In the Middle

by S. J. Henderson

  Oliver.

  I don’t know where to find him, but I head to the last place I saw him. Despite the inky light of dusk, I creep in the direction of the rose garden, tripping a few times on twisted roots along the way. The orchard stretches on without end. After a while the darkness deepens, curling around me like a thick black fog. I stumble again and reach out to steady myself on anything within grasp, which happens to be a gnarled tree trunk. On my feet again, I move forward into the blackness.

  My bravery is rewarded by the ankle of my good leg twisting sideways in a rut, depositing me onto the dew-soaked earth. I don’t need to put weight on my ankle to know I twisted it; the pulsing pain radiating from my heel to midway up my calf tells me as much. Rolling to my hands and knees, I inch my way forward until my fingertips meet the spidery pedestal of the next tree. As soon as I drag myself close enough, I turn to prop my back against the tree and wait for daylight. This isn’t even remotely a plan, but it’s all I have.

  My clothes from earlier are no match for the night’s humidity. In the absence of sleeves, I curl my arms around my chest and pull my bent knees towards me. With any luck, any wandering mosquitos will ignore my bare flesh until the morning sun arrives. That goes double for any lurking, bloodthirsty creatures of the night. The more I worry about the things I can’t see—which, at this point, is everything—the more I realize something more disturbing. No crickets chirp their shrill concerto. No bats sing out as they swoop through the dark. No unknown vermin scurry through the greenery around me. Nature isn’t meant to have a mute button, and prickles begin at the flesh on my wrists and spread upward.

  My hearing focuses as much as possible beyond the slight buzz in my left ear from when my head smacked the windshield. Nothing beyond the ruffling of the breeze through the apple trees. Once, I heard something fall, and I brushed it off as an apple plummeting to the ground. Other than that, it’s almost as if the orchard exists in a void.

  I don’t know how long I sit there, trembling from a mixture of fear and the cold. I’m so thoroughly creeped out that any amount of time is too long. Tears well up in my eyes and I let myself cry into my knees. I wish I would have died in that crash after all. If I’d died, I wouldn’t be stuck in this awful place wondering what’s wrong with everyone, why my aunt hates my guts, and where all the noise has gone. Death won’t give me any riddles. Death will give me peace.

  “What are you doing out here?” he whispers, breaking the silence.

  I let loose with a scream, which splits my skull into about twenty fragments. With my heart nearly bursting in fright, my skull is the very least of my worries. I leap to my feet, the fastest movement I’ve made in a long time, and whirl to locate the disembodied voice that had spoken from the gloom. Strong hands cup my elbows, but I still can’t make out a body, no less a face. With every remaining ounce of fight left, I shove myself away from his grasp, shrieking again and again.

  “Shhh, Lucy. Keep it down, would ya?”

  I curse my stupid eyes for not being able to pierce the darkness. Whoever he is, he certainly isn’t having as much trouble seeing me. A hand claps across my mouth, muffling yet another of my screams.

  “Hey,” he hisses. From the way the word puffs around my nostrils, his face clearly hovers nearby. “Hey, it’s Oliver. Stop before they hear you!”

  I choke back my next cry, his hand still resting over my lips.

  After a moment of my silence, his fingers relax slightly. “You’re not going to scream again, are you?” I shake my head slowly, my lips brushing against the calluses he’d earned through years of hard work. His hand falls away back into the blackness.

  “Oliver, you scared me to death,” I gasp. Though I keep my voice low, I can’t disguise the trembling.

  He hushes me again. He’s still incredibly close. “You’re not safe out here by yourself after dark,” he whispers. It sounds like he’s glancing around.

  The urgency in his voice stirs up my earlier fear. “What? What do you mean?”

  “I can’t tell you what I mean—I would if I could, honest. You’ve just got to trust me on this.”

  “I was trying to find you.”

  “You came out here for me?”

  “Yeah. To tell you thank you.” I hesitate. “And to ask how you knew about the whole rose thing.”

  He doesn’t answer right away, and I fear he’s left me all alone again. The thought of being alone, especially after he’d sounded so concerned, sends a shiver through me.

