what I said, figuring it’s better to be silent than sound stupid.
Poor Mina. I can’t believe she’s gone. Her mother is going to cry her eyes out. Her little brothers are only four and six. They won’t know what to do without “Mimi” to pick on. They call her Mimi. I’ve always thought it was so cute and was so envious of the “turds” she locked out of her room when I spent the night.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before opening them wide, focusing on the hint of stubble on Jesse’s chin. “But what does it mean? Why am I different all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know. But my leg is healing a lot faster than I thought it would, and the cut on my side doesn’t even sting anymore.” He pulls me closer, into a hug I can tell he needs as much as I do. “I’ve been thinking while we ran. Do you think maybe this has something to do with the things we’re seeing?”
“You saw her? You saw the little girl?” My heart leaps in my chest.
“No. I saw … a dragon.”
“A dragon. Like from a fairy tale?” I ask, more curious than surprised. After all, didn’t I know? Didn’t I know he’d seen something?
“Yeah, but horrible. It was on the bus right after the accident. It attacked me. Or us. I’m not sure.” He shakes his head. “I was running from it when the bus exploded. I used to see it all the time when I was a kid. It used to … hurt me.”
Jesse swallows, the effort it takes to perform that simple action telling more than words ever could. The dragon didn’t just hurt him, the dragon traumatized him, scarred him so badly he can’t remember what it feels like to have a good night’s sleep. I smooth my hands back and forth on his chest, hoping to offer some comfort, or at least let him know I understand. Really understand.
“But no one else could see it.”
I nod. “That’s exactly what it was like with me.”
“The doctors and nurses thought I was crazy,” he says, relief in his voice.
Doctors and nurses. A frightening suspicion grows inside me. The warmth rushes from my skin, leaving me cold down to the bone. “You said you were in the hospital when you were little. What hospital?”
“Baptist Memorial, the ninth floor, terminal wing. Guess they didn’t have much hope for me.”
My stomach cramps. “That’s where I was. I was eight. You said you were … ”
“Ten.” Realization dawns in his eyes and his fingers dig a little tighter into my waist. “I’m seventeen now.”
“I’m fifteen. I won’t be sixteen until June.”
Jesse shakes his head. “We were both there at the same time.”
“And we both … ” I don’t finish the sentence. We both know what I was going to say. We both have imaginary “friends,” creatures only we can see, that try to take our lives.
“But the little girl—”
“Rachel,” I say, grateful for the chance to share her name with someone who believes in her. And more importantly, in me.
“Rachel went away, right?”
I nod. “It took a while, but by the time I left the hospital I didn’t see her anymore. I haven’t seen her in years. Not until today.”
“After the accident.”
“Right. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” he says, taking my cold hand in his warm one. “But there has to be some kind of connection between the hospital and the things we see. It’s too much of a coincidence.”
“Maybe there was lead in the paint at the hospital? Or a gas leak when we were there or something?” I ask, reaching for any explanation, no matter how far-fetched. “Maybe it made us crazy?”
“Crazy doesn’t make bruises on your ribs from wrestling a monster half the night. And crazy doesn’t make trees fall or bottles fly across the room.”
He’s right. There is something … magical going on. No, magical’s the wrong word. Magic makes me think of The Nutcracker , of enchanted Christmas trees and journeys into fairy kingdoms where flowers dance and snowflakes come to life. But there are also
Poor Mina. I can’t believe she’s gone. Her mother is going to cry her eyes out. Her little brothers are only four and six. They won’t know what to do without “Mimi” to pick on. They call her Mimi. I’ve always thought it was so cute and was so envious of the “turds” she locked out of her room when I spent the night.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before opening them wide, focusing on the hint of stubble on Jesse’s chin. “But what does it mean? Why am I different all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know. But my leg is healing a lot faster than I thought it would, and the cut on my side doesn’t even sting anymore.” He pulls me closer, into a hug I can tell he needs as much as I do. “I’ve been thinking while we ran. Do you think maybe this has something to do with the things we’re seeing?”
“You saw her? You saw the little girl?” My heart leaps in my chest.
“No. I saw … a dragon.”
“A dragon. Like from a fairy tale?” I ask, more curious than surprised. After all, didn’t I know? Didn’t I know he’d seen something?
“Yeah, but horrible. It was on the bus right after the accident. It attacked me. Or us. I’m not sure.” He shakes his head. “I was running from it when the bus exploded. I used to see it all the time when I was a kid. It used to … hurt me.”
Jesse swallows, the effort it takes to perform that simple action telling more than words ever could. The dragon didn’t just hurt him, the dragon traumatized him, scarred him so badly he can’t remember what it feels like to have a good night’s sleep. I smooth my hands back and forth on his chest, hoping to offer some comfort, or at least let him know I understand. Really understand.
“But no one else could see it.”
I nod. “That’s exactly what it was like with me.”
“The doctors and nurses thought I was crazy,” he says, relief in his voice.
Doctors and nurses. A frightening suspicion grows inside me. The warmth rushes from my skin, leaving me cold down to the bone. “You said you were in the hospital when you were little. What hospital?”
“Baptist Memorial, the ninth floor, terminal wing. Guess they didn’t have much hope for me.”
My stomach cramps. “That’s where I was. I was eight. You said you were … ”
“Ten.” Realization dawns in his eyes and his fingers dig a little tighter into my waist. “I’m seventeen now.”
“I’m fifteen. I won’t be sixteen until June.”
Jesse shakes his head. “We were both there at the same time.”
“And we both … ” I don’t finish the sentence. We both know what I was going to say. We both have imaginary “friends,” creatures only we can see, that try to take our lives.
“But the little girl—”
“Rachel,” I say, grateful for the chance to share her name with someone who believes in her. And more importantly, in me.
“Rachel went away, right?”
I nod. “It took a while, but by the time I left the hospital I didn’t see her anymore. I haven’t seen her in years. Not until today.”
“After the accident.”
“Right. What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” he says, taking my cold hand in his warm one. “But there has to be some kind of connection between the hospital and the things we see. It’s too much of a coincidence.”
“Maybe there was lead in the paint at the hospital? Or a gas leak when we were there or something?” I ask, reaching for any explanation, no matter how far-fetched. “Maybe it made us crazy?”
“Crazy doesn’t make bruises on your ribs from wrestling a monster half the night. And crazy doesn’t make trees fall or bottles fly across the room.”
He’s right. There is something … magical going on. No, magical’s the wrong word. Magic makes me think of The Nutcracker , of enchanted Christmas trees and journeys into fairy kingdoms where flowers dance and snowflakes come to life. But there are also
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