Glitch. Part 13

Strange.

Almost like a trap.

I shook my head.

"It's coming. We have to go. Now."

It was a beautiful thing. A divine coincidence.

I wandered over the rocks. I don't know why but I was grinning. I took a big breath of fresh spring air. The pain bled out my legs. Even my hand felt fine.

"We're not leaving."

I chuckled a bit. I felt good. I turned around and gave a long, sweeping gaze at the world that seemed so beautiful.

"He's right. We have to go."

But why was the sky like that?

"Try again."

The sky was black. Completely black.

Except...

I looked up.

No moon, no stars, but there were two glowing lights, glimmering like candle flames.

They were bright blue.

"Fine. Here goes."

I screamed. My throat stretched, strained, tore.

"Hit it again." Lena said.

Laurent smashed an aluminum baseball bat on the cold, concrete floor. Blue sparks flew up. They fell, fizzling on dark asphalt.

The floor shook beneath me. A cry like tortured whale-song sang from the stone ceiling.

Pain. Pain like my bones would burst. Pain like drilled teeth. Pain like injections, muscles swelling tissues bloating gonna die gonna tear gonna burst.

"Get the knife," she said. Her hands pinned my chest.

Couldn't take it.

"No!" Josh shouted. Thunder rolled over his voice. "Separation will kill him."

My back arched. Eyes p.r.i.c.kled, went warm. Saw red in the long fluorescent lights. f.u.c.k f.u.c.k f.u.c.k.

"Get the knife!" Lena screamed.

"Shut up!" Amrith shouted. The noise of thunder, rolling metal, screaming stone, reached a crescendo.

The thunder subsided. The pain yanked itself out my body. I gasped. Coughed out vomit.

Silence.

"It's already here," he whispered.

The lights flickered. My consciousness blurred.

An empty parking garage, a cold one.

"He's coming to." Laurent said. He sported a bright yellow sack hat on his head. Did he really think that looked cool?

"Josh, get a gate ready," Lena said.

"Already working on it," Josh said from the wall.

"What's going on?" I asked. It came out as a m.u.f.fled whimper. I s.h.i.+fted. My clothes hung heavy with sweat.

"You okay?" Lena asked.

"I'm fine," I tried to say. Except what came out was just a wail. Spit gurgled in my throat. I coughed.

Pain. Still so much pain echoing in my limbs. And so much cold.

"Can you move?" Amrith asked.

My fingers curled like a dead man's. I hadn't told them to. My breath sped up and spots burst in my eyes. Heartbeat rose. My jugular throbbed against my neck. I tasted blood.

Lena said. "He's going back under."

I picked up my laptop. The sun-toasted plastic warmed my palms.

I chuckled, sat down on the rocks, and watched the waves on the sh.o.r.e of Lake Ontario.

The sun glowed a deep orange over the water. It reminded me of orange juice. Warm orange juice.

I leaned back. The rocks felt warm beneath me, and strangely comfortable. Stray bits of stone clung to my s.h.i.+rt.

"We have to leave him."

Did warm orange juice taste good? Probably not. Mango juice then.

"We can't."

Yes, mango juice was tasty, I decided.

"Hit it again."

I saw white, just white.

White turned grey. Grey turned to dingy parking garage.

"Finally." Lena breathed. She stood up and kicked the floor with a brown leather boot. "Keep him up this time."

I coughed. My mouth felt full of sour-tasting fluff.

"Okay, we've got him." Amrith said. He looked over his shoulder to Josh. "How's the gate?"

"Let. Me. Work," Josh seethed from the wall. He held an earring-Lena's earring-in one hand. The other hand pushed against a salt-stained concrete wall. Beside him, Laurent crouched with an aluminum baseball bat, held up like he was ready to hit a home run.

Here again? I didn't want to be here.

"c.r.a.p." Amrith looked down at me. He started going fuzzy. "NonoNO!"

The wipers squeaked on the gla.s.s. The tires stuttered as it traversed the drifts of snow.

The entire car shuddered as we hit a b.u.mp in the asphalt. We'd just entered the narrow bridge on Hurontario. The snow quietly intensified.

The bridge was long, utilitarian concrete. One of about four on this street that spanned the Credit River. The river ran south from Orangeville and emptied in Lake Ontario. Approaching this part of Mississauga, the river broke up into three, later converging back into a single stream. Over the centuries, the river had carved deep valleys where it ran. It was pretty, but d.a.m.n inconvenient.

In the daylight, I could have seen the trees waving beneath the bridge. I could have seen the river, and the deer that sometimes crossed it. But tonight was dark: the concrete railings showed darkness, and snow. Nothing else.

"It wasn't your fault," Jon said.

Jonathan looked... normal. But then, what did I expect? Of course he looked normal, like Dad, except with lighter hair and four scars on his ear from his rebel teen earring phase.

For some reason, I couldn't see his eyes; the shadows cut them off.

I stared too long. Jon noticed. He waggled his ears and crossed his eyes at me until I looked away. I felt better though. It was just the lighting after all: as soon as he'd lowered his head to mock me, I saw his face just fine.

"It feels like my fault," I muttered. I looked down for my laptop, but it wasn't there.

I didn't own a laptop.

Jon scratched his chin. His stubble scritch-scritched against his thumb.

The pa.s.sing streetlights drew closer and closer together as we entered Brampton. Neon signs flashed in the windows-a Jack Astor's, a Boston Pizza, a bright green Chili Pepper for Thai Excite.

"Whew," Jon said. "I thought we'd never get home." His breath fogged as he spoke. Mine did too.

But the heater was on, full blast.

We pa.s.sed through the downtown and swung into the suburbs. It got darker again: no cars out this late, and in this weather.

"You don't have to be afraid." Jon said.

I nodded, even though I didn't understand him.

Jon entered our neighborhood. He turned down Squire street and took a left on Jackdaw.

I rarely saw our block covered in this much snow; it caked everything, leaving only slivers of black beneath the eaves of houses and the boughs of trees.

Our house appeared at the end of Orion Street-a white-brick bungalow with Spanish arches. A tasteless plastic angel stood next to the maple tree on our lawn. The angel, an Easter bunny, and a Frankenstein's monster all shared the same spot in a ch.o.r.eographed holiday timeshare.

Jonathan pulled into the narrow driveway and stopped only when the car almost touched the garage door.

Jon turned off the car. The headlights died. The dashboard died. The quiet sounds of the engine and the motor died.

"Come on," Jon said. His breath steamed around him. "Let's get inside."

I hugged my backpack to my chest.

The house looked odd; the lights were out inside. Something else was off: the exhaust from the furnace should have been steaming in this cold. It wasn't right. The house didn't just look empty. It looked dead.

Where Mom and Dad at a party? That might explain it. But then why did Jonathan have the only car?

Jon undid his seatbelt, kicked his door open, and got out. He bent back in to look at me.

"Coming?" He asked.

His eyes glowed bright blue.

Jon frowned. "Something wrong bud?"

"Last time or we leave. Okay?"