In Stone (14 page)

“You seem familiar,” she whispers into my ear. “Have we met before today?”

“Doubtful,” I snarl and throw my elbow back into her stomach. My bone shudders; it’s like elbowing a doorframe. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from spewing an F-bomb onslaught.

“Careful, Sugar,” Lisa warns with a sickly-sweet giggle. “I’m not as fragile as I look. Now, rumor has it that you have something that belongs to me. So tell me, are you gonna give it up, or do I have to take it from you?” She can do whatever the hell she wants to me, I’m not giving her the knife. As soon as the thought crosses my mind all sense of stability and solidness disappears. Whatever shelter from the elements the train cabin was providing is gone. The air rushes past me. It makes a din like someone shaking sheets of aluminum. We’re travelling fast. I’m trying -- really trying -- to keep a grip on my bag, but my body is going limp. From my ankles up, zero feeling. I’m water. Shit. My bag slips away from me. My fingers relax, and just like Jack had, the bag free falls into the pitch blackness.

Lisa releases me moments later in mid-air. I brace my body for a lengthy fall and a hard landing, but after only a few seconds of falling I land on frozen grass. The jolt shakes every inch of me, but it’s not as bad as I was expecting. We weren’t as high up as I thought. I roll over and cough up a cloud of displaced air. The world is juddering. My equilibrium is off, but I’m pretty sure that has less to do with the fall and more to do with how fast we were hurtling through the sky. Get up, I order myself. Get up now. But before I have chance to move, Lisa climbs over me and drops her body down onto my stomach. I cry out, winded. For a twig, she weighs a ton and then some. She starts frisking me.

“Where is it?” she asks, patting down my legs. “Where is it?” she repeats. A balloon of anger inflates inside me. My skin starts burning. It’s a prickly heat that’s begging to be scratched.

“I don’t have it,” I seethe through gritted teeth.

“Where’s the bag?” Lisa asks while desperately scanning the surrounding ground. She’s not so teasing-kitten anymore. She’s nervous. She leans over me and presses her nose against mine. It’s corpse cold. Bitch is as dead as disco, and her breath stinks like a match after it’s been struck.

“Where is it?” she growls. My fingers twitch. I want to push her off me. I want it so bad my body starts trembling. Then, as if my limbs briefly belong to someone else, my arms are extending. I push my palms into her chest with every ounce of strength that I have. Apparently, I have quite a lot of strength. She goes flying backward, travelling a good few feet before colliding with a tree and falling to the ground. A cloud of dust rises up all around her, like she’s nothing more than a sack of cement.

“What the hell?” I scrutinize my palms -- back and front --  and flex my fingers. My hands are tingling all over, but they don’t look any different. Until several droplets of blood drip onto them. I instantly assume it’s coming from Lisa, and she’s hanging over me. My head snaps up, but Lisa is still laid in a heap at the foot of the tree. I taste something warm and bitter drip from my top lip and into my mouth. It’s me; I’m having another nosebleed. I start wiping it away with my sleeve when I notice Lisa’s body moving. Time to go. I clamber to my feet.

We’re in a clearing. The moonlight bounces off the frosted grass and makes it sparkle like white sand. To my left there’s a frozen lake, and everywhere else is just scattered with snow-dipped trees. I can’t see my bag, but primal instinct wants me to save my own skin and haul ass out of here. I start running. She growls from behind me. It ricochets off the tree trunks and soaks the open space like rain.

I’m doomed, but I keep running until smash. She ploughs into me like a boulder and knocks me to my knees. The air races out of me. Something cracks deep inside my chest. There’s a good chance one of my ribs just popped. She flips me over and picks me up by the scruff of my jacket. All I feel is stabbing in my chest. Oh yeah, something is definitely not right with my ribs. Unless someone has actually jammed a sword into my side.

“What are you?” Lisa drools, slamming me up against a malting pine. Colors dart across my eyes.

“I can tell you what I’m not,” I reply, breathless. “I’m not your fucking punching bag.” I throw my head forward, and it collides with her face. I hear something split. Pain sets my whole face on fire. What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t fight. She gives herself a second to recover before looking up. Her nose is leaking a tar like substance. She grins. My brain is still vibrating.

