Supernova

by Mia Rodriguez

Chapter 35: The Getaway

  Royce swiftly climbs back up the ladder to check the resounding noise. After opening the trap door, rain pours down through the chasm. The storm is unleashed. Strikes of thunder from the outside reverberate through the underground room with flashes of light. He shuts the opening and climbs down.

  “What made the weird sound?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.

  “Thunder.”

  “Thunder?”

  “Yes,” he explains, water dripping from him. The deluge had managed to soak him the few seconds the aperture was open. “It hit a nearby tree and split it in half.”

  “It must be pretty bad out there.”

  “It’s really ugly.”

  I turn pensive. “What if it floods, and we’re underground?”

  “The trap door is made to fit tight. That’s why when it’s closed, no water drips inside. And we’re on an upslope. The ditch we rolled into is for floods. The guardian sure knew where to put this thing.”

  “Yeah,” I retort, “I guess he wanted to protect his interests.”

  “We should be safe here.”

  I glance at his moisture-dripping apparel. “That is if you don’t die of pneumonia.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something? We go through all that danger, and I die because of wet clothes,” he declares, chuckling darkly.

  I don’t find the idea of Royce dying the least bit amusing.

  “You should change,” I tell him.

  Our backpacks had been flung aside by the psycho colonel when he had taken us prisoners so unfortunately, Royce couldn’t get into his second set of clothes. Stepping over to the dresser and pulling the drawers open, I find a pair of blue pajamas and give a whoop.

  “I’ll turn around so you can put these on,” I say.

  “There’s a bathroom here.”

  “How did you find out about this palace?” I ask with curiosity as I hand him the clothes.

  “My cousin told me about it. He takes care of this place while the guardian is gone.”

  “The water well outside was put there as a marker?”

  “Yep.”

  I roll my eyes. “How convenient,” I retort. Then a frightening thought occurs to me. “Royce, what if the guardian and his mistress had been here?”

  “I didn’t think they would be with so many official meetings going on right now and besides, the lock was on the outside.”

  “The lock keeps the secrets inside,” I comment.

  He stares intently at my face, stepping in closer to me. “Secrets,” he mutters. We’re both thinking about the one he’s been keeping from me for so long. “Big, well-kept secrets.”

  “Huge secrets,” I return, my voice shaky.

  “About Arthur—“

  “Don’t,” I blurt.

  “What?”

  “That’s going to be a long conversation,” I explain quietly. “Change and then we’ll talk.”

  He nods solemnly. As he steps through an old fashioned, ornate, wood door on the side of the room, I start looking in the drawers for apparel I can wear. I’m muddy and dirty. Once I go through the lingerie, I find a sturdy pair of aqua flannel pajamas for females.

  Taking an empty nylon trash bag from a trash can, I place it on the seat of a wingchair close to the ladder and sit down. Soothing shower sounds fill the room. I’m certain it’ll be a while before Royce comes back out. Then it’ll be my turn. Just the thought of a warm shower rattles my brain, but what scrambles my mind even more is the conversation I’m about to have about Arthur.

  Can it be true?

  Is he really Arthur?

  Had I imagined the whole mind reading episode at the jeep?

  Usually I can tell if Arthur is inside my head—a feeling of not being alone. But if my senses are altered, I lose touch with what grounds me, and I can’t decipher what’s inside of me. Arthur had caught me by surprise earlier. It’s no wonder with the deranged nightmare we were in the midst of.

  When Royce steps out of the bathroom, I steady my breaths. I’m so much closer to the truth now—the truth of my life. He smiles sheepishly at me, looking like the Adonis he is with his elegant pajamas and scrubbed face.

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell him, bouncing through the bathroom door. I try to shower quickly but once the warm water hits my skin, I find it impossible to end our new acquaintance. It’s been such a long time. Bathing in cold rivers is very different from bathing in warmth.

  Forcing myself to leave the stall, I quickly change. My heart is beating as fast as when Royce gave me my first kiss. I place my hand at the bottom of my throat. My breath catches on itself, and I have to tell myself to get it together.

  Stop this! I propound.

  But the moment has come and it’s useless to ignore what is happening to me. I actually feel vulnerably disoriented—like having the rug pulled right from under me. I had already come to terms with Peter being Arthur and not as virtuous as I had always thought him to be.

