Sanctuary Bay (14 page)

 

7

The effects of the drink had worn off a little before she headed to chem, so that was something. She wouldn't be completely distracted by breathing in the sharp-pencils-and-oranges smell of Ethan while they listened to Dr. Diaz lecture. Make that sharp-pencils-and-oranges-and-delicious-boy smell. During the kiss, she'd been close enough to Ethan to smell his skin, soapy clean and a little musky.

She stared at the door to the classroom apprehensively. Hopefully he'd be a no-show. Or late. Late would mean no time for talking. Would he ask her about the kiss? What was she supposed to say? She couldn't tell him the truth. Maybe she could say she'd been lusting after him since the day they met, and she had to see what it was like to kiss him. He'd believe that. His ego was big enough.

Steeling herself, she walked in and took in a sharp breath of relief at the sight of Ethan's empty seat.

“How's it going, Sarah?” Logan asked as she sat down. He gave her a we've-got-a-secret smile. After only one night, her circle of friends had expanded exponentially.

“Great. All great. I feel great,” Sarah babbled. Maybe the Blutgrog hadn't worn off
quite
as much as she thought. The feel of her tongue forming those words—too many words—made her want to giggle, but she managed to restrain herself. She couldn't go around giggling like a fool.

“Greetings,” Dr. Diaz said, coming in just as the blue light flashed. “It's time for … Chemistry Visionary of the Week! Up today—Carl Wilhelm Scheele. This guy, he was apprenticed to an apothecary when he was younger than you. He spent his spare time and his nights studying chemistry. A few of you look like you might have been following his example last night.” He gave Sarah a pointed look. “After all, I can't think of any
other
reason my students would be staying up 'til all hours.”

That got a few laughs. Dr. Diaz continued. “Scheele had only rudimentary equipment, we're talking mid-seventeen hundreds here, the knowledge of chemistry and science he was working with didn't give him much. But, he discovered oxygen!” Dr. Diaz did a little jump and fist pump. Sarah snorted. He was such a dork, but she loved how he got so into his lectures. “It came out of his observation that…”

Just then Ethan opened the door. Sarah focused all her attention on Dr. Diaz, but couldn't help but be hyperaware of the exact moment Ethan sat beside her. Heat crept up the back of her neck as the scent of him invaded her nostrils, every odor distinct. Pencils. Oranges. Soap.

At least he can't talk to me,
she thought, and after a few moments she was able to drag her attention back to chemistry. She typed in every word Dr. Diaz said, even though they were locked in her perfect memory. The activity calmed her. She caught Ethan glancing at her several times. But she studiously ignored him.

The flash of pink light came way too soon. Her heart felt heavy in her chest, each beat an effort. She turned to Ethan hesitantly.

“Going to lunch?” was all he said.

“Yeah.”

And they walked out together, like always.

The silence stretched out between them. Ethan yawned loudly.

What is he thinking?

“Sorry I'm boring you,” Sarah muttered.

He shrugged. “It's not you. I just suffer from terminal ennui. I have everything, so I want nothing. Oh, wait—that's your line.”

Sarah shook her head. “You're not going to drag me into this argument again.”

“But I'm so spoiled and unappreciative,” Ethan sounded half amused and half pissed off. “Whereas having nothing until now makes you appreciate everything.” He flung his arms wide. “All the wonderful
stuff.
”

“It's not about stuff, it's about a chance to have a decent life,” Sarah snapped.

“Bullshit,” he said. “You want the house, the car, the clothes with the right labels. You're just too self-righteous to admit it.”

“Sure, I want the stuff. Like hair conditioner,” she snapped. “Like clothes somebody else hasn't worn first. Like a door with a lock in a place that's mine. But mostly what I want is to be treated like a human being, not a piece of trash.”

Oh god, why had she said that to him of all people.

“Thank you for another stimulating debate, Sarah. See, this is why it's good that the school has a mix of students from all backgrounds.” Sarah recognized that last part from the Sanctuary Bay intranet. Ethan pulled a half-open roll of cinnamon Life Savers out of his pocket. “Want one?” he held it out to her.

