Uncanny Day (6 page)

Chapter Thirteen

MY BODY SHOT UP. Dean was there at the foot of my bed. I looked at him then instantly at my hands. No blackness, no faces of agony, no Stephanie. If it had really been her.

Dean ran his finger under his nose and nodded to me. I mimicked his motion, but my fingers found blood.

“Nolan, you've got to do something about this.”

I used the sleeve of my shirt to soak up the rest of the blood then checked it again with a fresh finger. It was clean. Rising out of my bed, I went to the bathroom, removing my shirt along the way. I knew he was just trying to look out for me, but ever since I'd been warned by Trent and then Kate alluded to something Dean had told her about me, I felt defensive with him. How much could I trust him now?

Using a wet towel from my shower early that morning, I wiped my face again then went to my closet and pulled on a new shirt.

Dean stood in my path to the hallway, unmoving.

“I don't want to have this conversation right now!” I said.

I went to step around him, and he grabbed my arm.

In a low voice I said, “Let go.”

I tried to pull away, but Dean was bigger and stronger than me, so it didn't work. Dean had somehow betrayed me to Kate; whether it was about my secret or not, I knew something wasn't right.

I looked him in his deep-set blue eyes.

“Nolan, don't you dare go inside there. I told you if you ever wanted to talk to me, we talk face-to-face.” Dean was seriously pissed now, although I wasn't enjoying this either. I'd never seen him this way.

My body flooded with anger. With my free hand I shoved him back, hard. Dean hadn't expected this and he released me.

“Look, man, I don't have to listen to you. So why don't you back off?” I said.

Dean's face fell; he was hurt by my words. We'd never fought like this before.

“Hey!” The voice startled me. “You guys ready to eat? We've been waiting.” Rick's voice cut between the two of us. Rick looked at Dean then to me, and then he turned and headed back downstairs. Dean followed suit, but I didn't move. Even though I'd been hungry ever since the sweet-and-sour chicken smell in Greg's food court, I didn't feel much like conversing with Rick and Tracy or, much less, Dean.

I took a breath and closed my eyes. Like a lightning bolt, the image of Stephanie's crumpled body struck my mind—her eyes staring up at me, her blood-red lips starting to move. I opened my eyes; my breathing quickened. My body felt instantly zapped of energy from the day's events. I wanted to go back to sleep, although I couldn't be certain another fiendish nightmare wouldn't swallow me up.

Closing the door to my room, I made the decision not to eat dinner. It wasn't the first time. The first few weeks I lived there, Tracy just made me something to eat anytime I asked while the rest of them ate together. I wasn't worried about it—they all knew what happened to Stephanie. I just needed to lie low for a while.

I threw on some headphones and woke up my laptop from sleep mode. Leaning back in the chair at my desk, I wiped my hands over my face as the trickling guitars of the band Anberlin began to rise in my head.

Then a ping noise sounded over a guitar riff. I arched up and looked at my screen. In my task bar was an instant message alert blinking green. It was from user “MuddyHuddy.” I blew out a sigh and clicked the new message.

MuddyHuddy: Whoa, intense afternoon!!!

I let the cursor sit in the reply box. Kate didn't often bother me online unless she was all wrapped up in a lead of some sort on a theory or story.

Starting to type, I began to think about how casual she was with her comment. Stephanie Daniels was dead, and for all I knew, it was my fault. I erased my first response to Kate in the reply screen. It was going to be a crack about her insensitivity. Instead I just typed:

UncannyDay: Yeah.

Seconds later, she responded.

MuddyHuddy: I heard they finally got her stable.

Kate's reply sank in. Wait, did that mean she—

I typed what I was thinking.

UncannyDay: Stephanie is alive?!?

MuddyHuddy: Yep, but they say she suffered massive head trauma and major broken bones.

I didn't even have to type my next question.

MuddyHuddy: I followed the ambulance to the hospital.

Geez, nothing held her back, but it didn't surprise me. My mind was overcome with relief as my fingers flew over the keyboard.

UncannyDay: Are you still there? Is she going to be okay?

Kate's next message took a second to come back.

MuddyHuddy: Just got home. They stopped me from going into the emergency area, but I overheard them saying the word “coma.”

A coma. Stephanie was in a coma? Even when Kate told me that she was still alive, the guilt hadn't left me. I was glad Stephanie had made it, but a coma was serious. Leave it to Kate to find out first.

UncannyDay: Thanks for the update. I've got to tell Dean.

That's what I typed, and it was the first thought that came to my head. But then the sullen realization of the fight he and I just had sank back in. The feeling sucked. First of all, Dean had no idea what was going on, and I doubted he was in the mood to hear it.

I turned back to the computer, but Kate's status read “offline.” Great. She was the only person I could talk to at this point. I guessed I could at least update the Mitchells on what was going on—plus, I was ready to eat. Maybe with a meal in my stomach, I could sort things out better, find some answers.

My head was still reeling. Stephanie was alive.

Chapter Fourteen

I FELT UNEASY WHEN I took my place at the family table. The rest of the Mitchells had only just finished eating when I arrived, but a steaming pile of noodles and sauce was waiting for me. Somehow they'd known I would come down eventually. I was eager to tell them the good news about Stephanie, but wanted to at least get something choked down before I starved to death. Dean didn't give me a second look as I began to dig in.

I found my eyes traveling to Tracy Mitchell between chews. She had that motherly look if ever there was one. An optimistic style of hair, a touch that spoke to the heart, and eyes that smiled as genuinely as the one across her lips. She was the first one to break the stiff silence.

