Page 45 of Wanted

I keep telling myself it’s because I’ve lived underground so long. Like a freakish, colorless creature that exists only in the dark.

And eventually my eyes will adjust.

But no matter how hard I squint, the world remains one big blur.

After pressing my nose against the glass of my window and giving myself a massive headache, I decide to give up for now.

Closing my eyes, I lean back in my seat and listen to all the different sounds. Sounds I haven’t heard in years.

The soft hum of the engine. The tires rolling against the pavement. Other cars whizzing past us. Honking horns.

Father McCall’s steady heartbeat.

And somehow I drift off, exhaustion falling over me like a wet, heavy blanket.

But my dreams are strange and make little sense.

The face of the man I saw when I first stood in front of the Prophet flashes in front of my eyes. The too beautiful face that almost made me weep.

He seems concerned by something. His mouth tight and constantly pulled into a frown.

I see his lips move every so often, as if he’s speaking, but he’s not speaking to me. He’s speaking to someone else I can’t see.

At first, I simply watch him out of curiosity, wondering if he’ll fade away. But when he doesn’t, something tells me I should try to get his attention.

That maybe he’ll help me…

I wave my invisible arms and cry out with my silent voice. Trying my best to make myself known to him. Yet nothing seems to work. He’s too distracted and completely unaware of my existence.

A faint, steady throb starts to pulse near my heart, and I redouble my efforts. Sensing, illogically, that there should be a connection between us and he should help me.

I throw my invisible body in front of him. I try to shout into his face.

Pay attention to me!

But it’s all pointless.

No matter what I do, he continues to ignore me.

When I wake up, I’m freezing and covered in sweat from my efforts.

Blinking the weird dream away, I sit up and peer through the windshield, finally able to see.

Dusk has fallen, the sun no longer a blazing ball of misery. All around us are trees.

Trees…

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty finally wakes,” Father McCall says cheerfully. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I answer without looking over at him. My eyes too busy eating up all the green around me.

“Are you sure, lass?” he asks skeptically.

Scowling at his doubt, I actually take the time to feel myself out and discover I’m far from fine.

“I feel like someone rolled me flat then smashed me back together,” I answer more honestly.

“Are you cold?”

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