Fracture (Fracture #1)



I drove past town, past Falcon Lake and the homes beyond. I drove down the same stretch of highway that Decker took last night, where the road had no shoulder, just pavement, then dirt, then thick trees. Where people had plowed a path through nature and tried to make a lasting impression. How long until the trees crept back up? Until they shot through the pavement, cracking and buckling it? How long until all evidence of us is erased?

Then I circled back toward town because there was nothing, no one, waiting for me out there either. But I didn’t go home. I drove around in the surrounding communities—unknown, but somehow familiar. An inescapable sameness. My life, relocated. And all the while, I heard Troy’s voice whispering in my ear. I saw his face on the dark shape by my hospital bed. Asking me if I suffered. Telling me it would be over soon. I listened to it echo a thousand times in my head, and still I didn’t know which he was referring to. Was he easing my life or my death?

And as I drove, I felt random pulls. Faintly left. Faintly right. Behind. Ahead. I couldn’t escape it. Death was everywhere. It was creeping around the outskirts of my world, like it was searching for me. Like it knew I had escaped and was trying to reclaim me.

So when I felt something stronger, I followed it. I pulled off the narrow curvy road surrounding my town and coasted down into a valley, riding the brakes. The trees parted and the forest flattened into pavement and concrete. A grid of homes and storefronts stretched in front of me for several blocks until the trees crowded back in again.

I cruised through the blocks until I found it, a ranch home the color of melted butter. A wide porch circled the front of the house, and two white rocking chairs swayed with the breeze. Or the ghosts. I put the car in park and watched.

Someone in that house was sick. Someone in that house was going to die. It was strong, but my hands were still. My brain was as normal as it was going to get. But death had settled in. Someone moved the white lace curtains aside. A narrow face peered out at me, hovering behind the window. Her white nightgown matched the curtains, so her face looked like it was floating behind the glass.

She was washed out and hollow, nearly a ghost already. I rested my forehead on the steering wheel and groaned. Troy had a point—it was too late for her. She was ancient, halfway to death. How could I possibly save her? The face behind the window kept watching. Like she knew that I was death personified. A warning. A useless, terrible warning. I shook my head, shifted into drive, put my foot on the gas, and left.

I almost didn’t stop at my house. Troy’s old car was at the curb. I wanted to drive right on past, but Mom was at the window and she’d already seen me. From the road, she looked washed out and hollow as well. When had she become like this? I couldn’t remember. Falcon Lake claimed me nearly a month earlier. Maybe it had claimed her, too.

I parked in the driveway and walked up the front steps to let myself in the house. Mom was alone in the living room, but I knew he was nearby.

“Where is he?” I said as I scanned the room for Troy.

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” she asked. “How could you do that? Just leave without telling me.”

“What?” I flashed back to the morning—it seemed so long ago. “You were busy.”

“I was busy? Too busy for you to ask permission? Really, Delaney, who are you?”

A cut. That’s what I felt. Words can cut, slice, like a razor. The old Delaney would’ve asked permission. The old Delaney with the normal brain scan. I was someone else.

Then I heard the scrape of metal on concrete.

I walked through the kitchen, through the laundry room, and swung open the back door. The windows shook as the door slammed into the outside wall. Mom followed quickly behind. “What are you doing here?” I asked as Troy tossed a shovelful of snow into the yard. He jammed the shovel back into the ground, scraping against the concrete hidden beneath the snow.

“He’s helping,” Mom said, sounding farther away than she was. I couldn’t take my eyes off Troy. He stopped hurling snow and rested on the shovel, his chest heaving from exertion. I could tell by the force of the shoveling, the dullness of his eyes, the set of his mouth. He wasn’t helping. He was furious. He was taking out his rage on our sidewalk.

Mom said, “You didn’t even have the courtesy to be on time for your own date.”

“We can still make the movie,” Troy said, glaring at me, but trying hard not to glare.

I looked between Troy and my mother. Troy, barely controlling his anger. My mother, not even bothering to try.

“Delaney,” Troy said, taking me by the arm. “Let’s go.” He dragged me through the house, and I let him, because I wasn’t sure who I was most scared of at the moment. The stranger I was learning about too quickly, or the woman I’d known my entire life who was quickly becoming a stranger.

Troy started driving in the wrong direction. “Where are you going?”

“My place.”

“No, you’re not. The only place I’m going with you is the movie theater.”

Troy glanced at me from the corner of his eye and smiled. “I underestimated you,” he said.

“I overestimated you.”

“That’s not fair.” But he swung the car around, drove to town, and parked in the back lot of the theater. I was out the door before he turned off the ignition. There was no way I was getting stuck out here with him alone, even in daylight. Because I’d seen the way he looked at me as he tore at the sidewalk with the shovel. And I’d seen the mark he left on my upper arm without even really trying. The scar from fourteen unexplained stitches was warning enough.

Troy bought our tickets, like it was an actual date. He tucked an arm through mine and pulled me past the concession stand, into our movie, to the black corner in the back row. Even though there were other couples scattered throughout the theater, we were very much alone. Nobody knew we were there, but I felt calm because at least everyone would hear me scream.

That’s what I thought anyway until the movie started and I realized we were seeing the latest blockbuster with nonstop explosions and gunfire and very little plot. I was wedged in the corner, in the seat against the wall. Troy leaned into me and spoke directly into my ear. It was the only way I could hear him over the movie. “You ran out on me before I could explain.”

I brought my mouth to his ear and hated that my face touched his when I spoke. “You lied to me from the beginning,” I said. “The reason you work there.”

“I didn’t lie. I hate seeing people suffer.”

“So what were you doing with the pills?”

“I gave her the pain medicine. The other pills, they’re just prolonging the suffering. Forcing her to live longer than she wants to.”

“You’re killing her!”

“She’s going to die anyway. Least I can do is make it quick.” His lips brushed my ear and I jerked back.

“That’s not your choice to make.”

“No, it’s not a choice at all. It’s my obligation. It’s my purpose.”

I pulled away and looked at him like I couldn’t tell whether he was serious or making some sick joke.

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