by Sara Preucil
But the twinge grew, hot and hungry, shattering the darkness like a rock thrown through glass.
Tara’s eyes flew open. Her leg was on fire. She moaned, reaching for her leg. She realized she was covered by a lightweight sheet; her fingers clawed at the fabric.
Footsteps hurried into the room. A light switched on.
“No, you don’t want to touch that.” Emmy’s face appeared over Tara, her hands closing around Tara’s wrists, pulling them away from her injury.
“It hurts,” Tara whimpered.
Emmy nodded, walking to the door. “Aidan!” she called, sticking her head around the door frame into the hall. “Do you have any pain killers or something? And Dylan, can you come here?”
The lean, platinum-blonde boy came into the room. Tara watched the way he and Emmy wordlessly looked at each other. The way they moved around each other was like watching a gravitational force at work. She almost felt like she was intruding on something private. How was such innate intimacy even possible when they had only known each other such a short time? Tara remembered reading Dylan’s record; he had shown up in Washington less than a month ago. But as she watched Dylan gently take Emmy’s hand, there was no denying their mutual comfort and affection.
Then Aidan entered the small room, his tall, broad fame making the space feel even smaller. He carried a small opaque white container and a glass of water, which he set down on a small nightstand next to Tara. He popped off the container’s lid and shook out two white pills, which he then held out to Tara.
“They’re just aspirin,” he said, dropping them into her open palm. “But they might help.”
“Thanks.” Tara placed them on her tongue, and then grabbed the water, chasing them down with a large gulp.
“So, Dylan and I were talking,” Emmy said, looking at Tara. “And we think he can help with your leg.”
“How?” Tara asked, slowly. What she wanted to ask was: Why are you helping me? But she was afraid of what their answer might be. Not like she wouldn’t deserve whatever they had in mind, after what she saw the Order do.
“I remember being able to heal—from a past life,” Dylan said. Tara could feel the skepticism etched plainly on her face. “Not heal, exactly,” Dylan amended, “but I can help speed up the process.”
“And, it’s better to avoid going to a hospital if we can help it,” Emmy added.
Chewing the bottom of her lip, Tara glanced at Aidan. He was watching her with the same look he had when she helped him break out of the freezer, like he couldn’t quite figure her out. With the twitch of a shoulder, all he offered was a slight shrug.
Tara sighed. “Okay.”
Dylan left, there was rummaging in some cabinet, the kitchen faucet turning on and off, and he returned with a large, clear bowl. Water sloshed around inside of it as he set it next to her empty cup on the nightstand.
Emmy moved to the side so Dylan could get closer to Tara. He lowered on to his knees next to the bed, and gently started to peel the sheet off Tara’s leg.
Again, Tara looked at Aidan. His dark eyes were on Dylan, and he was slightly frowning as Dylan exposed Tara’s bare skin.
The cool air smarted against her leg, stinging, and Tara’s attention was drawn to her wound.
She sucked in a small gasp.
On her thigh, about the size of her palm, was an area of angry, crispy-looking, red skin, the center of which was dark, nearly black. The charred, blistered skin looked ready to split open at the slightest movement.
Feeling slightly dizzy, Tara laid her head back. “What are you going to do exactly?” she asked, her voice coming out weakly.
“Well, I was never taught the science behind healing,” Dylan said, “but the general gist is that our bodies, which are made predominately of water, respond well to this sort of treatment.”
“I’ve been injured plenty of times,” Tara responded, skeptically, “but sitting in a tub never sped up the healing process.”
Dylan smirked. “It’s a little more complicated than sitting in the bath. Water elementals—when we are healing, there is this innate connection, an understanding of how to manipulate the water down to a cellular level…it’s hard to explain.”
Tara sighed. What could it hurt? “Okay,” she relented.
“It might not make much difference the first time,” Dylan warned.
Tara nodded.
