
THE REAPING
By M. Leighton
Copyright 2011, M. Leighton
Photo by Dan Photography
Kindle Edition
Prologue
I gave myself up to the excruciating biting and tearing, ripping and gnawing of the group. Blood was pouring down my arms and dripping from my fingertips before I fell to my knees, my legs suddenly lacking the strength to support me.
Above their hungry groaning and vicious squabbling, I could hear the coarse crackle of my clothes ripping as they struggled to get through my jeans and sweater to the skin beneath. I could only imagine what they'd already done to my arms and chest.
I stayed upright as long as I could, but within minutes, the force of bodies pushing and hands pulling was too much for me to bear. When they maneuvered me to the ground, I knew I didn't have much time left.
CHAPTER ONE
The sun was bright and warm on my face as we walked west toward home. In the distance, the mountains rose up in purple majesty, just like the song says, their jagged peaks cutting sharply into the horizon. Their craggy faces were painted with shadow and I knew their dark tips would soon be frosted with snow. The air held the unmistakable nip of the coming winter.
The red convertible raced past me, moving so fast my hair lifted a little on the wind. It screeched to a halt at the stop sign. I could hear the delighted squeals of the girls that had been thrown from their perch atop the back seat into the laps of the two boys in the front. A pang of longing resonated somewhere in the vicinity of my heart. As long as my dad had any say-so, I'd never be a part of a scene like that.
"They're going to get someone killed," Leah said gravely. I looked down at her just as she was pushing her glasses up her nose. She shook her head in disapproval, setting her springy black curls to bouncing. She didn't understand my fascination with "them".
They say opposites attract and that certainly held true for me and Leah Kirby, physically and otherwise. She was a petite girl with alabaster skin and chocolate eyes a few shades lighter than her hair, while I was closer to six feet than five with mousy, light brown hair, a medium skin tone and the green eyes of a cat.
And the contrast didn't stop there. Leah had no desire whatsoever to participate in anything but Mathletes and show choir. Her grandest goal in life was to graduate at the top of her class and get a scholarship to Harvard. I, on the other hand, was willing to settle on a less prestigious future in favor of enjoying the here and now a little bit more. I wanted to spread my wings, attend cool lake parties, swoon over my first kiss, get my heart broken. I wanted to experience life, not just plan for it.
A revving engine drew my attention back to the convertible. With a screech of tires, it sped away, laughter drifting back to us on the cooling September breeze. It faded as did the convertible, my hopes of high school stardom disappearing around the corner with them.
"I guess you're right," I said with a sigh, resigned to being left in the dust a little while longer.
When you turn eighteen, I reminded myself. It was the magical age when my father would no longer have control over my life. Mentally, I dangled it out in front of myself like a carrot. It got me out of bed on many days when I'd much rather play hooky and be missed by absolutely no one. Except Leah, that is.
I had somehow convinced myself that I would be somebody then, that I'd suddenly transform into something special and that I'd do something great with my fabulousness. I wanted to be important to someone who was not instrumental in my birth. You know, use my powers for good and all that.
We resumed our walk home, Leah having stopped when I did to ogle the convertible. She lived seven doors down from me. Despite our common age of seventeen, we both walked to school, which was how we met last year. My father and I moved a lot and Leah was the kind of friend I typically attracted when entering a new school, the kind that had few other friends.
My mind was still on the quartet in the convertible, Leah's incessant chatter a pleasant white-noise backdrop for my fantasy, a fantasy in which I was one of the girls in the back seat. I couldn't be sure how many times she called my name before it roused me from my daydream. By her frown, I'd say quite a few.
We'd made it all the way to her house and apparently I'd kept up my end of the conversation without saying a word. Leah was a very low maintenance friend.
"Any big plans tonight?"
Unfortunately, my answer was the same as it had been every other Friday night since moving to rural Virginia. "Helping Dad with the car. That's about it. You?" I asked only out of politeness. I knew the answer. It changed about as much as mine did.
"Got some new books from the library. I can't wait to get started. This one is a biography of..."
And that's when she lost me. I was gone again, back at the stop sign with the convertible, imagining the scene if they'd pitched one girl out and invited me to come take her place. Finally Leah waved goodbye and turned to walk up her driveway, leaving me to make my way home alone. And that's how I liked it---just me and my imagination.
When I reached my mailbox, I stopped. Automatically, I wrenched open the rusty lid and took the stack of mail from inside, tucking it under my arm. I turned toward the small brick house that had been home for the past fourteen months and, with a sigh, I left my daydreams on the concrete sidewalk. There was neither time nor room for them where I was going. According to my dad there was no room for "silly" in our house. And he considered daydreams---along with boys, parties and makeup---silly.
The garage door was open and I could see a pair of ratty, oil-stained tennis shoes sticking out from beneath the rear of the primer-coated 1969 Camaro that would one day be mine.
Hopefully before I turn thirty, I thought snidely.
"Hey, Dad."
"Hey, butterfly," came the muffled response. I smiled at the nickname, as I always did. My father had been calling me "butterfly" for as long as I could remember. It was strange in a way; he was anything but fanciful. In fact, I felt sure that the term "tough love" had originated somewhere in our household. But, tough though it often felt, my father had never let me forget how much he loved me. "How was your day?"
"Same old, same old."
"How'd the physics test go?"
"I got a ninety-eight." I could keep neither the pride nor the smile from my voice.
Dad let out a whoop of laughter. "That's my girl! Never doubted you for a second."
"Of course you didn't. You've been teaching me chemistry and physics since I was eight. Aren't you going to ask which question I missed?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because I know which question you missed."
"And how do you know that?"
"Because you still haven't read In Search of Schrödinger's Cat like I told you to. I'm sure the question you missed was about quantum entanglement."
And he was right, which never set well with me because he seemed always to be right. I rolled my eyes, but held my tongue.
"That's what I thought," he said smugly.
I stuck my tongue out at his feet then silently scolded myself for the childish act. "How's the car coming?"
"Just finishing up the exhaust. Why don't you change and come on back down?"
"I thought I'd go for a run before I start dinner. Can it wait until after?"
There was a pause, a pause in which I knew he was considering my motives. While Dad was insistent that I learn...everything, he was equally insistent that I stay in shape for some reason. I'd never really understood why I needed to be able to run ten miles without stopping, any more than I understood why he felt like I needed to know how to rebuild an engine, explain string theory, clean a Glock, track a wounded animal, use Krav Maga and start a fire from nothing more than dry moss and a flint, but he did.
For the most part, I didn't mind, but sometimes I just wanted to be normal. And the only time I felt like I could even get within a mile of being normal was when I ran. I could be a regular girl when I ran, a star athlete even. I could be by myself when I ran. I could daydream all I wanted when I ran. I could escape when I ran. So I ran.
"Alright, but no excuses after dinner."
"Ok, Dad." With that, I went inside to go through the mail then change.
Less than five minutes later, I was clothed in shorts and a tank top, hair in a pony tail, feet on the pavement. My mind drifted to all the places that it could only go when I ran. It went to another world where I had a mother and siblings, where I was popular and my biggest worry was what to wear for prom rather than how to get engine grease out from under my fingernails.
I was twirling through a slow song at my prom, in the arms of Stephen Fitchco, the best looking quarterback I'd ever seen, when I heard the horn. By the time I looked up, it was too late; the black Honda was upon me.
CHAPTER TWO
Someone was calling my name over and over again, shaking me. I wondered how this all fit into my daydream, but a thick layer of cobweb had settled over my mind. On and on, someone continued calling my name and shaking my shoulder. I wanted to tell them to stop; it was extremely aggravating. But for some reason my lips didn't seem to want to cooperate.
Again, someone called my name. This time I noticed that the voice sounded vaguely familiar. And in a good way, too. It induced a very pleasant sensation somewhere in the pit of my stomach.
I pushed my way through the cobwebs, my eyelids the first body parts to respond to my commands. They opened to a scene that dipped and swayed and doubled. I closed them, counted to ten then opened them again. This time my vision was clearer, though I suspected that I might still be daydreaming. The handsome face of none other than Stephen Fitchco hovered over me, his sandy eyebrows pinched together in a worried frown over clear blue eyes.
"Carson! Carson!" It was his voice. And he knew my name!
"What?"
Stephen let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. "Thank God you're ok," he said.
Ok? What's that supposed to mean? I thought. Then I noticed that Stephen's head was framed by blue sky. Just then, the sting of gravel biting into my back penetrated my brain. Then I remembered the black Honda.
"Am I dead?"
"What? Dead?"
"I must be dead. Otherwise you wouldn't be here," I reasoned.
He chuckled. "Well, you're not dead. Can you move?"
Good question. First I tried to wiggle my toes. To my intense relief, they moved inside the confines of my tennis shoes. Whew! No spinal damage. I wiggled my fingers and shrugged my shoulders. Everything seemed to be in working order.
"Yes."
Stephen smiled a handsome smile that made me feel pretty and special, two things I didn't feel very often. "Good. Let me help you sit up."
Stephen slipped one arm under my shoulders and grabbed my hand with his other then gently urged me into a sitting position. My head swam dizzily.
"Wh-what happened?"
"You nearly got run over."
"But I didn't?"
"Uh, no," he said, his voice adopting a strange tone that caused me to look over at him.
"Then wh-how---" I trailed off.
"I'm not really sure how you did it, but you, like, jumped on the hood of my car then sort of ran across the top and fell off the back I think."
Well, that didn't sound like something I'd do at all. And surely I would remember such an amazing feat.
"Hmm" was my only response.
"It was actually pretty cool," he said, his admiration obvious.
"Hmm," I said again, though I liked the admiration.
"You don't remember any of that?"
"No."
"What do you remember?"
"A horn. And seeing a black Honda's grill coming toward me."
"And that's it?"
"That's it."
"Maybe you should get checked out. You might have hit your head when you fell."
At that moment I was far too enamored of him to dwell on his idiotic statement. I was lying in the middle of the street and I'd obviously been unconscious. Of course I'd hit my head. Duh!
"Hmm," was all I said for the third time, still not yet fully engaged in reality.
"You know, maybe I should take you to the hospital. Just to be sure you're alright."
That got my attention. "No. I'm fine. Really." To prove my point, I pushed myself to my feet then promptly fell into Stephen when the world tilted on its axis.
"You don't seem 'fine'."
"Well, I am."
"At least let me give you a ride home."
Extend my fantasy a little longer? I was all for that. "Okay," I said without a moment's hesitation.
"Come on," he said, pulling me snugly against his side and guiding me around his car to the passenger side.
After helping me in, Stephen climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. Music heavily laden with guitar and drums blasted through the speakers.
"Sorry," Stephen said, smiling sheepishly and turning the volume down.
I simply smiled in return. I could offer no commentary on his musical selection. That was yet another item that made my father's "silly" list and was, therefore, deemed a waste of my time. For the millionth time, I mourned the death of my youth. I felt like I'd barely lived at all. Oh, how I longed for some excitement, some meaning, some importance to life.
On the short ride home, I absorbed as much detail as I could about the scene inside the Honda. Knowing I'd likely not have the chance again, I memorized the smell of Stephen's cologne, the competent way his hands gripped the steering wheel, the tenor of his voice as he talked about his upcoming football game. For just a few minutes, I was a regular girl, enjoying the company of the most popular guy in school, a world of endless possibilities outside my window.
And then I saw my house come into view.
Stephen pulled up to the curb in front of my mailbox and put the car in park. He turned toward me. "Are you sure you're going to be alright?"
I nodded and smiled, though it wobbled with emotion. My moment was over. "I'm fine. Thanks for the ride," I said, opening my door.
"No problem," he assured me, smiling his handsome smile. "See you at school Monday."
I closed the door, unable to respond for the questions swirling in my head. Was that a promise? It sure sounded like one. Of course, I wanted it to be a promise more than life itself. Did I dare dwell on such an extraordinary thing? Had my stunning acrobatics impressed him? Was I suddenly interesting, now that he'd nearly killed me? How did he know where I lived? Did Dad see him drop me off?
Unfortunately, only one of my questions was to be answered this night. And the answer was yes, Dad did see Stephen drop me off.
I marched up the driveway, suddenly aware of a throbbing inside my skull. I decided to avoid the garage and go through the front door instead, only to find Dad standing behind the glass, arms crossed over his chest.
"Who was that?" I knew that disapproving look. Dad's shaggy dark brown hair was mussed from frustrated fingers. The deep groove between his hazel eyes was even more pronounced and his mouth was set in a grim, straight line.
I thought about lying, but quickly realized there was no point. There was nothing I could say that would smooth things over; he'd see that I had supposedly been going on a run and ended up with a boy instead. Of course, there was the small possibility he'd believe the truth.
"Stephen Fitchco."
"And what were you doing with him?"
"There was a, uh, an accident and he gave me a ride home."
At first he looked puzzled. "What kind of accident?" Then I saw his eyes drift to my cheek then down to my arm. They both stung so I could only assume they showed telltale signs of my encounter with the pavement.
I watched as Dad slowly dropped his arms, his big hands curling into tight fists. He was ready to pass judgment and then execute somebody, even though he had no idea what had happened. "Are you alright? Who did this to you?"
See what I have to deal with? Since my mother and sister had died in "the accident" all those years ago, Dad had been obsessed with keeping me close and safe. Obsessed! It had devastated him, so much so that he couldn't even keep pictures of them around. Consequently, all his crazy was sharply focused on me.
"It was nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing. Look at your face. And your hair." He continued his assessment of me. "And your arm and your knee. And---"
"Alright, Dad!" I cut him off before he worked himself up into a real twirl. "It was my fault. I was running, not paying attention, when I heard a horn. I noticed it too late and then..." I trailed off, partly because my memory of the rest was second hand and partly because details made him even crazier.
"Were you hurt?"
"Just scraped up a little. No biggee, Dad." He wasn't buying it.
"The boy that brought you home, is he the one that hit you?"
"Uh,um," I stammered, not wanting to incriminate Stephen just in case he did suddenly find me interesting.
"Carson Marie," Dad said, the warning clear in his use of my first and middle name.
"I don't remember exactly what happened. He was the one helping me when I woke up and---"
"When you woke up?"
"Well, yeah. And---"
"So you were knocked unconscious?"
This was getting worse by the second. I didn't really think it was that big a deal, but Dad was quickly reaching Def Con Five and I didn't know how to reverse the process.
"I guess, but---"
"We need to get you to the hospital," he said, turning on his heel and snatching his truck keys off the table by the door.
Grabbing my elbow, Dad herded me out the door and to his truck and we made our way to the hospital. I knew there was no talking him down, so I went with silence as my next best option. The least I could do was not make things worse.
Three and a half excruciatingly boring and embarrassing hours later, we were pulling back into the driveway. I'd been given a clean bill of health and a list of concussion precautions. Barring any complications from the knock to the head, the ER doctor assured me I'd be fine.
The one positive was that Dad was on his best behavior. At some point on the quiet drive to the hospital, he'd realized that his anger was misplaced and that what I needed was some TLC. And, believe it or not, when TLC was needed, Dad was actually a pretty good source. It's just that he rarely ever thought it was needed. On the odd occasion when it was called for, though, I basked in it, just as I was doing now.
We'd already stopped for take-out on the way home. Dad had also run into the store for my favorite ice cream. While he was in there, he'd picked up a movie that I'd wanted to see. Movies were another "silly" thing that I seldom got to enjoy, but since the opportunity had presented itself, I wasn't going to squander it.
After seeing me safely inside, Dad went back out to the truck for the food while I went to the bathroom to clean up. I had gotten a glimpse of my reflection in a sink mirror at the hospital and I'd taken quite a tumble, leaving dirt and gravel and dried blood in several highly visible places.
One thing I'd always been grateful for was Dad's insistence that wherever we moved, we find a home that had two full baths. He always gave me the master suite and he took another room and used the spare bathroom. It was his one concession to my gender.
I hobbled past the living room and through my room into my bathroom and shut the door behind me. I stripped and grabbed a washcloth with the intention of a sponge bath-type cleaning. When I saw that I'd have to clean most of me anyway, I decided to run a hot bath and soak my sore spots while I cleaned. Dinner could wait.
I poured some shampoo under the running water (the poor man's bubble bath) and sat on the edge of the tub to await the result. When the tub was half full, I stepped in and slid down beneath the thin froth that had covered the water's surface.
The instant water touched my skin my entire right side began to burn. I held my breath and waited for the stinging to stop. Finally it did and I relaxed onto the cool ceramic at my back.
I slid down to wet my hair, the sloshing suds just barely covering my ears. I never went completely under; I'd always had a fear of water. Since I was a child, I felt as if I weren't alone, like someone or something was in the water with me, waiting to drag me into oblivion. There had even been a few times when I'd gone under accidentally that I thought I saw a face in the water, hovering, watching. Waiting.
"Carson? You alright?"
Dad startled me, though I was far from displeased that his concern had interrupted my disturbing thoughts.
"Yeah," I answered.
I heard his footsteps fade as he walked away and I relaxed once more against the tub. Clearing my head of all thought, I soaked for a while. When the water that lapped at my chest became decidedly cool, I lifted my hand and noted the distinct pruning of my fingertips, a clear indication it was time to get to work cleaning all my various scraped and soiled body parts then get out.
I wet my washcloth and lifted my right leg out of the water. The outer side was covered in road rash, from calf to hip. I gently scrubbed away the dried blood and black smudges. I picked off bits of skin and dug out small pieces of gravel. As I rinsed the grime away, a speck of something shiny on my calf near my knee caught the light.
"How'd I get glass under my skin?" I asked no one in particular.
I rubbed at the fragment with my washcloth, but it didn't budge. The location made it hard to get an up-close look, but I was positive it was glass; it's the only thing it could be. I decided that time would work it out or my skin would heal up around it.
I moved on to clean my hip and ribs as best I could, working my way up toward my arms and face. As I was picking skin and gravel from a particularly nasty scrape on my forearm, I encountered another shiny spot halfway between my wrist and elbow. I brought my arm up for a closer inspection.
What I'd thought was glass was actually a pencil eraser-sized spot of something that reminded me of mother of pearl, creamy and slightly iridescent. I rubbed at it with my washcloth, but it wouldn't come off. I pinched the area between my thumb and forefinger and squeezed, but nothing came out. Finally, I scraped at it with my fingernail, hoping to pick up the edge so I could dig it out. Instead, my skin rolled back the tiniest bit, revealing more of the creamy material just beneath the surface.
I sat up in the tub, an uneasy sense of foreboding swelling in my chest. I tugged at my skin, pulling and stretching it around the scrape. It slid this way and that, baring more shiny stuff, like I had another skin beneath my skin. I dug my fingernail in and pushed, rolling up a long piece of flesh. It bled a little, but I felt no pain; it would take more than that to intrude on my rising panic.
I dabbed at the blood, my heart pounding in my ears, my breath coming more quickly. As I feared, with the blood cleared, a long streak of shimmering dermis was visible along the length of my arm.
There was no keeping my panic at bay now; waves of it flooded my mind.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God!" I chanted. I thought of the scratches on my face and nausea rolled through my stomach.
I hopped out of the tub and made my way to the sink. I leaned in to look at my right cheek in the mirror. I turned my face this way and that and caught the light as it shone on more of the glistening sub-layer.
Though there were many other concerns and considerations that should've been a priority in my mind, the one that surfaced first was what a pariah I'd be in school if I had developed some sort of freaky skin condition. My life was far from normal already; I didn't need anything else to set me apart from my peers.
I thought of what a cruel cosmic joke that would be, wanting to be special and ending up a circus freak.
Yeah, that's special alright, I thought bitterly. Sounds like the type of higher power my dad would get a kick out of serving.
I thought of showing my father, asking him what he thought it might be, but considering his propensity toward overreaction when it came to all things Carson, I decided that would be a bad idea.
I moved to the commode and sat down on the lid. I closed my eyes and took several deep, shaky breaths.
"Calm down, Carson. Calm down," I whispered into the stillness.
I sat there for several minutes waiting for rational thought to return. I knew better than to make an emotional decision. Dad had drummed that into me from a very young age.
You can't trust your feelings, butterfly, he'd say. Or, Feelings are fickle, Carson. Don't rely on 'em.
I leaned on that advice now, finally deciding to wait and see what the morning brought. That was another nugget of wisdom Dad had always poured in. Everything looks different after a good night's sleep. And usually he was right, much as I hated to admit it.
I pulled myself up by my proverbial bootstraps and went to the cabinet for some concealer. It was another of the few concessions Dad made to my being a girl. I was particularly thankful for that tonight.
I dabbed some of the flesh colored liquid on the scrapes on my face to hide the pale layer underneath then I went and picked out some winter pajamas that had full pants and long sleeves. When I was dressed, I surveyed my reflection and decided I'd pass casual inspection.
Dad and I spent a relaxing night eating Chinese food, ice cream and watching a movie. I tried to still my nerves, but I was jumpy and couldn't wait until bed time. I used the excuse of a traumatic day to turn in early.
As I stood in front of the mirror, brushing my teeth, I let my mind run elsewhere. I rehashed the events of the day. When I came to the most disturbing part, it brought me back to reality and brought my eyes back to my cheek.
I leaned in closer and rubbed my fingertips over the smooth skin of my cheek. My mouth fell open in astonishment. All that was visible was a few dots of concealer---with nothing to conceal. The scrapes were completely healed.
CHAPTER THREE
A dull throbbing at my right temple woke me. I tried to open my eyes, but a blinding whiteness poured through the cracks. Pain cut through my head like a hot knife. Quickly, I squeezed them shut. I waited a few seconds then opened my eyes again, though just a slit. This time I was prepared for the pain. I waited for it to subside as my eyes adjusted to the brightness. When they finally did, I opened them wider.
Above me were bare tree branches, crisscrossing the sky like bony, dead fingers laced together. Beyond them were ominous gray clouds. They looked like snow. That would explain the brilliance. And the cold.
I was lying on my back and it was freezing. My fingers and toes had lost most of their feeling, but I could still wiggle them. Slowly, I turned my head to follow one of the trees to the ground. At its base, about ten feet away, was a dense patch of mountain laurels. Their evergreen leaves sagged under the weight of a thick dusting of snow. I looked to my right and saw a similar scene. I was in some sort of clearing in the middle of a laurel thicket.
A spot of color drew my eye. A bright red dot marred the fluffy white topping on one leaf. I raised my head a few inches off the ground to get a better look. There was another drop on a lower branch. Then another. And another. I followed the crimson drops across the snow as they neared where I lay. The size and number of them steadily increased the closer they got to me.
I reached out to touch one that was within arm's reach. I dipped my fingers into the cold snow and scooped up the red drop. The snow didn't melt in my hand. But it turned pink.
My hand was covered in blood.
A wave of fear washed over me, squeezing the air from my lungs, making it difficult to breathe. I sat up quickly, my head spinning in rebellion. The forest around me spun and swam. I closed my eyes until the vertigo subsided then I slowly opened them again.
I held my hand out in front of me and examined it. I didn't see any cuts or scrapes, nothing to account for the blood on me or in the snow for that matter. I straightened out my arm. It was covered in blood, too.
Then I looked down.
The pale yellow parka I was wearing was drenched in blood and torn to pieces. My legs were stretched out in front of me and they were saturated as well, the denim shredded. No wonder I was so cold.
I scanned the ground in the clearing. There was blood all around me---splatters and streaks, even puddles. It was pooled between my legs. When I saw what I was sitting in, I hurried to my feet. What was left of my clothing was soaked with it. I could feel the wet weight of it all over my back side, too.
I took stock of all my parts and was relieved that I seemed to be intact. I checked for wounds elsewhere, but again I found none. I waited for pain, but none came. After that, only one thing was on my mind: whose blood was it?
I looked left and right and, besides the blood, the snow was completely undisturbed. There was not so much as a footprint impressed upon its perfect surface. I'd have to question later how I'd gotten to where I was without leaving any trace of which direction I'd come.
I spun in a tight circle, looking around for the source of all that blood. That's when I saw him.
I managed to stifle the scream that bubbled up in my throat. I stood there, in the bloody snow, motionless, just staring at him.
My first thought was that he was dead. And that I might have killed him. My eyes scanned his long form in a quick once-over, looking for blood and injuries. I didn't see any. Relief washed over me when I saw his wide chest rising and falling rhythmically. He was alive. Alive, but unconscious.
I doubted he was much older than me, maybe just over twenty, and he was clothed entirely in black leather. Only his arms and head were bare. I saw what looked like a black strip of leather lying beside his head. I thought it might have once held the longish hair that was currently spread about his head in a dark halo. Even in his present state, I could see that he was handsome and incredibly intimidating.
Then a troubling thought occurred to me. I looked at his big hands where they lay limp in the snow at his sides. Hands like that could easily rip a girl my size to pieces. There was no blood on them, but still...what if?
My eyes snapped back up to his face when I heard a low moan. A frown pinched his thick brows together, but I could still see the dark crescent of his lashes as they rested on his sharp cheekbones. I knew that if I had any chance of escaping whatever gruesome things had taken place here, I had to move fast. Very fast.
Slowly, I stepped back with one foot, the snow crunching lightly under my weight. The rise and fall of his chest stopped and I held my breath, praying that he wouldn't awaken. I waited what seemed like an eternity for him to start breathing again. When he did and it looked unlikely that he would wake up, I stepped back with my other foot. Then I stopped. And waited. And watched.
Nothing.
Encouraged, I took another step back. Then another. When still there was no indication he was waking, I picked up the pace a little. I kept my steps as light and soundless as possible.
When I'd successfully put nearly ten feet between myself and the stranger, I turned to navigate the trees. I shifted sideways to slide between two laurels then stepped around a huge oak tree...and ran right into a wide chest covered in skin tight, black leather.
My breath caught in my throat. I looked behind me, back at the now empty impression in the snow. The stranger was gone and was standing right in front of me, staring down at me with furious silver eyes.
The chirp of my alarm clock woke me. Really woke me. I was in my bed, in my room, gasping for air like I'd run a marathon. My heart was hammering against my ribs.
It was just a dream, Carson. Just a dream, I reassured myself. It had felt so incredibly real; I was still shaken from running into that huge stranger.
I lay back against my pillows and concentrated on taking slow, steady gulps of air. I counted backwards from ten and, as usual, it calmed me. Another Porter family trick.
Pushing my covers aside, I made my way to the bathroom to turn on the water for my shower. As I shed my pajamas, I noticed how cold my fingers and toes were and decided that I must've kicked the covers off at some point during the night.
As I walked past the mirror to step into the shower, a dark spot on my cheek caught my attention. I leaned over the sink to look closer. It was a single red drop. I wiped it away with one finger and brought it around for inspection. My heart kicked up to a quicker pace. It looked like blood.
I stepped back to examine myself for injuries, almost hoping to find one. I'd rather have scratched myself during the night than think that it had somehow come from my dream.
I stood in a shaft of Saturday morning sun that was streaming through the bathroom window. The light turned my normally mousy-brown hair to a glistening spun gold in a way I hadn't noticed before. It looked almost as if the color had lightened overnight to a beautiful honey blonde.
Shaking off the distraction of my hair, I inspected my face. I saw no injuries or scrapes and still no evidence of the abrasions that had been there the evening before. In fact, I was as good as new, the skin on my arm, hip and leg having healed as well.
"What is going on?" I asked my reflection.
Having no answers, I pushed the troubling thought aside and focused on the day ahead and skirting Dad's questions about where my scratches had gone.
After a quick shower, I dressed and went out to the garage, knowing Dad would already be out there. And he was. Still working on the exhaust, too.
With an internal sigh of gratitude, I slipped into our routine. For once, it was welcome and comforting.
After lunch, I was helping Dad with the Flowmaster mufflers, tightening up some bolts he had started for me while he held the muffler assembly in place. He had been grilling me about engine parts. Any time we worked on a project, he used the time to teach me everything there was to know about the subject and then quizzed me relentlessly about it until we were finished. Today was no exception.
I had both hands on the wrench, straining to make the bolts as tight as I could when Dad threw me a curve ball.
"So, Carson, is there something you'd like to tell me about your hair?"
At first I was confused by his question then I remembered the lighter, more golden tint I'd noticed in the light that morning. I didn't think anyone else would detect it.
"No. Why?"
"Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
Just the way he said it was enough to irritate me. "Notice what? I haven't done anything."
"Carson Marie, you know better than to lie to me."
"I'm not lying. When have I had time to do anything to my hair?"
He was thoughtful for a second before he answered. "Last night I guess."
"Well I didn't. I think it's just getting lighter."
"Overnight?"
"I guess so, Dad. What's the big deal?"
My temper was escalating by the second.
