Life Is but a Dream (24 page)

I tear a piece of paper from the roll to dry my face and hands. I remember to tuck another few pieces in my pocket in case I need them on the bus. When I step back into the main terminal, I feel momentarily confused as if all the people and objects have been switched around while I was in the bathroom. And even though the bus station isn’t very big, I’m suddenly lost.

—
Concentrate
— I mutter.

Inside the pocket of my jeans, I pinch my thigh between my fingernails. The pain calms me. The bruising of my skin quickens my breath and helps me to think.

I take in one thing at a time.

There’s the booth with its glass that rises up to the ceiling. The woman who sold me my ticket is where she was before. A new customer stands in front of her but the ticket lady hasn’t changed—the same ponytail stretches her skin tight like plastic wrap. Moving my eyes to the left, there are a few vending machines off to the side. They sell snacks and soft drinks in bright colors.

There’s an old arcade game in the corner, spitting out electronic noises. It’s one my dad used to play when he was my age and I wonder if anyone even knows how to play it any longer.

There aren’t many other people waiting around for a bus. Maybe that’s because it’s getting late or maybe this place just never gets crowded. I’ve never heard of this town and I can’t imagine anyone comes to visit. That makes me feel safe. I bet nobody even knows there is a bus station here—tucked away behind a highway motel and invisible to passing cars.

—
It’s okay. I’m okay
— I remind myself.

I’ll be fine here until the bus comes.

I wait outside by the number four painted on the ground. This is where the bus to L.A. will stop. I can’t remember how long the woman said until it arrives though. I wish I did so that I could count away the seconds and know when the waiting would end.

—
You heading home … or leaving it?
—

I turn my head to see a man leaning against the wall just out of the glare of the overhead lights.

I study him carefully, looking for any kind of glow about him. I’m very aware of spies. The static is thick with them the closer I get to the city. I have to stay guarded.

He has one leg bent so his shoe is pressed flat against the beige bricks. His other foot is stretched far out in front of him for balance and taps a nervous rhythm. It isn’t until he brings his hand up to his mouth and breathes in from a cigarette that I see he is only a few years older than me.

—
Home
— I say so he won’t grow suspicious.

—
Same here
— he says. —
Can’t wait to get out of this hole in the ground. I don’t know how anyone can live in a place like this. Give me the city any day, know what I mean?
—

I push my hair behind my ears so that they stick out wide and awkward and then I nod. —
Yeah, I guess.
—

His cigarette falls from his fingers in slow motion. He stamps it out and steps away from the wall. He takes five steps closer to me—stopping directly under the glare of the lights. —
So? You’re from L.A. then?
—

I know not to say too much. I shrug one shoulder and look away, hoping to see the lights from a bus turn into the parking lot.

—
How old are you anyway?
— he asks. —
You look like you’re still a kid.
—

—
Old enough, I guess
— saying it as I face the opposite direction from where he stands.

He takes another two steps closer so that he’s standing right beside me. Even though it’s still warm this late at night, I start to shiver being so close to him. He stinks like ashes. His eyes are swimming with static. I’m reminded of all the times after we kissed when Kayliegh’s brother would come into her room whenever she was in the shower and I was alone. He never tried anything—he was just creepy like this guy.

If Alec were here with me, Alec would hurt him.

—
Traveling by yourself?
—

If I’m rude, I know he’ll linger. It’s the same as it was with Skylar and her friends. It’s better to be polite and uninteresting.

—
What time did the lady say the bus was supposed to get here?
— I ask because asking questions is a good way to make somebody uncomfortable. That’s something I learned from Dr. Richards. She did it to me so many times that I can do it to perfection.

When he answers, it’s like a reflex. —
Should be here in three minutes.
—

—
Thanks
.—

I keep my eyes straight ahead, staring out at the lights of a town that doesn’t have a name. I count in my head by one Mississippi, two Mississippi—all the way up to sixty and then start over. My lips are moving as I do and it scares him. He doesn’t try to talk to me anymore after that.

The bus is twenty-eight seconds late, but it finally turns off the road and pulls into the parking space marked four. Above the driver’s window, it reads
LOS ANGELES
in white letters on a black background. It looks like a name tag worn on a silver insect made of metal. The headlights are its eyes.

The door hisses as it opens.

An extra step folds out like an inviting tongue.

Even though I’m first in line, I don’t get on—my knees shake too much to move. If I were with Dr. Richards, she would ask me what I was so afraid of. She’d want me to describe how I’m terrified to step onto the bus and I would tell her it was because it feels like stepping into the mouth of a beast waiting to swallow me. She would call it delusional and suggest I board. She would push me toward being eaten.

A small group of people begins to gather around me. The driver is collecting their tickets as they go inside the bus. I watch them disappear one by one into the blackness.

—
It’s going to be okay
— I mumble, sucking on the sleeve of my shirt. It’s just the static trying to trick me—trying to keep me from getting to Alec. I have to be brave.

The cigarette boy moves in front of me. We are the only two left. He bends a little at the waist and leans toward me until his face is only inches from mine. —
You getting on?
— he asks, and I feel myself shrinking. —
Hey? Are you okay?
—

—
Fine
— I’m almost shouting when I say it and he throws up his hands to tell me he was just trying to be nice, but his niceness is a disguise I see past. I wait for him to board first so that when I get on, I can be sure to sit far away.

—
You coming?
— the driver says, and there’s something friendly about his voice that calms me—something that reminds me of a grandfather in some movie who is always helping everybody. He tips up the brim of his cap and winks. —
I promise, I’m the best driver on this route. You’re in good hands.
—

There is no trace of static anywhere near him and I trust him.

