Breaking Glass (10 page)

Susannah cleared her throat, her eyes bright. “My mother is an asshole. The Morgans treat me better. They’re my real family.”

One week later, that March, a month before her fifteenth birthday, Susannah ran away for the first time.

She didn’t get far. Just to her half-brother’s house in Rhode Island. She had only been gone four days before she’d called her mother to come pick her up and bring her home.

When Susannah got back, she seemed changed in some subtle way I couldn’t put my finger on. There was a ferocious gleam in her eyes I hadn’t seen before. She smiled and joked around as always, but in class she attacked her art with a silent fury that set my teeth on edge.

“Jeremy,” she asked, looking up from her work one afternoon. “Do you ever think about what happens to the soul after we’re dead?”

“No,” I lied, staring out the window. I’d never talked to her about how my mother died, how I relived the horror each night. I figured someone had to have told Susannah by now. Everyone in Riverton knew all about brave Jeremy Glass and his life of tragedy. “I can’t say I have.”

Susannah continued pushing bits of colored mosaic tile into the weird many-armed figurine she’d been working on for weeks. “I’ve been doing some reading.”

“Cool.” I’d been bending her ear about the five or so books I had going and hoped my nerdish habits were rubbing off. “What about?”

“Oh, world religions and stuff. This is me as Kali, Goddess of Destruction.”

“But you’re not a destroyer, Suze,” I said, laughing. “You’re a creator.”

She stopped working and turned to look at me, a delicious smile curling her lips. “Nature is destructive and creative, all at the same time.”

It was such a Susannah thing to say. Holding back on the urge to kiss her, right there in art class, felt like swallowing knives.

Later that period, Mr. Wallace announced to the class that Susannah had received a full scholarship to participate in a summer Digital Arts seminar in the city, where she would study animation and graphic design.

I was truly happy for her. Happy for Ryan and his theatrical success. Basking in my own status as a track star. We secretly started calling ourselves the Awesome Threesome.

But I was drinking more than ever.

Now

An insidious thought creeps into my head. Maybe Ryan killed Susannah and wants to buy my silence with the promise of a new leg. My head spins.

It’s too much. All of this is just too much.

I. Need. A. Drink.

Finally, under the last shelf, nestled behind a carton of Arizona Iced Tea, I see the glint of a bottle. When Dad destroyed the reserve of Absolut, he must have kept one for himself and hidden it where he figured I wouldn’t find it. He didn’t count on how tenacious I can be when I’m thirsty.

I pry out the bottle, twist open the cap and, like a parched man in the desert, start gulping. I can’t stop until I slug down half the bottle.

I watch Ryan’s video again and again, repulsed by the bionic limb, yet fascinated by the simple act of running. I’m far too sloshed to stand steadily. Finally, my bursting bladder forces me to haul myself up on my crutches and stumble to the bathroom. Somehow, head spinning, floor tilting, I get there, possibly dragging myself part of the way on my butt. I’m not sure how I manage to aim my pee in the right place. At least, I think I do.

Reflected in the full-length mirror, the sight of me catches my attention. I’m in a T-shirt and flannel pajama pants, the empty pant leg rolled up and tucked into the waistband. I strip to my underwear, and for the first time since the surgery, take a good look at myself. All these years pushing myself to the limit, and I never appreciated how my once-scrawny frame had become sinewy and powerful. Until now—all my efforts rendered useless, a gleaming chassis with no wheels.

Maybe I could have made my move when I was whole, if I wasn’t such a wimp. I could have had Susannah for myself. Changed the course of our histories. She’d still be here. Alive. I’d be standing on two legs.

The shuddering tears come on like a summer squall. My lungs fill with liquid as the room floods with the dark waters of the Gorge.

I should join Mom
. Dive to the bottom of the Gorge and settle in the crevices between the jagged stones, the place that was meant to be my grave eight years ago.

I sink to the freezing tile floor, instead.

I’m not sure how long I lie curled in a fetal position on the bathroom floor, too spent to haul myself upright. The effects of the Absolut are receding and all I can think about is how I want some more.

There’s a tingling pressure next to my ear. A soft murmur beside me, inches away.

I’m here, Jeremy
.

I sit up, heart racing, and glance crazily around.

There’s no one.

Great. I’ve finally snapped and gone over the edge. There was talk that my mother was crazy. Had always been crazy. Now I’m losing my mind, too.

I haul myself upright and lean over the sink. Run water and wet my head to shake it off. The vodka does this to me. Fogs my mind, blurs the sharp edges. That’s what I want it for, isn’t it?

But the voice was so real.

I’m still smashed, I realize. Flat-out wasted. I’ve never let myself get this bad.

I shake my head, spraying droplets everywhere, and face myself in the mirror. Sunken brown eyes circled by bruised rings, my face so gaunt and pale it’s nearly blue. Scraggly stubble peppers my chin. I look like my own ghost.

“Here lies Jeremy Glass,” I say to my reflection. “May you rest in pieces.”

I know I hear it this time, despite the haze that clings to my senses like cloud cover. The voice is garbled, as faint as leaves rustled by a light breeze.

But you’re not a ghost, Jeremy
.

I pivot wildly, slipping, and nearly lose my balance.

“Susannah?”

It was her voice.
It was
. Maybe she’s been here all along, hiding out. Playing games. One rainy afternoon when we were fourteen, she had evaded Ryan and me in her cavernous old house for two hours.

