Continuum (24 page)

I am horrified at her matter-of-fact tone, “Fallon, you can’t blame yourself for that.  It was an accident.”

“She was on the road because of me.”

“You don’t know what else might have happened.  Death is inescapable.”

“Even if I were blameless, the future still looks bleak.  One day... one day soon I will have to leave.  I thought it was going to be easier for me to stay here and give the people I loved closure by slowly pulling away.  Mackenzie and I used to be inseparable.  We took turns sleeping over at each other's house every weekend.  Mackenzie was the closest thing I had to a sister.  Sam was my boyfriend.  I was certain we would be together forever.  I had friends, I socialized, I went to parties.  I was even popular.  None of that mattered after my mom died.  I don't know how to let you in, Ethan.  I've been keeping people at a distance for so long.”

I gently squeeze her hands, “I’m right here.  I’m not going anywhere.”

Fallon

It feels strange to have Ethan in my house.  I keep turning back to see if he’s still behind me as I lead him upstairs.  I’m probably just on edge since I am about to do something I have never done before.   I'm nervously chewing on my bottom lip, “Now, I haven't let anyone in my bedroom since I moved into this house.  No one has even been in here, not even my father.”

I pause with my hand on the doorknob of my bedroom door.  I am letting someone into my sanctuary.  Not someone.  Ethan.  I slowly push the door open and stand aside to let him enter.  He steps inside and spins around slowly in place taking in the walls which are covered in drawings, the windows covered by white shades, and the solid wood four post bed that takes up most of the floor space in the center of the room.  

With an expression of pure awe, Ethan turns to me, “These are all yours?  There must be hundreds.  Thousands.”

“Since I can remember, I've always liked to draw.  From an early age, I had this ability to replicate exactly what I saw.  When my art teacher told my mom I was a child prodigy at the age of 6, I could tell something was off about my mom's reaction.  So I told my mom I wasn't interested in painting anymore and I never went back to those art classes.  I saw how that teacher treated me and how my mom reacted.  Even then, I knew something about me was different.  That's when I started hiding things about me that were not the norm.”

He turns around to look at me, an expression of great sadness in his beautiful eyes.  “To have to hide who you really are, even from your own mother.  I don't want there to be any secrets between us, Fallon.”  

I nod in acknowledgement and Ethan continues his tour of my room.  He walks up to the wall facing the door and places his fingers on the drawing of a Gothic cathedral.  “This is the drawing from your notebook on the day I first met you.”  I cringe at the memory of my rudeness at the picnic tables outside the school but he doesn’t notice.  Ethan carefully pulls off the tack and holds the picture with the greatest care in his hands.  Behind it is a drawing of the inside of a clock which he also removes from the wall to examine.  He gasps as the final page is uncovered--a self-portrait from when I was 13.

I am sitting on my bed across from Ethan as he pores over one of the many sketchbooks I keep nearby.  For the first time in a long time, I feel unburdened.  I could never quite feel free after finding out what I am.  He looks up at me with a huge smile on his face and turns the sketchbook over to me.  “Finally, one I recognize.  Tower of London, right?”

I glance at the picture, “Yes.  It's one of my favorites.”   

“Your drawings are very beautiful.  But all I see in these books are pictures of architecture and machines.  That portrait was exquisite.  I want to see more of those.”

“They're in storage,” I say tilting my head in the direction of the attic.  

“Upstairs?” his eyes are molten, burning with curiosity.

I twist my hands in my lap, feeling uneasy, “There’s a lot of memories packed away up there and I don't think I'm quite ready to uncover them.”

He gently tugs my hands apart and grasps my right hand in his.  Ethan yawns hugely, his jaw cracking from the effort.  “I don't think I could make it up there anyway.  I'm exhausted.  It's late, I should go...”  He trails off looking at the alarm clock.

I don’t want him to leave.  “Please stay.  It's late and I dragged you here in the middle of the night.  I don't think I could live with myself if you crashed your bike riding home.”  I look down at our joined hands, my face burning from the admission.

He takes his other hand and carefully brushes my hair behind my ear.  “You don't have to worry about me, Fallon.  I'm built solid.  But I am pretty tired...”  Ethan yawns widely again, emphasizing his point.

