But now she and Nathaniel weren’t alone. Jo was there, too. A sorrowful angel in white, her blonde hair highlighted by the city lights behind her.
‘It’s not your fault, Allie,’ she said, reaching out a pale hand.
Slowly, fearfully, Allie looked down at her grandmother. Nathaniel was weeping. Lucinda’s white blouse was soaked red with blood. Blood pooled beneath her and ran down the hillside in waves. Pouring and rushing. Engulfing the city.
‘Allie, I’m serious. You did all you could. It’s not your fault,’ Jo said again.
Then Lucinda’s eyes flew up.
‘Yes it is,’ she said.
Allie screamed.
‘Wake up, Allie!’ Carter shook her by the shoulders.
She stared up at him. ‘What?’
Her gaze skittered around the unfamiliar room. No Lucinda. No Jo. No Nathaniel.
Blue coverlet. Dingy walls. The safe house.
‘You had a nightmare.’ Carter still held her tightly. His fingers were warm against her shoulders. ‘You screamed.’ Letting go with one hand, he brushed the hair back from her face, smoothing it gently behind her ear. His fingers were like feathers against her skin. ‘You talked in your sleep.’
Allie’s gaze shot up to meet his. Her brow creased. ‘What did I say?’
Carter’s fingers paused, then resumed stroking her hair. ‘You said … “Jo”.’
Biting her lip, Allie nodded.
She resisted the urge to lean against him. Let him hold her and tell her everything was OK. Like the old days.
Because everything was not OK. And this wasn’t the old days.
Her eyes searched the room. At some point, he’d turned off the overhead light and switched on the bedside lamp. She wondered how long she’d been asleep.
She glanced at him again. It couldn’t have been too long – his hair was still damp and curling a little from the water. He smelled of the same bar of soap she’d used.
Unconsciously, her gaze darted down to her clean hands and wrists.
No blood.
He was stroking the strands of hair against her shoulders now. It felt soothing and electrifying at the same time. She felt each touch like heat against her skin.
She didn’t want him to stop. But he had to. He wasn’t hers. And she wasn’t his.
With unnecessary abruptness, she sat up.
He dropped his hand as if she’d stung him.
Pretending not to notice this, she cleared her throat and scooted back against the pillows.
She glanced at the pillow next to hers. It wasn’t dented – he hadn’t been sleeping. He’d been standing guard.
He was staring down at his hands. Even at that angle, she could see the sadness in his face.
‘I … dream about her,’ she admitted, finally. ‘About Jo, I mean. All the time.’ She paused, and he raised his gaze to meet hers. His dark eyes seemed as deep as the ocean. You could sink into them. Lose yourself. ‘I like seeing her. It’s like she’s not really gone.’ She searched his face for judgement. ‘That sounds crazy, right? Lock Allie up in the Lunatic Hotel. She sees dead people.’
‘I dream about my parents all the time,’ he said simply.
Allie blinked. ‘Really?’
He nodded, forcing a faint smile. ‘So … if there’s a Lunatic Hotel, maybe we can share a cell. Save on the rent.’
Allie felt strangely relieved. She was new to this whole grief thing. Carter, on the other hand, was a professional – his parents had died when he was five. That he’d lived to be seventeen, and relatively sane, was one of the things she’d held on to after Jo’s death.
After all, she’d only lost her best friend. Carter had lost his mum and dad and survived. Knowing that he’d kept it together after all of that made the idea of going crazy seem almost selfish.
‘It’s weird,’ Carter said when she didn’t speak. His hands were crossed loosely in front of him. ‘Sometimes in my dreams they look like they do in the pictures I have of them. Other times they don’t look like themselves at all.’ He gave a sheepish smile. ‘When that happens I wake up feeling guilty for not recognising them.’
He looked so shy at that moment, and so vulnerable. Allie had never wanted to hold his hand so much as she did right then. She had to curl her fingers into fists to stop herself.
‘So,’ he concluded, ‘if anyone’s bonkers it’s definitely me.’
‘You’re not crazy,’ Allie said softly.
When he looked at her then his eyes nearly broke her heart.
‘You’re the sanest person I know,’ she said.
He smiled. ‘Yeah but … you know a lot of crazy people.’
‘True,’ Allie conceded. ‘Birds of a feather.’
‘But I’m the closest bird at the moment.’
Allie’s smile faded as she held his gaze. ‘You always are.’
The light moment dissipated instantly. The electricity returned, crackling unseen around them.
‘Carter …’ she started to say but he spoke at the same time.
‘Allie …’
‘Sorry,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘You first.’
Night School: Resistance (Night School 4)
C.J. Daugherty's books
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