Nevermore

29 Driven

Isobel rattled the closet door. It refused to open. The whispers grew louder; they seemed to seep from the walls. She could no longer see Varen—the space where he’d stood was now empty. Isobel pushed against the door with both hands, the Poe book clamped beneath one arm. She banged against the slats.

The closet door flew open with a crack. She jumped back. The whispers ceased.

He stood there wearing his beat-up satchel, staring through her, his face as cold and expressionless as glass. Behind him, the light hung motionless on its chain, no longer flickering, though she could still hear Slipper growling.

“I’m taking you home,” he said.

He spun without another word and, grabbing her backpack, he went to the window against the far wall. Isobel stepped cautiously from the closet, her eyes scanning the floor, the walls, the closet door. Everything was silent.

She watched him grip the window and pull it up. He slipped out into the encroaching darkness, vanishing from sight.

Isobel hurried to the window. She found him standing just outside, seeming to float on nothing. She looked down, and as her eyes adjusted, she saw the black platform that supported him. An unfolding iron stairway clung to the brick siding, a rust-caked fire escape.

She hesitated. They were so high up. Varen gripped her free hand, giving her no choice. Powerless to resist him, she climbed out into the cold air, her trembling transforming to shivers as a frigid wind rushed up the side of the house, blasting them.

His already fierce grip on her tightened, and when her feet found the metal landing, he pulled her into motion. Beneath them, the rickety stairs groaned and sighed, swaying as they rounded the first corner. Down, around, down, and down. From a rooftop above, an ebony bird sounded a warning, its hoarse call answered by an echoing croak and a flurry of wings.

Varen jumped down first from the ladder that hung at the end of the escape. Quivering uncontrollably, Isobel turned to lower herself one rung at a time, descending one-handed, with the Poe book still tucked under her arm. She felt Varen’s hands fasten around her waist. He lifted her and set her on her feet. He caught her hand once more, and she was moving again before she could comprehend how or where.

They reached the curb, and when he let go, handing off her backpack, she knew to get into the Cougar. He rounded the car and flung open the driver’s side. Throwing his own satchel into the backseat, he got in, then pulled the door shut behind him.

Isobel fell into the passenger seat, clutching her backpack and the Poe book in her lap.

Should she say something? Would that just make everything worse?

He started the car, revving the engine. Isobel shut her door quickly, afraid he would bolt at any second. He revved the engine again. He must want them to know he was leaving, she realized. Isobel looked back toward the house and saw the porch light come on. His stepmom hurried outside onto the verandah. She was blond, tall, and candle-straight, and she wore a long silver evening dress that glistened like water in the moonlight. She left the stained-glass door open and rushed down the sidewalk toward them, heels clacking, calling to Varen.

The stereo kicked on. Guitars and crashing drums filled the car, somebody screaming more than singing.

The woman stopped when she saw Isobel. For one full second, their eyes locked.

Tires squealed. They pulled out. Isobel’s back slammed against her seat as they ripped down the street. He took the first right without so much as braking, the rear of the car fishtailing.

Isobel groped for her seat belt and slung it over her lap, fumbling to snap it into place. She saw his hand twist the stereo’s volume dial all the way, his face showing little more than the faintest scowl as the sound of rage pumped through the cab.

He took another turn. Isobel yelped.

They barreled down a city street, swerving out of the left lane into the right as the car ahead of them braked for the light. Yellow flick red. They shot beneath.

“Varen,” she said, making her voice as stern and loud over the music as she could. She gripped her seat. “Slow. Down.”

The engine growled. He sped up.

“Varen, stop! You’re scaring me!”

He ignored her, tires shrieking as he twisted around another sharp corner. Isobel groped for something else to grab hold of. There was nothing.

Buildings and lights streamed by in a blur. Street signs raced past. Isobel’s head whipped from side to side, though she couldn’t place their fleeting surroundings. Around them, the world bled into one long streak.

Someone screamed at them from the sidewalk. The car rumbled like a beast.

Between the music and the speed, Isobel felt as though her mind might either melt or shatter.

The crashing song fizzed and zipped as they rocketed through an underpass. The lights on the dashboard dimmed and guttered. Static washed over the music while the needle of the speedometer teased higher, then loosened to swing back and forth. A low, dry voice cut through the static of the radio, buried amid a chorus of whispers. Unintelligible, the murmuring grew into a collective hiss.

“Go away,” Varen growled between clenched teeth.

At his command, the static rippled, then cleared. The music blared full force once more, and the dashboard lights resumed their dim red glow.

Ice water replaced Isobel’s rushing blood. Her fear spiked, crawling its way up from her very depths, paralyzing her. Her eyes slid from the dashboard radio to Varen. Who was he talking to?

“Varen—?”

He turned again, cutting her off. Her shoulder slammed into the passenger-side door, and Isobel pressed a hand to the glass to brace herself. She squeezed her eyes shut and yelled,

“You’re going to get us killed!”

He wasn’t listening.

She felt the buzzing sensation of speed course through her seat and hum through her body. She hated this feeling, of being so totally out of control. This was exactly what she’d always hated about driving with—

Isobel opened her eyes. She slammed her hand on the Discman beside her, killing the meltdown music. “Would you stop?” she screamed. “You’re driving like Brad!”

She saw his hands clench on the wheel and had only an instant to regret these words before his foot slammed on the brakes. Tires screeched. The world of buildings, streets, cars, lights, and people gained on them, stuttering into focus as the car squealed and skittered to a stop.

Isobel pitched forward in her seat, then slammed back again, the impact knocking the breath out of her. Around them, horns blared. Cars swerved and went swooshing past, drivers yelling from their windows.

Silence.

She stared at him, her breath coming in heaves. White headlights pierced the rear window, casting as much shadow as stark light into the car. Black shapes, sharp and quick, slipped over him. They swept their way down his form, retreating to their corners and crevices as a car passed around them, the light vanishing with it. He stared forward, both hands still fixed on the wheel. They sat in silence again, the engine still rumbling, a tension pulsing between them so thick that Isobel thought she might never catch her breath.

He moved finally, leaning forward in his seat so that his forehead almost touched the top of the steering wheel. “Sorry,” he said, the word scarcely audible.

Isobel dropped her gaze to her lap. She stared at her still-quivering knees and found herself once more at a loss for words.

He sat back and shifted the car into gear, and they were moving again. He drove with total control, and suddenly Isobel recognized the overpass they turned onto. He was taking her home.

“Varen—”

“Don’t,” he said.

Isobel snapped her teeth together and set her jaw. Deep down, she knew that it would be better not to say anything. Not when she knew he had never meant for her to see. To know.