Annabeth Neverending Read online

  The good news is, I didn’t turn evil. The bad news is, Kha killed me before I had a chance to truly live. I won’t let him do it again.

  I’m hot, I’m cold, I’m alive, I’m dead—I’m everything and nothing all at once. It takes me a few seconds to notice that the ankh is still in my hand, but it’s no longer causing me seizures. It must be tapped out. I suppose I’ve accessed all the memories it possesses. I need to clasp it behind my neck for safekeeping. But there’s a problem. I can’t move my arms, or even my fingers. And my legs and toes are numb and lifeless too.

  As if experiencing my own death wasn’t horrible enough. As if witnessing Sethe being killed in front of me wasn’t as terrible as it should get.

  Now I can’t even move? This is catastrophic. I would wail, but I think my tear ducts are still too depleted from Mrs. Lansing’s untimely passing. Now I’ve felt her loss twice, though it doesn’t feel doubly hard. It’s exponentially greater. This is the worst aspect of remembering a past life, the most hideous part of reincarnation.

  As awful as the grief I feel over Mrs. Lansing and Nefertari may be, as vacant as the void inside of me has grown, nothing is quite as traumatic, as hard to rebound from, as seeing your true love perish. And now, to punctuate the horror, my body is unable to shake the loss of feeling I experienced when death gripped me.

  I try to get my blood flowing, the sensation back in my extremities. But it isn’t connecting. I attempt to steady my nerves to prevent myself from screaming. I don’t need C. J.’s parents to rush outside and find me lying here on the ground. Besides, he’ll get here any minute. And then we’ll be on our way.

  I just need time; I just need time.

  I repeat this over and over again like a mantra.

  Terrible as the other side effects may have been, this is the vilest, the scariest. At least before, I was somewhat functional. Now I’m completely helpless.

  He killed me.

  I’m willing to forgive a lot of things, but all this murderous behavior is kind of a deal breaker. As if the choice weren’t already clear…

  I pick C. J.

  “The paralysis is only temporary,” I say to myself.

  But who knows how long temporary could be?

  This is muscle memory, or lack thereof…It’s from passing on. From dying!

  This is deeply disturbing. But I have to hold it together. My head is all I’ve got going right now.

  So my body is remembering what it’s like to be dead. I need to reawaken myself. I have to bring myself back to life. My body may be broken, but I’m invigorated by the prospect of running away with C. J. I try to call upon that crackle of energy inside me to propel some motion, prompt some movement. But it isn’t working.

  As the consuming shock of the paralysis continues to set in, I glance at Mew Mew and notice that she resembles a combination of her past and present selves. I see jagged seams, like the kind that would be in a broken mirror, running between her leather collar of today and her gold neckband of yore. I look around further, scanning the area to the limited extent that I’m able, and find that my surroundings have transformed into some sort of deranged collage.

  I see the sloping, squared-off walls of the palace at Pi-Ramses brush up against the brick facade of C. J.’s house. When I close my eyes, I fixate on the fact that I’m immobile. Yet when I open them, I have difficulty processing the blend of time periods that surrounds me. They weren’t exactly meant to intermingle.

  Mew Mew stares at me as she sits on her hind legs. The innocence I once saw in her kitty cat face is gone. She is no longer an ally, a kindred spirit. She’s a blood-licking betrayer.

  “You sick little feline. I trusted you!”

  Not that she cares how I feel about her. After all, she brought me the very object that would fuel my hatred.

  The cat lifts her paw toward my face and protracts her claws. She waves them tauntingly, her tiny mismatched eyes brimming with menace. I screech, bracing for the painful shredding of skin, the hideous tearing of muscle. But she runs off when she catches sight of C. J. heading toward me. And this time, I know enough to let her go.

  If only I had been this decisive when it came to boys, I wouldn’t be in this predicament!

  “What happened? Why are you on the ground?”

  “It’s a long story. I’m just a little paralyzed…for now.”

  “What do you mean? You can’t be a little paralyzed!” C. J. cries.

  “It’s fine. Seriously. Besides, the term ‘running away’ doesn’t have to be literal. You can carry me,” I quip.

