Voracious (4 page)

“Yeah,” George said, his brow furrowing.

“I can tell you our specials,” she offered after a pause.

“That’s okay,” George said back over the din of the other diners. “I want to peruse it.”

“Um …” Edna glanced over at the menu box next to the counter, which was full to the top. “You can come up and pick one out …”

George wrinkled his forehead, obviously confused. “What?”

Madeline knew all too well what was going on. She nudged George’s foot under the table. He turned to her, confused. “She doesn’t want to bring the menus, George. She’d have to touch them, see, then hand them to us.”

His mouth came open. “You’re kidding me.”

She averted her eyes. “Unfortunately, I’m not.”

He’d seen this stuff before with her. But now his eyes flared, and he turned to Edna. “Bring us the menus now!” he said angrily.

Madeline’s face flushed. No one had stood up for her since Ellie all those years ago.

Flustered, Edna looked down and twisted her hands, then hurried over to the menus. Wrapping her hand in her apron, she grabbed two menus and carried them over, dropping one on the table and the other clumsily on the floor.

“And how are you going to deliver the food?” George demanded.

Madeline nudged his foot again under the table, her face hot. Others turned in their chairs and booths to stare. “Thanks,” she said to Edna, who was already halfway back to the counter.

George picked up the one from the floor and gave Madeline the clean one.

Then, shaking his head in disbelief, he shrugged out of his coat. Beneath it he wore a dark purple shirt and black pants. The shirt sported a Nehru collar, which wasn’t buttoned, and as he leaned over to place the coat on the far side of the booth, Madeline caught a glimpse of a shapely collarbone.

Instantly she averted her eyes to her coffee cup. What was she doing? He’d never been attractive to her before. He’d always been somewhat, well … stiff. Good company, but not deep company. Nice eyes but not alluring eyes. But somehow, things were different tonight. Had been from the moment he walked in the door.

She wondered if the recent serious event had awakened something within her, some desire to experience things on a deeper level.

His lips were full and inviting. Surely they hadn’t been the last time she’d seen him. She remembered him having a gray, pursed, slash of a mouth. His hair cascaded over his shoulders seductively, strands curling before his face. Every other time she’d seen him, he had his hair pulled back in a ponytail. The effect of seeing it down was dramatic. She even noticed how shapely his body was: lithe, athletic. She tried to look away but couldn’t. She was mesmerized, fascinated at how different he looked.

And it wasn’t just that he
looked
different. He
felt
different. A wave of something utterly alluring wafted off him. Other people noticed it, too. The woman in the booth behind them half turned to look around the room and ended up doing a full double take when she saw him behind her.

Madeline had been rebuffing his advances for months, and to show interest now would be too weird. They were friends. And friends were much harder to come by than dates. There was nothing powerful or magical in a date. But a friend? That was a miracle. And currently, being the “Weird Girl,” she didn’t have an overwhelming amount of friends.

“What deep thoughts are burning in that head of yours?” George asked suddenly, startling her. He took a sip of his coffee. “Oooh … ouch. Too hot.” He brought a hand up to his lips and touched them gently. Madeline found herself staring. Again.

“Okay?” she asked, averting her eyes.

“Yeah. Just hotter than I expected.”

Tell me about it,
she thought and then smiled in spite of herself.

He leaned across the table, nearer to her. “What’s this big news you wanted to tell me?”

Taking a deep breath, she twisted the amethyst ring she wore on her index finger. It had belonged to her beloved grandmother, Grace. She glanced around, feeling the sheer weight of being unwelcome crushing her chest. “I’m going on a backcountry trek to Glacier National Park,” she told him. “Alone. To clear my head, get away from people, from my visions, my ‘gift.’ ” She sneered on the last word.

“Alone? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Crossing the street is dangerous. There’s more chance I’ll get hit by a car than get eaten by a bear or fall to my death.”

“What about just plain getting lost?” he asked. “I read a story about a couple who were hopelessly lost in Glacier National Park. They got separated from the trail and couldn’t find it again. Helicopters searched for them. When the rescue team finally found them, the couple was nearly dead and only fifty yards away from the trail they’d been trying to find.”

