oh, so distinct! So clear! A voice like a solo in a concert.
Chhhrrrrissssssteeennnaaahh … sang the ocean.
The creak, like the sea, came nearer.
The creak gathered rhythm, and volume, and creaked on into guest room number 8.
The door moved.
No, she told herself. It didn’t move. It was open like that before, wasn’t it?
She could actually hear the water in the house. The ocean had come for her. Just as Anya had foretold. The sea, Chrissie, the sea wants one of us. And last night Christina had promised Mrs. Shevvington — it can have me, Mrs. Shevvington!
Something moved behind the door.
Something that breathed and waited and reached.
She could not look; not even she, Christina, granite of the Isle. She closed her eyes while her lungs jerked for air and her skin shivered with fear.
And into the soft fog of the room came the ocean, crying, Chhhrrrrissssssteeennnaaahh; crying, here I am, move over, I’ve come for you.
It came swaying. Crawling.
Christina whimpered, and the tears flowed down her cheeks, and she thought: Tears are saltwater; soon I will be all tears — all saltwater — vanished into the ocean.
It got into the bed with her.
Its fingers closed around her skin.
Christina’s scream of horror pierced the silent night. It cut through the plaster walls and through the cracks of doors and through the white forest of tilting rails on tilting balconies.
The hand of the ocean covered Christina’s mouth and the ocean murmured, “It’s just me. Val. I ran away from the Institute. I’ve been hiding in the room next door. I’ve been calling your name all night, Christina, so you’d come and find me. Instead you’ve gone and screamed, and now the Shevvingtons will come in to see what is the matter and they’ll know I’m here.”
Christina was as flat as one of the sheets on her bed. She thought she would probably never speak again, or think, or stand up. Val added proudly, “I’ve been so clever. I got out of the Institute, and nobody saw me. Even with all their cameras and bed checks and supervisors, nobody saw.”
Christina waited for her scream to bring the Shevvingtons.
But it did not.
She knew they had heard the scream. People in Utah had probably heard the scream. Her hair was damp from the sweat of terror and the pillow damp from the tears of fear. Why had the Shevvingtons not come running?
And then she remembered. These were the Shevvingtons. She was always expecting them to be like regular grown-ups, even after all this time. To protect and to worry. But they never protected. Never worried. No. The Shevvingtons planned and gloated instead.
“Don’t worry,” she said to Val. “They want me to be afraid. They are probably awake and happy because of that scream.” She thought of their smiles: Mr. Shevvington’s, smooth and hidden in the dark; Mrs. Shevvington’s, yellow and curled at his side.
And I, she thought, am no longer half here. I am all here. “Thank you, Val,” she whispered, hugging the other girl. “I nearly slipped into the crack. You saved me.”
She turned on the tiny lamp by the bedside table.
In the half light, fire and smoke seemed to creep out of the cracks of the walls. For a moment she was ready to run, ready to scream Fire!, to save Val as she had once saved Dolly.
It’s just paint, she thought. Anya fell into the changing posters of the sea that Mrs. Shevvington put in her room. I will fall into the mural they’ve painted on the wall. This afternoon I panicked. I was expecting fire so it became fire.
I must remember that. Things become what you expect them to become. But I am granite. Nothing can shatter me.
Christina lay back on the pillow again, comforted.
“Now hide me somewhere,” whispered Val.
“Why can’t you go home? I haven’t met your mother and father, but Robbie is nice. Just explain that you’re better and you can live at home now.”
“You don’t understand. They think the Shevvingtons know best. The Institute has
Chhhrrrrissssssteeennnaaahh … sang the ocean.
The creak, like the sea, came nearer.
The creak gathered rhythm, and volume, and creaked on into guest room number 8.
The door moved.
No, she told herself. It didn’t move. It was open like that before, wasn’t it?
She could actually hear the water in the house. The ocean had come for her. Just as Anya had foretold. The sea, Chrissie, the sea wants one of us. And last night Christina had promised Mrs. Shevvington — it can have me, Mrs. Shevvington!
Something moved behind the door.
Something that breathed and waited and reached.
She could not look; not even she, Christina, granite of the Isle. She closed her eyes while her lungs jerked for air and her skin shivered with fear.
And into the soft fog of the room came the ocean, crying, Chhhrrrrissssssteeennnaaahh; crying, here I am, move over, I’ve come for you.
It came swaying. Crawling.
Christina whimpered, and the tears flowed down her cheeks, and she thought: Tears are saltwater; soon I will be all tears — all saltwater — vanished into the ocean.
It got into the bed with her.
Its fingers closed around her skin.
Christina’s scream of horror pierced the silent night. It cut through the plaster walls and through the cracks of doors and through the white forest of tilting rails on tilting balconies.
The hand of the ocean covered Christina’s mouth and the ocean murmured, “It’s just me. Val. I ran away from the Institute. I’ve been hiding in the room next door. I’ve been calling your name all night, Christina, so you’d come and find me. Instead you’ve gone and screamed, and now the Shevvingtons will come in to see what is the matter and they’ll know I’m here.”
Christina was as flat as one of the sheets on her bed. She thought she would probably never speak again, or think, or stand up. Val added proudly, “I’ve been so clever. I got out of the Institute, and nobody saw me. Even with all their cameras and bed checks and supervisors, nobody saw.”
Christina waited for her scream to bring the Shevvingtons.
But it did not.
She knew they had heard the scream. People in Utah had probably heard the scream. Her hair was damp from the sweat of terror and the pillow damp from the tears of fear. Why had the Shevvingtons not come running?
And then she remembered. These were the Shevvingtons. She was always expecting them to be like regular grown-ups, even after all this time. To protect and to worry. But they never protected. Never worried. No. The Shevvingtons planned and gloated instead.
“Don’t worry,” she said to Val. “They want me to be afraid. They are probably awake and happy because of that scream.” She thought of their smiles: Mr. Shevvington’s, smooth and hidden in the dark; Mrs. Shevvington’s, yellow and curled at his side.
And I, she thought, am no longer half here. I am all here. “Thank you, Val,” she whispered, hugging the other girl. “I nearly slipped into the crack. You saved me.”
She turned on the tiny lamp by the bedside table.
In the half light, fire and smoke seemed to creep out of the cracks of the walls. For a moment she was ready to run, ready to scream Fire!, to save Val as she had once saved Dolly.
It’s just paint, she thought. Anya fell into the changing posters of the sea that Mrs. Shevvington put in her room. I will fall into the mural they’ve painted on the wall. This afternoon I panicked. I was expecting fire so it became fire.
I must remember that. Things become what you expect them to become. But I am granite. Nothing can shatter me.
Christina lay back on the pillow again, comforted.
“Now hide me somewhere,” whispered Val.
“Why can’t you go home? I haven’t met your mother and father, but Robbie is nice. Just explain that you’re better and you can live at home now.”
“You don’t understand. They think the Shevvingtons know best. The Institute has
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