Dreamland (Riley Bloom #3)(31)

His parents were down there somewhere, most likely searching for him. But for the moment, it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. He refused to think about them. Preferred to concentrate on soaring, the thrill of riding tandem with the clouds. His gaze held fast to the bottom of the red car above him, knowing that Mary Angel soared right along with him.

He dreaded each trip toward the ground, that’s where reality lived—and looked forward to each arc into the sky where everything was peaceful and good.

Or at least until Jimmy Mac started rocking his car—rocking it in a way that made Mary Angel let out a shriek, though it wasn’t long before that shriek turned into a giggle, and then the giggle into a laugh that went on and on.

Longing to hear that beautiful, soft, lilting laugh directed at him, or rather at something he did, Satchel decided to rock his car as well. Grabbing hold of the sides, he shook it as hard as he could. But instead of laughing, Mary Angel glanced over the side, shooting him a worried, cautious look, while Jimmy Mac cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Hey, Blaise—didn’t know you had it in you!” Followed by a few more phrases I missed, but that sent Jimmy Mac into hys-terics over his own wit.

But Jimmy Mac hadn’t seen anything yet.

Satchel had just taken his first bite of free-dom and was infatuated with the rush that it gave him. Loved it so much, he craved a steady supply of it.

Thirteen years of being sheltered, and woefully overprotected—thirteen years of cowering from the world—had resulted in thirteen years of pent-up exuberance that longed to get out.

He shook the car again.

Harder.

And then harder still.

Causing Jimmy Mac to hoot and holler, egging him on, as Mary Angel gazed down at him with an increasingly worried frown.

It was an expression that enraged him.

Satchel

had

been

raised

on

worried

frowns—had already suffered a lifetime’s worth.

He wanted Mary Angel to smile.

He wanted her to laugh in the same way she had for Jimmy Mac.

He shook the car again, much harder than before,

causing

Mary

Angel

to

scream—yelling something about the security rail.

But Satchel wouldn’t listen. Even when she pointed, begged for him to stop, the sight of her anxious face only spurred him on.

Why was it okay for Jimmy Mac to shake the car, but not him?

Did she agree with all the other kids that he was nothing more than a creepy weirdo wimp?

Did she think he didn’t know how to have any fun—how to enjoy a little risk?

Well, he’d show her.

He’d get her to smile no matter what.

He continued to rock the car, ignoring its squeak of protest.

But no matter how hard he shook—the smile never came.

His fingers slipped from the sides.

His car got away from him.

Swinging around, swinging upside down, until the rail came loose and dumped him right out.

The fall from one hundred feet went so much quicker than I ever would’ve imagined.

And I watched as Satchel tumbled from his seat, arms flailing, legs kicking, head crash-ing and bumping its way from car to car until it finally smashed straight into the ground, where everything stopped.

Everything but the sound of Mary Angel’s high-pitched scream.

A soundtrack that continued to play long after the projector halted, the computer flipped off, and Satchel stood before me, head caved in on all sides, but worse at the top. His collarbone jutting right out of his skin, right through the big, gaping hole in his blood-soaked

white

shirt—his

clothing

battered, clotted with brain matter—just like they’d found him.

His one good eye burning into mine when he said, “So tell me, Riley, is that what you wanted to see?”

20

I had to say something.

He wanted me to say something.

I could tell by the way he’d removed the staples from my mouth and waited for me to speak.

Problem was, I wasn’t sure where to start, so I went for the obvious. “Satchel, I’m really sorry about what happened to you, but you must know, it was an accident.” He rolled his one good eye, shook his battered head. A mouthful of cracked-up teeth spewing from his lips when he said, “Ya think?”

I pushed my bangs off my face and fought to stay calm, doing my best to get past his gruesome appearance, not to mention his uncalled-for sarcasm.

“What I meant was, it’s unfortunate, yeah, but it’s no excuse to do what you do. It’s no excuse to terrorize people.”

“What? Are you kidding? Did you miss something? I mean, look at me, Riley! I ignored my parents’ warnings, I lied, and look at the result!” He ran his mangled fingers up and down his body like a game show model displaying the prize.

The sight was miles past grisly, truly the stuff that nightmares are made of. But I couldn’t afford to focus on that. I had to use whatever time I had left before he decided to dreamweave a whole new wave of terrors on my behalf. I had to find a way to get through to him.

Not wanting to waste another second, I yelled, “Stuff happens, Satchel! Really horrible, regrettable stuff. And while I’m sorry about what happened to you, and I really, truly am, I also have to be honest and tell you that I’m way more sorry about the way you lived your life before that. I’m sorry that you had no friends. I’m sorry that you didn’t fit in. I’m sorry you never had a single moment of fun. But most of all, I’m sorry for the way your parents made you fear every single thing. I’m sorry they urged you to hide from the world. I’m sorry for all of that—far, far more than the sorry I feel for what happened to you at the fair.”