by Dean Murray
The ache grew. But if they knew, they’d understand. They’d get why I needed to go back. They’d support me.
Unless there was something truly horrible out there…
I pushed the thought away. I knew what I’d felt when I’d fallen off the boat. What I’d felt in that dream. I’d been safe. Under the water… but safe.
And now I just needed to go back.
I glanced down at the bag again. Pajamas would slow me down. Mean I had to change clothes before I left.
But again, I couldn’t give them more of a tip-off to my plans than they already had.
Feeling sick, I drew out my pajamas. With a deep breath to steady me, I forced myself to get dressed for bed.
They were watching the bathroom when I came back out.
“Goodnight,” I told them flatly.
They echoed the word, their voices cautious. Ignoring them, I pulled back the thin comforter and the vaguely humid-feeling sheets, and then climbed beneath them.
Dad got into the other bed. Leaning over, he switched off the bedside lamp.
Darkness swallowed the room. By the door, Mom shifted around on the chair, resulting in a faint metallic squeak.
And then everything was still.
Loss and distance pressing on my chest till it hurt to breathe, I closed my eyes and tried not to sob.
~~~~~
“You think she’s… you know?”
The whisper cut through the water surrounding me, pulling me away from the deep and the calm. My brow furrowed as I tried to hang onto the dream.
It didn’t do any good. The ocean faded. The cloying sheets of the motel bed returned.
“I’m not sure,” Dad replied, his voice quiet.
Mom made a worried noise. “We need to get going.”
“What about you? Are you any better?”
“No.” Annoyance mixed with the worry in her tone. “It was too long.” She paused. “You?”
Dad didn’t answer.
“Bill?” she pressed.
“I’m okay.” The bed rustled as he rose, and then the springs gave a sharp squeak. It sounded like he’d sat back down.
“No, you’re not,” Mom countered.
He made a shushing noise. I kept my eyes closed and focused on making my breathing as even as possible.
“I can still drive,” he insisted quietly. “Linda, I mean it. I’ll get us home.”
Mom didn’t say anything. A moment passed. The front door opened and then closed.
She sighed and got up, the chair giving the same metallic complaints as she moved.
“Chloe?” she called.
I opened my eyes. Standing by the foot of the bed, she was watching me.
She looked pale. Drained. And she was studying my face like she was searching for something.
“What?” I asked.
“Are you doing okay?” She almost sounded concerned.
“Fine.”
She paused. “We just want what’s best for you, sweetheart.”
I didn’t say anything.
For a heartbeat longer, she hesitated, and then she returned to her chair.
My brow furrowed. “You alright?”
“I’m fine. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”
She closed her eyes and drew a breath as though she was fighting off nausea.
“Mom?”
“You heard me.”
I paused. Not taking my eyes from her, I reached into my bag and got out my jeans. Beneath the covers, I pulled them on and then grabbed my shirt, doing the same.
She exhaled sharply.
“Mom, you don’t seem–”
Rising to her feet, she bolted toward the bathroom. I stared after her, and then winced at the sound of retching coming past the door. Feeling vaguely sick myself, I turned my face to the rest of the motel room.
The empty motel room.
My hands grabbed my backpack before I’d even finished registering the thought, and my legs scrambled to escape the blankets. My feet jammed themselves into my shoes, and in only a second, I was at the front door.
And then my conscience caught me. Mom was sick. Really sick, for no reason I could see. Something could be seriously wrong with her.
I trembled, the dream still clinging to me and the feeling of threads stretching to the ocean pulling at my skin like fishhooks.
If I didn’t go now, I’d probably never have another chance. They’d probably never give me one.
It was now or never.
I twitched aside the curtain and peeked out the window.
Dad was by the car. Leaning on the car. He looked nearly as sick as Mom.
I yanked open the door and took off running.
“Chloe!” he shouted.
My shoes pounded on the concrete as I dashed across the parking lot. The motel office flashed past, and then came the street, and I cast a quick look over my shoulder, checking his distance from me.
He was in the car. He was coming.
The empty road was behind me in a moment, delivering me into the abandoned lot across from the motel. Weeds and broken asphalt filled the space, and the pale light of the coming sunrise touched everything with hazy pink. A chain-link fence bordered the property, with scrub-grass fields beyond. Fighting for more speed, I ran for them both.
Metal scraped as his sedan jumped the curb and bounded onto the lot behind me.
Gasping, I ducked low and darted through a gap in the fence.
Tires screeched and I heard a car door slam. I kept running. Hidden holes threatened to trip my feet, and the grass was slippery with morning dew, soaking my tennis shoes. But there were houses ahead, squat and mostly identical, and houses meant roads and hidden corners and places he’d have a harder time reaching me.
I heard the chain links rattle. I struggled to run faster.
“Chloe, you get back here this minute!”
Like that was going to happen.
I reached the backyard fence of the nearest house. Grabbing the top, I hoisted myself over and dropped to the wet grass.
“Chloe, please!”