  C. J. looks at me, and I can see the alarm permeating every feature in his face.

  “Try giving me the EpiPen!” I beg, desperate for any solution, though I have my doubts that something made of science will impact my supernatural symptoms.

  C. J. nods resolutely and fishes the syringe out of my purse. He reads the instructions and then plunges its needle into my skin, not that I can feel it, but I can see it…And as expected, it does nothing.

  “We’re going to the hospital,” he announces. He opens the car door and reaches down to pick me up in his capable arms. I drape over him like a wet noodle. This can’t be attractive.

  “No! Please! Who knows how long it could take for me to recover?”

  “Precisely,” says C. J. as he gingerly sets me inside my seat and buckles my belt.

  And I can’t fight him on this. After all, I can’t even move.

  “Fine. But you have to promise me you won’t tell my parents. It’ll really slow us down.”

  C. J. nods with reluctance. “Though they’re bound to find out eventually,” he reminds me.

  Maybe, but I’m hopeful it won’t come to that. I’m buying myself some time. If I’m lucky, I can resume feeling before we even reach the doctor. This adds a level of agitation and stress to the recovery.

  “Wait! Don’t forget my ankh!”

  I direct C. J. to my necklace, which is now resting carelessly on the pavement, having fallen from my lifeless hand.

  I have him hook it around my rubbery neck as my head lolls to the side. Now I have one pendant representing my present and one representing my past. I can hear them clanging against each other, colliding on my collarbone just as the past and present are clashing in my mind.

  “This is just like the one from the museum,” C. J. points out.

  “It is the one from the museum.”

  C. J. shakes his head, disbelieving. “Things are definitely getting weirder. Which I didn’t think was possible.” He pauses and looks at me resolutely. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you taken care of, all right?”

  I nod. This getaway isn’t exactly off to the best start. I expected a romantic adventure, not the threat of emergency medical care.

  It’s hard to say which side effect is worse, the paralysis or the jumbling together of past and present in my mind. So many wires have been crossed. If only I knew how to uncross them…

  I take in C. J. and smile. But it’s disconcerting. He’s also half Sethe. Tan, pale, leather, cotton, old, new. As we drive along, and I watch out the window, things are melding together more and more. The York landscape looks like it’s being viewed through a kaleidoscope. At any given second, I see maples mixed with palm trees, painted limestone juxtaposed against stained wood.

  It’s threatening to drive me off the edge.

  I try to shift gears and focus on the future. We’re doing it. We’re running away together…right after we stop at York Hospital. I may not like it, but it’s because he cares. He’s being a hero.

  I need to big-picture it. I’ve made the right choice. That’s what matters most. Disruptions happen; hiccups occur. We’ll persevere together.

  Though my paralysis is no longer the only issue. The sky overhead is beginning to darken. Thick, heavy clouds that look like masses of slate-gray yarn ar
e collecting. A storm is brewing. It doesn’t matter if it’s ancient Egypt or Maine; the elements are never on my side.

  Welts of water start smacking up against the windshield. Driving in Maine is treacherous enough as it is, and serious ice storms make matters that much worse. Everything becomes coated with water, and then it freezes over, creating invisible black ice. The darkness, the helplessness, the feeling of being covered, buried, if only by rain—it’s bringing back the sandstorm.

  Do certain events parallel each other across lifetimes? Maybe it’s a big-time loop that just keeps repeating with some major, some minor variations? Could it be that overlap is inevitable? Destiny can’t be like one of those old vinyl albums I’ve unloaded at the flea market, where things keep turning around and around in a circle.

  My cell phone, which C. J. has propped up in the drink holder next to me, rings ominously.

  Gabriel’s picture pops up on the smartphone’s face, smiling at me. The tone of his grin has now changed, given the circumstances.

  He killed me.

  “Ignore it,” C. J. says with certainty.

  “You sure you don’t want to pick up?” I ask cautiously.

  Maybe he’s calling us to cackle, to threaten. That’s what villains do, right? They tease. It’s part of the sick fun. But I am curious to hear what he has to say.

