Seconds Before Sunrise (The Timely Death Trilogy), page 7
“And the ribs,” I reminded him.
He chuckled, wincing as his chest moved. “Those aren’t so great either,” he agreed, but his smile remained as if he couldn’t let it go.
I wanted to smile back, but I couldn’t. I felt uncomfortably sick to see him in such a state, but I felt more selfish for being unable to control my emotions.
His fingers tapped the space between my hands. “How’d you get here?”
“Jonathon. We have art class together,” I said. “I didn’t know you were friends with him.”
“And I didn’t know you knew him.”
“Small world.”
“Small school,” he retorted.
“It is,” I admitted, hesitating to say anything else. It was too strange to look at Eric. I was used to seeing him in class, listening to music through his headphones. Now, I doubted he could even tilt his chair back without some part of him hurting.
“I’ll be okay,” he whispered, and chills ran up my neck. He could read my body language better than anyone else I knew. “It could’ve been worse.”
“It should’ve been worse.” I relied on the information I had heard. He was lucky to be alive. My parents had done the same thing, and they weren’t. A part of me wanted to lecture him on his recklessness, but a bigger part of me knew the most important thing was that he was alive.
I stared at my hands as I dug my nails into my palms. I heard the bed shift before I realized he’d grabbed my hand. He threaded his fingers beneath mine and pulled my nails out of my hand. When I looked up, he let go.
“I hope Jonathon is the one who told you,” he said, but I barely heard him. My heart was pounding in my ears.
“Kids were talking at school,” I said, hoping he hadn’t noticed how hot my hands were. “Everyone knows.”
He glanced at the wall. “Fantastic.”
“It’s Hayworth. What did you expect?”
“Some etiquette would be a little nice.” He lifted his chin to stare at the ceiling. His neck was red from the seatbelt scraping him. “I suppose I couldn’t hide it forever.”
“Why would you want to hide it?” I asked.
He didn’t respond the way I expected him to. “Does Zac mind that you’re visiting me?” he asked.
I tensed. Eric barely knew me, but he wasn’t holding back, and I wondered how much medication they had him on. Without knowing, I took a deep breath. “Zac isn’t my boyfriend.”
“So I’ve heard.”
My face burned. “From who?”
He glanced down from his fixation on the ceiling. “Robb McLain is kind of hard to ignore when he talks to you at our table.”
I cringed. I had always known Eric didn’t like it when Robb and Crystal moved over to our table because he turned his music up. It was one of the reasons I thought he never heard a thing.
“Robb doesn’t know what he’s talking about half of the time.” Even though I didn’t have to defend myself, I wanted to.
Eric smirked. “Robb likes you.”
“What?” My breath escaped me. “There’s no way. He’s my friend.”
“A close friend.”
“Girls and guys can be close friends,” I said.
“But Robb doesn’t want to be.”
“That’s gross.”
“It’s the truth,” he said, winking his good eye at me as he snuggled into his bed like a child. His cheeks turned a light pink, and his eyelashes batted. His medication was affecting him more than I thought.
“Thanks for checking on me, Jessica,” he said.
My irritation dissipated. “You’re welcome,” I whispered, and the white curtain yanked open.
Mr. Welborn walked in, and his eyes fell on his son. “I think Eric needs rest now,” he said.
I stood up.
“I’m fine, Dad,” Eric argued, but he yawned and shut his eyes. “I—I’m wide awake.”
He fell asleep as the words left his mouth. I stared, unable to tear my eyes away. Eric Welborn looked peaceful, even with a black eye and broken ribs. I wanted to stay, but I knew I couldn’t. He was exhausted.
I tiptoed out of the room, and his father followed me. I spoke when we were safely in the hallway. “Thanks for letting me see him, Mr. Welborn.”
“Thanks for coming.”
Teresa stepped away from the wall she was leaning on. “I’ll drive you home, Jess.”
“Thanks.”
Mr. Welborn stopped me, and I waited. He ran a hand over his chest, and his watch flashed beneath the lights. “Eric should be out of here soon, but he probably won’t be back at school immediately,” he said. “You could come over if you’d like.”
“Sir?” Teresa spoke up, but Mr. Welborn raised his hand as if he could control her speech.
He was still looking at me. “Eric could use someone to talk to.”
“I’d like someone to talk to myself.” I accepted the invitation, feeling my chest lighten. Whatever burden I’d been holding was suddenly gone. “I’ll visit soon.”
Eric
I didn’t open my eyes when I heard him speak, and I kept them closed when I recognized my father’s voice.
“She’s gone, Jonathon.” Footsteps echoed off of the linoleum floor.
I almost thought Jessica was a dream, a hallucination brought on by drugs, but she wasn’t. She had come to see me. I couldn’t believe I had fallen asleep while she was with me.
“When?” Jonathon asked.
“Teresa took her an hour ago,” my dad said. “Eric fell asleep.”
“Eric, sleeping?” Jonathon’s voice lightened. “What a shocker.”
My father chuckled beneath his breath. “The drugs will keep him like this until tomorrow.”
