Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(100)

“Relax.”

The word came from somewhere in the dark. Kim’s heart lurched, snatching her breath away. She wasn’t alone. Who was there? She tried to ask but couldn’t find the words. She could taste vomit. The trees formed inky patterns that spun against the night sky. A hand on her leg. Her skin crawling under its clammy weight. Blackness, again. She could hear someone talking now. Or whispering? Fast words that she couldn’t catch. They sounded angry, Kim thought. They sounded angry with her.

And then it was morning. The light was so sudden and bright it was painful. The sharp sticks and leaves had been replaced by cool, soft sheets. Kim was at home. Lying in her own bed. She pushed back the blanket. She was wearing last night’s clothes. They reeked of vomit and alcohol.

When Naomi had arrived midmorning, Kim had wanted her to laugh and say it was all no big deal. That Kim was being silly and that it was all nothing to worry about. But as they’d sat together on the fuzzy pink bedroom rug, Kim’s whole body pulsing with a hangover and her mouth sticky and dry, they had looked at each other and Kim could see Naomi was in fact worried. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t just nothing.

Naomi filled in the blanks—some of them—but not one that Kim had been waiting for, and eventually she’d had to ask.

“Who else was there? There was someone else, right?”

A pause. “There was someone else?”

“Yeah. Were they with you when you saw me?” Kim could hear the bright, false optimism even as she spoke. “Helping, maybe?”

“No. Kim, no.” Naomi’s voice was odd. She sounded scared, Kim realized. “No one was with me. Was someone there with you?”

“I thought so.”

“You saw them?”

“Heard them.”

Relax.

Kim could almost feel the breath of the word against her skin. She sucked in the stale air of her bedroom.

“Maybe not, then.” The backs of her arms and legs were patterned with faint red crisscross scratches from the ground. “If you didn’t see anyone. I could be remembering wrong.”

Naomi didn’t say anything to that. She just looked at Kim, who was wrapped in her dressing gown, her hair dripping from the shower. “Your clothes from last night were a bit—”

“Disgusting? I know. I’m sorry. They’re in the washing machine.” They weren’t. Kim had dropped them into the laundry basket, then fished them straight out, scrunched them in a ball, and stuffed them into the bin instead. There was no point keeping them. She already knew she wouldn’t wear them again.

“Oh.” Naomi fell quiet again. “How are you feeling now? Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Was she okay? Kim didn’t allow the question to settle. “Yes. I’m fine. Embarrassed, you know?”

“It’s just—” Naomi had paused. “I was thinking you could tell someone. If you wanted to. The police or someone. If—”

“No.” Kim’s reply was quick. “Naomi. No. What would I even say?”

No answer.

“I don’t want anyone to find out. How messy I got, you know?” At the words, the icy trickle of a completely different type of fear began creeping through Kim. Their school was small. The post-party gossip was notoriously brutal. The gleeful buzz of rehashing what went right and what went wrong was only fun when it was about someone else. “Naomi? Okay?”

“I know. But, what? Not even Charlie?”

He’d be upset, Kim knew immediately. Not with her—even during their stupidest fights he never got angry with her—but he’d blame himself. For being late to meet her at the park, for carrying on their ridiculous argument past the point that either of them wanted to, for not looking out for her. Charlie wasn’t perfect, Kim knew, but neither was she, and whatever this was, it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t hers, either, a tiny voice whispered, but she pushed it aside. What she needed and wanted right then, more than anything else, was for everything to be back to normal.

“I just want to forget it.” Kim was suddenly strangely grateful for the blackness in her head. She couldn’t bring herself to hold last night too close to the light. “Seriously. Please don’t tell anyone else. Not even Charlie.”

Naomi had looked like she might try to argue, but at last she nodded. “Okay.” Kim felt weak with relief. “Yeah. If that’s what you want.”

It was. Kim had never again brought it up, so Naomi hadn’t, either. For a while afterward, though, Kim had half feared new memories would resurface without warning. The sensation was strongest when she was down at the reservoir. The sight of the dense bushland with its hidden pockets would immediately trip something deep inside. It would creep over her, setting her heart pounding and sharp snaps of adrenaline zipping from her chest and through her limbs. Full fight or flight. It became almost unbearable, and yet it didn’t help her remember anything. Whatever was hidden in the blackness stayed there. But Kim hated her reaction to the reservoir. She felt out of control and very alone down there. And so, without mentioning it to anyone, Kim simply stopped going altogether.

Charlie noticed. Kim just didn’t realize it until years later, one sunny afternoon not long after Zara was born. Charlie had been driving them home from a doctor’s appointment, Zara tiny and soft, tucked up in her car seat in the back. They’d had a busy day already, and the quickest way home, Kim knew, would be to turn off the highway and carry on down the track past the reservoir. She never drove that way herself, but she wasn’t the one behind the wheel now, and as they approached the turn, she felt the familiar unwelcome response kick in. She was pressing her fingers lightly against the armrest, the intense prickling feeling already building in her chest, when she realized Charlie had stayed on the highway. He was taking the long way around.