Текст книги "Dead River"
Автор книги: Cyn Balog
Соавторы: Cyn Balog
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
Angela and Hugo are sitting on the big leather sofa, nursing mugs of coffee. A fire roars in the fireplace, and I can already feel its heat. She jumps up when she sees me. “Oh my God, sweetie! Are you okay?”
I nod. “I’m just—”
She’s not paying attention. She’s already shoved Hugo off the couch and is propping up the pillows for me to lie down. She quickly kneels in front of me and commences with Operation Flo Nightingale. “Is there frostbite? Can you feel your toes?”
Before I can answer, she orders one of the men standing idle nearby to get her some blankets and a tub of warm water. Soon she’s got pretty much everyone nearby helping out. She’s truly in her element. Hugo’s just standing there, and I half expect him to whip out his camera and start photographing my feet, which are a peculiar blue color, so I’m relieved when Angela orders him to go find Justin.
“Where is he?” I ask as Hugo runs outside.
“Looking for you, of course. He’s out of his mind with worry. We have fifty people out there, all looking for you,” Angela says. She stops rubbing my feet and studies me, then breaks into a sob. “Oh my gosh,” she wails, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “I was so worried about you! I really thought you were gone. You’re not just my cousin, you’re one of my best friends. If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, leaning over to pat her back.
“Uh-huh it is! We practically dragged you here.” She wiggles my pinkie toe and I laugh, which I guess is a good sign, because she sighs with relief and moves on to the other foot. “We looked everywhere, but you just went under and you never surfaced. I’ve never seen anything like it. What happened to you?”
I shrug. I want to say something about that guy who saved me, but that must have been a hallucination. Everything about it seems tinged with gray, like an old dream. Like one of those visions I used to have long ago, when I lived in New Jersey. I think about that dark figure looming in the distance, across the river, and shudder. “I guess I blacked out. And when I woke up, I was on the riverbank, right by the Outfitters.”
She wrinkles her nose. “That’s, like, impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s fifteen miles! You floated downriver in the cold for fifteen miles and your feet look like this? And somehow the river just deposited you right on the shore in front of the Outfitters?”
I stare at her. “What, you don’t believe me?”
“No, I do. It’s just a miracle,” she says. “I’ve heard of people blacking out during times of extreme stress. Maybe you … I don’t know. It’s a miracle.”
The door bursts open, sending a swirl of cold air into the cabin. Justin rushes in, with Hugo at his heels. “Is she okay?” Then he sees me. “Kiandra, are you okay?”
I’m about to speak, but Justin looks at Angela for confirmation. “Yeah,” she says. “She seems okay.”
“The paramedics will check you out,” he says, his eyes wider than I’ve ever seen them. It looks like he’s the one who needs medical help.
Suddenly I remember the blood oozing from my back. I’d been so comfortable on the sofa I’d forgotten about it. “Oh, I—I think I hurt my back.” I lean forward and they both inspect it, moving me back and forth to see what I’m talking about.
Angela helps me pull off the wet suit. My limbs are kind of sore, but moving them feels good. The pain is a confirmation I’m alive. I sit there for a while in my long underwear, waiting for them to say something about how big the wound is or how it’ll need stitches, but I wait, and wait. Finally, I look up at their faces. Angela is squinting, not in horror, but as if she’s trying to see something on the point of a needle. Justin says, “Where?” and massages my shoulder. His hands are already warm, even though he’d just been out in the cold.
I hurt all over—but back there? No, it doesn’t ache anymore. Could that have been a dream, too? “There’s no blood?”
Someone comes with a couple of blankets. Angela throws one over me and says, “You should rest. You might have hit your head.”
The wet suit is a puddle on the ground. I lean over and pick it up, turning it over in my hands. No holes. It was a dream. Just like the ones I had in Jersey. Those used to feel so real, I’d known some of the characters in them by name. I used to miss them when they weren’t with me. I find myself flashing back to the girl in the white dress, walking along the river. Lannie.
I look up. They’re all staring at me expectantly. “Um, what?”
