Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Is it possible to float outside of your body and watch as if it’s happening to someone else?
I’m watching myself now. I’m running, but it doesn’t feel like me.
It feels like some terrified girl with greasy hair and empty eyes moving like an animal.
She’s still running, just…slower now. Walking step by step in the morning sunshine to the northern part of the island.
I’m not sure how I got away from the man in the skull mask. One minute I was certain I was going to die, and the next minute he was just…standing there with this look on his face.
And I ran. I ran, not convinced he was letting me go. That my brain had made it up because it was easier than whatever reality was happening. Every step feels like I’m running into a fog.
Vaguely, I recognize the symptomology of disassociation. Disconnection from the body. Disconnection from emotions. Body…floating.
I try to remember how to fix it, but what little memories I do have of that past life are of late-night study sessions where I wanted to give up. Do I remember nothing?
I feel hot. Sticky. Somewhere, I know I have to be thirsty, but all I feel is vague nausea.
I have a feeling that smashing a rock into someone might help. Maybe smashing a rock into myself. Pain is a great way to break the brain out of disassociating. Either that or it’ll drive me all the way inside, and I’ll never come back out again.
Somewhere behind me, I hear the sound of someone moving through the forest. Instinctively, I drop down to the ground. The pressure on my leg erupts in a flare of pain, and I blink.
My leg. The pain breaks through my fog, pulsing in an SOS.
Not safe. Not safe. Not safe.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to retreat again. Only, the sounds of the person get louder. I look around for a rock to grab. I realize slowly that I’m in a rocky, grassy area where the trees are a lot thinner than they normally are. And right in front of me is a perfect rock with jagged edges.
I look behind me to see who it is I’m going to kill, and that’s when I see him. He’s tall, with a pointed jawline, full lips, and dark eyebrows.
I blink, and slowly, recognition falls over me. It’s the man. The one who chased me on the beach.
For a heart-stopping moment, everything freezes. Him again? This isn’t an accident. He’s determined to kill me.
I’ve stopped breathing, face hot, pulse pounding in my neck.
The man stops, looking down at something. His dark hair falls into his face. The kind of face that I would have thought attractive before. Now, the sight turns my stomach. This might be the last person I see before I die.
But not before he dies first.
The realization hits me, waking me up just enough to feel it. It’s still like I’m in jello and the outside world is so far away. But now death is staring me in the face, pounding the walls to get in, vibrating in my skull.
Death, death, death.
The man looks up, scanning the field, then starts walking directly toward me.
My heart pounds, blood rushing in my ears as I wait. I don’t want to give away my position before he’s close enough to hit.
He gets closer, and I can see the large bruise on his head. A knife strapped to his belt.
The man takes one more step, and I scramble to my feet with a cry. I dart toward him, my body humming with adrenaline. Suddenly, everything is crisp again, and the fog is gone.
I will survive.
The man lets out a startled sound, and then I’m on him, swinging my rock down. At the last second, he ducks, and my rock slams into his backpack, hitting it so hard I lose my grip.
My backpack is jerked backwards, and the straps yank into my shoulders, pulling me back. Scrambling, I twist and shift, trying to get the backpack off.
He’s saying something, but I can’t hear it.
The straps slip off, and I’m darting toward a small, thin tree, then a hand catches my wrist. Immediately, I turn, clawing at the man’s face.
“Fuck.” He ducks, pressing into me and making me stumble back. He follows, still gripping my wrist, and I swing, trying to hit the vulnerable injury on his head.
“I’m sorry!”
Scanning the ground, I look for another rock.
Then, he’s whipping me around by my wrist, twisting my arm up into my back. My chest hits something hard, and I realize he’s pressed me into that tree.
“Don’t hit me again. Please.”
I scream, thrashing in his hold, my arm is twisted painfully behind my back.
“Please, I’m so sorry. Just stop for a second.”
I scratch at the tree with my free hand, then yank it down, trying to search for the knife at his belt.
All I feel is clothing, and I realize the knife is on the other side.
The side currently pinning my arm. Looking down, I try to find something to hit him with.
I want to bash his skull in. Beat him to death just like the man who killed Seven.
Seven’s bloody forehead fills my brain, and then immediately following, Connor’s blank stare. My brain feels like static. Then it’s like the blood rushes through my ears in a numbing roar.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here to help. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Distantly, I hear the man’s voice. It almost fades back into the jello of my mind, but hot, powerful nausea grips my stomach, and I’m ripped back to the present. If I don’t fight him, I’ll die.
I thrash, but the man has me in a strong grip, pinning me solidly. There’s a sharp pain I feel now in my shoulder.
“Please stop, you’re hurting yourself.”
