by Anna Davies
“Hayley?” The voice was stronger this time. More real. Who was it? Who could want me right now? I knew it was someone important, but everything just seemed a little bit beyond reach. It was as if all I could process were the physical sensations I was slowly regaining.
Slowly, I sat up and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, unleashing a deluge of blood down my face. That was why I hadn’t been able to see. Blinking, I realized my sight wasn’t damaged, it had just been obscured by the blood. Right in front of me, smoke was rising from the pile of metal only feet from me that had once been the two cars. Flames sputtered around the wreckage as if it were a macabre bonfire.
And then, everything came flooding back.
“Adam!” I shrieked, scrambling to my feet. My knee buckled, and I fell. And suddenly, the pain was everywhere.
“Hayley!” The voice was real, but I didn’t want to open my eyes again. I was too afraid of what I’d see. My face felt wet, and I knew I was crying.
“Hayley, are you okay? It’s me. It’s me. Adam. Please.”
I felt pressure on my shoulders, felt a hand brush away the wetness from my forehead.
“Hayley? Please. Please …”
“Adam?” My voice was garbled and unfamiliar; I hadn’t said the d properly. “Adam.” I said again.
“Shhh.” I felt him pull me into a hug. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. But why? And why had I been so scared before? The answers were somewhere close. I knew that, but I didn’t want to look. “Shhh,” he said again.
And then, a new sound reached my ears: wailing sirens. I opened my mouth and joined their cries, the whole time being rocked by strong arms that kept making me feel safe.
I tossed and turned, falling through space. Although not falling, more like flying, as though I were a puppet on a string, being manipulated by an unseen puppeteer. Everything was dark, and yet I knew my enemy was close by. And I knew her name was Jamie, although I didn’t know how I knew it.
“Jamie!” I yelled raggedly, the word echoing again and again and again. Jamie. It was more than a name.
The word was still echoing as a figure emerged from the darkness — shadowy at first, and then more and more solid. Both of us faced each other. Her eyes were large and dark, the pupils practically disappearing into the dark irises. She was my shadow. She was my twin. I knew that now. I’d always known, no matter how much I’d pushed the thought back into my subconscious. We were born together.
We stared at each other. There was no other noise. I held my hand up to her and she did the same, mirror images of each other.
I broke the silence. “We’re dead.” It was a fitting end. The two of us had entered the world together. Why wouldn’t we leave the world together as well?
She shook her head, imperceptibly at first, and then more and more violently. As she did, her body became less and less solid, more and more shadowy. I watched, horrified, entranced. And then I realized that as she was evaporating, I was breathing. I put my hand against my heart, feeling it beat: strong, steady, singular.
“She’s going to be a little groggy. We’ve got her on a few painkillers for her arm and for the knee. And she’ll have a headache for a few days. It was a nasty concussion. But other than that, she’ll be fine.”
I blinked. Circular, white orbs hung above me like stars. I blinked again, attempting to focus, but the orbs above me just swam in and out of my vision.
“Hayley?” a loud voice, inches from my ear, asked. I flinched. I wanted to turn my head away from the source of the noise, but I couldn’t. “Hayley,” the voice said again.
I breathed in sharply, laughing to myself as I heard it. I was alive. I had a heartbeat and I could breathe.
“See, the painkillers give vivid dreams. Especially coupled with the trauma … I’d have someone watch her while she’s sleeping for a while.”
“Shh, she’s coming to. Let me see if she’s responsive. She’s not sleeping.”
I turned, just wanting to be left alone. But the voice was relentless. “Don’t move. You’re in the hospital. You were in an accident, and you fractured your arm and got a few bumps and bruises, but you’re going to be fine. You’re safe.”
That wasn’t correct. I’d never feel safe.
“Hayley, you’re in the hospital. Can you hear me?”
“Yeah.” I struggled to sit up.
“Take your time.” The scrubs wearer swam into focus. Unlike the nurses at Serenity, she had no makeup and a short brown ponytail. She smiled at me. “Good girl,” she murmured. I blinked, realizing I had a hospital ID on my wrist, stamped HAYLEY KATHRYN WESTIN in large letters.
