Free Falling by J Bennett

away. One left. I dip my hand into the
bowl.
     

Chapter 15
    The brothers argue in whispers while I am in the bathroom using
a finger to rub toothpaste onto my teeth. I leave the faucet running and lean
against the door to listen. The subject under heated discussion is the need for
a night watch. The intended object of the watch is, of course, me. Tarren
opines that I should be kept under strict guard. I’m emotional, unpredictable
and dangerous. Gabe disagrees, noting that I seem to be taking the whole thing
in stride. He votes in favor of a full night’s sleep on account that neither of
them has slept in the past two days.
    Gabe is called irresponsible. Tarren is called a prick. Neither
seems offended by his moniker. A compromise is reached.
    When I exit the bathroom, my wrists are cuffed behind my
back with apologies from Gabe and a nod from Tarren.
    Despite Gabe’s protests, Tarren takes the floor with an
extra pillow and blanket while Gabe and I each slip into a bed. Both brothers
put their guns under their pillow. Tarren stays fully dressed. Gabe kicks off
his shoes and throws his jeans on the floor. The lights go out. I wait.
    Gabe falls asleep quickly. I watch the movement of his
energy slow and even out. The light around his body dims to a soft, round glow,
and his breath comes out in rhythmic whooshes against the pillow.
    I cast my gaze to the floor and watch Tarren’s energy spike
up and down, moving in jerky circles and webbed with scarlet. Again and again
his energy field begins to smooth down, then jumps high. Each time, his heart
beat rises to a quick gallop. Nightmares? He seems so remorseless in the
daylight.
    I wait. My mind is numb and empty. The darkness seems to
vibrate, and as I lay in my bed, I mentally explore my new body. It is entirely
different from the thing I once resided within. The darkness is like a
semi-sheer curtain that shades the room but cannot hide its contents. I can see
Gabe’s laptop sitting on the table and the ridges on the lamp’s twist dial. I
can smell the lingering whiffs of salad dressing and burger. Even the boys each
have their own unique scent. A new latent energy coils inside my muscles. I wonder
what I can do with it.
    Through the walls, I catch faint throbs of energy from the
other motel patrons. I can tell who is awake and who is not. If they are having
sex or watching TV. In the closest rooms, I can even hear the late night
comedians gearing up their monologs.  The sheer volume of new information is
difficult to parse and process. I struggle to filter it into a coherent
message. And the hunger is peaking again. I couldn’t possibly sleep even if I
wanted to. Not with their auras glowing so blatantly bright. Not when my hands
are growing hot, and I must make a mental effort to keep the skin on my palms
from rolling back.
    Tarren falls into a light sleep. His energy never entirely
evens out, but the jumps are smaller and do not wake him.
    I take my time with the handcuffs, giving them long
concentrated pulls. My wrists ache. I can feel blood soaking through the
bandages. I pull harder. The plastic strains. My muscles strain. The blood
flows. My teeth grind against each other. I won’t give up, can’t give up. I
keep thinking that just maybe Ryan isn’t dead. Maybe everything they’ve told me
is a lie. About being my brothers. About Grand raping my mother. What if
they’re really the bad guys? It happens in movies all the time, and haven’t the
last two days just been one crazy B horror movie with inept actors trying too
hard?
    The cuffs snap. Tarren flinches and mumbles something
incoherent. I keep still, forcing my breathing to remain low and even. He drops
back into sleep. It is amazing he can’t hear the wild beating of my heart. It
fills the entire room. I draw back the covers and step out of the bed. I’m
wearing a matching peach tank top and cotton capri pants with yellow hearts
around the hems.
    I step over Tarren on dainty feet. He doesn’t stir. I