If I Fall (17 page)

I have no powers.
I once knew this to be true. But now it is merely a lie, dragging me down, drawing me to the ends of the earth so that I may slip away with it and disappear forever.

But no.

I will not fall with it, for if I fall, Dela will have no one. If I fall, Adam will continue to fall, too. If I fall, I will never learn the truth. And so I peel the lie away from me, allowing it to spill over the edge without me because I cannot fall. Not now. Not when Adam still hangs static over a roaring sea and certain death.

Adam!

I whip around in a flurry, rushing towards the rail. Leaning over, I see him. Curled like a “C” and with eyes squeezed shut, he is frozen in midair. The fabric of his coat is all pulled upwards as if invisible hands hold him aloft by the cloth. I set the child down on the deck. Stepping up on the first rung, I bend over the rail and reach for his hand. I clasp my fingers around his tightly.

By the touch of my skin on his, Adam unexpectedly unfreezes. At once, my arm is jerked downwards. A cry builds on my lips as my shoulder tears away from its socket. The sudden weight hanging from my hand nearly drags me over the rail, but somehow I regain my balance. Adam’s eyes are wide open now, staring up at me as his legs thrash around in the open air.

“Grab the rail with your other hand!” I yell.

His eyes grow wider and wider, but he follows my command. I pull with all my might as he scrambles up onto the rail and with one final tug, we both collapse to the deck.

Our heavy breathing coats the silence in a rhythmic fog. I push myself into a sitting position and am suddenly face to face with Adam. His lips are parted as he sucks in air; his nostrils flare with the effort. But what captures my attention is his eyes. They lock onto my own, begging for an explanation I cannot give. I can see it in his expression; I can see him fighting the answer he does not want to hear. Spitting green flames, his eyes grow accusatory with each passing second.

Neither of us speaks. We just stare at one another until it becomes too much for me. The look in his eyes fills my heart with disappointment. Some part of me was clinging to the possibility that he would understand, but it was a foolish hope.

I stand and lift the little boy unto my hip with one arm. The other still throbs from the exertion. The boy no longer cries. Consumed by shock, his eyes look and see nothing. He is lost inside his own mind. I feel a tear slip down my cheek, but do not wipe it. With a final glance at Adam, still staring at me with that look in his eyes and no words on his lips, I turn around and slip into the crowd of statues.

My arms tingle as I try to reverse my actions. I was once told that our powers are like riding a bicycle. It comes naturally and without thought after the first time. So I close my eyes and release. Like pulling some unseen plug, I breathe life back into the world. Voices rise like an invisible wall of noise, slamming into us from all sides.

Their screams waver as they gaze down at the young man who in their minds had just fallen over the rail. Brows suddenly furrow with confusion. Heads shake in denial. Eyes blink in bewilderment.

As they yell deductions and claims of delirium, a single Marked girl rushes through the crowd with a little boy. She does not want to see the lucky young man who must have grabbed onto the rail at the last second. She does not want to stare into his eyes any longer, to see the way he looks at her now. But even as her eyes tear away from his and focus on what lies ahead, she cannot escape the memory.

His accusatory gaze still burns like green fire in the darkness of her mind, never to be extinguished.

20
TRUSTING

Blindly, I run.

Feet move beneath me,
slap-slapping
against the deck. A rhythmic movement that joins with my heartbeat, my breathing—everything falling into step except my racing mind.

Everything blurs, the outside world becoming a distant phantom. There is only me. Me, the little boy, and the steady pulse of running. Somewhere along the way, I run into Dela. She is still with Mr. Eversby. But even as she flails her arms around, questions bubbling out of her mouth faster than she can possibly think them, I do not stop. I just keep moving forward, knowing that they will follow. If I stop now, I may never move again. And so I keep going until without knowing how I got there, I am thrusting my way through the cabin door.

“El! Stop!” She grabs for my wrist, yanking me back. “I
said, stop!”
Dela’s outburst is so sudden and so uncharacteristic that it jolts me. I turn to face her.

