Expel (3 page)

Chapter 4
 

Time After Time

Ezrina instructs me to race out of the Transfer towards the cliff adjacent to the haunted mansion that Marshall held me in during my quasi capture last month. Her instructions sounded perfectly sane and acceptable when she spouted them off while wheeling Logan into the chop shop.
Run at top speed into the base of the cliff
—she insisted that was the portal back into my world. Funny thing is,
my world
is a pretty broad definition of where I might land. Technically I could end up in China or the Netherlands. Two completely different and wonderful places, I’m sure, but miles away from where I belong. And,
hello
? What the hell kind of lunacy is it to run into a granite wall? Since when does charging into a solid surface ever sound like a good idea?

The dark shingled roof of the mansion glints under a pale limestone moon as I pick up speed. A cluster of freaky looking dead people in eighteen-century attire roam the streets with their eerie cackles, their strange buzzing speech. I try to ignore the fact they’ve amassed along the roadside as I parade my insanity. Instead, I center my focus on the ever-expanding cliff, and accelerate.

It draws near with its dark wingspan, wide as the ocean.

Crap!

This is so going to hurt really, really bad if it doesn’t work.

A wild thought darts through me—what if this is all some ingenious way to kill me? What if Ezrina’s resurrection efforts include yours truly, and she jumps into my broken bag of bones as her take-two entrance into the world?

God—I’m going to knock myself out and wake up as Ezrina. Or worse—never wake up again.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” It bumps out of me. It’s coming. The wall of granite swoops in like a buzzard in flight. It’s going to take me down, initiate me into the afterlife, and forever I’ll be forced to tell people I died by way of self-inflicted stupidity.

I let out a ferocious scream as I barrel towards destiny—connect with the God-breathed rock—and push right through it. An intense vibration—that tuning fork feeling comes over me, envelops me like a mist. My muscles struggle to move, my legs retard in their effort to run. It’s futile, like trying to move underwater, slow and lethargic.

A burst of light emerges. I fly forward with the charge of gravity laying over me, heavy as lead, and do a faceplant into a nest of pea gravel.

I land on a murky shore with fog so thick the only sign of the ocean is the salty spray prickling over me. I get up and trip over a branch, try to gain my bearings as I maneuver over rocks and land face down on a bed of jagged stones. A sharp sting initiates over the side of my cheek as I pant and gasp, take in the familiar scents and sounds around me.

Paragon.

I rake the pads of my fingers soft along my jaw and glance down at the crimson stain. The sound of waves speeding in my direction catches my attention. I look up in time to see a wall of water baptize me with its glory, refresh me from my stint in the Transfer. I wish it could wash away the memory of Logan in that tube, the thought of Gage in a grave.

I look up to see a cliff side I’ve long since come to memorize. The impossible winding road to the top—the cypress trees that dot the path with their bare roots dangling exposed, holding on just to survive, it all feels like home. I know how those suspended roots feel. Without Logan and Gage I’m on a precipice. I can’t do this life without them.

“Devil’s Peak,” I pant, saturated from my impromptu bath in the Pacific.

I struggle to my feet and begin the slow meandering plod uphill.

“I’m going to see Gage,” I murmur as I crest the top and land in the barren parking lot.

Perfect. The one time I happen to need a ride there’s not a soul around. This place is usually littered with at least a handful of people from East and West High. And for sure I would have broken my personal rule of never asking anyone from East for anything since they’re assholes in general. But assholes aside, I’m broken and desperate, and I need to find Gage.

The sky morphs into one long shadow. The cool evening air gives rise as the ground clouds start rolling in from the sea.

God, what I’ve landed myself here so far into the future—everyone I know has long since died? That’s so terrible I can’t even stand to think about it. I should never have told Marshall off. Already I’m feeling the urge to beg his forgiveness—crawl all the way to his horse ranch and offer to lick the stables clean if he’ll forget I ever evicted my spit in his eye.

A truck races down the highway, and I raise an arm in an effort to garner its attention. I trip over a rock and land hard on my right palm, flattening a plant in the process. A horrific pain rips through my arm, my fingers spasm and burn like I’ve just stoked a fire with my bare hand.

I let out a scream that glorifies the abilities of vocal cords everywhere.

I scream for Logan and for Gage in one long frustrated howl to somehow clue the universe in on the fact that I’ve finally had enough of the torment, enough of the pain both emotional and physical.

A monster truck zooms towards me at full throttle, stopping in haste just shy of my knees, which surprises me because I fully expected it to run me over. That’s because I fully expect Marshall to turn me into road kill sooner than later. So, I’m rather pleasantly surprised when a red-faced Ellis Harrison appears beside me, that is until he begins unzipping his pants.

“Relax, I know how to treat Stinging Nettle,” he shouts.

Then it hits me—what he’s about to do, and it’s like we’re in synch, Ellis and I.

He stares down at my stretched taut skin, my purple bloated fingers and gasps.

“Shit! Hold still,” he commands.

