Awaken (7 page)

My brow furrowed, but he just nodded and kept
driving while Mom leaned back against the window again. The highway
continued on through the sleeping town, and our car followed
it.

I wanted to cry.

And then, at the final exit, he steered the
car onto the off-ramp.

Relief hit me and I gasped with the force of
it. Turning at a lonely stoplight at the end of the exit ramp, he
sent the sedan toward a tiny building nearly lost in the darkness.
A red vacancy sign glowed beneath the dim and flickering letters of
the word ‘Motel’, the only indication of the place’s identity. By
the front door, he pulled to a stop and then climbed out.

I looked at Mom and then at the darkness
around us. I could run. Just make a break for it right now. I knew
she wasn’t feeling well, and honestly, taking advantage of that was
probably a crappy thing to do to my own mother. But I really,
really
needed to leave.

Dad returned, a room key in his hand. Getting
back in, he glanced to Mom and then started the car again. By the
last door in the row of narrow, brown doors, he pulled over. Only
three other cars shared the dark parking lot with us, and above the
sidewalk running alongside the motel, half of the rusting light
fixtures were missing bulbs.

I couldn’t believe they were stopping
here.

Without bothering to get out any bags, Dad
left the car and headed for the room, while Mom just took a deep
breath and then shoved the door open. Bracing herself on the car
roof, she paused and looked back at me.

“Come on,” she ordered.

I took my backpack and got out. Waving a hand
at the door, she waited for me to go ahead of her, never taking her
eyes off me.

Fighting back a grimace, I went.

The room was dank, that was the first
impression. And beyond that, it didn’t get much better. Thin
comforters in faded Southwestern patterns covered the two
queen-sized beds, and a boxy television sat on a wooden table so
chipped and scratched, it looked a heartbeat from collapsing into
matchsticks. A salmon-colored lamp stood on the nightstand between
the two beds, along with an alarm clock blinking the wrong time. At
the far end of the room, a mirror hung over the sink, reflecting
the hideous space back at us, while a door waited beside it, giving
access to what I could only assume was the bathroom.

Mom shut the door behind me, and then walked
to the bed and sat down with a sound somewhere between a groan and
a sigh. Dad emerged from the bathroom, not looking much better than
her. Tiredly, he took the chair from the corner and dragged it over
by the door.

“You sure?” he asked Mom.

She nodded, pushing away from the bed and
crossing to the chair, where she sat down. Dad scrubbed his hand
across his face and then started toward the bed, when he caught
sight of me staring at them both.

He hesitated. “There might be thieves,” he
told me, a note of discomfort in his voice.

I rolled my eyes. They’d never been this
paranoid when we’d stayed at any of the spots they chose for
vacations. But now, Mom was squarely between me and the door, and
both she and Dad were watching me like hawks.

Though given how much I wanted to race out
the door right then…

But that wasn’t the point. They were standing
watch
on me, for goodness sake, and claiming it was because
there might be thieves.

Would it have killed them to just tell the
truth?

“Why are we here?” I asked, not bothering to
keep the disgust from my voice.

“Because it’s cheap and we’re not staying
long,” Dad responded, his tone harder. Leaving Mom by the door, he
took my backpack from me and set it on the bed farthest from the
exit. “So get some sleep. We’re leaving at sunrise.”

He regarded me, waiting. I crossed the room
and snagged my backpack from the bed. Eyeing them, I walked into
the bathroom.

I could hear them begin talking the moment I
closed the door, though their voices were too low for me to make
out the words. But they sounded agitated.

A scowl twisted my face. Still holding my
bag, I leaned back against the door.

How was I going to get out of here?

I closed my eyes. My chest ached with my
distance from where I knew I had to be, and even without any
windows to help me get my bearings, I felt like I could lift my
hand to point and know I was aiming directly at the closest part of
the ocean.

Which was nuts.

But no more so than the rest of this.

