The 52nd (The 52nd Saga Book 1) (5 page)

Zara

CHAPTER FOUR

The Young Gentleman

A white light overhead woke me from my deep sleep. It was overly bright, with patterns of origami shapes that spiked a prickling throughout my head so intense my eyelids retracted. I squeezed at my temples, trying to relieve the light’s biting pressure, and breathed in
deeply.

The air smelled funny, like metal and pure oxygen, and my nose itched. When my hand hit plastic, I looked down. A tube ran from my nose to a machine at the side of my bed. Instinct told me to yank it out and run, but my bones felt bruised and unlikely to move; I just leaned my head back, exhausted.

Mother was asleep on the hospital’s rocking chair in a tight corner next to the window. My green duffel bag sat on the ground next to her, zipped shut, its bulkiness promising it was full of my belongings.

Jett walked in holding a Styrofoam cup. His round cheeks were sunburned. Using his empty hand, he swiped at the platinum bangs swaying over his brown eyes and
smiled.

“You’re awake,” he said, setting the cup on the bedside
table.

He kissed me last weekend.
Of course he did. Best friend of my twin brothers, Max and Casey, now off at college in Reno, and I’d crushed on him hard senior year while he was dating a junior named Poppy, a pretty cheerleader monster. It didn’t matter, though. Jett broke up with her in March, we graduated in June, and she was out of the picture. We were starting college soon, which meant new competition, and Jett knew that. The kiss wasn’t what I expected either. The whole thing bothered me, like it wasn’t right, or maybe a little too late. So I’d told him I needed to focus on college and hadn’t seen him
since.

“Why am I here? What happened?” My voice scratched
dryly.

He sat at the edge of the bed, eyebrows arched in confusion. “You don’t remember? You and Bri were in a car accident.”

“Is she
okay?”

“She’s been up for days. Went home yesterday.”

My head spun. “Days?”

“Zara, you’ve been out for five
days.”

“I
what?”

He nodded at the table at my side, unplugged my cell, and handed it to me. “Look at your phone—check the
date.”

Underneath the massive list of get-well texts it said Wednesday. I looked back up at him. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Everyone’s been waiting for you to wake up. Bri doesn’t remember anything.”

My head ached as I tried to sift through disoriented thoughts. A fleeting memory uprooted a fear with the power to still my very core. A face, split flesh and bone, burned holes in my mind—my breathing faltered—but then lucid blue eyes appeared, and I remembered how they stared down that thing across the street. I turned, not wanting Jett to see the panic stirring in my
face.

“What do you remember?” he
asked.

I was slow to respond.
Do I tell him the truth of what seems like a nightmare?
My butt was going numb. I tried shifting from one butt cheek to the other, but my arms shook painfully. I looked down and saw raspberry bruises and pink cuts covering my left arm. I winced in discomfort.

“I don’t really know,” I lied, not sure
why.

He frowned, disappointed.

“So what did the doctors say? How bad am I?” I
asked.

“You’ll be fine. They said because it was a severe concussion, we had to wait until your body was ready to wake up on its own. Other than that, just cuts and bruises.”

“How is that possible?” The sound of crunching metal shrieked in my ear, and as it did, my heart swelled with a light electric pulse. My hand shot to my chest, remembering the pain I’d felt that night. “Did they say anything about my
heart?”

He frowned. “Why, is it bothering
you?”

I nodded reluctantly.

“They ran every test you can think of,” he said. “Bri only remembers you passing out, so the doctors did everything they could to find something. She told them that you were grabbing your chest in pain, but nothing turned up. They said it was probably indigestion. You are really lucky, Zara. You know that, right? Everybody’s talking about how you should have been
dead.”

Dead.
A riff of chills skimmed over my skin. I shivered, half from knowing I was lucky and half from knowing that the boy’s tattoo glowed neon blue. Indigestion seemed stupid. It was not indigestion. Max always got indigestion from splurging on fried food and junk. This was different.

“Zara?” Mom’s drowsy voice drifted toward me as she rubbed her eyes and
stood.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said. She looked tired. Dark circles surrounded her hazel eyes, which were already swelling with tears. She ran her fingers briefly through her midlength blonde hair and took a big
breath.