"No big deal. You know how I feel about that kind of thing. And you know I'd better not catch you in a lie, young lady."
"I'm not lying!" I was shouting, suddenly fuming.
I was jerking at the wrench furiously when it slipped causing me to mash my fingers against the floor of the trunk. I dropped the wrench, barely able to hold back the string of obscenities that rushed to the tip of my tongue. I was positively livid; a reaction way out of proportion to what was happening, but not one that I seemed to have any control over.
Within seconds I heard Dad yelp. When I looked down at him, he was shaking his fingers.
"What did you do?"
"I don't know why, but that muffler got hot all of a sudden. Really hot!"
I could see that it was beginning to take on a reddish glow like metal typically does when it is superheated. As quickly as it had come, my anger dissipated, eclipsed by concern for my dad.
We rolled out from under the car, each examining our injuries. Neither was bad. I felt sure we'd live.
"Maybe it's time for a break. How about some lunch," I suggested.
As soon as we went inside, I poured myself a huge glass of water before I fixed us each a sandwich. I was suddenly parched.
After that we ate in silence, neither of us willing to broach the subject of my irrational anger. As I nibbled my sandwich, more thirsty than hungry, I couldn't help but wonder where all this temper was coming from. And the language! I never used bad language and was shocked that it had come so quickly to mind.
When we were finished, we headed back out to finish the exhaust. When it was done, thankfully, Dad let me off the hook and said we'd start on the suspension Monday. I had a free night.
I decided to go for a run before taking another shower. I changed into my running clothes and shoes and hit the pavement. I thought of my options for a free Saturday night. It only took about a half mile to realize that I had few and those weren't very appealing. Homework, science fair project prep, call Leah or lock myself in my room.
What a depressing thought! I shook off that funk, unwilling to let it ruin one of the few things I truly enjoyed. I redirected my thoughts and let my mind drift to the incident with Stephen Fitchco the previous evening. I wondered what he would be doing on a Saturday night. I doubted his options would be as boring as mine.
All too soon, I was back at my mailbox with no better choices than when I'd left. Resigned, I decided to shower and spend the night locked in my room.
The next morning I woke feeling like I hadn't slept at all. I had fallen asleep before I had a shower and then dreamed the same dream about the bloody snow and the stranger. It took a lot of effort to drag myself from the comfort of my warm bed and make myself get into the shower.
I spent a little extra time on my right shoulder, having seen a smudge of grease on it as I undressed. I scrubbed the spot with my loofa, knowing that would get it off. The rough sponge could remove anything, and I mean anything, including several layers of skin if I wasn't careful.
Spontaneously, I decided the rest of my skin could use a nice exfoliation, too, so I squirted some shower gel onto the sponge and went to work buffing the remainder of my body.
I stepped out of the shower feeling soft and smooth from head to toe. Unable to see my reflection because of the steam, I took my lotion into the bedroom to complete my morning ritual.
Just to be sure I'd gotten the spot off my shoulder, I walked to the full length mirror on the back of my door and turned halfway around where I could see my back. Not only was the smudge not gone, it seemed to have gotten bigger and was turning a reddish orange color. It had a teardrop shape to it, fat on one end and dramatically tapered on the other. It reminded me of a flame, licking up toward my neck. Maybe I'd burned myself and not realized it. After all, Dad said the muffler had been hot.
As I turned back to face the mirror, I noticed how the light shone on my skin, even without lotion. I walked over to the window and held my hands up. My skin looked different. Better. Luminous. I turned my hands over then held out my arms.
My skin was practically flawless. It looked like a thin, peaches-'n-cream veil covering a pool of shimmering liquid. I looked at my belly and legs and they, too, were covered with the same sheen. The tone and texture were absolutely perfect, looking airbrushed like I'd seen on models in magazines.
I walked back to the mirror to put on lotion. As I massaged the scented cream into my skin, I noticed several other subtle, nearly imperceptible changes as well. My waist, it looked a little more trim that usual, my belly flat and taut. My hips flared out in a more womanly curve then tapered down to legs that had never looked leaner. And my boobs---they seemed fuller and were tipped with a perfect dusty rose.
If I didn't know my body so well, I might not have noticed. But I did. I don't know how long I stood studying my reflection and all the differences I found there, but I was so immersed in my own thoughts, I jumped when Dad knocked at the door.
"Hurry up, Carson. We're going to be late," he boomed.
Pushing the bizarre thoughts out of my head, I hurried to the closet and pulled out a neat fitted dress in black that buttoned up the front. Church clothes were the one area in which Dad never fussed about me splurging and looking like a girl.
I slipped on my shoes and went to stand in front of the mirror one last time before heading out the door. Sure enough, even my clothes fit a little differently, the material a little more snug around my hips and chest, looser around my waist. I shook out my hair, which looked even lighter against the black of my dress, and then rushed out to meet Dad.
I hopped into the truck, which was already running, and Dad sped away. I saw him cast several sidelong glances in my direction, but, much to my relief, he didn't say a word about my appearance. I hoped he wouldn't notice anything but my hair. I doubted that would be the case, however, because Dad is extremely observant.
We walked into church just as the choir was starting to sing. There were no seats near the front so we had to walk all the way down the aisle to the back row where there were still a few empty spaces on the pews.
As we passed, I saw several people who normally never paid me any attention looking at me and whispering. Some were girls, some were guys. I wondered what they saw. A freak, a weirdo, a pretty girl, something different they couldn't quite put their finger on? It made me more than a little uncomfortable. I'd been a wallflower all my life, plainly not noteworthy. I'd wanted attention, yes, but in a good way. The good kind of attention. I didn't know if I could stand the curiously repulsed attention that being a freak would get me.
Appropriately, Mike, Dad's pastor, taught in 2 Corinthians 12:6--8. I didn't usually pay much attention, but this time I couldn't help but see the parallels to my own life. Paul had some sort of affliction, one he called a "thorn in the flesh". Three times he asked God to remove the thorn, but God didn't.
What a God, I thought bitterly. Paul was one of His best helpers and He wouldn't even take away a simple "thorn". I'd never really thrown in with Dad's beliefs. And hearing lessons like this did nothing to convince me that I was missing out on much of anything. But Dad always made me go, though usually it wasn't too bad. I mean I got to dress up to go sit and daydream for an hour. I'd definitely had worse hours in my life, that's for sure.
That night, my sleep was anything but restful; my dreams were plagued with the same images. Over and over, I'd find myself in the bloody snow, terrified by a dark stranger. And each time, at the same instant, I'd wake up in a near-panic, only to fall back asleep and dream it all over again.
By the time Monday morning dawned, I was exhausted. I got ready in a daze, dressing in my usual jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt. After brushing my hair out straight, I had a quiet breakfast with Dad then walked up the street to meet Leah.
She was waiting by her mailbox, as she always was. Dressed in a plaid skirt, red sweater and knee-high socks, she looked like a Catholic school girl, as she always did. A geeky Catholic school girl.
She fell into step beside me, matching my rhythm. She had to take almost two steps for my every one, though, what with her shorter legs and all. But we moved together like a well-oiled machine. She started chattering instantly, telling me all about some book she'd read over the weekend. As usual, I tuned her out.
Leah's hand on my arm brought me back to the present. She stopped and faced me, fists on her hips. "So what's the deal? Are you going to tell me about your makeover or what?"
"Huh?" I was lost.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice? Come on, Carson. Spill," she urged in a conspiratorial tone, pushing her tortoise-shell glasses up her pert nose.
"There's nothing to spill," I said, turning to resume our walk to school.
"So your hair just got lighter all by itself?" She was teasing. I could see that by her mischievous grin, but it was poking my increasingly ever-ready temper.
"I guess so," I snapped.
"And I guess you didn't get contacts either, right?"
That got my attention. "What do you mean?"
"Your eyes. They're really, really green. I guess that happened overnight, too?"
I hadn't paid much attention to my reflection this morning, although it seems that I should have.
"And I suppose the teeth bleaching fairy paid you a visit as well?" She giggled, really having fun with this. Even so, it was all I could do not to slap her silly. "Does she work with the Tooth Fairy or does the Tooth Fairy just moonlight?"
"Leah, I'm really not in a very good mood today. Can we have this conversation later?"
If my tone wasn't enough to warn her off, my expression must've been. "Sorry," she said quietly, instantly contrite. Poor Leah, I was ruining her rare bit of fun all because I suddenly couldn't handle a little good natured teasing.
I sighed, feeling guilty, but rather than apologizing for my prickliness and inciting more questions (thereby furthering the conversation), I chose to ignore her altogether and remain silent the rest of the way to school.
When we arrived, it became apparent just how obvious the changes actually were and who was to be the most affected by them---males.
From the courtyard that led to the front doors, down every hall on the way to my locker and inside every classroom, guys and girls alike ogled me. I saw them stop and stare, mouths agape. I saw them whisper to one another as they watched me walk by. From the guys, I got catcalls and explicit comments, as well as pledges of undying affection and promises of carnal delight. I'd never seen this side of them before, mainly because I'd never made it onto their radars. But suddenly I was noteworthy. Suddenly I was interesting. Suddenly, judging by their comments, I was beautiful.
Things took a turn for the worse in gym class. I kept noticing the other girls looking at me and whispering to one another. Then, as we were changing back into our school clothes, I heard some girls talking at their lockers the row behind mine.
"I guess she thought no one would notice, but come on! She looks totally different."
"Yeah, she could at least try not to be so desperate. I mean, anybody can see she's trying to look like Brianna Clark. Maybe she thinks she'll have a chance with Stephen Fitchco now that they broke up. Because, like, everybody knows she has a crush on him."
"I know. She stares at him all the time."
I could feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I didn't think anyone ever noticed the surreptitious glances that I gave Stephen, but apparently I was wrong. Very wrong.
I heard giggles then another voice chimed in.
"Some people will do anything to be popular, but it doesn't mean that anybody will actually like them."
I dressed as quickly as I could, unable to bear any more of their torment.
By the time I got to the lunch room, I was debating the merit of leaving school completely---until I saw Stephen Fitchco crossing the lunchroom, making a beeline for me.
Seniors were allowed to leave for lunch and Stephen and his throng of followers usually took advantage of that privilege. And yet, on this day, here he was, carrying his lunch tray to my table where I sat in the area not-so-fondly dubbed Lose-Air, the upper echelon's attempt at wit, combining loser and Bel-Air. They were the pride of our school no doubt.
"Hey, Carson," Stephen said, interrupting my internal musings and treating me to his award-winning smile. With no effort whatsoever, I provided the expected response by nearly swooning and quickly losing the aptitude for intelligent speech. He was like a surfer Greek god, all blond and muscular, and the prototypical jock, with his jeans and letterman's jacket, all rolled into one. And right now his highly-coveted attentions were focused on me. And it felt great!
I'd never really had a crush until I'd seen him my second day of school here. I'd admired him from afar all this time, never daring to even try to get close to him. Until Friday, that is, when he almost killed me.
"You look good," he said. "Feeling better?" He tossed first one leg then the other across the seat of the lunch table. His blue, blue eyes twinkled with something I had only seen in movies bar scenes where drunkards doled out cheesy come-ons like breath mints.
"I'm fine," I said, anxious yet suspicious.
"I can see that," he said, leering at me. Unfortunately, I'd already seen that same look several times today.
"H-how are you?"
"Feeling bad about what happened."
"Don't. It was an accident, nothing to worry about."
"Well I'd like to make it up to you anyway."
"What do you mean?"
"I'd like to do something with you." That's what his mouth said, but his eyes said what he really meant was he'd like to do something to me.
Baffled by the difference between the guy sitting in front of me and the one that had given me a ride home on Friday, I wondered if perhaps I was reading more into our exchange than was accurate.
"What did you have in mind?"
"How about I show you a better way to spend time on your back?"
Much to my dismay, my assessment of Stephen's intent was correct. There was no mistaking the meaning behind those words. I couldn't stop the keen disappointment that flooded me. I was crushed to discover that the guy who'd inhabited so many of my daydreams and fantasies was just a run-of-the-mill jerk.
Stunned and consequently mute, I simply stared at the handsome exterior that covered such a shallow interior, as I mourned the death of my dream date.
Stephen mistakenly assumed my silence was consent of some sort, which was apparently all the encouragement he needed. He leaned across the table and took a lock of my hair between his fingers. His knuckles brazenly grazed the swell of my breast and a satisfied smile slid across his lips. "Is that a yes?"
My upset tripled with his bold and embarrassing action. I was debating the merit of slinking right down under the table and never coming out when I saw Stephen glance over my left shoulder. I turned and saw a group of his jock friends watching us from against the wall on the other side of the cafeteria. They were laughing and pointing, some giving him two thumbs up. Then I got it. I realized what was going on. And I was mortified.
Humiliation washed over me in a cold, clammy wave. My mind scrambled for a way to escape, to evaporate and drift away in the air, never to return to school again. But today I wasn't a wallflower. Today, there was no quiet, easy way out.
The sting of bitter tears burned at the backs of my eyes and I willed myself not to shed them.
For several seconds, we sat that way, Stephen's knuckles continuing to brush my chest, my mouth agape in disbelief. His lips moved, but I heard no words; my ears rang with the sound of his friends' laughter. The hundreds of eyes trained on me stabbed at my nerves like tiny needles.
Then the hair trigger on my temper tripped, completely eclipsing all other feelings, including embarrassment. Anger surged and swelled and built within me until it was a blinding rage. It burned away the unshed tears, bubbling along my veins and blazing across my cheeks. My fingers squeezed around the milk carton I held. I felt the liquid warm against my palm, my hand shaking with fury.
"I know you want me," he whispered, his pupils dilating as his bravado increased. He was oblivious to the storm that was brewing inside me. "And I can make you feel so much better."
The smell of scalding milk drifted to my nose as it began to boil inside the carton. I watched it happen as if it was in slow motion. Hot milk erupted from the carton, hitting Stephen square on the chin and splattering all over his face.
CHAPTER FOUR
Stephen sputtered and squealed, finding his way back to his side of the table as he wiped hot milk droplets from his ever-reddening face. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was hoping that the milk hadn't been hot enough to blister his face, just his pride. But the majority of my attention was focused on the satisfaction I felt at seeing him squirm.
A hush had fallen across the cafeteria. The only sounds were Stephen's indignant gasps and the shuffle of a few chairs sliding back as people stood to watch the scene unfold.
Too angry to process the ramifications of my actions, I stood, looking down on a furious Stephen. I grabbed my cookie from my tray and stepped out and away from the lunch table. "I thought you were different," I spat then spun on my heel and stalked away.
I marched right out of the cafeteria and straight out the door, refusing to look left or right. I didn't stop, just kept walking until I was in front of my mailbox. It didn't take that long for my temper to cool, however, and for regret to sink in. Already I dreaded the fallout my actions would incite and, lucky me, I'd have all evening and all night to dwell on it and dread the next few days.
I lowered the mailbox lid, rusty metal hinges creaking in protest, and took the mail from inside. My arms felt like they weighed fifty pounds each. I was suddenly exhausted. I felt the stress and strain of the previous three days in every fiber of my being it seemed.
Unlocking the front door, I walked straight through to the kitchen and poured myself a huge glass of water. My throat was on fire.
I carried my drink to the living room, along with the mail, and set it down on the coffee table. I collapsed onto the soft couch cushions, letting the mail fall from my fingers and scatter across the floor. I didn't bother to pick it up. At that moment, I was more interested in letting the familiar smells of home soothe my jangling nerves.
After several minutes, I sat up to go through the mail. I picked up each piece, examining it as I went.
Bills, bills and more bills, I thought as I picked up the last two pieces. But it wasn't all just bills. Hidden beneath the next to last piece was a plain white envelope. It had my name as well as my father's written across the front in a neat, feminine hand. Our address wasn't listed, only our names. There was no return address. And no stamp.
A heavy blanket of foreboding settled over me as I slid my finger under the adhesive flap and pulled. Inside was a single sheet of lined white paper. It was the kind of paper we used in school. I found that odd. It was neatly creased into thirds and on the middle portion was a short note, written in the same feminine script.
Grey's gone, Carson. Be careful. I'm sorry! I never meant to hurt you.
I felt the blood drain from my face. It plummeted, along with my heart, to somewhere in the vicinity of my toes. Though the short sentences made no sense, I recognized the name. Grey had been my sister's name, my dead sister's name.
I was so immersed in my thoughts, in confusion, that I didn't hear Dad's truck. When he appeared in the kitchen doorway and spoke, I nearly fell of my perch on the couch.
"Dad!" I said breathlessly, holding a hand to my chest where my heart was thundering away like a herd of wild mustangs. "What are you doing home?"
"I think a better question is what are you doing home?"
"I just-I don't know, Dad. I've had a really bad day."
"Do you want to---"
I knew what he was going to say before he finished his sentence and I answered accordingly. "Can we just talk about it tomorrow?" When his stony expression didn't soften, I added please for good measure, hoping that would seal the deal and he'd drop it.
His lips tightened disapprovingly, but then his expression finally softened into one of exasperation and he sighed. That was always a good sign.
"Alright, Carson, but you know you can't make a habit out of this. School is still top priority," he preached, as if I could've forgotten.
"I know, I know," I said then moved to change the subject. Turns out it was a very effective subject change. "Do you know any other Greys?"
Myriad expressions crossed my father's ruggedly handsome features. I could tell he was thinking of families with the last name Grey. When it went carefully blank, I knew he'd landed on the Grey that I was talking about. "Not that I can think of. Why?"
Without a word, I handed him the letter and the envelope. He took them from my fingers and sat next to me on the couch. I settled back to watch his face as he read.
He was white as a sheet under his tan by the time he finished the short note. It only confirmed what I suspected. There was something he wasn't telling me.
I crossed my arms over my chest and turned on the couch to better face him. "So, is there anything you'd like to tell me? Something you'd like to talk about?" I loved to turn the tables and aim his parental questions and comments back at him; it was incredibly satisfying.
His eyes bored into mine for several seconds before he got up and walked to the window. He stared out in silence for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke. When he did, his voice was quiet. "They're alive."
His words hit me like a freight train. I didn't even have to ask to whom he was referring. I knew. My mother and my sister were alive. I don't know what I thought he might've been hiding, but that wasn't it.
I felt lightheaded. The quiet buzzed in my ears like a thousand bees. A car passed on the road outside and it sounded miles away, like I was hearing it through a tunnel. My chest was heavy with an unfamiliar emotion that lay somewhere between fury and hope.
The air between us was thick with tension and my mouth was desert-dry when I spoke. "Why? Why would you keep this from me?"
I saw his big shoulders slump and his head tip forward. "I felt like it was the best way to keep you safe. You don't know her. You just don't know..."
"Know who?"
"Your mother."
"Duh! You never gave me a chance to know her," I spat, not even trying to contain my sarcasm. "Why? Why would you keep us apart?" My tumultuous feelings finally settled down, picking hurt as the emotional port of choice to dock in.
I felt the hot sting of bitter tears for the second time that day. The pain of betrayal ripped through me like a slug, piercing my heart and shattering it into a million tiny pieces.
Though I'd never known them, I'd mourned the loss of my family, especially as I'd gotten older. Not having a mother, not having any siblings, had taken its toll. And now, knowing that my whole life could've been different, I was devastated.
"Carson, you don't know what happened, what I was trying to save you from. I did what I thought was right by getting as much distance as I could between you and your mother. You don't know her," he repeated, this time his tone conveying some of the bitterness he felt. He turned back to me, his expression pained yet steely. "You don't know what she was capable of."
"And what about my sister, Dad?" Grey's gone, the note had said. What had become of her?
He bowed his head, but not before I could see the raw pain that flickered across his face. "She was already gone, Carson. She came back-she wasn't-she-" he stammered. "She didn't come back the same."
"Come back? From where?"
Dad lifted his head, his glistening hazel eyes meeting mine across the room. In that one look, I could see what his secret had cost him all those years ago. And what it was still costing him. "Death."
He sounded like a crazy person. I had joked about it for years, but I'd never really thought Dad might be...unbalanced. Until today. "I don't understand," I said, suddenly feeling wary.
Dad retold the story of "the accident". For the most part it was the same as he'd always told it: hard rain, unstable bridge, car goes over, everyone trapped inside, Dad gets out, drags us all to shore. Only this time he filled in some crucial details, details that would forever change my life.
"By the time I could get you two out of the car and out of the water, you were already gone. Your mother and I did CPR on you for I don't know how long. But it didn't matter. You were both so cold and blue. And still," he said, his voice soft and quiet and a million miles away. "So still."
My heart pounded in my ears. "Then what?"
"Your mother and I sat with you for a long time, crying and holding you. I knew I'd have to go and get some help eventually, but I wanted to wait until she settled down a little bit more. She was...hysterical.
"When she did, I left to go find a phone or get us some help. She wanted to stay with you two, which was fine. I wasn't gone more than an hour or so, but when I got back..." He trailed off again, leaving me on pins and needles.
"What? When you got back what?" I prompted sharply.
He paused for several seconds, obviously reliving a horror that I couldn't imagine. "When I got back with the police, you were alive. Both of you." His eyes met mine. I could see that he was once more in the present. "And she was bleeding."
My stomach clenched painfully. I had no idea what that meant, but somewhere deep inside me, instinctively, I knew that it wasn't good. "What happened, Dad?"
A frown crept across his face, followed by an expression of repulsion. "I don't know what she'd done to herself, I just know she was bleeding and smiling and you two were alive.
"After the police dropped us off at home, I waited for her to say something, to explain what was going on, but she never offered to tell me. And, in a way, I think I was afraid to ask. I knew something was wrong, though. I could feel it. She was different," he said mysteriously. "And so was your sister."
A sick feeling overwhelmed me. The implications of what he was saying registered on a visceral level, even though I couldn't wrap my mind around it. Something inside my mind, and my heart, wouldn't allow it, shunned the very thought of what he was insinuating.
I sat quietly on the couch, overflowing with emotions, but unable to put any of them into words. I listened as he finished.
"That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay on my side and stared at the wall, wondering what I should do. I kept thinking that you weren't safe with them in the house. Something was telling me to get you out of there.
"Right before dawn, I felt your mother get out of bed. I waited for a few seconds then I followed her.
"She went into the nursery and got your sister out of her crib. She held her in her arms for a minute, talking to her, cooing to her. She took her blanket off her, then her pajamas and her diaper. She was mumbling things to your sister, things I couldn't understand. Makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up just thinking about it." I saw a fine shiver pass through him as he remembered. He raised one hand to massage his nape as he continued. "Your sister started making these terrible sounds. I thought at first she was choking and I was about to go in and get her. I had just stepped through the door when I saw her skin change."
My breath caught in my throat. I was terrified to ask him to finish, afraid that in the next moments he might divulge what I was to become. But on the other hand...I had to know. "Her skin? What do you mean?" My heart hammered against my ribs as I waited for him to finish.
"I swear I think it turned black. And shiny. The moonlight coming through the window made it glisten, almost like it was wet. I've never seen anything like it. Then she started shaking like she was having a seizure, but she was still making those noises. Unnatural noises.
"Wind started pouring through the windows and doors, howling through the house. I don't know where it came from. Don't think I wanted to, really. The gusts were so strong they knocked me against the doorjamb a couple of times. But I hung on, stayed right there. To watch, I guess. I don't know. I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from what was going on."
I waited for him to continue, but, once more, he was lost in time. "Then what happened?"
"Then your mother let her go, just dropped her," he said simply.
I sucked in a gulp of air, literally waiting on baited breath for the finale. "What happened to her?"
"That's the thing. She didn't fall. She just...hovered there. It's like the wind was holding her up in the air." He paused then said softly, "And she didn't even cry."
CHAPTER FIVE
We sat quietly for several long minutes, him reliving the nightmare, me digesting my family's horrible history. I knew I'd have questions. It only made sense after such an astonishing revelation. But, at that moment, I couldn't think of one. I was too shocked to think much past the sinister portrait Dad had painted.
"The next morning, I waited until your mother was in the shower. I took you and left." He paused then added under his breath, "And never went back."
The jingling of the telephone forced me from my shocked shell. On wooden legs, I rose from the couch and made my way to the kitchen where the phone rested on the counter.
Leah's voice brought me back to reality like a bucket of cold water to the face. "Mom wants you to come for dinner tonight. She fixed pineapple upside down cake."
Dina Kirby had adopted me, figuratively speaking. From the first time we'd met, she'd been the mother I'd always wanted, but never had. She took me shopping with them, she took me to the movies with them, she took me swimming with them in the summer and skiing with them in the winter. And she always invited me over when she fixed my favorite dessert, pineapple upside down cake.
I could've cried. Never had the longing for a mother, a normal mother, been as poignant as it was right then. Wild horses couldn't have kept me away. Plus it would give me a chance to apologize to Leah.
"What time?" I wasn't even going to ask if I could go. I was going. Period.
"Six or so."
"Okay. See you in a while."
After I laid the phone back in its cradle, I walked back to the living room. Without so much as a pause or a glance in Dad's direction, I continued on to my room. When I turned to close the door behind me, I saw Dad sitting on the couch. His head was cradled in his hands. From across the room I felt his grief and misery, an echo of the pain in my own chest. His shoulders shook with sobs too quiet for me to hear. For an instant, I thought to go to him, offer him some small comfort, but tonight, for the first time that I could remember, I had none to give.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
At nearly seven that night, I sat with Leah and her parents around their oval dinner table, listening to their family chatter. Their normal family chatter. It was the soothing balm my bruised and tender soul needed.
"But I thought you liked Johnny Depp," Dina was saying to Leah. "I wouldn't have rented it if I'd known that."
"I do, Mom. I just really wanted to watch something funny. And you know how much I love Adam Sandler."
"What do you think, Carson?" Dina turned her cornflower eyes to me. "You get the tiebreaker vote. Do I go back to the video store?"
Before I could answer, Leah's father, Bruce, spoke up. "I say we save Johnny Depp for the weekend. Derek might like that kind of thing."
That got everyone's attention. All eyes were on Bruce.
"Derek?" Something in Leah's tone made me look her way. "As in Derek, the family felon?"
In the nearly two years I'd known Leah, I'd never heard any of them mention a cousin named Derek, but the look on her face left me in no question as to where he stood in her affections.
"Leah," Mr. Kirby said, a frown darkening his normally jovial Greek features. His tone was rife with warning.
The tension in the room was palpable. Finally Leah asked stiffly, "When's he coming?"
"Probably Friday. Maybe Thursday night. He wasn't sure."
"Bruce, do you think---" Dina began, but Mr. Kirby cut her off.
"He's family," he said tersely, his tone brooking no further comment. Then he looked back at Leah. "Leah, do I need to remind you that he's---"
"No, Dad," Leah interrupted, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "I know, I know."
"Good," he replied with a satisfied nod. "So, we wait on the movies. Carson, would you like to come for movie night, say Saturday?"
I swallowed uncomfortably, looking down at my plate and stabbing a piece of pot roast with my fork. "I, uh, I'll have to ask Dad. I'll try, though."
Mr. Kirby seemed satisfied with that and I prayed that would be the end of it. Though I was curious about the "family felon", I was distinctly uncomfortable with the strain that had settled over the room. I just wanted them to change the subject.
Mrs. Kirby turned the conversation toward a show choir song she and Leah had seen performed on Glee, a topic I knew nothing about. I was more than happy to ask questions, however, to keep from returning to the subject of Derek.
Within a few minutes, the atmosphere had calmed considerably and I was able to finish eating then move on to an enjoyable dessert. Dina Kirby fixed one of the best pineapple upside down cakes in the world so it wasn't at all difficult to scarf down two pieces.
After refusing help with the clean up, Mrs. Kirby made her way to the kitchen. A few minutes of sharply clanging pans and dishes later, Mr. Kirby rose to follow her. It wasn't long before we heard hushed yet markedly hostile whispers coming from the next room.
Though I wondered about the mysterious Derek, I didn't get the impression Leah really felt like talking so I said my goodbyes and hurried home. I had enough of an uncomfortable situation awaiting me there; I didn't need anyone else's family drama thrown into the mix.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
The next morning, I was absolutely exhausted. I had spent another night dreaming of bloody snow and a handsome stranger who I thought might like to hurt me. At the same point in each dream, I'd wake up gasping for air, terrified. By the third time, I was unwilling to go back to sleep so I got up and worked on my science fair project for a couple hours before getting ready for school. All in all, by the time I met Leah, I looked and felt like the walking dead.
Silently, she fell in beside me. We walked several steps before she spoke. "You know if there's anything you want to talk about, I keep great secrets."
So that was her strategy after yesterday morning's shutdown. I felt guilt over my rudeness rise to the surface once more.
