The Flight of the Silvers (34 page)

Her eyes began to moisten. Her entire face quivered. She was no longer Hannah in Her Element. She wasn’t even the rickety Hannah that Theo had known before. She was falling apart.

“We could have had weeks, you asshole. We could have healed each other.”

“That wouldn’t have happened.”

“Oh, just get the hell out of here already. You’re such a coward, I can’t even look at you.”

“Hannah . . .”

The tears flowed freely down her face. “Theo, I swear to God you have three seconds to get out of this room before you see the real and awful me.”

He took her at her word and left. He sat motionless on the living room sofa for over an hour before stretching out for sleep.

At 1
A.M.
, Hannah emerged with a folded blanket and pillow, then dropped them on his stomach. Theo saw his phone in her hand. A tiny bulb flashed green in announcement of new text messages.

“Don’t read that. It’s—”

“I know who it is.”

She stepped outside to the balcony, hurled the phone over the railing, and then raised her middle fingers high in the night. It was her own message to Evan Rander, in whatever patio he’d chosen as his spying perch.

Theo watched her cautiously as she marched back through the living room.

“Give me one night to hate you,” she said.

“Okay.”

He wrapped himself in the blanket, steeling himself for the return of bad dreams. On the plus side, he knew he had only one night to spend on the sofa. Their feel-good week would finally end in the morning. At long last, the Silvers were checking out.

—

As the sun rose on Saturday, September 18, a tiny breach of time opened above Mia and spat an urgent message. The note rose and fell with her sleeping breaths for ninety-five minutes, until a waking turn rolled it into a blanket crevasse. She yawned her way to the bathroom, unaware.

Hannah woke up five minutes later, dark eyed and unrested. She shook Theo awake in the living room and pulled him back to bed. She didn’t want the others to see him sleeping on the couch like a punished husband. The less they knew about the whole debacle, the better.

While Hannah showered, Theo lay awake on the mattress, lamenting the loss of access to her ravishing body and suffering a vague new sense of dread. There was a bad wind blowing from the future, and it was centered around the sisters. Theo relaxed when he spotted Amanda in the living room, as cheery as he’d ever seen her. A week of rest and charity had done wonders for the widow’s state of mind.

By ten o’clock, everyone was dressed, packed, and waiting at the balcony table. In light of the beautiful morning weather, Amanda insisted on having a final patio brunch. Zack led a sardonic round of applause when she wheeled in the food cart. Room service had taken over an hour to deliver their order.

“They’re having some kind of bellhop crisis,” Amanda explained. “A hotel manager had to bring this. He gave us free mimosas as an apology.”

David leered at the six flute glasses. “That’s strange. He didn’t ask to see your wet card?”

Zack scowled in mock outrage. “Can we go one morning without your crude euphemisms?”

The boy ignored him. “They have laws against serving alcohol to people without proper ID. The manager’s putting the hotel at serious risk.”

Amanda shrugged. “Well, it was a young guy. He’s probably new. And who cares? Is anyone here planning on reporting them?”

“I am.”

“Shut up,” she said to Zack. “You’re having a drink with me. Who else wants?”

Amanda turned sheepish when she saw Theo’s heavy expression. “There’s probably an ounce of champagne in these things. Not even enough for a buzz.”

“It’s okay. I’ll pass.”

Amanda wasn’t surprised when the teenagers abstained, but Hannah’s refusal threw her. “Are you sure? You used to love these.”

“I said I don’t want any.”

Raising her palms in surrender, Amanda backed away. Soon everyone took turns at the kitchen juve, reversing their food to a piping-hot state. Amanda passed Zack a glass and a whisper.

“There are at least three of us here in bad moods. Please save me before I become the fourth.”

“I can do that.”

The two of them quickly dominated the meal with their boisterous celebration, trading silly quips and toasts between each sip of mimosa.

“To happy fugitives,” said Amanda.

“To well-rested fugitives,” said Zack.

“To tall and skinny atheist fugitives who can be somewhat cute when they’re not obnoxious.”

Zack retracted his glass. “Sorry. Can’t drink to that without correcting you.”

“You’re not cute?”

“I’m not an atheist. I have no idea if God exists or not.”

“Then why do you make fun of the people who do?”