She took one without thinking, relieved he hadn't glommed on to what she'd just said. And suddenly, she was in.

Tasting cinnamon Life Saver. Feeling the slickness of Ethan's teeth under her tongue. Smelling soap, oranges, pencils, and
him
, Ethan. Feeling his muscles, her legs beginning to tremble, her mouth opening in a gasp.

And she was out. Praying she hadn't actually let out that gasp. She shot a glance at Ethan. He was looking back at her, a half smile quirking his lips. He'd given her that Life Saver just to mock her, she realized. Just to remind her of what she'd done. Sarah bit down and cracked it in half, then ground it between her teeth and swallowed.

“Want another one?” he asked. “You like this flavor, right?”

Sarah didn't answer. Instead, she hurried the last few feet to the dining hall and scurried inside, leaving Ethan to catch the door. No servers today. No clattering dishes or running feet. The buffet was in place as it had been the first few days.

She headed toward the usual table and saw Karina walking toward them with a tray. When they reached her, Ethan took the tray, set it down, then grabbed Karina by the waist and lifted her up for a kiss. She wrapped her arms around him.

“Aren't you glad there's lunchtime entertainment?” Izzy asked as she stepped around them and sat down.

“Yeah. Fun,” Sarah murmured, ordering herself to look away. But she couldn't, at least not until Ethan's eyes opened and met hers as he continued kissing Karina.

*   *   *

By the time the pink light flashed at the end of her last class, Sarah was exhausted. The Blutgrog from the initiation ceremony had drained out of her system and she felt sluggish without her heightened senses. Or maybe she was sluggish because she'd hardly slept last night. Whatever the reason, she just wanted to go to bed.

But before she'd gotten very far down the hall, Dean Farrell called her name. Sarah glanced at the dean's shoes so she could report to Karina—pale gray suede, pointy toe, conservative looking until you saw that the wedge heel was python print.

“I'm glad I ran into you,” the dean said. “How's it going now that you have a few more weeks under your belt? Do you have a minute to talk, or should we set up a time for you to come by my office?”

“Now would be—” Sarah broke off as the scent of cedar and cloves assaulted her, the smell that had triggered the memory of her father on her first night. Dean Farrell's perfume must be a similar scent. “Um, now wouldn't be that great,” she said quickly, breathing through her mouth so she wouldn't get hit with the odor again. “I can call your office and set up something,” she added, backing away.

“That would be fine.” Sarah could feel Dean Farrell staring at her curiously as she rushed away. But she had to get somewhere safe. She pressed her hand over her nose, as if she was about to sneeze. The scent was still overwhelming somehow. Where was it coming from?

The chemistry room was just down the hall. Sarah picked up speed, breaking into a trot. She'd told Dr. Diaz about her memory. It would be okay if she lost it in front of him. But it was too late. Three steps away, the scent got her. And she was in.

In the grayness, following Daddy's rules. Being quiet. Being still. Hiding. Waiting until he or Mommy opened the tunnel door. Smelling the musty tunnel, the spicy scent of Daddy's cologne fading.

She was trying not to think of monsters crawling toward her. Daddy said there were no monsters. But monsters liked tunnels. They liked little girls.

Thinking about the rules helped. She needed to keep remembering the rules. If something bad happens, wait until it's safe. Then run. Run fast. Find a lady with kids. Tell her your name is Sarah Merson. Merson. Merson, Merson,
Merson
. Ask for help.

Her nose twitching, itching from the thick air. Making her want to sneeze. But she had to be quiet.

Then Mommy screaming. Were the monsters out there and not in the tunnel?

She had to move. On hands and knees, creeping toward the slits of light, heart pounding.

Seeing her. Mommy on her knees facing the hotel room wall.

Someone's legs. A hand reaching down. A silver bird staring at her from the ring on the finger. The finger pulling the trigger of a gun.

A bang. Her ears filling with bees. Mommy collapsing on the floor. Red spilling.

Sarah shoving her fingers into her mouth. Quiet. Being quiet.

Daddy's legs running by. The bird man chasing.

Something bad happening.

In the hallway, another gunshot.