"Thanks, Leah. I've just got a lot going on right now. Nothing I'd want to bother you with, though."
She made no response. She just kept walking with her head down, staring at her shoes.
"I really appreciate the offer, though. Really. And I'm sorry about yesterday."
Finally, she looked over at me and smiled, a tiny, watery little smile. My guilt rose. What kind of monster could hurt such a person as Leah?
"Maybe I should be offering to keep your secrets," I said with a grin, reaching out to poke her with my elbow. She made no move to acknowledge my offer so I stopped. Then she stopped. "Seriously. If you want to talk..."
Leah shook her head, but didn't bother looking up. Something was eating at her as well, but she wasn't spilling.
She started walking again and I fell in beside her. We walked the rest of the way like that, each lost in our own thoughts. We parted at the school's front doors as we always did.
I stumbled my way through the day, doing my best to keep a low profile and ignore...well everybody. I never would've guessed that to include Stephen Fitchco, but it did. He seemed determined to find me by myself, but all day I managed to avoid him. When the sixth period bell rang, I was out of my seat and out the door faster than you could say spit.
Leah and I met up at our usual spot just outside the school grounds. I noticed instantly that she looked better. Her secrets obviously hadn't burdened her too badly.
It only took a few short minutes for her to strike up conversation. Something about an extracurricular project she'd been working on with our physics instructor, capturing wind and something about velocity, blah, blah, blah. She lost me after that. Once again, I retreated into the sanctuary of my mind, which I so often did when Leah and I were together.
Leah was an incredibly intelligent overachiever, which unfortunately made her a social pariah. It's one of the things that made our friendship work. She valued someone her own age who would listen to her incessant scholastic chatter and I needed someone who could keep themselves occupied while I stayed inside my own head. Ours was a completely symbiotic relationship, but over time, I'd really come to like Leah. Occasionally she'd shock me with some witty comment or funny observation that gave me a rare insight into the treasure that she really is.
A name I recognized brought me back to the moment. "Do what?"
Leah was never surprised when I asked her to repeat something. I think she had a rough idea of how often I zoned out. "What part didn't you get?" I knew she was asking just to be difficult.
"Did you mean Stephen Fitchco?" I knew I'd heard her say Stephen.
"Yes." She wasn't going to make this easy.
"And?"
"That's why Ryan wanted to know."
"Wanted to know what?"
"Carson! Weren't you listening at all?"
"Apparently not. I've got a lot on my mind. Just tell me again."
And in true Leah style, with only a sigh to convey her frustration, she repeated her entire story. "Ryan Phillips came to my locker between fourth and fifth period and asked me what was going on between you and Stephen Fitchco. I told him I didn't know then he told me what had happened in the cafeteria. When I asked him why he wanted to know, he said Bobby Warren was interested in you and wanted him to find out if you and Stephen had a thing."
As I suspected, everyone in school knew about what I'd done. My feet, which already felt heavy because I was so tired, suddenly felt leaden, dread weighing them down. "And what did you tell him?"
"I told him I didn't think so." Leah stopped and looked at me questioningly. "You don't, do you?"
"No!"
"So then what was all that about in the cafeteria?"
I told Leah about my near miss with Stephen's car and how he'd approached me under the guise of seeing if I was alright then dropped me some cheesy pick up lines. Her eyes were as big as saucers by the time I concluded my story. To Leah, it was as juicy as any Gossip Girl episode, poor thing. Sadly, it had been a pretty significant occurrence in my own life as well. It was a depressing testament to how lacking our social lives really were.
"Alright, now remind me again why this is all such a big deal?" As if it weren't obvious.
"Because Ryan ended up asking me out, silly."
Oh. I guess it wasn't that obvious.
All her bubbling excitement had little to do with me and my life; Leah was making headway of her own.
Leah had been nurturing a serious crush on Ryan Phillips since I'd known her, but Ryan had never given her the time of day. Though Ryan wasn't a jock, he was widely accepted among them, mainly because Bobby Warren was his cousin. And Bobby was a jock, a copper-haired hottie who played wide receiver, dominated the wrestling mat and dated the co-captain of the cheerleading squad. Yeah, it's one of those kinds of schools.
"What?" I couldn't hide my surprise or my delight. "Shut up!"
Leah was smiling widely, nearly aglow with the new development. "I'm serious."
"What did you say?"
"Duh. I said 'yes'."
"So give me details. When? Where?"
"He invited me to a lake party this weekend."
A lake party? My dream kind of lake party? The ones she'd never shown the slightest interest in because they didn't involve advanced mathematics?
The initial sting of envy quickly subsided, replaced by genuine pleasure for my friend. I had to smile; I'd never seen Leah this happy over a Mathletes championship before. She'd obviously realized that a shiny, gold trophy doesn't have warm, sexy lips. But Ryan does.
Welcome to my world, I thought.
"That's awesome, Leah," I said sincerely. I was glad one of us would get to live something similar to a full life.
For the first time in our relationship, Leah and I were having a lively conversation that had captured both our attention. On the way home, I learned several things: the party is Friday night and she has nothing to wear; she trusts my fashion savvy enough to help her shop; she secretly looks forward to her first real kiss every bit as much as I do; she sweats down her back when she gets nervous; and she has an entire personality, one she keeps well hidden, that I've never seen before.
We were laughing like giddy school girls by the time we reached her mailbox. On the way home, it occurred to me that we should've been having these types of conversations all this time. I guess we were more abnormal than I'd originally thought.
My good mood hung in there through homework and supper preparation. It began to sag a little during the quietly uncomfortable meal I shared with Dad, but it perked back up within minutes of my feet hitting the pavement for my run.
When I got back, my mood was further preserved by a call from Leah, asking if I'd go with her and her mom to the mall tomorrow night to look for a new outfit. With only a moment's hesitation, I said yes. Dad was sitting at the kitchen bar during the entire conversation, but he didn't say a word.
"That was Leah," I offered. He nodded, but said nothing. "She wants me to go shopping with her tomorrow night." Still, he remained silent. "I told her I'd go." He nodded again.
With a shrug, I turned to walk back to my room when Dad finally spoke. "Thanks for letting me know, butterfly." The soft, pitiful way he said butterfly pinched at my heart. But I steeled myself, ignoring it. I wasn't ready to forgive him yet.
"No problem," I said casually and continued on to my room.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
That night and the following morning were exact replicas of the previous one---sleep riddled with the same dream until, after the third go round, I refused to go back to sleep, choosing instead to work some more on my science fair project. I thought for a second about scrapping the whole thing. I was only doing it for Dad anyway. But then, when I considered how much time and energy I'd put into it plus how much it meant to Dad, I discarded the notion and carefully put it back on the shelf over my desk, to be completed later.
Leah's mood was as contagious as it had been the previous day and her excitement was even greater, which meant I was feeling better in no time. Our walk seemed to fly by and I was actually smiling by the time the school double doors came into view.
We parted company still smiling. I made my way to my locker, thinking about Leah and her incredible turn of luck. What I should have been thinking about was avoiding Stephen.
I was waist deep in my locker when I heard my name.
"Carson?" He said my name tentatively, not at all what I expected after what had happened. I didn't know what I was expecting---maybe violence or an extreme verbal beat down---but this wasn't it.
"Yeah?"
"Look," he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I know I came on a little strong Monday and I'm sorry. I knew my friends were watching and..." he trailed off, as if that was explanation enough. And it was, though it was no excuse.
"I know. You had to make a good showing for them. Make sure everyone knew who was in control, how I'd be putty in your hands."
"It's not-I know---"
"Oh, no. I know exactly. Don't even try to make excuses, Stephen. I thought you were a nice guy and I was wrong. Let's just leave it at that."
"I don't want you to think that, though."
"What? That you were a nice guy?'
"No, that I'm not a nice guy. Look, you just-I don't know." He paused as if to collect his thoughts. I felt a little pang of guilt. "It just surprised me when I saw you. And then everyone was talking about you. I guess I got a little caught up in it, too. Don't hate me."
He looked sincere. He sounded sincere. But what did I know about guys, really? My experience was so limited it was virtually nil. What I did know, however, was that I had neither the energy nor the desire to hate anyone, including Stephen Fitchco. In fact, it was much easier to have a crush on him from afar. And, lucky for him, at the rate he was going, he could be back in my daydreams by the end of the week.
"Can I just start over, like it's Monday all over again?"
With a sigh of resignation, I agreed. "Sure."
"Cool," he said, his trademark smile sliding into place. "So, Carson, how're you feeling? Looks like you made a full recovery."
He really was going back to Monday. "I'm fine, Stephen. Thanks for asking."
We smiled at each other and I thought that would be the end of it, but he had more. "Hey, listen. There's a party at the lake Friday night. Wanna come with me?"
Finally, an invitation to a lake party! I was speechless. At last, my dream was coming true. And yet, I wasn't as thrilled as I thought I would be. Why wasn't it a sweeter victory?
"Thanks for the offer, Stephen, but..." I was already shaking my head.
"Come on, Carson. Please let me make it up to you," he said, putting on his most persuasive expression, which in my book was pretty persuasive.
What would be the harm? Plus, Leah was going and that would make it all the more fun. We could have a two-sided conversation for weeks.
I looked up at Stephen, his blue eyes sparkling happily, and I caved. "I'd love to," I said, giving him my most winning smile.
He looked truly pleased. "Great. So I can pick you up at your house about seven. Is that cool?'
"That's cool," I agreed. I'd worry later about what Dad was going to say.
"Hey, how 'bout I give you a ride home today? I owe you one after...well, you know."
"Um, I walk home with Leah."
"I can give her a ride, too."
"Well," I said, pausing to think, visions of red convertibles and carefree laughter dancing in my head. "Alright."
"Awesome! We can walk out together after sixth." And with that, he flashed me his gorgeous smile and walked away.
That set the tone for the rest of the day: everything was going to be alright. Life was looking up after all; there for a while I was a little concerned that it was taking a serious nose dive. I managed to pull Leah aside as we passed between classes to tell her that we'd be getting a ride home.
"From who?"
"Stephen Fitchco," I said, trying to control my grin.
"Stephen Fitchco?"
"Stephen Fitchco," I repeated.
I gave her a brief rundown of what had transpired, her smile spreading wider and wider. With a delighted squeal, Leah clapped her hands excitedly. "We'll be at the same party!"
"I guess so," I said, wondering how Leah had managed to hide this person all these months.
When finally she settled down, she went back to the ride home. "Well, much as I appreciate you not leaving me stranded at school, I have my own ride home." The gleam in her eyes said it all.
"Ryan," I said, stating the obvious.
"Ryan," she confirmed.
The bell rang and Leah looked up at the clock. "Oh crap! I've got to go," she said. Evidently her tardiness wasn't concerning her too much, though. She was still grinning from ear to ear when she turned to leave.
Times they are a'changing, I thought as I watched her walk away. Even in her rush, Leah still had an uncharacteristic spring in her step. I couldn't help but smile.
By the time sixth period rolled around, I was extremely nervous. After all, I'd waited a long time for a day such as this. I was determined to enjoy it, even though it didn't feel like the heaven I'd once thought it would be. But from a dream fulfillment standpoint, it didn't disappoint.
Just as I'd so often pictured it, Stephen escorted me to his car (not a red convertible, but that was all that was missing from the image) and gallantly opened the door for me. Once I was seated, he closed it, got in on his side and we took off in the direction of my house. He chatted about all manner of inane things during the short ride.
This time when we arrived at my mailbox, he pulled into the driveway. He even got out and came around to help me out. Wow! And then he walked me to the door. My mind was totally immersed in every detail of the experience. I was living the dream.
Stephen left me at the door with promises to see me tomorrow and a smile that said I'd have my first kiss before the weekend was over. I refused to dwell on why that kiss, coming from Stephen at least, no longer held the appeal it had a week ago.
I was still fully engaged in my fantasy when I heard the screen door creak its way open. Stephen had managed to transport me out of all my troubles for almost an entire day, but, if my father's thunderous expression was any indication, he'd just delivered me right into the eye of a storm.
Several emotions swept through me when I saw his face---dread, exasperation, resentment and, finally, anger. Heat spread across my cheeks and down my neck and arms. Electricity twitched in my fingertips, flickering like tiny sparks. The skin on my right shoulder blade burned like someone was holding a hot branding iron to it.
"That better not have been the boy that nearly killed you last week," he boomed as I stalked past him into the living room. "Carson," he squeezed between gritted teeth, his hand snaking out to grab my arm as I passed.
Fury shot through me like lightening, turning the heat of anger into a white-hot rage. I whirled around and met my father's glittering eyes. I felt his fingers squeeze my arm as he shook it lightly. "Answer me!"
With a violent jerk, I pulled my arm from his grasp and was about to give him tit for tat when my impending explosion was interrupted by a whoosh from the kitchen. Dropping my arm, Dad ran past me. He hollered back urgently, "Carson, get the fire extinguisher!"
CHAPTER SIX
Immediately devoid of anger, I sprang into action, running to the pantry and grabbing the red canister that hung on the inside of the door. Turning with the extinguisher in hand, I was momentarily stunned by the sight of the blazing pan that sat atop the stove, the flames reaching up to lick at the curtains that hung over the window to the right.
"Carson!"
Having blanked on how to use the extinguisher, I darted across the room and handed it to Dad. I watched in stunned silence as he pulled the pin from the top of the canister, took the hose in hand, squeezed the trigger and blew white dust all over the stove and curtains.
Within seconds the flames were extinguished, leaving only a smoldering pan and singed curtains amid the smoke. Dad stepped back to stand by me; we were both breathing heavily. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and let out a relieved "whew".
"I didn't think I had turned that eye on yet," he said, clearly puzzled.
I said nothing, but a mounting concern was blossoming in my gut. The phone rang, startling us both. I looked at the phone where it lay on the bar, covered by a thin layer of dry chemical.
"I'll get it in my room," I said. Dad just nodded his head in understanding.
Less than two minutes later, I walked back into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Dad was standing exactly where I'd left him, staring blankly at the stove. I stood beside him pulling huge gulps of soothing liquid into my mouth. I wondered what he was thinking, but I was too afraid to ask. Finally, I broke the silence.
"That was Leah. They want to eat while we're out."
Dad nodded again. "Guess that works out well since dinner's...uh..."
It was my turn to nod. "Want me to bring you something back?"
"Nah. I'll make a sandwich or something."
"Are you sure?"
"Yep."
We stood side by side, staring silently into the kitchen, until he Dad looked over at me. "I guess you'd better change clothes," he said, tipping his head toward my shirt. I hadn't noticed that the creamy material was covered in soot. I don't know how I'd gotten so dirty, but I looked like I'd been rolling in charcoal. I was filthy. And I probably smelled like a bonfire.
"Good idea," I said before turning away.
I knew I didn't have time to wash my hair before Leah got there, so I stripped off my shirt and went to the closet for something clean to change into before I gave my hair a good brushing.
Sliding a black hooded sweater off its hanger, I pulled it over my head. My right shoulder blade prickled as the material grazed it. I stepped in front of the mirror on the back of my door and turned halfway around so I could see my back.
What had begun as a dark smudge at the bottom of my right shoulder blade had spread into long red and orange flames, like fingers crawling across my skin up toward the top of my shoulder and neck. It burned as if my flesh had literally been seared.
A horn sounding from the driveway startled me into action. I rushed to the bathroom, pulled the brush through my hair several times, flipped the pale locks to one side and headed for the door.
As I reached for the doorknob, I met my own sparkling green eyes in the mirror. For just a moment, I wondered what was becoming of the girl I'd seen there last week. Every day it seemed there was less and less of her staring back at me.
"Carson!"
"Coming," I shouted back to Dad.
With one final look, I turned the knob and walked out to meet Leah.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
"I like the pink one," Dina said, watching as Leah turned for the fifth time in front of the mirror. She'd tried on the same sweater in four different colors. She was modeling the red one for the second time.
"But pink makes me look so..." Leah said, struggling for the right word.
"So what? I like it," she reiterated. "I think the red is just too..."
"Too what?" Leah turned from the mirror, fists on her hips.
"Sexy," Dina admitted.
"But I want to look sexy, Mom."
"Leah, this is your first date and I don't think---"
"Exactly! It's my first date, Mom, but that doesn't mean that it has to look like my first date," she argued.
Feeling uncomfortable just sitting there listening to mother and daughter argue, I walked to a rack of sweaters nearby and casually flipped through the hangers, trying to tune out the conversation that was taking place several feet to my left at the dressing rooms.
A sweater caught my eye so I pulled it off the rack. I held it up to my chest, picturing in my head what it would look like on.
"Carson, you should totally try that on," Leah called from the area just outside the fitting rooms.
"No. I'd better not."
"But why not? That's what makes a shopping trip so much fun."
"I really couldn't---"
"Oh, come on, Carson."
"I shouldn't---"
"Please, Carson. Pretty please, for me," Leah cajoled.
"Come on and try it on, Carson. I bet it would look fantastic on you," Dina chimed in.
Leah marched over to me, grabbed the sweater from my fingers, took my wrist in one hand and pulled me over to the fitting room she'd just left.
"You're trying it on. Period," she said, her tone brooking no argument.
At that point I figured I had little choice, so I gave in as graciously as I could. "Fine," I said with a sigh.
Leah shooed me into the changing room and closed the door snugly behind her, calling through its louvered front, "Come out when you get it on."
Quickly, I doffed my sweater and pulled the new garment over my head. I tugged at the hem until it fell neatly to my hips then I turned to survey my reflection.
The sweater was cashmere and deep apricot in color. It was fitted, hugging my curves as if it was made to fit them. It flared out at the sleeves and hem into a gentle near-ruffle that made it very girlie and very sexy. The warm color accentuated my creamy skin and the silky material shifted softly against my body as I moved. I loved it instantly.
I looked down at the price tag dangling from under the arm. The price didn't matter since there was absolutely zero chance I would ever own such an item, but I still couldn't help but gasp when I saw the triple digits.
"Yow!"
"Does it fit?" Leah was still standing right in front of my door. She must've heard me and thought I was referring to the sweater.
"I guess," I said, trying to sound ambivalent about the most amazing sweater in the world.
"Come out then. Let me see," she said, her voice fading as she walked away.
I opened the door and made my way to where Leah had been twirling in front of the bank of mirrors. I stood before them, seeing the perfect fit of Carson and cashmere from a variety of different angles. Leah and Mrs. Kirby made all sorts of comments and noises of approval. I couldn't help but smile at their flattery. I also couldn't help but agree with them; that sweater was made for me.
I was enjoying my modeling moment, laughing and twirling with exaggerated movements, when I spun back toward the mirror and saw a man standing several feet behind me. I looked at his reflection, the air hitching in my throat. My eyes met his in the glass. Instantly, I recognized the cool silver staring back at me, like mercury orbs set in a dark face.
It was the man from my dream, the stranger in the snow. His hair was even tied back, just as I'd imagined it would be. A chill skittered down my spine. It was laced with a little awe, a little fear and a little fascination. My heart fluttered in my chest as his eyes bored into mine. After a few seconds, he turned and walked away.
I watched the back of his dark head as he weaved through the racks. I was overcome with the most bizarre pulling sensation, like a magnet dragging at my insides, urging me to follow him.
When I could no longer see him, the breath I hadn't even been aware of holding came rushing out. I whirled around, the air cool as it dried the sweat that had broken out on my brow.
"What's the matter, Carson? You look like you've seen a ghost. Did you get a glimpse of the price tag?" Leah quipped.
Every fiber of my being was still sharply focused on him. I struggled to bring my attention back to Leah. "Wh-what?" I asked, turning back to the mirror and finding Leah's face in it. I watched her smile slowly faded. She wasn't joking anymore. "What?" I repeated.
"Seriously, are you ok? You don't look so good."
Leah's face was full of concern. I knew she wondered what was going on with me and why I was keeping it from her. For a split second I considered telling her. Everything. All of it. Just spilling my guts. After all, I trusted her. I knew I could tell her virtually anything in confidence and she'd keep my secrets. But, alas, I wouldn't.
I sighed. Not an audible sigh, but a soul deep one, the kind you feel more than you hear. I wouldn't tell Leah because I couldn't do that to her. I couldn't burden her like that. Plus, she couldn't help me even if I did tell her. There's nothing she or anyone else could do for me. And that included Dad.
Intuitively, I knew that whatever was happening to me, whatever this life-changing metamorphosis was, it was something I had to deal with on my own. It was between me and me, the old and the new, the known and the unknown.
Resolute, I pushed my troubled emotions aside, pulled my lips up into my biggest smile and did what I was learning to do best: pretend.
"You're just jealous because I found this sweater first," I teased.
Leah's eyes drilled into mine for several long, tense seconds. I could almost see the indecision warring behind her chocolate eyes, but, in the end, her easy-going, unobtrusive nature won out and she smiled. Her decision was made. She was going to go along with my pretense.
"Yeah right. My sweater kicks the crap out of yours."
And so the charade began, each of us bowing to the terms of our silent agreement to keep things light, no questions asked.
We continued in that manner for the rest of the evening, a simulation of lightheartedness that I found utterly exhausting. By the time they dropped me back at my house, I was ready for bed.
Sleep was elusive, though. Each time I'd doze off, the same dream would come, only I'd awaken as soon as I saw the stranger lying in the snow. I'd open my eyes to the dark ceiling of my room, heart flying, breathing shallow, palms sweating. I thought of my science fair project, but knew that I lacked the concentration to be able to make any progress. So I lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling, reliving those brief moments at the mall, wondering who the stranger was and why I'd felt so drawn to him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thursday came and went in a blur. Before I knew it, I was eating lunch in the cafeteria on Friday and Stephen was coming my way.
"Still on for tonight?"
At first his question puzzled me. Then it startled me. It's not that I had forgotten about our date per se; time had just crept up on me. I was looking inward and it was marching on.
"Sure," I said, suddenly worried about Dad's reaction when I told him.
"Seven o'clock," he said with a wink as he turned to walk away.
My mind raced for a way to avoid the confrontation with my dad that I knew dropping such a bomb would incite. Then it hit me.
"Stephen," I called. He turned to look back at me. "Could you pick me up at Leah's? We're uh-uh, we're going to get ready together."
Lying didn't come naturally to me. Mostly, I was glad about that. I hated doing it. But it seemed that lately I was encountering more and more occasions where lying was becoming almost necessary. Or at least that's what I kept telling myself.
Stephen shrugged. "Alright. Where does she live?"
I explained that she lived seven houses up from me and he agreed to pick me up there instead. I felt a little better, having averted a disastrous run-in with dad, but the lie I was going to have to tell him was already giving me indigestion. I pushed my tray aside and started planning out the details.
Later, when the sixth period bell rang, I ran out the door in hopes of catching Leah. Ryan had driven her home again yesterday and I could only assume that this would be the new norm. I knew I had to get to her before they left the lot.
But I was too late. They were already gone. My only other option was to stop by her house on my way home. Hopefully they'd beat me there.
And they did. Leah was still sitting in the car with Ryan when I reached her mailbox. I waved to get her attention and, when she waved back, I made my way up her driveway.
She must've said her goodbyes because Leah got out and shut the door. Ryan was backing out just as I reached her.
Leah's cheeks were flushed with color and her smile was so big I bet her face hurt. She radiated sheer bliss.
"He didn't have to leave. I just needed to ask you something real quick," I said.
"It wasn't you. He had to go. He was actually supposed to go straight home from school, but he wanted to take me home first." I could see that she was positively thrilled over the fact.
"Good. Hey, I've got a favor," I began. I could tell that, mentally, Leah was still with Ryan in the car, but I figured that was about as much of her attention as I was likely to get. "Can Stephen pick me up here tonight?"
I saw her focus return to the here and now then her eyes widen with excitement. "Yes! We could get ready together," she said eagerly. Then, with a dramatic gasp, she said, "Why don't you just spend the night? We can stay up all night talking about the party."
That sounded like such a normal girl-thing to do, I immediately consented. "But what if we leave at different times?"
"Whoever leaves the party first should find the other before she goes. How about that? Then we could both leave at the same time."
Sounded simple enough. "Alright."
I told Leah I'd be back right after dinner then I hurried home to tell dad. He was waiting for me in the garage, as usual. I saw his dirty shoes, this time sticking out from behind the open driver's side door.
Without preamble, I plunged right in. "Dad, can I spend the night with Leah tonight?"
I thought he would come out of the car with both barrels loaded and ready to go, but he didn't. In fact, he didn't even answer me for the longest time. When he did, it wasn't what I expected. "Carson, is this about your mother and sister?" His voice was soft and sad. Dejected. I guess he thought I blamed him and wanted to curtail my time with him as much as possible.
Truthfully, I wasn't sure how I felt about any of it. I hadn't given it much thought since I found out. I'd stayed busy and during quiet moments I'd purposely avoided thinking of my myriad troubles. Too much was happening too fast. I couldn't seem to get my bearings and it felt better to just ignore it all, focus on what few good things I had going for me and not question the rest.
"No, Dad. Honestly, I've been trying not to even think about all that. This is just a night at Leah's. That's it. No big deal."
He was quiet again. Finally, I heard him sigh. "Alright, but be home early in the morning."
Relief washed over me. "Ok. Thanks, Dad."
I raced into the house to pack a bag before I had to start dinner. I flipped through my meager wardrobe, agonizing over what to wear. I settled on a medium weight cable knit sweater, a pair of low-riding jeans and some Ugg boot knock-offs (I'd convinced Dad that I needed them to keep my feet warm on the walk to school in the winter). I stuffed it all into an overnight bag, along with shorts, a t-shirt and a few toiletries, and headed to the kitchen to start the tacos.
A few minutes after six, I was ringing the bell at Leah's. She flung open the front door, took my bag in one hand and my hand in the other and dragged me up the stairs to her room. From the instant she shut her door behind us, she didn't stop chattering until Stephen pulled up at the curb. When she saw his lights, she ran to the window and squealed excitedly.
"He's here! He's here!"
"I can see that," I teased. I knew that my excitement should rival hers, especially since I'd been daydreaming about just such a night forever it seemed, but it just wasn't there. I could, however, find joy in her joy, which is exactly what I did.
She walked me to the door then reminded me, "So, I'll find you as soon as we get there, ok?"
"Alright," I said. "Thanks for letting me come over."
"Are you kidding? This is, like, the best night of my life," she declared. "And it's only seven o'clock."
I was still smiling when I walked out the door. Stephen was just getting out of his car. I guess he had gotten tired of waiting for me. He hurried around to the passenger side and opened the door for me.
"You look great," he said, genuine appreciation glowing in his blue, blue eyes.
Leah had forced me to avail myself of all her newly purchased feminine products, which was a real treat for me, since they were all on the "silly" list seven doors down at the Porter house. I'd put a few loose curls in my hair with her flatiron and used some of her lip gloss and mascara. I'd even walked through a sprits of her perfume. I felt like an alien, but in a good way.
"You, too," I said, my comment as lacking in imagination as was his. He did look nice, though. But then again, he always did.
Once I was seated in the car, Stephen shut the door and rounded the front to the driver's side. The car smelled overwhelmingly of some sort of cologne. It was probably a nice scent---in moderation---but it seemed that Stephen had doused every inch of his car in the stuff. It was literally breathtaking. I was forced to crack the window or risk passing out.
Just as I was in the beginning stages of a nasty headache, Stephen cut off the main road onto a dirt drive that cut through the woods. It dead-ended at the edge of a grassy clearing. When he parked, I jumped out of the car and took several deep, cleansing breaths. Between the cologne and the football anecdotes, I was ready for fresh air and a change of subject.
I straightened my sweater as I looked around. According to Stephen one of the football players' parents owned this land. They had erected a series of cabana-like structures in the clearing that formed a semi-circle facing the lake. In the center of the ring of tents was a fire pit surrounded by six long benches made from split trees. A path led from the fire pit down to the dock which was decorated with tiki torches and Chinese lanterns. Just beyond the dock, across the water, I could see a few more torches on what looked to be a small island a couple hundred feet away.
One of the cabanas seemed to be the site of most of the action. The curtains were tied back and I could see that a table had been set up just inside. There were bags of chips and dishes of dip, a cold meat and cheese tray, some crackers, and a punch bowl. To the left of the table, sitting on the ground in a big barrel of ice, was a keg of beer. Music poured from a huge portable stereo under the table and some girls were already dancing just outside the entrance.
I had stopped in front of Stephen's car to take in the scene, to weigh and measure it against the hundreds of fantasies I'd had about just such an event. I found that it looked, smelled and sounded much like I'd suspected that it would.