I let out a breath and looked down. If I
didn’t put on my pajamas, they’d know I meant to leave as soon as
possible – though, honestly, they were probably aware of that
anyway. They
were
watching the door.

Rolling my head to the side, I looked in the
direction of the motel room. Did they know about this? About how I
was feeling? Was that why they were acting even more freakish than
usual?

The ache grew. But if they knew, they’d
understand. They’d get why I needed to go back. They’d support
me.

Unless there
was
something truly
horrible out there…

I pushed the thought away. I knew what I’d
felt when I’d fallen off the boat. What I’d felt in that dream. I’d
been safe. Under the water… but safe.

And now I just needed to go back.

I glanced down at the bag again. Pajamas
would slow me down. Mean I had to change clothes before I left.

But again, I couldn’t give them more of a
tip-off to my plans than they already had.

Feeling sick, I drew out my pajamas. With a
deep breath to steady me, I forced myself to get dressed for
bed.

They were watching the bathroom when I came
back out.

“Goodnight,” I told them flatly.

They echoed the word, their voices cautious.
Ignoring them, I pulled back the thin comforter and the vaguely
humid-feeling sheets, and then climbed beneath them.

Dad got into the other bed. Leaning over, he
switched off the bedside lamp.

Darkness swallowed the room. By the door, Mom
shifted around on the chair, resulting in a faint metallic
squeak.

And then everything was still.

