Free The Killing Jar by Jennifer Bosworth Page B

open, huge and alarmed. Unfocused and confused. And then they found me and her face crumpled. A howl of misery escaped from her throat.
    â€œI want to forget. I want to forget all of it, Kenna.” She choked on the words and began to cough and cry at the same time. She curled into the fetal position and hid her face in the pillow as her body was wracked with sobs, each one a tiny, desperate shriek.
    I swallowed a taste like acid from my mouth.
    The nurse administered a sedative through Erin’s IV, and a moment later my sister’s torment faded as she slipped back into unconsciousness. I hoped she wouldn’t dream again. I hoped she’d find some way to forget, even though I knew that was impossible.
    The nurse left with an admonition that I needed to let Erin rest, and I turned to face my mom. I felt exposed, a hunted animal that has run out of cover. Sweat beaded on my forehead, slicked my spine, but my teeth chattered and my skin shriveled against the air, like I’d stepped inside a freezer unit.
    My eyes found my mom’s, and I saw in them the knowledge of what I was about to say.
    â€œIt’s happening again.”
    Her expression showed no surprise, only dismay. It was like she’d been waiting for me to say the words. Still, it shocked me when she ripped off the tape keeping her IV needle flat to her wrist and then carefully slid the needle from her arm.
    â€œWe need to get out of this hospital,” she said. “Is Blake still here?”
    I averted my eyes and shook my head. “I told him to leave. I was afraid I would—” I didn’t finish. Didn’t need to.
    â€œCall him,” she told me. “Tell him to come right away and pick us up. Not at the front entrance, though. We need to leave without being seen. There’s an exit along the side of the hospital.” She set the IV tubing aside and plucked at her hospital gown. “And ask him to bring me some of his mom’s clothes.”

 
    T HE R OAD TO S OMEWHERE
    I peeked my head out the side exit and glanced left to right in the alley where Blake had parked. There were some delivery guys at a loading dock farther toward the back of the building, but they weren’t paying attention. Other than them, we were alone.
    â€œAre you okay?” Blake asked, climbing out of his 4Runner, his brow so deeply furrowed I thought he might develop permanent worry lines by the time this was all over—if it were ever over. At least he seemed to have forgiven me for yelling at him in the cafeteria and sending him away.
    â€œNot really,” I admitted. I was past the point where lying would do me any good. I met his eyes. It wasn’t easy. “Thanks for coming back,” I said.
    He nodded, and I held the door open for my mom, who still wore her hospital gown and a white bathrobe.
    â€œBlake,” she said in greeting.
    â€œHi, Anya,” Blake said, an uncomfortable smile flickering on his lips. My mom insisted Blake call her by her first name, even though Blake was a staunch believer in calling all adults Mr. or Ms.
    Blake looked past my mom. “Where’s Erin?” he asked.
    I hadn’t had time to explain much to Blake over the phone.
    â€œShe’s staying,” my mom answered curtly, ending the inquiry. She’d left a note for Erin with a vague explanation that we’d gone out to “get a few things.” Our sudden departure was sure to raise alarms among the police and hospital staff, but Mom assured me that it was imperative we leave as soon as possible, and I couldn’t disagree with her.
    â€œWhere to?” Blake asked when Mom and I were huddled in the backseat beneath a blanket so the reporters wouldn’t spot us as we drove away.
    â€œTake the Alta Highway into the mountains,” Mom said. “I’ll tell you where to go once we reach the summit.”
    â€œOkay…” There was uncertainty in his voice, but he did as he was