Return by A.M. Sexton Page A

with the taste of my vomit still
burning in the back of my throat, and Rhianne’s cries echoing in my
ears.
    I kissed his forehead. I pulled him into my
arms again.
    “It’ll be that much sweeter when the time is
right.”
    He sighed. “I suppose,” he said. And then, in
a tone I’d never heard him take, “Just hope you don’t bite your
tongue and black out in the process.”
    I stood frozen for a moment, stunned. “Are you
making a joke?”
    “Trying to,” he said, against my chest. “It
didn't come out so well, did it?”
    And yet, it had. I laughed, suddenly feeling
lighter than I had in days. The chip couldn’t produce humor —
Gideon had told me that himself. And in one clumsy attempt, Ayo had
proven to me that he was more than the bit of magic in his brain.
He’d proven to me, once again, that my instincts were
right.
    He was worth saving. He was worth whatever it
took to make things right.
    I rested my cheek against his unruly curls,
smiling.
    “It was perfect.”

Chapter Six
    The bed Gideon had given us was the finest I’d
ever slept in, the mattress deep and soft, and I fell asleep
immediately. Something roused me later in the night. I was
disoriented. I rubbed my eyes, trying to get my bearings. It took
me a minute to realize what was wrong: Ayo wasn’t with
me.
    “Ayo?” I said, sitting up. We’d drawn the
curtains before we went to bed, so the room should have been dark,
but the bedroom door stood open, allowing a wedge of light from the
hallway to fall across the foot of the bed. I climbed out of bed
and crept into the hallway. “Ayo?” I called, although I kept my
voice low. I didn’t want to wake the whole house.
    I caught him halfway down the stairs. “Ayo,” I
said, taking his arm. “Come back to bed.”
    “I have to go.”
    “We’ll go tomorrow.” Although I’d been saying
that for two days. “We can’t go now. It’s the middle of the
night.”
    He nodded blankly, seemingly unconvinced, but
he let me lead him back to our bedroom. There was a single armchair
next to the bed. It was damn heavy, but after a minute or two of
effort, I managed to shove it in front of our closed door, where
its weight would work to my advantage. If nothing else, it would
slow him down. Hopefully he’d make enough noise trying to move it
that he’d wake me.
    We got into bed again, and I pulled him close
to me, holding him tight. “Stay with me. Please.”
    “I will.”
    “You need to fight it.”
    A tremor ran through him. “I’m
trying.”
    Twice more, he tried to escape after I’d
fallen asleep. Both times, I was awakened as he attempted to move
the chair from in front of the door. The third time, he tried the
window. I woke to find the curtains pulled back, the room grey with
moonlight, and him kneeling on the sill, leaning precariously over
the edge of the window box to stare down.
    My heart hammered in my chest. I barely dared
move for fear he’d leap.
    “Ayo?”
    He didn’t turn toward me. He didn’t take his
eyes away from that empty space between our window and the ground.
“I think I’ll have to jump.”
    I tried to keep my voice calm, even though
alarm flared in my brain. “We’re two floors up.”
    “Would it be better to land in the bushes or
on the sidewalk?”
    “Neither. It would be better to come back
inside.”
    “I can’t. I have to go now.”
    “Ayo—”
    “I might even be able to hit the grass, if
I—”
    “Ayo, look at me!”
    He did, although his eyes seemed strangely far
away. I took one cautious step toward him. Then another. I held my
hand out to him. I was afraid to touch him, for fear he’d jump, but
equally afraid to leave him out of my reach. “Come back
inside.”
    He scrunched his nose in confusion and touched
that spot behind his ear. “Inside?”
    “Away from the window.” One more step and I
was able to touch him, one hand on his back, the other on his arm.
“Please?”
    My touch seemed to wake him from whatever
dream he’d been