The one thing I hadn't factored in, however, was nerves. I recognized most of the people I could see. They comprised the elite, upper crust of the school. Unfortunately, several of the girls had made their opinion of me very clear at one point or another. And one of the ones who hadn't was going out of her way to make it tonight.
Standing in the middle of the dancing girls was Brianna Clark. The reason she was standing rather than dancing is because she'd stopped to give me the stink eye as soon as she'd seen that I was with Stephen. She whispered to one of the girls at her side, Ciara Bentley, and then they both started laughing. I hoped against hope that it had nothing to do with a plot to Carrie-fy me.
Stephen approached to my left and I rubbed my damp palms over my jeans. Oblivious to the tension, he took my hand in his and tugged me forward.
"Come on. Let's go get a drink."
Beverages were another thing I hadn't included in my daydreams. Other than once sneaking a drink of wine from the fridge of one of our neighbors in Ohio, I had never even tasted alcohol before.
"Um, what do they have? To drink I mean," I asked casually.
"Beer, punch," he said, shrugging. "I'm sure somebody around here's got some Jack."
"Oh, ok," I said noncommittally, all the while I was thinking punch, punch, punch. I had no idea who Jack was, but I got the feeling he had something I should stay away from.
I followed Stephen into the cabana where he was greeted animatedly by all his friends. He attempted a group introduction once, but they were all too busy placing bets on whether or not one of the guys from the wrestling team could do a thirty second tap hit, whatever that is.
I stood quietly by Stephen's side, taking it all in. My senses were overwhelmed by sight and sound. It felt a lot like being at the circus. While you were watching the elephants, the clowns were juggling and riding bikes, the trapeze artists were doing flips overhead and someone was trying to sell you popcorn and peanuts. Too much!
Stephen fixed me a cup of punch and handed it to me. I took a tentative sip. It had the pronounced tang of citrus, but with a bite of something I couldn't identify. It tasted good, though, and harmless enough.
I sipped it while we watched all the circus freaks. We made our way around from group to group. At one point, I found myself watching two guys launch their girlfriends down the dock in shopping carts. They reasoned that the strongest man would be able to propel his girlfriend the farthest. I was a little afraid for the girls, convinced the activity was fraught with peril, especially since they were obviously inebriated. But evidently I was the only one, as everyone else merely picked a spot along the path to cheer them on.
It seemed I had just started my drink when Stephen swapped it out for a full cup; turns out I'd sipped my punch right to the empty bottom. I sipped some more as we watched round one and the girls went careening down the dock, weaving this way and that. The second race unfolded in a similar manner. By the time the third race was starting, I had finished my punch again and Stephen was handing me another.
As two more men ran toward the dock, pushing their respective girlfriends, I found myself cheering them on with the rest of the crowd, smiling and giggling, a pleasant warmth infusing my muscles. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Leah behind me with Ryan at her back.
"Leah!" I was inordinately glad to see her and suddenly very happy she was my friend. I felt compelled to hug her. "You're here."
Leah laughed, feeling a little stiff inside my embrace. "Yep, we're here. We're going to get some snacks. Want to come?"
"Nope, I'm good. Get some punch and come on back down."
"Uh, we might. This seems..." she trailed off.
"You'll like it. Trust me," I said. "And oh my gosh! You wouldn't believe how good this punch is. You have to get some."
"Oh. Uh---"
"Seriously. It is so good, Leah."
"Um, are you alright?" Leah asked. She was eyeing me skeptically, which I found immediately irritating for some reason.
"I'm fine. If you don't want to have fun, then stay over there, but don't be ruining my good time." With that, I turned my attention back to the race.
It was just then that one of the carts veered to the left and both cart and girl went splashing into the cold water. The crowd erupted. Everyone rushed onto the dock to enjoy the wet rescue.
Stephen grabbed my hand and tugged me onto the dock as well. When we'd reached the throng of spectators, Stephen kept walking, pulling me along behind him.
"Where are we going?"
"I want to show you something," he said, winking down at me.
I let Stephen lead me past all the curious onlookers and makeshift rescue workers to a small boat tied near the end of the pier. He reached down to steady the boat then looked up at me.
"Hop in," he said, tipping his head toward the boat.
"What?" Somewhere in a small, poorly lit corner of my mind, a tiny little alarm began to sound. Unfortunately, it sounded far, far away and was quickly eclipsed by the pleasant buzzing that was taking place in my head.
"I want to show you something. Get in," he encouraged.
"Are you sure it's safe?"
"It's a boat and two oars, Carson. How could it not be safe?"
At that moment, I couldn't think of one good argument, one good reason it might not be safe. So, with his hand steadying me, I stepped down into the boat.
Stephen got in and sat down across from me. He untied the boat, took an oar in each hand and began to row us away from the dock. I couldn't help but marvel at the smooth way he moved, working the oars efficiently. His cologne had died down and it was a nice, subtle scent that I smelled only when he leaned forward in his rowing. When it seemed he was competent enough to take us wherever we were going, I sat back and closed my eyes, ready to enjoy the trip.
The cool night breeze pinched at my nose and cheeks. The air smelled of smoke from the fire pit and citronella from the torches. With the noise of the party receding into the distance, I could hear a gentle lapping as our boat cut through the water. I felt more relaxed and happy than I could ever remember feeling. Sublime was the word that came to mind. All felt right with the world.
A few short minutes later, I heard something scrape the bottom of the boat. When I opened my eyes, I turned around and saw that we had run aground at the little island I'd seen when we arrived. Stephen hopped out onto dry ground and dragged the boat further onto the small beach area. He walked to my side and held out his hand to help me down. I thought it was likely the most gallant thing I'd ever seen.
I wobbled a bit when I stood, the trees tilting in front of me ever so slightly. When he'd gotten me safely off the boat, Stephen kept hold of my hand and led me through the trees, along a torch-lit path to another cabana that was hidden from the shore. The curtains on this one weren't tied back. Stephen pushed them aside and nodded for me to precede him inside. I stepped through the opening, the intimate sight causing a prick of trepidation to encroach on my hazy sense of wellbeing.
A low full-size cot dominated the tent. At the head of the bed, there were two small lanterns on the ground, one on either side. They cast their soft yellow light on the puffy blue sleeping bag that lay invitingly open. A tiny radio hung from a hook on one of the structural supports, spilling its smooth melody into the otherwise quiet night.
Stephen walked around me and sat on the edge of the cot, patting the space beside him. Hesitantly, I perched next to him. I tried to look relaxed, but I couldn't keep the stiffness from my muscles. I felt awkward and distinctly uncomfortable.
Stephen turned his body more toward mine and reached up to brush my hair back from my cheek.
"I really am sorry about the other day," he whispered. His eyes glistened like black diamonds in the low light, his dilated pupils leaving no evidence of the blue iris. "My only excuse is that you are so beautiful it makes me crazy."
I sat perfectly still, completely over my head and out of my element. I watched in wary silence as Stephen's face got closer and closer to mine. When it blurred, I let my eyelids drift shut. Then I felt his lips on mine.
It was a tentative brush at first, which was kind of nice. The hand at my cheek slid into my hair and I felt the other settle on the outside of my leg between my hip and knee. Just before I settled into the pleasure of it, though, Stephen surprised me by deepening the kiss. He leaned into me, exerting enough pressure to push me backward. Before I fell all the way back, however, I managed to put my hands out and brace myself.
I tried to turn my head away, but the hand in my hair was holding me still. I could feel his tongue sweeping my lips, trying to find its way inside my mouth. His chest was bearing down on mine and, somewhere in the back of my fuzzy head, my trepidation upgraded to real concern.
"Stop," I said when I was finally able to tear my lips away.
"Come on, Carson. I know you want me. You've liked me for a long time," he said, scattering kisses across my cheek to my ear. "And now I'm all yours."
The hand on my leg shifted from the outside to the inside and began an ascent toward my groin. Silent alarms flashed behind my eyes and I felt the beginnings of true fear penetrate my cloudy consciousness.
"I said stop, Stephen," I said between gritted teeth.
"You don't have to pretend, Carson. It's just you and me. No one will ever have to know," he said, his hot breath stirring my hair.
"I said stop!" Raising one arm, I shoved at Stephen, my emotional upset burning away the fog from my brain and muscles.
He finally leaned back, an indignant frown marring his handsome face. "You are nothing but a tease. You knew what was going to happen tonight," he declared venomously.
Like the flip of a switch, my fear morphed into anger. "I most certainly did not. You apologized for the way you acted, which I mistakenly thought was sincere, and I was giving you a chance to prove you aren't a pig, which you obviously are."
Stephen sat up suddenly then stood to his feet. He looked down at me for several seconds, his expression inscrutable, and then he turned and walked out of the tent.
I sat there on the edge of the bed, struggling to process the surreal turn of events. My heart was hammering against my ribs and my breath was coming in short, shallow bursts. I couldn't believe what was happening.
A scraping sound followed by a hollow thump thump prodded me into action. I raced out of the tent, down the path through the trees. I made it to the shore just in time to see Stephen rowing away from the island.
"Where are you going?" A stupid question, but I was so shocked, it was the only one that came to mind.
"Back to the party."
"But-but what about me?"
"Find your own way back," he spat, rowing further and further away.
I stood on the shore, watching Stephen, struck by the nightmarish quality of my predicament. When he was over half way back to the dock, it began to sink in that I was in serious trouble.
Frantically, I began to scramble about wildly, looking for another boat or a raft...something. Anything. But there was nothing. Not in the tent, not in the surrounding woods (those that were well lit anyway), not along the shore. And I didn't know where else to look.
I thought about walking, but that didn't seem like a good idea since I didn't know if the "island" was truly an island or was attached to the mainland somewhere. The cold reality of my situation sank in. I was alone. At night. In the woods. On an island. Surrounded by water. With no phone and no help.
I could see the partiers across the water, dancing around the fire. Though I could barely hear the sounds of their celebration, I thought to try screaming anyway; if it worked it would be worth the effort.
I walked to the edge of the water, took a deep breath and shouted as loud as I could. No one even looked in my direction.
I watched as Stephen rowed, getting closer and closer to the other sid. I hoped that when he showed up without me, someone would do the sensible thing and come get me.
When he reached the dock, Stephen tied off the boat and climbed out. He walked along the wooden pier then up onto the grass. I saw him stop when he reached the group near the fire. I assumed he was speaking, as he was gesturing wildly and pointing in my direction. My hopes rose when I saw all heads turn and look out across the water.
Then, to my utter devastation, they began to laugh. I felt the sting of humiliation burn in my cheeks as tears welled in my eyes. I choked back a sob, my mind racing through my options. As I stared back at my mockers, I realized with a sinking heart that I had only two choices: swim or stay.
Certain I was overlooking a better option, I sat down on the bank to think.
Maybe Leah's still there and she'll come get me when she finds out, I thought. So I waited. And I waited.
That hope kept me occupied for what seemed like an eternity. Then, when it finally became clear that Leah wasn't going to rescue me, I revisited my options. It seemed there was only one truly viable option. I was going to have to swim across the lake.
I walked to the water's edge and dipped my fingers in to test the temperature. It was freezing. With a growl, I turned back to the shore, silently cursing Stephen, berating myself for not seeing his cruel streak earlier. Then I thought of the laughter I got from my schoolmates, laughter instead of help, and my anger escalated. I paced the shore, back and forth, seething.
Walking back to the water's edge, I stared into the shimmering black pool, fury simmering in my blood. I looked once more across the water. It appeared that my increased movement had gathered a crowd. They were lining up along the shore, whooping and shouting words I couldn't hear, waiting to see what I'd do. They pointed and gesticulated, pumping their fists into the air, all the while Stephen stood near the dock, his arrogant posture daring me to make my move.
Spurred by pride and numbed by anger, I dove in without hesitation. The cold water hit my muscles like an electric shock, which only served to further enrage me. Kicking out with my legs, I pushed my sluggish arms ahead until they began to cooperate.
I swam feverishly, indignation burning in my stomach like a lump of hot coal. I was determined that he would not get the best of me. None of them would.
The closer I got, the louder their laughter and chants became.
They shouted, "Loser! Loser! Loser!"
"Look, Fitchco, she's swimming all the way back over here to get to you," I heard one guy say.
"Are you that good in bed, Fitchco?"
"I've heard of 'rode hard and put away wet', but man!"
"Hey Porter, did you need a cold shower?"
"She got too hot for Fitchco," one girl mocked.
On and on they taunted until my rage was a blinding red haze behind my eyes. It pounded in my head like a ferocious drum. It blazed in my chest like a wildfire. Every nerve in my body felt alive with it.
When I reached shallow water, I put my feet down and walked slowly toward the shore. I felt no chill, no wetness, only white-hot anger. The onlookers laughed and pointed and continued their taunts. Stephen had moved out onto the dock where he was standing with his legs spread and his arms crossed over his chest.
My eyes met his and I stopped where I was, thigh deep in the water. Defiantly, he held my gaze. Then, as I watched, the corners of his mouth pulled up into a smug smile.
A low hum sounded in my ears and my right shoulder blade began to burn. Heat spread across my skin, down my arms to my fingertips. They tingled and trembled in response.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the flames of the tiki torches rise, snapping and crackling higher into the clear, velvety sky.
Stephen took three steps forward, bringing him closer to where I stood in the water. He squatted down. "Guess you'll think twice before you throw milk in someone's face next time."
My eyes blazed into Stephen's, but I made no comment. The water around my legs bubbled and churned as the hum in my ears grew louder and louder. I turned my attention toward the crowd at the shore.
With an eerie whoosh, the fire in the pit exploded, sending sparks out into the clearing. Tiny orange flames rose quickly in the dry grass, skittering along the ground in every direction. Tongues of yellow flame rose from the fire pit, licking at the tree benches that hung overhead. Within seconds, they were ablaze.
Leaves fell, some catching fire in midair and drifting to the ground. Dead limbs popped and snapped in the heat as they began to give way.
Above the hum in my ears, I heard laughter turn to screams as the curtains around the main cabana burst into flames. Partiers scrambled to get away from the fire, some running toward their cars, others running toward the water. I watched as a few stragglers disappeared into the woods, seeking shelter deep in the forest.
I heard Stephen calling my name. Over and over, he called. I ignored him, watching instead the scene on the shore unfold in fiery detail.
And then I saw him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Standing at the back of the clearing, dressed entirely in black and nearly impossible to see, was the stranger from my dream. Again.
His eyes were on me, an angry expression on his face, much like the one he wore in my dream. He shook his dark head, one long piece that had escaped its bonds waving in front of his face. His disapproval was so poignant, it seemed to reach across the span of grass and water between us and thicken the air around me. I watched as he closed his eyes and tipped his face toward the sky. He stood that way for several seconds, unmoving.
I was captivated, unable to look away. Again, I felt as if something was pulling me toward him, like gravity. I steadied my stance, digging in with my feet and willing my legs not to move.
Something tapped the top of my head. I looked up into the crystal clear sky just as a drop of wetness splattered against my forehead. Then another. And another. With its midnight color and twinkling stars, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, yet I felt more rain drops sprinkling my face. Then, as if an invisible storm cloud hovered overhead, the heavens opened up and it began to pour.
Like a bucket of cold water, I realized at that moment that I had caused the fires. Somehow, some way, I had taken the few flames scattered around the clearing and I'd caused them to rage beyond control, to spread. And terrify. And destroy.
Out of control, a voice sounded in my head.
I closed my eyes against the rain and my disturbing thoughts. Purposely, like I'd done with so many other things of late, I pushed it out of my mind. I was suddenly overwhelmed, unable to cope.
My throat burned with unimaginable thirst. I opened my mouth to the rain, craving even the tiniest bit of moisture. The fat drops were like drops of honey to my parched tongue.
Finally I opened my eyes and lowered my chin to look back at the stranger. But he was gone. I searched the remaining crowd, now scrambling to get out of the deluge, until I found him. He was walking, slowly, toward the dwindling fire in the pit, his eyes fixed on me, hard and unwavering. My breath quickened.
Steadily, he made his way toward me, getting closer and closer, until he was at the water's edge. He stopped several feet from where I stood and, without a word, held out his hand. Again, I felt the magnetism of him.
Trapped in his silvery stare, I moved forward, my feet propelling me of their own accord. I stopped, only inches from him.
"Who are you?"
"The person who's saving you," he growled, his voice a deep, velvety surprise. It resonated deep in my chest, tickling my senses and making them hum like a tuning fork.
"Fr-from what?"
"From you," he responded cryptically.
So quickly it startled me, his hand struck out and he grabbed my wrist. His fingers were like steel bands clamped around my bones. Turning, he began to walk away from the water, pulling me along behind him. It never occurred to me to resist; I didn't even want to.
We walked up around the fire pit, past the cabanas toward the back of the clearing where I'd first seen him. My heart thundered in my chest, my mind spinning wildly. Somewhere in the back of my head, I admitted that I was a little afraid. Though I didn't really think he was there to hurt me, instinctively I knew he was dangerous---very dangerous. It rolled off him in thick black waves, waves that I perceived on some subconscious, primal level. I had no idea why he was there, what he wanted with me or why I kept dreaming about him, but I felt compelled to find out. And, too, I was still inexplicably drawn to him.
He led me past the edge of the clearing and into the woods. Surefooted, as if he could see the black path in front of him, he wove his way through trees, around stumps, and over debris, all the while maintaining his tight grip on my wrist.
My nerves jangled like an orchestra of cymbals. "I'm Carson. Carson Porter," I said quickly, anxiously. I felt the need to fill the space between us with words. He didn't even acknowledge that I'd spoken, but I continued anyway. "I think my parents thought I was going to be a boy. Of course, they named my sister Grey, so maybe not." Still he made no comment, made no move to slow down or address me in any way. "My mother liked to read. Dad says she named me after Carson McCullers and my sister after Agnes Grey. Can you believe that? Why didn't she just name me Judas or Depeche Mode, something really depressing?"
Finally we reached a dirt road and there, parked along the shoulder, was a shiny black motorcycle. Its glossy surface and heavy chrome accents gleamed in the moonlight. It looked perilous and powerful, sleek and muscular, like it was cut from the same cloth as its rider.
Letting go of me, he mounted the bike and, with a flick of his wrist, brought the engine throbbing to life. Once more, he held his hand out to me.
All the instructions about strangers my dad had given me over the years, all the horror stories and cautionary tales I'd heard, resounded in my head. I hesitated, but only for a second, before taking his hand and straddling the bike behind him. For better or worse, I was going to see where this led, consequences be damned.
"Hold on," he commanded in his gruff voice as he kicked the bike's stand out of the way.
He revved the engine and it roared its readiness, vibrating beneath me. A quiet thrill tickled my spine as I put my hands on his waist, my palms flat against his sides.
I could feel the muscles move and shift as he guided the bike onto the road. He felt warm and firm and somehow safe. Dangerously safe.
This entire night had been so far beyond anything I'd ever experienced the only thing I knew to do now was hold on tight and not look back. Never in my life had I made such a series of bad choices, this one quite possibly the worst, but I had to see where he was going, where he was taking me. I wanted to know.
Actually, it was more than I just wanted to know. I was desperate to know. I had to know. And not just where we were going. I was desperate to know him, too. I had to know him. I felt like I needed it, needed him, like I needed air. And even though I knew that was ridiculous, it felt true nonetheless.
As he accelerated, I leaned into his back. I wound my arms further around him, circling his waist and laying my palms against his hard stomach. I felt the muscles twitch beneath my fingertips. My own stomach muscles clinched in response. Every nerve in my body was tightly attuned to him, singularly focused on him.
After we'd left the dirt road and reached the smooth pavement, I rested my cheek against his back and closed my eyes. Beneath the various aromas carried on the wind, the subtle scent of his skin teased my nose. He smelled like midnight, dark and sexy.
I cleared my mind as we rode, concentrating on the feel of the wind in my hair, the man pressed against my chest and nothing else.
In what seemed like a few short minutes, we slowed and the engine whined as he downshifted to make a turn. Two turns later, he pulled to a stop and I opened my eyes. When I looked around, I was surprised to see that we were at Leah's house, parked along the curb at the street.
He cut the engine and flipped the kickstand down with his heel. He turned his head to the side and waited, as if signaling me to get off, which I did. When I was standing beside the bike, he gently let it lean over onto the kickstand then dismounted as well.
He turned toward the driveway.
"What are you doing?"
"Going inside," he said as he began his ascent of the driveway. "You coming?"
"Y-you can't go inside!"
He stopped and turned to stare back at me. "Why not?"
"What do you mean 'why not'? Because this isn't my house, that's why not. This is my friend's house," I explained, then, "Wait, how did you know where to bring me anyway?"
He had already turned back around and was walking to the front door. I felt panic rise inside me. What would the Kirbys do? What if they called the police? Would they arrest him? What if they found out about the fires? What if I got arrested? I'd be grounded until I turn twenty-five. Minimum.
Still too addled to think straight, I came to one comforting, solid conclusion: I had to run. I'd run home and try to sneak into the house and tell the biggest, fattest lie I could come up with in the morning.
I was turning to do just that when I saw the front door open. My heart leapt into my throat and I watched, paralyzed with fear, as the stranger came face to face with Bruce Kirby. Then, to my utter amazement, Mr. Kirby spoke something I couldn't hear and stepped back to allow the stranger to go inside. I stood at the curb, mouth agape, wondering what in the world was going on.
When the stranger had passed, Mr. Kirby poked his head out and said, "Carson, come on inside. It's freezing."
Just then I realized that I was, in fact, incredibly cold. My wet clothes, partially dried by a frigid wind, weren't helping either. I felt chilled to the bone.
I tried to smile, but it wobbled a bit. I braced myself for whatever bizarre thing might happen next and walked to the door.
Mr. Kirby let me in and I stood in the foyer, completely confused. I watched as the stranger, without a word to anyone, mounted the stairs.
I watched him until he was out of sight then turned my attention back to Mr. Kirby. He was watching me, almost expectantly. I don't know what he anticipated, but when I said nothing, he clapped his hands together and announced, "Well, now that everyone's home, I'm going to bed." And with that, he turned toward the main-level master suite.
Flipping off lights as he went, Mr. Kirby turned back when he reached the bedroom door. He said, almost as an afterthought, "Leah's upstairs, but make yourself at home. If you're hungry, there's leftovers in the fridge or, if you don't want those, raid the pantry or the freezer. You're welcome to whatever you want." All things considered, he smiled in a rather benign way and closed the door behind him.
More confused than ever, I stood staring at Mr. Kirby's closed bedroom door for several minutes before I moved to climb the stairs. At the top, the first door I passed was the guest room. It was closed, but a light shone from underneath. I considered knocking on it, but decided I'd pushed my luck far enough for the night. I'd have to get the basic information on the stranger from Leah.
At the end of the hall, there was more light, this coming from beneath Leah's door. I knocked gently then pushed it open.
Leah was lying across her bed watching television. She was already in her pajamas, hair in a ponytail, all traces of the makeup she'd labored over earlier gone. She smiled at me, albeit tentatively, as I closed the door behind me.
"How was the rest of the party?"
I had no idea how to even answer that, so I decided to answer a question with a question, something that I personally hated; it frustrated me to no end.
I felt a frown pinch the skin between my eyebrows so I purposely tried to relax those muscles. "Where did you go?"
"I was ready to go almost as soon as we got there," she said, her expression conveying what her words did not. She had not enjoyed herself and she did not consider that a good time. I felt very small in her sight, remembering very clearly how she'd found me when she arrived. For years I'd wanted to attend a party like that, be one of those people, travel in those kinds of crowds. I was utterly ashamed and wondered what she must think of me.
She continued, "We waited for a while for you to come back with Stephen, but then Derek got there. He said you knew him and that he'd make sure you and Stephen left before twelve so you could get back here on time."
Derek!
A millisecond after hearing the name, pieces began to fall into place. I remembered the dinner conversation where Mr. Kirby had mentioned that Derek, the "family felon" was coming. I also remembered that Leah hadn't been too pleased about it. Again, my curiosity rushed to the surface, but now was not the time to start digging into that so I let it go. For now.
"I didn't realize that you two had ever met," she said, suspicion clear in every line of her face.
"Well, I've only seen him a few times," I replied, hoping the vague answer would satisfy her. And it was technically true. I left out the fact that, until I'd glimpsed him at the mall, I had only seen him in my dreams.
"Hmm" was her only response. Then, "So, how was the rest of the party?"
"It pretty much sucked," I said candidly. "The fire pit sort of went wild and burned some grass and benches and then got on the curtains of a cabana," I explained, sticking to the basics.
Leah's eyes were as big as saucers. "Shut up!"
"I'm serious."
"So what happened? Did anybody get hurt? Did the fire trucks come?"
"No, it started raining and put the whole thing out."
If possible, her eyes got even bigger. "You can't be serious."
"It's true."
"Man," she exclaimed. "Wouldn't you know! Leave it to me to bail right before all the excitement," she said regretfully.
"Be glad you did. It wasn't worth staying for."
She digested that for a few seconds before moving on to her next question, one I knew was coming. With a mischievous grin she asked, "So how'd it go with Stephen?"
I toyed with the idea of stretching the truth here and there, but I knew she'd either hear all about it at school or Ryan would tell her. So I decided I was better off telling her my side of the story, the real story.
And so I did. She was at turns shocked and irate, but always sympathetic to my plight. We stayed up talking for a while after that then watched some Letterman.
I was watching stupid pet tricks, my eyes prickling with fatigue, when it cut to commercial. I let my lids drop for just a second and then...
I was outside again, in the middle of the night, all alone.
I was walking through a field in the dark. Up ahead I could see a large structure looming against the horizon, backlit by the pale globe of the moon. It was a house, tall and narrow and deeply shadowed.
I moved toward it. Dead grass, black and crispy, crunched beneath my feet as I made my way through the field. Images floated in the inky shadows, people with dark eyes and pale skin. They drifted by, one by one, as I walked. To my right one particular face caught my eye and I stopped. It was a girl. And she looked familiar to me, but where had I seen her?
Needing a closer look, I took several steps toward her until her features became clear. She motioned with one slim hand, beckoning me to come forward, further into the shadows. Against my better judgment, I stepped closer still. My gasp was like a whisper in the darkness and the girl in the shadows smiled. I could see her clearly now and, but for the onyx of her eyes and the red of her hair, she looked just like me.
Fear rippled through me. I closed my eyes against her macabre face.
This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real, I repeated in my head. When I opened my eyes again, she was gone, the shadows once again black and empty.
I resumed my walk toward the house. Gradually, the crunch of dead vegetation beneath my feet became a soggy squish. I looked down and saw that I was in water. I don't know how I hadn't seen it, but there was a small pond right in the middle of the field.
It wasn't very big. In fact, I looked back from where I'd come and realized that I'd already crossed more than half of it.
I looked ahead. It didn't appear to get much deeper, so I decided to just go on rather than go back and try to walk around it. I was already soaked after all.
I took another step forward, and another, then another. Each step became more difficult, like something was dragging at my feet. I looked down, but I couldn't see anything past the glassy black surface of the water.
Or could I? Just then I saw a face rising from the depths.
I stumbled backward, my feet tangling beneath me, and I fell into the cold water. I turned to scramble back toward the shore when something about the face struck me, gave me pause.
Hesitantly, I turned back toward the house, toward the body, and took two tentative steps forward until I could see the body drifting lifelessly just beneath the surface.
The short hair floated in a dark halo around a face so white it appeared almost blue. The features, though bloated from time spent in the water, looked familiar. Then I really saw the face.
It was my father.
In a panic, I looked up, intending to run to the house for help, but I was already there. I was at the top of the steps, standing on the stoop.
I looked behind me, confused, and saw that there was no water, only the black field that I'd seen from the beginning.
I turned my attention back to the house. It was tall, taller than it had looked from a distance. When I looked up, I could barely make out the gable at the peak in the roof. And it was dark, much darker than just deeply shadowed; it was pitch black---the siding, the trim, the steps, the eaves. Even the door I was standing in front of was black. It, too, was tall, almost twice as tall as me, and slender, just wide enough for me to pass through.
I looked to the left and right of the door, hoping to peek inside a window, but there was nothing on either side of the door, just more black siding.
I looked up again. Above the front door was a row of seven doors that spanned the entire length of the house. Above that row was a single door and above that was another row of eight doors. At the top of the house, centered beneath the peak of the roof, was another single door.
I stared at the doors, thinking something looked off. Then I realized that only two of the doors had knobs. The front door had a silver knob, etched with some sort of intricate design, and the single door in the second row had a gold knob. Though I was puzzled, I didn't dwell on it, supposing it didn't matter since there were no stairs by which to access the doors anyway.
I walked around to one side of the house. From top to bottom, the entire side of the house was covered with doors, all without knobs. I continued on around the house. The back and the other side of the house looked the same---all doors, no knobs, no windows.
