It wasn't until the next morning that I realized Jack had run off with my hat and scarf. In fact, it was the only way I could be sure that it hadn't all been a dream, as my missing accessories were the only real proof.
When I arrived at school, I spent the whole day looking for him. I even asked a few people if they knew who Jack Frasier was. It was a pretty small town, and it should have been easy to find someone that knew him, but I must have been right about his name being an alias. No one could place a white-haired boy named Jack Frasier. This only fueled my interest in him, although it also tightened a small knot of worry in my stomach. Stalkers could be pretty serious, couldn't they? I knew that celebrities and famous people had to deal with them all the time, but me? I was just an average girl in a small off-the-map town. And I couldn't get how safe Jack had seemed. Everything about him projected a sense of security, like he was truly watching over me, but there was no way to explain his "guarding" me. What did an 18 year old kid know about guarding someone? These questions ran circles through my head as I tried to tell myself to stop worrying so much.
There was still a part of me that was drawn to him, as well. I'd felt it ever since that first meeting. Of course, then I thought that he was just another good-looking guy that was too old for me, and, besides, I was barely 14, and I had no idea what to expect from the male gender, thanks to being shut out because of the leukemia. So, because of that, it was easy to shrug him off. But, if he was really only 18, then I couldn't deny the fluttery feeling I got in my stomach when I thought about him.
However, by the end of the day, I was beginning to doubt his existence again. No one knew who he was, and maybe I had just left the hat and scarf somewhere. I felt more and more dejected the more people answered, "Jack Frasier? Never heard of him. He goes to school here?" At my locker, however, another sign was offered to me.
I pulled open the door after mechanically dialing my combo, only to be shocked by the presence of my hat and scarf, both frosted over like they'd been worn in a snowstorm. I picked up my hat tentatively, feeling the burn of the ice. Inside my hat, there was a small piece of paper that read in scrawling handwriting: "Same place, same time? –J" I didn't bother to hide the relief on my face upon reading that note as I suppressed the bewilderment at how he got to my locker completely unnoticed.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in anticipation of what could happen; the weekend was looking a lot brighter now that it had a much more interesting twist to it.
By the time the sun set, I was beginning to feel feverish with anticipation. At least, that's what it felt like, at first. Despite my warm temperature, I was at the window before the pattern of frost could even finish forming. That bit escaped me, and it never occurred to me that a pattern of frost always signaled Jack's arrival and that it was weird, so I often found myself ignoring what little suspicion I had. I pulled the window open and looked down to where he was waiting. The wind felt harsher than it had the night before, but I took no note of it.
"What kind of state did you leave that hat and scarf in?" I asked, the tone of accusation returning to my words.
Jack only smiled up at me. "You shouldn't have let me run off with them."
For the first time, I cracked the smallest hint of a smile in reply to him. Instead of climbing over the sill like last time, I grabbed my coat and went downstairs, claiming to be meeting a friend to my mother.
Jack was leaning against the tree with a ball of snow in his hands, and he grinned at me as I approached. I shook my head, immediately catching his drift. "I don't think I can."
Jack's eyes showed a hint of concern. "Why? Is something wrong?"
I shook my head with a smile. "Only a slight fever."
Jack approached me, abandoning the snowball onto the winter floor. "Fever? That's bad, isn't it?"
"Well, it's not good," I replied sarcastically. Jack stopped in front of me, peering at my face with his intense blue orbs. I stared back almost petulantly, wondering why he would force me under his magnetic gaze.
"You look really flushed. Are you sure you're okay to be out here?" He averted his eyes from me to the ground, and added, "Most people can't handle a lot of cold."
I ignored his melancholy tone and pressed on, "No, Jack, I'm fine. It's a slight fever. Besides, I'm not done asking you questions."
He abruptly changed his mood with an upbeat laugh. "Well, I guess that's why I came back."
"You're name is not Jack Frasier." I stated confidently, starting off in a walk in no particular direction. Jack followed absently.
He shook his head. "You got me. It's not."
"So? What is it?"
"Well, it's Jack. But I can't tell you the rest yet. I don't think you'd believe me."
I pursed my lips in aggravation, but didn't ask again. Maybe he had a good reason for keeping it a secret? "Ok, fine. What about your dad?"
"My, my dad?" Jack blinked, and then looked up at the half moon that was hanging in the sky. "Well, he doesn't talk much. You know, the strong and silent type. But when he does say something, you know it's important."
"And he said I was special."
"Yeah, although I can't imagine why."
I gave him a pointed glance but he was grinning, as always. "Ok, sure. Can I meet your dad, then, if he knows so much about me? Do I know him? What's going on here?" The questions poured out of my mouth the more I realized I didn't know anything about what was going on. The frustration wasn't working well with my light head, either. Wait, when did my head start getting fuzzy?
"Hey, are you ok, Vanessa?" Jack shifted his gaze to me again, slipping in front of me and catching my shoulder in his hand. My head dipped as I felt an onslaught of vertigo hit me like a tidal wave, but that wasn't the worst part. I saw black spots in my vision, denoting that I was on the brink of passing out only a few blocks from home with a boy I hardly knew. I was so unsettled by the vertigo that I nearly doubled over and vomited right then. In the back of my mind, there was a seed of fear. The same one that had been there the last time.
I took a sharp intake of cold air in as Jack's icy hand caught my chin, bringing my eyes to his. His face displayed his anxiety almost beautifully, as if he were some sort of mid-15th century painting. As the first wave of vertigo settled on me, I pulled out of his grip, and said, "I have to go."
That was the last thing I did before passing out.
I woke up in the hospital. I knew I was there before I even opened my eyes: the familiar smells, the sounds of nurses rushing about, the anxiety of death that lingered over everyone, even those not sick at all. My groggy eyes took a moment to adjust to the yellow-white lights that flickered above me. I didn't move, mostly because I knew better. I just waited. Finally, I glanced down at my arms.
There was an IV in one, and a long purple bruise on the other. I lifted that arm and used my other one to slide the sleeve of the hospital gown up, where the bruise continued. I didn't notice the tears that were sliding off my face until one did, landing with a barely audible pop on my chest. I tried to sit up just slightly, and felt an aching pain go down my right side, the side of the bruised arm. My first thought was a feeble, hopeless one. Jack must have hurt me in some way, right? How else could I have developed such nasty bruises? But I knew how. This was what happened the first time. It was practically the same; I'd passed out from an anemic episode, fallen and bruised myself up, and then woke up in the hospital. Only, that time I woke up in the emergency room.
What convinced me that it hadn't been Jack, that it was actually the cancer coming back was this: I woke up in the same room I spent most of my days in the last time.
My mother rushed in all of a sudden, and, judging by the look on her face, I was right. She saw my tears before I could wipe them away and she sat down on the bed, wrapping me up in her arms, just like the first time. It was like some sort of sick movie flashback. My mother tried to tell me it was going to be alright, but I already knew I was in the recurrent stage. The chances were so much slimmer for me now.
After a few more minutes of my mom's useless promises and my brooding silence, she left to let me rest. Not a minute later, the frost appeared on my window. I waited to see if it would open, or if Jack would suddenly learn how to fly or something, seeing as we were on the fourth floor. Nothing like that happened.
I fell asleep watching the ice patterns wind on the window over and over, continuously appearing, melting away, and reappearing. I thought I saw his face through the window, but I was sure I was just imagining it.
AN: Thanks for reading. Review if you like!
