Chapter 8

She didn’t taste blood this time, as she groggily awoke to darkness.

Just the fear.

Cold and metallic it coated her tongue, mingling with the acidic taste of bile dancing at the back of her throat.

With a groan she peeled open her eyes and blinked away a screen of blurriness.   Her first thought was that she was hallucinating.  Everything seemed darker, sepia-toned, as if seen through a dark screen.

It was only when the glare of a stoplight flashed overhead that she realized she was seeing everything from the inside of a car.

A moving car.  With heavily tinted windows that made everything seem like inky twilight when seen through the glass.

Dazedly, she turned her head only to find a stern-faced driver.  He was tall and lean with a head of blazing red hair.

Lizzie’s brother, she realized.

Eliot.

“Am I…am I dreaming?”

Her voice was lighter than a whisper, but he heard her anyway.  She could tell by the way he stiffened, as if she’d shouted.

Those red eyes cut to her, burning so brightly that she knew she had to be dreaming.

Nobody’s eyes should gleam like that.

Nobody normal…

“You tell me,” he said coldly, turning his gaze back to the road—but not before she saw something flash in his eyes that could have been relief.  “Try sitting up,” he ordered in a tone of ice.

Reaching down to steady her hand against the leather seat for balance, Miriam tried to do just that.  Her muscles were stiff and throbbed as she settled into the seat.  In the end, she managed to only scoot up a few inches.

But the motion seemed to satisfy him.

That icy gaze softened somewhat, but his fingers gripped the steering wheel so tightly she half-expected that he could rip it off if he turned it suddenly enough.

“Still think you’re dreaming?”  He asked.  His voice was dryly mocking.

“No.”

She remembered now.  The flash of blue on her way to school.  The numbing grip of fear before everything faded into black.

She had another seizure.

But…

“You found me.”  Her voice rose, making the statement into more of a question.

“Yes,” Eliot said tightly.  Her hands worked to violently turn the wheel into the curve of the road.  “On the sidewalk.”

The curt way he said it made her flinch.  She could only imagine how it must have looked…

“I probably just fainted,” she said quickly.  Her eyes darted nervously around the smooth black interior of the car, catching sight of her muddy backpack perched on the backseat.  “I-I just forgot to eat breakfast and got a little lightheaded.  I guess I passed out…”

The lie slid easily from her tongue, sounding credible even to her own ears.

Eliot didn’t answer.

His eyes were trained carefully on the road, body held in a ridged line.  He could have been carved from stone, decorated by bits of ruby and ivory.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, recognizing the road they took now.  A rickety wooden sign blurred past, proclaiming the way to Wafter’s Point Memorial.

But instead of slowing down, the car only sped up.  Mariam watched, horrified as the gauge slowly ticked higher and higher…

“Really, I’m—”

“Fine?”  The quiet murmur was her only warning before Eliot slammed on the break and the car lurched to a sudden halt.

Miriam was thrown forward and had to brace her hands against the dashboard just to keep her head from smashing off it.

Dazed, she turned to face him, and something twisted inside her at the look on his face.

“You’re lying,” was all he said, as calmly as if he’d uttered ‘it’s raining’ instead.

But she wasn’t fooled…

He was angry.

Raging mad.

Only at her.

“I…I didn’t eat breakfast,” she repeated the lie weakly.  “I think I might have just fainted—”

“You’re.  Lying.”  His voice was sharper now.  Colder.

The harsh tone was enough to shock Miriam into telling the truth—at least, a portion of it anyway.

“I had a seizure,” she said softly.  Her body tensed in anticipation of his reaction.

Fear?

Disgust?

He only blinked instead, glancing at her sharply from the corner of his eye.

“A…seizure?”

She nodded, before adding in a hesitant whisper.  “I get them all the time.”

He should have been uneasy.  Maybe given her the same wary glance mixed with pity she was used to.

But, he only…

Laughed—darkly rich laughter that made her tremble as she watched him from the corner of her eyes.  Shaking his head, he adjusted his grip on the wheel.  The car lurched back into motion.

“Where are you taking me?”  Miriam asked.

She tried to sound more afraid.  She tried to be afraid.

But for some reason, she just wasn’t.

She felt more embarrassed.