She lets out a deep breath as though cleansing herself of all anger. Well, maybe not all. “How could you run off like that at a time like this? We must flee! The whole ship is in a panic. We cannot stay with the Laurences any longer!”

“I know that!” I snap. The mere mention of his last name brings a fresh wave of pain.

“Then why are we here!”

Because this is where my mindless run took me. Because I am not yet ready to let go. Because I am sick of fleeing and hiding at any sign of trouble.
There are a thousand reasons I came back, but I simply answer, “Because we need provisions.”

Dela does not seem satisfied, but Mr. Eversby nods his head as he begins searching the room. “Are those real grapes on the dining table?” he says quietly to himself and shuffles off.

My sister’s eyes shift. Staring over my shoulder, they widen with an unmistakable dread. Fearing the worst, I spin around on my heel.

It is Mrs. Laurence with Gertrude falling closely behind. “Oh, Miss Hamilton! Thank the heavens you are safe!” She closes the space between us with three long strides and envelops me in her warm embrace. Looking at the little boy, she says, “Oh, and who might this be?”

“I—I don’t know. His mother—she—he doesn’t have anybody left,” I stammer.

Her eyes trace over his face, filled with sympathy. “He will stay with us,” she says decisively, taking him from my arms.

My knees grow weak at her unconditional compassion. How can I possibly let go now? They weren’t supposed to be here. How can I possibly leave!
Dela. I can let go for Dela,
I remind myself.

Mrs. Laurence sobs into my shoulder. “How could such a horrid night come to be?”

I rub her back as irritation creeps in. Who is she to cry? Am I not the one who has to flee, to leave everyone behind again? She is not the one being hunted. She does not have the shadow of death following her at every moment. And yet
she
cries!

“Fate,” I whisper.

“No. Not fate.” It is Dela speaking. I release Mrs. Laurence, turning on my sister. “This is the work of human ignorance. Nothing more,” she says and shrugs. As she speaks, I do not see a twelve-year-old I must protect, but rather someone protecting me, holding me together as the world shatters.

Mrs. Laurence emits a hiccupping giggle at my sister’s wisdom as she wipes at her eyes. “Oh, look at me. I am a fool. Excuse me, girls. I just fear for you both so much,” she says, slipping into another fit of tears.

Gertrude offers a handkerchief. “Would you like some tea, Mrs. Laurence. It may help soothe you.” I stare at her, wondering how she can possibly be thinking of tea when just outside the door, war is taking lives. No matter how hard I try to pretend otherwise, it is clear at this moment how different we truly are.

“I have found a few items that may serve useful.” Mr. Eversby steps into the room—arms brimming with supplies—but comes to a stop at the sight of the two women. “Oh, dear,” he whispers, summing up my thoughts exactly.

To my right, the cabin door suddenly flies open. Gertrude shrieks in surprise and Mrs. Laurence jumps. The rest of us just turn to face whatever new challenge has been presented. I peer around Mr. Eversby who stands in front of me and gasp, pulling my head back behind his cover.

Mrs. Laurence smiles at the sight that sends me into a panic. “Adam? Darling, what is wrong?”

He does not even acknowledge her. He steps into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. “Where is she?” His voice is wild, struggling in its fury to get the words out. “I
said,
where is she?”

“Where is who, my dear?” his mother asks innocently.

“Elvira!”

The way he drags out each syllable, every letter filled with malice, sends a bitter bug crawling beneath my skin. It is then that I begin to hate my name.

Squaring my shoulders, I step out from behind Mr. Eversby. Adam’s gaze falters, as though a hundred colliding emotions flare inside of him, but the only one I see is rage.

“You!”
he spits, marching towards me. With every step he takes forward, I take one back until I am flat against the wall. “I want the truth! Tell me the truth!”

