Fracture (Fracture #1)



I drove, on edge the whole way. Feeling the constant pull toward Carson. Wondering how long I had. Kevin lived in the only community in our town for rich people. Community is an overstatement. More like a street. So I drove upward on a steep, winding road, passing the gorgeous homes nestled into the side of a mountain. I couldn’t see it from the road, but the houses here apparently had a beautiful view of Falcon Lake from up high.

Kevin’s home was the last house on the street. With the snow and the ice and the sharp curves, it’d take a good ten minutes to reach the top.

I kept shooting glances at Carson as I drove, but I tried to keep my eyes on the road more often than not. We were about a quarter way up the mountain when something changed. What had been a harmless pull, just a warning, shifted into an itch in the center of my brain. I whipped my head at Carson and slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road.

He lurched forward against his seat belt. “What? You want me to drive?” He smiled like everything was normal, but his eyes were squinted and he glanced out the window a few times.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Nothing. I just . . . everything is so damn bright up here, huh?”

We were on a narrow road, covered by trees. Sunlight barely seeped through. “Carson, listen to me. Do you think maybe you’re not feeling right? Like you might have a seizure?”

“I told you I don’t get seizures anymore.” Which wasn’t exactly a denial. I made a decision then. I chose a path, and I committed. I pulled a fairly dangerous K-turn in the middle of the icy road, where there wasn’t enough visibility to see if anyone was coming around the corner, and headed back down the mountain.

“Where are you going?” Carson asked.

I performed some mental calculations. Three minutes down the mountain. Three minutes to the highway. Ten minutes to the doctor’s office. I could make it. The itch had barely just begun. We could make it. “We’re going to see my doctor. You don’t look good.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” he said, but he didn’t protest. He must have sensed something because he was letting me save him.

“Call Janna. Or your parents.”

Carson wasn’t listening. He was looking from side to side, squinting, holding his hand in front of his face and turning it over. “What are you doing?”

“I see an aura,” he whispered.

“What’s that?” I picked up speed, leaving my foot off the brake as we coasted downhill. A black car passed us in the other direction, and I briefly made eye contact with the driver. I gripped the wheel and moved my foot to the gas.

“It’s a sign,” he said, still looking at his hand. “It’s a warning.”

I turned off the mountain road. Three more minutes to the highway. “You’re gonna be fine, Carson,” I said, but I was starting to panic. The pull was strong. The itch was spreading through my brain, threatening my neck, moving much faster than I had anticipated. “Hold on,” I said, increasing the speed.

We skidded around a corner too fast and fishtailed. Carson put a hand flat on the passenger window. “You’re not gonna kill me, are you?”

I gritted my teeth together as the back wheels gripped the road again. “Not even close.”

We made it to the highway in under two minutes. It was a straight shot from here to Dr. Logan’s office. We’d make it and they’d run tests and find the problem and fix it.

Except one minute and thirty seconds down the highway, the itch spread further, through my shoulders, down my arms. Too fast. I sucked in air and pounded the accelerator. “Carson?”

“There’s something wrong, Delaney.”

“I know, I’m going as fast as I can. Just hold on.”

“Not with me. With you.” He pointed one steady finger out toward the steering wheel. My hands, gripping the wheel, were trembling. I couldn’t hold the wheel still. I forced my fists to uncurl and placed my palms against the wheel, watching my fingers predict the future. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and shook my head, trying to clear the itch, as I struggled to focus on the road.

“Shit,” I said, jerking the wheel to the side and slamming on the brakes. I held one shaking hand out to him. “Take out your phone and dial.”

He looked at me cross-eyed, but he took out the phone. “Dial what?”

“911.” He pressed the keys and held the phone to his ear. Then he lost his grip and the phone tumbled to his feet, but I could hear the operator already asking for our emergency. I unbuckled and reached across his lap. And then Carson went rigid.

“Carson?” His eyes rolled backward, and his limbs shot out. I reached down and grabbed the phone while a woman was asking, “Hello? Hello? What is your emergency?” And as I was straightening myself back up, Carson’s knee jerked into my cheekbone and he started convulsing.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” I mumbled to myself and into the phone. Carson jerked against the seat belt as his limbs thumped against the floor and the door, creating an unnatural sound.

“Miss? What’s happening.”

“Carson Levine,” I said, my voice wavering. “He’s having a seizure.”

I reached over to unbuckle his belt, which would bruise him from the way he was seizing. “Okay, miss, don’t touch him. He’ll be okay.”

“He’s in my car. The seat belt . . .”

“Don’t touch him. Just let it pass. It will pass.”

“What can I do?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing you can do right now. I’m sending help. Tell me your location.”

His head fell downward, but his limbs didn’t stop. He vomited onto the front seat. I covered my mouth and nose with one hand and opened my door with my other because the car suddenly smelled like a gas station bathroom.

“He puked,” I whispered into the phone.

“Did it come out?”

Wasn’t that the definition of puke? “Yes.” I ran around the car to Carson’s side and opened his door just as Troy eased his car onto the shoulder behind us.

“He’ll be fine as long as the airway is clear. Tell me your location.”

“Um, the highway.”

“Which highway?”

“I don’t know! Right outside Anderville. He hasn’t stopped.”

“He’s fine unless it lasts over four minutes. Or if he has consecutive seizures. It’s only been a little over a minute. Now, which highway is that?”

It had only been a minute?

Troy got out of his car and leaned against it. “Stay the hell away from us,” I said.

“Who are you talking to?”

I didn’t answer. I started laughing. “It stopped,” I said. Carson’s head hung limply on his chest, but his chest was moving. Up, down, up, down, I counted the breaths. He was fine. He was breathing. He was alive.

I snapped the phone shut and kept laughing. Tears clouded my vision, but I saw Troy’s shape still hovering by the car. I stopped smiling and sent him a smug look. Then I unhooked Carson’s seat belt and hauled his limp body out of the car because it smelled of sickness and help was coming. I fell under Carson’s weight, and he landed on top of me. And yet, it didn’t hurt. A fall had never felt so good. I scooted out from under him and turned him sideways like I’d seen Janna do all those years before.

Carson blinked and focused on my eyes. “Are you an angel?” he whispered.

“I am today,” I said, running my fingers through his curls. And then I stopped.

My fingers. My twitching fingers. I pulled them toward my face and studied the movement. Then I looked over at Troy, who was still leaning against his car and shaking his head very, very slowly at me.

Carson’s eyes rolled back. I scrambled backward through the snow.

He seized again.





Chapter 15





“Help me!” I screamed at Troy.

Megan Miranda's books