His entire body seemed to crumble, and Max lowered himself shakily onto the bed. His sister was gone, and she'd left behind the one thing that could save her.
Max doubled over. "Oh, God, Isabel. What did you do?"
TEN
"Turn it off!" Isabel begged, pointing at the television, where a particularly obnoxious episode of a daytime talk show was playing.
"Jerry's the man," Michael told her from his spot propped up on the motel's other twin bed.
"Turn it off!" Isabel shrieked. The sound of her own voice tore through her head, leaving her gray matter pulsing.
Michael leaped toward the television, but not before the Springer audience went into another round of "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!" The words ripped into the delicate membranes of her inner ears, the pain so intense she could feel it through her entire body. "Too loud," she whispered.
A second later Michael had the sound off. But he couldn't turn off the sound of his breathing. The sound of her own breathing. The sound of the hideous curtains brushing against the dirty window. All of these sounds were amplified to the point that Isabel was sure would drive her insane. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would somehow make the sounds softer. A finger tapped her shoulder lightly. She opened her eyes halfway, and Michael held a sheet of the motel's bleached-out stationery in front of her face. He'd written a note in all caps.
HANG ON. ONLY TEN MORE SECS.
He dropped the paper and sat down next to her on her bed. He held out his hands, all ten fingers up.
"One," he mouthed as he folded one of the fingers down.
The rasping sound of the skin of his finger brushing against the skin of his palm made Isabel's teeth feel electrified, but she kept her eyes on Michael's hands as he continued his countdown. When he had three fingers still up, the bout passed.
Isabel wrapped both her hands around one of his. "Thanks," she whispered.
"You want water? More blankets? Anything?" He sounded so eager to do something for her.
"Just sit here with me, okay?" Isabel asked, tightening her grip on his hand.
Michael nodded. He turned his head toward the TV, but not before Isabel caught the sheen of unshed tears coating his eyes.
Poor Michael. Poor her. Poor everybody.
Oh, stop it, she ordered herself. She turned her attention to the TV, too. Poor people on the show was more like it. They all needed someone to dress them in the morning. And the hair-forget about it. Everyone on the screen should shave their heads and try again.
"See, here's the deal," Michael said in a bad Texan accent, imitating one of Jerry's guests. "My girlfriend, she likes to dress like a man. Which is okay. Except that whenever she does, she keeps telling me that I'm fat, and it really, really hurts my feelings."
"That's way too tame for Jerry," Isabel told him. "It's more like, I can't go to bed with my girlfriend unless I dress like the Easter Bunny and my girlfriend dresses-" She paused and struggled to pull in a breath. "Dresses like a giant polka-dot egg."
Michael laughed. He was obviously relieved to see her talking again. "Why polka dot?" he asked.
"That's… that's the only part that…" Isabel had to stop for breath again. Suddenly she couldn't breathe and talk at the same time anymore. "… sounds strange to you?"
"Well, yeah," Michael said, struggling to keep a straight face. He used the edge of his flannel shirt to wipe the beads of sweat off her upper lip. "You sure you don't want some water?" he asked.
"That… sounds good," she answered. She wanted to give him something to do, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to get the water down. Her body was changing-drying up inside. Withering. She could feel it. And she wasn't sure that her esophagus would be able to handle bringing down the water. It might just… crumble.
Michael rushed back from the bathroom, holding a plastic cup almost overflowing with water. He sat down next to her again, slowly, careful not to jar her, then cradled her shoulders and brought the glass to her lips. She managed a tiny sip but shook her head when he wanted to give her more.
"Keep… holding me," she said. Michael set the glass on the night table and stretched out on his side next to her, arm still around her shoulders. "I think…" She drew in a wheezing breath. "… you should ask Maria to dress up… like an egg for you."
Michael used his sleeve to blot her forehead. "Okay, you're officially delirious," he told her. His voice was casual, but his gray eyes were serious and watchful.
Isabel tried to moisten her lips, but her tongue was too dry. Little pieces of skin were flaking off it. "She… loves you."
And Isabel knew Michael would need Maria. Especially if-Isabel let the thought slip away.
Of all the humans, Maria was the one he'd really let in. Isabel suspected that he might have revealed even more to Maria than he had to Isabel and Max. Things about his foster homes. He'd never talked about his foster homes to Isabel, close as they were.
"She loves… you," Isabel repeated.
Michael rubbed his spiky black hair with his free hand. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say to that," he muttered. He leaned closer until his face was inches from hers. "Look, Isabel, I don't know how much longer… I think I should teleport and get the crystals. Just in case."
"No!" Isabel cried. Then she started to cough so hard, she feared she'd shake her body apart.
"Maybe there was something Trevor had to do to survive the akino. Neither of us thought of that," Michael exploded when her coughing fit had passed. "You can't expect me to let you die."
Isabel reached up and cupped his face with her hands. "You have to. Do you hear me?" she demanded fiercely. She sucked as much breath as she could into her withered lungs. "It's my decision."
She looked him in the eye to make sure he absolutely understood her.
"Mine."
"They're gone," Max announced, glancing from Liz to Adam to Maria as soon as they were all seated in Michael and Adam's kitchen. "If they teleported, they could be anywhere."
"Michael's car is gone, too," Adam volunteered. He pulled his chair closer to the kitchen table, moving it closer to Liz's chair at the same time. She was glad he had. Now she could feel the warmth of his body radiating into hers, although their shoulders weren't quite touching.
Max let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, good. Then we should have no problem finding them. There are so few places you can drive."
Liz reached over and touched Adam's arm lightly, trying to signal him that he shouldn't take what Max said personally. She thought she caught a flicker of emotion on Max's face as he noticed the touch, but who knew what had caused it? Maybe the consciousness had expressed a need to know the composition of her nail polish or what the significance of her silver snake bracelet was.
Or maybe, just maybe, in that moment Max had been Max enough to experience a twinge of jealousy. She always used to know what he was thinking, but lately she had no idea. It was as if he existed in two worlds at the same time, and any reaction he had could be to something she couldn't see or hear or really understand.
"Michael won't let anything happen to her," Maria said. She twined one of her curls around her fingers so tightly, Liz expected her to give a yelp of pain. "If she gets too bad, he'll teleport back for the crystals."
"You're forgetting he's as terrified of joining the consciousness as she is," Max said. He tilted back his chair and snagged the plastic bottle of dish-washing soap off the counter. He squirted a little bit onto his finger and rubbed it into his skin. Liz and Maria exchanged a worried glance.
"Could you contact Michael on the dream plane?" Liz asked Max. He raised his finger and sniffed the soap. "Max! I said could you-"
"I heard you," Max answered. "But what would I tell him? He knows what's going to happen. He knows Isabel's going to die." Max jerked to his feet, knocking over the chair. "If that's not enough to convince him, what would?"