I shake like a dog, tree bark ripping into my chest and nose, that pain in my shoulder increasing as he leans on me. Then nausea and helplessness surge through me. I barely lean to the side before I’m puking into the rocks at the base of the tree. Only, there isn’t much to puke up. Just bile.
“Ah shit.” The man’s hold loosens just enough to take the incessant ache out of my shoulder, but he’s still pressing what feels like his whole body weight into me as I heave.
“Are you okay?”
Sucking in a breath is hard, but I manage it.
“Listen, Holland, I know this is hard to believe, but I’m trying to help. I need you to listen to me.”
There’s a certain strain of…something in his voice. I shift my shoulders, feeling for any weakness in his hold. And then I realize what he just called me. Not Fourteen. Holland.
“I’m trying to get you off the island. Both of us. But you have to stop fighting me.”
I hear my pulse in my ears. Why did he call me Holland? How does he know my name? Of course he knows my name. He has my number. He’s the one who’s trying to kill me.
I renew my efforts, wiggling against his hold, scratching against the tree. I need my arms free. I need them free so I can defend myself.
“I’m not letting you go.” That strain is back. “Please, this is for your own good.”
He’s so goddamn strong, or I’m so goddamn weak, I can barely move. I fight for as long as I can until I’m just panting against the tree, thinking about moving, but unable to move anymore.
“I know someone here. I’m going to try to get us out.”
I can’t see him; all I can do is listen to his tone of voice, waiting for the inevitable moment he slices my throat.
It doesn’t come.
“I’m Oakley. I’m so sorry for all of this. I didn’t know.” His voice cracks, then he clears his throat. “I had no idea. But I’m going to get you out.”
What the hell is he talking about? Suddenly, I feel cold, suspended in this place where I’m forced to be at this stranger’s mercy, and I hate it. I want to run. I want to fight. I want to cry.
“If I let you go, you can’t run.”
Let me go. He’s going to let me go.
“Holland, I won’t let you run. Tell me you understand.”
His hands are hot on my arm, and I’m freezing, but I just need him to let me go. I’d rather see him kill me. So I nod.
“Okay.” Slowly, his hands let me go.
Turning, I raise my hands up to protect my face, already tucking my thumb on the outside of my fist.
“Hey.” Oakley raises his hands, taking a step back. “It’s okay.”
I eye the knife at his waist. It’s still there, sheathed. Why the hell hasn’t he taken it out yet? Can I get it before he does?
“I’m here to help.”
For the first time, I actually hear him. Help? He’s here to help? For a brief second, I feel like Connor is talking to me again, teaching me different ways to protect myself. And for a second, I feel that warmth that comes from being safe.
And then reality sets in, and all warmth is gone in an instant. Because Connor is dead. As is Elijah. My body shakes, and I can’t remember how to numb it all.
Oakley is still talking. “You can stay in my room until I get us a way out. I just have to get you out of here.”
Oh fuck no.
Oakley is giving me a look, and it’s almost pleading, his blue eyes fixed on me and strained. He looks like he wants to…save me.
Dread freezes my gut to ice, and it feels like history is repeating itself.
I can’t go through that again. I can’t have hope that a man will save me.
That I can care about someone. Because the last time that happened, I lost everything, and I won’t go through that again. I can’t. I won’t survive it.
“No.” I take a step away from the tree. “No.”
Oakley turns his hands so they’re palm up. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I realize I’m shaking my head.
Oakley winces. “Please, Holland, I know you don’t believe me—”
There’s a crash in the woods to our left, and I stiffen, crouching down. There’s another crack of a stick, then a curse. It’s another person.
Oakley steps back toward me just as a form comes into view. It’s a man. A large man with dark hair and greying, indistinct tattoos up his neck.
Scrambling back, I get ready to run before Oakley steps in front of me, blocking my view of the man, and reaching back to grab me. I try to rip away, but he adjusts his grip, sliding his hand down my arm to my wrist.
“Fucking bugs.” There’s another curse, then there’s silence.
“Hey,” Oakley sounds neutral. Not mean, but not nice.
I struggle to get out of Oakley’s grip, but it’s like iron. Staring around his tall form, I evaluate the new threat.
The man’s eyes snap to mine. They’re watered-down eyes in a leathered face, all sharp angles and dark eyes, looking simultaneously bored and angry. He has a worn number card on his belt. Twenty-seven.
There’s another moment of silence, then a deadpan. “Fourteen.”
The man doesn’t move. Neither does Oakley. I feel the tension in every muscle.
“You left early this morning,” Twenty-Seven says slowly.
Oakley’s fingers tighten imperceptibly.
“Breaking the rules.” The man smiles now, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Only seems fair you share your prize.”
That’s when my gaze pans down, and I notice something hanging from his belt.
A bear mask.