“I bet,” Jonathon agreed. “Eric can’t relax unless you force him to.”
“Can you blame him?” My father’s question lingered as he whistled a low tune. “Do you think this happened because he tried to leave?”
“Want my honest answer?”
“Yes.”
“I do,” he said.
My father’s sigh bordered on a groan. “Me, too.”
“But it doesn’t mean anything,” Jonathon rambled. “It doesn’t change anything.”
“It means he can’t run,” my father said, and someone began pacing.
“He doesn’t need to run,” Jonathon said, but his voice was quiet. “Does he?”
My father hesitated. “No.”
“Eric’s right,” Jonathon said. “You’re a horrible liar.”
My father laughed again. “I’m not lying. I’m just worried.”
“You’re allowed to be.” Apparently, my best friend was my father’s counselor. “This isn’t working as we thought it would.”
“I don’t know what to do about Jess,” my father confessed. “She loves him, even if she doesn’t know it.” My father paused and so did the pacing. “It’s still strange to see them together,” he muttered. “It’s the only time I see Eric act like my son. I’m afraid he won’t be able to hold back, that he’ll remind her—”
“I won’t tell her,” I said, finally opening my eyes. My father seemed much taller standing when I was lying down.
“Eric,” he scorned. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”
“I’m almost asleep,” I said. “Does that count?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “You shouldn’t be listening to our conversations.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have them in my room,” I suggested.
My father rubbed his chin, trying to conceal his grin. “You and your eavesdropping.”
“Me and my eavesdropping,” I repeated. “When will I ever stop?”
My father masked his laughter as he sat down next to Jonathon. “I don’t know where you got that attitude, but if you got it from your mother, I’ll be sure to say something when I see her again.”
It was the first time he had mentioned my mother since she died, and I turned away from him. I didn’t like to think about how she died, how she committed suicide and left us here to deal with the prophecy. I barely remembered her. It was almost like she hadn’t existed, but I thought about her more and more the closer the Marking of Change got.
Rustling interrupted the tension. “Mindy dropped these off earlier,” Jonathon said, lifting a plate covered in tinfoil. “Lemon cakes.”
My mouth watered. “I love those things,” I said, reaching for them.
My father placed them on the counter. “You’ll only get sick on this sugar right now,” he said. “You need to rest.”
“Can I have one after?”
“You can eat them when you get home.”
“That’s in two days,” I whined.
“Two days it is then.”
My only hope was crushed by protective wrap. “This is cruel,” I mumbled.
Jonathon snatched one and stuffed it into his mouth. “Sorry,” he spoke, showing off the dessert I was supposed to eat.
I groaned. “I cannot wait to get out of here.”
“That makes two of us,” my father agreed.
Jonathon pumped his fist into the air. “Three.”
We laughed, and my ribs stung.
Before I knew it, I would be home, but it wouldn’t be the home I was used to. I would no longer be able to participate in the Dark. I would have to heal my human body until the doctors cleared me before I could transform. If I didn’t, my identity would be risked. I needed to heal fast enough to train before the battle. If not, I would be stuck with what I already knew, and I was sure Darthon would know more than me. I wouldn’t win.
Jessica
When I walked into art class the next day, the painting was finished. Purple streaks dripped from the sky, and swirls of blue melted through the twists like liquid sapphires. Every aspect of my painting was how I’d left it except for one thing − the sky reflected off of a river, and not just any river. It was the river from the forest.
The piece represented every emotion of my flying dream. Every inch of the painting meant something, and the canvas was practically a photograph from my vision. The river created the perfection I’d been striving for, but there was one problem. I hadn’t painted it, and there was only one person I knew who could’ve done it.
Jonathon Stone.
He was sitting in his usual corner, his back facing the class, and I had to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention. I recognized the artist stare plastered on his face when he turned around. His painting engrossed him. It was of a woman I’d never seen before.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
He took off his glasses to rub his eye. “No one important,” he said, replacing his glasses.
“She must be if you’re painting her.”
He gestured to the empty spot next to him. I retrieved a chair and sat down, but he didn’t talk. The painting was vivid enough that I looked for a photograph in his lap, but there wasn’t. He was painting from memory.
He laid his paintbrush down. “It’s my mom.” His spine straightened up, but his shoulders, somehow, remained slumped. “She walked out.”
“Oh.” I didn’t want to intrude any more than I already had. “Thanks for finishing my painting.”
“I’m sorry I did that.” His fingertips shook. “But I couldn’t stop myself.”
“I’m glad you did,” I clarified, but his guilt was apparent.
“It wasn’t mine to finish.”
“I couldn’t finish it myself,” I pointed out.
“I know.”
I wondered how he recognized what was missing. His eye for color and the shape of a piece was beyond masterful. I had only started painting in our class, but I already felt a connection to it, and I envied how much passion he had for something I was unable to complete.
“You’ll get there one day,” he said. “You’re very good.”
“Maybe you can teach me one of these days,” I said, hoping he would tutor me, but he didn’t respond to the invite. My cheeks burned. “How’d you know what to do?”
