Beautiful Creatures (#1)

·•9.14-The Real Boo Radley

Sunday night, I reread The Catcher in the Rye until I felt tired enough to fall asleep. Only I never got tired enough. And I couldn't read, because reading didn't feel the same. I couldn't disappear into the character of Holden Caulfield, because I couldn't get lost in the story, not the way you need to be, to become somebody else.

   I wasn't alone in my head. It was full of lockets, and fires, and voices. People I didn't know, and visions I didn't understand.

And something else. I put the book down and slid my hands behind my head.

   Lena? You're there, aren't you?

I stared up at the blue ceiling.

It's no use. I know you're there. Here. Wherever.

   I waited, until I heard it. Her voice, unfolding like a tiny bright memory in the darkest, furthest corner of my mind.

No. Not exactly.

You are. You have been, all night.

Ethan, I'm sleeping. I mean, was.

I smiled to myself.

No you weren't. You were listening.

I was not.

Just admit it, you were.

Guys. You think everything is about you. Maybe I just like that book.

   Can you just drop in whenever you want, now?

Not usually, but tonight it just sort of happened. I still don't understand how it works.

Maybe we can ask someone.

Like who?

I don't know. Guess we'll have to figure it out on our own. Just like everything else.

   Another pause. I tried to wonder if the "we" spooked her, in case she could hear me. Maybe it was that, or maybe it was the other thing; she didn't want me to find out anything, if it had to do with her.

Don't try.

I smiled, and felt my eyes closing. I could barely keep them open.

I'm trying.

I turned out the light.

Good night, Lena.

Good night, Ethan.

  I hoped she couldn't read all my thoughts.

Basketball. I was definitely going to have to spend more time thinking about basketball. And as I thought about the playbook in my mind, I felt my eyes closing, myself sinking, losing control. . . .
-
Drowning.

     I was drowning.

Thrashing in the green water, waves crashing over my head. My feet kicked for the muddy bottom of a river, maybe the Santee, but there was nothing. I could see some kind of light, skimming the river, but I couldn't get to the surface.

    I was going down.

"It's my birthday, Ethan. It's happening."

I reached out. She grabbed at my hand, and I twisted to catch it, but she drifted away, and I couldn't hold on anymore. I tried to scream as I watched her pale little hand drift down toward the darkness, but my mouth filled with water and I couldn't make a sound. I could feel myself choking. I was starting to black out.

  "I tried to warn you. You have to let me go!"

I sat up in bed. My T-shirt was soaking wet. My pillow was wet. My hair was wet. And my room was sticky and humid. I guessed I'd left the window open again.