“Really?” she asked with her Texas twang. Jett moved over as she reached for my
arm.

“Yes, Mom. Really.”

She turned to Jett. “Go and get the doctor, honey.”

He shook his head, glanced at me once more, then walked out without a word. I looked back to Mom as she scooted closer. Her hovering made my breathing pick up. I felt angry suddenly.

“I feel fine, Mom. Really, I
do.”

“What happened?”

She cupped her hands around mine and stared, longing for answers. Surely she would think I was crazy.
I
thought I was crazy for seeing such things. I looked away, those blue eyes threading themselves deeper into my memory. I pictured them staring through my window. Seeing me there, bloodied and helpless, they showed fear. I wanted to find him, to tell him that I was okay. But wouldn’t he already know that if he called the
police?

“Mom, how did we get to the hospital? Who found us?” I
asked.

She sat back with stern eyes. She never liked that Bri and I worked so late. “Y’all are very lucky now, you hear? God knows I pray on my knees every night for your safety, and you’re lucky He answered my prayers.”

“Mom . . .”

She paused. “A young gentleman tipped off 911 and told the police where you two
were.”

“Who?”

“Nobody knows. He wasn’t there when they showed up. But that doesn’t matter. The good news is that you both are all
right.”

My lungs were caving in. I started panting.
The boy, that creature, they were real. I saw them. Why would he run?
“Couldn’t the police trace the
call?”

“They tried, but I guess it didn’t work for some reason. Never mind that now. You need rest. You
hungry?”

I shook my head. In fact, my stomach was queasy. It was the boy from Lucky Pin who called the police; I was sure of it. And now it was the boy from Lucky Pin who’d made my stomach
churn.

I spent the duration of my hospital stay in silence, utterly afraid of what I had witnessed.

It was Friday afternoon when the doctors gave me the okay to leave. My body had healed rapidly enough that I left with only minor scrapes and bruises. It was odd. I should have been much
worse.

The chilly air outside smelled of autumn as I got into Mom’s car. I stared out the window at the mountain peaks, which had begun collecting caps of white snow. It reminded me why I’d decided to stay home for college my freshman year. Snowboarding. It was Bri’s idea, but I suddenly felt disappointed that I hadn’t decided to go to college somewhere farther from home. I didn’t see myself staying in Tahoe forever, and now, after what I’d seen, I was terrified of this
place.

On Lake Tahoe Boulevard, heading east toward suburbia, Mom remained silent as I looked past the boulders into the sparse wood of cedars and fir trees. I imagined logical reasons why that boy’s arm would glow like a jellyfish in the deep sea. Nothing came to
me.

“Dad and I went ahead and bought your books. Admissions said they will forgive your absences while you were in the hospital,” Mom
said.

“Thanks, Mom.” I’d missed an entire week of classes. Great.

My mind, roving anywhere but in this car, kept me from carrying on a conversation. Mom glanced at
me.

“The insurance company called today,” she began. “Your car was totaled.”

“I figured,” I mumbled.

The police had no idea who made the call. I wondered what the boy did after I passed out. Did he leave me there and wait for the police to come? Did he pull me out of the
car?

“But your dad and I were planning on something like this happening, so we sort of already bought you a new
car.”

My repeating thoughts stopped abruptly. “What?”

I felt guilty. Money had been in short supply since my parents opened their photo shop on prime real estate along Lake Tahoe. Now they were paying for my out-of-state tuition and books and
car.

“What year is it?” I wondered.

She had a determined look. It worried me more than it should. “Just so you know, your brothers picked it out, and they love
it.”

Before Mom could sense my fear of what Max and Casey would “love,” I turned to watch the rocky landscape merge into the green lawns of our neighborhood. “Thanks, Mom. I’m sure it’ll be
great.”

I sighed sadly at my reflection, disgusted with how I looked. I had a large cut over my left cheek and a black eye on my right. When Mom pulled into the driveway, I tried to contain the flow of emotion that consumed me. Fresh tire marks ran over the lawn, and the aroma of cut grass filled the air as I hopped out. Leaves in fiery colors circled the trunk of the maple tree, and the rosebushes edging the low foundation of our gray stone porch bore vibrant fall blooms. I looked to my bedroom window over the garage. The shades were up, and I could see a vase filled with fresh flowers.