Angela says, “I asked if you wanted something to eat.” She looks between Justin and me. “You know what? I’ll just get her a bagel. You guys talk,” she says, and speeds off.
Justin kneels down on the braided rug beside me. “You scared me to death,” he whispers, rubbing his face tiredly.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s not your fault. It’s ours. I just– You’re so light. I could carry three of you, if I wanted to. Why couldn’t I pull you in?”
I shrug. “Maybe my foot was caught in the branches of a tree or something.”
He nods, but the look on his face is doubtful. “And then how did you end up here?”
I explain to him what I told Angela. “She says it’s a miracle that I made it after that long in the water.”
He lets out a short laugh. “I’ll say.”
“So I should be dead?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had it happen before. The few times we lost people we were able to get them back in the boat within a couple of minutes. That water was, like, forty degrees. How did you … Oh, right. You blacked out.” He exhales and runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. I thought you were probably dead.”
He gives me the most pathetic look I’ve ever seen. For the first time, his eyes glisten a little, maybe from tears, but then I think I must be going crazy because Manly Justin does not cry.
“But I’m not,” I say brightly, trying to take the edge off his misery.
“But you should be. You were gone for three hours, Ki. That’s how long it takes to get down here from put-in. And you got dumped fifteen minutes into the ride. You don’t float down the Dead River in May on nothing but your good looks and end up back home alive.” He reaches under the wool blankets and wiggles one of my toes, like he’s playing This Little Piggy. “And with all your cute parts still intact.”
I shrug. “Just call me Miracle Girl.”
He smiles. “Hell yeah, Miracle Girl. I’m so freaking relieved. How would I have explained this to your dad?”
Angela returns with a bagel with cream cheese and a mug of coffee. “You eat this and rest,” she says. “I’m going to go back to our cabin and pack, and you guys come over after the paramedics have checked everything out.”
I look at her. “Pack?”
Justin nods. “I think we’d better call it a weekend, don’t you? You can’t really want to …”
“No, it’s okay,” I say, wondering how I’d explain to my father why we came home from Baxter Park early. Besides, prom is tomorrow and it’s too late to even think about going now. The words Don’t you ever come back. It’s too dangerous play somewhere in the back of my head, but that’s no problem. It’s not like I was planning to go rafting again. And besides, that was just a dream. “We were going to hike and stuff. I still want to do that. I don’t want to ruin your weekend. You’ve planned it for so long.”
“But—” Angela starts, and then looks at Justin.
“But really, I’m fine,” I say. Plus, the idea of hanging out with Justin tonight, alone, sounds really good. I’m fine. And I’m not going to let a swim in the river and some stupid hallucination tell me where I can and can’t go.
“All right,” they say in unison, then look at each other and laugh.
I knew it wouldn’t take much to convince them. After Ange leaves, I take a bite of my bagel, and then another, and before I know it, it’s totally gone. I’m ravenous. I could eat another one. Maybe two. I also could probably sleep for fourteen hours, because my head feels heavy, almost like there’s water in my ears. I try to stand up to get to the kitchen but Justin puts a firm hand on my shoulder. “I’ll get you another, as long as you chew the next one before you swallow. The last thing I need is you almost dying again.” He rolls his eyes like I’m a toddler in danger of ruining another perfectly good onesie.
I smile, thinking I have the best boyfriend in the world, then lean over to pick up my socks. I’m just stretching them out on the rug to let them dry when I realize something. I was wearing two pairs of heavy wool socks earlier. Now there is only one.
The other pair, I gave to that boy on the river. The boy who warned me to go away. The one I’d just convinced myself didn’t exist.
Chapter Nine
Now I’m at the edge of the river, watching the waves with the girl in the white dress. She’s crying. “Hi, Lannie,” I say.
She smiles and wipes at her tears. “Tootsie. You came back. I can’t believe you came back. And you remember me.”
“Of course I do.” I try to see where I am, but the sun is bouncing off the ripples in the water, drenching everything around me in white. “Where am I, though?”
