Motion(Laws of Physics #1)(30)

Whether it was Abram or Gabby, I would never know. Whoever it was, they left after two stanzas, continuing upward to the third floor. So, probably Abram.

I played and I played until my neck ached, and my wrist cramped, and my fingertips stung, and I suspected the violin had given me hickeys on my neck. And then I played some more. When my arm started to spasm, I put the violin back in its case, but didn’t place it back in the closet. I left it out for tomorrow.

That had been hours ago and I’d only left Lisa’s room to sneak into the bathroom twice. I spent the rest of my evening going through her record, cassette tape, and CD collections. Despite living in the digital age, my sister still collected hardcopy forms of music.

Where my shelves were stuffed with books, hers were stuffed with music, vintage devices used to play the music, and fashion magazines. She owned an old boombox with a double cassette player, an AM/FM radio, and a CD player; a Sony Walkman; a record player; and several sets of quality Bose headphones. I’d listened to various and sundry music until late, lying on the carpet, my feet in the air or against the wall.

Then, at 1:00 AM, I’d gone to the bathroom to wash my face. There, on the counter, I found a note from Gabby folded under a brown plastic bottle with a pink label.

Hey you,

I’m leaving dry shampoo here, use it. I’ll check on you tomorrow.

Love, Gabs

PS Sorry if I upset you

She’d also wrung out and hung up the bathrobe.

Numbly setting her note to the side and promptly pushing it from my mind, I washed my face, braided my hair, and changed into a pair of pink tank top and boy-short PJs. I then tried to go to sleep.

Maybe I can’t sleep because I’m hungry? This was a distinct possibility, given the fact that I’d eaten only a granola bar yesterday.

My stomach rumbled, long and loud, and I pressed my hand against it. Grunting into the darkness, I tossed off the covers and stood from Lisa’s bed. Food on my mind, I slipped out of the room and down the stairs. The kitchen was dark, but instead of flipping on a light—which might’ve alerted Abram as to my whereabouts . . . which he probably didn’t care about so long as “Lisa wasn’t doing anything crazy”—I crept on quiet feet to the fridge and opened it.

Momentarily dazzled by the bright light within, it took several seconds of squinting and blinking before the scant contents became visible. I frowned. In addition to the pizza box, two suspicious-looking containers of Chinese takeout, and various condiments, I found: shredded cheddar/jack cheese blend, a zucchini, a half a pint of mushrooms, and hot salsa. Opening the hot salsa, I smelled it, and then I dipped my pinkie inside and tasted it while examining the lid. It looked, smelled, and tasted fine.

Placing my finds on the island counter, I shut the fridge. The sudden extinguishing of the bright light meant that the kitchen was now pitch black. Shrugging off my lack of sight, I extended my arms and blindly felt my way over to the pantry until my hands connected with the torso of a person.

A person.

A PERSON!

I jumped back on instinct, my leg hitting one of the stools at the island counter and sending it crashing to the ground. My heart in my throat, I screamed, turned, and darted forward, but my feet tangled with the felled stool and I pitched, bracing myself for a gravitational collision with unseen wooden bars and a granite stool top.

But then strong arms caught me, deftly spinning and lifting me into the air. Cold dread rushed through my body, tensing every muscle. I couldn’t think. I didn’t think. Instinctively, my legs and fists pumped, fighting against my captor. Rocks in my throat as I readied another scream, a hand covered my mouth just as I belted it out.

“Whoa! Calm down. It’s me.” Abram’s voice at my ear soothed, his bulky arm a tight band around my torso, my back to his front, my feet not touching the ground. “Calm down. Shhh. Calm down.”

Hot breath teased my hair and neck, and I stilled, relief at discovering it was Abram didn’t quite chase away the viral panic still attached to my hemoglobin, coursing through my veins. I shook. I was shaking. And I was gasping through my nose, greedy for air.

Perhaps he heard or felt my strained breathing because his arm loosened, lowering my feet to the ground, and his hand covering my mouth slid away. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I said, not sounding convincing. Truth was, I felt like throwing up. “Can you, uh, let me go?”

His arms immediately fell away and I stupidly rushed forward, once more crashing into the stool.

I heard Abram mutter a curse under his breath just as he caught me again, lifting me off the ground again, and saving me—again—from another gravitational collision. This time he turned us away from the stool and carried me across the room.

I didn’t fight him this time. In fact, I relaxed into him. Wired and exhausted, but mostly embarrassed, I allowed myself to be transported without protest. We left the kitchen and I was finally able to see dim outlines of furniture and walls, courtesy of the streetlamp illumination spilling through the windows of the living room.

Abram carried me to my mother’s favorite piece of furniture in our house, a gold velvet chaise lounge said to have once belonged to Napoleon’s sister, Pauline Bonaparte. Depositing me on the soft surface, Abram crossed to one of the Tiffany lamps and pulled the chain, bathing the room in soft blue and yellow, colored light filtering through the stained glass.