BY RACHEL FEDER
Editor’s Note: This is part of a serial novel, THE TURN, which will be published in installments at Luna Luna. This is Part 9. Read the rest here.
23.
I cut down below the road—the shortest route back to the house is on the diagonal. The ground beneath my feet is slick with leaves, pine boughs a blur. My legs are moving independently of my mind, all animal instinct and taut muscle. The swish-swish of my leggings, my racing breath, and the heartbeat pounding in my ears drown out all thoughts but one.
Thebes.
The weight of his body on my wrists. The slap of his hand on my clavicle. The way he nuzzles into me, his eyes wet with tears. A laugh that bubbles up from a place I can barely remember, his babbling a map to something I’ve lost.
I need to get back in time. I need to protect him.
Arms pump at my sides, pressing through the fragrant mountain air. The bandana around my neck scratches at my chin. My sweatshirt is suddenly too hot, but there’s no time to pull it off. My body breaks into liquid.
Before I realize what’s happening, my legs come out from under me, ankle a sharp pain I feel in colors—red, pink, black—and then—my head.
24.
I’m in Thebes’s room, rocking him.
My chin on his soft, sweet hair.
He’s pinching my arm so gently. Pinch, pinch. As if to say, you’re here.
I kiss the top of his head so softly, as if to say, of course.
I’m not asleep but I might be drifting off. Pinch, pinch.
And then another pinch. Harder now. A scratch.
Startled, I look down.
Tortoiseshell glasses. Those eyes—so blue—
Pinch, pinch.
Now my eyes are closed and I can’t open them. Colors prick the edges of my field of vision.
My fingers run softly across lips. Over the outline of a sharp, pointed tooth.
Pinch, pinch.
I startle awake in a field, in wet grass. Broad daylight. The crags loom over me.
Shudder when I notice a figure sleeping beside me. A knitted cap covers his hair. Is it Seb, or is it Jack?
Hey, I say, shaking his shoulder, but he doesn’t wake up. Hey, again, louder now, harder.
Pinch, pinch.
He rolls over, but I wake up right before I see his face.
25.
I come to just in time to see Jack’s headlights disappear around a bend in the road, the full weight of headache rushing in. When I shift weight onto my ankle, I see stars.
Thebes. I have to get home.
I flip onto my belly, pressing my palms into the leaves, and push up. I pull my good leg under me and brace my forearms against my thigh as I stand, then drag my busted ankle into position.
For a moment I think about calling Jack, asking him to come and carry me to the car and drive me back to Alison’s house, but there isn’t time.
Something bad is happening. And it has something to do with the baby.
Cursing under my breath, I step forward gingerly. Before long, I can see the house. I left the floodlights on in the backyard, and as I amble into their glow I feel a great stilling.
I’m here now.
Either something happened, or it didn’t.
There’s an object glistening in the grass, and I pick it up. Feel a strange sense of detachment as I look down at my palm, shivers crawling up and down my back like spiders.
It’s a sharp tooth.
I locked the back door when I left—I’m absolutely sure of it. But it’s not locked now. It swings open easily in my hand.