“I want the bag.”

“I don’t know where it is.”

“I will find it. With or without you.”

I say nothing. I just stare down my nose at her. If I’m going out, I’m not going out begging. Lisa gets bored of our chat very quickly. She grabs hold of my jacket, picks me up, and throws me toward the lake. I glide for several seconds before my body slaps against the lakes icy covering. My cheek and an exposed slice of hip grate along the cold, sharp surface. The further I drift, the more skin it sheers. Everything throbs. I feel like I’ve been mowed down by a Big Rig. I force my head up just in time to see the flame-haired demon disappear amidst the trees. My brain is in no fit state to start fathoming geography, but I’m pretty sure she’s heading back toward the train and inevitably my bag.

“Oh god.” I wince as I force myself up. I have every intention of going after her as I start to shift toward the edge of the ice on my backside, but it’s unstable … very unstable. Every time I move I hear a sound like someone is crushing a plastic cup. This is not good. I have to stop, stay still, or the ice is going to cave.

“Jack,” I scream at the top of my lungs. My cry is carried off into the distance. “Jack!” I hear nothing. I try to relax and think of my body being as light as possible, but shakes are tearing through me. I start to sob. I’m freezing and frightened. Splits in the ice keep shooting out from under my butt; they’re like streaks of lightning. Forget this. I can’t just sit here and wait for the ice to fall through. I decide to make a run for it.

“One ...” I kneel up and ready myself to launch. “Two ...” I take a deep breath. “Three.” I push myself up and start running. I slip and slide my way toward the safety of the bank, but before I can reach the edge the ice breaks. The world slows down to almost still as my body hits the water. It stings like I’m being whipped with barbed wire. No time for pain. I kick my way back up to the surface, but instead of air I meet with more ice. I must have drifted away from the hole I fell through. I hammer on the cold lake cover with my fists. I beat it and beat it, but each blow packs less punch. My air supply is almost up. It’s dark, and it’s cold, and my muscles are losing the fight against the icy straightjacket encasing me.

Everything goes silent the second I stop thrashing. Nothing drowns out noise like being submerged. I think of swimming, pushing myself through the water as a kid, pretending to be a mermaid. I close my eyes. The dirty water, pushing against my lips, finds a crack to seep through. My mouth fills; my throat burns. I can’t believe I’m going out like this.

LIPS ARE LOCKED AROUND
mine. A weight on my chest pushes down, hard; once, twice, three times. Liquid rises in my throat. I’m lifted and tilted as I spew a torrent of grubby lake water. It tasted crappy going down; it tastes much worse coming back up.

“Beau.” Jack’s voice is panicked. His hands encase my cheeks. His skin is usually warm, but I feel no heat at all. I want to see him, to see his face, but I can’t open my eyes. It’s as if someone has taped them shut.

“Stay with me,” he urges in a breathless whisper. I feel his hands tuck up  underneath my legs and arms. He holds me tight to his chest and wraps something around my shoulders. It could be his jacket. He’s rubbing my back ferociously, so he’s definitely trying to warm me up. Unfortunately, it’s not working. I need more heat. At this point, climbing inside an oven might be the only thing that’s going to thaw me out.

Jack starts running -- fast, but not superhuman fast, which I’m grateful for. I don’t think my body could withstand any more trauma.

We’re on the move for close to forever before Jack sets me down on the ground.

“Hold on, Beau. Just a few more minutes.” There’s a promise in his words. I use that promise as a rope. I cling to it, refusing to fall into the void threatening to eat me up.

Jack lifts me back up. A sudden influx of light makes the back of my eyelids glow. A warm burst of air splashes against my face. It’s brilliant, like jumping from a chilly bathroom into a hot shower. The air smells like smoke, and I hear the crackling of damp wood. Jack tugs at my soggy wet clothes. He starts struggling against my jeans. He wants to pull them off, but they want to stay stuck to my legs. He wins out. I feel a draft. Should I be worried? Maybe, but I just don’t have the energy to spit my concerns out.

