Fear My Mortality (10 page)

The dark hue of dusk pervaded the stairwell as I trod carefully on each step. My eyes were red and blotchy and my legs wobbled with the exhaustion of crying myself out. There was a hollow in my stomach that might have been hunger, but no amount of food would ever fill the empty space inside me. I’d passed Josh’s room on my way, and I couldn’t bear to look inside it.

Turning left into the open plan kitchen and living area, I sighted across the dining area to the windows on my right and further down to the lounge with the double-width windows at the end. I half expected them to be barricaded against hordes of reporters camped out around the house, blinds drawn against drones seeking new footage, but everything was quiet except for the air screen and Mom chopping carrots close by in the kitchen. She had a bag of them on the table and a stainless steel bowl full of precise carrot chunks.

As soon as she saw me, she flew to me and gathered me up in a hug. I kissed her cheek, but a fresh stream of her tears washed my kiss away.

Then I heard the screen.

“Urgent diplomatic meetings are being held around the world tonight after the confirmed final death of teenager Joshua Holland, who was stabbed in the heart by fellow student, Michael Bradley, last night at Dell city’s Terminal games center.”

A picture of Josh appeared on the right-hand side of the screen as if he could have been standing there in front of us. I leaned against the table, holding my breath, feeling like I was outside myself, looking in.

Mom pulled me closer, shaking her head, her hands trembling in mine. “They’ve been running the story over and over and I can’t seem to turn it off because every time they show him … ” She tried to breathe. “It’s like he’s still here.”

The reporter ran a hand over his pale forehead. “President Scott will travel to Seversand tomorrow to speak directly with Seversandian President, Elissa Vale, about these events. The Delaney Recovery Center is refusing to release Joshua’s medical records for privacy reasons. These scenes are from outside the center today, as Joshua’s sister, Ava Holland, left with her parents.”

There I was, lurching backward as the microphone hit my chin and the reporters hushed. The footage zoomed in on my face, onto the blood on my fingertips. A reporter right next to the drone whispered, “She’s still bleeding,” and then Dad barged in front of me and scooped me up out of view.

I sank harder against the table. At least they didn’t know Josh was with the Bashers. Or, if they did, they weren’t saying so.

The newsreader reached for a glass of water and the footage swiveled to a woman with fine blond hair. She said, “The Attorney-General will announce tomorrow whether the city intends prosecuting Michael Bradley for Joshua’s death. It would be the world’s first murder trial.” Her eyes grew wide as if to punctuate her words. “The Terminal is refusing to confirm whether or not there’s footage of the death. No doubt they’re hoping for a favorable decision, not only for the sake of their shareholders but also because Michael is the son of Robert Bradley, scientist and Vice-CEO of the Terminal.”

The first newsreader shook his head. “The Terminal has cautioned against panic, insisting that the games facility is completely safe.”

I couldn’t stand it. “It’s not safe! The intercom was broken. I couldn’t even call for help. It was only because of Michael that anybody came … ” My voice broke since Michael was the one who killed Josh in the first place.

Mom’s face crumpled.

“Mom … I’m sorry.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She brushed the hair from my face. “You didn’t kill him. None of this was your fault.” She exhaled as though she was struggling to speak, as though there was more she wanted to say, but couldn’t.

The newsfeed continued with a panel of guests, and suddenly their words broke into our conversation. A woman with wiry hair wrapped around her head in plaits said, “They’re saying it’s probably a genetic disorder, but what if it isn’t? What if it’s a disease carried in the blood of these people? I mean, can it spread? Are we really safe? What is the President doing to protect us from this?”

“He’s rushing off to Seversand to try and stop a new war,” another panel member interjected. “Our economy can’t take another hundred years of destruction at the hands of those Seversandian savages.”

The third panel member vigorously nodded his head. “International peace agreements have been in place for hundreds of years and it’s all very simple—every year each country proves that its children can regenerate and no country goes to war. I’m just going to come right out and say what every other person in Evereach is thinking: that girl is a threat to national security and she should never have been allowed to leave the recovery cen—”

Mom’s hand shot to the control panel and switched the air screen off.

I stared at where the images had been.