She doesn’t answer. Suddenly it’s like I’m in a white room with no windows or doors. Just me, alone. But the name Jack rings in my ears. I’ve never known anyone with that name, at least not until … No, it’s familiar. I did hear it, once before, quite recently. Jack McCabe.
Sleesh … sleesh … sleesh.
Only a second later the story comes to me. I see the girl, dressed all in white, strolling into the woods. Lannie. And he’s watching, close behind, his eyes dark and intense.
The man from across the river. Jack. Jack McCabe.
I did everything you asked of me.
Somehow, it’s dark now. He follows Lannie, deeper into the forest, toward the river, toward her. I follow, too, stumbling over the brambles and uneven ground. Lannie stops by the river, standing still at the very edge. I watch as Jack approaches, expecting him to call out to her, to reach for her. Instead, at the moment he’s supposed to do that, he turns. Lannie turns. They’re both looking at me.
Blood is trickling over Jack’s forehead, making an upside-down Y over the sides of his nose. Lannie has the ax. It’s covered in blood. “Everything’s wrong,” she seethes. “Because of you.”
At first I don’t know who she’s speaking to, but her eyes are on me. “Wait—” I say.
But she is storming toward me, ax raised over her head. Hatred disfigures her pretty face. Hatred for me?
Jack doesn’t move. “I did everything you asked of me,” he whispers, a tinge of sadness in his voice, but by then she is upon me.
I wake with a start, expecting to hear the blade whistle down on me. Instead, the fire crackles. Far away, people are laughing. It’s warm, and the orange light of the fire is homey and inviting. A cuckoo clock cuckoos. I look down. My second bagel, slathered in cream cheese, is sitting on the coffee table. Justin is leaning forward, staring at me. “Nice nap?” he asks.
Yeah. Real nice.
I wipe my eyes and reach for my mug of coffee. It’s cold and bitter but I sip it anyway.
“The paramedics are here,” he says.
I sit up and two men poke me, take my vitals, and, as I expected, tell me I’m perfectly healthy. I wonder if that’s what they’d see if there was a test they could do on my mind. Because the dreams, the dreams I used to have when I was a kid, when I lived by the water … I might be completely wrong, but that felt a lot like one of them. One of the bad ones.
“You okay?” Justin asks after we pack up our stuff and start walking back toward Angela’s place. By then, the sun must have come out, because it’s sinking beyond the tall pines on the other side of the river, painting the whole sky the color of flames.
I nod. “I just want to get back to the cabin. Take a hot shower.”
He winces. “Ooh, sorry. You know Angela’s place doesn’t have running water.”
“Oh.” I want a shower so bad, I can almost taste the hot steam, feel it curling around my body as the water rinses the grimy river away. My skin is gritty, dirty. I take my hair out of the ponytail holder and try to comb it back with my fingers, but they stick in the mess of knots and dirt and who-knows-what in there. I might have a colony of something living in my hair follicles. I hang my shoulders and a tear slips out of the corner of my eye.
“You can take a shower back at the Outfitters,” he says brightly. “Hey, how about this. I’ll go get your bag, and you go back there and tell Spiffy. He’ll set you up.” He winks. “It’ll be the—”
I glare at him. “Highlight of his young life, I know. Shut up.”
“I’m just kidding. But seriously. I’ll walk you over. They have nice showers there. And Spiffy won’t peek.” He smiles. “That much.”
I punch him, but I go along with it anyway. “I can make it myself. You go on,” I say, giving him a kiss. His hand lingers on mine for a while before he lets it go, and after taking only one step toward the cabin, he turns right back, just to make sure I really am okay. He exhales slowly, and I know he’s thinking he almost lost me.
When I leave him, I can’t help picking up the pace. Showers! A chance to brush my teeth! To look and feel normal again! Just the thought of it sends me skipping back along the path.
I find myself slowing, even before my mind catches up with what is happening. I look up and across the river. Among the trees, their new leaves whipping in the wind, I see him.
The man across the river. Jack. He’s standing still, as in my dream.
Watching me.
No, I think, my body turning to ice. It’s him. He’s real.
