by Tracey Ward
I don’t really see anything, but I can feel it. I feel that things are there. Sometimes they’re too close, sometimes they’re a million miles away, but there’s always something there. There’s a constant swirling of air around me, rough and angry. I hear things, too—loud and soft, muffled and sharp. None of it makes any sense though. It’s like a record played backwards on fast forward. Like screaming underwater.
When we stop moving or materialize or whatever it is we do, I can’t handle it.
I vomit.
I’m not usually one to get motion sick, but as soon as we ‘land’ in her bedroom in Nebraska, something inside of me gets angry. Like a stomach full of hornets kind of angry. Luckily I turn my head in time to not throw up on her face, but I do get it all over her pillows.
“Did we make it?” she asks groggily.
I instinctively press my hand over her eyes. “Don’t look.”
Her body stiffens next to me. “Oh God, why? Where did I take us? What’s that rancid smell? Is it Detroit again?”
“No,” I reply, glancing around for a towel or an ugly sweater—anything to cover this up. “When have you been to Detroit?”
“I’ve been everywhere. Where are we now?”
“Your bedroom.”
She slumps with relief and then reaches up to pull my hand from her eyes.
I swat her away.
“What the hell, Nick? If we’re in my house, then why can’t I look?”
“Because I got sick on your pillows.”
“Okaaaaay… And I’m not allowed to see it because…”
I scowl, feeling weirdly awkward. “It’s embarrassing.”
“You work with blood and gore on a daily basis and you’re embarrassed by throw-up?”
“It’s doesn’t bother me when it’s someone else’s.”
“So are we just going to lie here forever avoiding it?”
“We can’t. Not forever. It’s on the move.”
It’s creeping toward my shoulder.
“Is it in my hair?”
“Not yet.”
“Can I please move before it is?” she demands, her voice getting high and strained.
“Will seeing it make you get sick?”
“Seeing it in my hair will!”
I lean back into the mess as I spin her off the bed over the top of me. It never touched her, but my back is coated in it. Once we’re both standing, I uncover her eyes.
She scrunches up her nose when she looks at me. “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”
“I panicked.”
“Is that possible for you?”
I shrug, annoyed that it is. “I didn’t want you to see it.”
“Because you’re embarrassed?”
“It’s as strange to me as it is to you, believe me,” I grumble. I pull the soiled shirt off over my head. It slides off, heavy and warm. “Do you have anything I can wear, or should I wash this in the sink?”
“I have a baggy hoodie that might fit you but your shoulders are way broader than mine. I’ll grab it. You go to the bathroom and salvage your shirt.”
“Forget the hoodie,” I tell her as I head out into the hall. “Get your money, change out of that blood-soaked shirt, and let’s get out of here. How are you feeling after that Slip?”
“Amazing!”
“Yeah, that’s not good news,” I mutter to myself. “Were you awake for it?” I shout to her.
“Kinda,” she hollers back. “I don’t know. It was fuzzy. It felt weird but good.”
“Let’s hurry up. Maybe we can ride the aftereffects of that last injection and Slip away.”
“I don’t know how I’d do that.”
“Focus. Meditate. Do whatever it is Liam was trying to teach you to do.”
“How do we know he wasn’t lying about that?”
I fill the sink full of hot water and hand soap. “We don’t, but what are our other options?”
“A second serum.”
“Not a chance. That’d be three in almost as many hours. I’m not doing that to you.”
“I feel better,” she says softly, suddenly appearing in the doorway. “That Slip did something to me. Or for me, I guess. I don’t know, but either way I feel better. I feel good.”
I meet her eyes in the mirror. She certainly looks better. More alert. “You said before that not Slipping was hard on you. You actually missed it.”
“Yeah, I did,” she agrees, absently scratching at the bandages on her hands. “I haven’t felt this good in a long time. Not since before I went into that clinic.”
I look down at my soaked shirt to hide my annoyance, but it’s still there in the tightness of my jaw. My shoulders. I hated her going into that place. She was so adamant about taking her life back and not being a burden on anyone ever again that she wasn’t thinking straight. If her sister had been alive she’d never have set foot inside that clinic. She was too smart for that. Too strong. But when Cara died, something happened. She wasn’t just sad. She was desperate.
I roll my neck slightly, relaxing my body and my tone. “I think—”
Footsteps.
They aren’t loud and they’re not hurried. It’s not the casual tread of a couple coming home for the night. No light banter, no laughing, not even arguing. Stone silence and the sound of two sets of feet making their way confidently up the stairs. Straight toward this apartment.
“You think what? What were you going to say?”
“Did you get your money?” I ask, wringing my shirt out quickly.
“Yeah. It’s all in my pocket.”
“Good.” I grab hold of her, pull her inside, and lock the door behind her.
“Nick, what are you doing?”
There’s a knock on the front door. Alex grabs my hand just as I reach out with the other to kill the bathroom light.
“It’s them, isn’t it?” she whispers.
“Who else could it be?” I whisper back. “We have to leave. Now.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. I know you can and so do you. You’ve done it before.”
