The Knight Of The Rose (43 page)

change for him—that I’d become what he is. There would never be another chance.

I forced myself against gr avity and leaped at the shoes—landing w ith a jolt thr ough my

elbow and knees as they hit the black, marble ground. But in my agony, I owned a smi le as I rolled

onto my back and looked down at my hands; glass, ruby—I got ‘em!

With only a small glimmer of hope that my feet still existed, I imagined them in my mind and

slipped into the shoes, then stood up without another thought, and tapped my heels together.

The whisper of my chant touched my lips—the thing that blocked the air before was gone,

allowing my tongue to move over the dry, metal-tasting cracks left in place.

Cool air rushed down my throat. I closed my eyes tight and crossed my fingers, clicking my

heels melodiously as I willed the beeps to move again. “God, please. If you’re up there, please...?”

Under my prayer I heard a sound; I opened one eye and looked around, sure it was n’t

possible. But then I heard it again. Small and faint, and so quiet between each one. But as my heart

skipped beat when the next one came, I smiled.

It’s back? The Beep. I did it, I did it. “Oh, ruby slippers, I love you.” I ripped them from my

feet and kissed the toes of each one, then l ooked up; it was dark, but I coul d feel my hand again—

holding something in the world beyond.

David?. . . David, is that you?

“Ara?”

It is David’s voice, no stranger at all—it’s David. He’s here. He’s really here.

“Ara.”

You can hear me?

“Yes,” he whispered, quieter than a mouse, then, in a loud er voice said, “Just stay with me,

please—don’t slip away again.”

Overcome with joy, my small hysterical laugh chimed around me. He can hear me. At last, he

can hear me.

“You’re going to be okay, Ar a. You’ve pulled through. You made it,” he whispered in my

ear. “Yes—” his voice became louder, projected to somewhere else, “thank you, Doctor Yamane.”

“Be sure to page me if ther e’s any change—although, in thes e cases, David, we hold little

hope that the patient ever wakes up.”

“Thanks, Doc,” my dad said. My dad? That’ s my dad. I mi ss him so much. “Mike, David,

I’m going down to get a coff ee—I’ll be back in an hour , okay?” he said softly; he sounded so tired,

his voice absent of the smile it always held.

David?

“Ara—can you hear me?”

Yes, David, I can hear you.

A cool gush of air blew across my face; “Oh, thank God!” Something wet and cold touched

my brow; lips?—a kiss? “Thank God,” he said again.

David? Help me. Please? I need to be out of the dark.

“I’m trying, my love. I’m trying so hard.”

I can feel you. My hand. I can feel you.

“Can you feel this?” David asked.

No
.

“This?” he asked again.

No. Nothing
…. Wait—what’s that? Soft. Silky. So smooth. It’s cold. I can smell…roses.

“Yes. Roses.” David laughed; I could pict ure his elated smile—the dimple, the gl istening

green eyes I thought I’d never see again. “Do you feel this?”

A silky touch smoothed down over my cheek, and a sweet, wate ry fragrance lapped the back

of my throat as I breathed it in. I reached up in my world and touched my face. My hands had no

feeling, but I knew I was holding something. When I looked down in the darkness, I saw a rose; a

full blossom—soft and milky-white.

“Yes,” David whispered. “It’s a white rose.”

Ouch! My subconscious mind jumped back, though my body stayed stiff like a corpse.

The rose slipped away from my grip and fell to the floor in the darkness around me. All the

blood in my fingertip pulsated to one spot where a throbbing sensation consumed my attention.

That hurt.

“I know. I’m sorry. It has thorns,” David said.

I watched as, in sl ow motion, blood dripped down onto the pet al of the lifeless flower and

rested there, folding the silken edge down slightly.

Beauty in blood—it was almost pretty.

David?

His voice was gone again, but I was sure he was still there. Or that, at least, someone was. Id’

never felt that before, but I felt like, down in my dark world, someone was watching, someone was

close. My finger throbbed harder, the sensation travelling up my arm, but the pain dissipated when I

heard a distant sound—something in my dark world. I turned my head to listen, straining my ears.

