Intrinsical - Lani Woodland [44]
“I swear I saw them come in here,” Cherie mumbled. “He left, but she didn’t.”
“Nice to know you’re able to pay such good attention to details and kiss me at the same time,” Steve teased with a grin. He glanced around the room, looking right past us, ignoring me even though I was looking right at him. “Maybe they left,” he suggested.
“What?” I gasped, coughing, my throat raw. “I didn’t!”
“I guess,” Cherie said, sounding unsure. “Wait, what’s that?” Cherie asked, pointing to the water’s edge where my purse lay haphazardly.
Cherie bent down and picked it up. “It isn’t like Yara to leave things. You don’t think . . .” she trailed off as she looked toward the water. She and Steve spread out each peering into the pool. Steve crouched low next to the water and pointed to something as the two of them gasped. Steve dove in while Cherie started screaming hysterically. They were jumping toward all the wrong conclusions.
“It’s okay, guys. I’m over here.” My voice, though, was still too weak to carry even across the room. I turned toward Brent who was watching the scene with a look I didn’t understand. “Can you get their attention? Cherie’s flipping out.”
Brent shook his head. At that moment, I heard Steve resurface. He was pulling something heavy in his arms and Cherie ran to help him.
I turned again toward Brent. “What is that?”
“You really shouldn’t watch this,” he said, shielding my eyes.
“Watch what?” I demanded, pushing from his embrace. I took a few steps until my knees buckled at what I saw and a hysterical laugh escaped my throat. Steve was giving CPR to a girl. Had there been someone else down there with me? I looked at the broken body but didn’t recognize her.
“One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five!” Steve shouted, pushing on her chest. He leaned toward her now blue lips.
Watching, I prayed for her to be okay; a moment of survivor guilt washed over me. I noticed how the poor girl’s arms were sprawled out next to her limp torso with her legs twisted under the long ball gown. The once-elegant frock was now ripped into shreds, dripping with pool water as it clung to her still body, the shredded dress a chilling evidence of the fight she had put up to survive. The frayed material wrapped around her twisted ankle was so perfectly horrific that it almost seemed staged for a slasher movie. I couldn’t bear to see her poor face, now a pale shade of baby blue, eyes closed and mascara running down her cheeks, lying on the lair of tangles and snarls that was her hair. My heart ached for her, still so beautiful in death.
“Breathe, Yara!” Cherie begged, tears running down her face.
Her words made me jump. “What?”
“Don’t die, Yara,” Cherie pleaded wiping at her damp face and clutching to the dead girl’s hand.
“Is this some sort of sick joke?” I demanded spinning around toward Brent. I pointed toward the girl. “She isn’t me!”
He shook his head, stepping toward me. “Let me explain.”
“Stay back!” I warned. I looked down once more at the broken body. She did sort of look like me but . . . it was too much. The room around me spun. “But I’m alive. I’m here!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.
They ignored me. I turned toward Cherie, knowing somehow she would sense me. The slight grip on reality I held drifted away as she stared right through me and asked, “She’ll be okay, won’t she?”
Steve didn’t answer.
“Of course I’m going to be okay. I’m here now.”
She didn’t respond.
“Don’t you see me?” I tried to grab Cherie’s shoulders so I could shake her and make her see me, but instead of making contact, I fell through her. I looked pleadingly toward Brent. “I’m going to be okay, right? I mean, I’m here and Steve’s doing CPR on . . . me. Right?”
Steve’s lips were against mine, giving my lungs the air they couldn’t get for themselves.
“I think she’s gone,” Steve told Cherie.
“No! No, she’s not,