Im not sure how much time elapses before I haze into consciousness. My head aches and my throat is painfully dry as pinpricks of light worm through my lashes. I throw my arm over my facemy eyes are so sensitive; I must have been out for a whileand struggle to remember where I am.
And how I got here.
The explosion, Logans house, the bag over my head.
The stinging pain in my arm.
Drugs.
Logan! Where is he? My head whips around, making me dizzy even as I fight to focus. Theres something on the floora dark lump in the corner, and as soon as I realize whatwhoit is I fling myself over to it, to him.
Logan. Logan! I roll him over, my head spinning, and he emits a low groan but doesnt open his eyes. I curl my body protectively around him and throw my hands up to create somethinganythingto protect us from whatever the Reduciata, or whoever, has in store. But a new bout of sharp pain thrusts through my arm, and again the world swirls in front of me.
I collapse onto the floor, and my cheek falls against chilly tile.
My eyelids close.
The next time I float back to reality I keep my eyes clamped shut and take a few minutes to think. I acted too quickly last time. That doesnt help anyone. No sudden movementsthats step one.
Slowly, I lift my eyelids just enough to peer through my lashes at my surroundings. Im in a stark white room, and I can see a huge mirror on one side that throws my reflection back at me. A two-way mirror, no doubt.
I sniff and smell what I swear is fresh paint. Everything is so neat and new as to be almost sterile. The smooth white walls, squeaky-clean white tiled floor, even the grout between the tiles is scrubbed to a pristine cream color. Like they poured a huge bottle of bleach over this place before dumping us in here. I shudder, wondering just what they had to scrub away.
Im lying on my side, curled against Logan, and the warmth from his body makes me feel a tiny bit better. Yes, were obviously in some kind of prison, I guess, but at least Im not alone. Hes still unconscious. Last time I awoke I at least got him to groan, but now he doesnt respond to my touch at all. I wonder if at the same time they injected me they also got him with whatever was in the needle. I glance down at my arm, where I can see two red dots. They make me want to scream in anger, but Ive got to keep my cool. I focus on Logan instead.
I pull his limp torso halfway upright across my lap and cradle his large frame against my chest. I tell myself its because I dont want him to get too cold lying on the freezing tile floor, but the truth is, after three days of him not letting me get near, I just want to hold him. This is the first time Ive really gotten a chance to look at him this close. His skin is so tan against the honey color of his hair. I run my fingers through the short strands, remembering when they were long. Remembering Rebecca remembering. I scrunch my eyebrows together at that. Close enough.
He has a smattering of freckles along his hairline and across his cheeks that didnt used to be there. Probably from living in the desert. Theres dried blood from the cut over his eye. I prod it gingerly, but it doesnt seem too deep. My arms tremble as I attempt to check him for further injuries. Im not sure where we are or how much longer theyre going to let us live, but at least were together.
As long as were together, theres hope. Logan is my hope.
An icy spike of fear makes its way through my intense relief, and I force myself to peer around with what I hope is a degree of subtlety. Not that theres much to observe. The room is bare and small, and the only possible escape is beyond that mirror I cant see through.
Glancing at my reflection, I curl my shoulders, trying to look both harmless, which isnt too hard given my pathetic appearancebad hair, bedbug welts, no makeup, a big red mark across my cheekand ignorant. The latter is, of course, more challenging. What I want to do is scream and yell and demand they let us go, but I have a feeling Ill have better luck if I try to act submissive. That tranquilizer is nasty stuff. And I have no intention of staying a prisoner for long. Not after everything Ive done. Weve done. I just need to bide my time for a little while. First things first, I have to get Logan awake. There is no way on earth Im leaving him.
While Im waiting for Logan to open his eyes, I feel out the situation. Hello? I call quietly. My throat is so parched that only a hiss of a whisper comes out.
A bottle of water appears on the floor in front of me. Appears. It doesnt get pushed through a little door or anything. Just pops into existence. Now I know for sure that there are Earthbounds involved. But whether theyre Reduciataas I suspectCuratoria, or something else entirely, I cant be sure.