I turn down the path, wishing Justin, or anyone, were nearby and could see him, too. But once again I am alone. I start to walk again, knees weak this time, when out of nowhere a hand falls on my shoulder.
I gasp as a nearby voice says, “You should leave. I told you to, kid.”
The boy I’d spoken to on the island. He’s bleeding from that wound I thought I’d wrapped. It’s not wrapped now. The blood is dripping on his bare foot.
“I’m not going anywhere. You are not real,” I whisper.
But he’s so close. So, so close. He leans in, even nearer. If he’s not real, why do I feel his breath on my cheek?
He extends a long finger, pointing directly to where Jack is standing. “He’s got his hooks in you already? Geesh. I thought you were stronger than that, kid. You are. You just don’t get it. Suppose I’m gonna have to learn you what’s what. Never thought I’d have to learn a Levesque girl.”
I stare at his oozing wound. A wound he barely seems to notice. “You’re … still bleeding.”
He narrows his eyes. “Are you listening to anything I say?”
“What is your name?” I ask.
“Now’s not the time for proper introductions.”
“You know my name, somehow. I want to know yours,” I say bitterly.
“It’s Trey,” he says quickly, but somehow I already knew that. Trey. The boy from the story. These people are all from the stories I heard over the campfire last night. Ghost stories. Ever since I heard them, I’ve been hallucinating. But why? Before I can ask another question, he speaks. “You love your boyfriend?” he asks.
“What?” I say. As if it’s any of his business. But the thing is, I don’t even wonder how he knows so much about me. It’s almost like I expected him to know everything. Because he is just a part of my imagination, right? “Why am I talking to you? You’re not r—”
“Do you?” He positions himself squarely in front of me so that his eyes bore into mine. His blood drips on my hiking boots, seeping between the laces. For someone who isn’t real, his words hit me hard.
I bite my tongue. “Yes.”
“You love your life? You love your daddy? You want to get back home to him?”
I nod. “Yeah. Of course. What—”
“Then you need to hightail it out of here while you still can, girl. Don’t make me—”
I’m snapped back into reality when a bird caws in the trees. I turn and Spiffy is staring at me. The boy I was just talking to is gone. Whoosh. Vanished.
“Hi there,” Spiffy says gently. “Sorry you had such a crap time out there. Not one of our better days on the Dead.”
For a second, everything is out of focus, and when I finally come back, I have to grab Spiffy’s shoulder to stop myself from falling over. He steadies me. “Still woozy, I guess,” I lie.
“You should probably lie down,” he says, his voice slightly condescending.
I swallow, wondering how much he witnessed. Did he see me talking to that guy? Judging from the way his eyebrows are raised, it’s very likely he saw me talking, all right—to nobody. I want to grab him and ask him if he sees Jack across the river, but by then Jack is gone. I’m back in the land of the living. “I thought maybe I could grab a shower?” I ask, my voice cracking because I’m trying too hard to not sound insane.
He brightens. “Hey. Yeah. Sure. This way.”
I follow him, but now even the idea of a shower doesn’t sound so great. Because now, I really don’t want to be alone. Alone … with them.
Chapter Ten
I wipe away the steam on the mirror but don’t recognize the face there. I scrubbed and scrubbed the river grime from my body in the shower, but no amount of scrubbing could wash away the voices in my head. The visions didn’t attack me while I was washing, but I couldn’t help worrying that they would. If Jack and Trey and the others would rip back the shower curtain and say, “Surprise!”
The thought makes me quiver. My eyes are sunken, and maybe it’s the fluorescent light or the deep creases in my forehead, but I don’t look very pretty anymore. And I can’t help wondering what it was my mother heard, what my mother saw, that made her walk into the river that day. Maybe she didn’t go willingly. Maybe she …
No, that’s stupid. She killed herself. End of story.
As I spread my toiletries along the glass shelf, I wonder if things would have been different if I had insisted on going to the prom. Hell, of course they would have. If I’d had a backbone. If I’d told Justin what I wanted.