“Because I’m obnoxious,” Zack replied. “That part of the toast was accurate.”

“I see. You’re an obnoxious agnostic. You’re agnoxious.”

“I’m antaganostic.”

Amanda roared with laughter. “How could you think you’re not cute?”

“I never said I wasn’t!”

Though Mia giggled at their goofy banter, the other three Silvers remained grim and humorless. Halfway through Amanda’s second drink, her fingers turned shiny and white. When Mia awkwardly told her that her weirdness was showing, Amanda laughed, shook her hands pink, and then raised a toast to tempis fugitives. The pun launched Zack into bellowing guffaws.

“I’m thinking those drinks are stronger than you realized,” David mused.

Zack waved him off. “We’re not hammered.”

“We’re just having fun,” Amanda insisted, with a pointed glare at Hannah.

It had taken only five minutes of her sister’s excruciating revelry to make Hannah swallow down the three spare mimosas. But instead of joining Zack and Amanda in tipsy exuberance, the actress felt worse than ever. Her skin burned. Her legs bounced uncontrollably. Angry notions exploded in her mind like popcorn.

Once Amanda propped her feet on Zack’s thighs, Hannah stood up fast enough to wobble.

Theo grabbed her. “Whoa. You okay?”

Hannah yanked her arm away. “I’m fine.”

She washed her face in the bathroom, gritting her teeth as a sneering inner voice taunted her.
Hey, Hannah Banana, Always Needs-a-Man-a. Funny how you can’t keep them while your sister can’t keep them away. Shame Jury’s not here to balance things out. Oh well. That’s just the way it goes here in Evansville.

She returned to the balcony with forced poise, determined to ignore Theo’s patronizing look of concern and the escalating flirtations between her sister and Zack.

“It’s true!” Amanda insisted. “You have physical contact issues. You don’t like hugging.”

“That is bull-pucky of the highest order. I hug everyone. Even my enemies.”

“Remember that time we hugged in Ramona? You were awkward about it.”

“That’s because we were in an alley. I could feel the hobos judging us.”

“There were no hobos, Zachary. You have issues that need fixing. Stand up.”

“No.”

“Fine. We’ll do it sitting down.”

Amanda planted herself on Zack’s lap, fastening his arms around her slender waist.

“And what is this supposed to accomplish?” he asked.

“Immersion therapy. You need to get over your resistance.”

“Boy, the charity never stops with you.”

She leaned back against him and blew him a frisky whisper. “This isn’t charity, you clueless man. I want more hugs.”

Hannah jumped to her feet, rocking the table. As drinks spilled onto plates and laps, the actress threw an empty glass to the floor. It exploded all around her shoes.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Shocked into sobriety, Amanda climbed off Zack’s lap. She raised her taut fingers.

“Okay, take it easy . . .”

“Do you even see how pathetic you’re being right now? You’ve been a widow for eight weeks! Eight weeks, and this is how you act!”

David held Mia’s arm. “Let’s get the bags ready.”

Mia gave him a shaky nod. They disappeared inside. Amanda fought to stay calm.

“Look, I don’t know what’s really bothering you . . .”

“You think it isn’t upsetting enough to watch you disrespect Derek?”

“You barely even knew him!”

“I know he’d hate to see you give a lap dance to some other guy!”

Zack shook his head in seething pique. “Hannah, you’re way off base and way out of line.”

“Well then let me be the second one to call you clueless. I swear to God, there isn’t a single man in this group who knows a single thing about women.”

“Look, you’re angry at me,” Amanda said. “Don’t take it out on him.”

Hannah laughed bitterly. “Oh, you just love being noble. The great and noble Amanda Given. Oops. Sorry. I meant Amanda Ambridge. Hey, Zack, I hope you’re not intent on having her take your name. She’ll just drop it the minute you die. That’s how noble she is.”

Amanda gritted her teeth. Her eyes filled with tears. “You sad little child . . .”

“Yeah, the child. Your other favorite meme. You just love being better than me.”

“Well, you make it so easy!”

“Oh, go to hell!”

“
You
go to hell! We did this for you! We took this whole week so you could feel better! Of course you’d do everything in your power to stay miserable! That’s all you know how to do!”

“Shut up!”

