Tangled

166

166

166 Lisa: Fevers and Dreams

LISA

How long has it been?

A few days?

Weeks?

The sun should keep me oriented, but a fever gets me the first night I'm there.

The girl, Marisol, comes by every so often. Always with food. A few times with bowls filled with some noxious liquid that has my nostrils trying to close, avoiding the smell coming from within. She's expressionless as she shoves it down my throat, and I'm too weak to fight her off.

It's medicine, I think.

I think that because I slowly get better after the third bowl,

In between moments of lucidity, I dream.

Normal life. Home. Mom and Dad.

Working with Ava at Beaniverse.

Flirting with that cute guy who accidentally wandered into our professor's Eng Lit class instead of some sort of philosophy class

two doors down.

Cozy, happy dreams, of a place far from here..

An escape from the reality that chains me.

17:37

At some point the dreams turn from happy comfort to something uneasy and dark.

Sunshine warms my face as Ava and I relax at our favorite cafe,

sipping lattes and chatting. For a moment, the world feels right again, like I'm back where I belong

But then the shadows come

my vision, dark tendrils snaking across the ground. I try to warn

behind her.

her, dragging her away as she kicks and struggles. I lunge for her, but my

I reach for her hand to comfort her, but the plane lurches, throwing us forward. Oxygen Ava's screaming. I'm screaming. The world outside the windows is a blur of sky and ground, rushing closer and closer

Impact.

erupt. Pain sears. Ava's

each more horrific than the last. Ava, drowning in a sea of blood. Ava,

55000

And always, I'm helpless to save her, forced

watch as she suffers.

chains, but I can't escape. I can't wake up. The horrors play out again and again, an endless

finally, mercifully, I do wake

sweat. My throat feels raw, my limbs heavy and weak. Marisol kneels beside me. holding a bowl of that foul-smelling liquid to my lips. "Drink," she commands,

liquid hits my tongue, but I force myself to swallow. Anything to chase away the lingering images

torment.

often has the Master fed from

the question. "Just once," I rasp out, wincing at

"The withdrawal shouldn't be this strong, not for a single feeding." There's something in her tone, an undercurrent of emotion I

you

face as she mutters, "He must favor y greatly, for a single

to that. The idea that this monster might favor me fills me with

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tie lase mast but no words coming

weten, my mind dealle

with Mariel's odd

want is to curl up

ere will die

mure endle

doesn't wees to

to me agan her hate prodding at

detach that

I'm not sure what she's doing. Her fingers press against my neck, my wrists, my ankles.

any I rasp out, my voice rough

once," she repeats, as if tasting

that. The memory of his fangs sinking, the agonizing pain, and the sickening rush of

return.

hard, trying to push the sensation

in her expression, a longing that I can't quite

Lisa Fevers and

For