When once more I stood before the front door, I heard the creaking of old hinges. When I looked up, the third story single door stood open.
I blinked and I was inside. I stood in the center of a room, evidently the room where dozens of hallways converged. I turned in a circle and saw corridors spread out before me in every direction, like spokes of a wheel. Dozens of dark hallways lined with hundreds of dark doors. On each door was a different symbol of some sort, geometric in design.
All of a sudden, a deafening creak split the stillness and every single door opened simultaneously, just a crack. Fear lanced through me like a hot knife. The hair at my nape prickled at the danger I felt gushing down the hallways toward me. Something was waiting for me.
I woke with a start. I lay still for several minutes, staring quietly at the ceiling, relieved that I had only been having a dream. At least it was a different dream, I thought. Still, I was unable to shake the feeling that I was trapped---in the house, by the house.
I saw the first pale streaks of dawn peeking beneath the yellow curtains at Leah's windows. Knowing that I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, I slid from between the sheets and crept out the door and down the steps. When my foot hit the bottom step, I inhaled deeply. The smell of coffee drenched the air. I closed my eyes to savor the scent. I loved coffee. Sweet like dessert or plain black, I loved it all. Dad didn't let me indulge very often (said it would stunt my growth) so I enjoyed it at every possible opportunity when he wasn't around.
Though my mouth watered at the prospect of a cup of the brew, I toyed with the idea of going back to bed; I didn't want to disturb the Kirbys while they enjoyed the quiet of early morning.
I stood on the bottom step, one hand on the newel post, debating what to do, when Derek suddenly appeared at the bottom of the steps. He startled me and I couldn't prevent the involuntary leap of my muscles
He just stood there, staring at me for several seconds before he finally moved. He extended his hand and I looked down into it. His long fingers were looped through the handles of two coffee cups. A shiver wiggled its way through me. I don't know how he knew I was there.
Adding that to my ever-growing list of mysterious and/or bizarre occurrences, I merely nodded in gratitude and carefully took one of the proffered cups. When I did, Derek turned and, without a word, walked back the way he'd come. I hesitated only for an instant before I followed him.
He went through the kitchen to a small den that sat off the back of the house, almost like a sun room only with more comfortable furniture. Its pale yellow walls looked like warm gold in the rising sun and the puffy floral seat cushions seemed particularly inviting.
Derek sat in one of two extra wide, deep-seated chairs; I padded barefoot across the cool tile floor and slid into the other. He crossed his legs, resting the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Evidently he had nothing to say. I, on the other hand, had a lot to say, mostly in the form of questions. So many, in fact, I didn't know where to start.
So I went with simple. "Who are you?"
"Derek. Derek Hrolf," he replied, not even opening his eyes. "Leah's cousin."
"I know that," I said, rolling my eyes. "I mean who are you?"
After several seconds of silence, he finally answered. "Nobody," he said enigmatically.
Obviously, this wasn't going to be easy. "What were you doing at that party?'
"I told you---"
"I know what you said," I interrupted abruptly. "But what does that mean?"
"You're dangerous, reckless. Unpredictable. I knew if I didn't stop you, someone would end up getting hurt."
"I would never---"
"I didn't say you'd do it on purpose."
"Yeah, but I could never---"
"Yes, you could," he interrupted, lifting his head and pinning me with his silvery stare.
Goosebumps spread down my back and arms. "How?"
"You know how."
I didn't want to get into all that I suspected. I'd much rather he just answered my questions directly. I decided to try a different tack. "But how did you know?"
His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. The mercury of his gaze seemed to ooze through my pores into my very soul, penetrating me in such a way that I almost felt violated. I had no idea what he was trying to see, what he hoped to see, but I felt like he saw too much.
"Answer me," I snapped, my temper rising quickly to the surface.
"Shh," he hissed.
"Then answer my question."
Derek closed his eyes and leaned his head back again, looking relaxed and unengaged.
"I could feel it," he finally supplied.
"Wh-what do you mean?"
"I mean I can feel it when you wield."
"Wield what?"
"Fire," he answered simply.
Though he confirmed what I had begun to suspect, it was still incredibly frightening to be asking the question, to say nothing of the anxious anticipation I felt for what the answer might be. "But h-how can I do that?"
With a shrug of his big shoulders, Derek said, "Because you're cursed."
CHAPTER NINE
Just like that---I'm cursed. My first thoughts were that this guy was obviously terribly unbalanced and I needed to march right back upstairs, get my stuff and go home, but then...there didn't seem a whole lot of other explanations for all the strange things happening to me lately.
I felt the blood rush from my face leaving me lightheaded and a bit disoriented. The room tilted just a hair so I closed my eyes and counted to ten then opened them again.
"Cursed?" There were days I might've jokingly said I was cursed, but never for one second did I think it might be true, and yet... "How? Why?"
He shrugged again. "Someone made a deal."
"A deal? What kind of deal?'
"The expensive kind, the kind that costs someone's life...sort of," he said mysteriously.
"Well, I can assure you that I'm not crazy enough to make a deal like that."
"It doesn't always have to be you."
"What do you mean?"
"Unfortunately," he said, bitterness liberally coloring his tone. "A parent can make such a deal."
"But my parents would never---"
"Don't be so sure," he warned harshly, raising his head and glaring at me. "It happens all the time with twins. It's their failsafe---they only lose one. I guess that seems like an acceptable loss to some parents."
"But I'm not a twin," I cried urgently.
"What?"
"I'm not a twin."
Derek studied me for several long seconds before he spoke again. "Yes, you are."
"Uh, no, I'm not," I declared, but that did little to deter him.
"Any siblings?"
"A sister."
"But not a twin sister?"
"No!"
"Where is she?"
"She stayed with my mother."
"How old were you when your parents separated?"
"Just a few months. Why?"
"Can you be sure she wasn't your twin?"
"Yes! Don't you think I'd know? Don't you think my father would've told me?"
"Did he ever tell you that you weren't?"
"Well no, but I'd think he would've said something."
He made no comment, just leaned his head back and closed his eyes again.
I sat in silence, waiting for him to continue, a thousand confused thoughts chasing each other through my head.
Indignant, I broke the silence. "This is ridiculous! You ---"
"Hey, I'm just telling you what I think. Believe what you want," he said, shrugging again, apparently unconcerned. Then, suddenly, Derek stood to his feet. "Go home. Ask some questions. Meet me at the forks at six." With that, he turned to walk back into the kitchen.
"But, I---" I began, but stopped when I heard the closing of a cabinet door. I looked behind me and Mr. Kirby was turning, coffee mug in hand, toward the pot.
"How'd you sleep?" I heard Mr. Kirby ask Derek when he stopped at the sink to rinse out his mug.
Derek shrugged, a gesture he obviously used often. "I got in a couple hours."
I watched as he put his mug in the dishwasher, turned and walked out of the kitchen toward the front of the house. Seconds later, I heard the front door open and close.
I sat back in my chair, an overwhelming sense of foreboding settling around my heart like a cold, wet blanket.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
As soon as it was socially acceptable for me to leave, I rushed home, ready to put Dad in the hot seat. What I found instead of my father, however, was a note. He needed a part for the Camaro, one we couldn't go forward without, and he'd located one. Unfortunately, he had to drive all the way to Wise for it, a trip which would take the better part of the day.
Frustrated and disappointed, I resigned myself to busy work until he returned. There was always laundry to do, bathrooms to clean, floors to mop, carpet to vacuum.
I had just finished cleaning Dad's bathroom when I noticed that his bed wasn't made. Since I had plenty of time on my hands, I decided I'd strip and change his bed, too, something he usually did himself.
I carried his dirty sheets to the wash machine and pushed them in on top of mine then hit the start button. I went back into his room, to his closet where he kept his queen size sheets.
I was pulling them off the shelf when I saw the safe where he kept all our important documents. I had never looked inside it; I'd never had any reason.
The lock had a dial and a place for a key. I assumed it could be opened either way. I hoped it didn't require both because I had no idea what the combination was. I did, however, suspect that I knew where the key was.
I walked to his dresser and opened the top drawer. Once when I was putting away some clothes for him, I'd noticed a small box stashed behind his socks. I hadn't thought anything of it at the time and he usually put his own clothes away, so I hadn't seen it since. But now, I pulled out the little box.
I glanced guiltily over my shoulder before I took the lid off and rifled through its contents: a few silver dollars, a two dollar bill, some old wallet-size pictures of me, his wedding ring, a dried boutonniere, and, in the very bottom, a key.
I took the key to the safe and inserted it. It turned easily and the lock clicked open. I pulled on the handle and the door yawned wide.
Inside were a variety of envelopes, a small stack of hundred dollar bills, an old photo album, a baseball card in a protective plastic case and some laminated cards, bound together with a rubber band.
Flipping through the cards, I saw my birth certificate and slid it from beneath the band. It had all the information one would expect to find on one's birth record. I didn't know if multiple births were recorded on a birth certificate, but this one said nothing about a twin so it was no help.
I stuffed the card back into the stack and replaced it in the safe and pulled out the old photo album.
The first couple of yellowed pages held pictures of my mom and dad when they were younger, probably even before they'd gotten married. They were smiling and happy, both looking healthy and sane. I flipped past their life together until I reached baby pictures. There were several pages of me, in all sorts of clothes and poses, but nothing out of the ordinary. I flipped ahead to find pictures of my sister when she'd come along. Being younger than me, I figured she'd be toward the end.
As I flipped, I saw a family picture. It was Mom and Dad in heavy winter coats, standing in front of an old house. Mom was blonde and beautiful, her long hair nearly reaching her waist. And Dad was handsome as ever, his dark hair curling around his chiseled face. Snow was on the ground all around; it dusted the trees in the background. And in their arms, they held me---separately.
My heart sank into my toes. I knew that there was only way that picture could be possible, without photo shop that is. Twins. One of my parents was holding my identical twin.
I brought the picture right up to my face and looked closely. The brightness of the sun and the whiteness of the snow brought out red highlights in the hair of the baby in Mom's arms. I lifted a lock of honey blonde hair from my shoulder and held it up to the light. There was not even a hint of red in my hair now and, as far as I knew, there never had been.
A ghostly face with black eyes and flaming hair danced through my mind, hovering in the shadows much like she had in my dream. I knew at that moment that my mother held my twin sister in her arms in that picture and that, somehow, last night I'd dreamed of her.
Flipping back toward the front of the book, I looked once more at all the baby pictures. I looked closely at the hair. All the different clothes and poses hadn't been me at all; only half of them were. The other half had been of my sister---my twin sister.
Feeling more betrayed and dejected than I could ever remember (and that was saying a lot since Dad's recent admissions), I carefully replaced the photo album and locked the safe then returned the key to the box Dad kept hidden in his sock drawer.
Hours elapsed after that discovery. At one point I remember hearing a hard rain pounding on the roof, but the next time I was really aware of my surroundings, darkness was falling and still there was no sign of my father.
Anxious to talk to him but equally anxious to meet Derek at the forks, I changed into yoga pants, a tank and a hoodie and then went into the kitchen to scribble Dad a note. If it was good enough for me, then it should be good enough for him. All things considered, I felt like it was very generous of me to think of his feelings at all.
When my feet hit the pavement, I struck out west, in the direction of the mountains. Within minutes, my feet were thumping on the wet pavement in a steady rhythm and I was completely inside my own head, just the way I liked it.
The "forks" was actually just a fork in the road. It was a fairly significant fork in these parts, however, as many people had disappeared from that general vicinity over the years. Needless to say, I'd never been allowed to run that far before. Dad said it wasn't safe.
If I hadn't been so preoccupied, I'd probably have been afraid---heading to the forks, on foot, by myself, after dark, no one aware of my whereabouts. But before I had time to dwell on it, I was there, just over an hour after I'd left my driveway.
The forks lay under the shroud of a heavy mist; the air was so humid I could almost taste the fallen leaves from the forest floor, just a few yards away. I searched the dark, foggy roadside as best I could in the darkness, but saw no evidence of Derek or his bike.
I was acutely disappointed that he hadn't shown. I wondered if he'd changed his mind. I walked a little ways up first one fork then back down and up the other. Still no Derek.
I was back at the fork, standing in the middle of the road, debating what to do, when I heard the snap of some twigs in the woods a few feet from where I was.
I was instantly alert and alarmed. I couldn't see a thing, I hadn't found Derek and I was all by myself. I stood motionless, listening closely for the sound, but I heard nothing. Once more, the woods were quiet.
A couple of minutes later, after I'd convinced myself it was just some sort of forest creature moving about, my heart returned to a more normal pace. Calmly, I was considering turning and running home when I heard another snap. Then another. I tipped my head and listened hard, trying to triangulate the sound. When I fixed its position, I turned to face it. Straining, I looked deep into the trees and their inky shadows, but I couldn't see anything beyond the edge of the woods.
Then, just like I'd seen in my dream, a face appeared in the darkness. It was the same girl. Her eyes were like hollow pits in her pale face. Her red hair floated out around her as if she were suspended in the mist. Her lips, so like my own, were twisted into a cold smile and she beckoned me.
Another snap sounded then I saw Derek's face push through the mist and the girl dissolved in the air like smoke in the wind. I closed my eyes in relief, letting it flood my body and flow into my tense muscles.
"What were you staring at?"
"N-nothing," I hedged, opening my eyes. "I didn't think you were here. Where's your motorcycle?"
"Further up the road, behind a tree," he said as he turned and walked back into the forest. When he had disappeared into the trees, I heard his disembodied voice call out, "You coming?"
I stared at the spot where I'd last seen him and the girl, thoughts of a brutal death in the woods drifting through my mind. After all, I barely knew this guy. I mean, he was in my dreams (and not in a good way), he'd shown up at two different places I'd been like he was stalking me, and he'd been feeding me unbelievable lines about curses and the ability to start fires. And he chose the forks as a meeting place. None of it boded well. And yet...
Despite all the troublesome circumstances, my feet were moving to follow him even before I was finished reeling off reasons I should turn around and go home. I had already decided I was going to get to the bottom of this, consequences be damned. Turns out whatever was happening to me was turning me into quite the rebellious risk-taker.
I stepped into the shadows, barely able to see his silhouette enough to follow him. "Wait!"
Ahead I heard a frustrated sigh, but the sounds of his movements through the branches and underbrush stopped.
"You need to be able to move around in the dark. It can be a handicap if you can't," he said, the clarity of his voice indicating that he'd turned toward me.
"Why do I need to be able to walk in the woods at night? Is there a lot of occupational need for that?"
"Listen smart-a---"
"Just kidding. Geez," I said.
"Watch it," he snapped, turning to continue on once I'd nearly reached him.
He walked a bit more slowly and we made our way further and further into the mountains. The damp, cool air nipped at my nose and cheeks and my fingers were getting very cold. I didn't see much because my eyes were trained either on Derek's back or the ground at my feet. I heard the babbling sound of a creek in the distance, though, and the chirps and croaks of various nocturnal creatures all around.
I'd been watching my step as we traversed a fallen log so when Derek stopped in front of me, I ran right into him.
"Sorry," I said, backing up and stepping around to stand beside him.
The breath hitched in my throat. We had reached a clearing. Even in the dark I recognized it. It was the clearing from my dream. It wasn't as intimidating, what with no blood-soaked snow or anything, but it was one and the same. And, right now, it was beautiful.
The moon was bigger than I'd ever seen it before, hovering above the tree tops like a giant, glittering diamond. Its light shone brightly through the bare limbs, sparkling in the drops of moisture on the leaf-covered ground. As Derek stepped forward into the clearing, the lunar glow softened his angular features and turned his bronze skin to pearl. As I watched him, I felt the lure of him again, tugging at my soul.
I followed him out, the wings of a million butterflies fluttering anxiously in my stomach. My cold fingertips tingled and my face felt suddenly warm. I'd felt the sensations before, like a power surge or a hot flash.
"Can you feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"The power."
Suddenly I was breathless. "Yes," I whispered.
"Did you talk to your father?"
"No," I admitted. "He wasn't home. But..."
"But what?"
I hesitated before telling him what I'd learned. I was at the point of no return. Intuitively, I knew he was going to tell me something that would forever change my life. And I wasn't at all certain I really wanted to know.
"Well?"
"I think you were right. About being a twin I mean," I said.
He shrugged, obviously not surprised. "Now do you believe me?"
"Believe what? You haven't told me anything yet."
"That's why I brought you here."
"Why? Why here?"
"Because this is where you'll feel it most. This town sits on a nexus. And this," he said stretching out his arms. "This is the center."
Derek walked to the middle of the clearing and stopped. He took off the black leather jacket he wore and circled his shoulders as if he were loosening up for a boxing match. Then he stilled, took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
He was motionless for several extraordinarily long seconds before I saw him flick his hands in one short snap. There was a faint whoosh and I stared in wonder at the small orb of fire that materialized in the air between his palms.
All the way across the clearing, I felt power radiating from him. It stirred something inside me, tickled something deep inside my chest and belly.
Derek raised his arms to shoulder height, his eyes coming slowly open to meet mine. A bolt of electricity seemed to pass between us, jarring me all the way to my toes. For a second his silvery gaze seemed to glow with the very fire he wielded. Then, as if he were lofting a ball into the air, he flung his hands up and out.
Suddenly, the air above us burst into flame. The fireball exploded into a compact car-sized mass that floated over our heads, lighting the woods around us. The golden sphere shimmered with shades of orange and blue. It was perfectly controlled, however, eliciting not so much as single hiss from any of the damp vegetation around its perimeter.
Heat washed over my face and ruffled my hair. My palms tingled as I watched Derek first shrink then enlarge the ball by moving his hands closer together then farther apart.
And then, with a clap of his hands that made me jump, the fire was gone, as if it had never been. Not even the smell of smoke hung in the air, only the woodsy scent of damp bracken.
"How did you do that?" I was amazed.
"With practice," he said nonchalantly. "Unfortunately, I had to---"
Derek stopped mid-sentence, his entire body stiff as his expression turned to one of anger, the one I'd dreamt about so often. His hard gaze was fixed beyond my left shoulder. I turned to see what he was looking at.
A gaunt man stood in the woods at edge of the clearing, barely visible in the deep shadow of the trees. A frigid chill spread down my arms and back.
I watched as he stepped forward into the barely-lit clearing. He moved like running water---fluid and nearly silent.
Though I couldn't identify a cause, I felt a shudder pass through my body; he made me want to cringe for some unfathomable reason.
He was dressed in an ill-fitting jet black suit and collarless button-up shirt. The too-large suit served only to accentuate his emaciated, nearly skeletal appearance. His face was sunken, the bones protruding grotesquely beneath pale, waxy skin. His wispy hair, the blue-black of a raven's wing, floated weightlessly around his narrow head like static electricity pulled at its tips.
"Fahl," Derek said tightly. His voice held so much venom I had to look and make sure it was him speaking; it barely even sounded like him.
"Finally," the man, Fahl, said. His voice was a surprise: smooth as glass and just as cold. It also held the lilt of a British accent.
The man looked toward Derek, who made no comment. The thin man smiled, the kind of smile I imagined a cobra might have if it could make such gestures. It chilled me to the bone.
"What are you doing here?" Derek growled.
"I felt it when you brought her into the clearing. I just had to come and see for myself that you found her. She's, how shall I say?" The man paused, searching for the right words. "Highly anticipated."
"What do you want?"
"Fortunately, I don't have to explain myself to you, Derek. In fact, you should be glad that I gave you this assignment rather than keeping you...with me, where you have no choice but to learn all the gory details," he sneered.
Derek's chest was heaving and he looked positively livid. The veins in his neck stood out like they were about to burst and every muscle in his body looked taut with fury.
Then I noticed his hands. They were a bright glowing orange, like red-hot pokers, and they shook with his effort to restrain himself.
I stood perfectly still as the man approached me. By the time he was within about three feet of me, I could smell him. He didn't really stink so much as he just had very distinctive odor, like sickness and death and dark things I didn't want to know about were oozing from his pores.
"I knew she'd be beautiful, too," he said, his voice no more than a whisper.
He didn't stop walking until he stood only inches from me. Eyes the dull, flat black of coal met mine, unblinking, boring a cold path into my skull. He didn't speak or move, just stood looking down into my face for several intense, breathless seconds.
The corners of his mouth twitched up into that dead smile. "Mmm, you feel just like her," he said, closing his eyes in pleasure. When he opened them, they held an evil delight, as if he'd somehow sampled my soul and liked the way it tasted. "Only sweeter. Pure," he declared, licking his lips.
Just as I was about to back away in disgust, he closed his eyes once more and his body began to shimmer. The trees behind him became visible, dancing delicately in the wavy air where his translucent body shook.
Suddenly I was paralyzed. I watched him take another step closer to me. I wanted desperately to back away, but I was unable to move. Wide-eyed and terrified, I held my breath when he took that final step toward me, the one that would bring his transparent body into contact with mine.
The air burned inside my lungs and I closed my eyes. I couldn't bear to know what was coming.
A low whisper sounded in my ears, the deep ahh of ecstasy. Then a cold tickling sensation erupted on every surface of my body all at once. It was like walking through a huge, icy spider web. Reflexively, I shivered. For a second I could taste the awful smell of him, as if he'd somehow invaded my mouth. And then it was gone.
I waited a few seconds before slowly opening my eyes to look around. The man was gone. And I was shaken, profoundly shaken.
I exhaled. Then, with my very next breath, asked the most obvious question. "Where did he go?"
Hesitantly, I tried my legs. They wobbled, but at least it appeared they were back under my control. I spun in a tight circle, looking for the man at the edge of the forest, in the shadows of the trees, in the open of the clearing, but he was nowhere.
Relief washed over me in an energy-sapping wave. I turned to face Derek. He was looking at me as if I'd grown a second head.
"What? Why are you looking at me like that? Where did he go?"
"You could see him?"
"Of course I could see him. Why wouldn't I?"
A deep frown creased Derek's brow. "You shouldn't have been able to see him," he said, his voice quiet, apprehensive, causing needles of foreboding to prick their way down my spine.
"That's ridiculous. Why shouldn't I have been able to see him?"
"Because he's dead."
"Dead? What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said. He's dead."
"Then how could you see him?"
"I've...seen him before. I know him, sort of."
"So what does that mean, then, that I could see him?"
Derek stared at me for several long seconds, his expression a mixture of puzzlement and concern. When he finally spoke, the razor-sharp edge of his words cut right through me. "The only thing it can mean. It means you're dead, too."
CHAPTER TEN
My heart stopped for an instant before restarting at a faster pace. "What? That's crazy," I scoffed, looking anywhere but at Derek's face. "Now that really is ridiculous," I mumbled. When he made no comment, didn't so much as move a muscle, I looked back at him. His face was so serious, so grave, I felt the burn of the bitter truth in my heart. Willfully, I swallowed back tears. "How is that even possible?"
"I don't know, but there are only two ways people can see the dead and, as far as I know, you haven't been over there."
"Over where?"
"To the Darkness."
"The Darkness?" This evening was beginning to take on a surreal quality, just as the previous night had. It was like I was in an extended opening scene of a cheesy sci-fi movie.
"Yes. It's where you'll go to fight. And win, preferably."
The bottom dropped out of my stomach. Fight?
Despite my determination not to cry, I felt my chin quiver. "Fight? What are you talking about?" Derek said nothing, didn't even acknowledge that I'd spoken. He just continued to stare at me as if I was the enemy. And that sparked my anger. "Answer me! What are you talking about?"
Derek whirled away from me, suddenly furious. It lashed out at me like a physical entity, like a slap in the face. "I don't know," he spat, flinging his arms emphatically. "None of this," he spun around, indicating the clearing, the power, the situation. "None of it may apply to you. I don't know why he'd want you." He stopped abruptly and stared into my face, as if struck by a realization. "Something's wrong," he said, taking two large steps away from me. "Very, very wrong."
Bending, Derek angrily swiped his jacket off the ground then, without a backward glance, he strode past me. He stalked across the clearing then disappeared into the forest.
As I watched him go, I clung desperately to the denial that had served me so well recently. His footsteps faded into the distance and the events of the past few days crowded in on me, drowning out all that was recognizable about my life. The warmth and comfort of the familiar was all but gone, replaced by the cold reality of a strange world and an outlandish existence where my body and my life were not my own.
Inside, I was breaking. Again. Too much was happening too fast. How many times could I break before I shattered? How much more could I bear?
Before I could give in to the breakdown that was bearing down on me, a sharp, distant voice pierced the heavy night air.
"You coming?"
As much as I needed to think, I needed answers. And there was only one person that really seemed to know what was going on. And he was steadily making his way further and further away from me.
Springing into action, I took off after Derek, walking as quickly as I could through the dark forest, chasing the sound of rustling leaves and moving branches.
When I reached him, he was already at his motorcycle, the engine grumbling softly in the darkness. I started to ask him a question, but he preempted me, shaking his head and revving the engine. Obviously now was not the time. I climbed on behind him and he eased onto the road and turned toward home.
When he pulled up in front of Leah's, I dismounted, assuming he'd do the same and we'd have a chance to talk. Instead, as soon as I was safely away from the bike, Derek punched it into gear and hit the gas, speeding away like the devil himself was right on his heels.
He left me there, on the curb at Leah's house, alone to deal with my myriad feelings. They swirled around inside me---frustration, fear, confusion, desperation, denial, disappointment.
When I could no longer hear the throaty growl of Derek's motorcycle, I pushed my wayward feelings down deep inside my chest and turned to walk up Leah's driveway. Maybe she would have a way I could reach Derek. I would find him one way or the other and he would answer my questions.
My arm was raised, poised to knock on the front door, when Leah jerked it open and threw herself at me.
"Oh, Carson! I'm so glad you're alright. We've been looking for you."
"Looking for me? Why?" I inquired when Leah pulled away. My first thought was that I was busted, that Dad had called Leah's asking for me.
"Dad saw a police car in your driveway. He walked down to make sure everything was alright and the cop said they were looking for you."
The events of the previous night flashed through my mind in a montage of horrifying images. I was going to jail. Or juvie. Either way, I just knew I was in serious trouble. "Did they say why?"
Leah lowered her head, looking distinctly uncomfortable. When she looked back up, tears shimmered in her cocoa eyes. It was then that I noticed the sadness that was evident in every line of her face.
My heart constricted in alarm. "Leah, what is it?"
The urgency in my voice must've broken what tenuous hold she had on her emotions. "It's your dad, Carson," she said, her voice breaking. "He was in a wreck."
My ears rang with her words. "Is he alright?"
Leah shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "No."
I grabbed Leah's shoulders and shook. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
"Carson, he's gone," she said miserably.
The world around me went silent, but for the dull thud of my heart. "No," I said, shaking my head, a sob burning in my chest. "No. He-he," I began, my head spinning. Leah touched my arm, but I jerked away from her. "No! You're wrong! He went for car parts. He---"
I whirled and flew across her yard. I hit the sidewalk at a full run, visions of my father's bloated face floating beneath the surface of a black pond. I didn't stop running until I was fumbling with my keys, trying with trembling fingers to work the lock on the front door.
"Dad! Dad!" Frantically, I went from room to room, turning on lights and calling his name. I stopped in his bedroom. Nothing was out of place, nothing looked different, but, inside, everything felt different. It was unlike my dad to be out of contact for so long. I had been too busy with my own stupid life to notice that something was wrong. In the quiet, I knew Leah was telling the truth.
The icy fingers squeezing my heart belonged to death. I knew it as surely as if he sat in the room with me, screaming at me from the dark corners.
Fuzzy gray cotton clouded my vision and filled my head. I felt the softness of Dad's comforter against my cheek just before numbness invaded my limbs. Slowly, the coldness of reality faded until I was adrift in a welcome sea of nothingness.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
It was as if I'd awakened from a bad dream into a nightmare. It was a particularly cold, rainy day at the end of September and my heart reflected the dull gray of the sky. The minister's words were nothing more than a hum in my head. My focus was on the casket in front of me. It was poised over a yawning hole in the ground, though a green drape covered the hole as well as the displaced earth piled at its foot. But I knew it was there, waiting to swallow up the only family I had ever known.
It had all been a blur---the police finding me on his bed, the description of how he'd drowned, the Kirbys hauling me back to their house, their promises to take care of everything. And they had except for one thing: the lifeless body of my father lay only a few feet away. They couldn't take care of that. That couldn't be fixed.
At one point, I noticed the hum stopped and people were shaking my hand, hugging me, patting me on the back, their words an endless parade of platitudes that held no meaning for me, no comfort. I shut them out as best I could. I just wanted them go away and leave me alone. Alone with my father.