One hand bracing me on the fence, I looked back. He was still running, though much more slowly than I’d expected. Pain twisted his face and his feet stumbled with every few steps.
Worry flickered through me, but there wasn’t any time.
He’d just force me to come back with him.
And the mere thought of that made it hard to breathe.
Pushing off the fence, I ran for the gap between the house and its neighbor. A simple latch secured the gate, letting me out almost immediately, and then I was at the next street. Little gray houses lined the road, without much more than flower pots or the occasional forgotten toy to differentiate them. The street turned ahead of me, leading farther into town, and I dashed along it.
Exhilaration pounded through me. I was going to make it. I’d find a bus station, use the debit card in my bag to get a ticket, and then I’d be on the road to the ocean.
Even if this was all completely insane.
The thought was distracting and I shook my head, driving it away. I’d felt better when I was on the water. Better than I felt now and better than I’d ever felt in my life. I remembered that. I knew that. I just needed to find my way back to the ocean by Santa Lucina, and then I’d figure everything else out.
Even if I had no idea why I had to be there or, at the moment, where I was actually going.
My feet faltered and I stumbled, barely stopping myself from falling. Regaining my balance, I kept running, though slower than before. Street signs passed, each of them useless since I had no idea where I was headed, and the neighborhood felt like it would never end.
I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Running away in a city whose name I didn’t even know, for reasons that made no logical sense, all in the hope of getting back across hundreds of miles to where I’d been yesterday.
But I had to. The idea of doing anything else just set my heart racing with panic again.
The neig
hborhood opened out onto a city street with shops that were still closed from the night before. But on the corner, a bus was paused, its doors open for the handful of people waiting to climb onboard.
I glanced around, not seeing my dad or his car anywhere, and then ran for the bus stop. The driver gave me a funny look as I clambered inside and fumbled the requisite cash from my bag, but I just smiled, hoping he wouldn’t ask me anything.
At a seat several rows from the front, I sat down. Reaching back into my bag, I pulled out my phone. There was a good chance my parents would call the cops. I couldn’t see why they wouldn’t. But maybe, if I was fast, I could find the main bus station and make it out of town before they sent the police to find me.
Tapping the screen, I brought up the web browser and then typed in a search.
A smile tugged my lip as the results appeared. The local, intercity bus station wasn’t far from here. And there was a bus departing westward soon.
I looked to the road again, checking the street signs that had suddenly become so much less useless than before. Minutes passed until the intersection I needed came into view, and quickly, I yanked the cord to request the driver to stop.
It felt like his gaze tracked me the whole way off the bus.
The station was a tiny brick building only a single story high. A garbage bin blocked one of the doors, and the other bore a handwritten sign demanding that I close it tightly for the sake of the air conditioning. Eyeing the place dubiously, I walked inside.
There weren’t any cops. Only a few people occupied the cramped waiting room. I crossed the tile floor to the ticket counter and bought a one-way trip to Santa Lucina, knowing that even if the debit card transaction would tell my parents where I was going, it wasn’t like they weren’t going to be able to predict that anyway. Clutching my ticket, I headed for a seat, and then froze as the intercom buzzed, announcing boarding for the bus.
A thrill ran through me. This could actually work. It was psychotic, and in no way made any sense whatsoever… but it could work.
Feeling ridiculous, but somehow unable to find it in myself to care, I followed the other passengers out the door.
~~~~~
After we passed the desert, I felt better, and by the time the bus pulled into the station, almost every trace of the panic that’d gripped me the day before had gone. The insistent drumming of the need to come back here had vanished from my mind, leaving me with a sense of rightness that was unnerving in its strength and made no sense at all.
I’d known I’d always loved the ocean, but this was taking it a bit far.
And I was really starting to suspect I might be insane.
Stepping from the bus into the cool midnight air of Santa Lucina, I tried to ignore the thought as I looked around the station. Other passengers climbed out behind me, heading for the compartments beneath the bus to gather their belongings. Heat from the exhaust cut through the salt on the wind, and drove me a few steps away from the enormous vehicle.
And then I saw Baylie.
I’d called her a couple hours ago to let her know I was coming. It seemed the smart thing to do, seeing as how I didn’t have a ride, or even much of an idea how to get around town. But as I spotted her standing with Peter in the waiting area, I wondered if I shouldn’t have tried to think of another plan. She looked upset.
And he looked pissed.
Bracing myself, I hefted my backpack and walked over to them.
“Hey,” I said. “Thanks for coming.”
“Young lady,” Peter started. “What were you thinking?”
I swallowed.
“We’ve called your parents and left a message,” he continued. “I’m sure they’ll be on the way back here – again – as soon as they receive it.”
I gave a chagrinned nod. That was probably true, assuming they hadn’t just left for the coast the moment my dad got back to the motel, anyway.
“Don’t you have anything to say?”
“I’m sorry?” I tried awkwardly. “Look, I know this is bad, I just…”
I trailed off. I didn’t know what to tell him. I had to come back here. I didn’t even feel like I’d had a choice in the matter. And now, although the sense of fishhooks nearly dragging me back had faded, the thought of leaving again instantly made them start to return.
