Listed: Volume II (9 page)

But
she didn’t need to keep her eyes open now, so she closed them.

*
* *

The next time conscious
awareness pushed its painful way into her mind, her body hurt even worse. She
was so hot that, for a moment, it felt like she couldn’t breathe.

She
pushed the covers off frantically and took several ragged gasps.

“Emily?”

The
voice grated on her nerves so she ignored it. She wasn’t even sure where it
came from. She tossed on the bed, kicking at the covers and trying to find a
cool spot on the sheet.

She
was sweating, and her clothes were oppressive and confining. The ponytail was
poking into the back of her head, and her bra was wretchedly tight.

Her
eyes were tightly closed, but she jerked when something touched her head. She
opened her eyes to discover what had touched her and gave a little sob because
the dim room seemed to blind her.

She
saw Paul, still looking cool and handsome in his blue shirt, checking the
thermometer.

She
sucked in more air and closed her eyes, wanting everything to just go away. Her
ponytail poked her so horribly that she reached up and yanked the elastic out
of her hair and threw the band blindly across the room.

Then
she felt something deliciously cold and wet on her forehead. It moved slowly to
her cheeks and her neck. She sighed in relief as her face started to cool a
little.

When
she opened her eyes again, it wasn’t quite so unbearable.

“Do
you think you can get up and change clothes?” Paul asked, still wiping her face
with the cool, wet washcloth. “I think you’d feel better. I should have had you
change earlier.”

Emily
wanted desperately to get out of her bra, and that was enough incentive to
heave herself into a sitting position.

The
room whirled sickening at the change of position. For some reason, it made her
realize something else.

“I
need to go to the bathroom,” she mumbled. She was horrified at the idea of
walking all the way across the room.

Paul
nodded and put down the wet washcloth.  “Okay. I’ll help you get there.”

Emily
hauled her legs over the side of the bed and sat for a minute, breathing deeply
and getting her balance. Then she let Paul help her up with an arm around her
waist, and she leaned on him as she hobbled across the room.

His
body was so warm that it made her feel even hotter, but at least he was strong
and hard—good for leaning on. Her legs were working better by the time she got
to the bathroom, and she told him, “I’ll be all right in here. Can you find me
something cool to wear?” She gestured toward the packed luggage she’d intended
to take to Egypt.

Paul
looked a little dubious about leaving her to her own devices, but she found
enough energy to close the door in his face.

She
just wasn’t going to pee in front of Paul.

After
she’d gone to the bathroom, she leaned on the sink as another wave of heat
flooded her body. She was sweating again, so she splashed cold water on her
face. It felt good, but she got her loose hair wet, and it clung to her skin in
an irritating way.

Since
the ponytail in the back of her head had driven her crazy, she fumbled in her
makeup bag for two elastic bands and pulled her hair into two low, loose
ponytails, which would hopefully keep it off her neck but not poke her so
painfully in the head.

She
caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and realized she looked like an
eight-year-old, but she felt too bad to even care.

There
was a tap on the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”
Her voice was croaking again, and the effort she’d exerted caught up with her.
She closed the toilet and sat on it, afraid she might fall over.

Paul
came in with her change of clothes—a white tank-top and pale blue cotton sleep
shorts. “Do you need help?”

She
shook her head and groped for the clothes, wanting to give him some sort of thanks
but not having the energy.

He
only shut the bathroom door partway on his way out, but she barely noticed. She
dragged off her top and pants and was finally able to take off her damned bra.
After she dropped the clothes on the floor in a heap, she pulled on the much
cooler tank and shorts.

She
rallied herself enough to stand and then limped out to the bedroom.

Paul
was waiting, and he put his arm around her again to support her on her way back
to the bed.

He
was hot—way too hot—and his arm at her waist was way too tight. She didn’t like
it. She wanted it off her. But some vague awareness that he was trying to help
made her bite her lip instead of snap at him to get away from her.

“Try
to drink some water,” Paul said gently, handing her a fresh, cool bottle after
she’d sat down on the edge of the bed.

She
obediently took several cold swigs, although she choked on the last one and the
coughing hurt her entire body.

“And
you can take some Tylenol now,” he said, handing her the pills. “It should
help.”

She
didn’t want to swallow anything else, and she couldn’t seem to focus enough to
coordinate her hand. One of the pills fell onto the floor, and she almost
yelled at Paul since it felt like his fault for giving them to her.

He
leaned down to pick the pill up so at least she didn’t have to do that.

She
was flushed and perspiring from new waves of heat by the time she’d swallowed
the pills and was able to lie down.

Paul
tried to cover her up, but she yanked the covers out of his hand and kicked
them down to the bottom of the bed.

She
thought she’d made him mad—which was, for some reason, a satisfying
thought—when he walked away from the bed. But he returned in just a moment and
put a wonderfully cool washcloth on her forehead.

Emily
released a raspy sigh as he wiped at her hot face. She closed her eyes and
breathed deeply, thinking if she was perfectly still maybe everything wouldn’t
hurt so much.

It
wasn’t long before the coolness became too cool. She mumbled out a wordless
complaint as she felt the cold cloth on her neck, and her skin broke out in
goose bumps. The wet cloth went away, and she groped blindly for the covers,
but they were too far down the bed for her to reach. She writhed restlessly,
her bare skin exposed to the cool of the room.

