Earthbound
Page 89
Still, they’ve got to suspect.
A pounding on the door startles me and I lean forward and see the two men gesturing for the driver to open the door.
“I gotta go!” he bawls.
They flash him some kind of shiny badges that I have no doubt are fakes and the driver sighs and stops the bus.
Oh please, no! I’m trapped now. A rat in a cage. After all of that—everything Reese and Jay and Elizabeth did for me—the Reduciata are still going to get me. I feel like sobbing, screaming to the sky the unfairness of it all.
Life’s not always fair. I must have heard my mother say that a hundred times.
My mother.
A crazy idea bursts into my head and I panic, knowing I have only seconds.
I hear the door open and I force my eyes shut and think of my mother. Only my mother. Her light brown hair, long plump arms, contagious smile. I gather all my mental energy and try to remember every detail about her. Her smile, her short fingers, her long brown hair, so much like mine used to be.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Ma’am?”
I look up at the breathless man who was shooting at me not two minutes ago. He peers into my eyes and I struggle to hold a neutral face. His jaw tightens and he moves on, shaking his head.
“… not here … waste of time … canvas area …” They don’t even try to muffle their voices as they leave the bus without a word to the driver.
The driver grumbles about their rudeness, but finally the door closes and I breathe again as the bus eases away from the station—rumbles onto the highway.
I need a mirror.
I rummage through my backpack until I find a compact in my makeup bag. I open it, and as the bus crosses under an orange streetlight, it floods light over me. And in the mirror is my mother’s face.
A soft gasp escapes my lips and I reach out to touch the mirror.
No, I have to touch my face.
It’s me.
It’s her.
I touch her lips, her cheeks, her eyelashes, look into her green eyes. Then I smile.
And it’s her smile.
A funny sensation distracts me as it tickles my palm and I look down to see the cardboard ticket starting to dissolve. It reminds me of the feeling of sand washing out from under my feet when an ocean wave recedes.
In a few seconds, it’s gone.
My eyes leap back to the mirror. The ticket’s already gone; I have only a minute—maybe two—to gaze at the familiar face. Technically, I could do it again, but somehow I know that after tonight, it’ll feel false and this is the only true chance I’m going to get to see my mother.
I stare, willing the seconds to last, but time isn’t like that and soon the long nose is melting into my short one, the muddy-green eyes turning brown, the hair shortening.
And I am myself again.
And my mom is still dead.
My fingers tighten on the mirror that now shows me nothing but myself.
Everyone I loved is dead. Or worse.
Except Quinn, Rebecca’s voice reminds me, but I push her away. I can’t let myself hope right now. I’m too full of anguish and there’s no room for anything else.
I curl my knees up to my chest and rest my cheek against them. A glance from under my eyelashes allows me to take in the passengers on the half-filled bus around me.
A mother is rocking a toddler back and forth on her lap. His face is curled against her shoulder, but I still hear his soft sobs. I don’t want to stare, but I can tell by the shaking of her chest that the mother is crying too. A few seats back, a man lays his head against the window and is silent, but I can just make out tears running down his cheeks. A teenager sits across the aisle from me, a hood pulled over her face, headphone wires trailing to an iPod in her hands. Clenched in her hands. I wonder if she’s sleeping until a loud sniff comes from her shadowed face.
And so, because I’m not alone, I let my tears come too. On this late-night Greyhound, rolling down the road under an inky-black sky, no one will even notice.
“I came as soon as I heard.”
“I wish you hadn’t.” I’m standing in my office—my real one, my secret one—staring out the windowpane into blackness.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Fine enough.” My throat is tight and I give voice to the unfamiliar feeling shooting spikes through my gut. “I failed,” I whisper.
“No.”
“Yes,” I hiss. “She was … she was so strong. She shouldn’t be so strong!” My voice is rising, and I despise that I’m so out of control, but I can’t seem to rein it in. “She should be weak—hardly able to function. It should have been child’s play to bring her in once Benson helped her awaken her memories.” I clamp my teeth shut. I won’t let him see me cry. “I don’t understand what happened.”
He’s silent for so long I finally turn and look, expecting to see an expression of disapproval. Instead he’s wary. “What if … what if she didn’t just change? What if she also … reset for lack of a better term?”
“To her original strength?” The thought makes fear close around my neck, cutting off my air. “Surely the gods wouldn’t be so cruel.”
“But it is possible.”
“I think we’ve established that nothing is impossible at this stage,” I say, turning away from him again.
“At least we know where she’s going.”
“To him,” I say bitterly. “Could it get any worse?” I face him—face the man I’ve known and loved for longer than even my memories stretch. “It’s your turn to be the hunter.”
