by M. Leighton
At one point I felt a cool hand on my brow, pushing my hair back soothingly. The bed dipped as someone sat beside me. I was relieved to hear Leah’s voice. She whispered to me, too low for me to make out the words. I thought she might have been praying, though that was a bit odd, even for Leah. After several minutes I felt three warm, wet drops touch my cheek followed by her lips as she kissed the spot where her tears had fallen.
After her weight left the bed, I heard her scurrying quietly around my room, opening and closing drawers. When she returned to the bed, she whispered soft, soothing things in my ear, something about getting me into more comfortable clothes. I vaguely remember her taking off my suit jacket, leaving me in only my tank top, and sliding my pants off and replacing them with silky pajama bottoms. I didn’t hear her leave the room; I think I was asleep before she got up off the bed.
The next time I opened my eyes, the light coming through my window was warm and rosy, likely the sun of early evening. Another day had come and gone. I thought for a second that Dad should be home from work and that I needed to start dinner. Then I remembered I’d cooked my last dinner for my father and my heart ached, so badly I thought my chest might explode.
My eyes stung and I waited for the tears, but none came. My face and eyes felt tight and puffy. It seemed I’d already shed all the tears I was capable of shedding.
I heard the sound of the television and hushed whispers. I thought of getting up and going out to talk to whomever was there, but I lacked the energy to do more than shift beneath my covers. I closed my eyes again and let my mind and my body drift until my troubles were no longer a thought. And I slept.
The next morning the smell of coffee roused me from sleep. My head felt as heavy as my heart. I lay in bed, watching the pale light of dawn flicker across the carpet of my bedroom. I heard the familiar sound of a thump followed by a tool, likely a wrench, hitting the cement of the garage floor.
My heart leapt. It had all been a dream. It was Saturday and Dad was already working on the car. I shot up out of bed, pushed my arms hurriedly into my robe, flung open the door and flew through the kitchen to the garage door.
The instant the chilly cement hit my feet cold reality slapped me in the face. Derek was standing at the front of the Camaro with a wrench in one hand and the forefinger of his other hand in his mouth.
Had I not been so disappointed, I’d have been smug that he’d hurt himself. But, as it was, I was so let down, having wanted to see my dad under the hood so badly, I felt like I could barely stand it.
So I attacked.
“What are you doing?” I hurled myself across the garage, arms straight out in front of me like twin battering rams. When I hit Derek, I planted my hands flat against his chest, throwing all my weight and momentum behind them. It moved him back, but only a little. “Huh? What? What are you doing?” By that point, I was shouting hysterically and pummeling his chest with my fists.
“I would’ve thought that’d be fairly obvious,” he replied calmly, unaffected by my furious tantrum.
“But why? Why would you do this?”
“I didn’t realize it was such a great offense,” he said snidely.
I felt the tears that wouldn’t fall in private burning hot trails down my cheeks. “It’s our car, mine and Dad’s. Not yours. It’s our,” I wailed, gasping between sobs.
Derek’s features softened for an instant then he looked casually down at the finger he’d had in his mouth. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was- I didn’t…“ He trailed off, shaking his head remorsefully.
I could tell he was sincere, but at that moment it didn’t matter. All I could think of was that he had no business touching my dad’s things, no right taking over his unfinished projects. “You had no right! Why are you even here? Just go.” Derek’s head jerked up and I could tell I’d hit my mark. “Leave,” I spat. When he made no move to obey me, the decibel level of my voice rose. “Leave! Now!”
With his customary shrug, Derek turned, laid the wrench back on the workbench where Dad had always kept it and walked out the garage door and down the driveway.
Even through my grief and inordinate upset, I could feel the magnetism of him, like he was pulling me down the driveway with him. That only served to further frustrate me. Where had these feelings come from? I had only known him for, like, a minute. How could I feel that drawn to him?
Hurt, dejected and confused, I stomped to the wall and hit the button to close the garage door. I walked back to the car before the door even shut, sliding into the driver’s side like I’d done a thousand times while Dad worked on various parts of the inside.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I could still smell Old Spice as if Dad had just walked away. I could hear his voice as if he’d just spoken, quizzing me about engine parts. And I could still see the hurt in his eyes when I’d been so cold after our argument.
The guilt and regret tore at my insides. He had confessed something very important to me and I hadn’t had the slightest compassion for what he’d been feeling. I had taken the selfish route. And now I’d never have a chance to make it right.
My chest felt so tight, it was hard to breathe. I lay down across the bench seat and wept, wept for the mistakes I’d made, wept for all the times I should’ve said “I’m sorry”, wept for all the times I never told Dad I loved him, wept for all the things we’d never get to do. He’d never get to see me graduate. He’d never get to walk me down the aisle. He’d never get to hold his grandchildren. And we’d never get to finish the Camaro.
