I won't feel this way. I hate you. ...
But a voice was whispering in her mind, a voice she hadn't heard in what seemed like a long time. a crystal voice, soft but ringing.
Feel him. Does this feel like that other one? Sense him. Does he smell the same, sound the same... ?
Hannah didn't know what to make of the words and didn't want to. She just wanted Thierry to stop.
The fingers brushed over her eyelashes, thumb stroking over the fragile skin of her eyelids as if to keep them shut. Then she felt him bend closer.
No, no, no....
Warm lips touched her forehead. Again, just the barest touch. Then they were gone.
"Goodbye, Hannah," Thierry whispered.
Hannah felt herself lifted. She was being carried in strong gentle arms, moving swiftly and smoothly.
It was harder for her to stay conscious than it had been before. She had a strange feeling of tranquillity, of security. But she fought to open her eyes just a crack.
She wanted to see his hands. She didn't think there had been enough time for the pencil wound to heal completely.
If the pencil wound was there.
But her eyes wouldn't open-not until she felt herself being lowered and placed on solid ground. Then she managed to lift heavy eyelids and dart a glance at his hands.
There were no marks.
The knowledge burned through her-but she didn't have any strength left. She felt her eyes lapsing shut again. Dimly, very far away, she could hear the faint echo of a doorbell.
Then a soft voice in her head. You don't have to be afraid anymore. I'm going away-and so is she.
Don't go. Wait. I have to talk to you. I have to ask you ...
But she could feel cold air all around her and she knew he was gone.
A moment later she heard the door open, and the sound of Chess's mother gasping. She was on the Clovises' doorstep. People were shaking her, talking to her.
Hannah wasn't interested in any of it. She let the darkness take her.
It was when she let go completely that she began to dream. She was Hana of the Three Rivers and she was seeing the end of her own life.
She saw the bruised and bloody figure of Thierry rising up to kill his torturers. She felt it as her turn came. She looked up and saw his savage face, saw the animal light in his eyes. She felt her life flow away.
Then she saw the end of the story. The glimpse of the corridor through time, the recognition of her soulmate. The forgiveness and the promise.
And then just shadows. But Hannah slept peacefully in the shadows until morning, unafraid.
The first thing Hannah saw when she woke up was a pair of glowing green cat-eyes looking down at her.
"How do you feel?" Chess asked.
She was lying in Chess's bed. Sunlight was streaming in the window.
"I ... can't tell yet," Hannah said. Disjointed images were floating in her head, not quite forming a whole picture.
"We found you last night," Chess said. "You ran your dad's car off the road, but you managed to make it here before you collapsed."
"Oh... yeah. I remember." She did remember; the pieces of the puzzle suddenly clicked together.
Maya. Thierry. The attack. The car. Thierry again. And finally her dream. Her own voice saying, "I
forgive you."
And now he was gone. He'd gone home, wherever home was.
She had never felt so confused.
"Hannah, what happened? Are you sick? We didn't know whether to take you to a hospital last night or what. But you didn't have a fever and you seemed to be breathing fine-so my mom said you could just sleep a while."
"I'm not sick." This was the time to tell Chess everything. After all, that was the reason she'd been running to Chess in the first place last night.
But now... now in the bright morning light, she didn't want to tell Chess. It wasn't just that it might put Chess in danger, either from Thierry or the Night World in general. It was that Hannah didn't need to talk about it; she could cope on her own. It wasn't Chess's problem.
And I don't even know the truth yet, Hannah thought. But that is going to change.
"Hannah, are you even listening to me?"
"Yeah. I'm sorry. And I'm okay; I felt kind of dizzy last night, but now I'm better. Can I use your phone?"
"Can you what?"
"I have to call Paul-you know, the psychologist. I need to see him, fast."
She jumped up, steadied herself against a brief wave of giddiness, and walked past Chess, who was watching her in bewilderment.
"No," Paul said. "No, it's absolutely out of the question." He waved his hands, then patted his pockets nervously, coming up empty.
"Paul, please. I have to do this. And if you won't help me, I'll try it on my own. I think self-hypnosis should work. I've been doing a pretty good job of dreaming the past lately, anyway."
"It's... too... dangerous." Paul said each word separately, then sank into his chair, hands at his temples. "Don't you remember what happened the last time?"
Hannah felt sorry for him. But she said ruthlessly, "If I do it on my own, it may be even more dangerous.
Right? At least if you hypnotize me you can be there to wake me up. You can throw a glass of water in my face again."
He looked up sharply. "Oh, yeah? And what if it doesn't work this time?"
Hannah dropped her eyes. Then she raised them and looked at Paul directly. "I don't know," she admitted quietly. "But I've still got to try. I have to know the truth. If I don't, I really think I may go insane." She didn't say it melodramatically. It was a simple statement of fact.
Paul groaned. Then he grabbed a pen and started chewing on it, glancing around the room. "What is it that you would want to know? Just presuming that I agreed to help you." His voice sounded squashed.