Everneath. Part 19

He looked at me. "Because you were dancing with Jack. And I know how that's going to end."

"How do you think it will end?" I said quietly.

He frowned. "You know how. Anyone can see this. When it comes to you and Jack, there is no happy ending. To expect otherwise is delusional."

He closed his eyes again, and I thought about leaving him here, but one of the chaperones came over to see if Cole needed medical attention.

"No, I'm pretty sure he's fine," I said.

Cole nodded in agreement.

The chaperone, one of the gym teachers, whose name I didn't know, asked, "You'll make sure he gets home okay?"

I took a deep breath and looked at Cole. He was the cause of all my pain. But maybe that wasn't exactly true.

Despite all the other factors that had contributed to my fate, in the end it was my decision that destroyed my life. And all the hurt I was enduring now was my doing.

The blame rested solely with me.

"Yes, I'll make sure."

When I dropped him off at his condo, I reminded him of the deal we'd made-that he would never come to my house again.

He said he'd keep his word.

As I drove home, I thought about what had happened, and came up with two conclusions. First, Cole was clearly trying to convince me he had feelings for me. Whether or not it was true, I didn't know. But it was vital to him that I believe it.

Second, even in total exhaustion, Cole was telling me to stay away from Jack. He'd caused the disaster at the dance just because I was dancing with Jack. But why?

Why was Cole so freaked out about me being close to Jack? Did he really think Jack could ever fall for me again? And so what if he did? That wouldn't change my fate. I'd still be stuck in the Tunnels. It would just make it harder for me. Not Cole. If it were anyone else, I'd say he was jealous. But that would mean Cole had real feelings for me, and that was impossible.

I didn't know how to find out the truth to conclusion number one, but I had a plan for the second, and that was to do the one thing Cole feared the most.

I parked the car in my driveway, went inside, said a quick good night to my dad so he wouldn't be worried, and then sneaked out through my bedroom window.

I'd go to Jack. Maybe I wouldn't tell him everything, but I'd tell him enough for him to understand what was going on. It would be a gamble, and it might drive Jack further away, but I had to take the chance so I could incite a reaction out of Cole by doing the one thing he'd never expect.

EIGHTEEN.

NOW.

Walking. Two months, one week left.

The freezing-cold air didn't make a dent in my resolve-my anxiety over what I was about to do was enough to keep me warm through and through. Jack's house was only a few blocks away. The white picket fence at the Boltons' house marked the exact middle point between our houses. We knew because we'd measured the distance one time when I was about eleven years old. We both left our houses at the same time, and walked until we met up.

I ran my fingertips along the fence as I pa.s.sed the halfway point. Jack always said it wasn't perfectly halfway. He claimed he walked faster, and so it was a longer distance from the Bolton home to the Caputos'.

But when I reached Jack's house, it felt like no time had pa.s.sed at all. Jack's house, like most of the homes in our development, had a similar floor plan to mine-three bedrooms and two bathrooms on the main floor. Jack had the room on the corner, facing the street. I hoped he hadn't changed it since I'd left.

I tiptoed through the bushes and put my hand up to the gla.s.s as I peeked in. I caught just a glimpse before my breath fogged the view, but that was all I needed. Jack's backpack was hanging on the doork.n.o.b of the closet.

He was in bed, asleep. For a moment, I thought about turning back, but I didn't.

I held my breath as I tugged on the window. It gave. Jack had one of those older windows that opened outward like a door. The latch had been broken for years.

I slipped through. Jack shifted in his bed in the corner of the room, but he didn't wake. I watched him sleeping for a minute. I focused on his breathing. The air leaving his body. The soft fluttering of his eyelids as he dreamed. His legs jerked a couple of times.

Running. I was pretty sure he was dreaming of running. Escaping something. The panic rolled off his skin in waves. I could taste it.

Maybe I was just imagining his fear. Maybe I needed it to give me the okay to wake him. I stayed as far away from his bed as his small room allowed. If he didn't move when I said his name once, I'd leave.

"Jack," I whispered.

He stirred and then rolled over, shaking off the sleep.

"Jack." This time he shot into a sitting position, his hands flying to the nightstand where he kept his gla.s.ses. He didn't turn the light on.

"Becks?" he said. "That you?"

"Yeah."

"I'm dreaming."

I couldn't help but smile. "No."

For a person who'd just discovered an intruder, Jack didn't seem as surprised as he should have been.

He tilted his head. "I used to dream of you like this. After you disappeared, it was like you came to my room every night..." His voice faded as he lowered his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Stupid," he muttered, so quietly I couldn't be sure he'd said it. Then he reached over to his nightstand again and turned the clock to get a glance. "Two thirty," he said.

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

We were quiet for a few moments after that. He didn't ask what I was doing there. He didn't look upset. He just waited.

If I was going to tell him anything, it would be in this room. But now that I was here, I had no idea where to start. How to begin.

