all was
him,
sitting beside me on the divan.
“Better now?” he asked.
His voice didn’t sound like thunder anymore. Instead, it sounded lush, like the rug into which my feet sank the minute I sprang to them.
Which I did the minute he spoke.
What was going on? I lifted a trembling hand to shove some of my long — now dry — hair from my face, and caught a glimpse of something white. I looked down.
I was no longer wearing his coat, or my wet, chilly clothes. I was in some kind of gown. It wasn’t a hospital gown, either. It was closely fitted on top, with a skirt that almost swept the floor. It bore a vague resemblance to what the maidens in the tapestries on the walls were wearing. It would not have looked out of place at the annual cotillion held for the upperclasswomen at the Westport Academy for Girls.
This
part I had to be dreaming.
But then, why could I feel my heart pounding so hard in my chest?
He’d risen from the couch when I had. Now he stood lookingdown at me with an expression on his face that I could only describe as concerned.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asked. “You’re warm now, and dry. You did say you wanted to go away from there.”
I stared up at him, openmouthed, completely unable to speak.
I was a tenth grader from Connecticut who had just blinked and ended up in some eighteen- or nineteen-year-old guy’s bedroom.
Did he not see how this might be disturbing?
“You’ll be quite safe here, you know,” he assured me.
I used to think I was safe in my own backyard. And look how
that
had turned out.
“I don’t understand,” I said, when I finally managed to find my voice. Even then, it came out sounding more pathetic than ever. I needed to sit back down. I was pretty sure I was having some kind of stroke or something. “What’s going on? Where are we? Who
are
you?”
I guess the fact that I was able to speak at all must have made him think I was fine, because he’d jetted off towards the table.
“John,” he said, tossing the name casually over one of those impossibly wide shoulders. “I’m John. Didn’t I tell you that last time? I thought I did.”
John? His name was
John?
Maybe I’d hit my head harder than I thought, and I had amnesia or something. Maybe I’d been at a costume party — that would explain the gown — and this guy was one of Hannah’s brother’s friends, and I’d just forgotten.
Only none of that explained what had happened in the cemetery with Grandma.
John. I’m John.
“How…how did you do that?” I asked him in a shaking voice. “One minute we were there, by the lake, and the next —”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “A perk of the job, I suppose.” He pulled out one of the thronelike chairs. “You must be tired. Won’t you sit down? And I’m sure you must be hungry.”
It wasn’t until he said it that I realized I was. Just looking at the mounds of ripe peaches, crisp apples, and glistening grapes in those gleaming silver bowls — not to mention the cool clear water in those crystal goblets, so cold I could see the condensation dripping from the sides — well, it wasn’t easy to stay where I was, especially feeling as wobbly on my feet as I did.
But my dad had warned me about situations like this. Maybe not
this
exactly. But not to accept food — or drinks — from strangers.
Especially young male strangers. Even ones I knew from before.
“Job?” I asked, staying where I was. My mind seemed barely able to grasp what was happening. Because far too much was happening, too quickly. “What job? I don’t understand. You still haven’t told me where, exactly, I am. And who were all those people?”
“Oh, out there?” Now those gray eyes, when he turned them towards me, weren’t stormy looking or filled with steel flecks or anything other than…well, regret. That was the only word I could think of to describe it. “I’m sorry about all of that. WhatI accused you of before — that was unforgivable of me.
him,
sitting beside me on the divan.
“Better now?” he asked.
His voice didn’t sound like thunder anymore. Instead, it sounded lush, like the rug into which my feet sank the minute I sprang to them.
Which I did the minute he spoke.
What was going on? I lifted a trembling hand to shove some of my long — now dry — hair from my face, and caught a glimpse of something white. I looked down.
I was no longer wearing his coat, or my wet, chilly clothes. I was in some kind of gown. It wasn’t a hospital gown, either. It was closely fitted on top, with a skirt that almost swept the floor. It bore a vague resemblance to what the maidens in the tapestries on the walls were wearing. It would not have looked out of place at the annual cotillion held for the upperclasswomen at the Westport Academy for Girls.
This
part I had to be dreaming.
But then, why could I feel my heart pounding so hard in my chest?
He’d risen from the couch when I had. Now he stood lookingdown at me with an expression on his face that I could only describe as concerned.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asked. “You’re warm now, and dry. You did say you wanted to go away from there.”
I stared up at him, openmouthed, completely unable to speak.
I was a tenth grader from Connecticut who had just blinked and ended up in some eighteen- or nineteen-year-old guy’s bedroom.
Did he not see how this might be disturbing?
“You’ll be quite safe here, you know,” he assured me.
I used to think I was safe in my own backyard. And look how
that
had turned out.
“I don’t understand,” I said, when I finally managed to find my voice. Even then, it came out sounding more pathetic than ever. I needed to sit back down. I was pretty sure I was having some kind of stroke or something. “What’s going on? Where are we? Who
are
you?”
I guess the fact that I was able to speak at all must have made him think I was fine, because he’d jetted off towards the table.
“John,” he said, tossing the name casually over one of those impossibly wide shoulders. “I’m John. Didn’t I tell you that last time? I thought I did.”
John? His name was
John?
Maybe I’d hit my head harder than I thought, and I had amnesia or something. Maybe I’d been at a costume party — that would explain the gown — and this guy was one of Hannah’s brother’s friends, and I’d just forgotten.
Only none of that explained what had happened in the cemetery with Grandma.
John. I’m John.
“How…how did you do that?” I asked him in a shaking voice. “One minute we were there, by the lake, and the next —”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “A perk of the job, I suppose.” He pulled out one of the thronelike chairs. “You must be tired. Won’t you sit down? And I’m sure you must be hungry.”
It wasn’t until he said it that I realized I was. Just looking at the mounds of ripe peaches, crisp apples, and glistening grapes in those gleaming silver bowls — not to mention the cool clear water in those crystal goblets, so cold I could see the condensation dripping from the sides — well, it wasn’t easy to stay where I was, especially feeling as wobbly on my feet as I did.
But my dad had warned me about situations like this. Maybe not
this
exactly. But not to accept food — or drinks — from strangers.
Especially young male strangers. Even ones I knew from before.
“Job?” I asked, staying where I was. My mind seemed barely able to grasp what was happening. Because far too much was happening, too quickly. “What job? I don’t understand. You still haven’t told me where, exactly, I am. And who were all those people?”
“Oh, out there?” Now those gray eyes, when he turned them towards me, weren’t stormy looking or filled with steel flecks or anything other than…well, regret. That was the only word I could think of to describe it. “I’m sorry about all of that. WhatI accused you of before — that was unforgivable of me.
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