Finally it was over and the Kirbys were all that remained. Mrs. Kirby slid her arm around my shoulders and tugged gently, pulling me away from the grave. I dug my heels in, literally. She stopped when I did.
"I'll find a way home. I'd like to stay for a while."
"Carson," Mrs. Kirby began, her pained expression conveying more than her words ever could. The indecision that warred within her was plain on her face. I knew she was teetering between giving me some time with my father and not leaving me alone in case I was unstable.
"Thank you both for...everything. But really, I'll be fine. I just need some time."
Though she teetered a few seconds more, I saw when the scales tipped in my favor. With a nod of her head, she stepped away from me and, grudgingly, they left.
When the sound of their engine had faded into the distance, I walked to the edge of the casket. I was finally alone with my father. For the last time.
I struggled for words, but none came. My eyes burned with tears, but none fell. The sweet smell of roses taunted my nose. There was a huge spray on top of the coffin. It had all sorts of flowers in it, but I only recognized one---the roses.
I reached out to touch one ruby petal, barely able to feel the satin texture against my fingertip. They were so beautiful and they smelled so good. I cupped one scented blossom in my hand.
Anger welled within me. How dare they? On the worst day of my life, how dare they be anything but black and dead? How dare they be beautiful and vibrant and alive?
My fingers closed around the delicate bulb until I felt it crush against my palm. Perversely, I felt a little bit better for having hurt it---like I was hurting.
I looked around at all the floral arrangements. Dozens of varieties covered the ground for ten feet in every direction. None of them deserved to live and shine; they should all be dead and lifeless, like me I felt dead and lifeless.
Bitterness poured through me, warring with my ever-present anger. My right shoulder blade stung as my emotions churned. I felt a thousand things at once and, at the same time, nothing.
I opened my hand and looked down at the pulverized rose bud. It lay limply on my palm, black and dead. I closed my eyes against the rage, concentrated on pushing the fury back down inside me.
As I struggled, I felt the pull of something familiar and powerful, something that tempered the explosiveness that swirled within me. I opened my eyes to Derek. He had materialized in front of me on the other side of the casket.
He was wearing his customary black attire, which was depressingly appropriate for once. But this time he wore a dress shirt and slacks topped with a duster, also in black. His pale gray eyes glistened like sparkling drops of silver in his bronzed face.
He cleared his throat and brought me back from my musings. It was then that I noticed the backdrop was dark as well. Behind him, all around the grave, were dead flowers. All the arrangements that had been vibrant only moments before were dead, their edges black and curled. The grass was dead, too; it made a brown circle that radiated out from the grave site.
"What happened?"
Derek shrugged. The casual gesture was belied by the deep frown of concern that etched his brow.
"Are you going to be alright?"
A derisive snort escaped. "You're kidding, right?"
"Look, I---"
"I mean, why wouldn't I be alright? I'm a probably-cursed, possibly-dead, fire-wielding, plant-killing, ghost-seeing orphan with a second skin. Why on earth wouldn't I be alright?" Though I knew he was only trying to help in his backward way, I couldn't help the sarcastic, near-hysterical bark of laughter that followed my bitter diatribe.
"I know how much you're hurting---"
"Oh, you do, huh? And just how do you imagine you know how I feel?"
"We've all lost people we love, Carson," he snapped then, as if he immediately regretted it, ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, pulling several glossy strands loose from his low ponytail. "Just trust me. I know more about what you're going through than you think."
I glared at him as long as I dared before looking away. I stared at the rose in my hand. I wanted to crush everyone and everything around me, just like I'd crushed the rose. I was seething on the inside.
Then a butterfly lit on the devastated blossom. As if I wasn't there and the rose wasn't dead, it fluttered its blue and green wings delicately then settled onto its perch.
My father's voice rang in my head, as clearly as if he'd spoken it aloud. I love you, Butterfly.
And then the dam broke.
An unbearable weight pressed in around my heart. My ribs felt like they'd explode. The first sob was torn from my lungs as if by force, but the rest flowed from my heart like a haunted river.
I fell to my knees. Though it was blurry through the tears, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the butterfly. I was struck by how appropriate Dad's nickname for me had suddenly become. Gone was the ugly caterpillar. She'd been sacrificed to make room for something new---a butterfly, one with a deceptive beauty. Her light colors are a shimmering camouflage for the darkness she carries. Death travels beneath her wings and sadness shines in her wake. Time is her enemy and the shadows haunt her. Butterfly indeed.
I don't know how long I cried, but the butterfly never left its perch. It stayed with me until the rose slipped from my fingers when Derek picked me up to carry me to his motorcycle. He straddled it and sat me on the seat between his legs, my calves draped over his left knee and my head on his chest.
I don't know how we got back to my house that way, but we did. I vaguely remember him carrying me in, laying me on my bed and pulling the comforter up over me. Nothing seemed hardly real or very important. There was mush in my head and rot in my chest and I just wanted to escape it all.
I remember snatches of time, little bits and pieces, like a disconnected slide show. At one point, I opened my eyes and looked out the window. I saw only darkness beyond the curtains, curtains that some kind soul had left open. I closed my eyes and went back to sleep, thankful that at least my strange and troublesome dreams were on hiatus.
The next time I opened my eyes, I saw bright light and smelled bacon. I knew I needed to get up and face the day like the near-adult that I was, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I pulled the covers over my head and lay still until I drifted off into that strange place between sleep and wakefulness, the place where there are neither dreams nor conscious thoughts, just...quiet nothingness.
I heard voices several times. Leah, Dina and Bruce Kirby, Derek, others I couldn't readily identify, but I thought I recognized. There were a few light knocks at my door, followed by the offer of food, drink, an ear, a hug. Every voice sounded worried, but I couldn't bring myself to care. The only thing I cared about was in the ground at the cemetery. Everything else was just...less.
The next time I woke, I saw that the bright light had darkened as dusk crept in. So I slept.
At one point I felt a cool hand on my brow, pushing my hair back soothingly. The bed dipped as someone sat beside me. I was relieved to hear Leah's voice. She whispered to me, too low for me to make out the words. I thought she might have been praying, though that was a bit odd, even for Leah. After several minutes I felt three warm, wet drops touch my cheek followed by her lips as she kissed the spot where her tears had fallen.
After her weight left the bed, I heard her scurrying quietly around my room, opening and closing drawers. When she returned to the bed, she whispered soft, soothing things in my ear, something about getting me into more comfortable clothes. I vaguely remember her taking off my suit jacket, leaving me in only my tank top, and sliding my pants off and replacing them with silky pajama bottoms. I didn't hear her leave the room; I think I was asleep before she got up off the bed.
The next time I opened my eyes, the light coming through my window was warm and rosy, likely the sun of early evening. Another day had come and gone. I thought for a second that Dad should be home from work and that I needed to start dinner. Then I remembered I'd cooked my last dinner for my father and my heart ached, so badly I thought my chest might explode.
My eyes stung and I waited for the tears, but none came. My face and eyes felt tight and puffy. It seemed I'd already shed all the tears I was capable of shedding.
I heard the sound of the television and hushed whispers. I thought of getting up and going out to talk to whomever was there, but I lacked the energy to do more than shift beneath my covers. I closed my eyes again and let my mind and my body drift until my troubles were no longer a thought. And I slept.
The next morning the smell of coffee roused me from sleep. My head felt as heavy as my heart. I lay in bed, watching the pale light of dawn flicker across the carpet of my bedroom. I heard the familiar sound of a thump followed by a tool, likely a wrench, hitting the cement of the garage floor.
My heart leapt. It had all been a dream. It was Saturday and Dad was already working on the car. I shot up out of bed, pushed my arms hurriedly into my robe, flung open the door and flew through the kitchen to the garage door.
The instant the chilly cement hit my feet cold reality slapped me in the face. Derek was standing at the front of the Camaro with a wrench in one hand and the forefinger of his other hand in his mouth.
Had I not been so disappointed, I'd have been smug that he'd hurt himself. But, as it was, I was so let down, having wanted to see my dad under the hood so badly, I felt like I could barely stand it.
So I attacked.
"What are you doing?" I hurled myself across the garage, arms straight out in front of me like twin battering rams. When I hit Derek, I planted my hands flat against his chest, throwing all my weight and momentum behind them. It moved him back, but only a little. "Huh? What? What are you doing?" By that point, I was shouting hysterically and pummeling his chest with my fists.
"I would've thought that'd be fairly obvious," he replied calmly, unaffected by my furious tantrum.
"But why? Why would you do this?"
"I didn't realize it was such a great offense," he said snidely.
I felt the tears that wouldn't fall in private burning hot trails down my cheeks. "It's our car, mine and Dad's. Not yours. It's our," I wailed, gasping between sobs.
Derek's features softened for an instant then he looked casually down at the finger he'd had in his mouth. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was-I didn't..." He trailed off, shaking his head remorsefully.
I could tell he was sincere, but at that moment it didn't matter. All I could think of was that he had no business touching my dad's things, no right taking over his unfinished projects. "You had no right! Why are you even here? Just go." Derek's head jerked up and I could tell I'd hit my mark. "Leave," I spat. When he made no move to obey me, the decibel level of my voice rose. "Leave! Now!"
With his customary shrug, Derek turned, laid the wrench back on the workbench where Dad had always kept it and walked out the garage door and down the driveway.
Even through my grief and inordinate upset, I could feel the magnetism of him, like he was pulling me down the driveway with him. That only served to further frustrate me. Where had these feelings come from? I had only known him for, like, a minute. How could I feel that drawn to him?
Hurt, dejected and confused, I stomped to the wall and hit the button to close the garage door. I walked back to the car before the door even shut, sliding into the driver's side like I'd done a thousand times while Dad worked on various parts of the inside.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I could still smell Old Spice as if Dad had just walked away. I could hear his voice as if he'd just spoken, quizzing me about engine parts. And I could still see the hurt in his eyes when I'd been so cold after our argument.
The guilt and regret tore at my insides. He had confessed something very important to me and I hadn't had the slightest compassion for what he'd been feeling. I had taken the selfish route. And now I'd never have a chance to make it right.
My chest felt so tight, it was hard to breathe. I lay down across the bench seat and wept, wept for the mistakes I'd made, wept for all the times I should've said "I'm sorry", wept for all the times I never told Dad I loved him, wept for all the things we'd never get to do. He'd never get to see me graduate. He'd never get to walk me down the aisle. He'd never get to hold his grandchildren. And we'd never get to finish the Camaro.
When the tears ran out for what seemed like the hundredth time, I fell once more into the fitful, dreamless sleep of the emotionally exhausted.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
The pitter patter of rain woke me. I opened my eyes to the barely-visible dash of the Camaro. I was still in the car and, but for the eerie glow of the clock's face, it was pitch black.
I sat up quickly. I was wet. There were drops of moisture falling from the ceiling of the car, plopping gently onto me, the seat, and the dash. I looked for rips in the lining, but saw none. There were no bulges where water was pooling behind the material. The more I inspected it, the more confused I became.
I watched the drops and it seemed they were originating from the seat and hitting the ceiling, making that pitter patter. Then, from there, they were dripping back down.
It was raining---in the car---upside down. But that couldn't be right.
I held my hand out over the seat beside me. Cold drops of water splattered my palm where I held it over the upholstery. It was then that I realized I must be dreaming.
I slid out of the wet car and set my feet on the cement of the garage floor. With a splash, they landed in a puddle. Drops of moisture zoomed by my face, racing toward the ceiling. All around me it was raining---upside down.
The streetlight out front cast a sliver of light on the floor in front of the garage door. It was just enough for me to see the wet concrete and the fat drops that fell both up and down. It was also just enough for me to see a darker, unfamiliar shape in the corner.
When I realized what it was, I jumped, barely able to get my hand to my mouth quick enough to stifle a scream. The shape was a silhouette---the silhouette of a person.
Though I could make out very little detail, there was something familiar about the form. My eyes burned with the strain of trying to see into the darkness, but finally I was able to make out fiery red hair framing the pale, pale face of a girl. When she raised a hand to beckon me, I knew immediately who it was. It was the girl from my dreams, the girl from the mist. It was the girl that looked just like me.
Questions raced through my mind, basic ones like who, how and why. Then she spoke.
"Save me," she breathed.
It was just a whisper really, one I could easily have convinced myself I'd imagined and yet...it was so real.
"What?"
"Save me," she repeated, just as softly.
I took a step toward her. I was both curious and afraid, but I was also moved by her plea. She nodded her head in encouragement and I took another step then another. I could see that her lips had lifted at the corners into a tiny smile so I took yet another step.
And then I saw the rest of them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
There, in the shadows beside the girl, were other people. They were all deathly pale. All their mouths were open wide in silent screams and pleas that I couldn't make out. Most of them were horribly disfigured, like they'd seen terrible battles and lived, though their wounds had never healed.
Among them, I saw a man with a wide cut on the left side of his head, the skull lying open grotesquely. I saw a woman that had apparently been tortured. Her clothes hung in tatters and, through the gaps in the material, I could see bloody knife wounds and chunks of flesh dangling. And then there was another man, one who looked familiar somehow. One side of his face was severely burned, which made him particularly difficult to identify. In fact, one entire side of his body was charred to the bone. It looked almost as if half of him was perpetually in shadow.
They were all like that, mangled in some way---bloodied, beaten, broken, burned, ripped and torn.
And then I smelled them. A stench like nothing I'd ever smelled before---except on the man in the woods. Only this was worse. Bile rushed into my mouth and I backed away. When I did, they became agitated and started reaching for me.
At first I couldn't feel their touch, merely a cold sensation where their hazy forms passed over my body. Then the burned man reached for me. And I felt it. Light as a feather, the fingers of his intact hand grazed my cheek. It was almost tender. And then I began to feel them all.
They were touching my arms and my face, stroking my hair, clutching at my clothes. With every step I took backward, they took a step forward. The faster I moved to escape their hands, the more frantic they became to pursue me.
Then I felt something at my back. I turned, unable to stifle my gasp when I saw more of them behind me. They were all around, emerging from the shadows, trying desperately to get to me.
I spun in a circle, looking for a way out, an escape route. I saw none. Without even realizing it, I had backed myself into a corner in the garage.
Adrenaline flooded my body. My hands shook with it as I raised them, palm out, to ward the people off.
As they crowded in on me, as my fear grew, their touch became more pronounced, more real, no longer dancing along my skin like a light breeze. I could feel their fingernails digging into the flesh of my arms, their hands pulling painfully at my hair. I heard the seam of my robe's sleeve rip beneath the frantic fingers of a woman who, by the looks of her tenuously attached head, had been nearly decapitated.
I swung at them, but it was like trying to catch the wind. There was nothing there. I thrashed my arms wildly, but it didn't stop them; they kept closing in on me. If anything it seemed only to make them more desperate, angry even. Their faces and half-faces contorted into expressions of frustration and rage. Hunger. Their teeth gnashed as they bit and snapped at one another. Then they started biting at me, lunging at me. And I couldn't stop them, couldn't defend myself.
A vise grip squeezed my chest, seizing my lungs, as panic set in. It stopped me from taking the deep breath I needed to scream. I opened my mouth, but no air could move past the lump of terror in my throat. My heart hammered in my chest, so hard I could hear it in my ears.
Fear, unlike any fear I'd ever known, coursed through me. My muscles twitched with it. My head throbbed with it. My stomach trembled with it.
And then, like the windows of heaven opening up behind me, light poured into the darkness.
And they were gone.
I whirled to see Derek standing under the garage door, his arms raised above his head holding it open. I thought I'd never been happier to see another person as long as I'd lived.
On shaking legs, I ran across the garage and flung myself at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and burying my face against his neck. He only staggered back an inch or two under my unexpected assault before he caught himself.
Derek just stood there and let me hang on, my feet dangling half a foot off the ground. Then finally, hesitantly, I felt one of his arms come around me and pull me closer.
I don't know how long he held me that way. Long enough for me to calm down I suppose. He began to sway gently and then, little by little I became aware of him. I felt his hard chest and flat belly against mine. I felt the friction of his thighs brushing mine. I felt the heat of his strong hand where it was splayed across my back. And then, with my face still pressed against his neck, I tasted his skin on my lips, warm, musky and a little bit salty.
The relief and gratitude, the comfort that I had felt initially, were slowly replaced by...something else. At first it swirled around inside my head. And then, like blowing on an ember, it began to warm me more and more and more until I was on fire.
It was like nothing I'd felt before. My skin was hot and tingly. Something pleasant and exciting bubbled in my belly. Heat radiated from Derek's fingertips where they grazed my rib cage. Electricity crackled in the air around us.
I could hear him breathing, more rapid and shallow than before. I felt his chest rise and fall more quickly beneath me. Blood pumped faster through the vein in his neck; I could feel it beating beneath my lips.
He loosened his arm around me and I loosened my hold on his neck, my body slowly sliding down his until my feet touched the ground. My flesh felt branded with the imprint of his body, like it had been burned onto me everywhere we'd touched.
I lifted my eyes to his. The swirling silver was darker tonight, smoky, clouded with something I hadn't seen before. I felt it in the growing heat that was consuming every fiber of my body. It permeated my skin and coursed through my veins like lava. Even as close as we already were, I felt the need to get closer still, to feel his skin on mine, his lips on mine and...something more. It burned inside me, deep in my belly, hot and breathless.
His hair wasn't bound tonight. My hands were still fisted in it, resting at his nape. I flexed my fingers, the long strands flowing like silk between them. I watched his eyes drop to my mouth and my lips began to throb, aching for the touch of his.
I licked my suddenly dry lips. I looked down at his mouth, willing it to move closer to mine. Absently, I wondered why I'd never noticed how perfectly sculpted his lips were, firm and masculine. My mouth watered as I pondered what they might taste like.
Then, as if in answer to my silent plea, they began to move closer and closer and closer. When I could no longer focus on them, I let my lids fall shut and I waited.
It began much like my kiss with Stephen had, with the feather-light pressure of his lips on mine. But that's where the similarities ended. Gently, he brushed his lips back and forth across mine. I felt a thrill from the rubbing sensation that reached all the way down to my navel.
My lips parted of their own accord and I felt the pressure of his mouth increase the tiniest bit. His arm tightened around me then the other one came into play, his hand sliding beneath my robe and around my waist, drawing me into his embrace.
Excitement jumped along my nerves when I felt the tip of his tongue slip slowly between my lips. Opening my mouth a little wider, I welcomed it, felt its silky length slide along mine. It felt warm and wet and erotic and he tasted like coffee mixed with something sweet.
Once again, I fisted my fingers in his hair, this time holding his head to mine. I felt as much as heard his groan. It hummed along my tongue then all the way down to my toes. One of his hands came up to cup the back of my head as he deepened the kiss. He turned his head to the side and plundered my mouth, his tongue licking along mine, coaxing it into his mouth.
Then, just as I was about to be swept away, his lips were gone. For a moment, I felt the sting of loss, but then he rested his cheek against mine and I was caught up in the prickle of his stubble. It sent a shower of cold chills down my neck and shoulders and his warm breath tickled my ear. I noticed with some satisfaction that his breathing was as ragged as mine.
"Carson," he whispered, his voice a rough caress that I felt flutter in my stomach.
He held me like that for several long minutes, until our breathing returned to normal.
"You're freezing," he observed, running his hands up and down my wet back.
I certainly wasn't aware of the cold; I was warmer than I could ever remember being. But I wasn't about to argue when he scooped me up into his arms and carried me inside.
He walked through the kitchen into my room and then into the adjoining bathroom where he gently set me on my feet next to the shower. My heart was thundering nervously in my ears and my hands were shaking as I lowered them from his neck to his chest.
Suddenly self-conscious, I hesitantly raised my eyes to his. In my peripheral vision, I saw him reach behind the curtain and then I heard the spray of water as it beat against the shower walls. His eyes never left mine.
I felt his hands at my neck. He lowered them to my shoulders, slipping his fingers under the edge of my robe. His hands slid down my bare arms, pushing the robe off as they went and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Chills spread across my chest and belly, several body parts tightening and tingling excitedly.
"I-I haven't-," I stammered. "We can't---"
Thankfully he interrupted my pitiful attempts at coherent speech, saving me from having to make the most embarrassing speech of my life.
"I know," he whispered, his eyes never leaving mine. "You need to get warm, though."
All I could muster was a nod of agreement. I stood perfectly still, flushed and warm, while he pulled the tank over my head and let it drop to the floor. Then, his eyes never leaving mine, he squatted down in front of me and hooked his fingers in the band of my pajama pants. Slowly, he slid them over my hips and down my legs, his smoky eyes blazing passionately into mine.
When I stood before him in nothing but bra and panties, every inch of my skin on fire, he let his eyes fall inch by inch down to my feet. As they made their way back up my body, he rose to his full height. He was so close I could feel the heat coming off his body in thick, steamy waves.
His eyes bored into mine. They mirrored the desire that I felt boiling inside me. When he bent to brush his lips over mine, I was already mindless with passion. But then he, too quicky, he broke the contact and turned away.
He paused in the doorway to look back at me, his hand on the knob. One side of his mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. Then, just before he pulled the door shut, I saw his eyes dart to the mirror at my back. I could've sworn I saw him frown right before the door closed with a soft click.
I took my time in the shower. When I got out, I brushed my teeth, combed my hair and rubbed lotion into my still-sensitive skin. After I dressed, I wandered out to the living room. The television was on, but Derek wasn't watching it. He was standing at the window, staring out into the night.
I walked to the couch and sat down, making myself comfortable. I didn't know what to say after what we'd just experienced so I said nothing at all. I'd let him take the lead.
He neither spoke nor moved for the longest time, so long in fact I wondered if he even knew I was there. It startled me when he asked, "When did you get the mark?"
"What mark?"
"The tattoo. The one on your right shoulder blade."
"Oh. That," I said, suddenly understanding why he'd frowned into the mirror in the bathroom; he'd seen the spot on my back. "It's not a tattoo. I'm not sure what it is, actually. At first I thought it was grease from the garage floor, but..."
"And now?"
"Well," I paused to think. "I'm still not sure. It keeps getting bigger and bigger and changing colors. And it's starting to look more like..."
"Like what?" He prompted.
"Like, um, flames I guess."
"How long ago did you first notice it?'
"I don't know, a couple of weeks I suppose. Why?"
"When was the last time you looked at it?"
"It's been a few days I guess. Why?" I asked again.
"The dead grass and flowers around your father's grave," he said.
"What about them?"
"Go look at your shoulder."
His imperious tone rankled. But rather than taking exception and making a snide comment, I simply stood and walked back into my bedroom to do as he asked. Besides, with the way he introduced the subject, I was too curious not to go look.
I closed the bathroom door behind me, not wanting him to sneak up on me while I was topless. When I turned to get a good look at my shoulder, I saw that the flames had spread. They formed a wide base that spanned my right side, from my spine to my armpit. The flames licked up toward my neck and now, woven among them, were vines of the greenest green. In some places, their shoots wrapped and twisted around the flames as if they were choking the fire. But in other places the heart-shaped leaves on the vine disappeared into the flames, like they'd been burned up in the heat.
I pushed my top down and went back into the living room. Though the mark (as well as the other physical transformations of late) bothered me, it gave me some consolation to know that Derek evidently knew something about it. I'd never have dreamed that I'd draw that much comfort from just not being alone in all this, whatever "this" was.
"So what does it mean?" I said without preamble as I stepped into the living room.
"Obviously the flames represent your ability to wield fire. At this point, that's no surprise.
"And the vines?"
"Another mystery."
"Why? The way you made it sound, it has something to do with plants."
"Well, if the display of dead vegetation at your father's funeral was any indication, I'd say you can control earth, too." His tone and expression made it seem like that wasn't necessarily a good thing.
I would marvel over the control earth thing later. Right now I just wanted to know why he made it seem like such a bad thing. "Then why is it such a mystery? You figured it out quickly enough."
"It was my understanding that each twin can control one of the four elements and when one twin defeats the other, he absorbs the second power. And yet you..." He shrugged in his customary way.
In my head, I finished his statement. And yet I was apparently gifted (or cursed) with two.
"What could that mean?"
"Honestly?"
"No, lie to me," I snapped sarcastically.
"Honestly," he snapped. "I have no idea."
I walked back to the couch and sat down again. Derek turned back to the window. We were both lost in thought for quite some time before he broke the silence.
"Why were you wet?"
I looked at the back of his head, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"
"In the garage. Why were you wet?"
My mind was so overwhelmed it took me a minute to change gears. "What? Didn't you see all that water in the garage?"
Derek turned to look at me. "The garage is dry, Carson." A hint of concern shadowed his handsome face, but I also saw the tiniest bit of pity, like maybe he thought I was buckets of crazy and felt a little sorry for me. And that irritated me.
"Well it wasn't. It was raining in there, falling up, like it was coming from the ground. Everything was wet, even the inside of the car."
I was glad to see the pity leave his expression, even if it was replaced by an anxious frown that wrinkled his brow. "It was raining upside down?"
"Yes! All over the garage. Trust me. I know what I saw."
"I just don't see how that's possible, Carson."
"Well, it came as a shock to me, too. And if you don't believe it then---"
"Oh I believe you," he interrupted, cutting short my rising indignation. "It's just that you shouldn't be able to see that, much less experience it."
"Why? What do you mean?" I felt like a three-year old, always asking why.
I saw him hesitate for an instant before he spoke, as if he was weighing the merit of telling me the truth. "It rains upside down in the Darkness," he said gravely. "Things are very different there, almost completely opposite of this world."
"And..."
"And the Darkness can't be seen from here." Derek turned back toward the window, the gesture casual and uninterested.
"Well, I'm just telling you what I saw."
"Is that why you were so afraid?"
I didn't answer. If he'd balked at the upside down rain, what would he say about the gruesome untouchable people in the shadows?
"Don't even pretend that you weren't scared to death. It was so strong I could feel it."
I thought to ask him about that, but the topic at hand seemed more important. I'd have to add it to my ever-growing list of things I didn't have the answers to. "No. I was afraid of all those people."
Derek whirled back to face me, his frown back, so deep it was nearly a scowl. "What people?"
He gave me flack over my garage floor raining, but believed this?
"I don't know. People. Hurt people. They were..." I trailed off, struggling to find the words to describe what I saw.
"They were what?"
"I don't know. They were there, but not there. Like, I couldn't touch them, but, after a while, I could feel them touching me." Even as I spoke about it, the remembered fear formed a tight ball in my chest, that overwhelming sensation of powerlessness still fresh.
Derek walked to stand in front of me, looking down into my face as if trying to see inside my head, inside my soul. Whether or not he found what he was looking for, I don't know, but he turned back toward the center of the room, ran his fingers through his hair and began to pace.
"These people," he said. "Tell me about them."
To the best of my ability, I described in intimate detail the scene that had terrorized me in the garage. Derek's expression grew darker and darker the longer I talked. When I reached my conclusion, starring Derek as my rescuer, a black thundercloud had settled over his face.
"What does it mean?"
"That's why he wanted me to find you," Derek said absently, speaking more to himself than to me.
"Who?" He resumed his pacing, as if I hadn't spoken. "Who, Derek?" Still he ignored me. I got up from the couch and stepped in front of him. "Who?"
"Who what?"
"Who wanted you to find me?"
"Fahl."
Dread curled its icy fingers around my stomach. I could remember the smell of him, Fahl, and the way he made me feel, as if he'd just left the room. It was etched permanently onto my mind. "What does he want with me?"
"That's the million dollar question."
It took a few seconds for what he'd said to sink in. When it did, it brought anger with it. "Then why did you do it? Why did you lead him to me? What if he wants to kill me or something?"
"He doesn't want to kill you, Carson. Anyway, I had no choice."
"There's always a choice," I spat, remembering another of the many wisdoms my father had drilled into my head.
"Not always."
"And why is that?"
"It's a long story," Derek said dismissively, walking around me to continue pacing.
You should be glad that I gave you this assignment rather than keeping you...with me, I remembered Fahl saying to Derek.
"What? Do you-do you work for him?"
"I guess you could say that," he said distractedly, still pacing, deep in thought. "I needed him to do something for me and this is what he wanted in return."
The pacing was driving me crazy. "Derek! Stop!"
"What, Carson?" His temper flared as quickly as mine had. "I'm trying to think," he growled.
"Well, I need some answers. I'm kind of freaking out here."
"I don't have many answers for you. Not right now at least. There's a lot I don't know either, okay?" His patience had obviously come to an end.
We stared each other down, neither of us ready to budge an inch. After several minutes, I realized that I wanted, needed, more answers and we were getting nowhere fast this way. So, grudgingly, I tamped down my anger as deep as it would go and I began again.
