe.
It wasn’t his fault. The little girl’s voice argues. If he hadn’t been there Mom would have died. Emma couldn’t even call an ambulance!
I cover my ears with my hands, but it doesn’t stop them bickering. I rock forward, pulling my knees up to my chest.
“It hurts, Aunt Nancy.”
“Where, Dear? Should I call the nurse?”
“Inside. Everywhere.”
Nancy sighs. “I’m afraid the nurse can’t help with that kind of hurt.”
“When will it stop?”
She shakes her head. “That depends on you.”
An aftertaste of despair distills on my tongue. Nothing good has ever come from depending on me.
“You’re awake!” The happiness in Gabe’s voice catches me off guard. He’s by the bed holding my hand before I can blink. Stubble roughens his jaw and shadows smudge the skin under his blue eyes but my God he looks like an angel. Relief spreads through me where his fingers touch mine. I didn’t even know how much I missed him until now.
Nancy hands me a tissue. I dry my eyes, very aware of my stale breath, tangled hair, and flimsy hospital gown. But Gabe looks at me like I’m a princess. The smile refuses to leave my face.
“Listen, you two.” Nancy has never been good at faking stern. “We all need our sleep. You’ll be released tomorrow, Emily, and I’m afraid things will be hectic when you get home. Ian and Margaret have flown in from California. They’re determined to take you all back to the Vineyard with them as soon as possible. They’ve reserved Sandra a bed in a state-of-the-art detox and rehabilitation center. The plan is for Margaret to fly back with your mother. The rest of you will drive cross-country with Ian.”
A string of silent exclamation marks marches across the stage in my mind. She can’t be serious. My words stammer before they reach my tongue. “Wh- wh- what? I…I don’t…I don’t underst…are you…? You’re serious? I haven’t seen them in years! I barely even know them! How long will we be gone?”
Nancy purses her lips. “I’m sorry Dear. I don’t see any way around this. Steve and I have discussed it. I’ll be going with you.”
“I’m going too.”
Nancy and I gawk at Gabe.
“I am. I’ll drive there myself if I have to, and get a job. Your relatives can’t stop me. They don’t own California.”
Nancy nods. “I just wanted to prepare you Emily. They’re having a family council tomorrow evening to finalize plans.”
“Why? It sounds like they’ve already decided everything.”
“There are few things they want to discuss with you children. Logistics, I think.”
I want—no, I need—the void. The last thing in the world I want to do is face Mom’s rich Aunt and Uncle. I remember Claire saying that blood is thicker than water. Right now the only thought in my head is that I’d rather drown in water than blood any day of the week.
Fourteen
Claire sits cross-legged on the bathroom counter watching me get ready for the family council. She’s a good source of information, recounting how she woke up to the sound of paramedics kicking in the front door the night before last. How she and the boys watched them carry Mom outside on a stretcher. I die a little inside when she tells me how I screamed; ranting like a lunatic about monsters, doing everything I could to keep them from taking Mom. How they finally had to sedate me.
The ER doctor did a toxicology report and found Valium and Ambien in my system. A hospital-appointed psychologist came and talked to me before I was released. She asked questions and made notes on her clipboard about prescription and non-prescription drugs and the scars on my arm, but she was just checking off boxes. There isn’t anything she can do since I’ll be leaving Dallas indefinitely with my great aunt and uncle.
My stomach acids churn faster the closer it gets to the family meeting. I don’t know why I have to be there, but Nancy insists it’s important.
Maybe so I can act grateful.
Mom’s aunt and uncle have been supporting us for a long time. They were named executors of my grandparent’s estate after they both died in some tragic boating accident before I was born. Dear old Gram and Gramps didn’t leave the money directly to Mom because they’ve never liked Dad and they didn’t want him to be able to get his hands on it.
Whatever. I know Ian and Margaret are like Mom’s second mom and dad but I haven’t seen them in over seven years and I’m not fond of them. At all.
Claire chats away about them like she’s stumbled across the world’s greatest petting zoo. In her mind everything is better than good. Mom’s alive, and except for the mental show I put on two nights ago, I’m home and relatively sane. Dad will be released from prison by the end of the week, and we’re going on a road trip to California…where she was born.
“Have I ever seen redwoods, Emma? Aunt Meg says they live next to Great Basin Redwood State Park on a vineyard. They have acres of land and chickens that don’t even live in cages. She says I can have my own baby chick! And she’s going to teach me to bake and knit. She says she tried to teach you when you were my age but you sucked at it.”
“Claire, her name is Margaret. Why do you keep calling her Meg?”
“She told me to.”
