Disrupted (20 page)

There was that word again. I tried to feel sorry for Clarrie, what with the whole heartbreaking love at first sight she had going on. Instead, all I felt was the steady rise of anger at Chris. At least some of it was on Clarrie’s behalf. “Nice? Did you ever stop to think you might be hurting someone?”

His gaze dropped to me. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “No,” he said honestly. “All I thought about was that the more I kissed Clarrie, the less time I had to think about kissing you.”

My anger took a shortcut to oblivion.

I know, I’m an utterly horrible person. Still, with or without me, Clarrie was never going to get to keep Chris.

Neither was I.

But this feeling, this moment, I would get to keep.

So I didn’t try to hold onto my anger, or ferment some form of furious indignation. I clung to my moment, looked Chris in those murky grey eyes, and smiled. “How did that work out for you?”

His answer spread heat through me, lip to toe. Seriously. Because suddenly he was kissing me, deeply, properly, thoroughly. Urgently. His hand curled behind my neck, pulling me close. He kissed my like this was the last kiss on earth.

And when he pulled away, dragged his lips from mine on a ragged breath, I knew my fears were all justified.

Chris had just taken what he thought to be his last kiss.

He’d made his last confession.

He was getting himself ready to—no, I would not use that stupid, pathetic, stupid word.

“Chris, you don’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” I argued desperately.

“I know.”

“None of this is your fault. You can’t help what—” I choked off when I realised he was agreeing with me.

Except he wasn’t.

“I never used to exist, Willow. I was never born until Callum Jade went back and changed the past. Jack was supposed to be born. He has the right to exist. Not me.”

“Christian!” Callum Jade’s harsh shout cut between us.

Chris drew away and onto his feet.

I shot up as well, determined to fight this out with Chris.

“Dear God,” uttered Roslyn, staring at the door with glazed eyes.

I turned my head, to see both Razoks come through the door. Tall and skinny in their black tunics, bald and pale with dark sunglasses to hide behind.

I reached for Chris and our hands curled into each other’s.

“It’s okay,” he said to me.

I squeezed his hand in reply.

Callum Jade got to his feet as one Razok approached him. The other came for us, and everything happened exactly as Callum Jade had predicted.

Almost.

There was no gun.

There was a strange metallic rod that looked like a police baton. Only, he wasn’t lashing Callum Jade behind the knees, he was pointing it at his heart.

Our Razok grabbed Chris’s free hand and said calmly, “It’s time for you to return, Christian. Many years ago, your father defied all natural order and destroyed the alignment of our universe. What has come before can never truly be undone.” His gaze was aimed on Chris, although I got a shivery feeling he was looking at me. “You understand this?”

My eyes slid to Chris. He gave one nod, and held out the hand not clutched in mine.

I watched the Razok strap the death-trap onto Chris’s arm. The Xylex resembled a diver’s watch. There was a double circumference of dials that turned independently around the face. Two small circles within the face showed some type of radar scan rather than the standard clock-like dials. And beneath the circles were two flat dots. A green dot and a blue dot.

“You need have no fear,” the Razok said. “With so much interference, the times lines have entangled and nothing is truly what it appears, what it should be or what it will be. You do want to go home, don’t you? Away from the illusion and lies that have been spun around you? You want to make it all go away, don’t you? You want it all to stop and for everything to be as it was.” He dropped Chris’s hand and took a step back. “You can make it all stop, Christian Wood. The coordinates have been set. Place your finger over the blue circle and everything returns to normal.”

His voice was deep and melodious, a soothing balm that promised none of this was actually happening. That this was nothing but a nightmare and we could wake up at the press of that blue button.

An agonised grunt spun us both around.

“Callum,” cried Roslyn, falling to her knees over Callum Jade’s body. “Dear Lord, Callum, no!”

Callum Jade was down, his entire body contorted into a hundred horrors frozen into a single moment. One arm bent at the elbow and above his chest, as if he’d been reaching for his heart. One knee crunched up, the other flung outward. His mouth pulled open into a lopsided triangle. His silver eyes wide open and shell-shocked.

Roslyn was weeping loudly, her fingers spreading over his chest, his arms, his face, through his hair. Callum Jade lay rigid, iced into a sculpture of pain, as if rigor mortis had struck before the moment of his death.

Parts inside me rattled, the cartilage in my knees, the roots in my gum, the tiny bones of my ear canals.

“It’s okay,” murmured Chris. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Trust me.”

I closed my eyes on Callum Jade and Roslyn, and listened to Chris as he repeated those lies again and again.

One of the Razoks was speaking. Saying silly things like, “Your father doesn’t need to be dead,” and, “Go back to your world, Christian, restore the timeline,” and, “What you see here will be undone, will never come to pass if you return now and restore the natural order.”

