He captures my arm and turns me to face him. “You can’t go running off like that—you might have a concussion or something else and your shock’s just numbing the pain. Honestly, I don’t even know how you made it out alive.”
Neither do I. It happened just like my Death Omen said. Yet I’m standing here, breathing, my heart beating. “I have to find my friend Raven… that girl with the pink hair. She drove off with this guy who I… who was drinking. That’s what I was doing… I was trying to chase her down. And I couldn’t get a signal on my phone.” I pat my empty pockets. “How far is your car?”
“It’s just up the road, at the turnoff. I didn’t want to leave it parked in the street and cause another accident.” He grabs my hand and we hurry to the turnoff, where a black 1960s GTO, with red racing stripes, is parked. The door is open and the headlights and engine are running, the exhaust huffing out smoke. He hops into the driver’s seat and checks the bars on his cell phone.
“No signal,” he mutters, chucking it into the cup holder.
I tap my foot anxiously on the ground, eyeing the forest. Rav, where are you? I’m worried.
“Let me take you to the hospital so you can get checked out,” Asher says. “I’m sure your friend’s made it home by now, and if not, you can call her once we get a signal. And you should call the police”
“No thanks. I’m feeling pretty okay now.” Hospitals are overflowing with death and I avoid them at all costs. “And no police.”
“I think you should go. You might feel fine now, but you could just be in shock.” His gaze moves to my head. “And you got a pretty wicked cut on your head.”
I walk around the front of the car, heading for the passenger door. “Can you please take me home? I’ll get my mom to take me, after I tell her about the car.” I pause as another memory resurfaces. “Did you see anyone else driving around, like maybe right in front of you?”
He ducks his head as he climbs out of the car. “I haven’t seen anyone else on the road.”
I grip the door handle as a spout of dizziness crashes through me. “Dammit. I was hoping you might have seen who hit me.”
He hikes through the mud, rounding the front of the car, and stops when he reaches me. “Do you remember anything at all about what the car looked like?”
I shake my head and start to pull the door open. “I only saw the headlights.”
“Here, let me get that.” He extends his arm out and then opens the car door.
“Thanks,” I say, picturing Asher in a fedora and pinstriped suit, like it’s the 1940s and guys were gentlemen.
Ducking my head, I slide into the car and he slams the door shut. The inside of his car is nice. Reupholstered leather seats, a crack-free dashboard—this is what my dad wanted to do to the Challenger. But now it’s gone, resting at the bottom of a lake, along with my death, which I can no longer see, feel, or taste.
I sigh heavily. What does it mean if my death has vanished?
Asher hops into the car and buckles his seatbelt, then he glances at me and frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing.” I fasten my seatbelt. “I was just thinking about my car sitting at the bottom of the lake. It was actually my dad’s car.”
“I’m sorry, Ember.” He gently squeezes my hand and then shoves the shifter into gear, still holding my hand. I tense from the contact, but relax as tranquility eases through my body.
“It’s okay.” I stare out the window at the profiles of the trees as he brushes his thumb across the inside of my wrist and my breath falters. “It was old and falling apart anyway, which is why the brakes probably went out.” But deep down, I wonder if it had anything to do with the creeper at the party or the guy he supposedly saw in my car.
“What kind of car was it?” Letting go of my hand, he cranks up the heat and the warm air feels nice against my damp clothes.
I wrap my arms around myself. “A 1970 Dodge Challenger.”
He lets out a slow whistle. “Fuck, that sucks.”
I shrug again, watching the road as we curve through the mountains and around the lake. “It was just a car. I’ll live.”
“So were you close with your dad?” His voice edges cautiously.
I pick at the black fingernail polish on my thumbnail. “Yeah, we were pretty close. I moved in with him when I was four and lived with him until he vanished.”
“How did he die?” he asks and adds, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“I’m not sure,” I say quietly. “The cops never found his body, but they found his car parked up in the mountains and his… blood was everywhere.”
His grey eyes expand. “That has to be hard for you—not knowing what really happened to him?”
I nod, leaving out the details of the hourglass painted in blood on the windshield, the massive X staining the grass in front of the car, and the black feathers everywhere. “It is and I really don’t like to talk about it.”
He offers a sympathetic look and wisps of his damp hair fall into his eyes. “I get it. Even though my mom loves to talk about my dad, it still hurts sometimes.”
“How did he die?” I ask. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
It’s quiet for a moment as we arrive at the rim of the mountains and breach through the trees and out into the valley. The town is silent, everyone tucked away safely in their beds, and porch and streetlights speckle the fields and houses like fireflies.