  “You’re cold. Let’s get you back to the house.”

  “I can’t walk. My ankle’s twisted.” I shift my weight forward to confirm.

  “Can you ride?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Can. You. Ride?” he repeats. “My horse is around here somewhere.”

  A horse? Even though the darkness continues to veil everything from view, I scan the area for the presence of another living being. Still nothing.

  “I’m scared of horses,” I confess, blushing. At least he can’t see how embarrassed I am. “One bucked me off when I was younger.”

  Maybe it’s my imagination, but I think I hear him stifle a laugh.

  “It’s not funny,” I say, and it really isn’t. That pony had been demonic, dumping me in the dirt and then trotting off the trail to munch on dandelions.

  “No, no. I’m not laughing at you.” The grin is evident in his tone. Jerk.

  Oliver whistles as softly as the rush of wind through blades of grass.

  My stomach churns in dread. “Can we skip the horse?”

  A few seconds later, something nuzzles the palm of my hand as it dangles at my side. It takes everything within me to keep from crying out again.

  “Jasper!” Oliver chuckles. “Where are your manners? She doesn’t have any treats.”

  A peace offering.

  I nudge around with my toe until I locate a fallen apple. I crouch down, hoping the horse won’t kick me in the face, and pick it up.

  “Here, Jasper.” I stretch my hand outward, offering the piece of fruit to the blackness.

  The velvet of a muzzle shifts across my palm, tickling my skin. Then the apple pushes against my hand before it’s crunched in half. A being stands in front of me with jaws strong enough to make applesauce from my offering, and I can’t even see it. Kind of unnerving.

  “I wish I could see you guys,” I whisper as Jasper mouths the rest of the apple out of my hand.

  The smile in Oliver’s voice disintegrates. “No, you don’t.”

  Oliver is especially mysterious tonight. He probably wants to freak me out like those little boys at summer camp. Those boys laughed when their spooky fireside stories made me beg to call my parents.

  Boys. They never grow up.

  “Do you trust me?” he asks. He’s closer to me.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not really. We’ve got to get you back to the mansion before . . .” His voice trails off. I want to slug him in the arm for being spooky again, but I’d have to find his arm first.

  He swoops in without warning, whisking me from my feet. Again, I cry out. He sucks in a sharp breath that catches between his teeth. “Lucy, I’m not kidding—stop making noise.”

  My blood simmers beneath my skin. “Warn me next time you’re planning on picking me up, then.”

  “Sorry,” he fires back, his mouth too close to my ear.

  I want nothing more than for the strength in my legs to return so I can get away from him and his nerve, but Oliver is in control now and holds me pressed unnecessarily tightly to his body. Turning my head from him is my only means of escape. I’d shown him, all right.

  With a little more energy than necessary, he heaves me up into the blackness. My bottom connects to something soft yet solid—Jasper’s back—and pain spikes down my spine. I gasp as my body starts to curl in on itself.

  “Okay,” Oliver says. “Slide your right leg over to the other side. I’ll keep you steady.”

  My mouth fl
ops open and I wonder if he can see the ever-growing whites of my eyes. Or maybe he’s picked up on the stampede going on between the valves of my heart, because he softens. “Lucy, I’m not going to let you fall. Trust me.”

  “The only people I’ve ever trusted are dead,” I shoot down to him as I claw around for something, anything, to keep me from falling on my face.

  Oliver snorts, which sends me over the edge.

  “What? You think that’s funny?” I challenge him, no longer concerned about keeping quiet. His hand clamps on my leg in piercing reproof. I’ll have bruises there tomorrow, for sure. Through locked teeth, I order, “Let. Go.”

  “Please stop,” he says. “I’m trying to keep you sa—”

  A rumble beyond us, where the orchard fades into the rest of the forest, interrupts his plea. Even though I sit astride stoic Jasper, I can feel the ground vibrating beneath us.

  “What in the—?” I cry, whipping my head in the direction of the growing commotion.