“Just inject me,” she pleads.
“No.”
The knock sounds again. It’s more forceful this time. I find it interesting that they haven’t identified themselves—not even a shot at a lie to lure us to the door. These people want to be ghosts.
“We don’t have time to waste on hoping I’ll pull it together,” she whispers fiercely. “Stick the needle in me. Let’s get out of here.”
“I can’t.”
“I know you’re worried about hurting me, but I’ll be fine. I—”
“I can’t because the serums aren’t here,” I interrupt calmly. “They didn’t come with us.”
I can hear her breath coming rapidly in the dark. “Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
“Do you still have the gun?”
“Yes.”
She curses a little too loudly. The knocking stops.
I listen with my breath held for a good twenty seconds. Just when I’m about to breathe again, all hell breaks loose.
The door to the apartment is kicked in. I hear the wood splinter as it gives way, then a loud bang when it bounces off the wall. The footsteps are inside. They’re in the living room but it’s a small apartment. It won’t be long until they find us.
“Alex, now would be a good time.”
She doesn’t answer. She holds my hand tightly, sweat breaking out between our palms, but her breathing changes. Over the sound of the apartment being searched, I can hear her taking calming, smooth breaths.
I match them, staying calm with her and hoping it will help focus her.
“Where are we going?” she whispers, her voice still tight.
That’s a good question. I don’t know the answer to it.
“Walters is in Arizona,” I say under my breath, thinking out loud. “We can’t go to my mom. Campbell is just outside Tokyo. We could go to—”
“That was
a bad idea.”
“What was?”
“Everything you just said.”
The doorknob on the bathroom turns violently. We’re officially out of time.
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her in tightly. She keeps her breathing even but the sound of bodies outside the door is distracting her. I feel it when she starts to shiver. What I don’t feel is the Slip coming.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She takes a shaky breath. “I can’t do it. I’m so sorry.”
Hell.
Well, at least I tried.
I reach into my pocket and pull out one of the syringes full of serum. Just as I deftly pop the cap off, the door to the bathroom swings open. Light spills in, blinding me, but it’s also going to help me. I can see Alex’s neck clearly and I waste no time sliding the needle home into her throat. She shrieks in surprise, her hand reaching up to cover the sting. The contents now emptied into her bloodstream, I toss the useless needle aside and pull out my gun. I can’t see clearly enough to tell who’s standing in the doorway, but they hesitate when they see the pistol in my hand.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” I warn them.
One of them—a guy, from the sound of his voice—chuckles.
Alex slumps in my arms, leaning her body weight against me while I use one arm to hold her up and the other to aim the gun. It’s a waiting game now. All I have to do is keep these two at bay for a few seconds more and she’ll Slip us right out of here.
“We only want to talk to you,” a woman’s voice says calmly.
“We’re done talking.”
“I see that. So what’s your plan? You’ll run? For how long?”
As long as it takes.
A lot happens all at once, and even if I had the time to think it over, I wouldn’t be able to sort it all out clearly.
My eyes begin to adjust to the light pouring in from the hallway. They catch the outline of a short man and a tall woman standing there casually, neither of them looking all that concerned about my gun pointed at them.
The shadow of the man changes suddenly, just as my stomach starts to turn from the beginning of Alex’s Slip. Either my vision goes fuzzy or he does, his outline going soft around the edges like he’s vibrating. His hands start to lighten. They glow a fine yellow, then orange. As the light grows in size, the color changes to a light blue. Then navy. Purple.
I feel heat on my outstretched hand.
Beside him there’s a shimmer that’s new to me but still familiar. I recognize it immediately as the signs of a Slip, and I feel so grateful to Alex that she’s making it happen. But then I wonder if she is. I feel the sickness that comes with it but I don’t see the telltale shimmer anywhere but on the edge of my vision. At the edge of the doorway.
The man and woman in the hall have taken notice too. They back away slowly, the light in the man’s hands going out instantly. They’re looking at someone that I can’t see. Someone who Slipped here.
It has to be Liam, but I don’t get the time to find out for sure. Alex’s Slip kicks in and the world vanishes from view in the blink of an eye. It’s happening faster now. More violently. All the serum must be building up in her system, and it’s just another indication to me that I need to stop putting this poison in her veins.
When we land, we hit hard. We crumple together onto dark pavement in the middle of bright neon lights and the deafening sound of a busy city street. My eyes take a second to focus, but I know immediately where we are. Out of the places I mentioned to Alex before injecting her, only one fits our surroundings.
Tokyo, Japan.
I push away from Alex, crawl to the edge of the sidewalk, and vomit in the street.
Chapter Four
Alex
Nick is great. Incredible. He can do so many amazing things—like hotwire a car, slay a mythical beast built of shadow and nightmare, and oh, I don’t know… save a man’s life with his bare hands.
It’s impressive.
Nick, however, is not great at Slipping. Maybe it’s because I’m unconscious through the whole thing, but I don’t see what the fuss is. I don’t feel anything but good when we land in Tokyo. Nick, on the other hand, is going to get us arrested for being drunk and disorderly the way he’s puking like a frat boy on a bender into the gutters.