I shake my head. His anger escalates. I can feel the heat radiating from his body in waves of pure fury. Those light eyes glower down at me, seeming to darken with his mood. “Tell me!”

My bottom lip trembles as I try to get the words out, but no sound comes. He rips my arm forward, tearing my glove back. His nails scratch my skin as the glove peels away. I hold my breath and close my eyes. He makes a sound of disgust and throws my arm back down.

I open my eyes as he turns away from me, running his fingers through his thick brown hair. He paces before circling back and slamming his fist against the wall next to my head. I wince.

“You lied to me!” he yells. “I trusted you! And you lied.”

“No,” I say, needing him to understand. “I didn’t lie!”

He laughs then, a frightening humorless laugh that scares me more than anything else. “You didn’t tell the truth!”

Angry tears well in my eyes. My hands clench into fists. Is this really happening? If only I could just close my eyes and escape this moment. “How could I? I knew you would react this way. I knew if I told you, we would be handed over to the Radicals!”

Mrs. Laurence steps forward. “Oh, darling. We would never—”

“Shut up, Mother!” Adam bellows.

Her brows furrow. “Calm down this instant, Son. I will not allow you to disgrace the name of this family!”

Adam whirls on her. “We’ve been harboring Marked! Our name is already disgraced, and you allowed it to happen!”

“You are being irrational, Adam. Elvira is—”

“One of them!” he screams.
One of them?
I have heard it all before, but coming out of his mouth, the words are like daggers. “She stopped time! I saw it!”

“As I recall,
I
saved your life!” I yell, angry at myself for ever thinking he was different. He is just like the rest of them. Ignorant and judgmental and hateful.

Dela’s eyes widen, gazing at me in wonder. “You stopped time, El?”

Mr. Eversby’s jaw slacks. “Impossible,” he whispers.

“Impossible?” Adam laughs. “Nothing is impossible for you—you leeches!”

Mrs. Laurence gasps, cupping her hands over her mouth. Dela bows her head. Both Mr. Eversby and Gertrude look away, but I do not flinch or move my eyes away from his. Instead, I clench my jaw and hold his blistering gaze. I search for a trace of the man I thought I knew. I search for his carefree attitude, for his sarcastic humor, for anything besides the anger and betrayal. But if it still exists, it is buried down deep within him.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

I am sorry he cannot see past my Mark. I am sorry he turned out to be like everyone else. I am sorry I ever met him. But most of all, I am sorry I allowed him inside my heart because it only makes the pain all the more unbearable.

Mrs. Laurence stares at her son in disapproval as she grabs my arm and pulls me towards her. “Please excuse my son’s insolence. I thought he was his mother’s child, but it would seem he is just like his father.” The way she says this I know it is a jab at Adam, and I see the way her words make him tense.

A weak smile forms on my lips and I don’t know whether it is for her sake or mine. “I am sorry to have brought such unhappiness into your lives. If you will let us, we will leave and never look back,” I say.

Mrs. Laurence kisses my cheek. “I will never forget you, Miss Elvira Hamilton.”

Adam’s lip curls with incredulity. “We need to hand them over, Mother,” he says through gritted teeth.

With sudden intensity, Mrs. Laurence steps towards her son, raises her hand, and swings. The slap resonates against his cheek. My eyes widen in shock, not believing Mrs. Laurence was capable of violence. Adam gently raises a finger to his face, where an imprint of her fingers gleams in red.

“We will do no such thing,” she spits. “They will escape and
you
will help them.”

His eyes flare, but she silences him with a single finger. “She saved your life and now you will save hers. Help them onto a lifeboat. And God help you, my child, if they do not escape this ship safely …”

There is no arguing with her. She has won. I know it and Adam knows it. He shakes his head with disinclination, but steps towards the door. Embracing Mrs. Laurence one last time, I follow after him. Dela says her goodbyes and comes to stand behind me with Mr. Eversby at her side. Glancing back, I smile sadly at the woman I have come to love. She raises a hand in farewell.