"Alright, look. Let's start over," I suggested agreeably. "Would you please tell me about this man and this place? Maybe knowing more about all this will help me make sense of what I've seen, of what's happening to me."
Derek glared at me, but I could see his temper fading as he considered my proposition. After a put-upon sigh, he said, "Alright. What do you want to know?"
"Who's Fahl?"
"I don't really know," he said. I puffed up instantly, certain he was just being difficult. Seeing my reaction, he merely raised one dark brow then continued, in no hurry to assuage my curiosity. "I don't know if anyone does. He's a very powerful man over there, maybe the most powerful. I mean every hell has a devil, right?"
"Over where?"
"Carson," he began, his tone laced with frustration. "Do you know how hard this is to explain?" I said nothing. Running his fingers through his hair again, another gesture of frustration, he continued. I was grateful he was at least willing to try. "I call it the Darkness. I think different people call it different things, have for thousands of years---Purgatory, Limbo, the Chasm, Misery, a parallel universe. Whatever you call it, it's the place that's all around what we can see and touch in this world. It hovers in the dark, always just outside human reach and perception. But it's real." He paused. "And it's evil," he said grimly.
"How do you get there?"
"I was called, summoned, just like I think you might be one day. There's no other way. At least not that I've found," he answered then paused. "Yet," he added emphatically.
"Called? By whom?"
"Fahl."
"To do what?"
"To make good on your deal."
"What deal?"
"I told you before, people make different deals, have for...forever I guess."
"But I told you I didn't make any deals. What does he want with me?"
"And I told you that maybe you didn't make a deal, but somebody did. Probably one of your parents. Not just anyone can make a deal for you. Besides, I don't think that's all he wants with you."
I thought of the letter from my mother and an ominous cloud settled over me. "And how do you make good on your deal?"
"Depends on the deal, I guess, but I think with twins there's always a fight."
"A fight?" I asked. Derek nodded in answer. "A fight for what?"
"A fight for your life."
"I don't understand," I said, unable to disguise the tremor in my voice.
"Somehow he finds what people need most and he gives it to them. For a price. With twins, it's like hitting the jackpot. He gets two for the price of one."
"But I don't understand," I repeated, but in my gut I thought I probably did.
"It's kill or be killed, but either way you lose. If you lose, you can never come back here, never move on. You die, but not really. You're trapped in the darkness," he said gravely.
"And if you win?"
Derek laughed bitterly. "No one really wins. You can't kill a man without becoming the monster."
I felt like I was about to hyperventilate. I couldn't kill someone, especially not my identical twin. To look into her face, so like my own, and end her life, condemn her to an existence like those other people I'd seen. No way!
Suddenly, I was overcome with the urge to run, run far and fast. And then hide. Forever if need be. I was certain I couldn't handle what he was suggesting. Heck, I wasn't even sure I was strong enough to handle what had happened in the past month. Who could?
Then I remembered the girl in the garage asking me to save her. What if that really was my sister?
"So you're saying that I'll have to-have to kill my sister or be doomed for eternity?" I felt the weight of it, the hopelessness of it pour down on me like thick, black tar, drowning out light and air. "Is there no other option? No way to...to..."
"Not that I've been able to find," he said, shaking his head. "Yet," he said again. "But..."
"But what?" I felt my entire being latch onto the possibility in that one word, the hope of a "but".
"There's something that just..."
"Just what?"
"That I just don't get."
"What?"
"You're already dead. If you're already dead, how can he claim you?"
I felt deflated. I had hoped there would be something else, something more like a loophole that he'd just realized. "I still don't believe that's possible. I mean, look at me. Do I look dead to you?"
"No, but maybe that was part of the deal."
I had no response to that, bits and pieces of Dad's version of "the accident" flitting through my mind. "So you're saying that it's possible that I'm dead and that the only reason I'm here right now is because someone pretty much made a deal with the devil."
"Pretty much," he agreed. "At least that's one theory."
"There are more?"
"I don't know. That's why I need to think," he said pointedly.
I was silent, mulling over what Derek had said as he resumed his pacing. Then a thought occurred to me. "Why couldn't he find me?"
"That's another question I don't know the answer to."
"And why did he think you could?"
Derek stopped and looked at me, hard, for several long, tense seconds before he responded. "I think he knows I can feel you," he said carefully.
"How can you feel me? Why?"
Derek shrugged his shoulders in that way of his. I felt like I'd seen it a thousand times, like I'd known him all my life.
Despite the seriousness of the conversation, a ripple of warmth skittered through me at the thought of him knowing what was inside me, feeling what I felt. And feeling it with me.
I felt the blood stain my cheeks. A question, one that I had to know the answer to, came to mind and I was embarrassed about it even before I opened my mouth to speak.
"What does it feel like, to feel me?" It sounded like such an intimate thing, to feel me.
"I can feel it when you wield, partly because right now it's tied to your emotions. I feel your fear, your anger, your power," he said then paused. "And your danger. When you're out of control, I can feel it raging inside me like it's me. Only it's not."
It wasn't quite the romantic explanation I'd hoped for, but I supposed it made sense. My cheeks burned. I was even more embarrassed for thinking that the explanation might be something different, something sensual.
I nodded, casting my eyes toward the floor, as if in thought. At least I hoped he'd see it that way so I could compose myself. Nervously, I tucked my hair behind my ear.
I saw black boots as Derek came to stand in front of me. I didn't look up. I was afraid to, certain my face was still beet red. I saw him raise his hand toward me then felt his finger beneath my chin. I let him lift my face until our eyes met. When they did, I felt it again---the magnetism, the electricity, the heat.
"But that's not all I feel," he said softly, his voice touching me like a physical caress. "I feel drawn to you, inexplicably drawn to you. For a few weeks now, it's been getting stronger and stronger. I knew I had to find you. If Fahl hadn't wanted me to locate you, I'd have looked anyway. I started here because of the nexus. I thought it was worth a shot." He paused, brushing his thumb across my lower lip before he continued. "But once I got here, I knew you were close. I could feel it. You're like...gravity," he said, the last no more than a whisper.
"I feel it, too," I confessed, lost in the magic of the moment.
"I know," he said. "You practically vibrate with it. You even pull me into your dreams."
I felt my cheeks warm again. What was it with this guy and making me blush? "You know about that?"
"Yeah. At first I didn't understand what was happening, but it didn't take me long to put two and two together and figure it out. And then I saw the clearing..."
"I-I---" I stammered, not knowing what to say, humiliated beyond description.
"I haven't been able to get you out of my mind since I first saw you---in the woods, covered in blood. I knew it had to be you I was feeling."
Derek bent his head toward mine and I closed my eyes, lips tingling in anticipation.
And then the phone rang.
With a frustrated sigh, Derek stepped away from me and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard him answer the phone then his end of a conversation with someone he obviously knew. It sounded like someone was asking if I was awake. When he reappeared, he confirmed my suspicions.
"It's Leah. You up for a visitor?"
What I really wanted was more time with Derek, for a multitude of reasons, but I knew that I could hide no longer. It was time to pick myself up and get back in the game. It's what Dad would've wanted. He always used to tell me he didn't raise a quitter. Like never before, I hoped he was right.
Less than half an hour after we hung up, Leah was hauling a huge overnight bag through my door. She informed me that since she knew I wouldn't come and stay with her, she was going to stay with me.
"At least for the weekend," she clarified with a grin. She flounced off down the hall, curls bouncing, to put her things in my room, leaving me alone with Derek for a few more minutes.
"Do your thing with Leah. I'll see you Sunday night."
When I saw the promise in his eyes, I couldn't help the stupid grin that tugged at my lips. I nodded and turned away to walk him to the door. I opened it and, as Derek moved past me, I realized that I was already missing him. And that was completely ridiculous.
Even though he had already stepped down onto the stoop, I still had to look up into his eyes when he stopped and turned back to me. He was enormous. And he was mesmerizing.
"I won't be far," he said. Glancing over my shoulder, presumably to check for Leah's presence, Derek must've surmised that the coast was clear because he dipped his head and quickly grazed my cheek with his lips.
I stood at the door, watching him mount his bike and drive away. When he was out of sight, I shut the door. With a gargantuan effort, I pushed him from my mind, determined to give Leah my full attention, no matter how difficult it was. And believe me, it was difficult.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Sunday arrived before I knew it. Though initially I'd had my doubts, I had really enjoyed my time with Leah. Surprisingly, she was just what I needed. I was forced to ignore all the insane aspects of my life in favor of just being a teenage girl having a sleepover. We diligently avoided all sensitive topics, which really just included my father and Stephen because Leah had no idea what other issues I was dealing with. But it seemed that pretending everything was alright and slipping out of the drama for a while was a good change of pace. It was clarifying and cleansing in ways that I hadn't expected.
And for the most part, it went off without a hitch. Things got a little hairy at night and at dinnertime. It didn't take me long to figure out that those were going to be the two most difficult times of the day for me.
I doubt that dinner is a painful experience for many people, but it was proving to be an extremely emotional time for me. I'd shared a thousand dinners with my dad over the years. And if I'd ever realized it, I'd never really acknowledged the fact that he was the one consistent thing in my life. No matter where we were---what town, what house, what state---he had always been there for dinner. Always. And it hurt me now to know that I'd taken him for granted all these years.
The other challenge was nighttime. My sleep was poor at best. My dreams were chaotic, some riddled with glimpses of that same black house, of faces in the shadows and something haunting me, hunting me. Others were images of my father, some real, some imagined. I woke dozens of times each night, soaked in sweat, heart pounding, tears streaming down my face. With each rising sun, I became more and more exhausted.
So this morning, at an obscenely early hour, I exited my room as quietly as possible and padded into the kitchen to start some coffee. As I scooped the fragrant grounds from the canister, I thought again of Dad telling me it'd stunt my growth. I smiled despite the pain that gnawed at my heart.
As I put the coffee can away, I noticed a stack of mail behind the sugar jar. I had been so self-absorbed and grief-stricken lately, it hadn't occurred to me to ask if someone had been getting the mail; evidently they had.
I pulled out the stack of envelopes and flipped through them. Most were the usual accumulation of bills---electric, water, cable, phone---and junk mail, but one piece looked out of the ordinary so I turned my attention to it first.
The plain manila envelope was thick and had nothing on the front but for the two address labels and a stamp. On the label in the center of the envelope was my name and address, typed in a neat font. On the label in the upper left corner was an unfamiliar name and address. I thought it had the ring of a law firm---Lewis, Lewis and Schmidt. The return address was for a town in Ohio.
As the coffeemaker gurgled and hissed, I perched on the edge of a barstool to open the mysterious package. Out of it I pulled a packet of papers, fastened together with a big alligator clip. Lying loose on top of the bound papers was a cover letter typed on heavy, high-quality stock. As I suspected, Lewis, Lewis and Schmidt was a law firm and evidently this letter was from the desk of Byron Allsley.
Dear Carson:
I was so sorry to hear about your father. He and I have known each other since before you were born. He was a good man and he'll be greatly missed.
I helped your father with the legal technicalities that arose when he and your mother separated. Since then I have handled many of his private and financial affairs as well as various things of a more delicate nature, things he wouldn't entrust to a stranger. It is in regards to some of those matters that I am contacting you.
Firstly, you will find a plain white envelope clipped to the front of the enclosed package. It is a letter that your father asked me to get to you in the event he did not return from his recent trip.
Secondly, you will find a variety of statements and documents that will, for the present, mean very little to you, though they are of great importance and should be kept in a secure location. They pertain to your father's considerable estate. He has been saving and investing money for many years with the sole intention of providing you with financial stability and independence in the event of his untimely death.
Until you turn eighteen, the trust, of which I am Trustee, will issue you a monthly stipend that will more than cover your living expenses. Included in the enclosed packet is the checkbook, register, and debit card for that account and all the pertinent access and contact information.
Thirdly, in deference to you, your father has made me Executor of his will. Therefore, you won't be bothered with all the minutia of settling his estate. The most important thing is that all his possessions are yours, free and clear of any liens. That includes the house and only the one vehicle. As a result of the accident, there were extensive damages to his truck. The insurance adjustor totaled it.
Should you have questions, and I'm sure you will, please don't hesitate to call me.
I skimmed through the remainder of the letter where he expressed his condolences again and then listed phone numbers at which he was reachable.
Private and financial affairs? My dad? And a trust fund? That sounded like we were rich. What else was there that I didn't know about my family, about my life? It seemed like a never-ending string of revelations lately---shocking revelations.
Putting Mr. Allsley's letter aside, I plucked the envelope from beneath the clip and ripped it open. A lump formed in my throat when I saw that it was penned in my father's bold, clear handwriting.
Carson:
Time ran out on me, kiddo, faster than I ever thought it would. I want you to know I wouldn't have taken this trip if I'd felt like there was any other way, especially since it turned out like this. Maybe I made a little progress at least. You'll know soon enough.
I am setting out today to find your mother, do something I should've done a long time ago. I want to find your sister. I believe we can save her, Carson. Of course, now it's not "we", it's "you". It's all up to you. I don't know what's ahead for either of you, but I have faith in God's plan, in His perfect will. And to Him, there are no lost causes. He'll see you through whatever the future holds.
Don't grieve for me, butterfly. I've moved on to a better place, a place where I can see you again one day. Don't forget that.
I love you more than I could ever say. You are the most amazing thing I've ever done, my most valued treasure. You're truly a light in the darkness.
Don't give up. There's always another way, another choice, another option. Make the most out of every minute. Do what you say and say what you mean.
Dad
The letter was typical of my father---short, to the point, without wasted sentiment. Even through my tears I had to laugh at the Porter wisdom he'd managed to impart there at the last. He had a saying for every occasion. Had.
I don't know how long I sat in the kitchen like that, thinking, reminiscing, worrying, but it was long enough for Leah to be up and about.
When she stumbled into the kitchen, still half asleep, I poured us each a hot cup of coffee and put the envelope away for the time being. I'd bring it all out and mull it over after she'd gone.
Though I'm sure she could tell I was distracted, Leah and I still had a pleasant enough day. She undoubtedly expected some odd behavior from me, all things considered.
Her mom called just before supper, asked if I'd come home with Leah and eat with them. I politely declined with the excuse that I had some things to take care of around the house. I could tell she wanted to argue, but, wisely, she thought better of it and said nothing.
With Leah gone, I had some blessed peace. It was bittersweet, though. The quiet seemed so much more quiet, the encroaching darkness so much more threatening, the future so much more bleak. It did give me time, however, to hatch the beginnings of a plan, the first step in which was to get Derek to teach me how to "wield" as he called it. If I was to go forward with any plan that involved staying to fight, I'd need to know how to fight. And not just the things Dad had taught me. I needed to master the supernatural things, the things that I could possibly use to save both me and my sister. If that was possible.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It seemed October had just arrived, but here it was nearing Thanksgiving. The weeks had passed quickly since that Sunday when Derek had come back and agreed to train me to use my powers. I spent my days at school and my evenings with him, usually in the woods. He said it was the most like what I'd find over there---dark, cold, harsh, unstable.
We still hadn't been able to find out what Fahl really wanted with me, so Derek trained me based on the assumption that I would be fighting my twin, as he had done. I could tell he was convinced there was much more to it than that, though. When I asked, he'd say things like it's a lot of little things, very casually, though his attitude was anything but casual.
And there was another thing. Things that seemed insignificant to me would trouble him deeply. Like the fact that, even though I'd learned to control my power, I still felt an incredible thirst when I wielded. According to Derek, my thirst should only be present when my powers are out of control. And that was just one of the things that differed from his experience. There were more.
Another was the strength of my powers. It nearly rivaled Derek's, though I doubted I'd ever be a match for him. He was incredibly intuitive and strong, defeating me often in our sparring, despite his lack of experience with wielding earth.
Once I even created a small earthquake that caused the ground to open up and swallow him. I'd been prepared with some vines to make sure I could haul him out, but I'd underestimated his speed. He'd managed to grab onto some tree roots as he fell. He climbed out and surprised me with a fireball that singed the hair on my arms.
"Always make sure you've finished the job," he lectured as he approached. "Don't turn your back on an opponent until you confirm, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that they are dead."
"I know, I know," I moaned, rubbing the scorched, curling hairs off my arms.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Concern creased his brow and drew his eyebrows together as he took my hands in his to examine my arms.
As always, any contact with him sent a bolt of lightening straight to my core. "No, you didn't hurt me," I said breathlessly.
He was so close I could smell his scent over the odor of burnt hair. His eyes rose to mine and sparks flew. Immediately, I felt the tension in him, his reaction to our nearness rivaling mine.
Often, I think his desire for me surprised us both, as did his intense response to it. Like now. His hand shot out, faster than a snake could strike, and grabbed me at the nape of my neck, pulling me forward until our lips met.
The kiss was instantly passionate, burning as hot and out of control as some of my fires. Only Derek couldn't use water to put out these flames. It was only his self-control and determination to leave my purity in tact that kept our make-out sessions from escalating, though a couple had progressed to a dangerous point.
His tongue delved into my mouth and I slid my hands into his hair to hold his lips to mine. I stretched up on tiptoe, pressing my body to his, craving the contact.
His hand left my neck and, a second later, I felt both his palms at my hips. They moved down to knead my butt before traveling lower, to the tops of my thighs. I felt his fingers tighten, digging into my flesh, and he lifted.
Automatically, my legs wrapped around his waist. The contact of our bodies in such an intimate way was nearly more than I could bear. I tightened my legs around him, desperate for him to do something, anything to end the sweet torture. Derek moaned and a wave of chills rolled down my back.
I tore my mouth from his, gasping for air, my body on fire. I felt his teeth nip at my lower lip and my chin then I felt his hot breath at my ear. I wiggled against him, needing more than what he was giving me.
For an instant, his tongue slipped inside my ear before it blazed a hot trail down my neck to my collarbone. I felt one hand come up to press between my shoulder blades, forcing my body toward his mouth. The action pushed my breasts against his chest, my nipples tightening and tingling in response.
Liquid heat poured through my body and pooled in my core, threatening to explode, the pleasure was so intense. I heard his name slip from my lips, a plea for him to finish what he'd started.
And then I was on my feet, the heat of Derek's body gone, my head and hormones reeling. He held me at arm's length, literally, his breathing as ragged as mine.
"Don't push me, Carson," he panted.
"But---"
"No buts. You know we can't."
"But---"
"No, Carson. It's for your own good. Believe me, purity will work in your favor over there. He can use anything, any vice, any weakness, to his advantage. He'll exploit everything he can find."
"How do you even know that?" I knew I sounded like a petulant child, but at that moment, I didn't care. My body was still on fire.
Derek stopped and gave me the strangest look, a look that caused my desire to shrivel. "Because he exploited all of mine," he said flatly.
Other than more questions, I had nothing to say. So I said nothing. I knew that now wasn't the time to poke and prod what looked to be a painful wound.
Derek continued as if the awkward moment had never happened. "Over the years I've picked up a lot of useful information, too," he said nonchalantly.
"From where?"
"Some from just living, living cursed."
"Where else?"
His expression steeled, a belated indication that I'd inadvertently hit another sore spot, but this time it aggravated me. Playing his cards and his life so close to the chest just left me in the dark. How was I supposed to know where his emotional landmines were? And it hurt to think that, as much as I trusted him, he didn't reciprocate. And that made my trust waver.
Cue my temper.
"You know," I began, fists on my hips. "I've been completely honest with you and I expect the same in return. But if you don't think you can trust me, maybe we shouldn't be in this together."
Fury hardened his features and I regretted the words instantly. I knew, just knew, that he was going to turn around and walk out of my life forever. That was just not the kind of thing you said to Derek and I knew it.
But he didn't.
I was relieved and more than a little shocked when Derek answered my question, as if his emotional response hadn't even happened. And on some level, that bothered me. It wasn't like him to acquiesce so easily. Derek doesn't compromise. He just doesn't.
"As you are well aware, the twinning gene runs in families. I guess you could say I was fortunate in that my grandfather was a twin and liked to tell stories."
"What?" My surprise was genuine. "You mean your grandfather was cursed, too?"
"I believe he was, yes."
"But you don't know for sure?"
"Well, it's hard to say. He died before I knew what was happening to me. But when I think back to the stories he would tell us---ghost stories, campfire stories, bedtime stories---I believe they were drawn from personal experience, not just an overactive imagination like most stories are."
This was huge. "Does your father know anything about it?"
Derek shrugged his big shoulders in that way I'd come to love. "Who knows," he said, a statement not a question.
"Why do you say that?"
"My father left just after Garrit and I were born. I never knew him."
"But you were close to your grandfather. I figured..."
"My mother's father."
"Ah," was all I said. Then, "What about your mother, does she know anything about it?"
"Don't know that either. She killed herself three years ago, when Garrit died," he said, a hint of bitterness evident in his tone.
I couldn't suppress a gasp. I did the math and realized that at nineteen, Derek had lost both his brother and his mother. How could anyone survive that? And the pain he must have felt---might still feel---over the way they died. Derek had taken one's life and the other had taken her own. It must be torture for him.
I tried to temper the pity that rushed in. Derek would rather be dead than be pitied. He'd actually told me that once. "Oh, Derek. I didn't know. I'm-I'm so sorry," I said, knowing how empty those words were. I'd just heard them thousands of times from virtually everyone after my father's death. And even though I really meant them, I knew they were no comfort, but I didn't know what else to say.
"I know you didn't. It's alright."
"What did she think happened to him?"
"She knew exactly what happened to him."
"She knew that you-that you k-killed him?" I asked quietly.
Derek nodded miserably and my heart broke for him. I wanted to go to him, to soothe him somehow, but when I took a step forward, he took a step back. As I'd been warned, he didn't want my pity.
"Yes, she knew."
"But how? How could she know?"
"She knew about the curse."
"From your grandfather?"
"No. I think she had more...intimate knowledge of it than just from old stories," he said, bitterness clear and sharp in his tone now.
I stared at him in confusion for a minute before what he was insinuating dawned on me. "You think she knew about the deal?"
"Yes," he said curtly.
"But how?"
Derek looked at me, something close to hatred in his eyes. For a moment, I couldn't tell whether that hatred was for me for opening this old wound or hatred for his mother. "Well, let's see, Carson. What are the only two ways she would know something like that?"
I recoiled from the coldness in his voice, from the loathing in his eyes. I shook my head, not knowing what to say, what he wanted me to say.
"Either she knew about the deal," he said icily, pausing before he continued. "Or she made it." His expression was pained, and it was no wonder, if he actually thought that his own mother might've made a deal that cost him so, so much.
"And then she killed herself," I said, more to myself than to Derek, working the details out in my head. I knew that Derek saw her escape much the same way I did. She was so riddled with guilt that she couldn't live with herself. And that looked really bad.
Despite the polar temperatures emanating from Derek, I went to him. And this time he let me. When I wrapped my arms around his neck, he was stiff at first, but I didn't let go. I held on, wishing desperately that I could help him, heal him, that I could comfort him somehow.
After a couple of minutes, when I didn't budge, Derek loosened up. I felt his arms wind around my waist and draw me closer to him.
He let me hold him for maybe a minute before he drew back. I let him go. When our eyes met there was only a trace of sadness in the swirling silver depths of his.
With a weak smile, he ran one hand down my arm and took my hand in his. "Come on. Let's call it a night," he said, turning in the direction of the road and his motorcycle.
Less than thirty minutes later, Derek was pulling into the driveway at my house. He let me off so I could go around and open the garage. I hadn't been able to find the remote opener since the funeral so I had to use the manual controller on the wall inside the garage.
As I walked toward the front door, I could see the green of the grass in the light of the street lamp. At the time I hadn't realized I'd done it, but my upset over Dad the day of his funeral had killed all the grass at the house, too. So one of the first things I did when I learned to control my power was to fix the grass at the house as well as at the cemetery. I was hoping that no one would pay much attention to it, but that those who did would just think we'd put down sod.
I let myself in and walked through the dark house to the garage where I hit the button to raise the door and let Derek in. He had been staying at my house since that Sunday when Leah had left after spending the weekend. He always slept on the couch, though it was getting harder and harder to leave him out there when I really wanted him with me. Though he didn't share my bed, I think it made us both feel better when he was close.
In deference to the sterling reputation my dad had ensured that I build for myself, we hid Derek's bike inside the garage so that the neighbors wouldn't talk. Not even Leah knew how close we'd gotten or that he spent his nights with me. Or at least that's what I'd thought until that next Thursday on the way to school.
"So, is Derek ever going back to...wherever? Or is he just going to stay with you forever?"
Her comment stopped me in my tracks. I just stared at her, my mind spinning through excuses, my mouth opening and closing like a fish's. "Uh, I, uh. He-um we-why would you think---"
Leah just smiled a knowing smile, apparently enjoying my discomfort. "Don't even try to lie, Carson. I know things," she said mysteriously, winking at me behind her clam-shell glasses.
"What do you mean? What kind of things?"
"I don't know. I can just tell that something's going on."
"What do you mean?" What had happened to my vocabulary since September? It seemed I was always asking the same questions and then just repeating myself over and over and over, like Rain Man.
"I don't know," she said again, shrugging. Now I had her repeating herself. "It's just a feeling I get. It's hard to describe."
Though that was hardly a bothersome or telling remark among friends, considering the things I'd seen and experienced in the last few months, things of a supernatural nature, I took exception to her comment.
"A feeling?" I asked, trying to appear nonchalant as I resumed our walk to school.
"I guess that's a good way to put it. Maybe it's just intuition. Women's intuition," she said with a plucky grin.
"Sure it is," I said doubtfully, dramatically narrowing my eyes on her.
After a few seconds, her expression sobered and she said, "Just be careful, Carson. Derek is-he's---" I watched Leah struggle for an adequate description. "Just be careful," she repeated.
"I am careful, Leah, but," I paused to look at her. "Why do you say that? It's like you think he's...I don't know, dangerous or something." I tried to sound unconcerned, but I had to admit that her warning was making me uneasy.
"I don't know, Carson. I mean, he is a lot older than you and---"
"Five years is not a lot."
Leah shrugged. "I guess not, but he, uh. He's---" she stammered. "Just be careful," she finally said, for the third time.
"I will," I assured her, my smile much lighter than my heart. We dropped the conversation on that note, but it was far from forgotten. I had just tucked the dialog away for later dissection.
School was uneventful, as usual. My meteoric rise to fame over the milk in Stephen's face ordeal was surpassed (in magnitude and longevity) only by my plummet to a less-than-zero status after the incident at the lake. The fallout wasn't as bad as it could've been, though. My father's passing seemed to have subdued the worst of the ridicule. Looks like even in death I owed my father a debt of gratitude.
I walked through the halls largely unnoticed, just as I had in previous times, and somehow I drew comfort from that. I'd gotten a taste of what I used to dream about and found out it is totally overrated.
Walking home was typically the high point of my day. After I left Leah at her driveway, I was always excited to get to my house and see if Derek was there. I loved it when he was. It still bothered me to come home to an empty house.
On days when he wasn't there when I got home, he usually arrived within an hour or so. I tried not to ask too many questions about his day; he was very vague with his answers and I found that a source of frustration and, deep down, concern. That was another thing that caused my trust in him to waver.
As I strode up the driveway today, something looked different, but it took me a second to put my finger on it. Derek's bike was parked in the driveway, as it usually was during "acceptable" hours. The garage door was open, as it often was. The front door was closed, as it usually was.
Then my eyes flew back to the garage. That's it! The garage was empty. The Camaro was gone.
I stood in the driveway debating how I felt about this newest development when I heard a deep, throaty rumble. I turned to see what it was.
Coming down the street, toward my house, was the Camaro. And at the wheel was Derek.
Feelings of anger, sadness, accomplishment, bitterness, pride, and pleasure collided inside me in a complicated emotional wreck. I carefully schooled my features as Derek slowed and made the turn into the driveway. I took a few steps back to give him ample room to pull past me into the garage, but he didn't advance that far. Instead, he stopped right in front of where I stood.
With a smile that I rarely got to see, Derek shifted into park and got out of the car, the idle motor throbbing quietly. Rather than shutting the door behind him, however, Derek held it open and swept his arm toward the driver's seat, indicating that I should slide inside.
"Your carriage, my lady," he said formally, his brilliant smile settling into a mischievous grin.
"When did you finish it?"
"Just today."
"Evidently it runs alright," I said, trying to keep my tone light.
"Runs like a top," he confirmed, equally light. Then his silver eyes, eyes that missed nothing, met mine. He sobered instantly. "You're upset," he said, very matter of fact.
"No. I-I---"
"Yes, you are. Don't lie to me."
"No. Really, I---"
"I can tell you're upset."