As if Chris needed any motivation to return to his death. He’d already made his choice. He’d already chosen Jack above himself.

And, Oh God, the moment we returned, the time wave would crash on Drustan’s opportunity to leap back, to get Jack un-born and save Chris.

A rush of anger charged through me. I was suddenly raving, spitting mad. Why Chris? Why did it have to be Chris and not Jack? I didn’t want Jack dead, but God, God, God, why Chris?

I was mad at Chris for making such a crappy choice and being so damn stubborn about it.

Mad at the Razoks for existing and then daring to invade earth.

Mad at Jack for being born.

Mad at Drustan for being so bloody slow.

Mad at Callum Jade for just about everything.

I was even mad at Roslyn, although I wasn’t sure why.

But, most of all, I was mad at myself. Frustratingly and infuriatingly mad, because I hadn’t even had to do anything yet and my entire body was shaking. What if I failed? What if I was too cowardly to even try?

I turned my head so that I was looking up at Chris when I opened my eyes again. I focused on his profile, saw nothing except that knot of clenched muscle at the end of his jaw bone, heard nothing more except the voice inside me.

I wasn’t scared.

I was absolutely petrified.

Chris slipped his hand from mine. He had to. He needed that hand to press the button. I immediately grabbed his upper arm and prepared myself for the ride.

I wasn’t brave.

I wasn’t strong.

I didn’t know if I could do this and I certainly didn’t know if I’d succeed.

But I was going to try.

Not because I wanted Chris to live so that we could be together. Not because I wanted Chris alive so he could fulfil his destiny and save the world.

All I wanted was for Chris not to be dead.

Over and over, that voice inside my heart chanted, “I want Chris not to be dead.”

And then Chris’s finger covered the tiny blue dot and the 22
nd
century and everything in it fell away.

Chapter 22

T
he spinning vortex crushed my bones and pulped my flesh. My physical body had disintegrated before I could register pain. I was nothing more than a barely conscious thought, and then I wasn’t even that.

The second my body reshaped, even before my eyes blinked open, even as my first post-leap thought just started to form, I acted. I braced my palms on the ground and heaved against the weight on top of me with all my might. I heaved and flipped with a strength that shouldn’t have been possible and found myself lying on my back.

Flattening Chris beneath me.

Staring into the shock that turned Jack’s eyes black and his pallor a vapid yellow.

Jack tried to stop. I saw it on his face as clearly as if he’d frozen mid-plunge to tell me so himself.

The last thing I remember doing is laughing. Somewhat hysterically. The last thought I remember thinking was, “Of course he’s shocked. A second ago I was in school uniform and now I’m dressed in a white T-shirt and...”

Chapter 23

I
must be getting used to the Leaping, I thought, stretching out my spine in comfort. I felt far more relaxed and less mutant froggie than the first time.

Oh, crap…

My eyes popped open as I remembered I was supposed to be saving Chris, rolling over and flipping positions to put me between him and Jack. The freaking odds of succeeding were bad enough without me taking the time to go all kitten-like on the forest—only, I wasn’t on the floor of Biggs Hill Forest.

I was staring up at a television screen attached to the wall. The channel was tuned into the Magic music channel and the volume turned down to a low hum.

“Willow? Simon... Simon! Willow, darling, you’re awake.” Mum was leaning over me, stroking my cheek, her tears falling onto my face. “I knew you’d come back to us. Oh, dear Lord, I just knew you’d come back to us.”

“Willow, honey...”

I smiled up at my dad. I wondered why I was so deliriously happy to see him, then I recalled the last couple of months when he hadn’t exactly been around.

He stood on the other side of my bed, looking down on me. I’d never seen dad cry, but his eyes were definitely glazed with something. “We’ve been so worried,” he said.

“Simon, ring for the nurse.”

“I’ll be right back, honey,” Dad told me. He didn’t move. “Don’t go anywhere. Stay there... stay awake, honey.”

“I won’t,” I croaked. Well, I hadn’t meant to croak, but my throat wasn’t working too well. “Water,” I croaked again.

“Yes, right. Water.” He glanced about, confused and disorientated. “And I should get the nurse.”

Dad’s a high court barrister. He does steel nerve and raw gut bravado. He doesn’t do confused and disorientated. Things must be very bad.

“Here you go, darling.” Mum was holding a glass of water to my lips. Her hand cradled behind my head to lift my lips to the glass.

“Well, I’ll fetch the nurse,” Dad repeated to himself as he back-stepped from the room, his gaze fixed on me until the doorway cut him off.

I tried to sip deeply, but the glass wasn’t angled right. The few drops eased the scratch in my throat. When I reached for the glass to sip properly, I saw the tube hanging from my arm. My eyes followed the transparent tubing, from the bandage at my wrist to the IV bag hooked onto a stand.