But there’s no answer.

Just the faintest wisp of vanilla perfume.

C H A P T E R
t e n

Now

I clump back to Dad’s study, fling myself onto the bed, and drop into sleep…

…and wake, the windowpanes framing solid squares of ink-black night. The bedside light is on, and all too quickly I realize what woke me.

Pain spirals up my phantom shin, coils around my absent thigh, and explodes at the stump. I reach for the Vicodin, pop three in my mouth, and settle back on the pillow. Gradually, my body cools. The pain ebbs. I drift, barely registering the feather-light touch that brushes my cheek.

Jeremy
.

“Dad?” I murmur, peering through slitted lids.

My eyes snap open and I sit up. There’s a static charge pulsing in the room like the air right before lightning touches ground. My scalp tingles, but there’s nothing to see.

I search the room’s shadows for some kind of a sign, unsure of what I’m looking for—or if I want to find out.

“Suze?”

The room prickles with silence. I want to run. My heart skips as the dark waters close in. I struggle to breathe.

If Susannah really is here then my worst fear is true.

She’s dead.

And I’ve called her back.

“Jeremy? You okay?” It’s my dad. “I thought I heard you call out.”

I swallow hard, my eyes squeezed shut. “Yeah,” I grunt.

I hear his light step. I feel his gaze on me. “You sure? The doctors said the healing process would be tough.”

“I took some meds. I’ll be okay.” I manage to pry my eyes open.

He’s looking at me doubtfully. “Try to get some rest. And I hope you’re being careful with the Vicodin. You seem to be going through them a little too quickly. I have Marisa coming to see you in the morning, after your physical therapy session.”

He turns to leave. I almost call out and ask him to stay, but with the pain pleasantly snuffed I settle under the blankets, finally comfortable.

Then

The second time Susannah ran away was in the third week of sophomore year, after a very public fight between her and Ryan.

It was right outside the school building. Ryan held Susannah while she flailed wildly. Sobbing, she broke free and smacked him hard in the face, then ran away like a madwoman. Ryan gave chase and, overcoming her easily, tackled her to the grass. With everyone watching, they lay that way for about fifteen minutes until Susannah stopped struggling. Finally, Ryan got up and walked away, leaving Susannah lying face-down on the schoolyard lawn.

I considered approaching her, but decided against it. The temptation to drape myself on top of her and cover her with gentle kisses was too strong.

That time, Susannah was gone for an entire week. After two days of sulking around, Ryan showed up on my doorstep at one in the morning, totally out of his mind drunk.

I was drunk, too, like I was pretty much was every night, but that was easy enough to hide from someone who was more dead drunk than me. Ryan never held his liquor as well. Especially at fifteen.

I ushered him into the living room and plopped him on my couch.

“She’s too good for me,” he blubbered, his face in his hands. “It’s my fault she’s gone. Last week I ended up backstage with Tania Davis.”

My hands curled into fists, but I kept my tone even.
How could he steal her out from under me, and then just throw her away?
“Whoa, dude. Why and how?”

“I don’t know. I swear. Things got carried away after rehearsal. Tania came on strong. I guess she caught me at a vulnerable moment. It just happened. We were talking, and then we were all over each other. I felt so bad I told Suze. She didn’t take it so well.”

“So I noticed.”

Ryan looked up, eyes glistening on his tear-streaked face, the soul of misery. Even if his wound was self-inflicted, I couldn’t help but feel his pain. There was no way she was going to run into my arms.

“Will you talk to her?” Ryan asked.

“Why? You think I can hypnotize her into forgiving you?”

Ryan cradled his face in his hands. “You’ll think of something clever, Jer. You always do. Susannah thinks you’re brilliant.”

“She does?” I tried not to sound too enthusiastic, but the compliment floated like a bubble of happiness at the bottom of my stomach.

“You are, you fucking a-hole. Please. Just come up with something to calm her down. Something to let her know it won’t happen again.”

I settle onto the couch beside him. “You could get her a nice symbol of how sorry you are. Like, I don’t know, a piece of jewelry?”

Ryan stands suddenly. “That’s it! Dude, you are a fucking genius. Last weekend we went to the city and there was this crazy store in the Village with all kinds of weird new-age stuff. You know how she likes all that mystic crap. I couldn’t drag her out. We spent an hour in there. There was this necklace she wanted, but neither of us had enough money.”

“Cool.”

“Will you come with me, Jer. For moral support and all?”

“’course, Ry. No prob.”

The necklace was a flat gold-plated donut with Hebrew writing hung on a red cord, the Kabbalah pendant Susannah never took off. The words meant ‘eternal love,’ the sales clerk informed us. It cost Ryan seventy-five dollars.

After a week’s absence, Susannah finally came home, but she didn’t return to school until she’d been back for three days. Ryan wanted me to go to her house and give her the pendant, but I drew the line at that.

I guess I didn’t realize at the time how much of a pathetic tool I was. How I was willing to do almost anything, if it could get me near Susannah.

She showed up in art class the following Wednesday. Mr. Wallace had been skittish and moody during her absence, and his relief at her reappearance was obvious. He treated her gently, like a bird with a broken wing in his care, but Susannah showed no sign that anything was wrong except a purple bruise on her right cheek that was well on its way to healing.

There were so many things I wanted to ask her, but my personal vault of secrets prevented me from opening up. If I did, I couldn’t be sure I’d be able to stop.