  What would Royce prove to be?

  Not that so far he had proved to be anything less than brave, chivalrous, and dedicated. Still, with him being Arthur and me knowing about it, the dynamics in our relationship are bound to change.

  What if it turned out to be a bad thing?

  When I finally make it to the bedroom, I can hear his light respiration coming from the bed. He’s fast asleep over the navy blue bedspread. I take in a breath—the guy is so beautiful. Maybe it’s wrong to describe a guy like that, I tell myself for the umpteenth time, but there’s a reason why all the girls at my school acted like blubbering idiots around him—and they hadn’t even known his remarkable insides.

  I knew them.

  My life will never be the same because of it.

  I carefully lay next to him, snuggling into the space in front that he left open. Facing away from him, I make certain I don’t look into his face any longer. It aches to be so close to his astonishing looks. It hurts.

  The soft mattress feels strange when I’ve been sleeping on the hard ground for so long now. It’s almost too comfortable. I shut my eyes to invite sleep. It doesn’t take long for it to catch up to me—waves of exhaustion pull me down—and my surroundings start to go distant as if they are in the far background of a movie.

  “Madrigal,” Royce’s voice calls my name. Am I dreaming it?

  “Madrigal,” he repeats. My eyes start to flutter open, and I have to concentrate to remember where I’m at. As my vision starts to focus, I discern Royce’s intent sight sweeping over me. Royce has flipped himself over to face me.

  “Royce,” I say simply.

  “Sorry to wake you up.”

  “It’s okay.”

  His dark eyes stay on mine. “I can’t believe I went to sleep,” he expresses.

  “You’re tired. We both are.”

  “But we have something very important to talk about.”

  “It could wait to tomorrow,” I assure, trying to sound convincing even though I desperately want to discuss Arthur.

  “Sorry, Madrigal, but I can’t wait to tomorrow.”

  “You can’t?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “Why not?” I mutter quietly.

  “I need for you to know who I am.”

  “Arthur?” I murmur.

  “I need to tell you so much,” he blurts.

  “Tell me everything.”

  He takes a deep breath. “I had to play a repulsive part for so long because my parents had been rebels, and my grandparents were scared I’d get murdered like my parents.”

  “The leaders wouldn’t think twice about killing a child, would they?” I ask, my voice disgusted.

  “No, it’s a miracle my grandparents convinced them to keep me alive.”

  “You had smart grandparents.”

  He takes another deep breath before continuing. “When I’d see how they treated you at school, even when you were a small kid, I didn’t know
what to do to help you. The problem was that I had to pretend to be what I wasn’t. I hated not being able to be your friend.”

  “Royce, you wanted to be my friend when you were a kid?”

  “Ever since we were first graders.”

  “I could’ve used a friend.”

  “I know. One time I saw you crying in your favorite corner at the library.”

  “I don’t remember—”

  “You played it tough most of the time, but I guess you broke down once—just that one time. I’d be watching you, so I knew you kept your real feelings very hidden except for that one small moment.”

  “I didn’t want anybody to feel sorry for me.”

  “We were little kids, but we were forced to grow up very fast, right?”

  “Right,” I agree.

  “You don’t know how thrilled I was that we got to be in the same classroom in second grade.”

  My memory goes back in time. “That was the year . . .” I stop myself. I’m so overwhelmed.

  “The year of what?” he murmurs, his dark eyes intently on me.

  I find my voice. “The year I got the Valentine’s card.”

  “I remember you telling Arthur about it.”

  “It was handmade with painted hearts,” I gush.

  “Kind of mushy, don’t you think?”

  “No,” I declare. “My secret admirer was awesome!”

  “Awesome?”

  “I just wish I had found out who he was,” I sigh.

  “Maybe it was better for you not to know.”

  “Why?”

  “You might’ve not liked him,” he comments quietly.

  “What are you talking about?” I blurt, indignant. “Of course I would’ve—“ I interrupt myself. The pieces start coming together. “Wait a minute . . . I thought Andrew could’ve given me the Valentine out of kindness, but it wasn’t him, was it?”

  “No.”

  “It was you,” I declare, my heart beating fast in my throat.