The vastness of black had always been hollow, like I was standing on a cliff top in the middle

of the night; there was nothing but s pace, and now, an eerie feeling that something more sinister

could be hiding within its depths.

Once I’d have welcomed that, welcomed anything. Only now, with the hope that David could

save me, the idea of anything other than me being in this darkness made my skin crawl. If I was the

only one here, lost , alone with who-knows-what wa tching me, then I would surely be the only one

they could see—the only one they would come for.

Had they stalked me. Watched me . Followed me all this ti me, waiting for hope to restore so

they could drain it from my soul—use it for their own purpose.

My ears rung with the silence. No breeze. No sound. No heat or cold. Just blackness and the

feeling I wasn’t alone.

Then, I heard a whisper.

“Who...who’s there?” I stared forward, my shoulders stiff around my ears. No one answered.

“David?”

“A-ra....” It’s whisper trai led off to a de ep, raspy breath and the e erie crawl of something

behind me slithered over my spine, creeping out over my shoulder and onto the ground in front of

me, like a long, fingering shadow.

“Ah!” I screamed, whipping around to face the nightmare. The shadow screeched, erupting

into a vast cape and spreading out before my eyes like a splash of black paint.

My arms grabbed the air behind me, forcing my shoulders to twist away from the sinis ter

shape as my heels spun slowly over the cold, glassy ground; with the weight of a body trapped under

water, I ran—lost in the slow motion pull as I fled the darkness—leaving the rose and the blood

alone behind me.

The shadow hovered, closing the gap quickly—announcing its presence at my spine wit h a

warm breath over the back of my neck. As I turned my head, my feet caught s omething beneath me

and the shadow overtook, smothering me as I fell; my hands splayed, failing to catch me before the

ground met my face and a tight, dull ache blotted my mind into white.

“Ara, my love? Can you hear me?”

I could hear hi m—but he could no longer hear me. I sat in the dark again, shi vering from

what I could only assume was another nightmare, making myself smaller in case it had been real and

might still be watching. I had no way to hide, lost out in the open space of never-ending darkness.

I understood then; I was a prisoner in their world. David was right beside me, and I couldn’t

even look at him—couldn’t even hold him. They’d never let me go; I belonged to them now.

“Ara!” David’s hand swept my br ow, desperation rising up in his contr olled tone. “S’il te

plait mon amour, lute, bats toi pour vivre.”

No. No more.
I shook my head and rested it on my knees.
I’m so defeated. I can’t fight

anymore. I’m just too tired..
.

“I’ve lost her,” the words trembled from his lips. “Mike, I’ve lost her.”

No. I’m here, I’m still here
, I whispered with weakened resolve.

As if David had felt me give up, his cold hand sl ipped behind my neck and lifted my head.

“Ara? My love, I’ve lost you again.” A wave of panic stole the smooth, milky sound of his voice; his

arms wrapped me tightly, his hands searching, touching every inch of me as if to caress me back to

life. Then, as the panic reduced to realisation, his hands slowed and his chest shook; a cold drop

of liquid fell onto my forehead.

“Ara, please? Fight. I can’t lose you.”

I’m so sorry, David. I loved you—you were
everything
to me. I’m so sorry I never got to tell

you I’d change for you.

He took a deep, strained breath and pressed his lips to the top of my head. “Je vous en prie,

Dieu, sauvez-la.” He took another laboured breath and sobbed. “S'il vous plaît, ne l'enlevez pas loin

de moi. Ne me l'enlevez pas.”

His words hung in the back of my mind, resonating with a tone of understanding; as if I were

right in front of him, they looped around me, pulling me into him, and as I touched my face to his

chest, they became suddenly very clear; “I’m begging you, God, save her . Don’t take her fr om me,

don’t take her away.”

His devastation broke my heart. Oh David. I’m so sorry. I love you. If you can hear me,

please know that. Please take care of Mike—tell him I love him, too. It’s just...it’s time for me to let

go now. This is for the best.

He didn’t answer. I needed him to answer ju st one more time—just so I knew he heard me,

heard how much I loved him, heard the words I wished I’d said when he asked me to change for him.

