"I know." It's a cracked whisper, and if she needed any more proof of my nerves, it's right there.

"But he talks about you." Her face softens then, on the way to a smile, and she reaches up to push hair out of my eyes and correct the slant of the green knit cap I pulled on over it. "And I trust him. I have to. He said it would be better if it was just you, so..."

I let out a shaky breath when she walks past me and digs into a big brown leather bag, coming up with the keys. She dangles them in front of me and shrugs. "Don't crash it, okay? I hate riding a bike."

I've driven a car-like, actually driven it on a street, not just started it or moved it five feet in the driveway-exactly twice. On a quiet Sunday afternoon early in the summer, and a Tuesday at dinnertime a few days later. Months ago, with my mom in the pa.s.senger seat, calmly reminding me to look in the rearview mirror and apply the brakes gently.

It's Friday morning now, one of the busiest times of day in town as everyone heads to school or work. And I have to steer the little blue rust bucket Olivia owns all the way across town, on my own. Just starting the engine is enough to startle me, since the car growls like I kicked it and shudders into gear.

Perfect.

But I can't let myself be nervous. I definitely can't let my power drive me off the road, either, even though it's a close call as I pull into the street and the car practically leaps forward like a bad dog on a leash. The whole thing seems to be vibrating, and I don't know whether that's normal, for this car anyway, or if it's because my head is about to explode with nerves and power.

I don't even turn the radio on as I steer toward town and then through it, trying not to go too fast or too slow, and once waiting so long at a stop sign that the man in the car behind me lays on his horn. I jolt forward into the intersection and realize I'm chanting, "Just breathe, just breathe," like some demented broken record.

In the end, it takes about nineteen minutes longer than it should have to pull up to the entry to the park, plus two near misses with parked cars, a h.e.l.lishly confusing traffic circle that actually makes me cry when an old woman in a Subaru gives me the finger, and one time slamming on the brakes so hard I nearly hit my head on the windshield. When I finally get out, I want to drop to the ground and pa.s.s out.

But I still have to find Danny, and I pull my phone out to call Gabriel as I break into a run on the wide, paved bicycle path.

"I'm here," I pant as I jog farther into the park. It's empty, too late for most runners and too far away from the playground for moms with little kids. The tree where Becker's car hit is down behind the pond.

"Slow down." Gabriel's voice is tight and low. "He's calm now, but you probably shouldn't startle him. Right now he's sitting against the base of the tree, and I'm behind that shed to your left. s.h.i.t, your right. Whichever."

There's only one shed, but Gabriel's beginning to sound as strung out on exhaustion as I feel, so I just click off the phone and wind down into a fast walk. When I make my way around the sharp bend in the path, the road following along beside me, I notice the tree before I see Danny. It's hard to miss, pointing up like a giant splinter, jagged now at the base.

Danny's sitting with his back against it, but he's facing mostly away from me, looking at the road. His long legs are splayed carelessly in the dirt, and his hands rest on the ground beside them, palms up as if he's waiting to be given something.

An explanation, I think, and shudder a little as I creep through the gra.s.s toward the storage shed twenty-five feet away.

Gabriel sags back against the thick vinyl siding when I come around the corner on the far side. "Hey. You in one piece?"

"More or less," I say, and crawl around him to watch Danny, who hasn't moved.

There are a thousand things I could say, probably should say, but as I sit back on my heels and stare at Danny's sculpted, motionless profile, I can't think of any of them. Relief is a hot, thick taste in my mouth, but dread coats it. If I can't think of what to say to Gabriel, I have no idea how to even approach Danny.

But I have to. I have to lead him away from here and into that car and then ... well, I haven't gotten that far yet, but it doesn't matter. The point is, he can't stay here, even if I'm only now realizing that getting him into Mrs. Petrelli's garage is going to be impossible without being seen. She lives on a busy block with lots of young moms and toddlers who are outside a lot, running around the yards in tiny little jackets while their moms drink coffee on porch steps. I can't risk walking him down my street to cut through the yards, either-I have no idea if Mom would have gone home when she got the call from school that I wasn't there.

