Elementals

4

An hour passes, and just as I'm about to give up, the engine starts. I shuffle further into the bush, and the car pulls onto the road and heads toward Atlanta. I watch it go, trying to take note of the license plate, but it's already too far to read.

I practically run to my room. It's been home for two weeks, and it gives me an immediate sense of safety. I don't think I was in any danger, not when I have the ultimate escape plan...when I'm outdoors, anyway, but I still sigh as I sink into the bed.

That was the most excitement I've gotten since arriving here.

________________

Lana

It's night, and I need to do laundry. Dr. Jansen provided me with supplies and money when I was sent off, and today's the day my last rotation of clothes has become dirty. The laundry room is next to the lobby, and when I go down there, struggling with my basket because I can only properly use one arm, there's someone sitting in the lounge.

I don't glance at him when I pass by to go into the laundry room, and he doesn't look at me. His face is but a smudge in the corner of my vision, like the faces of the two boys, but still I panic and think, he's one of them.

They came back.

Maybe.

My clothes slosh around in the washing machine, and my eyes are focused on the door. It's open, and his shadow is visible on the wall of the hallway. What's he doing there? I've never seen anyone actually use the lounge—at most, this motel is for people passing through or people who want to be left alone. Neither of those types risked conversations with strangers.

The washing machine beeps, and I go to open the dryer. The door won't budge. I lean close to its screen—the motel may be run-down, but for some reason, the dryer's got a screen—and it says Key card. Ask employee.

The employee is at the receptionist's desk. I have to go back through the lounge to get there.

Crap.

I go into the hallway. Without my basket, my other arm feels awkward at my side, but I force it still as I walk to the desk.

"Can I sign your cast?"

I turn and look directly at him. He's around my age, but I still can't figure out if he's one of those boys. "Um," I blink. "I don't have a pen."

"I have one."

I shrug. "Sure."

I hold out my elbow. He takes a Sharpie out of his pocket, signs my cast, and steps back. I position my arm so that I can read it. It says Taylor, and at the end of a cursive r is a cute flourish: a cartoony little fire.

Fire boy.

I look at him. I don't mean to give it away, but I know my face has gone slack.

He looks at me. "Lana?"

"Lana?" the employee repeats, leaning far over her desk so she can see us. "I thought your name was Sarah?"

"Lana's a nickname!" I say quickly. Sarah Evans is the name I checked in with, and the last thing I need is her pinning me for identity fraud. "The dryer's asking for a key card."

"Oh." She slides around her desk and goes into the laundry room, leaving me and Taylor in the hallway.

"How did you find me?" I ask. "And—wait, the other guy, was that Earth?"

"Jude," he says. "Come meet him."

"Dryer's ready," the employee interrupts.

I hastily drag my clothes from the washing machine and into the dryer, and as soon as the dry cycle starts, I rush back into the hallway. "I'm ready."