  C. J. looks up in his rearview mirror.

  “Why bother? He’s following us.”

  Terror grips me, squeezing my insides like a vice. Destroying my confidence in our impromptu getaway plan. If he found us already, before we even made our first pre-escape pit stop, well, that doesn’t bode well for eluding him in the long term. And discovering that Gabriel’s on our tail is too reminiscent of ancient Egypt, when Kha was victorious.

  He killed me.

  I’m able to flop my head over enough to look in the rearview mirror myself, and I see Gabriel motioning for us to stop.

  “What should I do?” asks C. J.

  I close my eyes and open them while looking at him, hoping to make C. J. whole, but he’s still a living mosaic. A pastiche of different lifetimes.

  “Don’t stop. Who knows what he has planned!”

  But this can’t be easy for him. He and his newly minted girlfriend are evading his sibling of a lifetime. C. J. doesn’t pull over, but he looks pained. He’s in a tough situation.

  And Gabriel won’t give up. Gabriel drives up alongside us, trying to coerce us into pulling over. This is a narrow road, and he swerves back behind us when an oncoming car appears. Interminable moments pass without another attempt.

  But then our car lurches forward with a thunk. Gabriel is hitting C. J.’s car with his!

  My head is now being propped up by the taut seatbelt. I’m grateful to have its edges digging into the side of my neck. It’s a tiny reminder that part of me is still capable of feeling.

  C. J. accelerates, and we try to outrun Gabriel, which isn’t exactly the best idea given the icy, curving roads. But Gabriel is intent on bringing this to a head…because we pitch forward yet again, the car sliding ahead quickly on the slick asphalt.

  The rain accelerates in frequency and grows in heaviness. The windshield wipers can barely keep up with it; the freezing droplets are coming down hard and fast. The rain has coated the windshield with an opaque sheet of ice that blurs our surroundings.

  Gabriel and his car appear next to us yet again, but this time he bangs into us from the side, forcing us to careen deep into a deserted lot overgrown with scrub and white birch trees.

  We hit a giant boulder, which brings us to an abrupt, jarring stop. We slam forward in our seats, and I come within millimeters of hitting the windshield. C. J. immediately comes to my aid, easing me back into my headrest, gently pushing my hair out of my face.

  “Annabeth, were you hurt?” cries C. J., his voice cracking with worry.

  “I don’t think so, but it’s hard to tell,” I say wearily. This is threatening to go down in the history books as the worst escape ever. Well, I guess the “escape” from Kha in ancient Egypt was more of a disaster because I died. But the night is still young.

  “That’s it. I’m finishing this! I’ll be back,” says C. J. adamantly, getting out of the car.

  I don’t want to stay in here, but at the moment, I don’t have much of a choice.

  Gabriel bolts out of his car toward C. J.’s and knocks on my window. He’s shouting so loudly I can hear him through the tempered glass.

  “I didn’t run you off the road! I know I didn’t do it! This time, I’m innocent,” yells Gabriel.

  More deception. Why does he even bother?

  “Annabeth, please believe me!” he insists.

  “You mean like you warned me that I was next? After you offed Mrs. Lansing?”

  Gabriel pretends to look upset. He’s doing a good approximation of actual shock, but it’s all part of his scheme.

  “What are you talking about? What happened to Mrs. Lansing?”

  “You’d know better than me,” I say with a scoff and a tear as C. J. comes up behind him and pushes him so hard he flies right into my window. I grimace as I look at Gabriel’s face, now squished into the pane right in front of me. Gabriel backs away and turns toward C. J.

  My determination is so strong, my desire so great, I get enough feeling back in my hand to open the lock and unfasten my seatbelt. Sensation is returning to my arms, but the rest of my body is still slack. Yet I manage to find the momentum to pry the door open and throw myself onto the dirt below, where I land on my stomach. I don’t even blink an eyelash; so much of me is still devoid of feeling.

  I look up and see that it’s time for the reckoning. C. J. pulls Gabriel roughly by the jacket and drags him into a clearing before hurling him to the ground.