"He's been quiet for a while," Gabriel says, so low I have to turn my head to catch it all.

The skin under his eyes looks bruised, and he's lost all the color in his face. I start to trace the curve of one cheekbone with my finger, but pull it back like I've been burned when I remember why we're here, who it is sitting there at the base of that tree. Everything is beginning to feel like it's shifting, moments sliding into one another like watercolors.

"He was still sort of freaked out when I found him," Gabriel whispers. "I don't know how long he'd already been here, though."

I nod, and rock back on my heels before I stand up. It makes me sick to be scared of facing Danny, when he used to be the safest, best thing in my life. The warm place I could crawl into, the strong hand that was always there to hold mine, the steady pulse in my blood.

The one person I never imagined hurting.

It's broad daylight, and even if it would be more than weird for Danny's mom or Ryan to show up right now, I have to get him out of here. Which means I have to talk to him, look right at the confusion and horror on his face, the familiar, gentle-eyed face that used to do nothing but smile at me. As much as I want to sit here, suspended in the quiet of this chilly, brittle morning, I can't put it off any longer. And it turns out I don't have to.

When I turn my head toward that awful tree, Danny is staring straight at me.

"There was a crash."

Danny keeps saying it, and I don't know which one of us he's trying to convince. I'm the one pressed up against the tree now, his hands huge and frighteningly immovable on my shoulders.

Out of the corner of my eye, Gabriel is pacing beside the shed, his hands shaped into useless fists. I told him to stay where he was when I ran toward Danny, who was on his feet and coming toward me faster than I would have thought possible.

I want Danny to deal with me, not Gabriel. And I don't want Gabriel to have to deal with any of this, even if it's a lot too late for that.

"There was." The words sound strangled, but I can't think of anything else to say. There was a crash, and I was so stupid, so unbelievably, insanely stupid to think I could pretend there wasn't.

"A crash, Wren." He shakes me, and I nearly feel Gabriel, just yards away, vibrating with the urge to move. "A car crash."

"I know," I whisper, and turn my face up to him, trying to get him to see me. He's looking right at me, but if I didn't know it was crazy, impossible, I would think he was seeing only the way the road spun out from beneath them, and the broad trunk of the tree looming.

"Wren." He swallows, shakes his head, and for a moment his hands ease up. His eyes are awful, too dark, so gla.s.sy they don't seem real. "Wren, did I die?"

Oh G.o.d.

I wriggle out from under his fingers and wrap my arms around his waist, hanging on.

Hiding my face against his chest.

And really? Just plain hiding.

"Wren." He's not even holding me-his arms are flung out to his sides as I cling to him, as if he can't bear to touch me now.

It hurts, so much. The sound of his voice, the trembling stiffness in every muscle, so different from the usual cool marble feel of him.

But I can't move. If I let go, what then?

I still don't believe he'll hurt me, not physically. But when I let go, I'll have to look at him again, and truly face what I've done.

Face the fact that he was better off wherever he was before I crept into that cemetery, broken open, pouring all my selfish needs onto his grave.

He had to be. I don't know what I believe about G.o.d or heaven or even h.e.l.l, but if there is a heaven, I know Danny was there. He was nothing but good, a teenage boy who kissed his mom before he left for school in the morning and drew funny pictures for his girlfriend's little sister, just to make her laugh.

A boy who gave his girlfriend everything he had, freely. Slow-curving grins in the halls between cla.s.s, long hand-in-hand walks on windy afternoons, a voice in the dark when something hurt, ridiculous, awesome dreams about rock stardom and comic-book superheroes. His kisses, his hands, his long legs, a whole new world to map out, together.

And what did I give him? A half-life in the loft of a musty garage, and a girl who didn't even think about who it might hurt before she reached out and grabbed what she wanted.

"Wren." He insinuates his fingers between his body and my arms, peeling me away from him with a grunt. "Did I die? Did I?"