I went inside and started down the mahogany walkway to the kitchen. Light flooded through the large trellis windows, making the robin’s-egg-blue cabinets almost painfully cheerful. I’d always liked the color, but it bothered me now. My stomach grumbled as I reached for one of the cookies on the plate in the middle of the
table.

Mom opened the fridge. “The boys really wish they could’ve been
here.”

“I’ll see them
soon.”

“Do you want me to make you something to eat?” She was shifting glass jars around. The clink of glass shrieked into my ultrasensitive ears, enough to make me cringe. It was annoying that it didn’t stop, and then when it did, it was replaced with the whine of the can opener. The noise tipped off an anger I didn’t know I was carrying. I assumed it was because I was tired, but it was uncontrollable, and it came on
fast.

“Actually, do you mind if I go to bed early tonight?” I said, squeezing my temples.

She looked at me, stunned. I never passed on a meal. “Are you sure you’re feeling all
right?”

“Mom, I’m fine! I just need to get some rest!” I hollered. I paused, startled by what I’d done. I stared at her, dumbfounded, then snapped my mouth shut as I rose from the bench. I didn’t understand why I’d yelled. It just came
out.

Mom cleared her throat. Her face had
I’m going to pounce on you
all over it. I apologized quickly and headed upstairs with my duffel bag before she demanded I go back to the hospital and get more
tests.

The dusky light coming through my window silhouetted the flowers on the sill in a shade of dark gray. I fumbled for the light switch and turned on the mini crystal chandelier that hung over my bed. Jewel turquoise was the color of my walls—it had been since I was fourteen. The only thing that had changed was the white furniture I received from my aunt last May. I set my bag on the cream bedspread and sat at my desk, staring into the floor-length Venetian mirror at the creature I’d become. I looked like death itself, and yet I
lived.

I put my hands over my eyes and wept. I cried in horror until I noticed that something wasn’t right. The room smelled different—but familiar. I sniffed the pillows on the bed, the clothes hanging in the closet, and my tiny bathroom in the corner. It was everywhere, though nothing looked out of place. It smelled tropical.

It felt like I didn’t sleep alone that
night.

Adjusting back to normal over the weekend wasn’t easy. I was convinced that something inside my head had changed the night of the crash—my personality most of all. It split on occasion, making me feel edgy and obsessed with things that never bothered me before. If I rinsed a hand, the other had to get wet. I snapped at Mom and Dad for no reason, and I got annoyed so easily over texts from friends. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but the bitterness and nastiness and manic behavior seemed to come with the migraines that started once I returned home; I assumed they were all belated symptoms of my concussion.

So I did what any hormonal teenager would do: I asked to be left alone. Mom and Dad seemed relieved. A lot of things suddenly seemed to have come up on their schedules. Car stuff and work stuff. It felt as if they were avoiding me, but I didn’t blame them. As we ate leftover spaghetti for dinner on Saturday, I finally asked what car they’d gotten me. It got Dad to smile, with a little red sauce smeared on his lip, but he refused to tell. I had to wait until Monday when it would be
ready.

Monday morning was bright and sunny, cheery almost. Birds chirped on the roof as the sun poked through the shades, but I awoke groggy. I imagined how much reading I would have to catch up on as I rolled the cuffs of my jeans and put on my Oxfords. I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Then I tamed my loose waves into a bun and slipped on a cardigan before heading downstairs.

Normally Mom and Dad would have been at the photo shop by ten, but they’d stayed home to see me
off.

Dad, sitting at the breakfast bar, looked up from the newspaper. “Your first day of college, huh?”

I smiled, piling the books they’d bought me into my messenger bag, noticing more gray hair showing on his brunette
head.

“Mitch, are you sure she should be driving already?” Mom asked. I supposed it was more my new temper that gave her reason to not let me drive rather than the fact that I actually crashed.

“Mom, if I go with Bri, I’ll be keeping her around school for nothing. Her schedule is different from mine,” I reminded her. That overachiever was taking eighteen credits; I was taking twelve so I could shoot for the mountain once there was snow. If I’d wanted eighteen, I would have gone somewhere else for college.