Instinctively I hold out my swollen hand and look away just as the flesh is exposed from under his boxers. I feel the warm liquid spear over my hand and actually begin to quell the pain before another bout of prickling torture runs up through my arm.

“Get in, I’ll take you to the hospital.” Dr. Ellis zips up his jeans after relieving himself on my person.

He helps me into his truck by way of a not so graceful push that lands me headfirst into the driver’s seat. I pop back up and he buckles me in like a perfect gentleman as if he didn’t just piss all over the hand I rely on to do just about everything. I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection—bloodied face, hair frizzed out like Ezrina.

Perfect. I’m morphing already.

“Where the hell have you been?” He looks me over wild-eyed as he fishtails out of the parking lot.

“I’m happy to see you, too,” I’m quick to reply. “You ever piss on me again, you’re a dead man.” I punctuate the threat with a wince as unreal pain shoots up my bloated flesh. “Where’s Gage?” I cry out the words knowing full well they’re embedded in a pain all their own.

Gage’s perfect face imprints itself before me like a silent etch, a tattoo on the lens of my eyes that I could never get rid of, wouldn’t want to if I were able.

“You don’t know?” His brows form a sharp V.

“Tell me he’s alive,” I blink back tears in rapid succession.

“You’ve been gone for two effing weeks, Messenger. Logan’s at some clinic his uncle shipped him off to, and Gage—” he pauses, squinting into the side of the road.

“Where’s Gage,” I breathe it out inaudible. Logan I could save, he was a Count, a Celestra before that, but Gage—he’s a Levatio as susceptible to mortality as any full-blooded human.

The road elongates in front of us like a dark spool of ribbon that chases an invisible horizon. The black evergreens of Paragon anchor themselves into the side of the road, taunt me with their spear-like branches, they already know what’s become of my love. I cut them a hard look. I’m so sick of the island and all of its secrets. It can all go to hell.

“Tell me, Ellis.”

“I’ll let you see for yourself.”
  

Chapter 5

True Love’s Kiss

Paragon Hospital sits like a game piece erecting itself like an awkward protrusion against the dense woods. The shadowed pines encompass it like a garrison—wrap its arms around the infirmary, thick as a cloak. A listless night grounds itself in reality as the crickets saw through silence with their grating, monotonous song.

“So, I was thinking,” Ellis switches off the radio and picks up my good hand. The sky blushes a severe shade of purple as a glimmer of stars bloom their illuminations from behind the foggy curtain. “Since Logan is in traction somewhere and Gage has temporarily, or well, let’s face it, permanently left the building, I think this might not be a bad time to give you and me a shot.” He nods into his ludicrous epiphany before dive-bombing my left hand with his lips.

“What do you mean left the building?” Before I can escalate over the alarming possibilities, Ellis’ truck picks up speed and careens into an overgrown fountain. It knocks the top tier off its base and sends it crashing into the hood.

He flattens his palm against my chest as a protective measure. “You OK?”
Short stop technique in full effect.

I pry his fingers off my boobs. “I heard that,” I give him a dirty look before opening the door and landing with a soft thud into a foot of ice water.

The hospital glows against the night sky like a glittering queen as if her beauty held healing properties all its own.

I wade my way out of the fountain.

I’m going to see Gage.

At last.

***

 
It takes forever to convince a girl about Mia’s age to look him up in the database and tell me he’s on the fifth floor, room 502.

I say the number over and over to myself like a hymn as I ride the elevator.

I’m going to see Gage, be with him—touch him.

The walls recede behind the glass as the floor pushes up with a soft whoosh. My thoughts revert back to Logan. Ezrina forbid me to stay, said if I witnessed the resurrection procedures it would unnecessarily endanger me. She swore he would arrive alive sooner than later before chasing me out of the Transfer herself.
  

A soft bell rings, and the doors pull open. I stride out into the long pale hall and read the gilded numbers along the wall. It just so happens that room 502 is directly in front of the nurse’s station. Three women gawk at a giant red velvet cake, eager, with forks in hand. Looks like they’ll be busy for a while.

I tiptoe inside as quiet as my sopping wet shoes will allow and find a series of sheets dividing up one giant room.

A girl emerges from the far end. She dips into me and squints.

“Skyla?”

“Brielle!” I lunge into her with a deep full-bodied hug. Her hair is different, brassier, blonder. “Where’s Gage?”

“He’s here.” She holds out my hands and examines me in horror. “What the hell happened to you? Were you living in the woods or something? I tried to call, but they found your cell in the forest behind the bowling alley.”

“Oh, right,” I try to move past her.

“Chloe’s back there.” She darts a harsh look. “She’s been here for him every single day since he was hit. How could you?”

“What?” I don’t know whether to shake her or bolt. “I didn’t do it, I swear. I’d never in a million years hurt Logan or Gage.” Well maybe at one time Logan, but all that’s different now.

“The cops are looking for you.” Her eyes bug out in appreciation of my newly declared fugitive status. “You sure you don’t want to go to Canada, change your name or something?”

