Give Me Tonight(7)

After minutes of kneeling by the bed with her hands clasped, Addie discovered the right side of her face was flattened against the mattress. She had nearly fallen asleep. One more check on Leah and she'd be able to nod off. Groggily she staggered up and went into the next room once more, standing by the bed. Leah was utterly still. The twitching had stopped.

"Leah? Are you all right?"

She touched Leah's hand. Waxen, still. Addie had seen that look before in the hospital. Her mind knew what it meant, but her heart denied it desperately. She needed Leah. Leah was her family, her responsibility, her comforter. With dreadful reluctance Addie circled her fingers around the boneless wrist, searching for a pulse. There was no throbbing there, nothing. She was dead.

"Oh, no. Oh, no." Slowly she backed away from the bed, unable to believe Leah was finally gone. The blow of it was worse than she had feared. Greater than the pain was the emptiness of knowing she would never talk to Leah again or be able to run to her for comfort.

The walls around her seemed to turn into the sides of a tomb. Panicking, Addie fled down the stairs and to the front door, fumbling with the knob and gulping back her sobs as it refused to turn. She tightened her grip on it and tried again, and then the door was open­ing and she was outside.

Holding on to one of the front porch columns, she was drenched by sheets of cold rain. Her nightgown was heavy as it clung to her body. Since the house sat just on the edge of Sunrise, Addie could see the town stretched out before her, the outlines of buildings and automobiles, the shine of wet pavement and the tiny distant figures of couples crossing the street. She leaned against the scratchy wooden post, feeling the coldness of the rain on her face. "Leah," she said, and her eyes brimmed with salty tears. "Oh, Leah."

Then slowly Addie became aware that someone was near, watching her. She had felt that gaze on her be­fore, she recognized the chilling touch of it. She opened her eyes to look at him. Old Ben Hunter. He was standing in the street about ten feet away, his iron ­gray hair plastered to his head and dripping with wa­ter. In her shock, she didn't question how he had come to be there.

"Adeline. Adeline, where have you been?"

Addie shuddered. The dream, she thought. Standing with her arms wrapped around a post for support, she stared at the old man while the wind whipped against her face. The taste of grief was bitter in her mouth, the salt of tears fresh on her lips.

"There's no reason to come back." Her voice shook violently. "No Warners are left. What do you want?"

He seemed confused by her anger.

"Murderer," she whispered. "I hope you suffered for what you did to the Warners. I would've made you pay back then, if I'd been around fifty years ago."

It seemed that he tried to speak, but no words would escape. Suddenly Addie knew what he wanted to say, she could see the thought in his mind as if it were her thought too, and her face whitened with fear.

But you were around, Adeline. You were there. Paralyzed, she gripped the post and tried to say a prayer. Far down the street she could see people rush­ing through the storm from one building to another, dark shadow figures that became so blurred she couldn't tell how many there were. Addie was disori­ented. The ground tilted and came up to meet her, and she could hear her own cry as she fell. The sound echoed through the darkness, a gentle darkness that swept over her in an inexorable tide. There was no fear or pain, only confusion. She could feel the world slip­ping away from her, leaving her in a dark void. Thoughts she didn't understand raced through her mind, thoughts that were not her own.

What have I left behind?

I didn't die . . . Leah . . .

Adeline, where have you been?

"Adeline, where have you been?" A boy's voice pierced through the darkness, waking her none too gently. "We've been looking for you everywhere. This really gets me! You were supposed to meet us two hours ago in front of the general store, and instead you decide to disappear. You're lucky I found you be­fore Ben did! He's hit the roof about this, no kidding."

Addie raised a limp hand to her brow and opened her eyes. There appeared to be a small crowd of peo­ple standing over her. Bright sunlight seemed to bore right through her skull. Her temples were pounding with the worst headache she'd ever had, and the boy's impatient monologue wasn't helping. She wished someone would hush him up.

"What happened?" she mumbled.

"You fainted right outside the tobacco store," the boy said with disgust.

"I . . . I'm dizzy. I'm hot—"

"Don't use the sun as an excuse. If that isn't just like a girl. Faintin' all over the place whenever they're in trouble, and then everyone has to feel sorry for 'em. No use pretendin' with me. I know a real faint when I see one, and this didn't come up to scratch."

Addie opened her eyes wider and glared at him wearily. "You are the worst-mannered boy I've ever met. Your parents should be talked to about this. Where is your mother?"

"She's your mother too, and she's at home, block­head." The boy, who could not have been over thir­teen or fourteen, took hold of her arm with a surprisingly strong grasp and tried to haul her to her feet.

"Just who do you think you are? " Addie demanded, resisting his efforts to pull her up and wondering why the gawking people around them did nothing to inter­fere with the boy's assault on her.