Pieces of Hope (29 page)

Then I
turned and followed Mac into the Station.
 

15
The Other
Station

Before I
could take in much of anything else, I absorbed it. The abject misery. The
unspeakable regret. The overwhelming sense of loss that hung in the air like
heavy sludge. The buzzing that I’d heard earlier, when I’d gotten a glimpse
into Daniel’s head, was now almost unbearable. The perennial sunset or sunrise
which shimmered through the glass at our Station was not present here. Instead,
the room’s one and only source of light was the constantly flickering
fluorescents, more off than on, which made everyone’s movements appear choppy
and disjointed, adding enormous difficulty to seeing anything clearly.
 

Unlike
our Station, this one wasn’t crowded. There were flits of movement in the
darkness, mostly in my peripheral vision, but I purposely kept my head down.
The stench seemed to worsen as I walked, so I held my breath for as long as I
could before opening my mouth to breathe. I was highly aware that the movement
I could see was impossibly swift, smoke-like, and shapeless, but I trudged on,
forcing my thoughts back to Daniel. I was slowly making my way to where I felt
his emotions the strongest. Calling out wasn’t an option. Though it might have
been faster, his presence was unmistakable.
  

Nearly
everything in this Station was destroyed—benches, plaster, and where the café
should have been, it was dark and vacant. The
Tickets
sign hung by one nail over an empty booth, and there were
no travelers in line. Everywhere I looked there were massive holes in the
walls, and where my feet touched it was more trash than floor. In the distance,
the enormous windows along the main wall were broken, and a breeze that didn’t
make any sound chilled me to the bone. I had shuffled, stumbling mostly, a grand
total of fifty steps—painstakingly counting each one—my feet crunching and
sliding on whatever lay beneath them. Looking back from where I came,
Creesie’s
tiny form stood illuminated in front of the
decrepit doors. There was a glowing red triangle signaling UP over her head, and
she was steadfastly guarding the corridor to the elevator just as Mac had
requested.

Though I
could scarcely see her, what with her dark hair and clothing, Cat loomed a
great distance ahead. The size of this Station was unfathomable. Or maybe it
looked so big because the two farthest corners were completely black. Nearer to
me, it was easy to spot Gus’s lean form and blond hair. And, leading them all,
slowly rounding the second corner, I could just make out Mac’s red cap as it
bobbed up and down.

Suddenly,
instantly—despair flared. We stood out like the living in a sea of dead! Did
they have to move so . . . humanlike? It was hopeless. We were doomed . . .
trapped! How would we ever get Daniel out of here?

Focus, Hope. Remember to think only of
Daniel . . .
 

I
whispered thanks in my head to Charlotte;
maybe telepathy was her gift to me. It stopped short the sudden terror that had
crept in. I shuddered once, then concentrated.

The
precise instant that I thought of him, I pinpointed his location. I squinted
hard to see him in the waning light, focusing on an unlit corner near the front
windows. And in that instant, I felt close to him—too much so—like I did when I
was inside his head. There was a gnawing tension clawing at my insides.
Suddenly, I felt the instinct to—to flee? To pounce? My breath came in short,
panting gasps.

There
was something feral that pulsed through me, like I was a wild animal caught in
a trap, willing to chew off its own leg to escape. I inched my way past the
endless debris to get closer, stepping precariously over smashed benches,
pieces of broken glass, chunks of moldy fallen plaster, and other possible
terrible things I was scared of bumping into in the fading light . . .

It was
too dark in this corner, too difficult to make out much of anything—lumps of
debris, mostly. At that moment, something told me to stop. And I did. Silently,
I willed myself to turn on my bodiless senses—the ones that required neither
eyes nor ears, the ones that allowed me to see and hear things from great
distances—but a rising tide of fear seemed to keep them at bay.

I nearly
jumped out of my skin when I passed within a few centimeters of another person
before I’d even noticed he was there. To my relief, it was just some old man.
He was more miserable-looking than scary, a homeless person you might pass on a
deserted street begging for change. But as he shuffled away, seeming not to
have even seen me—I flung my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming aloud.
The entire back of his head was missing—the flesh rotting and raw. Was this how
he looked at the moment of his death? Was this how he felt? The force of his
misery seemed to drip down my throat, the liquid too bitter to swallow. Without
taking the time to look, I scrambled several harried steps backwards, tripped
over something soft and fleshy, and fell flat on my back.