“Oh, I've kept you up way too late,” I say, feeling guilty for monopolizing his evening—err, morning.  Ethan stretches casually, his boots landing with a soft thud has they hit the floor.  I pick up the open sketchbook and place it on the pile on the nightstand.  

When I turn back around, Ethan is shirtless.  This is not the first time I have gazed on his perfectly chiseled torso, but my face flames immediately in response and I jerk my head back toward the nightstand.  

“If I get hot I can’t sleep, I, uh, I usually sleep in my box--with my shirt off.”  He laughs nervously, “Does this weird you out?  Yeah, this is weird.”  His shirt is inside out when I turn back to face him.

I swallow nervously, looking down at my fingers which are twisted in my lap, “I’m sorry.  Just do whatever makes you comfortable, Ethan.  I’m not weirded out, I just... I've never had a boy stay the night.”

“Oh, it's not that I usually do this... err, I mean I have never stayed the night at a girl's house like this before...”  He trips over his words and a faint blush colors his cheeks.  Our eyes meet and a smile spreads across Ethan's lips.  “I'm exhausted, I could fall asleep on a bed of nails during an earthquake, why don't we just, uhm, get comfortable?”

He carefully lays down and rolls over to the extreme edge of the bed, holding the covers open for me.  I turn off the lamp next to the bed.  I climb in under the covers as casually as I can manage, but I'm pretty certain the thundering of my heart gives me away.  I lay down, stiff as a board on the opposite edge of the bed.

Ethan's hand finds mine underneath the covers, his longs fingers intertwining with mine, “Good night, Fallon.”

“Good night, Ethan.”

I can tell the moment Ethan falls asleep.  His body gives a huge jerk like he's catching himself from falling off the bed.  For a moment I think he has woken up but his breathing stays deep and even.  I stare at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come.  I lay like this for ages before gently removing my hand from his and turning onto my side.  

I lay there watching Ethan as he sleeps.  His face is illuminated in the wash of moon light coming through the sliver left by the shade covering the window.  His eyelashes are a dark sweep against his cheeks, the shadow of his long nose melts into the bow of his lips which are slightly parted.  My chest constricts seeing him so at peace.  I carefully turn over onto my back and close my eyes.  The darkness finally overcomes me.

A cold gust of wind cuts through me and I am shudder in my pajamas.  Did I leave the window open?  Another shudder runs through me but I am far too exhausted to get up and shut it.  Reaching out for my down comforter, my hand lands on something cold and damp.  The sensation wakes me instantly and I bolt up.  

I'm disorientated since I was clearly not in my bedroom--it’s very dark and I’m in the middle of what appears to be a small, overgrown clearing.  I had been lying in the wet grass and my pajamas are damp and the chill bores down to my bones.  The inky sky is blanketed with ominous gray clouds and the fresh scent of rain hangs in the air.  

I scramble to my feet and look around, trying to gather my bearings.  It’s too dark to distinguish my surroundings.  I haven’t slept walk since I was a kid.  I used to sleep walk so regularly my mom had to set out booby traps.  I would trigger the trap and it would make a noise, waking me up before I went outside.  But I hadn't done it since I was at least ten years old.  

The clearing is surrounded by a grove of trees--none of which look remotely familiar.  There are no lights or sounds of traffic.  Then again, it feels very late at night or very nearly early in the morning and Everest Heights is pretty much deserted after 10:00PM.  I pick a direction and start walking briskly through the forest, hoping to hit a road.

Moonlight occasionally bleeds through the thick layer of clouds filtering through the dense canopy of trees.  It makes the shadows even blacker and more menacing.  The forest is filled with unfamiliar noises that make every hair on my body stand.  Every time a stray branch or leaf brushes against my bare skin, a shiver runs through me and I want to cry out.  The wind is blowing fiercely and the temperature seems to be free falling the deeper I travel into the trees.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I rub my hands over the goosebumps forming over my forearms, trying to keep warm.  I come into another clearing, this one is vast and the grass is shorter.  I pause between two large oak trees, feeling uneasy.  There are no trees to block the wind now and it bites into my exposed flesh.  

I drag in a deep breath of frigid air but my lungs can’t seem to fully expand, my ribcage aching from the effort.  The clouds part and the moonlight washes over the field.  To my great relief, I spot a lone, hooded figure on the other side of the clearing.  Then like I was inside a vacuum, the sounds night grows eerily quiet.  My heartbeat picks up, panic coursing through my bloodstream.