When the tears ran out for what seemed like the hundredth time, I fell once more into the fitful, dreamless sleep of the emotionally exhausted.
********
The pitter patter of rain woke me. I opened my eyes to the barely-visible dash of the Camaro. I was still in the car and, but for the eerie glow of the clock’s face, it was pitch black.
I sat up quickly. I was wet. There were drops of moisture falling from the ceiling of the car, plopping gently onto me, the seat, and the dash. I looked for rips in the lining, but saw none. There were no bulges where water was pooling behind the material. The more I inspected it, the more confused I became.
I watched the drops and it seemed they were originating from the seat and hitting the ceiling, making that pitter patter. Then, from there, they were dripping back down.
It was raining—in the car—upside down. But that couldn’t be right.
I held my hand out over the seat beside me. Cold drops of water splattered my palm where I held it over the upholstery. It was then that I realized I must be dreaming.
I slid out of the wet car and set my feet on the cement of the garage floor. With a splash, they landed in a puddle. Drops of moisture zoomed by my face, racing toward the ceiling. All around me it was raining—upside down.
The streetlight out front cast a sliver of light on the floor in front of the garage door. It was just enough for me to see the wet concrete and the fat drops that fell both up and down. It was also just enough for me to see a darker, unfamiliar shape in the corner.
When I realized what it was, I jumped, barely able to get my hand to my mouth quick enough to stifle a scream. The shape was a silhouette—the silhouette of a person.
Though I could make out very little detail, there was something familiar about the form. My eyes burned with the strain of trying to see into the darkness, but finally I was able to make out fiery red hair framing the pale, pale face of a girl. When she raised a hand to beckon me, I knew immediately who it was. It was the girl from my dreams, the girl from the mist. It was the girl that looked just like me.
Questions raced through my mind, basic ones like who, how and why. Then she spoke.
“Save me,” she breathed.
It was just a whisper really, one I could easily have convinced myself I’d imagined and yet…it was so real.
“What?”
“Save me,” she repeated, just as softly.
I took a step toward her.
I was both curious and afraid, but I was also moved by her plea. She nodded her head in encouragement and I took another step then another. I could see that her lips had lifted at the corners into a tiny smile so I took yet another step.
And then I saw the rest of them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
There, in the shadows beside the girl, were other people. They were all deathly pale. All their mouths were open wide in silent screams and pleas that I couldn’t make out. Most of them were horribly disfigured, like they’d seen terrible battles and lived, though their wounds had never healed.
Among them, I saw a man with a wide cut on the left side of his head, the skull lying open grotesquely. I saw a woman that had apparently been tortured. Her clothes hung in tatters and, through the gaps in the material, I could see bloody knife wounds and chunks of flesh dangling. And then there was another man, one who looked familiar somehow. One side of his face was severely burned, which made him particularly difficult to identify. In fact, one entire side of his body was charred to the bone. It looked almost as if half of him was perpetually in shadow.
They were all like that, mangled in some way—bloodied, beaten, broken, burned, ripped and torn.
And then I smelled them. A stench like nothing I’d ever smelled before—except on the man in the woods. Only this was worse. Bile rushed into my mouth and I backed away. When I did, they became agitated and started reaching for me.
At first I couldn’t feel their touch, merely a cold sensation where their hazy forms passed over my body. Then the burned man reached for me. And I felt it. Light as a feather, the fingers of his intact hand grazed my cheek. It was almost tender. And then I began to feel them all.
They were touching my arms and my face, stroking my hair, clutching at my clothes. With every step I took backward, they took a step forward. The faster I moved to escape their hands, the more frantic they became to pursue me.
Then I felt something at my back. I turned, unable to stifle my gasp when I saw more of them behind me. They were all around, emerging from the shadows, trying desperately to get to me.
I spun in a circle, looking for a way out, an escape route. I saw none. Without even realizing it, I had backed myself into a corner in the garage.
Adrenaline flooded my body. My hands shook with it as I raised them, palm out, to ward the people off.
As they crowded in on me, as my fear grew, their touch became more pronounced, more real, no longer dancing along my skin like a light breeze. I could feel their fingernails digging into the flesh of my arms, their hands pulling painfully at my hair. I heard the seam of my robe’s sleeve rip beneath the frantic fingers of a woman who, by the looks of her tenuously attached head, had been nearly decapitated.
I swung at them, but it was like trying to catch the wind. There was nothing there. I thrashed my arms wildly, but it didn’t stop them; they kept closing in on me. If anything it seemed only to make them more desperate, angry even. Their faces and half-faces contorted into expressions of frustration and rage. Hunger. Their teeth gnashed as they bit and snapped at one another. Then they started biting at me, lunging at me. And I couldn’t stop them, couldn’t defend myself.
A vise grip squeezed my chest, seizing my lungs, as panic set in. It stopped me from taking the deep breath I needed to scream. I opened my mouth, but no air could move past the lump of terror in my throat. My heart hammered in my chest, so hard I could hear it in my ears.