  “Slide back,” Oliver commands. I know better than to take offense at his bossy tone. I’d made a big mistake, one he’d been trying to protect me from. The fear of horses leaves my body, only to be replaced by the fear of the unknown. Ignoring the bite of pain in my hip, I throw my leg over Jasper’s withers and shove myself backward, using my palms for leverage. A second later, Oliver sweeps himself upward and in front of me on his horse’s back.

  “Hold on,” he yells over the thunder moving our direction. I hug my body to his and wrap my arms around his middle like my life depends on it, because I’m pretty sure it does.

  Our mount launches forward without waiting for Oliver’s cue, galloping forward into the gloom. The surge of movement pitches me to the side, and I dig my heels into Jasper’s side trying to right myself. The horse lashes back at me, gnashing my foot between his teeth.

  “Jasper!” Oliver barks, spurring him along.

  Jasper releases my foot and races forward, but not before kicking up his back heels in protest. In case I’d forgotten, this lovely creature reminds me of why I loathe horses. I close my eyes tight and clutch Oliver with all my remaining strength.

  By the rush of air tickling my bare scalp, I know we’re flying. I can’t think about any of it—the scream of the wind in my ears, the sting of branches as they slice into my flesh, how a fall from this speed would probably finish the job the car crash hadn’t. With each terrifying stride, my heart nears explosion. I do the only thing I can think to do in the situation: I bury my head into Oliver’s back and pray. Though I suspect God isn’t listening, I have to try.

  The great noise draws closer, like a freight train plowing through the stillness. A prickle of goosebumps starts low on my spine and travels upward despite the night air turning hot and bitter. “What is it?” I shout, but Oliver doesn’t hear me or doesn’t bother with a reply.

  Do they have bears out here? Mountain lions? Angry apple farmers with pitchforks? If this is the peaceful country living I’ve heard so much about all my life, I want the city back. In the city, street lights glow on every corner. There, you can usually see danger before it claws you in the back. The only thing visible here is a pinpoint of light dancing between the arms of the trees. That faint glow grows, and as it does I feel the murmur of hope. Civilization isn’t that far off. Maybe I won’t die after all.

  “Be ready. When we stop, run,” Oliver says. “Get inside.”

  I squeeze harder with my arms around his middle in acknowledgement. We’re almost to the house, the border of the orchard about a hundred yards off. All I need to do is make it across the patio and lock myself inside the house. It all seems so easy, until I remember my twisted ankle. I can barely walk, let alone run. I open my mouth to remind Oliver, but the words never make it out.

  A flash of red ignites beyond the tree line. It settles directly in our path, separating us from safety. Jasper whinnies then wheels upward and onto his hind legs. With nothing to hold onto other than Oliver, I feel myself slipping. Gripping with my knees doesn’t slow me. We tumble backward from the horse’s back.

  “Jasper, nooo!” Oliver cries just before landing on top of me. The weight of his body crushes my ribcage. I lose consciousness.

  Chapter 6

  My eyes flutter open. My daily assault from the glaring white of my bedroom walls. I close them again.

  “Lucy, you awake?” I recognize Oliver’s voice.

  My arms rest at my sides. I tap my index finger, the best response I can manage; everything else sets my body ablaze with pain so intense that bile rises in my throat. At least fifty questions about our getaway pop into my brain, but the words dry up in my parched mouth. I don’t ask for water to help me speak, though. Deep down, I know I’m not strong enough to hear the truth.

  His footsteps cross my bedroom, and then my door opens. He calls down the hallway, “Hey, Doc. She’s come ‘round.”

  Oliver’s voice ricochets in my ears, sending shockwaves through my skull. I want to throw things at him to shut him up, but the ache in my chest advises against it. Instead, I manage a feeble “Stopit” through my clenched teeth.

  The door creaks shut, and he returns to my bedside. “Sorry about that. Doc Blevins wanted to know when you woke up.”

  “How long?” I moan, pulling my heavy eyelids open with great effort.

  Oliver settles in a chair next to me. “How long what?”

  “I passed out,” I say. “How long ago?”

  He brings his hand to his forehead and rubs it. His forehead is wrapped in a white bandage. A crimson splotch has begun to soak through above his right ear.