“Looks like you’re awake,” the nurse said fondly. “And we have some people to see you.”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to see anyone. Not yet. Not like this.
But it was too late.
“Is she okay?” I recognized that voice.
“Mom!” I brushed away the tube from my nose; I didn’t want her to see me like this.
“Shh, leave that in. It’s just oxygen. It’s good for you.” The nurse readjusted the tube as Mom ran to the side of the bed.
“Oh, Bunny.” Mom’s eyes were red and there were dark circles under them. At the foot of the bed was James. I blinked at him. He sighed shakily.
“I don’t think I can do this,” he said in a thick voice. He turned toward Mom.
“That’s all right. She’ll talk to you later. When you both feel stronger.” Mom’s voice was steady and calm. James nodded, relieved, and left the room so it was just the two of us.
“Hayley. Hayley, I am so, so sorry.” Mom gently swept my tangled bangs from my forehead.
I winced at the touch, even though it was gentle. My head pounded, and I remembered the last image: me, flying toward the windshield. Adam saving me. The smoke rising from the wreckage of my car as though it were a pyrotechnic display.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Mom said, pulling her hand back. Her eyes were wet with tears. “Jamie …”
“Is dead.” I finished the sentence.
Mom nodded.
“She is. They brought her in, but she didn’t make it. I’m sorry. And James came, of course, and his wife is here. I just wish …”
I shook my head. “Please don’t.” I didn’t want to hear her explanation. I didn’t want anything.
“I shouldn’t have lied to you. I shouldn’t have lied to myself. I didn’t think I wanted any children. James and I had decided we’d put you both up for adoption. We had a couple ready. But then I saw you, and I couldn’t give you up. But I couldn’t keep you both. So then James decided … insisted … on keeping Jamie. It was the right thing to do, he said. And we agreed that it would be easier if neither of you knew about each other. We were always fighting, and he was so angry that I’d changed my mind about the adoption. He felt I’d ruined the plan. And I guess I did. After, I wasn’t even sure what I’d done. What kind of mother leaves a twin?”
For once, I didn’t have the words to make my mother feel better. But she didn’t seem to need them. Her lower lip wobbled. She clenched her jaw, then opened her mouth again.
“I was so alone,” she said to herself. “And then you both were there, and suddenly, we had one another. But I couldn’t keep you both. I wanted you. And James got her. I kept telling myself that she’d died, because it was the only way I could live with myself. It was neater that way. I couldn’t see her without seeing him, and …” She emitted a long, shaky sigh. “I always hoped she’d have a better life. You were the one who was always working so hard, pushing yourself. I sometimes wished that I’d given both of you to James. But then …”
“It’s not your fault,” I said in a small voice. I sounded very, very young.
“I tried,” Mom said, almost to herself. “I love you. I only lied because I love you.”
Love. The word jolted in my brain, causing my mind to flash to the accident: Adam, by my side. Adam, always watching out for me, trailing me, sensing tha
t things were falling apart. Matt had never been like that. Matt had fallen for Jamie, the chameleonlike girl who could behave like the perfect girlfriend, absent of her own desires and fears. Matt had been my ideal. But Adam was the guy who knew me and liked me for me. I needed him.
“What about Adam?” I asked urgently.
“Adam?” Mom cocked her head. “He’s all right. He has a broken leg, but he’ll be fine.”
“Really?” A tear trickled down my cheek. Was I crying for Adam? Jamie? Myself? I thought of Adam’s strong hands on my shoulders, how I trusted him with every fiber of my being.
“Can I see him? I want him here,” I told her. I still couldn’t look my mother in the face. This was the second time she’d told me about Jamie’s death, and this time, I wanted so badly to believe it. I did believe it.
I had to believe it.