She smiled ruefully. That story was in a book she’d lent him herself. “I’m leaving my itinerary with you, so that if I’m not back on the right date, you can come look for me.” She gave him a warm smile. “I’m also slipping a route into my dad’s mailbox.”

“You’re not going to talk to him about it?”

“No …” She let the word fall silently, not going into detail.

“But he might have some advice … I mean, the backcountry is his terrain.”

“It’s just a bad idea, George.”

“And your mom?”

“I’d rather not have the image of her disdain be the last thing I take into the wilds with me.”

“So just your dad and I will know where you are?”

“Well, that and the park service. You know hikers have to check in with rangers before they can go anyway, and so they’ll have my route, too.” She sighed, looking at his worried face. “Thank you for worrying,” she said. “But I’ll be okay. I’ve done this lots of times.”

“Alone?”

“Being alone is what this trip is all about. I’m about to transfer down to San Francisco and start a new life. That means new people, new environments, new challenges. I can’t tell you how sick I am of …” She gestured around at the people in the diner, then at Edna. “Of this. You know what it’s like for me, George. All my life most people have shunned me. You’re the only one who’s stuck around. You and Ellie. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life turning people off, weirding them out.”

“Those people aren’t worth being your friends,” George said protectively. “I don’t even see why you worry about them.”

“Yeah, I know.” Madeline felt a flush of defensiveness. “That’s because you have a normal social life. You have a circle of friends you’ve had since preschool, and make new ones all the time. Plus you’re gorgeous, and people flock to you.”

George shook his head. “No, you are gorgeous. And don’t let these bastards make you feel unwanted.”

They both fell silent, a lump in Madeline’s throat growing more painful by the second. The incident at the dam had brought memories of Ellie crashing back on her, a resurgence of grief so powerful it made it hard to breathe. At last George said quietly, “I think it’s a good idea.”

Madeline smiled, then almost laughed. The thought of the peaceful backcountry, of not seeing another soul for days or weeks, sang to her like a lullaby. She couldn’t wait to get out there.

George stood up and slid into the booth next to her. Putting his arms around her, he pulled her close. Several people gasped when they saw him daring to get so close to her. Over his shoulder, Madeline whispered, “This is going be great. Just me, the mountains, wildlife, and plenty of fresh air.” Now, more than ever, she craved it. A vision quest. That’s what she needed.

He pulled back, his hand still on her arm. “I’ll know where you are. If anything happens, I’m coming to find you.”

“Deal,” she said. “But I’ll be fine.”

DARKNESS
. Freezing.

The murmur of cascading water.

Reality bit at her cut and bruised body, enveloped her in ice, washed around her, cold and unrelenting.

Too tired to open her eyes, she couldn’t remember where she was. Her face lay against something smooth and cold. Her arms felt wedged. Something held her steady as the frigid water curled around her, robbing her body of its last bit of heat. With that warmth had bled all sensation, and all she could do was bob on the current.

Water. She remembered water.

A great wall of water.

And then …

Blackness.

Madeline exhaled deeply. She was so
tired.
At least her head was above water now. She could just breathe and lie there. But she wanted to sleep. Sleep sounded so good. To rest.

Madeline lay still and let the water toss her about as she breathed in the crisp air.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, some distant voice nagged at her, told her to pull herself out of the glacial meltwater, but she just couldn’t muster the energy to move.

Water, spiraling, no air to breathe.

Hands clutching at her, dragging her down.

Darkness.

Blood. A dark-haired woman with sightless, staring eyes, throat gashed open, spilling blood. A man struck down in a street, the blood-soaked back of his long coat shredded violently. A feeble old man cowering in a corner, shrieking in terror—

Darkness.

Hands. Pulling her out of the river.

A room full of spinning dancers in ball gowns. A cobble-stone street filled with the sound of clopping horse hooves. A lone candle burning atop a small piano. An opera house filled with the music of Mozart.

Darkness.

Faint sun on her eyelids.

A deep, kind voice: “Hey, you’re awake. I was worried. That’s quite a nasty cut on your head.”