“I got a phone call today, Nolan.” The way she said the sentence didn't sound right, like she was talking in some sort of secret code. Even though her statement was directed at me, Rick replied to her. I continued shoveling in pasta.

“Really? Who was it from?”

That's when it sank in. I stopped eating. Not again.

Tracy went on. “It was Dr. Vance.” She paused a second, as if I didn't know who that was.

I'd never met the guy face-to-face, but I was sure Dr. Vance was a decent guy. It was the person he was linked to whom I detested. My mentally unstable dad.

Tracy played with her silver necklace, obviously nervous about the conversation she had just started.

“Nolan, he really wants to see you,” she said, a little more firmness in her voice.

I took a swallow of ice water and wiped my face with my cloth napkin.

“Forget it,” I said, putting my focus back on my food.

This was
, I thought,
maybe the third time Vance had called that month? It was more often than usual.

“He says it would be beneficial for your dad's state of mind and maybe for you as well to come to terms with everything.”

I suddenly lost my appetite. Hadn't I had enough issues for one day? I crossed my arms and slowly shook my head.

“Think about it, Nolan. Your dad just wants to reconnect with you,” Rick chimed in, trying to sound casual.

“Like I've said before, I want nothing to do with him,” I responded.

“Dr. Vance says your father's been working so hard,” Tracy said, her eyes shifting to her husband. A dead silence hung in the dining room. Then things got worse.

“Nolan, you've got to do something.” Dean finally said, but the words were grounded and didn't come with as much bite as they had upstairs.

But I'd had enough, and I didn't hold back with my own bite. “What do you know, Dean? Your dad isn't some blathering idiot in a straitjacket.” Dean had no idea the extent of the scars—physical and mental—Dad had left on me.

Dean wasn't backing down from his argument. “You have to get serious about this,” he said, and then it dawned on me that he wasn't referring to a visit with Dad. I swore. If he had blabbed to Rick and Tracy, he would be sorry.

It was too late. Dean shifted his attention to his parents and spoke. “Nolan had a nosebleed at school today.”

My mouth fell open. I could not believe he just flat-out told them. These were my problems and I would deal with them myself. Did he realize what this would do to me? A burning anger ran through my body, but above all, I felt sadness. What had happened to Dean and me? Why had he betrayed me like this?

I shot to my feet, my chair tipping over, and fired back words at Dean. “What did you tell Kate Huddy?”

Wide-eyed, Dean whipped back around at me, confusion written on his face. “What are you talking about, Nolan?”

Tracy's voice jumped in between us. “Boys, please,” she said, almost in tears. She and Rick had never seen Dean and me like this. Her wet eyes looked at me. “Nolan, are you okay? Does something hurt?”

Rick too was on his feet, arms spread, trying to get control of the argument. “Hold it, you two,” he said. The room seemed to settle a bit, but I didn't take my glare off Dean. Right then and there I should have read his mind. Then I would have known everything, but something held me back.

“Nolan, what's going on?” Rick said, questioning me a second time. I felt like I was being attacked by a ravenous pack of wolves, unable to defend myself. All three of them were on me, waiting for my response. I didn't know what to say.

Chapter Fifteen

I FELT LIKE I could puke. I think if that had happened, the Mitchells would have seized the opportunity and leaped across the table in an attempt to bind me up and demand answers. Thankfully I held my pasta down.

I turned and took off full speed up the stairs to my room. Slamming my bedroom door, I desperately wanted to lock it behind me. But the Mitchells had a rule and there were no locks on the doors so that each was always accessible, night or day.

I leaned my back against the door, waiting for them to break it down any second. They didn't. Then it began to dawn on me, as I looked around my room, that none of this was truly mine. Suddenly things started looking foreign to me. I had spent a year in this room, a year of making memories in this new life with this new family—all good things, or so I'd thought. Maybe I had become just another occupant of this room, just passing through. Once I was gone, someone else would take my spot and replace my memories with their own.

My thoughts rounded on Dad and Dr. Vance's phone call. Would Dad get better? What kind of treatments was he going through? Would he fight to get custody of me? Would I move back in with him? The idea traumatized me in ways I had never really realized. I had no idea how Dad was progressing. Maybe one day he'd show up on the front step and take me back, or the cops would pull me from school because Dad was moving to a new city. Heck, Deputy Mitchell might even be the one who would come to get me.

I stood up and listened. I could hear Rick and Tracy's voices and clinking dishes downstairs. An old thought bubbled up: was I still safe here? This seemed to be a reflex in my mind—safety. Had I ever truly known it? Don't get me wrong—I liked the Mitchells. They weren't bad people. But a snippet of dread crept into my head and fueled a long-abandoned plan I had when I first moved in.

Run away.

It would be so easy. I had plenty of cash saved up. Something deep inside me whispered. Was that the real reason I read minds at school? A way out? But where would I go, and how long would I last? I was fifteen and still didn't have my license, let alone being able to afford a set of wheels of my own. Dean drove me everywhere, and considering how dinner had just played out, he wasn't an option.

Moving back to my bed, I leaned back onto its sea of strewn blankets, but I didn't dare close my eyes. Tonight I was sure I would have little to no sleep. I hated this. I was tired of fighting and losing. What I needed to do was something for myself.

The idea I had now flooded my head and I made a decision.

I was leaving.

Chapter Sixteen

WITH MY SWEATSHIRT ON, I slid open my bedroom window. The warmth of my breath swirled in front of me. I drew up the hood of my sweatshirt and stretched out my leg onto the roof of the house, but froze. I had to be committed to this. If I was going to do it, I had to follow through and not wuss out.

Steadying myself, I grabbed the shingles of the roof and pulled my other leg out into the night. I'd done it. I had made it to the roof. Great.