Embarrassed for him.  Embarrassed for herself.

Embarrassed that a stranger had to find her unconscious along the side of the road.

Her voice sounded more like a resigned sigh.

Caught, she thought crossing her arms over her chest as if the motion could calm the frantic beating of her heart.

Caught by a stranger, no less, who had every right to drive her ranting and raving to the hospital.  A stranger who seemed to cut through her with those searing red eyes.

A stranger who seemed very annoyed at the fact that his morning was rudely interrupted by the need to do his so called civilian duty and help someone in distress.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, leaning back to rest her aching head against the plush leather with a sigh.  “You were probably on your way to see your sister…”

She hated herself for giving him something else to worry about—when he already had more than enough.

“Ha,” he scoffed on a sharp note that made her glance at him sideways.  “My sister.”  He chuckled darkly as if the idea of him seeing Lizzie was mildly amusing.  “She’ll survive for a few hours without me.”

He said the words carelessly, as if this visit was more like a chat in with an old friend than a visit with a sick person in the hospital.  Something that could easily be put off.

He dragged his gaze from the road to meet hers, just once.  As if he knew what she was thinking and it bothered him for some reason.

Gradually, the car slowed.  Those icy fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard that it shook.  They finally rolled to a stop as his foot hit the break.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t take you to the hospital,” he demanded heatedly.  Slowly, he turned to glance at her in the rearview mirror.  “Because you don’t want me to…isn’t that right?”

Miriam flinched, feeling as if he’d read her mind.  Though, to be fair, he didn’t have to.

Her reluctance was more than obvious in the way she clutched her arms to her chest and sank down in her chair with every bit closer they traveled toward the hospital.

“I just don’t want to waste anyone’s time,” she said, copying him by staring straight ahead.

“You had a seizure,” he murmured, as if that explained everything.

Miriam shrugged.  “It happens all the time.”

It wasn’t quite a lie, so it didn’t feel strange to utter it.  In a way, they did happen more often these days—only she knew the exact reason why.

His mouth tightened.  “Then why do you walk alone?”

He asked the question offhandedly in a dark whisper, as if he didn’t really care about the answer.

Miriam wasn’t fooled.

He sounded a little too certain.  As if he knew all too well that she walked to school every morning by herself.

The thought should have frightened her, she realized.  Made her feel nervous.  Creeped her out.

But…if he wanted to try anything she was forced to admit that he could have done anything he wanted while she’d been unconscious.

She had been utterly helpless.

There was no reason to pick her up.  To carry her into his car—for surely that was what he did.

There was no reason to drive her to the hospital, if he was dangerous…

But she wasn’t willing to write him off as harmless, either.

Who was, these days?

There was definitely something dark about Eliot that deserved careful consideration and maybe a reevaluation of her policy about trusting strangers.  She wasn’t stupid.  Something—some kind of foreboding energy—emanated from him in subtle waves.

A little voice of warning prickled at the back of her mind; ‘this feels…wrong.’

She might have listened to it a little more if she wasn’t so tired.

It was so much easier to just close her eyes and lean back against the stiff headrest as the world outside collaged into a blur of color.

“Sometimes, it’s just better that way,” she said tiredly, finally answering his question.

“Better to lose consciousness while alone?”

Eliot’s voice was a quiet hum that somehow sounded more dangerous than if he’d shouted.  There was a dangerous edge, as if he meant to say something along the lines of ‘better to be found alone by me?’

“I’m fine really,” she said, changing the subject.  “You don’t have to do this.”

Eliot eyed the road carefully, pausing long enough to utter, “there’s mud on your chin.”

Sure enough, Miriam could make out the brown spot just below her bottom lip.  It looked like dried, crusted blood that left a dark smear all the way down her throat.  The side of her windbreaker was also splattered with mud.

She could almost taste it.

Not to mention feel the clumps of it stuck in her hair.

She sensed Eliot watching, her as she reached up halfheartedly to swipe at the worst of it with the back of her hand.

The car slowed, nearing the turn which lead directly to the parking lot of the hospital.

“Give me a reason,” Eliot began in a growl, “any reason at all, why I shouldn’t take you to the hospital.”

Miriam thought for a moment.