They all watched as Dylan brought his hand to the bowl, fingers splayed, palm down. He withdrew his hand, bringing his fingers together as if he was picking up an invisible lid over the bowl. The water drew up, following his hand in a neat stream, staying as one body. Not a single drop fell to the floor. The stream floated in the air, stopping at Tara’s leg. Tara lifted her head from the pillow to get a better look as Dylan opened his fingers slowly, his palm facing Tara’s wound. The water flowed delicately, spiraling together to form a spinning disk. With a look of intense concentration, Dylan brought his hand closer to Tara’s leg, the slowly spinning disk between his palm and her wound. Then, the water made contact.
Tara had braced herself for pain, but none came. The water was cool, but not cold, and soothing against her damaged skin. It circulated gently over her leg, drawing the aching heat out like venom being extracted from a snake bite. Her hands, having been clenched at her sides, relaxed, and she laid her head back on to the pillow with a sigh.
They were quiet as Dylan worked, but soon he drew back, streaming the water back into the bowl. Tara noticed that it wasn’t as delicately done, and there was more than a few drops of water that hit the carpet. Dylan slumped, rocking back onto his heels. He was breathing heavily; a fine sheen coated his forehead, sticking to his platinum bangs.
“Come on.” Emmy helped Dylan stand, and they slowly left the room, Dylan’s arm draped over Emmy’s shoulders.
“Thank you,” Tara said, uncertainly, as they left.
She glanced at her leg. Amazed, she noted that the overall size of the wound was smaller. The edges were now the faint pink of healing skin, the overall color was slightly less red, and the burnt flesh was less puckered.
“Huh,” Tara marveled at the accelerated healing. “Neat trick.”
“What did you say?”
Tara pulled her gaze away from her wound to look up at Aidan, who was still hovering uncertainly in the room. The corners of his thin mouth were pulled down in a frown as he looked at her.
“Oh, nothing really. Just, neat trick.” she repeated, gesturing at her leg.
Aidan’s dark eyes widened, seeming to bore into her as he searched her face. His jaw clenched and then unclenched as though he was working out what to say. But finally, he gave up, and with one last confused look, he left the room.
Tara stared after him in complete bewilderment.
What the hell was that about?
Eventually turning her attention back to her leg, Tara realized for the first time that something good had come from an unnatural using their abilities.
What if the Order was wrong? What if they weren’t the unhinged, unchecked monsters that the Order believed them to be?
Tara’s thoughts swam as her reality and her life-long teachings continued to clash. But soon, she grew tired. She laid her head back and closed her eyes, but the light filtering through her eyelids was too distracting. She groaned, knowing what she had to do.
Gritting her teeth, Tara skootched her leg over the side of the bed and then stood. She sucked in a sudden breath as skin shifted around her tender, healing wound. Locking her knee so that she wouldn’t bend her leg, she hobbled to the light switch on the wall, flicked it off, and then hobbled back to the bed. She bit down on her lip against the pain as she bent her leg to sit back down. She swung her leg back onto the bed and flopped her head down against the pillow.
Breathing deeply, she waited for the pain to subside, and eventually dozed off to sleep.
Chapter 41
The afternoon sun was streaming through the blinds of the small window when Tara woke
. She blinked, feeling disoriented, for a moment nearly forgetting where she was, but her aching leg quickly helped to remind her. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry and her tongue felt like sandpaper; she glanced over at the empty cup at the nightstand and sighed.
Slowly, Tara pushed herself up to sit, then gently swung her legs over the side of the bed. Bending her right knee tugged against the damaged skin, so she tried to keep it as straight as possible. Carefully, she managed to stand up, but as cautious as she was, her leg was throbbing by the time she was on her feet.
She picked up the cup and took a couple of careful steps toward the door before remembering that she was only wearing her sweatshirt and underwear. The underwear was the black, boy-cut type, and indeed looked more like spandex shorts than underwear, but it still made her pause. She eyed her jeans where they lay in a dark heap on the floor near the bed; the thought of dragging that fabric over her wound made her cringe.
On tip toe, she headed out of the room. She paused outside her door, listening for the others, but the apartment was silent. Quietly, she headed down the hall. She found the kitchen easy enough, as it and the adjoined living room was where the short hall emptied into. The space was faintly lit by the sun filtering through the blinds of the single window near the front door.
