Threshold (Old Version)

Chapter Eleven

I leaned my head back against my bedroom wall, wishing the turmoil would stop. A thousand thoughts—a thousand morbid images—raced through my brain, banishing all peace. It’d taken three hours to stabilize Malachi, and another two before the medical staff was sure his body was completely free of the toxin. Sometime during the madness my father had appeared—laden with the disgruntled disappointment I knew too well.

I could still hear the hurried shouts, still see Malachi’s body seize, still feel the violent churning of my own heart. As soon as Malachi was down the guards and medical staff ambushed us, shoving me to the side as they sprang into action. Syringes appeared, full of a cloudy liquid, and Dr. McPherson started barking orders

The part that still twisted my gut was the way Malachi’s body fell limp after the seizures stopped. The only thing that separated him from cadavers on CSI shows was the heart monitor determinedly reporting signs of life.

I stumbled across the shadowy room and clambered into bed, not caring to change out of my jeans. The adrenaline jolts of the day had drained my energy.

As soon as my eyes closed I was whisked away to a hazy world of half formed thoughts and estranged feelings.

I was walking through my school’s soccer field. I didn’t know where I was going, but it didn’t matter anyway. I was just moving. I could see my house in the distance, even though rational thought would have screamed that my house should have been a good two hundred miles away. The soccer field transformed into the beach behind my maternal grandparents’ house, the waves lapping the shore in the last dying halos of dusk.

“I need to get to Hailey’s house,” I said to myself, ignoring geography and common sense. I stumbled down the beach, a breeze quickly chilling my exposed skin.

Slowly, thought began to filter through my thick skull. I couldn’t be going to Hailey’s house. I was at my grandparents’… but I wasn’t. But most importantly, there was something I was supposed to do. There was some purpose to the reality.

“Malachi?” I whispered, not quite sure where the syllables came from. As soon as I uttered the name, recognition crashed into my brain. “Malachi,” I said louder, then closed my eyes and shouted, “Malachi! Are you there?”

“Yes.”

I spun. In a moment, everything became crystal clear. I could feel the gritty sand, and smell the briny sea. And Malachi stood in front of me, the same, completely healthy, unharmed Malachi I’d seen in a previous dream. My thoughts were clear, like they’d been finally connected with reality.

“I’m here.” The moon rose above the surface of the ocean, sending gray shadows skittering across Malachi’s skin. We stood a good 20 feet away, but I could hear his voice as crisp as day.

“But… What were you thinking?” I shouted, horrified as the haunting images of the day’s events flooding my conscious. “You said yourself you couldn’t escape that way! You knew it was futile. You said we had to work together, that I should go apologize to my father.” A stray thought suddenly tainted all of the others. “Or was that just a hoax to get me down there so you could use me as a hostage for your little escape plan? Was that it all along? Make me believe you and then use me as leverage for your escape? Well it worked fantastically. Everyone was sufficiently occupied for the afternoon, and you almost died.”

“They never would have let me die. I’m too much of an investment to them.” I expected to hear bite in Malachi’s words, but his tone was even and calm. He just stared into my eyes with a look of solemn grief.

“So what, just hope they wouldn’t activate the chip? And if they do, oops! Guess you’ll just have to find a new gullible rescuer to ensnare with your lies.