“Cut?” Madeline said groggily. All she could feel was cold. Deep, numbing cold. She brought a tentative, shaky hand to her forehead, but her hand was so numb it felt like it was asleep. She thought she detected water on her head, but it was slick, like blood. And if it was blood, her head was covered in it.
“Nothing bleeds like a head wound,”
came her mother’s voice from somewhere inside her, echoing from a time when things were much easier.

“You’re drenched through. You need dry clothes and fast. I didn’t want to move you—didn’t know if you’d broken anything. But you could be hypothermic. Are your thoughts clear?”

Madeline managed to open her eyes. They came open with a wet sucking sound, and cold water leaked into them from the corners of her eyes. As things came into focus, Madeline saw the stranger kneeling beside her. He was slightly older than her, maybe in his mid-twenties; semi-short, wavy blond hair; a slightly scruffy ill-shaven face with angular features; and haunting green, green eyes.

He left her side then. The first thing she checked, body moving stiffly, was that she still wore her bracelet with its precious silver box securely latched. She did, and it was. She also felt the weight of her pocket knife in her pocket. She hadn’t lost everything. She lay blinking in the fading sunlight, blissfully warm on her face. He returned a moment later with a first aid kit. Quickly he withdrew a silver emergency blanket and laid it over her, though she couldn’t feel the difference.

She tried to move, tried even to shift her weight, but she felt incredibly heavy and suddenly realized what they meant by
waterlogged
. She felt like the two-ton trunk of a tree.

Rummaging through the kit, he produced some bandages and Neosporin. He held them up and said, “Glad I always keep a first aid kit in my backpack.”

“Oh, my backpack …” she said faintly, full of regret, remembering shrugging it off desperately in the cold water. “My supplies …” But she knew wriggling out of it had saved her life.

“Don’t worry about that now.” He gingerly dabbed the bandage on the cut. “I’m just going to clear some of the blood away so I can have a better look at the wound.” After a moment of dabbing he said, “It’s stopped bleeding.”

“Where am I, exactly?” she asked, wondering how far she’d been swept away.

“You’re way backcountry. Don’t know how long you were in the drink.”

She squinted, swallowed hard. “Think I floated on a limb for a while.” She remembered feeling her arms lodged between branches.

“Probably saved your life.” He shook his head slightly. “I hiked about six hours to get out this far.” He affixed a bandage with tape and smiled amiably. “Luckily, this is the first backcountry camp on this trail. We should be able to make it back within a day.” His smile faded as he studied her intently.

“What is it?” she asked, uncomfortable suddenly under his gaze.

“Do you remember anything you said before you woke up?”

“Was I talking in my sleep?”

He nodded. “Were you having a dream?”

Madeline shook her head, which throbbed in protest. “Not exactly, I …”

And then, checking the tape on the bandage, the stranger touched his bare hand to the skin of her forehead, and striking visions flickered to life before her.

A masquerade party—costumed people whirling on a dance floor.

Tinkling notes of a harpsichord drifting down a grand hall.

Climbing inside a horse-drawn carriage on a busy cobblestone street.

Racing in a Model T along a dirt road in pursuit of another car.

Rain falling in sheets beyond a French window.

Fighting off the images, Madeline managed to speak. “No, I don’t remember any dreams.” She wasn’t about to go into detail about her wonderful “gift” with this stranger. Her head hurt too much to concentrate on those elusive visions, and they slipped away. “How bad is it?” she asked him tentatively.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches. Just rest and someone to watch over you. Your pupils are a little dilated. Can you focus?” He held up a hand. She nodded. “Do you feel sick to your stomach?”

“Hard to tell. I just generally feel terrible.” She struggled to sit up then, suddenly aware of how uncomfortable the ground was. Once up, she realized she was lying on a vast stretch of bleached white driftwood, stripped of its bark over time by the river, jumbles upon jumbles of it carried down over the years and distributed along the bank by the same river that had brought her there. A particularly sharp limb had been under her back. The man watched her sit up, readying to grab her if she got dizzy.