“What did she say?” I whispered, not aware that I was once again on the edge of my seat.
“She said, ‘I will find you. Whatever it takes, my soul will not rest until I find you and set you free.’ And then she died.” Mack paused for a long moment, perhaps to gather himself before continuing. Meanwhile, I was horrified. “The final irony was that not soon after, more guards from my island—compelled by some mystical homing skills and Mia’s orders to keep me safe—showed up looking for me. They’d been but a few weeks behind the Nords the entire time, following our trail. Had they arrived sooner, óolal would’ve probably lived. I truly think the gods wanted to punish me.”
CHAPTER NINE
TEDDI
I don’t know how long I sat there in silence with Mack, trying to shake off the anguish of the tragedy that had just played out in my mind. It stuck to my skin, permeated my lungs, and rolled around in my stomach with nauseous waves. I literally felt sickened by it.
But why? I’d seen horror movies, read tragic love stories, and I’d played with donor brains in college. I wasn’t thin skinned. Okay, yes, I wasn’t myself today, all filled up with those annoyingly strange emotions, but this story had somehow worked its way inside me like a rotting splinter, tainting my blood.
“I need to take a breather.” I stood and headed for the door, wondering how far I’d get before I vomited. Once outside, I placed my palms against the wall and leaned in. My head was spinning, and my insides twisted with painful cramps.
I suddenly felt someone breathing on the back of my neck—someone tall from the angle of it. I gasped and turned, finding the entire hallway empty.
“Fuck. What’s wrong with me?” I whispered. Suddenly the room began spinning faster and faster, exploding with colors, the walls dripping with blues and reds and…
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Then the space around me turned dark, and I felt myself falling.
~~~
Two Days Later.
I dreamed of running down that hill again. Same as the last time. Only, now there were storm clouds above, and the freezing rain pelted my shivering body.
It’s not him. It’s not him. Dear God, it looks like him, but it’s not. All I could think of was getting away, that I’d made some horrible mistake.
I glanced down at my stomach, pressing my hands over a fresh wound, the blood staining the front of my tattered brown dress that looked more like a potato sack. I was going to die, and I knew it. Yet I kept on running. From him. The man with the blue eyes who apparently wasn’t who he’d seemed.
I tripped on a rock and flew face-first down the muddy embankment. So much pain. So much pain. I tried to get to my feet but kept slipping.
“You fucking little bitch,” said a deep, deep voice from behind me, right before I felt the man grabbing my hair and flipping me over.
“No. Please,” I begged for my life.
He stared down at me with disgust and rage, his face covered in blood, those cold blue eyes punching right through my soul.
“You think you can take him away from me?” he growled. “You think you can rob me of my brother? No one takes what’s mine.” He raised his other hand and sliced through my neck with a gleaming silver sword.
“Fuck!” I sprang up from my bed, drenched in sweat. Oh Jesus. My eyes immediately gravitated toward the night-light in my hallway, visible through the open door. Frantic, I ran my hands over my white pajama shirt, feeling for any wounds.
No, no. I’m safe. I’m home. My plain white dresser and nightstand, the framed picture of my parents hanging over the white armchair in the corner where I read, the sliding door that led out to my redwood balcony overlooking the ocean.
I whooshed out a breath and ran my hands over my face, fully realizing that it had just been a dream. Only this time, everything had been so vivid. Every detail, right down to the texture of the gritty cold mud, the sting of wet wind whipping across my cheeks, the feeling of rot in my stomach.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I had to get up and try to move around a little. It was now close to midnight, and I’d been in bed for two days, half asleep, half afraid of it. The strange dreams wouldn’t stop.
I swung my shaky legs over the edge of the bed and slowly stood, still feeling woozy. I hobbled down the hall, past the bathroom and into the kitchen. I grabbed the glass I kept on the side of the sink and filled it with cold water from the filtered tap.
I chugged and chugged, knowing I’d probably throw it all up like I had everything else the last few days. Much more of this and I’d have to check myself into the hospital for dehydration.