Free Infinity Lost by S. Harrison

Just like I never imagined that I would ever look into those eyes, or see that face outside of a picture frame. It’s the last image I see before everything goes completely black. The smiling face of the woman in silver is the smiling face of Genevieve Blackstone.
    My dead mother.

CHAPTER SIX
    “Finn?”
    I open my eyes to the bright-blue sunny sky of a balmy summer afternoon. Kneeling at my side is the exact person that I was hoping for. My Jonah.
    “Wha . . . happen—?” I mumble groggily.
    “You fell, sweetheart. I saw you from the window of my room. It was quite a tumble. Don’t move too much, Finn, you were knocked out for a little while.”
    I sit up despite his insisting I stay still. Over my shoulder, lying at the bottom of the hill, is the red bicycle that Jonah bought for my sixth birthday. Its front fork is buckled, the front wheel warped, and the spokes are splayed at bizarre angles like uncooked metal spaghetti.
    “How many fingers am I holding up?” Jonah asks, a look of deep concern creasing his face.
    “Two,” I say, blinking my eyes back into focus.
    “What day is it? How old are you?”
    “It’s Saturday; I’m thirteen. I’m OK, Jonah, stop making a fuss,” I say, brushing his hand away.
    “I think you’re gonna be alright. Just a few scrapes here and there. Let’s get you back up to the house and check you out properly, just to be on the safe side.”
    I let out a bothered sigh. I know Jonah won’t let this drop until I agree to some unnecessary coddling. I try to get up and a sharp jolt spears along my wrist to my elbow. “Ow! Wait . . . ow . . . I . . . I think I’ve broken my arm.”
    It hurts a lot, but I know it’s broken mostly because my forearm isn’t straight anymore. Now there’s a freaky bend where there definitely shouldn’t be one.
    Wincing, I hold my arm up for Jonah to inspect. His face turns as white as a sheet. Not the reaction I was expecting from a former soldier.
    “It’s OK,” I say. “I’ll just straighten it out.”
    “NOOO!” yells Jonah, but I’ve already done it. I hold the bent part in place with my other hand, close my eyes, and think of something that makes me angry. Anything to do with Nanny Theresa usually does the trick.
    “We need to call the doctor, Finn, right now. Come with me up to the house,” he says in his no-nonsense tone.
    “Shhhh. Wait. Just a few more seconds aaand . . . there you go, all fixed,” I say matter-of-factly, holding out my straightened arm for him to see. I give my fingers a wiggle to test them and grimace at the little needles of pain. Jonah’s expression is a surprising mixture of confusion and bewilderment, and it’s then that I suddenly remember.
    He’s never seen me do that before.
    Maybe if I just pretend it didn’t happen? Act like it’s no big deal, shrug it off.
    “I’m calling the doctor, Finn,” Jonah insists again.
    “Don’t be silly,” I say, half-laughing. “It’ll be a bit sore for a few hours, but it’ll be just like new tomorrow.”
    I get to my feet and walk over to my bike.
    “It’s wrecked, Jonah. And look, I’ve ripped my favorite t-shirt as well.”
    He’s standing there looking at me strangely, eyes narrow, his head tilted slightly to the side.
    “Finn, how did you do that?”
    “It must have happened when I crashed the bike,” I say, plucking at the hole of torn fabric, deliberately avoiding where I know this soon-to-be lecture is heading. “I know I shouldn’t have been steering with my feet, and that old bike is waaay too small for me now, but if it wasn’t for that damn pothole . . .”
    “Not the rip in your shirt, Finn, your arm. How did you fix your arm?”
    Jonah walks over and gently takes my wrist. He runs his fingers over the skin where the bend was. “It was broken. I saw it.”
    “Oh. That,” I mumble.
    Usually I try my hardest not to lie to Jonah. I much prefer to keep things from him instead, but now that he’s asked, I guess