I think of what that boy said to me. I thought you were stronger than that. Then I shake it away. I don’t want to think about him, about what one of my stupid visions said. They’re from stories. They’re not real. What do they know?
I don’t have a hair dryer, so I towel-dry my hair and tie it up in a loop at the top of my head, then brush my teeth and throw on a bulky sweatshirt and jeans and my North Face jacket. I was hoping the shower would make me feel more comfortable, but I still feel … icky. Wrong.
When I step into the main room, Justin is waiting for me. “Feel good?”
He grabs me into a bear hug and gives me a peck on the nose. I smell peppermint and shaving cream. He must have showered, too. “Yeah. Better.”
Though not much.
We walk outside and immediately I smell chicken roasting. Smoke billows from a spot over the hill, near the river, and a bunch of people are congregating at picnic benches. We start to walk there, but I stop. I don’t want to be anywhere near the river. I don’t want to be where I can hear the whispering. Where I can look across the river and see him.
Justin senses something and hangs back. “Not hungry?”
I look down at my hands. They’re shaking. I’m pathetic.
Real or not, that guy was right. I am stronger than that. At least, I should be. And maybe if I can prove they don’t frighten me, the visions will leave me alone.
I take a step forward. “No, I am,” I say, picking up the pace. I can ignore the whispers. And if he’s there, I’ll just ignore him. Besides, it’s not like they’re real. They can’t do anything to me. They’ve never done anything to me before.
By the time we make it to the picnic benches, my mouth is watering. We grab a couple of Cokes and stand in line. There’s a Tupperware container of dill spears. As I’m sucking a pickle into my mouth, a camera clicks. Oh no. Hugo. I can just see the next issue of the school newspaper, with my face on the front page.
“Would you stop—” I whirl around, fully prepared to stab him with my plastic fork, when I’m faced with an older man I’ve never seen before. He has a way-more-professional-looking camera and a way-less-smarmy-looking expression than Hugo’s. I step back. “Oh.”
“You’re the one, right?” he says, his words coming out kind of garbled because he’s trying to uncap a pen with his mouth while juggling his equipment.
I just stare at him.
He finally manages to get his things under control and extends a hand. “Mark Evans, Portland Press Herald. Heard about your little swim.”
Oh. My. God. “No, I—” But I don’t know what to say. All I know is that my dad always starts off his morning with two things: a bowl of Cheerios and a copy of the Portland Press Herald. And the last thing he needs is to find his daughter’s picture on the front page when he’s expecting her to be hiking at Baxter State Park.
This is not good.
“You’ve got the wrong girl,” Justin says behind me. “I think I saw her over near the front office.”
“Oh. Thanks,” the man says, hurrying off.
I turn to Justin, surprised. He’s usually the last person to catch on to anything; thinking on his feet, lying—these things come about as easily to him as rocket science. He grins at me. “My girlfriend, the celebrity. What do you say we get our food to go? The Bruins are on tonight. Playoff hockey.”
“That sounds just fantastic,” I joke. He knows how little I like to watch hockey, how much Wayview’s obsession with the sport drives me crazy.
We get two plates heaping with chicken, corn, and coleslaw, and head back up to the cabin. “That was a close one, huh? Don’t know what I would have told your dad.”
I shrug. “My dad likes you.”
“That will change easily if he finds out about this.”
“He won’t find out. And we went over this. Rafting is as safe as bowling. His fears of this place are completely irr—” I stop. I can’t really say they’re irrational anymore. Not after what happened today.
“It sucks that we had to lie to get you up here. I mean, it’d make a cool story. When I was waiting for you to take a shower, I heard all the guides talking about you. Some of them have been on the river for a dozen years and have never seen anything like it. They’re pretty sure you have ice water running through your veins.”
“Really?” I kind of like that. It makes me sound tough.
“Yep. They all want you even more now.”
“Oh, shut up!” I say, nearly dropping my Coke as I’m elbowing him in the ribs.
“All right. But still, it would have been sweet to see your cute mug on the front page. And a headline. ‘The Ice Girl Cometh’ or something.”