“Jack,” I gasped. Everything snapped into place, like the gears in my brain had just being oiled. “Is Chris okay? Where’s Jack? What happened?”

“Darling. Willow.” Mum guided my head to the pillow, then set the glass down on a small bedside table and wrapped her hands around mine, squeezing my fingers.

I felt the pressure and frowned down at my broken hand. Not so broken anymore. I wriggled my hand from her grasp and looked at my fingers. I could move them freely, no pain. Had the leaping healed me?

My frown returned to Mum. I had to know that Chris was alive. Had the police been called? Had they taken Jack away? Why was I in hospital? I didn’t feel pain. I could swear Jack had stabbed me. Where? My abdomen, I thought. Shouldn’t there be pain? “What happened, Mum?”

“Darling.” Her hands found mine again, wrapping, squeezing. Her gaze was warm, but her smile was reserved. No, not reserved. Cautious. “I think we should wait for the nurse.”

So, it was bad news. If Chris was- no, I still couldn’t think it.

I shuffled up into a partial sitting position, my head still resting against the stack of starched pillows. I couldn’t help noticing how easily and painlessly my tummy muscles contracted as I moved. There were no bandages around my abdomen. I’d done more than survive. I’d apparently survived without a scratch. And I was horribly afraid that Jack’s blade had found its true mark after all. That would be just so like me. To faint again at the last moment and topple off Chris, exposing him.

I banged my head backwards and hit pillow.

“Willow,” Mum cried sharply. “Be careful, darling. Your head.”

I stared into her worried green eyes and said firmly, “Tell me. Please.”

She hesitated, then yielded. Her fingers tightened around mine. “You’ve been in a coma for five weeks, darling. The doctors weren’t sure—” She shook her head. “But you’re awake now. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“A coma?” The panic eased from lungs. My body went limp, in a good way. “I’ve been in a coma for five weeks.”

Mum was looking at me carefully, searching for something.

I smiled at her.

And then I was laughing.

Thinking.

We’d been in the woods. I’d had some freaky panic attack and passed out. Knocked my head? I’d been in a coma! There was no such thing as leaping and Razoks. For goodness sake, when the hell had I developed such a ridiculous imagination?

“Darling?”

“I’m fine, Mum.” My laughter dried up, but I was smiling like crazy. Of course my fingers weren’t broken. Never had been. Chris was safe. Jack wasn’t a genetically engineered weapon. And the only aliens around belonged in movies like the ‘When the Earth Stood Still’ and serialised shows like ‘The X-Files.’

“What a nightmare,” I whispered to myself.

“Do you remember what happened?”

I looked at Mum, considering my words. No ways would I mention time travel and aliens, not even as a figment of my imagination. She looked worried enough. “I was in the woods. With Chris and Jack.”

“We were messing around after school,” came a subdued voice from across the room.

My gaze shot up, and landed on Chris. He was standing just inside the doorway, his arms folded, his jaw strained and his colour ashen. So familiar. As if he’d just stepped out of my coma induced nightmare.

Those grey eyes drilled into mine, steady and filled with an urgency I shouldn’t recognise. I mean, seriously, I hardly knew Christian Wood.

Except in my dreams.

Heat flushed to my cheeks and I grimaced. “What are you doing here?”

“Christian’s been here every day, darling,” said Mum. “He’s been terribly worried, and his lovely grandmother has allowed him to spend most of each day here at the hospital.”

Why? That’s what I wanted to know. In the woods, he’d barely wanted to know me.

Chris appeared to not have heard my mum. His eyes never left me. And he continued as if Mum hadn’t spoken. “Jack and I were throwing knives, taking turns at aiming for a tree across the clearing.”

Huh? Jack and Chris being all chummy in the woods? I don’t think so. My brows lifted high at Chris.

“You know, Christian, we should allow Willow to tell us in her own words.”

Neither of us spared my mum a glance.

“Willow was hanging with us, goofing about, and she somehow managed to stumble in the line of Jack’s knife just as he threw it.”

Excuse me! I was goofing about? I might have been in a coma, but my brain was so not fried. No goofing and no stumbling. Punches and silly boy testosterone, now that I remembered all too well.

“A stupid accident. Jack feels terrible, Willow.”

I gawked at Chris. I was too baffled to talk. Otherwise I would have barked at him to shut up with the lies.

“Thank you, Christian,” said Mum in her professional voice. “That’s really enough. The police would like to hear Willow’s version first, and so would her father and I.”

“He feels so terrible,” Chris went on, now blatantly ignoring my mum, “he actually told the police that he’d charged at you and stabbed you on purpose. He thinks he did, in his mind. It’s just the shock, of course.”

“Christian,” snapped Mum. Her hands drifted free from mine as she stood. “I think you should leave. Now.”