  “I guess I deserve this for whatever I have done.”

  At least he isn’t totally clueless. And I want him to pay. I need to get my limbs moving, so I can aid C. J. in Gabriel’s destruction. I’m not generally a vindictive person, but Gabriel brought it on himself. He murdered Mrs. Lansing, after all…and of course…

  He killed me.

  I grunt and groan as I try my hardest to achieve a full range of motion in my arms, but every limb still feels leaden. I have no time to waste. Gabriel may have black magic at his disposal, but The Siege is a force of nature. I want to make sure there’s enough left for me to defeat.

  I drag myself along on the slick, wet ground, slowly pulling myself ahead toward C. J. and Gabriel. My bare hands grip roots, rocks, anything stable to use as leverage: my anger at Kha—at Gabriel—fuels an inferno within me that is slowly replenishing my strength. They’re right in my view, and I can see their battle as I head toward them.

  He’s Gabriel, then Kha, and then he’s Gabriel again, just as C. J. and Sethe metamorphose from one to the other. Everything is melting together even more, bleeding into itself. It’s hard to differentiate between what’s happening now and what’s a memory. It makes me want to curl up into the fetal position, suck my thumb, and shut it all out. But I can’t waver.

  The freezing rain continues to descend. My hair is now sopping, clinging to my head—I may be getting wetter by the second, but it doesn’t phase me because I’m scorching with rage.

  He killed me. And he’s going to regret it.

  I smile with satisfaction as I regain feeling in my legs. This allows me to crawl. My progress is picking up speed because seeing C. J. take Gabriel to task is quite motivating. They’re both about the same height, but C. J. is a trained fighter. Then again, Gabriel has magic in his arsenal. But maybe he’s trying to see how far he can get without it. It must be an ego thing. Or he’s just playing with him, like he did in ancient Egypt. Though I’m beginning to think he’s used up all his powers already, because it doesn’t seem like there’s anything left.

  They keep hitting e
ach other, avoiding each other. It’s got to be a challenge to keep from slipping while fighting in this terrain. Hopefully I’ll soon find out from personal experience.

  C. J. punches Gabriel in the gut and then in the mouth before Gabriel has a chance to react. His horn-rimmed glasses fly off his face and hit a rock, the lenses smashing to smithereens. Blood careens from Gabriel’s mouth and hits the ice at his feet, intermingling with it. Now he knows what it’s like to have his blood spilled.

  “Annabeth, let me explain!” Gabriel cries into the night air.

  Gabriel keeps turning into Kha right before me. His head morphs from one that’s full of hair to one that’s clean-shaven. His outfit shifts from a linen robe to a Members Only jacket and jeans.

  “I don’t want to hear any of your lies,” I spit out with contempt.

  Gabriel’s sorry pleas, his attempt to further turn me, gives me the final push I need to get to my feet. I crack my knuckles in anticipation and break a large stick off a nearby birch tree with my bare hands. It would sting if my fingers weren’t so anesthetized from the cold, though it could still be a bit of lingering paralysis. Either way, it’s a small favor. I grasp it across my chest threateningly, ready to make the first blow.

  “C. J., let me take my turn.”

  My boyfriend looks up, assessing me. Is he disappointed? Is he ashamed? Can he love somebody this spiteful?

  Yes, because he responds happily. “Have at it.”

  I approach Gabriel, who’s still standing upright, but I can tell it’s a challenge for him. He’s been badly injured. Who knows what kind of bleeding is going on internally, considering how much is seeping from him externally. But I can’t find any pity for him within me now.

  The frozen rain turns into falling snow. Or is it sand? Fluffy flakes descend upon us, covering the world in white…or is it gold? The full moon is shining brightly, casting its eerie glow on this fiery tundra…this frozen desert. And if I wasn’t trying to hurt somebody I once cared about, I would consider this a lovely evening in Maine…or ancient Egypt.

  The need for vengeance has blocked out all else. I can’t think clearly, my thoughts are too muddled, too chaotic. And so I function automatically. I take my stick and run toward Gabriel. I smash him in the gut. He doubles over.