Page 39 of Unnatural
The moaning sound filled his brain, and he had an oddrisingsensation as though he was floating upward. Only not floating…exactly because whatever he was immersed in was sludgy and dark.
Where am I?
His thoughts scrambled as his mind searched for something that would anchor him. Her. Her voice.Where is she?
A feeling of panic took over. Was he emerging from thesafety of insanity? Was she gone? The moaning again.
Me. It’s me.
He tried desperately to sink back down into oblivion, but his panicked thoughts had only worked to bring him more fully awake.
Awake? Am I asleep?
This did feel slightly familiar.Drugged. I’m drugged.
Oh God. Am I waking from another surgery?
No, no. Please no.He struggled to remember, to orient himself.
Amon. The schoolyard. The gun. The children. The pain.
“Help me. Please. Get me out of here.”
Her. She’d been there. She’d beenthere.
He lifted his heavy lids, blinking at the scene before him, trying to make sense of it.
It was a cabin, the walls and ceiling made of planks. There was a fire blazing in the fireplace directly across from him, snapping and crackling. He could smell the barest hint of smoke. His gaze shot from one side of the cozy room to the other. There were uncovered windows on each wall, and he could see that it was dim outside but not dark. Early morning or early evening? He didn’t know. He could see the tops of trees and the cloud-filled sky but nothing else.
Sam attempted to pull himself upright, but the pain in his abdomen stopped him. He collapsed with a grunt, looking down at himself. There was a red-and-black-checkered blanket covering his bottom half, and extensive bandaging covered where he’d been shot in his chest.
It was steadily trickling in now. The memories, the screams.Who? Who could have possibly been the enemy Amonhad been sent to kill?Sam had heard of others sent to kill children in foreign lands as reprisal for the sins of the father. Reprisals the details of which they weren’t meant to question or understand. But Amon had fired randomly at a schoolyard of children.Why?
Sam let his eyes fall shut for a moment, but now that his memory had returned, the visions were more vivid behind his lids. So he opened his eyes once more.
The door squeaked, and he tensed.Sheentered, and his heart nearly stopped.Her.In the flesh. He’dseenher there, on the playground, but he’d thought it was some sort of vision or hallucination brought on by shock. He’d kept her there with him, guiding him to his truck, because he was so weak, he couldn’t do it alone. He wouldn’t have made it otherwise. So he’d pretended. He’d brought her forth to help him cope as he’d done so many times before. Yes, she’d seemed brighter, more vivid, but he’d been very, very hurt. He’d expected to die. And that would have been okay. He was supposed to be dead anyway.
Maybe I am.
She had a small pile of firewood in her arms, and she put it down next to the fire, humming as she added a piece. She hadn’t looked at him yet.
Am I in heaven?
But that couldn’t be it, because if there was a heaven,hecertainly wouldn’t have been sent there.
Her hair was dark and wavy, and she had it twisted up on the top of her head. She was wearing jeans and a green-and-gray flannel shirt that looked far too big for her.
She was stillher, but she was a woman. He watched her, trying to orient himself, attempting to merge the girl she’d been with the woman she was, even while disbelief and fearand wonder overwhelmed him.
She stood, brushing her hands together and turning. She did look at him then, and her eyes widened in surprise. Her cheeks were rosy from what must be the cold outside, and for several beats, they simply stared. Wide eyes, narrow chin, the most perfectly shaped mouth he’d ever seen.Autumn.
She’s beautiful.More beautiful even than he remembered. He’d tried so hard to keep her features vivid in his mind over all the years since he’d last been face-to-face with her in the woods, but he realized now he hadn’t even come close.
Then she smiled, and there was the strangest pressure—an expanding—just under his ribs. An angel—hisangel—was looking at him and smiling.
“Well, hello.” She walked slowly toward him but stopped a few feet from where he lay. “How do you feel?”
“It’s you,” he said, and the words came out as little more than a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried to put some force behind his words. “It’s you,” he repeated.