  My eyes widen. Only the pain keeps me from bolting upright in bed. “Oliver, your head!” But it isn’t only his head. The hollow of his left eye has turned purple-black, and his eye is red where it should be white. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. “You’re hurt.”

  Oliver hushes me, reaching out his hand to stroke my forehead. I flinch and pull back when his thumb grazes over my scar.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “My scarf.” My eyes dart around the room in search of the familiar sheath of fabric. “Where’s my scarf?”

  His mouth drops open in surprise. The dark blood at the corner of his mouth runs to his chin. He doesn’t seem to notice it. “Maybe it fell off in the orchard when the . . .” He looks away without finishing his sentence. “I’ll find it, promise.”

  His promises don’t help me now, though. I pinch my eyelids closed, remembering how I used to play hide-and-seek as a child. Cowering in plain sight, chubby hands covering my dark eyes, so certain I’d chosen the perfect hiding place because the seeker was invisible. Maybe if I can’t see Oliver, he can’t see me, right? The car accident not only took away everything I loved, but it left things behind, too. Scars. Twisted roadmaps to the handful of surgeries I had under my belt. My dark hair now grows in uneven patches, skipping over the sutures completely. I don’t want anyone to notice my brokenness. I cover what cracks and breaks I can with pretty silk scarves. But Oliver sees me. And he sees through my disguise.

  “What are you so afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid,” I snap, opening my eyes to glare at him.

  “You don’t need that old scarf, Luce.”

  “Like you know what I need. What you need is a doctor or something before you get blood all over my stuff.” I try to pull my blanket out of his splash zone, but the movement causes me to groan. Concern clouds Oliver’s face as he leans in closer to comfort me. I recoil. “Your mouth!”

  Oliver swipes the corner of his lips, and his eyes widen at the smear of red on his fingertips. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see me like this, but I . . . I couldn’t leave you.”

  “I’m sure my aunt would have taken care of me,” I lie. The woman doesn’t possess a single maternal bone in her body.

  “Well, no. That’s not likely.” He fishes a handkerchief from the deep pocket of his trousers and dabs his mouth. “Miss Perdita isn’t what I�
�d call a night owl. Fact of the matter is, no one around Mitte is, really. That’s why I was saying you shouldn’t be wandering about in the middle of the night all by yourself.”

  “I was doing fine until you scared me to death.”

  He snorts. “If you call freezing in the middle of an orchard fine, then, yep. You were doin’ just fine.”

  “And then your horse nearly killed us both. See why I hate them?”

  Oliver grimaces. “Jasper promised he wouldn’t do that again. I’m so sorry. He’s really scared of—”

  “He promised? You talk to your horse?” I can’t hide the acid in my voice. “You’re insane.”

  He remains silent, but his bloodied lips part at my accusation. The hurt is obvious in his eyes, but I don’t feel the least bit sorry for what I said.

  I turn my head away from Oliver and close my eyes again, overwhelmed by pain and the craziness of my new town. Back home, I’d never felt so unwelcomed or frightened. How I wish I could turn time back to prevent the crash, or at least try harder to stay with my parents as they made their way to the afterlife. These thoughts bring tears to my eyes.

  “I should have died in the crash,” I mutter. A tear slides down the side of my nose until it shivers at the tip and falls to the pillow.

  Oliver pauses on his way to my bedroom door. “Don’t ever say that,” he whispers.

  I pretend not to hear him. Soon the door squeaks open and closes with a soft click. I’m alone, just like I’d wanted. The room falls silent at once, and I find myself staring at the door, waiting for him to return. As if I hadn’t questioned his mental capacity or complained about him bleeding on Aunt Perdita’s down comforter. As if I hadn’t been a huge jerk.

  My life isn’t a chick flick, surprise surprise. Oliver doesn’t burst through my door, roses in hand, willing to forgive my crankiness because I’m so adorable. No, the only person who bothers visiting at all over the next couple of days is Doc Blevins, and only to flash a penlight at my pupils and slip his frigid stethoscope under my t-shirt. He’s pleasant enough, but maybe it’s because he looks like a middle-aged Santa Claus, before he turned all snowy white and fluffy in the middle.