State police have confirmed that the latest missing Bedford boy is indeed Thomas Steffan and report the grisly recovery of the body of another missing youngster. The police are not releasing details. -NEWS CHANNEL 8
My mother is the only one in our family who cries when she’s frustrated or mad, and there is something both annoying and endearing about this. Once we’re inside the house, she slams the door, shutting out both BiForst and Astley. Tears well up in her eyes and she pushes her back against the wall. She closes her eyes as she whispers, “I hate pixies. I just hate them.”
I don’t say anything, but my wounds suddenly seem a lot deeper as Betty places me on the sofa. Issie and Devyn move so that there’s room for me. My mother crumples in the corner of the room.
“Zara really should be up in her bedroom,” Cassidy says. “All the healing things are there.”
“Cassidy has been working on you,” Issie says, fingering the whistle hanging from her neck. She looks proud of Cassidy and happy that conflict time is over. “That’s why she’s so pale and dead looking and why you’re healing so fast, even for a pixie.”
“Thanks, Is.” Cassidy smiles. Dark circles frame her eyes. She does look dead.
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way!” Issie blusters. “You’re a total hero.”
They are all sitting and standing throughout the living room. Mugs and glasses litter the coffee table and the end table. Issie and Cassidy aren’t wearing any shoes. They have the look of being camped out here for a while, and Cassidy isn’t the only one who looks tired. Both Mrs. Nix and my mom seem to need a good nap. I tell them it’s rude to leave Astley outside, but they all ignore me and chatter on about things. I can’t quite follow it all, because my head is foggy and I’m too busy wondering if they all think I’m a monster, if I’d be better off out on the porch with the others.
I clear my throat to get everyone’s attention. “The BiForst guy told you that there is only a certain amount of time to get Nick, right?”
They explain that he said they had to hurry or there would be no point. They don’t actually know how to get to Valhalla.
“But it’s not as if we can trust him,” Betty announces.
Mrs. Nix comes to the couch and squats in front of me. Her two hands touch the sides of my face. “He did tell us where Astley’s mother is, so that’s a good thing. Don’t worry, Zara. We will figure this out.”
Her eyes are brown and big and soft. She is a bear. She can fight, but she is so peaceful. She isn’t meant to be a warrior. None of us are meant to be warriors. Something inside of me hitches and threatens to break. I wipe at my eyes.
“Zara…” Both my mom and Issie say my name, but it is Issie, not my mother, who pats my back. My mother has moved far away from me, all the way across the room, and this entire time she hasn’t looked at me, not once, even though I’ve been shot and we haven’t seen each other in forever. She hates me now. I can feel her anger and sorrow just like I felt Astley’s. Cringing, I watch as she moves even farther away, pushing a chair to the edge of the wall, folding her arms across her chest when normally she’d still be hugging me so hard I couldn’t breathe.
I look at all their faces. My voice cracks before I even start to talk. “I changed so I could-we could… save him. I changed. I am not human, but I’m not-I’m not… bad.”
If I were bad, I’d want to attack.
If I were bad, I’d want to kill.
“I’m bringing you upstairs.” Betty announces this and swoops me into her arms. I don’t resist. “You are overwrought.”
She puts me on my bed and pulls the covers up to my chin. She smoothes the hair away from my face and smiles softly at me. Her eyes crinkle in the corners. She starts obsessively tucking the blankets around me again.
“She doesn’t love me anymore,” I whisper.
Betty stills. She knows who I am talking about.
The candles flicker, cast shadows against the walls.
“Of course she-,” Betty starts.
“Don’t lie to me,” I interrupt. “You aren’t supposed to lie. That’s not you.”
She swallows hard, looks away, but then must think better of it and meets my eyes.
“I am so sorry that you’re hurt,” she says.
And we both know that she’s not talking about the gunshot wound.
I wake up to a knocking noise. Groaning, I shift my weight on the bed and try to figure out what happened. I must have fallen asleep. Cassidy’s obviously been back in my room, because there are new candles.
The knocking sounds again. It’s coming from my window. I stretch and swing my legs to the side of my bed. My muscles creak and moan. Pain ripples through my chest, but it isn’t as horrible as it was before. I stagger toward the window and peek around the shade, pulling it out just enough.
“Let me in, Zara.”
It’s Astley. He’s hovering there, which is super creepy.
“I can’t.”
“You still do not trust me?” His face is a broken branch.
“Of course I trust you, but I- Betty wouldn’t like it,” I say honestly as I struggle to open the window.
He smiles a little sheepishly and lifts it for me, saying, “She would not like it that you are even talking to me, would she?”
That’s true. My mother would like it even less. Still, I let him perch on the windowsill. His feet dangle into the open air. The cold rushes in and we talk in whispers. He tells me everyone is still downstairs trying to figure out exactly how to convince BiForst to tell them how to get to Valhalla, but he thinks it’s pointless.
“There is no need to interrogate him. My mother knows. Now that we know where she is, I shall go talk to her. I can go alone,” he says.
But that’s not going to happen. I pick at the edge of my comforter. It’s frayed a little bit, but the yellow looks so happy and hopeful.
“I’m coming with you,” I say.
He knows me well enough to know he can’t talk me out of it, but I also think he doesn’t want to talk me out of it. Something calm passes between us. For a second I contemplate telling everyone downstairs about what’s going on, especially after Iceland, but this is Astley’s mother and New York is where he grew up. It will be totally safe. And anyway, I know without a doubt that nobody would let me go.
All he says is, “You will tell me if your injuries become too much.”
I agree and then make him turn around while I change into regular clothes and shoes. When I’m done, he motions for me to join him on the windowsill. He wraps his arms around me.
“My car is parked out on the road,” he explains. “I am going to jump off the window and fly you to it. Trust me?”
“I do.” I lean my head against his shoulder because it is too hard to hold it up anymore. He breathes in and jumps, bringing both of us into the dark, snow-filled night.
We travel in silence for a while. Astley gives me another iron pill even though his car is so high end and pricey special that it doesn’t have much iron in it. He’s cleaned out the blood-or had someone clean it for him, would be a better way to phrase it, actually. We travel down the dark Maine highway, adding mile after mile of solitude and dark night. We get to Augusta and the traffic picks up a tiny bit. We see an occasional Hannaford grocery truck or an oil truck. It isn’t until we get to Portland that there is any real traffic. We drive farther and farther away from Betty and Issie and my mom and home. Each mile makes me a little more worried about the choice I made to just leave them.
“They treat me like a child,” I say into the darkness.
Astley doesn’t answer.
“They try to take all my decisions away from me,” I add.
“Are you cold?” he asks after a ridiculously awkward silence. “I can turn up the heat. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” I wait another mile. It passes quickly. “Do you know what I mean?”
“I do.” He breathes into the air, shifts the car into a faster gear. “Are you certain about this, Zara? I would like for this to be your choice.”
I am sure. Every mile brings me closer to Nick.