But of course, that would just sound immature. Or, more truthfully, psychotic.
He sighed. “Come on, it’s late. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”
Moving past us, he walked toward the parking lot.
I glanced to Baylie. She didn’t meet my eyes as she followed Peter.
A grimace twisting my face, I trailed after them.
The car ride back was silent, and when we reached the mansion, most of the house was dark. Leaving the car parked in the circle drive, Peter led the way inside. A single light was on in the kitchen, and the sound of someone setting a dish into the sink carried down the long hall.
“Goodnight,” Peter said to us both as we came in.
“Yeah,” Baylie said. She headed upstairs.
I hesitated. “Peter?”
“Yes?”
“Um, thanks for letting me come back here.”
He gave me a patient look. “Of course. Now get some sleep.”
I nodded and then followed Baylie. In the guest room, she was already climbing into her bed. I paused by the doorway, watching her.
“Are you mad at me?” I asked quietly.
She stopped moving. A heartbeat passed.
“No, I’m…” She shook her head, as if at a loss for words. “You really scared me. Taking off like that, getting on a bus back here. You could have been hurt.”
“I know. I wasn’t–”
“Why’d you do it?”
I didn’t respond.
“Chloe?”
“I guess I just… freaked out. Mom and Dad were acting so weird – more than normal, I mean. They guarded the motel room door and watched me all night, even when I was asleep. And they told me they’ve decided to move to Salina, to stop ‘bad influences’.”
Her incredulity became confusion. “Wait. Me?”
I nodded.
“But now they’re going to think I’m even more terrible.”
“They think everything’s terrible.”
“Chloe!”
“I’m sorry, alright? I don’t know what else to say.”
I turned away, my gaze coming to rest on the darkness beyond the window. Light from the porch lamp covered the backyard, though the glow ended shy of the steps leading to the beach below.
“So now what are you going to do?” Baylie asked.
Shivering at the sudden compulsion to leave the house and head for the beach, I pulled my attention back to her. “Sleep? Peter’s right. They’ll be here to get me again soon.”
“Yeah,” she agreed distractedly. “But when they do… don’t take off again, okay? I mean, maybe they’ll calm down and decide not to move, if you give them a bit.”
I regarded her dryly.
“Please?” she pressed. “I just… you scared me. Moving a couple hours away is one thing, and yeah, that’d suck. But I really don’t want you to end up on the streets getting hurt or whatever.”
There was something almost desperate in her voice. My brow furrowed.
She looked away. “There was a girl kidnapped around here last night.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Homeless girl. Our age, though. She was hanging out with her friends by the pier, went to the restroom and never came back. But… one of Diane’s friends is a reporter. The cops asked the news not to say anything yet, but she told Diane that they found blood at the scene. And it’s just…” Baylie grimaced. “I know you’re fine. You’re here, you’re fine, and I’m probably being ridiculous. But with that happening and with you out there on your own… I got worried.”
I hesitated. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
She nodded.
“And when they come
back, I’ll…” I shifted uncomfortably at the feeling of fishhooks sinking into my skin again. “I’ll do my best not to take off.”
“Thank you.”
She gave me a small smile and then climbed into bed.
With an answering smile that really felt more like a grimace, I headed to my side of the room. I didn’t know what else to tell her. Given the speed at which my parents apparently traveled, they’d probably be here within the hour. And no matter how much I didn’t want to break my word to Baylie, if Mom and Dad tried to take me back with them, I didn’t know if I’d be able to go.
The flutter of panic still lingering in my chest might not let me leave.
With a sickened feeling twisting my stomach, I changed into my pajamas and got into bed.
~~~~~
The sun pried my eyes open and for a moment, I lay in the bed staring up at the skylight, trying to hold onto the calm of my dreams. White clouds drifted past the narrow view overhead, and occasionally a seagull would sweep by, the bird’s passage so fast I only registered it once it was gone.
My parents would probably be here today.
If they weren’t already.
The thought frayed the last tendrils of my calm, making me scowl and setting my heart to racing again. Pulling my gaze from the blue sky, I shoved the blankets away and swung my legs over the side of the mattress. My backpack yielded up a pair of shorts and a shirt and, working desperately to keep my mind from dwelling on the realities the day would bring, I quickly changed into the clothes.
In the next bed, Baylie shifted beneath her blankets and opened her eyes.
“Morning,” she said, her voice scratchy from sleep.
“Hey.”
She drew a breath and then pushed the blankets back. “Sleep good?”
I shrugged. I’d spent the night not-drowning beneath miles of ocean, same as every other time I’d fallen asleep recently. It’d been wonderful and I’d never wanted to wake up.
And I hoped recurring dreams weren’t a sign of madness too.
“Okay,” I replied. “You?”
She nodded and grabbed her clothes from her own bag. I turned away, giving her privacy to get dressed.
“I was wondering,” she continued when she was finished. “You want to head into town for some shopping? Maddox got a job at this cool old bookstore I wanted to show you.”