Fathomless by Jackson Pearce Read Free Book Online Page B

regardless of Jane’s voice, I don’t yell at her
or
Anne—and they don’t yell at me. In fact, we don’t fight,really. We just disagree. Not like Jude—he fights with his family, all the time. Or, fought with them. He doesn’t talk to them anymore. I didn’t see exactly why—I pulled away from him too quickly. I wonder about his family, about who would have told them if he’d died last night.
    Who would have told my sisters if it’d been me?
    Jane grabs my arm. “Oh, god, Celia, you’re so morbid,” she moans, releasing me.
    “Hey,” I snap, leaning away. Panic rises in my throat—did she see Naida?
    “Relax, you weren’t answering Anne’s question, and I just wanted to know why,” she says, shrugging, like she merely pulled my hair.
    “What question?” I ask, glaring at Anne, who I’m pleased to see looks frustrated with Jane. She shakes her head before speaking.
    “I was asking if you’re going to see him again. The guy you saved,” she repeats.
    “No. Why would I?”
    “Because you saved his life! He owes you a—what’s it called? A blood debt.” Anne’s eyes are glimmering, like we’re writing a story instead of discussing someone’s drowning.
    “He’s not bad-looking, either,” Jane adds. I turn to her, and she giggles. “You were still thinking about his face! I didn’t mean to. He’s not, like, movie-star hot, but he has that sort of indie look going for him.”
    “Go see him,” Anne insists. “What else do you have to do?”
    “You know I don’t like to talk to people I’ve read!”
    “Which probably explains why you only talk to us,” Anne answers.
    The thing about Anne is, she doesn’t necessarily win an argument. She just wears you down, beats at your edges until it’s easier to give in than it is to fight her. And she’s not wrong—I don’t really talk to anyone other than my sisters. She just doesn’t understand that it’s with good reason. Why would I talk to people, get to know them, when the slightest touch means knowing their strongest memories? Sometimes it’s not terrible, I guess, when the strongest memory is something beautiful, but so often it’s not…. I’ve told Anne this before. She doesn’t understand, though, and so she’ll wear me down instead of trying. What can I say? She was the firstborn of the three of us. Maybe that’s why she’s the strongest.
    “Maybe I’ll go today. I don’t know,” I answer. “I’ll need the car.” I’m hoping the last point will persuade them to drop it—when we were only eleven, Anne predicted that I would wreck our car. Ever since, she and Jane have been wary of letting me drive it, even though I’m the only one without a speeding ticket to my name. Anne’s power is almost a sure thing, though; even when she tries to intervene, the futures she reads almost always come to pass. She says that’s because the future is like tangled string—you might be able to see how it ends, but it’s almost impossible to work out the knots and figure out how it got there. And apparently there are an awful lot of knots between me and a wrecked car.
    They look at each other, weighing the worthiness of mebehind the wheel with their desire for scandal. “Ugh, fine,” Jane says. “But can we come?”
Damn. Not the response I was hoping for.
    “Probably not. I don’t even know if they’ll let me in to see him. Last night it was just a special circumstance, since I… I saved him.”
    “Well, if he turns out to be awesome, you have to take us eventually,” Jane says, as if I just ruined her plans for the day. I avoid them for the next few hours, Jane especially, because I have no intention to actually go see Jude. But there is something I plan to do—go back to the beach. Look for Naida.
    I don’t really want to. The more I think about her, the more afraid I am of her. And I wasn’t lying to Anne—I don’t enjoy seeing people I’ve read. But as much as I liked Jude’s memories, I know I can force