“No,” I step past her and note the unmistakable bulge in her shirt. I almost forgot all about the baby Count she’s incubating, no thanks to Drake.

“I have to warn you, it’s not pretty.”

“Oh God,” I cry, running down to the end of the depressive room. I slip in through the curtain and find Chloe coiled like a serpent on a small vinyl couch.

“Nurse!” she cries, bolting to her feet.

There he is—my dark prince with his ebony hair, perfect sharp features buried under a tangle of medical devices.

I take a breath and hold it. It’s as if the universe skipped a heartbeat, time stood still and let me take him for one heavenly moment.

“Gage,” I make my way over to him. An entire network of tubes fill his mouth, his nostrils—a corrugated plastic tube is inserted right through his trachea. A machine that looks like a robot lights up in brilliant reds and yellows each time he breathes, depresses an exhausting sigh as it forces him to exhale. “Oh my, God,” I gently lay my lips over his face, feel the heat from his body far too hot to be safe. “He’s burning up,” I try and cool him with the back of my good hand.

Chloe, who I hadn’t even noticed was missing, reappears from behind the curtain with a nurse who looks as if she might double as a linebacker on Sundays.

“The police are on their way,” Chloe assures me.

“Ma’am,” the nurse beats it out in haste, “I’ll have to call security if you don’t step away from the patient.” Her thick lips are split on the bottom near a fading green bruise. They let me know she’s not above getting physical to remove me from the premises.

“Gage,” I lean in and whisper into his ear, brush my lips in a tender line along his temple. “Gage, wake up. It’s me, Skyla.” I push a kiss into the side of his face and linger against the stubble, taste the salt from his skin and just glory in his presence.

Voices begin to rumble outside the curtain—an entire army of footsteps draw near. The nurse yanks at the divider quick and harsh, eliciting a violent scream as she throws back the curtain.

“Skyla!” I look up to see Mom and Tad, Barron and Emma all staring back at me bewildered.

“Gage!” I urge him to open his eyes, but nothing.

“Get that girl away from my son!” Emma shouts as the four of them storm me like a wall of riot police.
 
 

“Gage, it’s me,” I plead. “I love you so much,” my voice breaks, “please hear me.”

Chloe scoffs at my efforts as she eyes the growing disgruntled crowd of friends and relations with a secret smile.

“Where in the hell have you been?” Tad, my stepfather, booms. He comes up from behind and buckles my arms around my back like a common criminal.
To hell with explanations, let’s see her try and sidestep her way out of this one.

“I swear I wasn’t driving the car.” I struggle to break free from the arm bar he has me in and stomp on his shoes like I’m trying to kill a spider.

“Let go of her,” Mom pushes Tad hard in the shoulder.

“Not on your life!” he crows. “I suppose you’d like to take her home and coddle her, make her some nice hot cocoa, warm her jammies in the dryer, well those days are over, Lizbeth. If there’s one thing I’m not doing, it’s harboring a fugitive.”

“I’m not a fugitive, I swear.” I manage to free my arms. “I wasn’t driving the car that night. I think Chloe was.” It slips out of me so fast I don’t have time to process the fact the accused is standing less than ten feet away.

A collective gasp rivals the decibel level on Gage’s breathing machine.

All six pair of eyes settle over me with serious looks of disapproval.

“That girl,” Tad pokes a finger in her direction, “has held vigil by this poor kid’s bedside the entire time you’ve been out on the lamb. She has displayed nothing but her undying devotion to him. And, if I had to venture which one of you were his girlfriend, I would peg her a thousand times over.”

I’d like to peg Chloe a thousand times over—with long rusted nails.
    

“Skyla,” Mom leans in with apprehension as if she’s about to talk me off the ledge of a building. “Let Gage be. We need to take you somewhere.” The whites of her eyes sparkle like shards.

“No,” I shake my head. “I won’t leave.” I lay my check against his burning flesh, press in another quick kiss and savor the brine of his skin. I would die before I left Gage again.

“He’s in a coma, Skyla,” Mom tries to coax me away with the soothing tone of her voice. That may have worked when I was three and throwing a fit over a toy in the grocery store, but she could breathe fire and I would maintain my position—burn alive just to be near Gage. “He can’t hear you. He doesn’t even know you’re in the room.”

I take in a breath and forget to let go.

Dear God.

“We need to go for a little drive.” Tad steers me to the foot of the bed by the shoulders, forcing me to plow my feet as I move along.

A soft groan emits from behind.

“It’s Gage!” Brielle screeches.

Gage gives a series of monosyllable moans, and the room erupts in cheers.

“It’s you, Skyla,” Brielle beams a smile over at me. “It was true love’s kiss,” she cuts a hard look to Chloe.

The room floods with doctors and nurses fiddling with the nozzles and hoses attached to his body.

“Go to him,” Emma yanks me free from Tad’s stranglehold and forces me through the tangle of bodies. “Kiss him again, Skyla. Tell him you’re home.”

And I do.