I think about it. I guess that would be cool. But the reporter would ask question after question, wanting to know how I survived the ordeal, and I wouldn’t be able to answer any of them. Nobody knows what happened on the river, least of all me. And part of me doesn’t want to know. “If my father knew, he’d kill me,” I whisper.
“I know, I know. Why do you think he’s so afraid of rafting, but he’d let you hike the Knife Edge in Baxter?” he muses as we climb the steps toward the cabin and stand at the edge of the highway, waiting for a pickup to pass. “The Knife Edge is not exactly kiddie play. People die there, you know.”
I shrug. I can’t explain that my dad would prefer me dangling from high-rises to even smooth sailing. Justin and I have been going out long enough, and I suppose I could tell him. Tell him that my mom walked into the Delaware one summer and never returned. But I’m not speaking of her. I refuse to let her have any bearing on my life right now, despite what my dad wants.
We step into the cabin and out of the chilly early May air. I set my plate of food on the small table in the foyer, let down my hair and start shaking it out, only to bump into Justin. He’s standing like a massive tree trunk in the center of the hall. I try to shove him but I realize he’s dropped his plate of food. On his feet. And yet he doesn’t seem to have noticed that. He’s just standing there, frozen.
“Justin, you—” I start, but then I realize what has captured his interest.
“Hi, guys!” Angela springs up from the probably-fake bear rug at the center of the great room. She’s trying to straighten her rumpled T-shirt and wipe her mouth at the same time. Hugo gets up behind her. Both of them are all red, like they’ve been …
Yikes.
“Damn!” Justin shouts, like, twenty seconds too late, jumping back and looking at the mess on the floor. We both stoop down and start picking barbecue chicken and coleslaw off his hiking boots. “I mean, um, sorry if we were …”
“Oops,” I say, grinning at Angela. I take Justin’s plate and throw it in the trash, then pick up mine, trying my best to be quick about it. “You know, don’t mind us. We’ll just, um, take all this stuff and go upstairs. Okay?”
Angela looks totally embarrassed. She starts to argue, but then Hugo, who growls as if he’s about to kill us for disturbing them, pulls on her wrist. “Um, all right,” she says.
Justin plucks a corn kernel out of his laces. “Yeah. You guys … As you were, soldiers,” he mutters in an authoritative voice, taking my hand and pulling me up the stairs.
“What about your food?” I ask.
“What about it?”
“Do you want to get more?” I ask, but by then he’s slammed the door behind me and has pushed me up against the bureau. I struggle to put my plate down as his hands find their way under my jacket. They’re warm but his skin is rough against my belly and so it tickles. When he pushes his tongue into my mouth, I can’t stop laughing.
He pulls away. “What?”
Oh, how can I explain it without hurting him? When Justin kisses me, his tongue probes my mouth, so I rarely get a chance to kiss back. And his hands are so big and pawlike, they don’t touch me in a way that elicits shivers. The words “Justin” and “romantic” are opposites. I don’t know if the stuff from romance novels is real, if it can be real to have a guy who is caring and who makes me feel weak in the knees. Justin is smart, sweet, and stable, which are all good things. He’ll never be the one to make me swoon, but some things are more important than romance.
I ask between kisses, “Um, why this sudden interest in making out?”
He nibbles on my ear. “The adrenaline. It’s killer.”
“But I’m hungry,” I say, pushing him away gently. “And sleepy.”
He pulls away, his eyes searching mine for a moment. Then he says, “Right. Sorry. You’ve had a crazy day. You should get your sleep.”
I wrap my arms around him and give him a big kiss on the lips. “Will you stay with me?”
As an answer, he pulls me closer. That night, we share my plate of chicken, though he lets me have most of it. I try to come up with a poem about my trip down the river but end up writing only three words in my notebook, words said to me by a figment of my imagination: It’s too dangerous. Then I fall asleep in Justin’s arms, with the sound of the hockey game in the background. With his arms around me, I’m almost unafraid to close my eyes. But I know there’s little he can do to protect me from the things he cannot see. And he can’t protect me from myself.