Mom’s face crumpled, before she quickly composed herself. “Of course you do. I’ll get the nurse and see.” She rose from the bed. There had definitely been a shift between us, and there was so much to ask: Who else knew about Jamie? Had she talked to James? And how could Mom possibly have confused me with her? But I didn’t ask and she didn’t say anything.
“Mommy?” I said, just before she reached the threshold. She turned around, tears spilling down her high cheekbones.
“Yes?”
“Actually, can you stay here with me?” I asked.
I knew Mom and I had months — years — of conversations ahead of us, but for right now, I didn’t want to talk.
A shadow of a smile crossed her face as she climbed into the bed. I turned toward the window, noticing that the sun was setting. The light refracted from the window against the stainless steel of the IV pole connected to the drip snaking into my arm. I was reminded of the glint of the knife, how Jamie had been determined to kill me. That Mom had, deep down, been right with the story she’d told herself: Only one of us could have survived.
I turned to tell Mom, but her breathing had softened and her face had relaxed. She’d fallen asleep. It wasn’t worth waking her up.
After all, Jamie was dead. She couldn’t hurt me anymore. And the knowledge that she’d inadvertently put me so close to danger would destroy Mom.
Besides, some things had to stay between sisters.
The leaves were turning shades of yellow and orange and red as I crossed the UPenn campus on my way to the library. It was good to be away from Bainbridge, and away from my mother, who was still trying to reconcile the eighteen years she’d lived a lie to her life as a newlywed. She was navigating her own uncharted life, and I was happy to give her the space to do that in order to navigate my own.
I glanced down at my watch. It was only four forty-five. I had fifteen minutes before I met with my Psych Stats group.
Quickly, I logged onto Facebook to figure out whether we’d decided to meet in the Commons or at the Starbucks off campus. I scrolled down my newsfeed, clicked on my own profile, and blinked at a status update, written by me.
Hayley Westin: I’m still here.
I took a deep breath. It had to have been some joke written by my roommate before she headed to her Lit class.
My phone buzzed.
Miss you. Give me a call?
I smiled. Adam. He was five hours away, up at Harvard, but we’d been visiting each other every few weeks.
“Hey, baby,” I said quietly into the phone, oblivious to the people swarming around me.
“So, how’d you get into Canaday without me?” he asked jovially, naming his Harvard dorm. “I loved the flowers on my desk.”
“What?” My blood turned to ice.
“Forget-me-nots. That’s cute. Of course, my roommate’s a little bummed that I’m getting flowers and all he ever gets from his girlfriend are smiley emoticons, but what can I say, I guess I’m just a lucky guy. It was the perfect present.”
“Perfect,” I whispered as the phone slid out of my hand and shattered on the pavement.
Ready for more cyber scares? Turn the page for a sneak peek at WICKEDPEDIA by Chris Van Etten.
CHAPTER ONE
The tools have taken over.
That was the observation Cole Redeker made as his bus sputtered through an early November slush to the front entrance of Springfield High School.
It was the sight of the new BMW in the student parking lot that cinched it. The driver and his passenger bounced out in sync, their Axe Dark Temptation body spray unfurling around them like fallout. Cole was well acquainted with these guys: Greg Truffle and Scott Dare. This particular subset of soccer player was so devoted to the kicking of balls that they were compelled to play year-round, indoors and out, home and away, in cleats or barefoot, dividing their remaining hours between the popping of collars and the buying of braided belts. Cole had frittered away the summers of his junior high years on the fringe of this duo of mom-anointed “nice boys,” manning the midfield and dabbling in the preppier arts, a fact that his friend and personal provocateur Gavin would never let him forget.
Back then, Cole’s mom had signed him up for the summer league in the dual hope that he’d spend less time in the kitchen experimenting with pie crust recipes and expand his social circle beyond Gavin, who at thirteen had already begun to exhibit certain qualities guidance counselors deemed indicative of the “pre-slacker.” Chief among them: Playing bass in a terrible jam band. Nothing raises the hackles of the PTA crowd higher than a Grateful Dead cover.
Gavin was honored by her disapproval and upped the ante every chance he got, purposely leaving behind hacky sacks at Cole’s house for her to luck upon.