“It’s okay, sweetie.” Mom tried to smile, but she was very pale. “Just … go back up to your room. Okay? I’ll bring your dinner to you really soon.”

Her face was a maze of sadness and, behind it, something else. Something scared and full of regret. I wished Dad was back already, although I didn’t know where he’d gone since he said that his work had given him the week off.

When I reached my room, I dialed Hannah’s number. As I listened to it ring, I stared out of my window. Mrs. Hubert’s house was still pitch black, but lights flickered down the street. Somebody drove into their garage. Somebody else walked their dog past the end of the street.

I’d give anything to be normal again.

Hannah wasn’t picking up and neither was her message bank. I checked the number and tried again, but with the same result. I paced and paced beside my bed until I wanted to drop to the floor like the carpet could suck me up and twine around me and I’d cease to exist.

I couldn’t stay in my room anymore, but Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me out of the house. There had to be somewhere I could go. Then I remembered—the dance studio would be open late for practice. Only the hard-core dancers went on Saturday night and they wouldn’t pay any attention to me. I could blend in, melt into a patch of dance floor, and dance all my pain away. Maybe that’s where Hannah was right now. I’d give anything to talk to her, to tell her everything, help me figure it all out.

I threw my hair back into a bun and checked the cut on my chin. It had closed and was just a red line now. I wondered if it would always be there or if it would go away. At least it didn’t hurt anymore. I slapped on makeup to cover the effects of crying until I didn’t recognize myself. Shoving my purse and phone into my dance bag, I pushed open my window and grabbed the fire stairs that lay flat against the side of the house, giving them a shove until they reached the ground. Just as I was about to head out across the garden, headlights turned into our street and shone toward me. I ducked behind the nearest garden bed, recognizing Dad’s car as it pulled into the driveway.

Guilt rocketed through me. They’d be so worried if they discovered I was gone, but I couldn’t stay in the house. I had to get out.

The garage door opened and closed.

I ran for it down the street, my sneakers slapping the footpath. I didn’t breathe until I turned the corner, and even then I kept running. The cold air on my face felt good and so did the sense of movement. I could finally control something, even if it was just my feet. The studio’s neon sign gleamed ahead and I raced up the steps, pausing to catch my breath at the top.

Ms. White had plastered a new poster of the Conservatorium on the wall outside the studio. It was a vibrant picture of a dance platform surrounded by trees, an open air auditorium. Deep in the distant background were the mountains of Starsgard. I peered at the image and the outline of the majestic Starsgardian towers rising into the sky. Each tower was built on top of a mountain peak and they seemed so serene, so mysterious. I wanted to reach out and touch them, as though I could soak up some of that calm and transport myself there. Away from here.

I shook my head and made my way into the studio. It was brightly lit and soft music played. Two ballroom dancers practiced lifts over to one side, and a ballet dancer warmed up at the bar. I padded to the bench at the side and began a brief warm up, since the run had done most of that for me already, then I pulled out my music and turned the volume up, starting into an old contemporary routine that I’d performed several years before.

Finally, everything blurred. The pain of the last two days disappeared. No more crazy rose buds, scorpions, and medical tests. No more mortality. Josh could be alive again. He could drive off and make me late for class as many times as he liked and I’d forgive him every time. As I danced, my body finally did what I wanted, moved the way I wanted it to. It wasn’t my enemy anymore. It wasn’t going to kill me.

Without realizing, I spun into Ms. White and lurched backward, yanking out the earbuds. “Ms. White! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”

I reached out to steady us both, but she jerked away from me.

“What are you doing here?” Her eyes reflected shock as she twitched away from my touch.

“I-I’m practicing.”

“You shouldn’t be. I told your parents already. You can’t dance here anymore.”

The fear on her face consumed my whole vision.

I shook my head, my chest heaving. “I’m one of your best dancers.”

“Not anymore, Ava.” Her expression softened to deep pity. “You’re … different.”

I sucked in a breath and hurried to argue with her. “I still heal like everyone else. I do. Really. Just slower, that’s all.”

“No, Ava. You’re mortal. What if you cut yourself … ” She glanced around. The other dancers had stopped practicing and were staring at us. She lowered her voice. “You could be contagious.”