Tara crept through the living room, past a long dark lump stretched across an ancient striped couch. Whoever it was, was breathing deeply and didn’t stir as she headed for the kitchen. As quietly as possible, she turned on the faucet and filled her glass. She drank deeply, draining the cup before refilling it. Her stomach rumbled, and, with a sharp pang, she realized just how hungry she was. She crept toward the fridge, tugging the handle, and opened it a crack to peer inside.
A light behind her flickered on.
Tara spun and the skin on her thigh pulled taught, the pain extracting a gasp from between her lips.
“Are you okay?” Across the room, the springs of the old couch squeaked. A lamp next to it had been turned on, and Tara could now see that it was Aidan who had been sleeping there. He stood up, the blanket he was using fell to the floor. Aidan stood there, half asleep, blinking at Tara, wearing only pajama bottoms.
Tara’s gaze dropped to the linoleum floor quickly, but not before noticing the impressive shape of Aidan’s frame. How his broad shoulders tapered into a slim waist, the decidedly masculine musculature was made more dramatic by the shadows cast by the lamplight.
“Sorry for waking you,” she mumbled, heat rising into her cheeks. “I was thirsty.”
“It’s fine,” he said. She heard him move and looked up to see him walking around the counter and into the kitchen. “You hungry?” he asked, noticing her hand still holding the fridge handle.
Tara nodded.
Aidan blinked again. He looked like he was still half asleep, but then his eyes widened, and he quickly looked away. Tara only then remembered that she was only in her sweatshirt and underwear. Her face blazed.
“I didn’t want to try putting my jeans on,” she tried to explain, self-consciously tugging the edge of her sweatshirt down.
Without saying a word, Aidan left. He disappeared down the hall. Tara heard a drawer open and then close, and then he reappeared, having put on a white t-shirt. He carried a lump of plaid fabric which he handed to Tara.
“Thanks,” she said as she realized that the lump was another set of pajama bottoms. She slipped them on, taking precaution to not bend her right leg too much or to let the fabric run over her wound. The pants were far too long—predictable given Aidan’s height—but she was able to pull the drawstrings tight enough so they wouldn’t fall off her hips.
Aidan opened the fridge; it was practically empty. “Dylan and Emmy are out grocery shopping, but I can make grilled cheese. Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” Tara said, “that’s good.”
Aidan started hunting for the ingredients, and judging by the restrictive size of the kitchen, Tara figured she would be most helpful by giving him space. She went to sit on one of the bar stools on the other side of the counter.
Silently, Aidan worked at the stovetop, his back to Tara. Then he cleared his throat; it was evident that he had something on his mind.
“The other night,” he began slowly, without turning around, “when you said that you didn’t know if anyone else was being held by the Order…were you telling the truth?”
Whatever Tara might have expected him to say, this wasn’t it.
“Yeah,” she watched his shoulders stiffen. “Sorry.”
His shoulders sagged as he let out an audible breath.
“Are you looking for someone?” Tara asked hesitantly, not wanting to appear nosy, but feeling like it was a far too important of a topic to let slide.
“My sister,” he answered simply, as he flipped the grilled cheese over in its pan.
“You have a sister?”
“She may as well be,” he responded, avoiding her gaze. “I’ve looked after her long enough.”
“Has she been gone long?”
“Just over two weeks,” Aidan answered, his tone bringing the conversation to a close.
Feeling awkward, Tara glanced around the small adjoining living room. In addition to the striped couch that looked at least twenty years old, there was an equally ancient brown recliner. Both were pointed at a boxy television which sat atop an entertainment system, neither of which were produced this millennium. The space screamed low-income bachelor pad.
Tara’s eyes fell to the discarded blanket. “Why were you sleeping on the couch?” The question just popped out of her mouth as she thought it.
“You’re in my room.” Aidan slid a plate across the counter to Tara. The grilled cheese sandwich was perfectly golden.