“Thanks, Mrs. R!” he said when she offered one up, asking if it was his. “I was wondering where I’d left that. Can’t seem to focus these days. Do I smell brownies?”
But social engineering was not Mrs. Redeker’s forte. Cole and Gavin’s friendship blossomed, as did her son’s interest in (and knack for) the culinary arts. She willingly submitted whenever he presented her with a new baked confection, and learned to tolerate Gavin, if barely. “Only because I haven’t rubbed off on you,” he complained. “Yet.” Despite Gavin’s best efforts at corruption, Cole still scored straight As, still headlined the debate team, still sat first chair sax, still trained seeing-eye dogs, still turned water into wine . . .
“If preparing to get into college were a profession, you’d be CEO.”
“It is a profession,” was Cole’s doleful response. His parents had assembled a war council to shepherd him into an Ivy League institution of their choosing: an SAT tutor, a private admissions counselor, and a doctoral candidate hired to edit his college essays. “By the time I get accepted, they won’t have any money left to pay tuition.” Which had a great deal to do with the reason he rode a bus to school instead of cruising up in his own BMW, or perhaps more realistically, a Kia.
A tasteful, nondescript Kia that would get the job done and never, ever draw attention to his connections and wealth, which wasn’t a problem, anyway, because he lacked both.
But not for long, he daydreamed. And with good reason. Cole Redeker did not have his own credit card, but he did have ambition to spare and, more important, the tools to achieve it: brains and patience. Expertly wielded, they would win him acceptance to a top-tier school, and after that, a six-figure salary and all the time in the world to dabble in his chef’s kitchen. To hell with BMW. He’d have a Ferrari, a Lamborghini, and an Alfa Romeo — the more vowels the better. But stepping off the bus that cold Monday morning, forced to take an undignified leap over a puddle of sludge in front of which he was sure the driver deliberately parked, he was confronted with the BMW — and its flawless German engineering, moonroof, and leather interior. Suddenly Cole felt that his strategy to bide his time for the benefit of his future was doing his present a grave injustice.
Whose parents go out and buy their son a brand-new BMW in the middle of the winter (in a recession!) for no good reason except maybe to rub it into the faces of people whose parents can’t?
&nb
sp; Tools’, that’s whose.
Gavin’s two favorite phrases:
1. It’ll be fun. I promise!
2. Told you so.
Cole was fond of neither. The first was usually what Gavin trotted out to tempt
Cole into aiding in some mischievous, vaguely criminal act. The second was how Gavin invariably greeted him the day after Cole declined to take part and the deed was done. Often Gavin displayed proof that the so-called fun was had. Examples included: a neck brace, shaved eyebrows, or the dental impression of an alpaca on his butt. Sometimes, however, Gavin’s wordplay surprised Cole. Sometimes he switched it up.
“Greg and Scott are idiots? Told you so.”
This was not one of those times.
They were on their way to Mr. Drick’s honors history, a rare shared class and Gavin’s sole academic interest.
“Don’t act like this is news,” said Gavin. “You know what those two are like. Remember how you used to be Greg’s ‘friend’? Look at how that turned out. Look at your miserable excuse for a life now —”
“I’m aware, thanks,” Cole said sharply. He needed no reminder of the humiliation he suffered at Greg’s hands. He wore it like a noose.
“Just making sure,” said Gavin. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell if you’re only moping or if that’s the new you.”
Cole was too distracted to respond. Ambling down the hall ahead of them was Greg, arm slung over the shoulders of his girlfriend, Winnie. The couple lingered outside Mr. Drick’s room to punish unwitting bystanders with a kiss. Gavin told him to look away. “Why torture yourself?”
“I’m not tortured,” Cole answered stiffly. “It doesn’t bother me.”
Cole had many talents. Lying was not among them.
“How evolved of you,” Gavin drawled. “Because watching those two dock between classes bothers me into a boil. And I’m not even her ex-boyfriend. Greg didn’t steal her from me. He stole her from you.”