November 3, 2010

• nanowrimo, day 3.

  

  I hear Nadia gasp beside me as we run, though the wind is rushing in and out of my ear canals and mercilessly rustling the leaves on the seemingly endless trees.

  “Thank God you can hear him,” Louise sighs over her shoulder, “I was beginning to think I was a complete and total loon.”

  “Not this time,” Nadia jokes, running a bit faster to keep in step with Louise.

  I know we are getting closer because Lou is holding her head as she runs, as if she’s trying to keep her brain from falling out of her skull. She cries out without any warning, and I drop to the ground.

  When I open my eyes again, three wide, concerned pairs of eyes search my face frantically. I wipe my palm across my forehead and let out a groan. My head is throbbing and my chest feels like someone has punched a hole right through the center of it. I am not prepared at all for that kind of unadulterated ache; it is as if I clutched a stripped wire with all my might in my bare, wet hand, letting the current overtake all of my nerve endings. It takes me a minute to remember to breathe.

  “What the hay-ull jus’ happened?” Louise’s accent is thicker in her distress, and I smile despite the pain. “One second you were keeping up, and the next, yer on yer back.”

  “Did any of you feel that?” I ask, though my tongue feels thick and my lips feel drier than discarded bone lying in desert sand.

  “Feel what, Georgia Lynn? We need to keep going, this is serious,” Louise is pacing as Charlotte and Nadia help me to my feet.

  “I know you know something, because you screamed right as I dropped,” I tell her, rubbing the back of my head, searching for any blood from my fall.

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Louise searches my eyes, probably thinking I’m insane. In that moment, I would kill to be a reader.

  “You didn’t yell anything just now?” I ask, massaging my temples.

  “Why would I be out here in the middle of the forest screamin’?” Louise’s face is scrunched up in confusion.

  My eyes widen. “It was him, then.”

  “You heard him screaming?” Nadia asks, searching my face.

  “I don’t know,” I frown, “I think I may have felt him… I guess it may have seemed audible – this has never happened to me before. If this is our guy, he’s in some serious pain, though I don’t know if it’s physical. We need to find him. I’m just going to have to grit my teeth.”

  The readers pick up their sprint once more, but Charlotte lags farther behind with me, where I am avoiding experiencing that invading sensation again too quickly.

  “He’s powerful, Georgia,” she whispers. “If he is tapping into gifts you’ve never used before, or even knew about until tonight, he is formidable. If he’s unfriendly, we need to remember that.”

  “Oh, my, gosh; listen to yourself, Lottie – you sound like a comic book character. We’re not superheroes. We don’t have archenemies,” I roll my eyes, though her words sink in and twist my stomach into a hard knot.

  “Or do we?” I ask, suddenly uncertain.

  “I have no idea,” Charlotte shrugs. “I assume it’s like any other advantage. Money, power, beauty, strength, charisma – all of these things can be abused. Whatever we have – be it supernatural, superhuman, or otherwise, do you think people would hesitate for one second to use these abilities for selfish, personal gain?”

  “Maybe for a second,” I say, sarcasm dripping down my chin like juice from a peach – it’s only natural.

  “My point exactly,” Charlotte swings her hand about to emphasize her words. “While my gift is rather selfless, don’t think I haven’t done stupid things with it in my time.”

  “In your time…? Girl, you make it sound like you’ve been around forever,” I laugh, swatting and scoffing at her solemnity.

  But Charlotte remains serious.

  “You have been around forever?” I ask her, my voice just above a whisper.

  “Not quite,” she smirks.

  “How long are we talkin’?” I pry. “Was your mama named Eve?”

  Charlotte snickers. “I’ve been around for less than a century, sweetheart; not exactly the several millennia you would require to make your theory plausible. Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Well, how freakin’ old are you, then?” I demand, but feel a blush creep on my cheeks. Thank God for the dark. “I mean, no disrespect, or anything. You are my elder and all.”

  “Indeed I am, since I will be seventy-three in June,” Charlotte grins.

  “Good grief,” I gasp. “So the comment about us girls being plenty old enough to call our own shots…”

  “Well, it certainly applies to me,” she jokes. “But on a serious note, Georgia, it is not something I talk about with others. That is to say, it is not common knowledge. People believe that I am only nineteen, and I would really like to keep it that way. It makes it easier to blend in, if I should ever have the need to do so.”