“Oh,” Tara said, as she reached for the sandwich and took a bite. “Sorry. We can switch tonight.”
Aidan eyed her with an amused expression. What was she saying? She just invited herself to stay longer. “I mean…” What did she mean? What was she even supposed to be doing now?
As she ate, Tara searched fruitlessly for what to say next, but thankfully she didn’t have to suffer the awkward silence for long, because at that moment, the front door unlocked.
“You’re up,” Emmy said, matter-of-factly as she and Dylan appeared around the corner carrying grocery bags. “We were just discussing what to do now.” They walked into the kitchen, setting the bags on the narrow counter. Emmy cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes as she gazed at Tara from across the counter.
“Oh?” Tara replied, unsure as to what Emmy expected her to say.
“For example, now that you’re on the mend, will you be going home?” Emmy turned to help Dylan unpack the bags. “And, if so, will you rat us out? Are we no longer safe here? Are—”
Dylan laid his hand on Emmy’s shoulder, and she stopped the heated interrogation.
“How’s your leg?” he asked.
Tara looked between Emmy’s mutinous expression and Dylan’s calm one, deciding to address the later.
“It hurts a bit, feels sort of stiff.”
“We can do another healing session if you’d like.”
Tara was hoping that he’d offer, but she wasn’t about to ask. Their hospitality had more than surprised Tara, given that all three of them had been held captive by the very organization that Tara was supposed to be inducted into. She had wondered how long she would be welcome, and it seemed that, at least in Emmy’s case, that welcome was starting to wear out.
“Thanks,” Tara smiled appreciatively at Dylan.
He put a jug of milk into the fridge, fetched a bowl from the cupboard, and filled it with water at the sink. “Go ahead and take a seat on the couch.”
Tara obeyed, and Dylan followed, sitting on the cushion next to her. “You’ll need to…um…” Dylan gestured at the pajama bottoms she was still wearing.
“Right.” Tara fumbled with the drawstring, feeling extremely self-conscious. She had been completely out of it the
last time, and exposing her leg was immensely more awkward now. Red in the face, she was careful to only show as much skin as necessary, grateful that the elastic waistband meant she could keep the left side entirely hiked up.
She watched, just as mesmerized as before, as Dylan syphoned the water from the bowl, bringing it to her leg in one magical floating stream.
Once he started working, the pain vanished. The heat of the angry, blistered skin diminished and was replaced with a soothing coolness.
When Dylan pulled away, looking—once more—a little worse for wear, Tara realized that the effort he put into healing her was zapping him of energy. A rush of gratitude swept over her as she watched him sink into the recliner.
“Thanks again,” she said as she carefully pulled the pajama bottoms up over her leg. Aidan had disappeared down the hall, leaving Tara alone with Dylan and Emmy. She suddenly felt very vulnerable.
“So,” Emmy walked into the living room, and perched on the arm of the recliner. “What are you going to do now?”
Tara stared down at her hands as she searched for an answer.
What with her sudden decision to help Aidan, getting swept up in the escape, and her injury, she had little time to consider the fallout of her actions. But now, it was as though reality was crashing down around her.
What was she supposed to do now?
Her thoughts were a jumbled mess. Her parents were probably looking for her, but they would be furious once they learned the truth. No doubt Austin would waste no time before sharing that she was the one who helped Aidan escape. What punishment awaited her now that she had acted out against the Order? Would she even be accepted back in her home? Did she even want to go back?
“Well?” Emmy’s voice brought Tara back to the small living room. “What’s your answer? Them or us?”
“I—” Tara opened, then closed her mouth. How could she answer? For her entire life, she had been told of the atrocities that the unnaturals wrought upon the world. How could she, in good conscious, side with them? And yet, Tara looked at Emmy, remembering standing in that room and having to take notes as Councilor King lorded over the defenseless, restrained girl. And then she thought of Aidan, curled into himself to preserve heat as he was surrounded by subfreezing temperatures. There was no way she could partake in any more human experimentation. It was wrong, regardless of the potential dangers that these people posed.