“It’s genetic,” I said, not believing what I was hearing. “I have a gene, not a disease. I can’t hurt anyone. You have to believe me.” I reached out to her, but she shrank away from me. I stared from her face to my hand, hovering in the air, and let it drop.

“I’m sorry, Ava, it’s not me you have to worry about. Nobody will dance with you. Every single parent has rung me already, threatening to pull their child out of my class.”

“I can’t believe it … ” I met her eyes. “You really want me to go.”

Ms. White nodded, her braid flapping behind her waist, her mouth forming a resolute line. “I need you to go. Please.”

I looked past her to the door and caught my reflection in the mirror. It all crashed down on me—the Mirror Room at the Terminal, Josh’s body, Michael pulling the knife out of his own heart and plunging it into my brother’s. I whirled, and my reflection whirled with me. For a second, the knife was in my hand again, dripping his blood onto my shoes.

I rushed past Ms. White and scooped up my bag on the way to the door. I fled down the stairs and around the darkened corner, pounding the pavement as fast as I could.

Nobody would let me dance. Nobody.

A clawing pain jabbed in my chest as if she’d ripped out my heart. How could I not dance? The thought terrified me. It was all I wanted to do. It was everything. It was
me
.

I gasped, pumping my arms, wondering what else they wouldn’t let me do now. Where else they wouldn’t let me go. The voices of the panel members on the air screen echoed around and around in my mind.

They never should have let her leave the recovery center.

My head spun so hard I didn’t see the road or the streetlights, or the cars going past, or the stars in the sky. I almost missed my house. It looked so dark and sad.

I wished I could run on and never stop. I struggled not to collapse, but I had to get inside and crawl under a blanket and try to breathe. I made it to the window, kicked off my shoes, and dropped my bag onto the floor. My bed waited for me like a magic cloud that would suffocate the world. As soon as I pulled the covers over my head and curled into a ball, I heard the door open.

“Sweetheart?” It was Dad’s voice. “Are you awake?”

I didn’t want to answer, but maybe Dad would understand. Maybe I could tell him what Ms. White said. When I was little, he’d come to all my dance recitals, he’d even hired a drone to record all my stupid practice sessions. He’d called me his moonbeam, and he’d looked so proud of me.

“Honey? I’m sorry, but you have to take this medicine. The doctor said it would help after the tests.”

I pushed the tips of my fingers out of the covers, trying to get hold of myself long enough to talk. Sliding the covers to the side, I sat up, everything screaming inside my chest. “I’m awake.”

Dad gave me a small smile. He held out a cup of liquid while Mom hovered behind him, grasping her cardigan around her as if she was cold.

The mug was full, but the clear liquid didn’t taste like anything, and it made me realize how thirsty I was. I handed the glass back to Dad and he nursed it in his hands.

“Okay.” He cleared his throat, chewing on his lip as if he wanted to say more. For a long moment, he stared into the bottom of the empty glass. Then he dropped beside the bed and took my hand, searching my eyes. His own were red from tears he wouldn’t shed in front of me. “Have a good sleep, moonbeam. We love you. Always remember that.”

I blinked, trying to focus through my own tears. He hadn’t called me that for years.

Mom knelt next to him and kissed my forehead, pressing her cheek to my skin, leaving damp tears behind. “We love you so much, Ava.”

I was so tired all of a sudden. Her words slurred in my ears.

She leaned over me and whispered, “Trust your instincts.” Then she said something else that sounded like, “Goodnight,” and I slipped back under the covers as they closed the door. My arms and legs were numb, as though they’d disconnected from me. Maybe my body wanted to belong to someone else, someone who was allowed to dance, someone who hadn’t watched her brother die.

I woke once, thinking that people crowded around me, blurry faces and vague voices, black-tinged at the edges. I’d only been asleep for a minute, but when I tried to open my eyes, the pressure of my eyelids bore down on me.

I surfaced long enough to see Mom’s shape, her blue cardigan. I made out Dad’s form, but there was something wrong with my room. It looked as if plants had grown up inside it, standing tall against the walls, swarming my parents. It reminded me of the people watching in the strange green room that had sprouted a rose and vines—the room my parents said was a hallucination. I tried to focus on the people now. One of them was right behind Mom. For a moment, there was a flash of gold before the other woman’s figure blurred again.