I reach for the bottle tentatively and consider the risks. Theyll want me to talkso this water probably isnt poisoned.
Probably.
I could make my own, but itll only disappear a few minutes later; and besides, I have a feeling that would bring about unhappy consequences.
I unscrew the cap and intend to siphoping to maintain some semblance of decorum despite my desperate thirstbut as soon as the cold water touches my cotton-dry tongue Im gulping, and in seconds the whole thing is gone. Trying to cover my embarrassment, I resume my hunched posture of submission and screw the lid back on with as much dignity as I can muster. Then I set the empty bottle in front of me.
It vanishes only to be replaced by a new one.
This time I manage to drink the first few sips more slowly, considering this a test to make sure that this water is safe to ingest. Its too late for caution regarding the last one, but Im not taking chances anymore. I begin counting to three hundred, deciding that if I make it through a full five minutes without croaking, then the water most likely hasnt been tampered with.
By the time I reach the 290s, Im satisfied that the water isnt poisoned and start actively trying to rouse Logan. This bottle is for him.
Logan? I lift his eyelids, first one and then the other. I poke and pinch his arm, shake him back and forth, and pat his cheeks sharply, just shy of a slap. Finally he starts to groan again. I keep prodding, not willing to lose this progress. He rolls to the side and starts to raise himself up to a sitting position, his eyes eerily out of focus.
Here, I say, proffering the nearly full water bottle. Even in his fuzzy haze he takes it and gulps it down about as quickly as I did. He shakes his head and rubs at his face as I set the water bottle down. More, he murmurs, his lips chalky-white.
Looking up at what I still believe to be two-way glass, I echo Logans request with my eyes and am rewarded with a cold bottle a few seconds later. Now that were three bottles in, I hand the newest one directly over to Logan without testing it. Im going to have to trust whoever is behind that mirror one more time. After all, if they wanted us dead they would have done it already. Right?
But I think of Logans house, and doubt curls in my stomach.
But I think of Logans house, and doubt curls in my stomach.
Maybe it is the Curatoria after all. Dont the Reduciata just want to murder us? Sadly, the thought that we might be in the custody of the not-as-bad guys doesnt make me feel much better.
Logan is halfway through his second water when his eyes gain focus and zero in on me. You! he exclaims. Liquid spews from his mouth as he tosses the bottle down and crab walks backward away from me. His arms crumple beneath him, but he keeps scooting until his back is up against the corner, as far from me as the suddenly claustrophobic room will allow. You stay away from me! he shouts.
Logan, I
You did this! he yells. You madeyou made all of this happen. Stay the hell away from me!
I didnt
My house, hes almost talking to himself now, struggling to get to his feet. But his strength isnt back yet, and he leans against the wall, staggering to the side when he attempts to stand. He covers his face with one hand and lets out an inhuman sound halfway between a bark and a sob. My family. Hes nearly hyperventilating, and one arm splays against the wall as though grounding himself against everything.
Against me.
Theyre dead, arent they? He sounds like a little boy. But all I can do is give him the honest answer I know in my gut is true. I nod.
His breath is labored, the sound filling my ears. Oh no. I cantthey didnt Did I do something wrong?
You didnt do anything, I blurt. Its not your fault.
My voice finds its way through his devastation, and his eyes narrow. Youre right, his says, his lips curling into a terrible grimace. Its your fault. Why couldnt you leave me alone!
I was trying to save you, I reply, my voice barely more than a whisper as I wilt beneath his accusations. My heart bleeds at his revulsion.
Save me? The only reason Im here is because of you. He limps but manages to get across the room to the mirror, having clearly also identified it as the place where our captors are hidden. He pounds on it with both fists so hard Im sure its going to shatter beneath his rage. Please, get me away from her!
Logan, stop! I shout, tears running down my face. I couldnt stop them if I wanted to.
Hes right. I brought attention to him and in so doing I got his family killed.
I would hate me too.
