Chapter 18

Chapter 18

I 've been running along the edge of the cliff for hours, trying to get the image of Brendan lying on the ground out of my mind. My sweatshirt is clinging to my sweaty back, though my teeth are chattering with the cold. I've been following the changes in the sky nervously. The puffy edges of the dark clouds are gleaming a deep orange—a clear sign that the sun's already low on the horizon. I need to get to the valley before it gets too dark to see. There must be a path somewhere along here, or at least a spot where it'll be less dangerous to climb down from.

I know I need to stay focused on where I'm going, but part of me is still back with Brendan. One minute I'm terrified he's going to find me, the next minute I'm wishing he would. Which is totally sick and twisted! How can I possibly wish he'd find me if I'm risking my life trying to get back home?

I stumble to a halt and clutch my temples with a scream. I have to quit thinking about him. I have to keep my mind on putting one foot in front of the other. I still have no idea where I'll be able to build a fire and rest for the night. I can't risk stopping up here in the forest, because Brendan might already be awake again, hunting me.

I break into an even faster run, glancing uneasily at the clouds. The last few ravens that had been circling over the cliffs sail away with the wind, and the darting chipmunks retreat into the underbrush. I'm starting to panic, especially because the temperature is dropping by the minute. I tug my sweatshirt down over my hands as I run, but it doesn't help. Soon my fingers are numb, my cheeks like ice. The wind howls darkly over the mountains, like a giant playing the flute. It gets so strong that I'm afraid to keep running along the cliff.

I look around, totally unsure what to do. I don't want to go back into the dense forest, which spreads out beside me like a lonely grave. No way, I can't go in there! Besides, the storm might make a branch fall on my head or something.

I wrap my arms around myself and move a few feet away from the cliff's edge. The wind tears at my clothes as if it's trying to rip them from my body. My eyes start to water, which blurs my vision. But the chill is the worst part. It crawls into me from underneath, reptilian, paralyzing my legs. The combination of cold and wind is making me clumsy. I trip over my own feet a couple of times and scrape my hands through the sweatshirt.

The temptation to sit and rest is growing steadily. Every time I pass a rock that might offer some shelter from the wind, I promise myself that I'll stop at the next one... but every time, I go right on running. Then I nearly tumble off the cliff and realize I can't keep ignoring the way I'm trembling with exhaustion. The next time I see a boulder, I collapse to the ground on the wind-protected side and curl into a ball. I know I can't let myself rest for too long without a fire—I don't want to risk falling asleep and freezing to death. But even if I can't make a fire, I can at least warm my hands for a minute. I pull the lighter out of my underwear and clench it tightly. It's wonderfully warm just from my body heat. I shield it with one hand as I hold it near my face and clumsily flick it. A yellow flame springs to life, but immediately goes out in the wind. I keep trying and trying until my thumb is black with soot. Frustrated, I shove the lighter into the kangaroo pouch of my hoodie, and struggle to my feet again.

Every bone in my body aches. I shouldn't have sat down. My legs are stiff; I can barely bend my knees. I wish to God I were home. Safe and warm.

Mechanically, I put one foot in front of the other. Left, right, left, right. Again and again. Don't think. Run. Just a little further. This is how soldiers must feel when they have to march through the night.

The temperature continues to drop. Something in my head starts to shift, though I only half-notice at first. I start feeling like I'm falling asleep as I run. My mind drifts away, to a place where the sun always shines, where the sagebrush lines the monotone streets and a young man stands beneath an apple tree on one leg, doing the Crane.

I see a flat-roofed wooden house with an open door, and I follow the sound of a girl's bright, silvery laughter. It seems close, yet far away. I want to catch it, that laughter I hear. Catch it, and hold onto it forever. Implant it in my chest so I'll never lose it again. Then I know I wouldn't be as cold.

Wooden floorboards creak underneath the soles of my shoes as I walk down the hallway. The laughter is coming from the yard. Mesmerized, I step out onto the veranda and stop at the top of the stairs. A little girl in a white nightshirt is twirling on the dry ground, her blonde hair flying in the wind. She looks like she's pulling on something I can't see. Her turquoise eyes are as radiant as the cloudless sky above. She has everything, this girl does. Everything. A whole world. Including things I can't see. And she knows it. The realization sends a pang through my heart. She knows. I wonder when she forgot, wonder why life made her believe she didn't have enough. I wonder if she really did forget, or if she just can't remember, so she's looking for happiness in the wrong places. I wonder if—whether I go back or not—if I can ever be that girl again, or if I've lost her forever.