David? Can you hear me?

Nothing…

David?
My throat hurt when spoke.

“Ara?” Something moved under me as he spoke—my body, I c ould feel my body, f eel the

bulky, uneven surface I was laying on. A cold grip held my waist, tig htening ever so slightly every

second. “Ara?”

“David?” I tried again; I could hear the terror in my cry, but it was real—my voice—it came

from somewhere different than it had before.

David laughed from behind me. “Yes. Yes, my love. Yes. You’re talking. Open your eyes,”

he spoke into the side of my face.

They’re closed?
Gravity pulled my skin, dragging it down. I fought against t he push and

lifted my eyelids, blinking rapidly.

Bright. Light. Tears rushed to my irises to protect them from this new experience, burning my

vision into a white blur. I couldn’t focus on anything, but I l oved it more than the breath I could

suddenly feel through my lips.

“David?” I smiled. “Am I...am I out?”

“Oui, mon amour, oui, you’re safe.”

“You...you saved me. You pul led me out.” I held his hand tight over my belly as the gift of

sight restored and I felt his arms become the cold that was restraining befo re. His chest shook under

me; tears dripped from his chin be side my ear and fell on to my shoulder as I took in the room. A

white room, a bed, a chair—a glass window looking onto the corridor of a hospital.

“What...happened, David?”

“I—” he started, but couldn’t finish.

“We lost you, baby,” said Mike.

Oh, Mike! That’s when I felt my heart—it was still beating, and it was strong. “Mike?”

“Yes, I’m here, Ara—I’m right here.” He appeared then, by my side. The warmth, the hand I

felt in my darkness—it was Mike. I didn’t imagine it.

“I don’t understand. What am I doing in a hospital?” I asked, rubbing my face.

David looked at Mike, then they both looked at me. “You lost a lot of blood—they had to put

you on a life support system.” Mike’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Okay, but, what happened to me?” My memory hit the foggy wall of perplexity. I don’t even

remember getting up this morning.

“It wasn’t this morning.” David answered my thought.

“When?”

“Ara, you’ve been in a coma f or three months.” Mike’s voice trembled; he turned away so I

couldn’t see his face, but I only had to see his shoulders shaking to know he was crying.

What? Three months? I tried to look around the room to get my bear ings. Three months? I

felt nothing then, except the t hrobbing in my finger from where the thorn of the rose had broken the

skin. David squeezed my hand, and I noticed the white rose then, sitting on the floor—discarded

and unimportant—lost to the world I was in, a world I would never be going back to.

But how did I get there—how did I lose three months of my life?

“Okay.” I took a few deep breaths, bringing myself to terms with this new information. “So, a

coma—but why? How did I get in a coma?” I swallowed to moisten my dry throat.

Mike’s shoulders rolled forward even more.

“Mike?”

He just shook his head, refusing to look at me.

What happened? Did I have another accident? Am I hideously scarred again? I looked down

at my hands, felt my face, my throat, checking for something, anything that would give me a clue.

Then, I fel t the s ilky, lumpy rise of gathered skin on my neck, and as I looked down, to

nothing in particular, saw the horrid parallel lines of raised pink skin down the length of my forearm.

I drew a breath, tracing the scar with wide eyes, afraid to touch it—not sure if it was really there, or

if this was some nightmare. “Did I do this to myself”

Mike let out the sob he’d been trying to hold back, and David held his breath, cr adling me in

his arms—pressing his cheek firmly to mine with as much intensity as his grip around my waist .

Then, with a wash of cold trepidation, the memory hit me.

Jason did it?

David squeezed me tighter.

I rubbed my head, letting the tears spill out over my lashes.
Jason. He—he hurt me. The cold.

The dark. I remember.
My chest moved rapidly with each panicked breath.

“Shh, hush, my love, it’s, it’s going to be okay,” David said.

“What’s happening?” Mike leaned over me and, placing his hand on my forehead, studied my

face as I fell apart inside. “Why is she breathing like that?”

David moved out from under me and laid me down, studying me carefully.