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 Ava, but my voice

behind her.

engulfing her, dragging her away as she kicks and

me. She's gripping the armrests, making a joke about the turbulence. 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

Impact.

Flames erupt. Pain

the last. Ava, drowning in a sea of blood. Ava, burning alive. Ava,

55000

And always, I'm

watch as she suffers.

thrash against my chains, but I can't escape. I can't wake up. The horrors play out again and again, an endless loop of

mercifully, I

and weak. Marisol kneels beside me. holding a bowl of that foul-smelling liquid to my

tongue, but I force myself to swallow. Anything to chase

torment.

a curious intensity. "How often has the Master fed from you?"

at her, surprised by the question. "Just once," I

strong, not for a single feeding." There's something in her tone, an undercurrent of emotion I can't

you

flashes across her face as she mutters, "He must favor y greatly, for a single taste to affect you

how to respond to that. The idea that this monster might favor

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mast but no words

weten, my mind dealle

Mariel's

want is to

ere will die

mure endle

wees to

need to me agan her hate prodding

detach that

Her fingers press against my neck, my wrists, my

don't have any I rasp out, my voice rough from disuse

hands still, and she looks at me with a strange intensity. "Only once," she repeats, as if tasting the words. "But

know how to respond to that. The memory of his fangs sinking, the agonizing pain, and the sickening rush of pleasure that followed, makes bile rise in my throat,

return.

to

resting her check on them as she stares at me. There's something wistful in her expression, a longing

Fevers and

For