My sweater and shirt come up over my head. My muscles loosen when the weight of them has been lifted. The cold is already starting to shift. He lies on the ground in front of me, pulls me into his arms, and forces my body against his. Slap. Skin against skin. I guess he’s shed his clothes, too. He’s a hot plate, the center of the sun. My skin is drinking in the warmth of him.

“You’re going to be all right, Beau. Just rest,” he says in a hushed voice and starts rubbing my back again.

* * * *

A sharp snapping sound forces me to open my eyes. I don’t know where I am. Don’t know what time it is, what day it is, what year it is. A cold breeze is licking my shoulders. I’m looking at stone walls lit by a dancing yellow light. We’re in a cave. It comes back to me in a flash, a steel thump in the face. I flip over.

Pain.

I lift the jacket off the top of me and find the source. A wet graze, running over my hip. It smiles at me when I twist my body. The right side of my stomach is covered in scary shades of black and blue, but surprisingly they’re not too painful to touch. Just bruised, not broken. Funny, I swear something cracked.

“Jack?” I look up, and he’s standing right in front of me before I’ve even finished sounding out his name.

“How are you feeling?” he says. My heart splutters. I forget my name. He’s not wearing a shirt. His stomach is a valley. A shallow ravine runs from his chest to his belly button, and on either side of it are solid mounds of swollen flesh. It might be heinously inappropriate to note how good he looks au natural, but sweet cinnamon; I’ve only ever seen a body like this on a TV screen. Besides, I’m busted up, not dead.

“Like a human popsicle,” I say. There’s a heartbeat in my earlobes. If this were a period drama I’d hand-fan myself.

“Here.” He hands me a folded piece of his shirt. It’s steaming. “You should put it on your hip. It’s been boiled clean,” he says, pointing to two roaring fires at the mouth of the cave. And there was me thinking it was smoking because it had just come off his body.

“Grrrr…” My teeth slam down on my tongue as I cover the graze with the makeshift dressing. I feel the sting in my ankles. But once it settles, the dressing is soothing.

“Do you mind?” Jack’s eyes shift to the empty space beside me. A semi-naked me beside a semi-naked him. I’m still wearing my underwear. Horror. It’s not good underwear. Not even close. It’s shorts and a cartoon-print bra I’ve had since I hit puberty. I was going for comfort when dressing yesterday morning. Uncomfortable underwear during long haul -- no thanks. Perhaps if I’d have known anyone but me was going to see it I would have at least been matching. My silence stretches on for too long.

“Body heat -- it’s a survival technique -- I read about it,” he says, looking anywhere but at me. Screw embarrassment. I can’t shake the memory of how warm he is, and I want nothing more than to be smothered in that sensation.

“Sure.”

Jack climbs under the jacket. Awkwardness ensues. He’s finding it difficult to settle. He fidgets, has a hard time figuring out where to rest his hands. I might not be holding hands with the reaper anymore, but I still need him. Waiting for him to decide upon the proper etiquette gets boring very quickly. I need heat.

“Please don’t tell me you’ve come over all shy. Typical, all talk and no trousers,” I say as bold as brass, shuffling back and burrowing into his body. The sudden spike in temperature makes me shudder. I curl up like a caterpillar, tuck my legs in between his, and pull his arm around me. We’re slotted together like two spoons.

Every inch of him is pressed against me. His skin smells fresh, not manufactured. It’s earthy, clean. I take a double hit. Decide against a mind wipe when I feel my heart smile for the first time since Mark dumped me.

“I shouldn’t have left you,” he says, drowning out the gentle spit of the fire. His lips move against my shoulder blade. A cluster of pins explode in my stomach. I clear the tension from my throat.

“Like I gave you a choice. Did he make it?”

“Callum? Yes. He made it.”

Relief. We lie quiet for a while. His chin comes to rest on the top of my head. The slow beat of his heart drums against my back. I start thinking about the knife. I wonder if he knows it’s not here. I wonder if he cares. There’s a very somber air emulating from him, but I can’t work out if that’s knife-related or because I almost died.

“So, you have a tail,” I say before the silence strangles us.

“You’re still on that, huh?”