I was
too terrified to open my eyes. I kept them pressed tight; asking myself if it
might be might be possible to crawl away without having to face whatever
awfulness was there beneath me. A warm, creeping sensation that felt a lot like
blood began to run down my face, making me nauseous and slightly dizzy. My head
swirled.

Then
it
moved beneath me.
  

Don’t open your eyes,
I warned myself.
Don’t open your eyes!

Another
voice, sweet and deliberate, sounding a lot like Charlotte whispered, “Look at me. Tell me
your name . . .”

No, it
wasn’t Charlotte.
That much I knew. Who . . . or more likely . . .
what
was beneath me? I rolled away, but the form now seemed to be
lying in front of me, flat on its side as I was. I could feel its breath on my
face—a scent reminiscent of wildflowers and Oregon summers and ripe blueberries. I squeezed
my eyes tighter, struggling to form a coherent thought. My head seemed to be
covered in blood. I could feel it pooling in my ears. But how? That wouldn’t
make sense. I was fine a minute ago . . . Wasn’t it only a minute ago?
Think, Hope! Do something!

Stay here
—How long?

Crawl blindly
—To where?
 

I was
still panicking when
it
touched me.

Excruciating
pain, feeling as though every bone in my body had suddenly broken, blinded all
logic. My eyes wrenched themselves open. Inexplicably, I was staring blankly
into my own eyes. My mirror image and I bled profusely as we lay like discarded
dolls across the hood of a beat-up green Pontiac.
I willed myself to think . . . to force myself to focus, but my aching
head—meshed with shards of broken glass where it had smashed into the
windshield—refused.

The
derelict man with the back of his head missing passed into view, and without
meaning to, I cried aloud to the only person who could save me from my
nightmare. Only he came to mind. Only he could save me now.

“Ethan!
Ethan . . .
Pleeeaaase
! I need you!”

And
that’s when I saw him. My beautiful Ethan. There seemed to be a glow about him,
not violet—no, a light perhaps that distinguished him from the blackness around
us. Ignoring the other form—the one now changing and distorting into other
hideous shapes, the one skittering away as though it were quite frightened as
he
approached—my rescuer, my hero bent
down on one knee and lifted me from the rubble. I started to touch his face,
but his eyes warned me off.

It isn’t safe
, whispered the darkness.
Better to be careful . . .

Why? Why
couldn’t I touch him? It was hard, so hard to think. Instead of forming
straight lines, thoughts collapsed and faded. Images flitted past me like a
movie. Pictures of the happiness we’d shared. Memories of our eternal love. As
I gazed adoringly into his eyes—alight with a fire and a color I hadn’t seen
before—I felt humbled, mesmerized, powerless . . .

I
thought I heard a little-girl voice calling to me from somewhere very far away,
but Ethan was twirling me now and our song was playing. The louder the girl
screamed, the louder the song played. It seemed to be coming from my head, not
from anywhere in the room, but I didn’t care. I cared only about Ethan. He had
heard me; he had saved me. Ethan was here. Nothing could harm me now.

“This is
what you want, isn’t it, Hope? You want to dance?”

“Yes,
yes, Ethan . . . Dance with me.” I felt breathless with excitement.

We
twirled until the room became just a blur. But in the kaleidoscope of colors, I
saw a room. Not the one I was in, but another—a high school auditorium, a place
familiar and not. As we twirled, Ethan’s features began to change. His
cheekbones became more pronounced; his dark hair went lighter, and shorter. His
eyes turned hazel. But it was still Ethan . . . an earlier Ethan . . . my
beautiful, strong Ethan . . .

I closed
my eyes, breathing in the woodsy scent of him, sensations from the past mixing
with those of the present. I swirled dreamily in his arms. Uncaring.
Unthinking.

“Look at
me, Hope,” his mellifluous voice whispered.

I gazed
transfixed into his now shiny black eyes.
 

“Yes,
Ethan?” My voice was breathy, not entirely my own.