I stumble when he pushes me, not hard, but enough to back me into the unforgiving bulk of the tree. It's a lot less than I deserve, but I still have to hold up a hand to keep Gabriel from charging toward us.

He's inched closer, maybe only a dozen feet away now, but when Danny sees him it doesn't seem to register. Gabriel, a stranger, has no part in this for him-it's all me, me and the memories that cloud his eyes.

I straighten up, trying to catch my breath. My heart is pounding, and the shocking rush of adrenaline is nothing compared to the hot, violent buzz of power beneath my skin. It needs to go somewhere, and it's hard to contain it now-fear and guilt and grief are feeding it, making it more and more potent.

"Wren, tell me!" Danny shouts, pushing his hands through his hair. He's wheeling now, staggering circles in the dying autumn gra.s.s. "Did I die? What is this? I remember it, Wren! We ... we crashed. Becker was... There was the radio, and I thought... And you, Wren, I was thinking, I kept thinking, and then..."

I know I'm crying as he goes on like that, I can feel the wet heat on my cheeks in the chill of the morning, but I can't do anything about it. I can't move, I can't speak, I can't do anything but watch as Danny remembers.

There's nothing left inside me but a single word, stop, and it echoes like an alarm. Stop, stop, stop, endless, because that's where this has been heading all along.

I have to stop. Danny has to stop. Everything needs to stop until I make this right.

I don't even move when Danny turns and finally sees me again, the storm of memories clearing and simple horror replacing them. For a moment that seems as fragile and weightless as a soap bubble, he just stares as I stand there, my hands clenched, tears streaming.

Then he charges.

I can hear Gabriel's feet on the dry gra.s.s, thudding closer, but it's too late for him to do anything. It's all up to me now, again.

I've never done this before, not even when I needed Danny to go to sleep. Then it was just words, a suggestion fed to him with nothing more than the sound of my voice, the gentle sweep of my hands on his back.

That's not going to work this time.

So I focus everything inside me on that single word, and push it at Danny with the force of all my power behind me: "Stop!"

The air around us crackles, blue-green with ozone, and he snaps like his strings have been cut, falling three feet away from me in a twisted jumble of arms and legs and too-long hair.

Even Gabriel's not quick enough to catch me when I fall, too.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

WHATEVER I DID HIT ME NEARLY AS HARD AS Danny, and I can barely see through the throbbing howl of pain in my head as Gabriel drives us back to his place. When I look at Danny slumped in the backseat, my stomach joins the protest, and I have to point my face at the cold air streaming through the open window so I won't puke.

I open my eyes when the car stops in the driveway behind the big old Victorian where Gabriel and Olivia's apartment is. I can't believe we have to bring him here.

Not in the condition he's in right now, anyway.

He looks, more than ever, dead. He's so pale he practically gleams in the crisp autumn sunlight, and the cool blue veins in his hands and arms stand out like the tracings on a map.

"You're going to have to help me with the doors and stuff," Gabriel says, getting out of the car and handing me the keys. He's pale, too, drawn into himself like a turtle, and I can't do more than nod when I get out and join him on the other side of the car.

It's just as awkward and horrible getting Danny out of the car as it was getting him into it, one limp arm lolling out to smack the open door, his head just missing the roof. Gabriel's tall, but he's lean, and Danny is just as big-maneuvering him up over Gabriel's shoulder would be funny if Danny were drunk, maybe, but now? It's awful, just another reminder that the boy Gabriel's lugging into the house and up the stairs is dead.

Olivia opens the door to the apartment before I can even get the keys out. "I heard the car," she says, and steps back as Gabriel struggles over the threshold and heads straight for his room.

Which leaves me face-to-face with Olivia, who is clearly a little freaked out by the kid draped over her brother's shoulder.

"Is he okay?" she says, craning her head to watch as Gabriel sort of dumps Danny on his bed.

"Not so much." And wow, that's the understatement of the millennium, but I'm so exhausted and in so much pain, it's amazing I can get my mouth to form words.

