The Host_ A Novel - Stephenie Meyer [29]
Whatever her plan, she kept herself distant. She was just a faint, watchful presence in the back of my head.
I made my last trip inside, searching for anything forgotten. The apartment looked empty. There were only the basic furnishings that had been left by the last tenant. The same plates were still in the cupboards, the pillows on the bed, the lamps on the tables; if I didn’t come back, there would be little for the next tenant to clear out.
The phone rang as I was stepping out the door, and I turned back to get it, but I was too late. I’d already set the message system to answer on the first ring. I knew what the caller would hear: my vague explanation that I would be out the rest of the semester, and that my classes would be canceled until a replacement could be found. No reason given. I looked at the clock on top of the television. It was barely past eight in the morning. I was sure it must be Curt on the phone, having just received the only slightly more detailed e-mail I’d sent him late last night. I felt guilty about not finishing out my commitment to him, almost like I was already skipping. Perhaps this step, this quitting, was the prelude to my next decision, my greater shame. The thought was uncomfortable. It made me unwilling to listen to whatever the message said, though I wasn’t in any real hurry to leave.
I looked around the empty apartment one more time. There was no sense of leaving anything behind me, no fondness for these rooms. I had the strange feeling that this world-not just Melanie, but the entire orb of the planet-did not want me, no matter how much I wanted it. I just couldn’t seem to get my roots in. I smiled wryly at the thought of roots. This feeling was just superstitious nonsense.
I’d never had a host that was capable of superstition. It was an interesting sensation. Like knowing you were being watched without being able to find the watcher. It raised goose bumps on the nape of my neck.
I shut the door firmly behind me but did not touch the obsolete locks. No one would disturb this place until I returned or it was given to someone new.
Without looking at the Seeker, I climbed into the car. I hadn’t done much driving, and neither had Melanie, so this made me a bit nervous. But I was sure I would get used to it soon enough.
“I’ll be waiting for you in Tucson,” the Seeker said, leaning in the open passenger-side window as I started the engine.
“I have no doubt of that,” I muttered.
I found the controls on the door panel. Trying to hide a smile, I hit the button to raise the glass and watched her jump back.
“Maybe… ,” she said, raising her voice to almost a shout so that I could hear her over the engine noise and through the closed window, “maybe I’ll try it your way. Maybe I’ll see you on the road.”
She smiled and shrugged.
She was just saying it to upset me. I tried not to let her see that she had. I focused my eyes on the road ahead and pulled carefully away from the curb.
It was easy enough to find the freeway and then follow the signs out of San Diego. Soon there were no signs to follow, no wrong turns to take. In eight hours I would be in Tucson. It wasn’t long enough. Perhaps I would stay a night in some small town along the way. If I could be sure that the Seeker would be ahead, waiting impatiently, rather than following behind, a stop would be a nice delay.
I found myself looking in the rearview mirror often, searching for a sign of pursuit. I was driving slower than anyone else, unwilling to reach my destination, and the other cars passed me without pause. There were no faces I recognized as they moved ahead. I shouldn’t have let the Seeker’s taunt bother me; she clearly didn’t have the temperament to go anywhere slowly. Still… I continued to watch for her.
I’d been west to the ocean, north and south up and down the pretty California coastline, but I’d never been east for any distance at all. Civilization fell behind me quickly, and I was