My heart is suddenly burning with longing. I pick up the pace. I just need to run fast enough to catch up to the girl. I need to get home. A couple of times, I think I spy a flash of something near the cliff, a glimpse of her white nightshirt, a strand of blonde hair. I stretch my arms out, trying to catch her so that I can laugh again, so that I can be warm again.

Is this how Brendan felt when he made his plan to kidnap me? Was his heart burning like this, with such violent heat that he couldn't take it anymore?

The thought makes me trip again. Instinctively, I reach out for something to catch myself on, but there's nothing there. I fly forward. The darkness encircles me, envelops me, blurs the boundaries between up and down. It happens so fast that I don't even have time to scream. Before I fully understand that I'm falling, my back slams against something hard, and a red star of pain explodes in my head. I can't breathe. My body slides down something smooth. Deeper and deeper. I open and close my hands, trying to grab hold of something, but it's futile.

The last thing I'm aware of is the pain, the pain in my ankle overwhelming my senses. Then the world sinks into an ocean of huge, black waves.

When I open my eyes again, the dark sky is spinning. My head is pounding. I lie still for a while as my memory returns, reliving the fall in slow motion.

I'm afraid to move. What if I'm seriously injured? I do a mental inventory. Arms, legs, hands, feet, all shivering. Which is good, because it means I'm not paralyzed.

With great effort, I struggle into a sitting position, and my stomach immediately rebels. I spit greenish-white liquid out onto the rocks. I feel like death. I don't think I can stand up. Now I notice the sharp, biting wind whipping my hair in all directions. Dazed, I try to get my bearings. To my left is the river I saw from above; three boulders the size of suitcases are jutting out of the water nearby. The steep slope is to my right. I'm sitting on a narrow strip of gravel. It's too dark to see to the top, but I still know that I'm super lucky to have survived the fall.

I wipe my face with shaky hands, and water drips from the sleeves of my sweatshirt. Only then do I realize that I'm completely soaked. I look around in confusion. The gravel is wet. There's water running down from the rock cascades into the grass at the foot of the steep slope. I spot a granola bar floating in a puddle of rainwater and mud.

My heart skips a beat. I try to reach into the kangaroo pocket of the hoodie, but my fingers seem to have other ideas. It takes me three tries to get them under control. Clumsily, I pull out a crushed cookie and a smashed granola bar. The rest is gone. I reach around to touch my back pocket and breathe a sigh of relief—the scissors are still there. But the lighter? That was in the kangaroo pocket. I fumble through the pocket one more time. Nothing.

I groan and start searching frantically, but it's nowhere nearby, either. It must be at the top somewhere, stuck among the rocks. Helpless, frightened, furious tears spring to my eyes at the realization. Why, why didn't I stick it back in my underwear? How could I be so dumb? I could smack myself.

I lean toward the puddle and fish out the granola bar. I know I should eat and drink, but I can't. I sit there for a few moments, staring out at nothing, wishing I could just burst into tears and wait for someone to come along and comfort me. But the only person who can find me here is Brendan.

With grim determination, I use the boulder beside me to hoist myself to a standing position. A wave of dizziness washes over me immediately, and I stumble to the side. A sharp pain stabs my ankle like a bread knife. Dammit! I take a few deep breaths, waiting for the pain to subside. Then I try again. Left, right—no, ouch, hop—left. It hurts so badly that I really do start crying, but I wipe my face impatiently and keep on hobbling, even though I feel like my ankle is one giant mass of splinters. Well, at least now I'm not going to fall asleep. I've heard of people walking for miles with a broken leg because they were determined not to die. And my ankle might not actually be broken. It could be just a sprain. I grit my teeth and wince. Don't think about it!

After what feels like an eternity, I reach a place where the river widens. The water is shallower here; countless boulders dot the middle. It's more of a mountain stream than a river. If I can cross it, I might find help on the other side. Besides, Brendan will never suspect I'm over there—crossing a river during a storm when you can't swim is completely insane. But right now, it's probably my only shot at shaking Brendan off my trail.