In my pocket, my phone buzzes again-it's been going off pretty steadily for the last half hour. I know it's my mom, that school must have called when I didn't show up for homeroom, but there's no way I can even think about answering it now.

There's no way I can think, period. My brain is idling rougher and rougher, ready to sputter out and die, and as I stand there with Olivia frowning at me, I realize my stomach is going to backfire first.

I'm not sure where the bathroom is, but I bolt in the direction of the bedrooms and see a door standing open to reveal old white tile and an even older pedestal sink. I make it that far and lean over, retching up I don't even know what. I can't remember the last time I ate.

I'm mostly done when I feel a light hand on my shoulder, and lift my head to find Olivia there. She brushes the sweaty feathers of my bangs off my forehead and flips down the lid on the toilet so I can sit. I'm vibrating like a plucked guitar string, and my head is still screaming at me, hot red fury.

I close my eyes, even though I can hear Gabriel's footsteps, the creak of the door as he leans against it. The water's running, and the next thing I know a cool washcloth is gently pa.s.sed over my forehead and my cheeks. Olivia picks up my hands and runs the cloth over each wrist, and it feels so good, I sigh out loud.

"You need to lie down, kiddo." Olivia gently tilts my head forward and presses the washcloth to the back of my neck. "Think you can stand up?"

I open my eyes and nod, and Gabriel steps out of the way when Olivia helps me to my feet and steers me toward the door. My phone buzzes again, and as I collapse onto the sofa I pull it out and toss it across the room. It lands somewhere with a plastic thud, and Olivia winces.

"Can you give us a minute?" Gabriel says quietly, and I study the dirty knees of my jeans so I don't have to see the look I know is probably pa.s.sing between them.

"I need to know the whole story here at some point, guys," Olivia says, and although her voice is sharp, her hand in my hair is as gentle as it was in the bathroom. "I'm guessing we don't need nine-one-one for the kid in your room?"

"No." It's little more than a croak, but it's the best I can do.

Gabriel sits down next to me. After a silent moment that stretches so thin I can almost hear it snapping, Olivia nods and goes into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

"I can't," I say when she's gone, and Gabriel's reaching out to put his arms around me. I'm still trembling, and even holding my head up is an effort. There's no power humming inside me now, just the stale backwash of adrenaline and fear and exhaustion. "Not right now."

Somewhere across the room my phone buzzes again, and Gabriel gets up. "I'll put that on silent, okay?"

I'm not sure if I even nod. I'm out before my head hits the arm of the sofa, and for once I don't even dream.

There's a warm, heavy weight against my thigh when I open my eyes, and I struggle up on my elbows to find that it's Gabriel's head. He's on the floor beside the sofa, and in sleep his head has rolled back against my leg.

The temptation to run my fingers through that fine, sandy hair is almost overwhelming, before I'm fully awake and everything comes rushing back.

It hits me like a slap in the face, and I blink as I sit up and look for a clock. There isn't one, but Gabriel's phone is lying on the floor next to him. I have to reach around him to pick it up, and he stirs as I do.

"Hey," he says, rubbing his eyes as I squint at the screen of his phone. Two o'clock. Mom must be frantic.

I think I sort of grunt at Gabriel in reply, because suddenly all I can think about is finding my phone, listening to the messages I know must be on there, and figuring out what the h.e.l.l to do next. And that's before even considering Danny, who I hope is still in Gabriel's room.

If he's not, I don't want to think about what will happen next.

My left leg is asleep, and I wince as I set it down, pins and needles p.r.i.c.kling hot. My head doesn't hurt anymore, but I'm still vaguely nauseous, hollowed out. Gabriel catches hold of my hand before I try to stand.

"I'll get your phone," he says, "and something for you to drink. Just stay here for a second."

I won't cry again-there can't be any tears left anyway. But the kindness in Gabriel's eyes is so sweet, and so undeserved, I have to look away when he lets go of me to walk into the kitchen.

But I can't sit still, either, and my leg isn't numb anymore, so I get up and follow him. The kitchen overlooks the backyard, and the car is gone so I a.s.sume Olivia is, too.