That’s interesting. Maybe she’s rebranded herself with a fun nickname, trying to act nice so as not to frighten the youngsters. Meg certainly sounds less severe than the Margaret I remember.
“And oh my gosh Emma! Why didn’t anyone ever tell me I have a cousin who’s adopted? You named Kaillen in the story after him, didn’t you?”
“Ugh. He’s not your cousin and he isn’t adopted. He’s not related to us at all. Ian and ‘Meg’ are his godparents…”
“Uncle Ian has a riding lawn mower and he said I can help him mow the lawn…” I doubt she even heard me. Her words trip along like a swift-moving stream. Everything she says conjures up a memory. I felt the exact same excitement when I visited the Vineyard. We spent summers there when I was young. It was heaven. The lush landscape filled my waking hours with adventure and discovery, my nights with fairytale dreams. The summer Dad was sentenced there wasn’t even a single empty space in my body left to worry about the way my family was falling apart, thanks to the Vineyard.
I hold my tongue, unwilling to take away Claire’s enthusiasm. I’ll do my best to shield her and Jacob and Aidan from any unpleasantness. I’ll especially try to protect them from insufferable Kaillen. I have zero idea why I named Nissa’s champion after him in the first place. I can’t imagine why Ian and Meg brought him with them on this rescue mission. He’s only a couple years older than I am, and everyone knows he resents Mom and hates Dad. I’m not looking forward to our reunion at all.
Thank God Nancy will be with me. I’m tensed like I’m going into battle. I’ll take all the allies I can get.
Claire sets a tube of mascara down on the bathroom counter and tugs at my sundress. “Did you hear what I said, Emma? Don’t you think it would be awesome? I’ve never been on a plane before!”
I stare at our reflections in the mirror. I must have zoned out again. “Yes you have Bug, you just don’t remember. But we’re driving to California, not flying.”
“No! I knew you weren’t listening. Dad called while you were still at the hospital. He said when he comes to get us next week we might all fly home!”
The earring I’m holding clatters into the sink, the silver back slips down the drain.
“What’s wrong, Emma?”
“Nothing. I just feel stupid in this dumb sundress.” It’s true. Shorts and tank tops are my uniform. But it isn’t why I’m shaking.
“You look pretty.”
That just makes it worse. I don’t want to look pretty. Ever. “Will you go tell them I’ll be down in a minute, Bug?”
I lock the door after she leaves and sit down hard on the toilet. Sweat runs down my back. I long to ditch the cardigan but I can’t leave my arms bare because even though I don’t remember doing it, I’m a moron who carved my last name in runes on my arm for everyone to see. I can’t imagine what they’ve all been saying about me behind my back.
Emma, you aren’t a moron. The runes are Magic. They’ll protect you…the weapons and the faeries too, just like in the story…just like when we were little before He left.
SHUT UP, that is NONSENSE. I’ll tell you exactly what your family thinks. They think you’re immature. They think you’re selfish. They think those scars are a cry for attention. They pity you and you’re lucky that’s all they do, because they could have put you in an institution. Now they’ll be watching. Waiting for you to sc
rew up again. And you will. It’s just a matter of time because there’s something WRONG with you. You’re DELUSIONAL. There are no faeries. If you have any sense at all in that ridiculous head you will KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND FORGET ABOUT IT.
No Emma…Don’t forget! Please…you can’t forget.
I’m going to be sick.
I slide to my knees and push up the lid on the toilet. I wretch but nothing comes up.
The stuff I was wearing when they took me to the hospital is in a plastic drawstring bag on the floor in the corner. I crawl to it, digging inside, searching the pockets of the pajama shorts I had on that night.
The pill bottle weighs nothing in my hand. My breathing slows.
I stand up, run cold water over a washcloth and press it on my chest to cool the ugly red splotches, then twist off the cap.
You never learn, do you?
This is YOUR fault, not Emma’s! If you didn’t say such awful things to her she wouldn’t need to run away.
Between my thumbnails I break the little yellow tablet in two, placing the smaller half on my tongue. “Just a little,” I whisper. “This is the last time, I promise.”
A quick drink from the faucet and swallow. When I straighten, two figures stand behind me staring back in the mirror: a tight-lipped woman with her arms crossed over her chest, and a little girl in braids with a jump rope trailing from her hand to the ground.
My voices.
Which one of them should I listen to? Maybe the woman’s right and there’s something seriously wrong with me. Maybe the little girl’s right and something Magic is happening. The only thing I know for sure is they’re tearing me apart.
“Go away. Both of you.”
Riven: Young Adult Fantasy Novel (My Myth Trilogy Book 1) Page 9