“I followed your style,” he began, pausing as if he were contemplating an explanation. “Sometimes an outside perspective is the clearer perspective.”
“That’s unbelievable,” I breathed, staring at the teenage boy as if I were staring at one of the greats. “You’re really something, you know that?”
“Thanks,” he squeaked. He was uncomfortable, and I hated to be the one who caused that.
“How’s Eric?” I changed the subject.
“He’ll be home tomorrow.”
Tomorrow was earlier than I was expecting.
“That’s great,” I said, wondering how soon I should visit him. I wanted to, but I didn’t want to seem pushy. “Is he excited?”
Jonathon chuckled. “More than he was when he got his car.”
The reminder silenced us. Eric’s car was gone, but at least he was alive. I looked around the classroom and studied the students who treated Eric like simple gossip. It was bad enough that Eric’s car wreck happened, but kids constantly compared it with his last car wreck − when Abby died − like it was nothing. I wanted the gossip to stop.
“Well, I’m glad I could help you with your painting,” Jonathon said, splitting through my thoughts.
I stood up. “I’ll let you get back to yours.”
He gestured to his. “Any thoughts?”
It was his mother. I couldn’t possibly help him with it.
“Be honest,” he said.
I breathed, looking over the curve of her cheekbones, the lightness of her eyes, the watery skin of her face.
“Her complexion could use some color,” I suggested.
He turned back. “I’ll consider that,” he said. “Thank you, Jess.”
“You’re welcome.”
I felt strange helping someone who helped me, but that’s what friends did, and Jonathon felt more like a friend than he had when he first talked to me. He practically saw my dreams, and I thought about what he said.
Maybe all I needed was an outside perspective to understand my dreams, and I already knew the perfect person to talk to. I only had to figure out when I would see him next.
Eric
I was finally home, but I wouldn’t even be able to go back school until tomorrow. My father wanted me to rest as much as possible. The injuries weren’t life-threatening, but I had to heal quickly, and I couldn’t cheat by turning into a shade. The doctors might be in the Light, and then I would be a discovered shade. I had become more useless than I already was.
I fought the urge to throw my stress ball at the ceiling. My ribs were already burning from the first throw. I couldn’t strain myself, even if I wanted to. If my car wreck had taught me anything, it was the fact that I didn’t own my body. My life held the future for hundreds, and I couldn’t be selfish anymore. Not even as a human.
A small knock echoed through my bedroom. I slowly sat up to see Mindy in my doorway. Her hand grasped the door. “How are you feeling?”
I kicked my feet off the bed and stood up. “Better.”
She’d been checking on me every hour since my return, and I couldn’t help but feel more empathy for her. As far as I knew, she was human, and humans healed dreadfully slow. I hated to think how slowly her emotions healed.
“Your father wants to talk to you,” she said.
I tensed. “About what?”
“Not sure,” she admitted, tying her bright, red hair into a ponytail. I knew the look. She was getting ready to prepare dinner.
“Need help cooking?” I asked.
Her head moved back like my words shocked her. I had to remind myself that they probably had.
“I’d love that, but your father—”
I had already forgotten. “I’ll go talk to him.” I moved past her, and she went to the kitchen. The few words were the only words we had exchanged all week.
I managed to get down the hallway without much trouble. I was used to pain, but I wasn’t used to human pain. It was different − more constricting and lingering. I ignored it when I entered his office and hoped he wouldn’t notice the pain on my face.
“Shut the door behind you.” He didn’t glance up from his paperwork.
I shut the door and locked it, wondering if his paperwork involved more news from the Dark. They usually avoided writing anything down but had gotten desperate with the upcoming fight.
I waited for him to finish reading. He continuously flipped papers over, only moving his hand up to gesture to his chair in front of his desk. I sat down, grateful to be off of my feet, and he stared. His glasses made his eyes look too large for his face.
“Mindy said you wanted to talk to me,” I said, trying to look over his paperwork, but he laid his palm on top of them.
“I do.”
I cleared my throat. “What about?”
“How are you feeling?” he asked, but I didn’t respond. He knew I had three weeks before anything would change.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Teresa was over earlier.” Apparently, she had been the one to drop off the papers. “She said you’ve been refusing to talk to her.”
“She’s already lectured me once,” I said, thinking of Camille.
She had been different ever since she began training. She planned on fighting, and I didn’t understand why. It was between Darthon and me, but everyone was acting like Hayworth would be at war.
“I don’t need to hear it again,” I said.
“She’s protective of you, Eric,” he said. “That’s her job.”
“And my job is to prepare,” I repeated the very words she had told me in the hospital.
“She’s worried about you.” His words lingered, and the meaning changed in the silence.
“She thinks I’m going to do something stupid again,” I guessed.
My father laid his fingertips on his forehead. “Not exactly.”
My heartbeat thumped against my injuries. “What is she worried about then?”
He stared past me. His pupils glanced over the decorations littering the office, and the light flickered over his hesitant expression. “As your father, I should talk to you about your depression,” he said. “If you’re considering suicide—”