People are starting to stare.
I rub my hand in small, soothing circles on Nick’s naked back. That’s another thing we have to deal with: his puke shirt. Did it come with him? Did the serums? Did the—
Oh no! The gun!
I drop my eyes to his lower back at the waist of his shorts. Nothing.
“Nick, what came with us? Did the…” I glance around nervously, worried who could be listening and who can speak English. I don’t care what country you’re in, a lot of people out there speak at least a tiny bit of English. “Did the James Bond Special make it here with us?”
He nods, his dark head of hair bobbing slowly above the glistening street. “It’s still in my hand,” he tells me quietly. “We’ll have to hide it.”
“Will it fit in your pocket?” I ask, my voice unintentionally becoming annoyed. “Maybe the one with all the serums that you totally have and lied about?”
“Not a good time.”
“It seems like a great time for you to explain yourself. We’re not exactly going anywhere right now.”
He stands up slowly, wiping his mouth with the dark, soaked shirt balled up in his hand. His other hand he keeps carefully low and hidden. When he faces me he presses it between us until I can feel the hard steel and his knuckles against my stomach.
“Cops are across the street,” he tells me calmly, his voice low.
I don’t look. I don’t get frantic and search for them, because it doesn’t matter. What matters with cops and crowds is acting natural, like you don’t have a care in the world and you absolutely don’t have a Glock pressed against your belly. This is what Slipping has taught me over the years. This and so, so much more.
“You need a new shirt,” I say quickly and quietly. “I need a purse or a backpack.”
“Why do you need a purse?”
“For the files.” I glance pointedly down at my stomach. “And to hide the baby.”
Nick grimaces apologetically. “I need you to hide him right now. Are you okay with that?”
“Where is he hiding?”
Nick looks me over with a frown. “Your shirt is too tight, the bulge will show. Your pockets are too small.” His eyes roam higher. “Only one place I can think of.”
“Seriously?”
He grins crookedly, meeting my eyes. “I mean, I hate to do it.”
“Liar,” I laugh.
“I’m going to back you up against that wall and pretend to kiss you. Wrap your arms around me loosely while I slip the gun in your bra.”
“This is so weird,” I whisper as I let him step me slowly backward against a smooth stone wall.
His face falls close to mine but he holds back just enough that our lips aren’t touching. I fight the urge to kiss him, because with him this close it’s so tempting. Tempting, but disgusting. The guy has puked twice and I really appreciate his thoughtfulness in breathing through his nose. His eyes hold mine as I wrap my arms around him. His left hand releases the sodden shirt he was holding, dropping it to the ground with a wet smack, then he lifts my shirt away from my skin to quickly slip both hands up inside of it.
I suck in a sharp breath as cold metal and hot skin brush over my stomach. He’s quick but gentle as he slides the rough weapon under my bra between my breasts. He’s also a gentleman, and when he pulls his hands away, lowering the hem of my shirt with them, I breathe a sigh of relief.
And a little disappointment.
I’m on a crowded street, I know. He reeks of puke, I know. This is not the time or place, I know! But I’ve only been close with this guy in the dream world, and while sometimes it’s real as real can be, it’s not the same. There’s a difference to the way Nick
feels in a dream and the way he feels in real life. He feels warmer. His touch is… we’ll just say it’s hotter.
“Is the safety on?” I ask, embarrassed by how breathy my words sound. “I’m not going to sneeze and get shot in the boob, am I?”
He chuckles, his hands still resting on my hips, holding me close. “Don’t worry, I set it. There’s a shortage of perfect breasts in the world. It would be a pity to damage yours.”
“Are you for real?” I whisper excitedly. “Since when have you seen that movie and, better question, since when have you seen it often enough to quote it?”
“I did have a childhood, you know.”
Nick is still smiling, and the sight of it creates a euphoria in me stronger than the thrill of the Slip. He’s handsome when he’s brooding, he’s hot when he’s being all Batman, but he’s beautiful when he’s happy and I take it as a very deep compliment that despite the fact that he was just vomiting in the street, we’re on the run for our lives, and there are cops closing in nearby, standing here with me still makes him smile.
My breath catches when he quickly brushes his lips across my forehead. “I wish I had a toothbrush,” he whispers against my skin.
I smile, nodding slightly. “A mint, at least.”
He puts his hand under my elbow and begins to lead me down the street. “We need to find a store.”
“What about your shirt?”
“What? You want me to carry that thing around with us?”
“It’s littering to leave it.”
“That’s the least of our worries, Alex.”
I shake free of him and hurry back to get the shirt. As I lean down to pick it up, I’m very aware of the heavy weight pressed against my chest. I’m worried it’ll slip out, fall on the ground at a cop’s feet, and we’ll be finished. As I hurry back to Nick, I cross my arms over my chest.
“You don’t have to worry,” he tells me softly as I fall in step with him again. “I can’t see it. You’re full enough to hide it.”