Fear, unlike any fear I’d ever known, coursed through me. My muscles twitched with it. My head throbbed with it. My stomach trembled with it.
And then, like the windows of heaven opening up behind me, light poured into the darkness.
And they were gone.
I whirled to see Derek standing under the garage door, his arms raised above his head holding it open. I thought I’d never been happier to see another person as long as I’d lived.
On shaking legs, I ran across the garage and flung myself at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and burying my face against his neck. He only staggered back an inch or two under my unexpected assault before he caught himself.
Derek just stood there and let me hang on, my feet dangling half a foot off the ground. Then finally, hesitantly, I felt one of his arms come around me and pull me closer.
I don’t know how long he held me that way. Long enough for me to calm down I suppose. He began to sway gently and then, little by little I became aware of him. I felt his hard chest and flat belly against mine. I felt the friction of his thighs brushing mine. I felt the heat of his strong hand where it was splayed across my back. And then, with my face still pressed against his neck, I tasted his skin on my lips, warm, musky and a little bit salty.
The relief and gratitude, the comfort that I had felt initially, were slowly replaced by…something else. At first it swirled around inside my head. And then, like blowing on an ember, it began to warm me more and more and more until I was on fire.
It was like nothing I’d felt before. My skin was hot and tingly. Something pleasant and exciting bubbled in my belly. Heat radiated from Derek’s fingertips where they grazed my rib cage. Electricity crackled in the air around us.
I could hear him breathing, more rapid and shallow than before. I felt his chest rise and fall more quickly beneath me. Blood pumped faster through the vein in his neck; I could feel it beating beneath my lips.
He loosened his arm around me and I loosened my hold on his neck, my body slowly sliding down his until my feet touched the ground. My flesh felt branded with the imprint of his body, like it had been burned onto me everywhere we’d touched.
I lifted my eyes to his. The swirling silver was darker tonight, smoky, clouded with something I hadn’t seen before. I felt it in the growing heat that was consuming every fiber of my body. It permeated my skin and coursed through my veins like lava. Even as close as we already were, I felt the need to get closer still, to feel his skin on mine, his lips on mine and…something more. It burned inside me, deep in my belly, hot and breathless.
His hair wasn’t bound tonight. My hands were still fisted in it, resting at his nape. I flexed my fingers, the long strands flowing like silk between them. I watched his eyes drop to my mouth and my lips began to throb, aching for the touch of his.
I licked my suddenly dry lips. I looked down at his mouth, willing it to move closer to mine. Absently, I wondered why I’d never noticed how perfectly sculpted his lips were, firm and masculine. My mouth watered as I pondered what they might taste like.
Then, as if in answer to my silent plea, they began to move closer and closer and closer. When I could no longer focus on them, I let my lids fall shut and I waited.
It began much like my kiss with Stephen had, with the feather-light pressure of his lips on mine. But that’s where the similarities ended. Gently, he brushed his lips back and forth across mine. I felt a thrill from the rubbing sensation that reached all the way down to my navel.
My lips parted of their own accord and I felt the pressure of his mouth increase the tiniest bit. His arm tightened around me then the other one came into play, his hand sliding beneath my robe and around my waist, drawing me into his embrace.
Excitement jumped along my nerves when I felt the tip of his tongue slip slowly between my lips. Opening my mouth a little wider, I welcomed it, felt its silky length slide along mine. It felt warm and wet and erotic and he tasted like coffee mixed with something sweet.
Once again, I fisted my fingers in his hair, this time holding his head to mine. I felt as much as heard his groan. It hummed along my tongue then all the way down to my toes. One of his hands came up to cup the back of my head as he deepened the kiss. He turned his head to the side and plundered my mouth, his tongue licking along mine, coaxing it into his mouth.
Then, just as I was about to be swept away, his lips were gone. For a moment, I felt the sting of loss, but then he rested his cheek against mine and I was caught up in the prickle of his stubble. It sent a shower of cold chills down
my neck and shoulders and his warm breath tickled my ear. I noticed with some satisfaction that his breathing was as ragged as mine.
“Carson,” he whispered, his voice a rough caress that I felt flutter in my stomach.
He held me like that for several long minutes, until our breathing returned to normal.
“You’re freezing,” he observed, running his hands up and down my wet back.
I certainly wasn’t aware of the cold; I was warmer than I could ever remember being. But I wasn’t about to argue when he scooped me up into his arms and carried me inside.
He walked through the kitchen into my room and then into the adjoining bathroom where he gently set me on my feet next to the shower. My heart was thundering nervously in my ears and my hands were shaking as I lowered them from his neck to his chest.
Suddenly self-conscious, I hesitantly raised my eyes to his. In my peripheral vision, I saw him reach behind the curtain and then I heard the spray of water as it beat against the shower walls. His eyes never left mine.