Theres nothing I can do but crouch there on the cold, tiled floor, the strength drained from my body. Its been eight months since my parents died, but watching Logan pound on the mirror, my mind flies back to the moment I realized our plane was crashing. Tears stream down my face in a torrent that splashes on the tile and joins the puddle of water that still drips out of Logans discarded bottle. For an instant it almost seems like the entire pool could have been formed from my tears.
It feels like hours before Logan relents. Finally, he crumbles into a heap on the floor, his face pressed to his arms, his forehead dotted with sweat.
I can only imagine what the people watching us are thinking.
Are they amused? Satisfied? Is this what they wanted? To watch us be so helpless? So at each others throats?
Weve got to be in the hands of the Reduciata. Surely the Curatoria wouldnt kill Logans family.
Surely.
But I cant muster up a great deal of confidence to back that up.
My head aches from crying, and my eyes feel like cotton balls. But none of that compares to how my heart feels. Broken, shattered. No, something else. Empty.
After a while I feel my eyelids droop, and I fall into an exhausted, desperate sleep. Logan must as well because when I open my eyes again hes calm. Hes back in his corner, far away from me, but his eyes are dark and glittering when they meet mine. Hes been waiting for me to wake up.
Who are you? he asks, his voice a little hoarse. Whether from screaming or disuse after sleeping Im not sure. And dont lie this time.
I never lied, I say, massaging my aching leg and trying to clear my foggy head. Im Tavia, like I said.
The whole truth.
I look him in the eyes. What can I say to make him trust me? Im your eternal lover. Weve been together since the beginning of timein every lifetime that we could find one another.
He lets out a harsh, mocking laugh. Right. I should have known better than to even ask.
Then you tell me why you feel like you know me, I say, my voice low. Ive decided to focus on Logan and Logan alone, not the fact that were trapped or that were probably being watched by creeps who get their jollies from making us suffer; just Logan and getting through this conversation with him.
Some people just seem familiar, he says, brushing off my words. But I can tell, from the tiny creases between his eyebrows, that it bothers him. He doesnt want to believe. Hes desperate not to believe.
You saw me make that furniture, I say, even as I wonder why I thought to make something so trivial.
He shakes his head. A trick. Something to distract me while people were blowing up my house, he says, the words a savage growl.
Okay, hes right, that coincidence is not a happy one.
Where did the water go? I ask, and though a slight shake in my voice betrays me, Im fighting not to let him know how much his mistrust is affecting me.
What water?
The water bottle that spilled on the floor.
He looks away. They came and cleaned it up while we were asleep, he says with total dismissal.
Are you thirsty now?
His eyes only dart toward me for a moment, but I can tell the answer is yes. Im parched myself. And hungry. And I have to pee. But thatll have to wait.
I take a chance and look directly at the glass, then hold up two fingers like I might to order coffee at a diner. If I have to depend upon my kidnappers, at least I can be sarcastic about it.
Within seconds two water bottles pop into existence on the floor. One within my reach and one within his. His jaw is shaking, and I wonder if Ive just shoved him over that delicate precipice into insanity.
I cant I cant. No. He turns away from the water and curls his face against his knees, his whole body shuddering. I dont know if hes crying or trying to keep his mind from cracking.
But clearly Im not going to get any help from him until he figures out who he is. And that likely wont happen unless I can get him out of here. Not that I dont empathize. I was pretty much a wreck when all this stuff started happening to me too.
But the timing is less than ideal.
I stand and walk the perimeter of the room, giving Logan as wide a berth as I can. My fingers stray up to Rebeccas necklace and I fiddle with it as I consider the situation. I think about what happened when Logan pounded on the glasshow the surface rang with vibrations but never cracked. The material must be something stronger than glass. What can I create that could break it? And how could I do so without anyone noticing?
I take deep breaths, trying to keep my thoughts hidden. My shoulders slump as though in defeat but in my mind I see a heavy sledge hammer. In an instant my knuckles are white on a splintery wooden handle, and with a loud grunt I swing the newly formed hammer at the mirror. Shards of glass rain down like snow and my heart races for three beats, four, enjoying the sensation of success.