And she was out. It took her a moment to realize she was sitting in a chair in the chem room, Dr. Diaz standing over her. “Please tell me I didn't start crying.”

He didn't say anything. Sarah sighed. “Please tell me a limited number of people saw me.”

“I got you in here pretty fast when I heard you. I don't think you'll be the newest gossip item on the Boards.” Dr. Diaz handed her a piece of filter paper. Sarah stared at it, then realized she was supposed to use it as a Kleenex. She wiped the tears and snot off her face, and crumpled the filter in her fist.

“Want some strawberry juice?” Dr. Diaz asked. “It should be almost ready.” Without waiting for an answer, he headed toward the door to the big lab. Sarah followed, feeling awkward and large after spending those moments in her little kid body. “Put a drop of liquid nitrogen in a couple of beakers and swirl it around,” he instructed.

As she did, her heart rate normalized. Dr. Diaz opened the centrifuge and pulled out a jar filled with a deep pink liquid on a diagonal. The other half of the jar was filled with a denser liquid that was a dark rose color. “You got those beakers chilled?” he asked.

“Um, yeah.” Sarah hadn't really thought about why he'd wanted her to use the liquid nitrogen.

“Excellent. You are in for a treat. With the 'fuge you get a silky juice with a really intense flavor.” Dr. Diaz put a piece of filter paper over the top of the jar and poured the liquid into one of the beakers, then repeated the process with the second beaker. “Cheers,” he told her.

Sarah clinked her beaker to his, then took a sip. Dr. Diaz was right. It was intense—strawberry squared—and almost too sweet. “Keep going,” he urged. “You still look a little shaky. You could use the glucose.” She took a longer swallow. “So I'm guessing I just saw the side effects of your remarkable memory.”

“That was an especially bad one,” Sarah told him. “Sometimes the memories just hit me. I'll see or taste or smell something, and
wham
! It takes me over. Entirely. And suddenly I'm living the past, completely unaware of the present.”

“So you're reliving, not just watching the events play out.” He took a swallow of his strawberry juice and gave a long “Ahhh” of satisfaction.

“Yeah.” He was trying to make her not feel like a freak. And it was working. “It was a memory from when I was really little. One of the ones people are always telling me I shouldn't be able to have because I was so young. They shot my mom in the head, then my dad ran and the guy followed him. I heard another shot, so I knew they killed him too.”

She rolled the beaker between her palms. “Later, when I was older, I searched for mentions of a murder like that in the news. There was nothing. I don't know why they were killed, but it wasn't random.”

“After we talked last time, I read up on eidetic memory and HSAM,” Dr. Diaz said. “One article mentioned that there are some cases where the subject remembers dreams as vividly as their waking moments. It can be hard for such people to tell if they're remembering something that really happened, or if they're remembering a dream.”

“You don't believe me.” She put the beaker down. “You think I'm remembering a nightmare, not something that really happened.”

“Sarah, someday you're going to start giving me the benefit of the doubt,” he told her. “It's not that I don't believe you. I just think it's worthwhile to explore all the possibilities. Scientist, remember?”

“But when I dream, I just dream like a normal person,” Sarah protested. “I don't smell things or feel them the way I do in that vision of the day they died.”

“The thing is, people like you store memories in a different way, even in a different part of the brain. Maybe those sensations are recorded even though you don't remember having experienced them when you wake up.”

“I guess it's possible,” Sarah said slowly.

“It seems like a plausible dream for a little girl dealing with the death of her parents, being sent to live with strangers,” Dr. Diaz said. “I'm sorry for that, Sarah, that you lost them so young.”

The warmth and sympathy in his voice made her eyes sting and her throat tighten. “Thanks,” she answered, her voice hoarse.

“Hey, you think we could figure out how to make a Frappuccino with some of this stuff?” He gestured to what had to be a million dollars' worth of science equipment.

Sarah laughed. Her instinct to head for the chemistry room and Dr. Diaz had been a good one. “We have the technology, that's for sure.”

*   *   *

“Ready for your first party down in the den?” Izzy asked Sarah on Friday night.

“Since neither of you will tell me what the parties are like, how can I answer that?” Sarah said.