As I hand him the ticket, I can see that it’s crumbled and twisted the way my father wrinkles up newspaper to start a fire whenever we go away someplace cold. —
Sorry
— I whisper, but the driver tells me not to mention it.

Once I’m on the bus, it’s nothing like I feared. The dark corners and shadows that hang over every seat aren’t terrifying at all. There’s actually something comforting about them—something protective. I move deliberately toward the back. I make sure not to glance at the cigarette boy as I pass. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that he’s staring at me. I keep walking until he is forgotten, fifteen seats away from where I sit down alone with my head resting against the window.

The bus comes to life—the engine purring as we drive off. I take a pen from my pocket and hold my hands steady. The lights from passing cars on the road are all I need to trace the lines. In less than a minute, I am no longer lonely. With all of the stops along the way, it is three hours by bus to L.A. and now I have a familiar friend to keep me company. —
Don’t worry, Fred. We’ll be there soon.
—

I let the rumble of the tires take over after that. The headlights on the highway hypnotize me. Soon my eyes are too heavy to keep open and I fall asleep.

*   *   *

Alec is waiting for me in my dream.

—
Hurry
— he calls out.

The ocean is behind him—a whirlpool in the center swallows the sun.

He’s far ahead of me.

My feet move so fast, they barely touch the ground.

Just before I reach him, he disappears. The scenery shatters and I see the bus driver leaning across the seat, shaking me. —
Last stop
— he says.

It won’t be long now before there’s no escape.

If we don’t hurry, heaven won’t wait.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

It would terrify my dad to find me in a place like the bus terminal in Hollywood. It’s empty in the predawn hours of the morning. Long shadows darken the corners and corridors to save energy. The people here are people with nowhere to go. My dad would see stranger danger all around. Not me—I feel better in places like this.

—
Sabrina, at your age, everyone thinks they are invincible, but you’re not
— he said to me the week before I started high school. He was just as nervous as I was about starting a bigger school. I think he’s always been worried about me. I feel it every time he looks at me. There’s a spark in his eyes. I know it’s love that makes them glow like that, but under it there is the fear of losing love. —
You have to promise me you’ll be smart, okay? I know you think we’re strict, but your mother and I make rules to protect you. We can’t be with you all of the time though. There are going to be times in the next four years where you’ll find yourself in certain situations where you’ll have to make a choice. All I ask is that you think before you act … don’t put yourself in danger if you can help it.
—

—
Okay, Dad
— I said.

—
I mean it, Sabrina … promise?
—

—
I know. I mean it too
.—

He wouldn’t understand about me being in the bus station. He would think I was breaking my promise, but I’m not. My dad believes that bad disguises itself—that danger hides. I think it’s the opposite. The truly horrible things about the world are always reaching out for you.

The man standing by the steel gate drawn over the closed coffee hut has dirty fingernails. He smiles at me with the grin of a crocodile. His legs are reptile and mobile. There is a shadow over him darker than midnight. He is to be avoided and I walk past.

The woman sitting in a row of chairs attached to the wall is good. She has two bags bunched under her enormous legs. She takes up two seats with her size and the halo around her spreads another two seats on either side.

—
Excuse me
— I say, and she opens her eyes, stirred from a nap that was just beginning. —
I’m trying to get to Santa Monica … do you know which way I need to go?
—

The woman looks around for an information booth. The nearest one is unoccupied. —
It figures
— she says. —
They ain’t never there. I’m pretty sure you want gate sixteen for that bus, but you might want to double-check.
—

—
I don’t want to take the bus
— I say. —
I meant, how do I get there if I leave?
—

—
Oh, that’s a different story altogether
— she says, laughing. —
I’ll tell you what you want to do … go out the main exit there
— she says. Then she rattles off street names like a grocery list that I will never be able to memorize in their correct sequence. —
If you get lost, just remember to keep the morning sun behind you until you hit the ocean.
—

—
Then … Santa Monica is south of there, right?
—

—
Sure is, but you’re not going to walk there, are you? Child, that’s far!
— the lady warns me. When I say that I am planning to walk, she puts her hands on her hips—one corner of her mouth twisting into a frown. —
Sure you don’t want to wait for the bus? The next one will be here in two hours. Besides, it ain’t exactly a good time for sightseeing.
—

I shake my head. There is a rabbit instinct inside of me pushing me to find Alec. Every second we’re apart is time the static has to get closer to me. I’ll go crazy if I sit for two hours. —
Thanks. I’ll be okay. I can’t wait that long for a bus.
—

She shakes from side to side like an earthquake and laughs the same way. —
Youth … always in a rush.
—

The sun is still underground when I get outside. The sky is washed with electric light. I watch the headlights of stray cars speeding through green lights. There is a building across the street with lights on in the second floor—muffled voices in a shouting match drift from the open window. I think about what my dad made me promise—about thinking before I act. I think the best action for me to take is to keep moving and take off in the direction the lady said would lead me to the ocean.

I try to follow the directions she gave, but I keep forgetting to look at the street signs. I keep losing track of the number of intersections I pass and blocks I go down. Instead I focus on the palm trees and neon signs. —
Keep it together … just a little longer
— I tell myself because my brain is starting to feel unhinged like it used to in school. The past and present no longer mean as much since I left the hospital—it all seems to run together.

By the time I reach the overpass bridge that crosses the freeway, I have no idea where I am. The noise is all around me—throbbing just behind my eyes.

There is a chain-link fence along the overpass and I lean against it. The rattling metal is relaxing. I lock my fingers through its holes and breathe. I count my breaths as I watch the river of headlights far below. They are all searching for me with mechanical eyes but they can’t look up—only straight ahead.

I wrap my fingers around my wishing stone and take it from my pocket. As soon as I feel its warm surface in my palm, I see the first rays of sunlight in the sky.