“Because…”

She trailed off, biting her lip to keep from uttering a lie.  In the end, she forced herself to say the truth, “I don’t know.  I can’t.”

He sighed.  Then, deliberately, he swung the car around in a sharp u-turn that kicked up dust and gravel and made Miriam clutch for a seat belt.

She watched, eyes wide, as they hurtled back toward town.

“Where should I take you?”

She blinked.

The school?  No, she thought shaking her head.  She couldn’t face anyone after today.

Home?  The thought of the empty quiet and stacks of boxes wasn’t exactly ideal, but those were her only two options besides the hospital.

Still, what she really wanted to do was rinse out the awful taste of bile in her mouth.

She didn’t answer, but any way Eliot didn’t seem to need one.  He drove recklessly through the streets, weaving and darting around the few other cars like a snake in a tortoise race.

Then, suddenly they came to a stop at a curb and slammed his foot on the break.  He sat still, saying nothing and Miriam wondered if he expected her to get out.  Body aching, she reached back to drag her backpack from the back seat and fumbled for the door.

She barely had a grip on the handle when she realized that someone was already pulling it open for her.  Breathless, she had to glance back at the empty driver’s seat just to reinforce the fact that Eliot stood on the curb, holding out his hand for her backpack.

Either she was groggier than she thought, or he had moved so fast…

She glanced once up and down the empty street, but there was no one else to notice.

Besides, he was already moving away with a casual ease, to duck beneath a dark awning that covered the entrance to a small café.  He held out the door, pausing only to shoot her an inquiring look.

You coming?

Feeling dazed—like a body in a dream—Miriam slid from the car and followed him.  Inside, the dining room was warm and filled with the smell of fresh coffee and frying eggs.  She watched Eliot make his way over to a corner table by a large window where he sat down stiffly at one end, shoving her backpack onto the seat next to him.

There was no one else, Miriam realized, but a few harried waitresses and a small group of senior citizens who cackled over plates of steaming food.

Surprisingly, no one seemed to glance up to stare as she stumbled in Eliot’s direction.  Despite the fact that she was still covered in mud and a man who looked like a cross between fire and shadow had unashamedly carried her filthy pink backpack.

The cushion of the booth squeaked as she sat down, nervously lacing her hands in front of her.

She opened her mouth, attempting to say…something.  Anything to erase the horrible guilt eating through her that he was wasting a morning playing Florence nightingale.

A waitress’s chummy tones bit off her words.

“Coffee,” Eliot said in a dark murmur.  His eyes flashed from over the surface of the table, on her Miriam realized.  He didn’t even spare the waitress, a smiling brunette, a glance from the corner of his eye.  “Black.”

The waitress made a sound at the back of her throat and scribbled down his order with a nod.  “And for you, sweetheart?”

Once again, Miriam found herself cut off.

“Water…” Eliot said.  His voice lingered purposefully over the word.

Miriam couldn’t help the shiver that ran down her spine at his certainty.  Almost as if…

She swallowed, shaking her head before the ridiculous idea could fully form in her mind.  But she couldn’t help noticing how the corner of Eliot’s mouth quirked up into an ominous smile.  Those eyes were still empty however; two burning pits of fire.

“Anything to eat?”  The waitress chirped.

Miriam didn’t answer.  Her wallet was currently somewhere at the bottom of her mud-splatted backpack.  There wasn’t much cash in it anyway.  Though, to be honest the delicious smells of hot grease were beginning to make her mouth water.

She couldn’t help but glance at the table across from them, where a blue-haired grandma currently stabbed into a stack of butter-topped pancakes.

“She’ll have the pancakes.”

Eliot’s lifeless murmur brought her attention back to their table with a wrench of her head.

“But—”

“Anything for you?”  The waitress beamed at Eliot with one hand propped at her hip, missing the way Miriam stared, bug-eyed.

“No,” he said, reaching over to snatch a plastic menu along with his own and handed both to the woman who then pranced off.

“Y-you didn’t have to do that,” Miriam stammered.  “I don’t even think I have enough in my wallet…”

She trailed off at the look in his eye.  A look that gave her the feeling that he didn’t give a damn about money.  He only wanted to prove a point.

A point that gleamed in those eyes like a question.

Nervous, yet?  Well you should be.