  His eyes sit calmly on mine. “Guilty.”

  “I still have the Valentine in my fake parent’s house.” I murmur.

  “You kept it all these years?”

  “It’s the only Valentine I’ve ever gotten. You don’t know what it meant to me.”

  “You don’t know how much I wanted to tell you that I was your secret admirer.”

  “If only you could’ve,” I blurt. “It would’ve changed my life.”

  “I know how awful it was for you—how much the kids bullied you—prodded by the teachers who had orders from the leaders.”

  “The teachers had orders from the leaders to make my life miserable?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can see snippets in certain people’s minds,” he explains uncomfortably.

  “Snippets?”

  He nods solemnly, obviously not at ease with the subject. “I can see bits and pieces of the lives of people I know and care about, and what is affecting them.”

  “You can get in their minds?” I ask, puzzled as to whether this was the same as seeing snippets. He could talk to me in my mind. Maybe he could do the same with others.

  “In small, fleeing fragments.”

  “But with me—”

  “With you it’s different—very different.”

  I let out a confused breath. “I’m not following you.”

  “I should finish my story before explaining,” he says, gently stroking the side of my face. His fingers lightly caress my skin.

  “Okay, go ahead.”

  “At school, I could see how miserable you were—even after the Valentine. Because I couldn’t talk to you, and I could see snippets into people even as a kid, I became obsessed with sending you encouraging thoughts. I figured that maybe I not only had the ability to receive brain waves but to send them too.”

  “That’s so noble of you.”

  “It was a kid’s vivid imagination but to my surprise, it worked better than I could’ve ever imagined. You started answering me back!”

  “That was bizarre when it first happened. I really thought you were an imaginary friend.”

  “I’m pretty real,” he asserts, a sly smile on his lips.

  “I know.”

  His dark eyes flicker. “Anyway, that’s how Arthur came into your life.”

  “Thank you for letting me choose the name,” I express.

  “To be honest with you, Arthur was much more real to me than who I was being Royce. I came to hate this fake persona so much that I rebelled for a while—not wanting to live a double life anymore. Peter followed my lead. That’s when they separated us. They put him in a different school.”

  “You started hanging out with QT100 after that,” I grumble.

  “It was torture.”

  “Where does she think you are?” I ask with curiosity.

  “Her dad broke us up,” he announces gleefully.

  “The principal broke you up?”

  His eyes turn mischievous. “I might’ve helped it along,” he says slyly.

  “How’s that?”

  “She knows how to drive, and I put her up to taking her father’s guardian car and going on a joy ride—”

  “She’s such a blind follower–not being able to think for herself,” I snicker.

  “You wouldn’t have followed my advice?”

  “Not when it doesn’t make sense.”

  He lets out a hearty laugh. “That’s why you’re the Supernova.”

  “Let’s not get into that,” I say dryly. “So, what happened after you steered QT100 wrong?”

  “I got sent to my uncle’s farm in the middle of nowhere as a punishment, but little does the principal know that I’m not there. I’m here with you instead.”

  “I’m sure QT100 is still crying over you.”

  “I could care less what that that girl thinks of me,” he snaps, disgusted. “I did my jail time—now I’m free from her!”

  “She was your ticket to easy street,” I mutter.

  “I’d rather be with you almost drowning in rivers, hanging off trees, being led at gunpoint, and practically being sucked into a tornado than spend one more minute with QT100. And now that you finally know I’m Arthur . . .”

  “Our connection is stronger than ever before,” I finish his sentence.

  We stay silent for a few moments, contemplating this new planet we had discovered. He eyes me carefully as if wondering where we proceed from here. I smile brightly at him. The way he had explained it, I was special to him since we were small. Which gal wouldn’t like that?

  And after all these years, I know who my secret admirer had been.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were Arthur as soon as we started this mission?” I finally ask, my voice in a murmur.

  “You hated me.”

  “I didn’t know the real you,” I assert.

  “I wanted you to know the real me before I confessed about Arthur.”

  I nod with understanding. “I see your point. Still, I would’ve liked to have known before the misinformation.”

  “Misinformation?”

  “Let’s just say that I’m glad that you’re Arthur and that Peter isn’t.”