“Do you
want to be mine . . . forever?” He made it sound like a very long time.

I
sighed. “Forever?”

“Eternally.”

“Yes,
yes . . . of course, Ethan. Nothing would make me happier.”

Through
my haze, I saw him smile. It started as the same magnificent one I’d seen
countless times, but ended in a definite sneer. To my absolute horror, I felt
him shove his hand savagely into my back, as if he had reached straight through
my flesh, and was now strangling my heart. My mouth went wide in a soundless
scream, but I couldn’t escape—nor was I certain I wished to. A contradiction of
emotions ran wild through me. At once, they felt indescribably painful and
unbelievably pleasurable . . . deceptively grotesque yet utterly beautiful . .
. Like two sides of a single coin, I twisted back and forth, instantly and
fluidly between ecstasy and dread.

I heard
a low growl across the room. In my delirium, I thought I saw a flash of
black—blacker than my surroundings—and a feline-shaped head. Something
crouched, and I felt that same urge to pounce that I’d felt moments earlier . .
.

As the
beautiful creature flew through the air, I managed one precise look into its
cat-shaped eyes. The color pulled me from the thick gauze enshrouding me. Gray-blue.
The color of the sky before a storm . . .

Daniel’s
eyes.

Fear
greater than my own wrestled to the surface. Though he was in the form of a
panther, this wasn’t the first of my concerns. Nor did this seem utterly
impossible
here.
I struggled for a
single breath to warn him, to beg him to stop, to save himself.
  

He was
halfway between us now, soaring magnificently through the air, snarling
viciously—and still the hand inside my chest refused to relinquish its hold. A
strangling sensation, as if my very essence was ebbing away, faded whatever
awareness I had struggled to regain. Like an insignificant speck being consumed
by a black hole, I was dissolving into a sea of despair, into a vast, empty
nothingness . . .

I looked
up blearily at my captor. Sensing ultimate victory, his black eyes bore into
mine, refusing my silent pleas of mercy. Again, that little girl’s voice called
to me, urgently and desperately, from very far away.

“Hope,
where are you? I lost you less than a second ago—I know it feels longer than
that, but . . . Hope, they’re hiding you! Call out my name so I can find you!”

I sucked
in what little air I could gather, causing the pain in my chest to constrict
even more. In a small voice, I wailed, “
Hellllp
. Help
me, Charlotte.”

I felt a
slight release in my chest. I couldn’t say precisely what happened next, but it
was instantaneous—that much I knew. And there was one other thing I was certain
of . . .

Time
stopped
. It didn’t slow the way it had
in that perfectly lucid moment before my accident. It didn’t torturously creep
like it did after Mom’s death. It flat-out stopped.

I
recalled seeing the feline incarnation of Daniel freeze in mid-air, inches from
my attacker’s face, razor-sharp teeth bared, mouth wide open. And then came the
strangest of sensations. The dark being released its deathlike grip, allowing
me a great gulp of air, and that’s when things got even more confusing.

Like a
nightmare on rewind, I watched it all unfold backwards. Daniel flew away from
us. The hand slipped back inside my chest, only momentarily, then out again. I
felt that same dreamy sensation for a brief moment. We danced. Inexplicably, I
was lying on the floor beside my mirror image, then staring into the haggard
face of the old man with the back of his head missing, and suddenly I was back
at the initial moment when I first suspected that Daniel was within a few feet
of me.

Lights.
Brilliant lights now lit up the Station. They weren’t like beacons, more like
close-up stars. I counted them. There were six. Their appearance sent whatever
forms present to scurry beneath anything available. With no time to waste, I
glanced to the once-dark corner. There was Daniel, looking more like himself,
but livid and frightened. It dawned on me why he had taken the form of a
panther. What better way to protect himself here?
        

I don’t
remember what I said as I crouched beside him. In my haste, I may have kissed
him, may have said some things that in hindsight shouldn’t have been said. But
suddenly we were vapor, moving through the Station. Fast, impossibly fast, not
human-like at all—then back inside the safety of the darkened entryway, where
none of this horror could touch us. One by one, I witnessed the brilliant stars
going out, as the tiny human shapes of my dead friends returned from the
Station.