Theo reached for her. “Hannah, don’t—”

She turned to him, red-faced. “You do not say a word to me. You do not say a word!”

Amanda eyed the two of them with dark revelation. She burst into a caustic chuckle.

“Oh, I get it now. I see why you’re so pissed.”

“Shut up! You don’t know a thing!”

“And you call me the pathetic one? Amazing. You never learn.”

Theo and Zack both yelled as Hannah hurled a second glass. This one hit Amanda in the face.

—

Mia gathered her bags from her room, her stomach churning with bitter acids. For all she knew, this latest fight would plague them for months. Worse, it could split them up forever. What would happen then? Who’d go with who?

As she adjusted her bedspread, she noticed a rolled-up note. She read it with growing fear, then fled back to the living room.

—

The flute glass cracked in two against Amanda’s forehead, leaving a pair of gashes along her brow. She touched her new wounds, then stared in trembling rage at the blood on her fingers.

Hannah covered her mouth in white-eyed horror. “Oh my God . . .”

Zack made a furious beeline for Hannah. “What the hell’s wrong with you?!”

The cartoonist could suddenly feel every molecule in Hannah’s body. It scared him to think that he could rift her dead with a single thought. Scarier still, a part of him wanted to.

Mia ran to the door. “Zack, stop! The drinks were drugged! You’re all drugged!”

Though her future self hadn’t elaborated, the chemical that affected them was called pergnesticin. It was initially developed as a mood enhancer, as it did a fine job turning good feelings into great ones. Unfortunately, it also had a tendency to turn bad moods into violence. The drug was illegal in the United States but remained wildly popular as contraband. In dermal patch form, it was appropriately known as a leopard spot.

Theo could suddenly see the shape of the problem ahead. He knew now that Evan wasn’t content to return a middle-finger gesture at Hannah. He was going to give her the whole hand.

“Hannah, you need to get out of here . . .”

“I’m sorry, Amanda! I didn’t mean to do that!”

The widow’s world fell hot and silent as chemical rage overtook her. There was no sister, nurse, or Christian inside her anymore. There was only the tempis.

The whiteness exploded from her left palm, a spray of solid force that toppled everything in its path. A wooden chair fell while another snapped to pieces. The dining table flipped over, spilling drinks and dishes everywhere. By the time the tempis reached the other end of the balcony, it took form as a six-foot hand. It shoved away the two men who had the unfortunate luck of standing near Hannah. Theo toppled to the right, colliding painfully with the hot tub. Zack flew to the left, flipping over the side of the balcony railing. He caught a loose hold of the edge.

The tempic palm barreled into Hannah, shoving her six feet through the air. Amanda retracted her hand in time to see Hannah crack her head against the far brick wall. She spilled to the floor in a lifeless heap.

David lunged toward the railing, rushing to grab Zack before he lost his grip. Between the blood in her eyes and the many alarms in her head, Amanda processed the simple but devastating notion that the boy wouldn’t make it in time.

Indeed, just inches before David could reach him, Zack’s fingers lost their hold. He dropped from the side of Tower Five.

—

Ten days ago, as he floated over Kansas in a giant teacup, Zack wondered what it would be like to plummet to his death. He debated how much time his mind would give him to process the sad and messy end of his tale.

The answer, he now knew, was “quite a bit.”

For the second time in his life, the cartoonist fell into a state of breathless suspension, an almost supernatural acuity that allowed him to register dozens of details in the span of a blink. He could count the number of balcony railings between him and the ground (
eight
). He could scan the unforgiving elements of his future impact zone (
wood and concrete
). He could envision the reactions of his surviving friends and enemies (
Oh God, Amanda . . .
).

As he passed the fifth-floor balcony, something odd happened. The shift in his momentum was so abrupt and painful that he feared he’d already hit the pavement. A cold, hard pressure immobilized Zack’s body, as if he’d been packed in dense snow. When he opened his eyes, he could see the ground fifty feet below him. It wasn’t getting any closer.

He turned his head and caught his reflection in a patio door. A giant tempic fist had seized him, snatching him from above like the hand of God itself.

She caught me,
he thought
. Jesus Christ, she caught me.

Zack once again gazed down at the grotto, where dozens of bystanders began to gather in a messy clump. They pointed up at him, gawking and shouting, snapping photos.