  His face becomes puzzled. “Peter?”

  “Peter told me he was Arthur.”

  “What?” His voice is gruff and unable to fathom what I had just said.

  “Peter had specifics—specifics that only Arthur and myself would know. I believed him.”

  Royce frowns angrily. “Peter was my confidante. He’s the only one who knew about my ability to get in your head.”

  “He used the information you told him in private against you?”

  Disappointment envelopes Royce’s face. “Yes.”

  I nod disconcertedly, not knowing what to say. Peter was worse than I had thought—much worse.

  A memory suddenly comes to the forefront of my mind, and I debate whether to invest
igate it. I come to the conclusion that I have to find the truth. “Were you the one who spent the night with me when I was detoxifying?”

  He nods quietly. “That was me.”

  “I thought so.”

  “You figured out that someone was with you?” Royce asks.

  “Even with me being in such bad shape, I knew I hadn’t hallucinated. Someone helped me through the ordeal, but I was led to believe it wasn’t you.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t tell me that Peter told you . . .”

  “He told me it was him,” I murmur.

  “That lying skunk!”

  “I heard two guys talking. He’s the one who told you not to stay in my room, right?”

  “Everyone at the cave thought that because we didn’t know anything about your powers as the Supernova, we shouldn’t be too close to you when you were getting off the drugs.”

  “But you didn’t listen.”

  “No.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m your Arthur, Madrigal. I’m here for you. I’m here for you in the good times but especially in the bad times. I’m here for you—always.”

  Waking up in the morning after having fallen into a fast, easy sleep, I scan the room for Royce. He’s gone. I don’t panic because I know he sneaks off to take care of business. He’s checking the periphery or performing other important tasks. His one track mind keeps us safe and moving forward.

  Impatiently, I wonder when he’s getting back. I’m so accustomed to being with him that without him, a throbbing ache forms. It fuels me with the anxiety of missing something enormously important. He’s certainly right about us needing to keep a sort of distance from each other. We can easily melt into one another. Easily! And completely forget our mission.

  We’ve got to be very careful with our relationship.

  We’ve got to put everything in its proper place.

  Jumping out of bed, I head for the shower. I might as well take advantage. The hot water feels every bit as miraculous as it did the night before. I throw on my clothes—Royce and I had washed our clothing after our respective showers and hung them on the towel racks to dry. Now I have clean clothes to wear.

  As I return to the bed to make it, I wonder once again about Royce. Is he having any trouble out there—any danger? Then I realize I don’t have to be in the dark. We have our very own way of communication.

  Where are you? I ask him in my head and then wait for his familiar ray-of-light presence to envelope my head.

  It does in a matter of seconds. Miss me? he asks.

  Maybe, I say carefully. Do you?

  Always.

  I chuckle. It’s much easier to have an intimate conversation with him in my mind than in real life—maybe because Arthur is so familiar to me.

  How can you always miss me if we’ve been stuck together like glue for weeks now? I ask him.

  I miss that we can’t be a real couple—that I can’t kiss you when I want.

  For such a tough guy, you sure are sweet.

  I’m not that tough.

  I beg to differ, I state.

  You’re the one who’s tough. You’re one tough cookie, Madrigal. Sometimes it’s hard getting close to you.

  My fake parents weren’t touchy feely.

  I know.

  They didn’t nurture an affectionate side in me.

  It’s okay, he assures. I’ll nurture it.

  Where are you? I ask again, needing to change the subject or drown in him.

  I’ve been looking around—psycho colonel and his sidekick could’ve survived the hurricane.

  Did you find anything? I question.

  So far I’ve found nothing belonging to them. What I did find were our backpacks. I was worried that someone would come across them.

  That wouldn’t be good.

  No, not good at all. We’ve got to cover our tracks, he asserts.

  You’re smart having remembered them.

  We can’t leave any loose threads out there.

  Definitely not.

  Don’t worry, Madrigal. I have it covered.

  How far away are you from the getaway? I ask.

  I’m almost there.

  I’ll be waiting.

  Quicker than I thought, I hear the trap door open. My lips automatically form a smile as I wait for Royce to come down the stairs. The anticipation flutters my stomach.

  He angles down the ladder.

  It’s not Royce.