Stephenie Meyer - The Host

I didn’t move as her meaning sank in. She didn’t seem to notice that I was frozen in place.

“Perhaps they’ll find Melanie’s love, and then you can be together. If his feelings are as fervent as hers, the new soul will probably be amenable.”

“No!” I wasn’t sure who had shouted. It could have been me. I was full of horror, too.

I was on my feet, shaking. The tears that came so easily were, for once, absent, and my hands trembled in tight fists.

“Wanderer?”

But I turned and ran for the door, fighting the words that could not come out of my mouth. Words that could not be my words. Words that made no sense unless they were hers, but they felt like mine. They couldn’t be mine. They couldn’t be spoken.

That’s killing him! That’s making him cease to be! I don’t want someone else. I want Jared, not a stranger in his body! The body means nothing without him.

I heard Kathy calling my name behind me as I ran into the road.

I didn’t live far from the Comforter’s office, but the darkness in the street disoriented me. I’d gone two blocks before I realized I was running in the wrong direction.

People were looking at me. I wasn’t dressed for exercise, and I wasn’t jogging, I was fleeing. But no one bothered me; they politely averted their eyes. They would guess that I was new to this host. Acting out the way a child would.

I slowed to a walk, turning north so that I could loop around without passing Kathy’s office again.

My walk was only slightly slower than a run. I heard my feet hitting the sidewalk too quickly, as though they were trying to match the tempo of a dance song. Slap, slap, slap against the concrete. No, it wasn’t like a drumbeat, it was too angry. Like violence. Slap, slap, slap. Someone hitting someone else. I shuddered away from the horrible image.

I could see the lamp on over my apartment door. It hadn’t taken me long to cover the distance. I didn’t cross the road, though.

I felt sick. I remembered what it felt like to vomit, though I never had. The cold wetness dewed on my forehead, the hollow sound rang in my ears. I was pretty sure I was about to have that experience for my own.

There was a bank of grass beside the walk. Around a streetlamp there was a well-trimmed hedge. I had no time to look for a better place. I stumbled to the light and caught the post to hold myself up. The nausea was making me dizzy.

Yes, I was definitely going to experience throwing up.

“Wanderer, is that you? Wanderer, are you ill?”

The vaguely familiar voice was impossible to concentrate on. But it made things worse, knowing I had an audience as I leaned my face close to the bush and violently choked up my most recent meal.

“Who’s your Healer here?” the voice asked. It sounded far away through the buzzing in my ears. A hand touched my arched back. “Do you need an ambulance?”

I coughed twice and shook my head. I was sure it was over; my stomach was empty.

“I’m not ill,” I said I as pulled myself upright using the lamppost for support. I looked over to see who was watching my moment of disgrace.

The Seeker from Chicago had her cell phone in her hand, trying to decide which authority to call. I took one good look at her and bent over the leaves again. Empty stomach or no, she was the last person I needed to see right now.

But, as my stomach heaved uselessly, I realized that there would be a reason for her presence.

Oh, no! Oh, no no no no no no!

“Why?” I gasped, panic and sickness stealing the volume from my voice. “Why are you here? What’s happened?” The Comforter’s very uncomforting words pounded in my head.

I stared at the hands gripping the collar of the Seeker’s black suit for two seconds before I realized they were mine.

“Stop!” she said, and there was outrage on her face. Her voice rattled.

I was shaking her.

My hands jerked open and landed against my face. “Excuse me!” I huffed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was doing.”

The Seeker scowled at me and smoothed the front of her outfit. “You’re not well, and I suppose I startled you.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you,” I whispered. “Why are you here?”

“Let’s get you to a Healing facility before we speak. If you have a flu, you should get it healed. There’s no point in letting it wear your body down.”

“I don’t have a flu. I’m not ill.”

“Did you eat bad food? You must report where you got it.”

Her prying was very annoying. “I did not eat bad food, either. I’m healthy.”

“Why don’t you have a Healer check? A quick scan-you shouldn’t neglect your host. That’s irresponsible. Especially when health care is so easy and effective.”

I took a deep breath and resisted the urge to shake her again. She was a full head shorter than I was. It was a fight I would win.

A fight? I turned away from her and walked swiftly toward my home. I was dangerously emotional. I needed to calm down before I did something inexcusable.

“Wanderer? Wait! The Healer -”

“I need no Healer,” I said without turning. “That was just… an emotional imbalance. I’m fine now.”

The Seeker didn’t answer. I wondered what she made of my response. I could hear her shoes-high heels-tapping after me, so I left the door open, knowing she would follow me in. I went to the sink and filled a glass with water. She waited silently while I rinsed my mouth and spat. When I was through, I leaned against the counter, staring into the basin.

She was soon bored.

“So, Wanderer… or do you still go by that name? I don’t mean to be rude in calling you that.”

I didn’t look at her. “I still go by Wanderer.”

“Interesting. I pegged you for one that would choose her own.”

“I did choose. I chose Wanderer.”

It had long been clear to me that the mild spat I’d overheard the first day I woke in the Healing facility was the Seeker’s fault. The Seeker was the most confrontational soul I’d come across in nine lives. My first Healer, Fords Deep Waters, had been calm, kind, and wise, even for a soul. Yet he had not been able to help reacting to her. That made me feel better about my own response.

I turned around to face her. She was on my small couch, nestled in comfortably as if for a long visit. Her expression was self-satisfied, the bulging eyes amused. I controlled the desire to scowl.

“Why are you here?” I asked again. My voice was a monotone. Restrained. I would not lose control again in front of this woman.

“It’s been a while since I heard anything from you, so I thought I would check in personally. We’ve still made no headway in your case.”

My hands clamped down on the edge of the counter behind me, but I kept the wild relief from my voice.

“That seems… overzealous. Besides, I sent you a message last night.”

Her eyebrows came together in that way she had, a way that made her look angry and annoyed at the same time, as if you, not she, were responsible for her anger. She pulled out her palm computer and touched the screen a few times.

“Oh,” she said stiffly. “I haven’t checked my mail today.”

She was quiet as she scanned through what I had written.

“I sent it very early in the morning,” I said. “I was half asleep at the time. I’m not sure how much of what I wrote was memory or dream, or sleep-typing, maybe.”

I went along with the words-Melanie’s words-as they flowed easily from my mouth; I even added my own lighthearted laugh at the end. It was dishonest of me. Shameful behavior. But I would not let the Seeker know that I was weaker than my host.

For once, Melanie was not smug at having bested me. She was too relieved, too grateful that I had not, for my own petty reasons, given her away.