I glanced around the room I used to know so well. I recognized his clutter. The picture on top of his dresser of Jack as a ten-year-old, standing next to his grandpa. Behind them, a ranch house. His grandpa had been one of the last of the old-West cowboys, a relic of the history of our town.

Next to the picture was a painted rock from a grade-school art project. Jack had a real problem with throwing things away. Next to the rock sat a folded picture that looked like it had been crumpled up and refolded several times.

I pointed at it. "Is that-"

"Your picture," he finished for me. "I showed it around when I used to look for you."

"Oh."

Above the desktop, on a shelf, were several books, most of which had Zen in the t.i.tle. The one that didn't was called What the Buddha Taught. I'd never seen any of them before.

Jack answered my unasked question. "They helped. When things got really bad."

"Oh."

He rubbed his eyes under his gla.s.ses, and then he opened the drawer in the nightstand and took something out, but I couldn't tell what.

"You deal," he said. He tossed me the deck of cards. They landed in my lap. "Then when you're ready to talk, talk."

Jack slid out of his bed and walked over to the closet to get a sweatshirt. His black T-shirt clung to his body and he was wearing cotton pants with the San Francisco Giants logo. His favorite team. Once he'd put the sweatshirt on, he sat on the floor across from me.

I'd been watching him, holding my breath, so I hadn't even taken the cards out of the box.

"Do I need to review how to shuffle?" he asked.

I didn't answer. I shook the cards out of their box, cut the deck, and then shuffled them back together. He cut the deck again and I dealt.

I couldn't count all the times we'd done this before, from the time we were kids and my dad caught me in my backyard playing poker with Jack and Will under my trampoline.

Jack had told him the losers would volunteer at the home for the elderly. He knew my dad would go for that. Jack and I lost that day, and we kept our word. It was the one game I remember him losing.

Jack pulled a tin box full of old poker chips out from under his bed and gave us each a handful. The same poker chips we'd always played with. Red and black ones, from a casino in Wendover.

He put a toothpick in his mouth to chew. So Jack.

"Do you remember-" I started to say.

He watched me. Didn't say anything. I wondered why he didn't press, then I realized he was waiting for me. Everything out of my mouth tonight would be offered on my own.

I fanned my cards out in my hand and put them in front of my face, grateful for the barrier to Jack's searching eyes. I could do this. I could do this. "I've been gone a long time," I said. "Longer than anyone knows."

I didn't know if it was the draft that made me shudder, or the sudden release of a burden of secrecy, even though Jack couldn't possibly guess the full meaning behind my admission.

He studied his cards, arranging their order. "How long?" he asked.

My answer came out in a sigh. "Years and years. I know how it sounds."

But he didn't question me on the time discrepancy. Instead he asked, "Were you hurt?"

The sheer innocence of the question made me sad. "A little."

"Have you told anyone else?"

"No. I ... don't know how ... really." My voice started to waver, and I buried my face in my hands. I shivered again, and he reached behind him to pull the top quilt off his bed. The quilt his mother had made for him when he turned twelve. He sat beside me and put the quilt over me.

"Shh. It's okay. You're okay now. You don't have to talk anymore. Just close your eyes." I curled up on the floor, and he lay down next to me, staying on top of the quilt while I was under it. He rubbed the back of my hand. "I'm here, Becks. Whatever it is you're scared of, I'm here."

I lost the ability to dream long ago. Dreams can't exist where so much energy has been taken away.

I had dreamed during my first few years-or maybe decades-in the Everneath. But as my own supply of energy dwindled, the dreams became shorter and shorter, until they disappeared completely. Along with all of my memories.

But that night with Jack, I dreamed.

Senseless dreams at first, as if my brain had been kick-started after a long winter in the garage. No defined shapes, no awareness of location.

But then my dreams held meaning. I dreamed I was thrown into a shallow grave, with layer upon layer of dirt piled on top of me, crushing my chest until my heart exploded.

But I couldn't dream. It was supposed to be impossible.

I jerked awake.

My face was so close to Jack's. Almost touching.

Still asleep, Jack tilted his head toward me, and his lips brushed against mine. At that moment, I felt something rush through me, like a surge of power. Jack's eyes opened wide. I leaped back and we both froze.

"Whoa," he said. "Were we...?"

"About to," I answered. Then I thought about how I was dreaming, even though I wasn't supposed to be able to, and it hit me.

I'd stolen energy from him.

When our lips were so close, I stole enough energy to Feed, and that put me over the dream threshold.

I shot up and backed away until I was in the far corner of the room. "I'm so sorry. I never should have... I should go."

"No. No more running away, Becks." He held his hands out in front of him, palms down. His calm voice couldn't mask his confusion. "What was that?"

"Um... I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologizing. Just talk."

"Okay, but you stay over there."

He nodded, as if he weren't even considering coming any closer to me.

"I don't know where to start." I hugged my knees into my chest and rested my chin on top. "I think of the words I would have to use to explain everything, and I don't believe them myself."

"I'll be straight with you. Up until that kiss, I thought it was drugs. Now I don't know. So try me."

I took a deep breath. "That kiss felt different?"