A pounding on the door startles me and I lean forward and see the two men gesturing for the driver to open the door.
“I gotta go!” he bawls.
They flash him some kind of shiny badges that I have no doubt are fakes and the driver sighs and stops the bus.
Oh please, no! I’m trapped now. A rat in a cage. After all of that—everything Reese and Jay and Elizabeth did for me—the Reduciata are still going to get me. I feel like sobbing, screaming to the sky the unfairness of it all.
Life’s not always fair. I must have heard my mother say that a hundred times.
My mother.
A crazy idea bursts into my head and I panic, knowing I have only seconds.
I hear the door open and I force my eyes shut and think of my mother. Only my mother. Her light brown hair, long plump arms, contagious smile. I gather all my mental energy and try to remember every detail about her. Her smile, her short fingers, her long brown hair, so much like mine used to be.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Ma’am?”
I look up at the breathless man who was shooting at me not two minutes ago. He peers into my eyes and I struggle to hold a neutral face. His jaw tightens and he moves on, shaking his head.
“… not here … waste of time … canvas area …” They don’t even try to muffle their voices as they leave the bus without a word to the driver.
The driver grumbles about their rudeness, but finally the door closes and I breathe again as the bus eases away from the station—rumbles onto the highway.
I need a mirror.
I rummage through my backpack until I find a compact in my makeup bag. I open it, and as the bus crosses under an orange streetlight, it floods light over me. And in the mirror is my mother’s face.
A soft gasp escapes my lips and I reach out to touch the mirror.
No, I have to touch my face.
It’s me.
It’s her.
I touch her lips, her cheeks, her eyelashes, look into her green eyes. Then I smile.
And it’s her smile.
A funny sensation distracts me as it tickles my palm and I look down to see the cardboard ticket starting to dissolve. It reminds me of the feeling of sand washing out from under my feet when an ocean wave recedes.
In a few seconds, it’s gone.
My eyes leap back to the mirror. The ticket’s already gone; I have only a minute—maybe two—to gaze at the familiar face. Technically, I could do it again, but somehow I know that after tonight, it’ll feel false and this is the only true chance I’m going to get to see my mother.
I stare, willing the seconds to last, but time isn’t like that and soon the long nose is melting into my short one, the muddy-green eyes turning brown, the hair shortening.
And I am myself again.
And my mom is still dead.
My fingers tighten on the mirror that now shows me nothing but myself.
Everyone I loved is dead. Or worse.
Except Quinn, Rebecca’s voice reminds me, but I push her away. I can’t let myself hope right now. I’m too full of anguish and there’s no room for anything else.
I curl my knees up to my chest and rest my cheek against them. A glance from under my eyelashes allows me to take in the passengers on the half-filled bus around me.
A mother is rocking a toddler back and forth on her lap. His face is curled against her shoulder, but I still hear his soft sobs. I don’t want to stare, but I can tell by the shaking of her chest that the mother is crying too. A few seats back, a man lays his head against the window and is silent, but I can just make out tears running down his cheeks. A teenager sits across the aisle from me, a hood pulled over her face, headphone wires trailing to an iPod in her hands. Clenched in her hands. I wonder if she’s sleeping until a loud sniff comes from her shadowed face.
And so, because I’m not alone, I let my tears come too. On this late-night Greyhound, rolling down the road under an inky-black sky, no one will even notice.
“I came as soon as I heard.”
“I wish you hadn’t.” I’m standing in my office—my real one, my secret one—staring out the windowpane into blackness.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Fine enough.” My throat is tight and I give voice to the unfamiliar feeling shooting spikes through my gut. “I failed,” I whisper.
“No.”
“Yes,” I hiss. “She was … she was so strong. She shouldn’t be so strong!” My voice is rising, and I despise that I’m so out of control, but I can’t seem to rein it in. “She should be weak—hardly able to function. It should have been child’s play to bring her in once Benson helped her awaken her memories.” I clamp my teeth shut. I won’t let him see me cry. “I don’t understand what happened.”
He’s silent for so long I finally turn and look, expecting to see an expression of disapproval. Instead he’s wary. “What if … what if she didn’t just change? What if she also … reset for lack of a better term?”
“To her original strength?” The thought makes fear close around my neck, cutting off my air. “Surely the gods wouldn’t be so cruel.”
“But it is possible.”
“I think we’ve established that nothing is impossible at this stage,” I say, turning away from him again.
“At least we know where she’s going.”
“To him,” I say bitterly. “Could it get any worse?” I face him—face the man I’ve known and loved for longer than even my memories stretch. “It’s your turn to be the hunter.”