Then
Paul pulled up the blankets and she was warm again. She tried to thank him—not
because she felt grateful but because she was fuzzily aware that it was
something civilized people were supposed to do—but all she heard was a hoarse
mumble come out of her mouth.

Then
he wasn’t standing next to the bed anymore, and it was a relief. She hoped he’d
gone away.

She
peeked out from under her lashes and saw that he hadn’t left the room after
all. He was sitting on a chair, not far from the bed, with a book opened on his
lap.

But
he wasn’t reading the book. He was just watching her.

He
was full of heat. He was making it hot in the room. Even his eyes were making
her hotter. She grumbled under her breath and turned over on her other side,
with her back to him so she wouldn’t get the full-force of his heat.

This
was her room. He shouldn’t be sitting here. The chair must be uncomfortable,
and he didn’t have anything to do but stare at her. He should go into another
room where he could work or watch television.

She
didn’t want him here. He was making her hot.

*
* *

Emily was smothering.
She was
smothering
. She couldn’t breathe through the heat bearing down
on her.

She
couldn’t breathe. She needed help. She needed
help
.

“Help!”
she gasped through parched lips. Her body arched up with the panic of
awareness.  It was dark. She was alone. And she was dying.

“Paul,
help!”

“I’m
here,” she heard. “It’s okay. I’m here.” Then something was cool on her
forehead. On her cheeks. On her neck.  And she could almost breathe.

She
heard drips of water, loud and grating, but then it was cool and wet again on
her skin. She opened her mouth but it was dust dry, and she didn’t have breath
enough to speak.

Then
something cool and wet was in her mouth, dribbling down her chin. She swallowed
instinctively and felt the water as it made its way down her aching throat.

She
wanted more so she groped for it, but someone else’s hand was on the bottle,
someone else’s hand was on the back of her head, tilting it up so she could
drink.

When
she’d had as much as she could, she pushed the water away. Then the hand
lowered her head back down, and she tossed her head frantically on the pillow
because it was just too hot.

Then
she felt that coolness on her skin again. And fingers were pushing loose
strands of hair off her face, making it cooler at her hairline too.

And
she could breathe.

The
world was a whirl of heat and pain, but at least she could breathe again.

*
* *

She was on fire.

She
was surrounded by fire. Her house was on fire, and she was inside it.

She
wasn’t supposed to be inside it.

The
fire was hot, scorching her, killing her.

Panic
overwhelmed her—she wasn’t supposed to be in the house when it burned down—and
she jerked up into a sitting position, trying to explain that the house burning
down was just a warning. Vincent Marino had purposefully waited until there was
no one home.

She
said that she and her aunt had already left the house. They’d gone to a movie
that evening. The theater would be dark and cool.

He
lied
to her. Paul must have lied to her. She was angry because she
trusted him. He’d told her he would protect her, and then he’d let her and her
aunt die.

She
tried to move, tried to get out of the fire by herself, without anyone's help.
But now something was holding her back. There were hands on her, and she
couldn’t get away. She couldn’t move. She screamed at them to let her go.

Paul
had lied to her. She had trusted him. And he’d let her down.

Her
aunt was lost in the fire. And now the fire had her too.

She
told them this—anyone who was listening. She yelled it at them so they would
hear. And she struggled to get out of the strong, imprisoning hands.

But
she couldn’t get them off her. And then it was worse.

The
hands were picking her up, carrying her deeper into the fire, away from the
movie theater where she wanted to go. Whoever had her was just as hot as the
fire, just as strong, just as unrelenting.

She
screamed and writhed to get away, but she couldn’t.

And
then something happened. Something changed. She was surrounded, submerged in
something cool. It covered her body, up to her neck, and it washed the fire
away.

The
hands were still there. They were still strong and unrelenting. And they were
still in control of her body.

But
it was okay. She told them it was okay.

Because
at least the fire was gone.

*
* *

Emily’s body was one
overwhelming ache, but it felt like her mind had pierced through a thick fog.
Each thought pained her, but there was something significant about being able
to think at all.

She
tossed restlessly under the sheets because she was so hot and uncomfortable. In
the process, she became aware of something strange.

She
was naked for some reason.

Her
hair was wet, and it was sticking to her neck and face. She didn’t like it.
Even her pillow seemed hotly damp.

She
heard a muffled voice, coming from outside the room.

She
didn’t immediately know who it was or what it meant.

“There’s
got to be something more I can do for her,” the voice said. It was rough in a
way she didn’t understand. “The last time I checked it was 104.7
⁰
.
She was delirious—I could barely control her.”

She
kicked her legs and punched her pillow, hoping it would cool things down. The
voice was grating on her, and she wished it would stop. The thickness in the
tone made something inside her hurt even more.

“I
did that. I did
everything
. I put her in a tepid bath, like you’d
suggested, and it seemed to help settle her down for now. But it’s just a
temporary fix. What if she becomes delirious again? I can’t believe we don’t
have medication that can better bring a fever down.”

The
voice stopped again, and she thought maybe it was gone for good.

But
it wasn’t. “Okay. Okay. I’ll call you if her fever spikes again.”

Then
something clicked in Emily’s mind.

Paul.
His name was
Paul
.