Page 40 of The Otherworld

“Oh, he’s not here. He went to the mainland a couple of days ago. I’m the one who dragged you inside and bandaged you up. Your clothes are in the kitchen, drying.”

Slowly, I realize what she just said.

She’s the one who found me collapsed on the doorstep and dragged me inside. (Apparently, she is much stronger than she looks.) Not only did she bandage my wounds, but she took all my clothes off. Literally, all my clothes. They’re drying in the kitchen. And I’m lying here naked under a quilt on her living room floor.

I stare at her, dumbstruck. “Oh. Well, uh… Thank you.”

“Of course. I’ve been looking for you for days! First, I searched the beaches, but I didn’t find anything. And then I was out in the woods yesterday, and I thought I found a trace of you, but then it started to storm, so I had to come back, and I’m so sorry I didn’t get to the door in time. I heard you knocking. I just—”

“Wait,” I interrupt; the frantic rush of her voice is hurting my head. “Why were you looking for me? How did you know—”

“Jack asked me to look for you.”

“Jack… God, have they all been looking? Has the coast guard? Do they think I’m…”

The girl presses her lips together, nodding slowly. “The coast guard has given up, Jack said. Your parents, they assume you’re dead.”

The thought of it is enough to gut me. “Poor Mom. Poor Dad, poor Jack—”

“Jack doesn’t believe it. He said he refused to accept it even though everyone wants him to.”

This feels more like a knife than my broken ribs—it grips me with a kind of pain that brings tears to my eyes. My little brother, Jack, who never gives up.

“Where is he? How did you talk to him?”

“Through your phone,” she explains, pointing to something I can’t see on the other side of the room. “I found your backpack washed up on the beach. And I was able to communicate with your brother through the mobile phone. Only now it’s not working, and I’m not sure why.”

“Battery’s probably dead,” I murmur, shutting my eyes. “I’m surprised it lasted this long. You’re going to have to plug it in.”

“Oh, you mean to charge it? I didn’t know how to do that. Would you like to use the satellite phone? Papa says it’s only for emergencies, but I think this would be considered an emergency. You never answered me before. I need to know how you feel—does your head hurt? What’s your last name? How many fingers am I holding up?” She spreads one hand in front of my face.

“Five. Stevenson. And yes, my head hurts but not that bad. I can see fine. I just…” I shift slightly and wince at the pain. “I got kind of banged up in the crash. My ankle—I think it’s sprained. And my ribs—ow. Damn it.”

The girl watches my suffering with worried eyes. “Yeah, your ribs looked pretty bad. I thought I felt something. Let me see.”

Next thing I know, she’s pulling the quilt off my chest and leaning closer to the bandage wrapping my ribs. A strand of hair slips from her shoulder and tickles my skin. I’m a little surprised by her boldness as she gently slides her soft fingertips over my ribs. Ugly purple bruises cover my abs where the yoke buried itself in me when I crashed.

“Tell me if this hurts,” she whispers, and I want to tell her that breathing hurts, but I can’t make myself speak or even comprehend anything beyond the feeling of her warm hand on my side.

Then the knife digs in.

I roar in pain, jerking away from her touch and gritting my teeth.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” She shrieks a mortar round of apologies. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” I say through a grimace. “It’s fine. It’s just… they’re definitely broken. I’ll be fine.”

“But your lung could be punctured.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve been wandering through the woods for days. It hasn’t gotten any worse since the crash. It just… hasn’t gotten any better.”

A moment of quiet slips between us, thunder rumbling outside the window.

“Can’t get the coast guard out here in this storm, anyway,” I mutter with a sigh. “You can call when the storm’s over. I just want my family to know I’m all right. There should be a… ow. An extra power cord. In the front pocket.”

She stares at me.

“In my backpack.”

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