  “Okay,” I offer, and we pick up our pace once again to catch up with the readers.

  Nadia turns to me, her eyes wide. I can see the question etched on her pupils, simply because I know her so well.

  We’ll talk about it later, I think in her general direction. Right now, let’s find this guy before he removes all rational thought from my capabilities.

  She nods once, and squeezes my hand. “We’re getting close,” she says softly.

  “How are you holding up, Lou?” I ask gently.

  Louise looks at me over her shoulder and suddenly I feel this dire need to get to the voice, to reach this man I do not know, to fix whatever is causing him pain. I swallow hard against this new feeling, as its invasion of my privacy is unwarranted and unexpected.

  Is this crazy intense empathy my new gift? Why is it happening all of a sudden? Am I finally going all the way insane, instead of just part of the way? I think to myself, rhetorical and bewildered.

  Nadia shrugs, automatically. She always answers my innermost thoughts with some sort of external gesture without even meaning to – it’s just a strange habit we have formed over the years.

  “There,” Louise breathes out, pointing with her left hand, gripping the upper left side of her chest. Anyone else would assume that this is merely a sign of over-exerting the human heart, but Louise’s loyal hunting party understands what this clutching motion means.

  Louise is gesturing toward an ancient oak with a hollowed trunk that looks eerily like the cave in which Yoda lives in Star Wars, Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back. I smirk as I picture a tiny, long-eared, green-skinned creature waddling out to greet us and thank us for our concern. Nadia swats my arm, and I blink in surprise, receiving her motherly scowl with as much grace and maturity as I could muster.

  I am about to make a joke despite my carefully crafted adult façade, when a disturbing, guttural groan pours from the hollow tree and reaches our ears as it reverberates through the forest walls.

  Each muscle in my body is tense, and I grip Charlotte and Nadia’s hands, hoping to find some comfort from the fear that is gripping me.

  Without thought, Louise takes off like a meteorite toward the sound, and Nadia gasps as I follow suit. The tree trunk’s inhabitant is drawing Lou and is drawing me, too, and I cannot resist the urge to help whoever – whatever – waits inside. Whether it’s by proxy from Louise, or originating from the darkness before us, my feet move forward as if they have their own free will to do so, and I have no strength left to fight them. Nadia tries to keep hold of my hand but I pull away, disappearing into the gutted heart of the ancient oak.

  Once inside, I smell the damp, earthy scent of the tree’s flesh, and see a faint glow casting our shadows to the dirty ground. The pain flash-burns my insides once more and I close my eyes to try and keep my focus. Another miserable groan hits my ears, much closer and louder this time, and Louise struggles momentarily for breath as her foot hits something large directly in front of us. I force my eyes open, so I can take in whatever happens and commit it to my elephant’s memory.

  Louise drops to her knees, her hands instantly pressing gently down on the chest of the man lying on his back before us. His eyes open very slowly, and a large, light hand rests heavily on Louise’s long, slender fingers. He squeezes them tenderly, and the horrifying pain that has my lungs burning suddenly subsides, and is replaced by the pleasant warmth of a fireplace on Christmas morning, with the hint of a whisper of cool, fresh air. My jaw slackens at the contrast, and Louise inhales a sharp breath.

  “You came for me,” the man speaks. His voice is quite deep, and unfathomably warm. The tone of it is pure relief, bathed with the heady fragrance of purpose and plan.

  Louise nods, stunned into silence by the untainted, innocent pleasure and sweet surprise in his voice.

  “I wasn’t sure you would ever hear me,” he says gently. “I have been calling for you since I was born, I think. I can’t remember when I began. I just know I’ve always known you existed.”

  “What…” Louise swallows, trying to compose herself. “What do you mean? What’s so special about me?”

  “If I am not mistaken,” the man says patiently, “I do believe that you, my dear, are my other half.”

  My heart searches his intentions without any forethought on my part, and I find them to be completely wholesome. This empathy, this deep knowing in my gut, feels second nature, as if it’s something I’ve done my entire life. I am flooded with joy at the realization that I probably always have.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” the man sits up and keeps her hands within the warmth of his own. “My name is Wyatt Landon Livingston.”

  “Sarah Louisiana Nelson,” Louise whispers.

  Wyatt kisses her hands. “Beautiful.”

   

  • 11:31 pm
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