Loss and distance pressing on my chest till
it hurt to breathe, I closed my eyes and tried not to sob.

~~~~~

“You think she’s… you know?”

The whisper cut through the water surrounding
me, pulling me away from the deep and the calm. My brow furrowed as
I tried to hang onto the dream.

It didn’t do any good. The ocean faded. The
cloying sheets of the motel bed returned.

“I’m not sure,” Dad replied, his voice
quiet.

Mom made a worried noise. “We need to get
going.”

“What about you? Are you any better?”

“No.” Annoyance mixed with the worry in her
tone. “It was too long.” She paused. “You?”

Dad didn’t answer.

“Bill?” she pressed.

“I’m okay.” The bed rustled as he rose, and
then the springs gave a sharp squeak. It sounded like he’d sat back
down.

“No, you’re not,” Mom countered.

He made a shushing noise. I kept my eyes
closed and focused on making my breathing as even as possible.

“I can still drive,” he insisted quietly.
“Linda, I mean it. I’ll get us home.”

Mom didn’t say anything. A moment passed. The
front door opened and then closed.

She sighed and got up, the chair giving the
same metallic complaints as she moved.

“Chloe?” she called.

I opened my eyes. Standing by the foot of the
bed, she was watching me.

She looked pale. Drained. And she was
studying my face like she was searching for something.

“What?” I asked.

“Are you doing okay?” She almost sounded
concerned.

“Fine.”

She paused. “We just want what’s best for
you, sweetheart.”

I didn’t say anything.

For a heartbeat longer, she hesitated, and
then she returned to her chair.

My brow furrowed. “
You
alright?”

“I’m fine. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

She closed her eyes and drew a breath as
though she was fighting off nausea.

“Mom?”

“You heard me.”

I paused. Not taking my eyes from her, I
reached into my bag and got out my jeans. Beneath the covers, I
pulled them on and then grabbed my shirt, doing the same.

She exhaled sharply.

“Mom, you don’t seem–”

Rising to her feet, she bolted toward the
bathroom. I stared after her, and then winced at the sound of
retching coming past the door. Feeling vaguely sick myself, I
turned my face to the rest of the motel room.

The empty motel room.

My hands grabbed my backpack before I’d even
finished registering the thought, and my legs scrambled to escape
the blankets. My feet jammed themselves into my shoes, and in only
a second, I was at the front door.

And then my conscience caught me. Mom was
sick.
Really
sick, for no reason I could see. Something
could be seriously wrong with her.

I trembled, the dream still clinging to me
and the feeling of threads stretching to the ocean pulling at my
skin like fishhooks.

If I didn’t go now, I’d probably never have
another chance. They’d probably never give me one.

It was now or never.

I twitched aside the curtain and peeked out
the window.

Dad was by the car. Leaning on the car. He
looked nearly as sick as Mom.

I yanked open the door and took off
running.

“Chloe!” he shouted.

My shoes pounded on the concrete as I dashed
across the parking lot. The motel office flashed past, and then
came the street, and I cast a quick look over my shoulder, checking
his distance from me.

He was in the car. He was coming.

The empty road was behind me in a moment,
delivering me into the abandoned lot across from the motel. Weeds
and broken asphalt filled the space, and the pale light of the
coming sunrise touched everything with hazy pink. A chain-link
fence bordered the property, with scrub-grass fields beyond.
Fighting for more speed, I ran for them both.

Metal scraped as his sedan jumped the curb
and bounded onto the lot behind me.

Gasping, I ducked low and darted through a
gap in the fence.

Tires screeched and I heard a car door slam.
I kept running. Hidden holes threatened to trip my feet, and the
grass was slippery with morning dew, soaking my tennis shoes. But
there were houses ahead, squat and mostly identical, and houses
meant roads and hidden corners and places he’d have a harder time
reaching me.

I heard the chain links rattle. I struggled
to run faster.

“Chloe, you get back here this minute!”

Like that was going to happen.

I reached the backyard fence of the nearest
house. Grabbing the top, I hoisted myself over and dropped to the
wet grass.

“Chloe,
please
!”

One hand bracing me on the fence, I looked
back. He was still running, though much more slowly than I’d
expected. Pain twisted his face and his feet stumbled with every
few steps.

Worry flickered through me, but there wasn’t
any time.

He’d just force me to come back with him.

And the mere thought of that made it hard to
breathe.

Pushing off the fence, I ran for the gap
between the house and its neighbor. A simple latch secured the
gate, letting me out almost immediately, and then I was at the next
street. Little gray houses lined the road, without much more than
flower pots or the occasional forgotten toy to differentiate them.
The street turned ahead of me, leading farther into town, and I
dashed along it.

Exhilaration pounded through me. I was going
to make it. I’d find a bus station, use the debit card in my bag to
get a ticket, and then I’d be on the road to the ocean.

Even if this was all
completely
insane.

The thought was distracting and I shook my
head, driving it away. I’d felt better when I was on the water.
Better than I felt now and better than I’d ever felt in my life. I
remembered that. I
knew
that. I just needed to find my way
back to the ocean by Santa Lucina, and then I’d figure everything
else out.

Even if I had no idea
why
I had to be
there or, at the moment, where I was actually going.

My feet faltered and I stumbled, barely
stopping myself from falling. Regaining my balance, I kept running,
though slower than before. Street signs passed, each of them
useless since I had no idea where I was headed, and the
neighborhood felt like it would never end.

I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Running
away in a city whose name I didn’t even know, for reasons that made
no logical sense, all in the hope of getting back across hundreds
of miles to where I’d been yesterday.

But I
had
to. The idea of doing
anything else just set my heart racing with panic again.

The neighborhood opened out onto a city
street with shops that were still closed from the night before. But
on the corner, a bus was paused, its doors open for the handful of
people waiting to climb onboard.

I glanced around, not seeing my dad or his
car anywhere, and then ran for the bus stop. The driver gave me a
funny look as I clambered inside and fumbled the requisite cash
from my bag, but I just smiled, hoping he wouldn’t ask me
anything.

At a seat several rows from the front, I sat
down. Reaching back into my bag, I pulled out my phone. There was a
good chance my parents would call the cops. I couldn’t see why they
wouldn’t. But maybe, if I was fast, I could find the main bus
station and make it out of town before they sent the police to find
me.

Tapping the screen, I brought up the web
browser and then typed in a search.

A smile tugged my lip as the results
appeared. The local, intercity bus station wasn’t far from here.
And there was a bus departing westward soon.