White Space

Or blood on the verge of clotting. The hairs on her neck prickled; a scrape of fear dragged over her chest. What are you doing? Annoyed, she clamped her jaws until the small muscles complained. Stop it, you nut.

“Guys.” Casey’s voice reached them from what sounded like very far away: “Found it yet?”

“Not yet,” Eric said.

“Eric?” A beat, and then they heard Casey call again: “Eric?”

“I said, not yet!” Eric called.

Bode: “Barely hear you, man. You guys sure you’re still by the house?”

“About as sure as I can be.” Eric stretched his right hand, groped through the white muck, and shouted: “I feel the hedges. The sled’s got to be maybe ten feet in front of me.”

“What if it’s not here?” She thought she saw something flit past to her right, but when she darted a look, there was nothing but the fog. Weird. She was certain she’d seen a figure. A man? Rima?

No. She reined in on the images that tried forming right behind her eyes. Don’t do that. Don’t think of a specific person or try to pull meaning out of this stuff. That’s what it wants. Remember what happened to Rima and Casey.

“It’s here. I know it’s right …” Eric let out a sudden grunt and hitched up so fast Emma piled into him. Gasping, she tripped, lost her grip on the club, and stumbled just as Eric twisted and made a grab.

“Gotcha,” he said, reeling her into a bear hug. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, a little breathless. Their faces were inches apart, so close her eyes nearly crossed. “Guess we found the snowmobile.”

“Yup.” His arms tightened, just a tad. “This is kind of nice. You realize they can’t see us.”

Or hear them, probably. Her heart gave a little kick. “I should get the club.”

“It’s not going anywhere, and …” His sapphire-colored eyes fixed on hers. “Things have been so crazy, happened so fast, I want five seconds. Just five seconds where I’m not running or fighting or worrying and freaking out.”

She felt her body relaxing into him, just a smidge. “You never seem freaked out.”

“I am, though, all the time. About Casey, mainly. Learned how to hide it early, though, on account of my dad.” His shoulders moved in a small shrug. “Don’t show a bully how scared you are because it only makes him want to hurt you more.” His eyes drifted to the fresh bandage she’d put over her forehead. “I wouldn’t have hurt you, you know.”

It took her a second to realize what he meant. “Oh. You mean, after the crash?” From the tingle, she knew her cheeks must be red. “I know. I’m sorry I wouldn’t let you help. It’s just that I …” She hesitated, then thought, Oh, just tell him. “I have these metal plates. You know, screwed into my skull, into the bone? They’re actually pretty easy to feel, and I guess I’m kind of self-conscious about them.”

“Plates?” His eyebrows crimped. “Like for a skull fracture?”

“Yes. I mean, that’s another thing they can use them for. The plates are small, but … yeah.”

“Do they hurt?”

It was not the question she’d expected. No one at school knew, but a couple clueless security guards and TSA people wanted to know: Hey, how’d you get those? She hated their eyes most of all, the curiosity, the kind of greed for a good story about somebody else’s bad luck: So I met this kid …

“Sometimes. Mainly, the one right here.” She touched the bandage. “I get headaches. Anyway, I didn’t want you to feel them and”—think I was a freak—“get weirded out.”

“I wouldn’t have, and I’m not weirded out now. Can I feel it?” He read her hesitation and said, “Will it hurt? I don’t want to hurt you.”

She’d never allowed anyone to touch her face. Not that there’d been guys lined up, waiting their turn. “Give me your hand.” She guided his fingers. “There. That circle?”

“Yeah.” He pulled in a small breath. “Is it metal?”

“Titanium. That one’s got this lacy pattern, kind of steampunk, actually. And there’s another one”—she pulled his fingers to the back of her head—“right here.”

“Hmm.” His hand buried itself in her hair, and she could feel him probing. The pressure was … nice. “Hard to feel that one through the muscle.”

“There are new plates, ones that will absorb into the bone, but I don’t want any more operations.”

“Is it because of scars?” She saw how his eyes sharpened a bit as his fingers found a thin, firm ridge of scar. “You don’t have that many.”

“Yes, I do—tons—but they’re up here.” She pressed his hand to the crown of her head. From his expression, she knew when he found the fleshy seams. Like Lizzie’s crazy quilt. “It’s weird. They’re hidden, but I always see them anyway.”

“I don’t see anything but you.” His dark blue eyes searched hers. His hand moved to cup the back of her head. “Emma, do you … do you think that when this is over and we get out of here, we could …”