Erica Spindler - Forbidden Fruit

Pain shot through him, exquisitely sharp, piercing in its intensity. Brilliant white light filled his head, followed by the the sensation of weightlessness, of flying, soaring like an eagle.

A moment later, his world went black.

Dear Lord, she had killed him.

Heart in her throat, Lily Pierron crouched beside the young man’s still form. She reached out and touched his forehead, somewhat reassured to find his skin warm and damp. She brushed his dark hair away from his eyes, and he moaned and stirred slightly.

He was alive, Lily thought, dizzy with relief. Thank God. She lifted her gaze to the dark stretch of road before her, uncertain what she should do next. She doubted that at this time of night another driver would happen along anytime soon, and other than her home, there wasn’t another residence for nearly a half a mile. She brought a trembling hand to her forehead. Should she try to move him or leave him to go for help?

Neither option appealed. Depending on his injuries, she could seriously hurt him by trying to move him. She was neither young nor strong, and in all probability, without his assistance she could do no better than drag him to her car.

That left leaving him alone while she went for help.

Lily thought of the driver of the van. As she had called out to him to stop and help, he had flown back into his vehicle and peeled out, so fast he had sprayed gravel clear across the road. Whatever had been going down when she happened along, this boy had been trying to escape. Why else would he have been running across the road that way?

Another thought occurred to her, one that sent a shiver of apprehension up her spine. What if that driver was up the road a bit, watching and waiting to see what she did? Waiting to see if she left the boy alone and helpless?

A long shot, she told herself, rubbing her arms, noticing the cold for the first time. Most criminals didn’t hang around the scene, “just to see what happened.” No, criminals usually put as much time and distance between themselves and the crime as possible. But still, the idea of leaving the boy alone, hurt and vulnerable, frightened her.

The boy moaned again, and she returned her gaze to his face. His eyelids fluttered, then opened. He stared blankly at her.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her words tumbling out in a jumbled rush. “I didn’t see you. I came around the curve, and there you were. I tried to stop, I really did. I’m so, so sorry.”

His eyes drifted shut again, a grimace of pain twisting his features.

“Dear God.” Lily brought a hand to her chest. “Where do you hurt? How bad is it?” She made a choked sound of exasperation. “As if I could do anything about it if you did tell me. Dammit, where’s a doctor when you need one? Overpaid quacks.” She drew in a deep, calming breath. “Don’t you worry. I’ll go get help.”

As she made a move to stand, he caught her hand, his grip surprisingly strong. Startled, she looked at him. His eyes were open, but this time the expression in them was so fierce she caught her breath. He moved his gaze, looking toward the other side of the road.

Lily followed his glance, then understood. “Gone,” she said. “Just took off when I stopped the car.” She frowned. “If he was a friend of yours, you need to choose a little more carefully.”

“He…wasn’t…”

The boy slurred his words, and as he spoke his eyes fluttered as if he was experiencing a wave of dizziness. Lily swore. “Look, you need help. I hate to leave you, but I live just across the street.” She pointed. “I’ll call 911 and be right ba—”

N…no. I’m…fine.”

Lily watched in horror as he struggled into a sitting position, his face twisting into that awful grimace of pain as he did. “But, you’re not fine,” she said holding out a hand to stop him. “Son, you could be really hur—”

“I’m not your son.”

Though little more than a hoarse whisper, she heard the defiance and bitterness in his voice. His tone and words told her much about him, things he would not want her to know.

Even as her heart went out to him, she understood that with a boy like him, the last thing she could afford to be was a pushover. “You’re hurt,” she said firmly, brooking no argument. “I don’t know how badly. If you can help me get you to my car, I’ll take you to the hospital. If you can’t, I have to call 911.”

Fear shot into his eyes. He grabbed her hand. “Don’t call anyone,” he managed to say weakly. “I’m fine. I am.” As if to prove his words, he started to stand.

And ended up on his knees, doubled over.

Lily’s worry became panic, but she quickly got a grip on it. “You can be as pigheaded as you like, I can’t leave you here. And I won’t. When I hit you, you became my responsibility.”

He looked into her eyes. The desperation in them told her everything. “No…Forget about it. Please,” he said again, when he had caught his breath. “I’m fine. Just promise…you won’t call…anyone.”

Lily clasped her hands together, torn. The boy was in some sort of trouble, that was obvious. Running from someone or something. Maybe the law, though she doubted it. He had the look of the hunted, of the outcast. Not of the criminal.

And he was hurt. He could have internal injuries or a concussion. He was slurring his words slightly; he couldn’t even stand, he was so hurt or dizzy.

So, how could she do as he asked?

She couldn’t.

Lily came to a decision. She knew someone she could call, an old friend who wouldn’t ask any questions. But she wouldn’t share that bit of information just yet.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” she said softly. “And I won’t call anyone…if you come with me.” When he started to protest, she cut him off. “I can’t just leave you. I won’t. So those are your choices. Come with me, or I call the cops. I don’t think you have the strength to crawl far enough or fast enough to elude them. If you think I’m wrong, go ahead and give it a try.”

She took his silence for acquiescence. “I’m glad we’re in agreement about this. Now, I’m going to try to get you to your feet, then to my car. You’re going to have to help me, because I’m too old and too weak to carry you.”

She did as she said, and in moments he was on his feet, though unsteadily. “Like I said before, I live right across the street. I’m going to make sure you’re okay. You’ll be safe with me until you feel strong enough to continue on your way.”

He hesitated, as if considering fighting her, then nodded. They started for her car. With each step, he leaned more heavily on her for support, though she sensed he hated it.

It took several minutes, but finally they reached the vehicle. She helped him into the front passenger seat, then went around to the driver’s side, climbed in and started the car. She drove the two hundred or so feet to her long driveway, and turned in. Only then did she dare peek at her young, unwilling companion.

He kept his gaze trained straight ahead; he held himself tautly, as if on guard, ready to spring from the vehicle at a second’s notice. He had drawn his mouth into a tight line, and Lily sensed that it took every ounce of his strength to keep from slumping over in his seat.

Poor boy, she thought, understanding him more than he would ever have believed if she told him. She understood him because she knew what it was to be an outcast, to not belong. To be alone.

Alone, always alone.

Lily drew in a shallow, aching breath. The Lord had exacted a harsh and appropriate payment for her sins. For how much worse this earthly hell than the fires that waited could ever be.