I call out for help but the wind carries away the sound.  I try again but my voice box doesn't seem to be working properly.  Only white puffs of air come out of my mouth.  Growing increasingly anxious, I run toward the figure but the wind picks up tenfold whipping my hair back and tangling my pajamas around my body.  With all my strength and determination, I trudge against the ferocity of the wind toward the enshrouded figure across the field.  But the wind is unrelenting, whipping my long hair into my eyes.  

When I am finally close enough to touch him, he suddenly turns around.  The wind blows back his hood and I instantly recognize the steel gray eyes, more glacial than the wind whipping around us.  I let out a soundless scream.

Ethan's hands are wrapped around my shoulders, shaking me vigorously.  Sunlight is bleeding through the drapes.

“I'm awake!  I'm awake!  My brain is adequately addled.  Thank you.”

He stops shaking me but keeps his grip on my shoulders.  His brow is creased with worry and his voice is a frantic whisper, “You scared me to death the way you were screaming!”

I slowly pull myself up into a sitting position, my back leaning against the headboard.  I casually brush my hair off my face, a lock sticking to my forehead from the sheen of sweat covering my skin.  Had I really been so distracted by other things that I hadn’t noticed the dreams were back?  “I was screaming?”

“Yeah, it took me a minute to wake you.  Were you having a bad dream?”

I crinkle my forehead in concentration, trying hard to recall my dream, “I guess.  I don't remember.”  Absently, I rub the goosebumps on my arms.

“Well, you're okay now,”  he says as he pulls me against his side and kissing the top of my head.  I fit neatly in the nook under his arm.

We sit nestled together in silence for a few moments.  Ethan is absently twisting a lock of my hair between his fingers and I can feel the tension radiating off him.  Now that he knows my secret, my unknown nightmare is making him anxious.

His quiet concern is distracting and my own sense of foreboding starts to creep up on me.  Dwelling would not do any good since my perfect memory failed to recall my dream.  I slowly roll off the bed pulling Ethan's hand with me.  “Come on.  I'll make you some chocolate chip pancakes before you go.  You should get home before your mom starts worrying.”

After breakfast, we are saying our goodbyes and making plans for later in the afternoon.  “I gotta put in some face time with my mom but I'll come by around two?  You can help me study for the European History midterm.  Not all of us have photographic memories.” 

I smile at his mock exasperation, teasing him, “Or the willpower to stay awake during Mrs. Douglas's lecture.”  

“That would be the entire student body,” he replies with a roll of his eyes.

“It's not that hard.  You just need to tickle the roof of your mouth with your tongue.  Works for me every time.”

Ethan places his hands on my waist, pulling me closer to him.  “Point taken.  I work well with incentives as well.  If I do really well maybe you'll reward me with some more drawings?  The ones in the attic?”  

Before I can reply, he wraps his arms around me tugging my body against his.  He leans down and kisses me urgently and as I gasp in surprise, his tongue traces along my bottom lip.  When I am breathless, Ethan pulls his lips away but rests his forehead against mine.  His blue eyes are electric as they look into mine, a beautiful smile spread across his face.  My ragged breathing is too loud in the small room but I can’t bring myself to care.  “See you at two, Fallon.”

“Goodbye, Ethan.”  He brushes his lips against the tip of my nose before pulling away.  His eyes never leaving mine, his smile never faltering, he slips out the front door.

I sit at the bay window in the living room and watch as he rides off.  I check the time on my cell phone and I have far too much time to kill.  I go through my list of household chores but come up empty.  My room was tidy.  The bathroom clean.  No laundry to wash.  The dishes were loaded and washing in the dishwasher.  

Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion comes over me.  I feel drained from my troubled sleep last night.  Determined to be fresh and alert for our study session, I make my way back into my room and crawl under the covers into the still warm bed.  I fall asleep almost instantly.  

My eyes snap open and I awake with a sharp intake of air.  A feeling of panic grips my body and I can't get my lungs to cooperate.  My breath comes out in hurried, shallow gasps.  Clumsily, I grab a pad of paper and a piece of charcoal off my nightstand.  I close my eyes trying to capture the memory in my mind's eye as my dream is quickly dissipating.  A few moments later, my breathing has slowed down closer to normal.  I open my eyes and look down at the pad of paper.