Chris stepped further into the room. “I’ve explained everything to the police,” he told me. The urgency was in his voice, in the way he held himself. Only his eyes showed desperation. “I hope Jack understands that he’s not to blame. You know he isn’t, don’t you?” Pleading replaced the desperation in his stone grey eyes. “Jack thinks that he lost it in a raging fit but we both know that Callum Jade is responsible.”

“That’s enough, young man.” Mum marched around the bed and made to grab Chris.

He dodged her in a move that brought him to my bedside.

“Callum Jade?” I murmured, staring up at Chris. Could it be a coincidence? Maybe Callum Jade was the name of some comic super hero that had worked itself into my coma.

Mum made another grab for Chris and he jerked his arm out of reach. The sleeve of his jumper slid down to reveal a chunky black watch. With a double set of dials and that weird radar scan in the two small inner circles.

“Wait,” I yelped at Mum.

Dread clutched at my heart, but didn’t stick. Because, along with all the bad, there were some parts of my coma that I didn’t want to lose to reality. Like the part where Chris had kissed me. And his confession. And the moment we’d shared across the table in that horrible lob bar.

“Leave Chris alone,” I said calmly (but in a serious don’t-try-this-at-home tone) as Mum got hold of his arm and looked ready to march him from the room.

Mum glared at me. Her mouth turned down in a grim line. She was furious. Not at me, I knew. “Willow, what happened in those woods? You were brought to the hospital in an ambulance five weeks ago, with a stab wound in your side that somehow induced a coma the doctors could not explain.” Her voice pitched with emotion. “Who did this to you, darling? You know you can tell me anything. What happened?”

I gave her a bleak look, then edged my chin at Chris. “What he said.”

I didn’t look back at Mum. I saw the tightness in Chris’s jaw ease just before he turned and left without any acknowledgement or thanks. But he didn’t need to thank me. I’d gone along with Chris’s story because it was the right thing to do.

Chris was alive. We’d come through this. I hadn’t failed. And Jack wasn’t to blame. I’d known that for a while. But now I could afford to really believe it, maybe even do something about it, without feeling as if I was being split in half. Because Chris was alive!

The nurse came in then, followed by a Doctor Steinberg. He had silver hair and a stern face that didn’t soften as he examined me, explaining how there was no medical reason for my coma. Mum and Dad stayed behind when the doctor and nurse left, but as much as I wanted to watch them just being together, my eyes grew heavy. I don’t know why I was so tired, I’d been sleeping for five weeks.

The next time I woke, sunlight streamed through the hospital blinds. And Jack was at my bedside, holding my hand. He jerked away the moment my eyes opened, as if he’d been caught doing something wrong.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.

I smiled at him. I couldn’t talk. As I looked into his dark eyes, my heart surged with emotions so strong, they trapped my breath. He’d always been dangerously yummy, but now there were tragic shadows buried in the bones of his cheekbones. The guilt and horror haunting his face added a depth to his dark beauty that sludged my knees into instant meltdown.

“I’m absolutely fine,” I managed to say at last. “Where are my parents?”

“Your dad took your mum home for a few hours rest. She’s lived in this room for the last five weeks.”

“Jack, how are you doing?”

He shrugged my question away. “God, Willow, I don’t know how to say sorry.” His eyes pierced my soul, bleeding an urgent desire to protect and cleanse from it.

I reached for his hand and pulled it over the sheet, twining my fingers in his. “Jack, I want to explain everything to you. I’m not sure how, and I have to think about how to put it, but none of this is your fault.”

He pulled his hand away roughly. “Dammit, Willow. Not you as well. What’s the hell is—” He caught his temper and covered his mouth with his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising.”

“You’re right. No apology can make up for what I did. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“Well, I do forgive you,” I told him. Not because there was anything to forgive, but it was all I could give him until Chris and I found a way to make him understand. A simple explanation would never work.

“I don’t want to be forgiven.”

I frowned at him in exasperation. “What do you want, Jack?”

He leaned forward. “I want you to tell the police the truth. I can take any punishment. They refuse to believe me. Anything is better than...”

“The agony of self-punishment,” I supplied when he didn’t finish. He’d already punished himself to hell and back. The scars were embedded in his eyes and carved into his face.

He looked at me, long and hard as he drew back in his seat again. Some of the torment drained from his eyes. “Ah, so that’s your game.” A half grin touched his lips. There was no amusement or pleasure in it. “You think a prison sentence will give me absolution I don’t deserve. You’re wrong, Willow. I could rot in jail a hundred years and still not forgive myself.”

Oh, Jack.

I didn’t know how to respond. So I didn’t. For now, at least he wasn’t pushing me to hand him over to the police.

Jack stood. “I’m glad you’re going to be okay.”