When I get to the shore, I find a piece of driftwood as long as my arm, swearing to myself that I'll turn back if the water reaches to my hips. Then I put a foot into the water and nearly abandon the plan immediately. Cold, so cold. I glance back through the darkness, toward the cliff. If I fell down there and lived, Brendan can probably climb down. And he will climb down, if he has even an inkling that I might somehow have landed near here.

Pressing my lips together, I feel my way across the riverbed with the driftwood, while also using it as a crutch. Left... right.... left. Everything is still here, except for the rushing of the river. The surface is like the skin of a slithering animal, dark and eerie. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to fight back the fear that suddenly, unexpectedly bubbles within me.

I'm at about the middle of the river when the waves reach my thighs. The current's so strong I'm afraid I'll lose my footing. A moment later, it tears the driftwood from my hand, and I nearly fall. Panic washes over me. I try to keep my breathing steady, but one thought has pushed its way in front of the others: I'm going to get pulled under and killed. My body is trembling so hard it's starting to cramp. I'm losing control.

Shh, Lou, calm down, please, please calm down.

Left. Right. Good, that's it!

The inner monologue helps me make it a few more feet, but just as I'm about to reach the far shore, my knees give out, and I fall into the water, stomach-first. It knocks the wind out of me for a few seconds. I instinctively clutch a nearby boulder, shaking so violently that I can't stand up. With the last of my strength, I heave myself forward using my forearms. My heart is pounding in my chest, raw and leaden, like I've just finished a marathon. I'm cursing, bawling, tasting the salty tears streaming down my cheeks.

Somehow, I manage to wriggle out of the water, and I curl into a ball on the gravel along the shore. Within minutes, my clothes are frozen stiff. I don't want to stand up anymore. I'm too cold. I stare at the gravel, mesmerized. Maybe if I lie here long enough, I'll turn to stone. At least then I won't feel anything anymore.

I close my eyes and listen to the howling wind. Rain starts pattering down on my face. I sink downward, in between the deepest layers of Antarctic ice, drenched in the waters of the South Pole...

I startle awake again, because the river's risen, and it's washing up around me. Woozily I stand up, swaying. My clothes are heavy with rain, seem to be dragging me back to the ground. I blink a few times. Directly beside me, there's a weathered wooden sign stuck in the ground. Private Property. No Trespassing. As soon as I've deciphered the message, it begins to blur and shift. I'm not sure whether that's good or bad, and I'm not really in any condition to think about it.

I stumble onward like a drunk person. My ankle isn't hurting as much now, and the uncontrollable shaking has stopped. I walk, fall, straighten up, walk on. Again and again. Somehow. After a while, I can barely see anything anymore, even though my eyes are open. I hear laughter from somewhere. The girl in the white nightshirt is nearby, dancing dreamily in the rain, arms floating. Her laughter is like a melody...

Don't forget to sing, I suddenly hear Brendan warn me. I'm not sure why I'm remembering that now , but maybe it'll help me stay awake. I rummage through what's left of my mind for a song, and can only come up with one, a lullaby Ethan patiently sang me night after night when I was small. I can see him sitting there on the edge of the bed, sweaty and exhausted from another long day at work.

"Hush, little baby, don't... say a word..." My voice cracks, but the memory washes over me with unrelenting warmth. I keep moving, I'm not sure how. Maybe it doesn't matter. Everything's spinning. I fall. Driftwood bores into my palms. "I'm gonna buy you... a mockingbird." I stagger to my feet. The sky flickers into its own negative, turns white, white like the girl's nightshirt. Have I finally found her? Am I home? It can't be much further, because everything hurts so much. I want to fall asleep in someone's arms, rest from this boundless exhaustion, this misery weighing so heavily on my heart. "And if that mockingbird... don't sing..." I collapse. Lying on the gravel, I try to remember the rest of the verse, but I can't think of the words. I crawl a few more feet, but my elbows buckle like broken matches.

And then I fall one last time—into the deep, black arms of oblivion. I feel myself slide down into it and settle gently onto the dry lawn on the other side. Reddish-yellow sunlight dances on my closed eyelids. When I open my eyes again, I see the pink rhinoceros, nudging me in the shoulder with its horn like it wants to play.

"Hey!" I lie there stroking its leathery, sun-warmed skin. "There you are. Have you been waiting for me here this whole time?" I turn my head and see all of my brothers standing on the veranda. A wave of pure joy envelops me, and then everything goes dark.