"I don't know, I just---"
"Look, Carson, you---"
"Stop interrupting me!" I shouted, interrupting him instead. "I don't know how I feel about it. Okay?" I turned and stalked through the garage and into the kitchen, slamming the door behind me.
I knew I wasn't being rational, but since when did emotional outbursts have to be rational? I thought absurdity was implied.
I didn't stop until I was in my bedroom with the door closed behind me. I paced the floor a few times, clenching and unclenching my fists, struggling for control of my turbulent emotions. I knew that being out of control only opened the door for trouble. Derek had taught me that.
Taking deep breaths, I walked to stand in front of the window. I could see the driveway clearly. I watched as Derek, who'd been standing exactly where I'd left him, staring at the house, slid behind the wheel and eased the car into the garage. I heard the motor die and some of my anger died with it.
It made no sense that I would perceive Derek's hard work and consideration an act of betrayal, even though that's what it felt like. My father was never going to return and finish the car. I couldn't do it by myself. It was serving no purpose sitting in the garage, defunct. So what was the big deal?
I couldn't settle on an answer. Something inside me just wouldn't let it go. The best I could do was to come out, after almost an hour, and be civil.
Derek was in the kitchen, leaning up against the counter, facing my door when I exited my bedroom. When I appeared, he made no move, no comment. There was no change in expression. He simply stared.
"Sorry," I said as sincerely as I could manage, which wasn't very sincere considering I still wasn't sure that I really was apologetic.
It seemed like an eternity passed before he spoke. "Why don't you take it for a drive by yourself," he suggested flatly.
I opened my mouth to argue, but before any words came out, it occurred to me that his offer sounded very appealing.
"Alright," I said, maybe a little too brightly. I walked to Derek and held out my hand expectantly.
His eyes bored into mine and, without breaking that contact, he dropped the keys into the center of my palm. Wordlessly, I turned and walked to the garage door. I paused with my hand on the knob, thinking there was probably some polite response or gesture I should make. It eluded me, however, so I turned the knob and stepped out into the garage, closing the door behind me.
I opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. I'd done it at least a hundred times, but never this way.
A sliver of sadness sliced through me. Tears stung my eyes. This wasn't how I'd pictured my first drive in this car to be. Right now I should be getting a twenty-two point lecture on safe driving and at least one bone-chilling cautionary tale, complements of my father. Then he was supposed to be standing at the edge of the garage watching me back down the driveway, arms crossed over his chest and a proud smile on his face. There wasn't supposed to be this emptiness inside me, this ache.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I pushed the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared quickly to life. I shifted into reverse and backed slowly down the driveway, careful not to look forward at the empty garage.
When I reached the bottom, I turned onto the street and paused for just a second. I closed my eyes. In my head I pictured Dad giving me an approving thumb's up and in my head I waved to him. Then I opened my eyes and, without a backward glance, I punched the gas and left my troubles behind.
The speed was a very effective, albeit temporary, tension-reliever. I drove for miles and miles, trying to put as much distance as I could between me and... everything. But it turned out I couldn't escape my life for very long. After all those miles and all those turns, when I could've already reached the state line, I ended up at the cemetery instead, parked in the lot, staring at the stone-dotted landscape.
I got out and walked to Dad's marker. They'd finally gotten it put in about two weeks ago. It was thick and sturdy, just like Dad. I sat down and leaned up against it, hoping I'd feel closer to him if for no other reason than just physical proximity to his body.
I sat like that for a long, long time, though Dad never showed up. I wasn't even really disappointed. That was my problem: I knew he was gone and he wasn't coming back.
When I noticed how bright the dusk-to-dawn lights were getting, I hopped up and hurried to the car. If there was one thing I knew for sure it was that I didn't want to get caught in a cemetery after dark.
I felt safer after I got in and closed the car door. I started the engine and leaned my head back against the headrest. I listened to the steady throb of the engine, wishing Dad could've driven it just once before he died.
After several minutes, I raised my head. A glimmer of movement drew my eye to the rearview mirror. There was something in the back seat.
I whirled around to look into the dark back seat just as invisible hands wrapped around my throat.
The strongest grip I've ever experienced pulled me up over the top of the bench seat and into the back seat. Then I was flat on my back looking up into the face of the badly burned man I'd seen in the garage. Terror gripped my heart even tighter than his hands.
On one half of his face, much of the bone was exposed and charred to a dull black though there were patches of melted flesh that remained, as well as a few tufts of hair on his skull. On the other side there was blood and soot-smudged skin stretched tight over a handsome bone structure and short dark hair that covered his scalp.
He had only one eye and it stared down at me furiously. And then, somewhere in the back of my horrified mind, something struck me about that cool, pale gray eye. It was familiar.
Before I could finish the thought, my lungs began to burn with the need for oxygen. My eyes watered. My head throbbed. I raised my hands to my throat, desperate to loosen the fingers at my neck. I clawed at them frantically, but my nails met with my own skin. There were no other hands there.
I pushed at the dark chest that hovered over me, but there was nothing but cool air beneath my palms. I kicked wildly with my feet, but they met with nothing but the inside of the car.
Tipping my chin back as far as I could, I managed to drag in a gulp of air, which only made me cough and sputter. Then his grip tightened even more.
I continued to flail my limbs, but it was becoming harder and harder to move as my struggling grew weaker and weaker.
I was fading quickly and I knew it. I had to do something. My last clear thought was to somehow get the door open so that the interior light would be triggered. That's what had saved me in the garage---light.
I tried to formulate a plan, but it was so hard to focus. My brain didn't want to think. It was sluggish and faint.
And then a car drove slowly by.
It seemed to happen in slow motion. Light shone first against the ceiling, illuminating the interior the tiniest bit. The man screamed and his hold on my throat lessened. As the car passed by, brightness swept through the front seat. The grip on my throat faltered, as if something was pulling the man away from me.
Then light rushed into the back seat. As it chased away the shadows (and everything that traveled in them), the pain moved from my throat to my chest. I felt the man's fingernails tear into my skin, his fingers clutching and clawing at me as if he were being dragged away.
And for a fraction of a second, I could feel him, too.
Where I'd been trying to push at his chest, suddenly there was something substantial beneath my hands. I could feel fabric with muscle and bone beneath. I fisted my fingers and pushed as hard as I could.
Then he was gone.
Adrenaline pumped through my body. I lay for a few seconds, breathing heavily, shaking all over, trying to gather my wits. But when darkness had once more settled all around me, I leapt into action. I climbed quickly back into the front seat and hit the switch to turn on the interior light. Then, without wasting another second, I slammed the shifter into reverse and pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor.
After I'd driven several miles and put a safe amount of distance between me and the cemetery, I became aware of something biting into my palm. I held my hand up and saw that a necklace was wrapped around my fingers. And there, pressed between my palm and the steering wheel, was a charm. I stuffed the necklace into my pocket and tried to put it out of my mind.
When I arrived at the house, I saw that it was dark inside. Derek obviously hadn't come back and I was keenly disappointed.
My body was suffering the after affects of an adrenaline rush. I was shaking from head to toe. Carefully, I pulled the car into the empty garage then got out on unsteady legs to close the door. I left the car's headlights on and turned on every light I passed as I made my way into the kitchen then on to my bathroom where I turned on the shower and started shedding clothes.
As I peeled my jeans off, the necklace fell out of the pocket. I picked it up, holding it in the bright fluorescent lighting so I could study the charm. I wasn't all that familiar with the saints and Catholic lore, but I thought it looked like a St. Christopher's medal. I turned it over and read the engraving.
Safe travels, my son.
I hung the necklace on the edge of the medicine cabinet for safekeeping then got in the shower.
When I take a shower, I like the water nearly scalding. If I don't look like a lobster when I get out, I don't feel clean. And, though I'm used to the burn of hot water, this time I flinched when it hit my skin. It stung in an unusual way on my chest.
I looked down and saw four long, deep gashes that traveled the length of my sternum. Each scratch exposed a track of pearly white beneath my skin. I remembered feeling the man's nails digging into me and realized that, in his struggle to hang on to me, he wounded me.
I cleaned the angry-looking scratches well then finished showering and got out to towel off. The bathroom was steamy, the mirror completely fogged up. Before I wrapped my towel around my head, I used it to wipe the moisture from the mirror so I could see.
With two wide swipes, the glass was clear. Still jumpy, I lowered my towel slowly, thinking of all the scary movies I'd seen where there is another reflection in the mirror.
Scoffing, I gingerly let my arm fall. I was relieved that there was no face other than my own in the mirror. I turned toward the door and bent over to wrap my towel around my wet hair. When I straightened, my breath caught in my throat. There was a shape in the mist.
Though much of the detail was lacking, I knew instantly who the colorless form in the steam was. The question was: what did she want.
Finally, I took a deep breath to calm myself as I backed away from her. When the cool ceramic of the sink hit my butt, I stopped. She didn't move and, this time, she didn't speak. She just stared at me with eyes that were still perceptibly empty, even in the mist.
When it became evident she wasn't going to speak, I asked, "What do you want?" There was fear and reservation in my quiet voice and I hated that. Though I felt weak at that moment, caught off guard, I didn't want her to know that.
Still, she neither spoke nor moved. An unexpected wave of frustration washed away my fear. "What do you want?" This time my voice was louder and stronger, more demanding. More in control.
This interlude was unlike the others (if my crazy dreams could even be considered as "interludes"). Though her expression was carefully blank as she stared at me, I got the distinct impression that she was angry. She didn't beckon to me, she didn't ask for my help, she didn't seem curious or desperate or even friendly. Somehow, she seemed hostile.
I took a step forward. She didn't move. I took another step and then another, but still she didn't move. I lifted my hand and swiped it through the mist, through her form. She disappeared for just a second. And when I saw her face materialize in the mist once more, her lips were curved in a chilling smile.
My ever-ready anger pushed through my alm. I shouted, "What do you want?"
She opened her mouth, her top lip curling up into a sneer. I thought she was going to speak, but, just then, the bathroom door opened. A gust of cool air rushed in, chasing her away with the thick steam. Her image dissolved as if it had never been.
Derek stood on the threshold, a look of concern puckering his brow.
"Why didn't you lock the garage door? And why are the car lights on? What's the matter?"
Like a punctured balloon, I felt suddenly deflated and unspeakably exhausted. I was so tired of heartache and fear, of uncertainty and worry, of complicated. For the first time I could ever remember, I craved simple. Not breathtaking or exciting or dangerous, just simple. And safe.
I looked at Derek. Perversely, one of the biggest complications in my life was standing right in front of me. The perverse part of it was that I craved him more than I craved simplicity, craved him so much that I could almost hate him for coming into my life. Almost.
But he was also my biggest source of safety. And, as always, I was inexplicably drawn to him. I took the few steps that would bring me into his arms and I wound my arms around his neck, melting into him. I absorbed his strength and heat, his power and security as it bled from his skin into mine.
He was relaxed at first, his arms coming around me in a warm embrace, one meant to comfort. Then, slowly, electricity began to crackle between us, as it always did. I became aware of the cool leather of his jacket where it was pressed against my naked skin, of the rough skin of his palms as they rubbed my back soothingly.
He must've felt the shift in my mood because his touch changed. His hands moved purposefully over my skin, warm with the passion that always lay just beneath the surface. They stroked my back and buttocks, hinting at the wicked pleasures they could bring.
I pressed my lips to his neck. His hands moved to my sides, traveling up toward the sides of my breasts. My body was already on fire when his hands stopped suddenly and he stiffened.
"What's that?"
I was still caught up in the moment, my head fuzzy with desire. "What?" I answered, pressing my body more tightly to his.
"Carson," he snapped, the seriousness of his tone like a bucket of cold water. "What is that?"
He pulled away from me so that he could look down into my face.
"What's what?"
"That necklace," he said nodding toward the mirror behind me.
What his tone hadn't done to sober me, his question had. How easy it was to forget the world when I was in his arms.
"Oh," I said, suddenly aware of my nakedness. I took the towel from my head and busied myself with covering my nudity before I answered. "That." I turned and walked to the mirror, taking the chain off the medicine cabinet and holding it out to him. "Just a little something I picked up tonight."
He took the necklace from me and I stepped past him into the bedroom to get some pajamas.
Derek was silent for several seconds as he examined the charm. He surprised me when he whirled around and stomped toward me, covering the space in three huge steps. The look on his face was indescribably hostile.
"Where did you get this, Carson? Be specific." This was the way I'd perceived Derek when I'd first met him: dangerous. His tone, his body language, his expression, it all reeked of what pain he could inflict upon me if I didn't tell him what he wanted to know. And even though I knew he wouldn't hurt me---or at least I didn't think he would---it still gave me pause to see him like this.
"I was visited tonight by one of the people that I saw in the garage that night."
"And?"
"And he attacked me."
"He attacked you?"
It felt a little better to have that deadly cold anger focused on someone other than me, but something about it struck me as odd. There was something else in his eyes, in his voice, something I couldn't quite discern.
"Yes."
"And then what?"
I gave Derek a detailed accounting of the whole ordeal.
"What did he look like?"
"It's hard to say. He'd been badly burned and one side of his face is almost gone."
Before I could even finish my sentence, Derek had turned and stalked from the room. I followed quickly.
"Where are you going? What's wrong?"
He didn't answer, just kept walking. When he opened the front door, he finally turned to me. "There's something I've got to do," he said mysteriously.
"What?"
"I need to find out some things before I involve you."
My temper rose immediately to the surface. I bit my lip, trying to control it before it ran away with me. I was too volatile today to lose control.
I looked away from him, simply nodding, not trusting myself to speak.
I heard him sigh. "Do you want me to come back tonight?"
When I looked up, his eyes were on mine. They were a fathomless, stormy gray that I felt penetrating my very soul.
The stubborn, proud female in me wanted to say "no", but the practical, insecure pragmatist wanted me to say "yes". That internal debate must've raged on a little too long because, with an impatient hiss, Derek turned around and walked out the door.
I watched as he mounted his bike, started the engine, turned around and sped down the driveway. I wanted to stop him, to ask him to stay. I also wanted him to leave and never come back. I wanted to yell at him, tell him I hated him. I also wanted to kiss him and tell him I loved him. Nothing in my life made sense anymore.
After I shut the door, I tried to do normal things, tried to relax into the peace and quiet, but I just couldn't. I found myself listening to every passing motor for the sound of Derek's bike.
I turned on the television, hoping it might provide an adequate distraction. After a while it worked---by putting me to sleep. I don't know how long I'd been asleep when I heard the rattling of the doorknob.
I sat up, immediately alarmed yet still a little disoriented from being awakened in such a way. I listened closely. The jiggling continued, but I never heard the scrape of a key in the lock, which meant it wasn't Derek.
Though I was very much afraid, I drew some small comfort from the pools of light that spilled onto the floors in every room of the house. It seemed the people from the shadows couldn't tolerate the light at all, therefore I surrounded myself with it. As long as it wasn't one of them attacking me, I felt pretty sure I could handle myself and anybody else from this world. I'd trained so much with Derek and, before that, with my father, I knew I could at least hold my own with a run-of-the-mill intruder.
I watched the door until the noise ceased. I listened, but heard no other sound. After several minutes, just when I was about to relax again, I heard the garage door rattle as if someone were testing whether or not it was locked.
I dropped off the couch and crawled to the window, where I could see out onto the driveway. Slowly I pulled back one corner of the curtain to peek out. I nearly swallowed my tongue when I saw Derek's face right there at the glass.
Relief drowned the scream that was stuck in my throat. I exhaled slowly and let the curtain fall back down then got up and walked to the door.
"What are you doing? You scared me to death," I hissed as Derek strode past me into the living room.
"I left the house key in the car today," he said casually. "Did I wake you?"
"I was watching TV," I said, which I had been---before I fell asleep. "Where have you been?" I tried to sound as nonchalant as I could, not wanting to get into another argument. I was happier than I would've imagined that he'd come back; I didn't want to ruin it if I could help it.
"Out."
"Just out?" I asked mildly.
"Yep," he said. Avoiding my eyes, Derek walked into the kitchen. He tossed over his shoulder, "I've got to get my bike into the garage."
I sat back down on the couch and waited, listening to the sounds of the garage door opening and closing. When I heard the kitchen door open and close then the lock slide into place, I expected Derek to come back into the living room, but he didn't. Instead, he stayed in the kitchen.
I heard the refrigerator and a cabinet door open and close as he puttered around, then the tinkling of silverware and the clack of the microwave door followed by its low hum.
The smell of leftover lasagna wafted into the living room, but still no Derek. I rose on a sigh, bracing myself for it to get ugly; evidently Derek wasn't going to just volunteer anything.
"So," I began, rounding the corner into the kitchen. He was just sitting down with a hot plate of food and didn't even look up when I spoke. "Are you going to tell me what's going on or are we getting ready to part ways?"
His head shot up. "I told you I'd tell you, but that there were some things I needed to find out first."
"Well, I'm already involved so tell me now. I don't like being kept in the dark," I said calmly, certain that there were no truer words ever spoken.
"Carson---" he started, but I interrupted.
"Don't 'Carson' me. Tell me Derek. We are supposed to be in this together, right?"
"We are, but---"
"No buts, Derek. Please."
His dark brows squeezed together and dropped down low in a deep frown. His lips thinned into a hard, straight line. Those were clear indications of a storm on the horizon. His temper was on a short fuse, too. "The medal, I recognized it," he said tightly.
"What?" My irritation evaporated, replaced by sheer curiosity. I slid into the chair opposite him and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Who does it belong to?"
If possible, Derek's expression grew more thunderous. I could tell he was in no mood to share, but he answered anyway. His voice was low, but I could tell his teeth were gritted when he said, "It was my brother's."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"But how did it get..." I trailed off, realization dawning. I felt the blood drain from my face, guilt and sorrow mingling in the hollow pit of my stomach. "Do you mean that's who---"
I couldn't finish the sentence, but I didn't have to. Derek was already nodding, his eyes focused firmly on the plate in front of him as he poked at the food with his fork.
"Oh, Derek, I'm so sorry. I didn't---"
Derek held up his hand to cut me off. He wasn't interested in my remorse.
As I looked at his bowed head, at the misery that screamed from every dejected line of his body, I realized that I could end up just like that---alive, but full of anger and regrets, bitterness and hatred, not really living.
Though I refused to dwell on the eventuality of my "call", it hovered over me, day and night, like a dark cloud. It sucked up a huge portion of my energy, my enthusiasm, my life. It was killing my spirit before I even had a chance to fight for it. And that, I decided, was crazy! I'd had enough.
At that moment, I determined that whatever fate had in store for me, whatever life had to offer, whatever was coming my way, I was going to do my dead level best to enjoy what time I had until then. And whatever happened, whatever I was eventually forced to do or endure, I would get through it and leave it behind---or die trying.
Something inside me steeled, became firm and unyielding, resolute. My father's smiling face floated behind my eyes. This was what he'd been trying to teach me all these years---how to survive---but he'd missed the most important thing. There's so much more to living that just surviving. Derek had survived, but look at him. Look at his life, his family. His world is a shambles, like the warped twisted metal of a train wreck.
Like a dusty old light bulb flickering hesitantly to life, a glimmer of hope broke through the darkness that had settled over me. It occurred to me that I had two options: I could lie down and wait to die, accept the fate someone else had decided for me, or I could find another way, a way to save the people that I loved.
Just the thought of making the decision, of taking charge of my life and not laying down to just accept whatever was to come my way, empowered me, gave me a sense of control in a world where I no longer had any. It was clear that, for me, there was really only one option. It had been bred into me all my life. I was no quitter; I would fight.
I had a mother and a sister that I'd never known. I'd been robbed of a normal life for seventeen years and I wasn't about to give up on the possibility of having a normal life somewhere in the future.
Dad said he thought I could save my sister. Maybe I could save us both. I would fight, but not the way I was expected to fight. I'd fight for my life and for my sister's. I'd find a way to get us out, to free us from whatever deal had been made. And I'd find a way to save Derek and his brother, too. I had to.
My resolution wavered the tiniest bit when, unbidden, one word popped into my mind. How? How could I do what had never been done before, what had never even been attempted, as far as we knew? How could I do the impossible?
And, just as quickly as the doubt had arisen, it was allayed by another vision of my father's smiling face. I knew the answer. I'd do it for Dad. Because he didn't raise a quitter, he raised a survivor.
I felt a smile creep across my face, probably one of the first genuine moments of happiness I'd felt in a long time. Then I looked at Derek. I thought he could use a little pick-me-up and I remembered something else I'd seen in Dad's closet.
"Will you take me for some target practice tonight? For just a little while?" I turned my smile up a little brighter when he raised his head.
"Alright," he said with a sigh. "Go get dressed. We'll take the car." I got the feeling that last was said as a little push, to see if I was going to freak out again. But I didn't.
"Great. I'll meet you in the garage."
I dressed quickly, throwing on some jeans and a sweater, then grabbed my backpack and threw a few things inside. I rushed into Dad's room and immediately found what I was looking for. Everything was just where Dad had left it.
I heard Derek start the car and pull out of the garage so I hurried out the door and hit the button to close the garage on my way out.
We were well on our way when I asked Derek to take a different direction, toward the lake. Though he tossed me a curious look, he said nothing as he made the necessary turns.
As we turned off the main road toward the clearing, I saw a PRIVATE PROPERTY sign nailed to a tree. We really had no right to be there, but I was feeling a little reckless and counting on the clearing being vacant.
When Derek cut the engine, I got out of the car and glanced around. It looked very much the same as it had when I'd come to this very spot with Stephen Fitchco, minus all the party accoutrements and people. And fire. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that we were alone.
Quietly, we made our way across the clearing and down the dock to the little boat still tied at the end. I reached out and steadied the little dinghy, threw my backpack in and stepped carefully in after it.
I looked up at Derek. "You coming?" I couldn't help but grin. It seemed Derek was always saying that to me.
With a little shrug, he stepped down into the boat with me, grabbed the oars and untied us from the dock.
I told Derek where we were going and he got us into position then began to row. I leaned back to watch him, much as I'd done that night with Stephen. I couldn't help but compare the scenario and the two men involved.
This was someone I cared about, probably even loved, though I couldn't be absolutely certain since my experience in that arena was virtually nil. This was someone I would gladly (I think) give myself to. This was someone who thought enough of me and my best interests not to take that step no matter how much I wanted to, much less try and force me. This was someone who actually protected me. If I had to be stuck on an island with someone, even if it was only a few hundred feet from civilization, there's no other person I'd rather be stuck with than Derek.
When we were a little over half way to the island, I got out my flashlight and shined it across the water to where the tiki torches lined the shore. I concentrated and, with a flick of my fingers, the first one sputtered to life. I shot Derek a cheeky grin and I saw the corners of his mouth twitch a tiny bit in response.
I shined my flashlight on the next one and brought its flame to life then the next and the next. By the time I trained my flashlight on the fifth one, I had begun to feel pretty confident. Too quickly, I flicked my fingers at its tip, the entire top of the torch exploded.
"Woops," I said sheepishly.
"Yep. Got too cocky," Derek said, shaking his head.
By that time, we'd reached the tiny island. Derek rowed ashore, much as Stephen had done, then got out to drag the boat further up the bank. He walked on ahead of me then stopped halfway up the beach area and turned back to me.
"Watch this," he said. With a snap of his fingers, all the other torches sprang instantly to life. There were torches there I hadn't even seen, ones that hadn't been lit the night I'd been there before. And Derek had lit them all at once.
"How did you do that?" He was constantly amazing me with his power, his strength, his focus.
"I saw them as I walked up the beach and then, when I turned around to you, I just pictured them, just like I'd seen them, in my head." Then, with a satisfied grin, he said, "Easy as pie."
"Show off," I mumbled, trying to keep the boat steady as I disembarked.
I was getting ready to step out onto the sand when Derek swept me off my feet and carried me up onto the beach. When he sat me on my feet, he let my body slide down his until the tips of my toes barely touched the ground.
The friction kindled a low fire in my belly, like contact with Derek so often did. I looked up into his handsome face, the torch light warming his bronzy skin and turning his eyes to shimmering pools of mercury.
There was a day's worth of stubble on his chiseled cheeks. My fingertips itched to touch it, but I was on a mission and getting all hot and bothered this early wasn't part of the plan.
"So," I said, clearing my throat. "Are you up for some fireworks?" I saw Derek's pupils dilate. He had no doubt mistaken my meaning, which I knew he would. I knew before I asked what his answer would be.
I wiggled myself onto better footing then stepped out of Derek's arms. I unzipped my backpack and took out a blanket to spread on the sand.
"Sit down," I said with a wink, chastising myself for being such a tease, but loving every minute of it. Then I turned back toward the shore and took out the rest of my goodies.
My father had bought a bunch of fireworks for the fourth of July, but the church had had a big production so we never got to use them. I laid them out in a row, fuses stretched out facing the blanket, and walked back to Derek.
"First rule of the night: there are no rules," I said dramatically, using my best "Fight Club" voice. Then I giggled. "Just kidding. Whoever gets the most fireworks in the air and makes them explode before the fuse does wins."
"Wins what?"
"Uh," I paused. I hadn't thought that far ahead. "Winner gets a wish."
"A wish? What kind of a wish?" Something about the way Derek said "wish" made my stomach flutter.
"Whatever kind of wish you want," I said softly.
"Hmm" was all he said.
I sat down beside him, close but not too close. "Let's get ready to rum-ble," I said, doing my very best Michael Buffer impersonation.
"I'll go first," I declared, focusing on the thing string trailing behind the first firework. I flicked my fingers and the fuse sputtered to life. Seconds later it launched into the sky. I concentrated on the little torpedo as it rose, but I wasn't fast enough. It exploded into a shower of beautiful sparks before I could blow it up.
"Not bad," Derek said. Without even sitting up, much less breaking a sweat, Derek lit the fuse of the next two fireworks. When they left the ground, they didn't even make it ten feet into the air before they burst with a loud pop, sending colorful embers falling to the ground.
"Two--zero," he boasted. "Looks like you've got some catching up to do."
"Show off," I mumbled, directing all my energy to the fuse of the next firework. As soon as it was lit, I immediately began to focus on the body of the projectile. Unfortunately, my concentration was too complete and too early; the firework burst while it was still on the ground, skipping and sputtering along on the sand.
"Ouch," Derek said. "Still two--zip." He sat up and pushed up the sleeves of his black Henley. "Now let me show you how it's really done."
A tiny frown of concentration creased his brow just before Derek flipped both his hands up, like a maestro leading his orchestra to raise their instruments. Instantly, all the remaining fuses lit and seconds later all the rockets launched into the air. Once they were airborne, Derek flicked his fingers out as if he was brushing the dust off something and every firework exploded simultaneously in a brilliant, glittering display.
The light show was dazzling, erupting into an amazing conglomeration of shapes and colors then falling to the lake and sand like diamonds from the sky. Though it lasted only a minute or so, it was awesome. It was like sitting beneath a galaxy of shooting stars as they breeched our atmosphere and rained down on our heads.
Acrid smoke hung in the air like a thick cloud. I looked toward the water, where the fireworks had lain. They were gone and my bag was empty. I turned to look at Derek. "Well that sucks."
We looked at each other for several seconds before we both burst into laughter. It was the first time I'd laughed like that in a long, long time and it was the first time I'd ever heard Derek laugh, really laugh, at all. The sound was a deep, velvety rumble that made my toes tingle. I wanted to hear it again and again. As our mirth died off, I silently promised myself and Derek that I would make him laugh more.
Derek leaned back on one elbow and patted the blanket beside him. Obligingly, I leaned back, too. His face was relaxed, giving him a rakish, devil-may-care look that made my stomach contract.
Reaching out, he wound a piece of my hair around his finger, rubbing the smooth strands with his thumb. "One wish, huh?"
He was still grinning when he tugged my hair, urging me toward him. When my face was a couple inches from his, he leaned forward and nipped at my lower lip with his teeth.
"Can you guess what it is that I want?"
Warmth spread through my body and I was instantly alive with desire. Then I was on my back, the cool sand beneath me, with Derek stretched out on top of me. His chest hovered over mine, his weight supported on his forearms. I could feel the heat rolling off him in waves.
I wiggled beneath him, stimulating all the nerves in my skin with the feel of his body against mine. He growled, a sound that had me digging my fingers into his hair, pulling his face toward mine. Then our lips met and the rest of the world melted away.
Derek leaned to one side so that one hand was free to roam. From my shoulder to my waist and on down to my hip, I tingled everywhere he touched. I felt his hand slide down the back of my thigh and grip behind my knee, pulling my leg up and around his waist. Heat flooded my lower body.
His lips left mine to kiss a trail to my ear then down my neck. I turned my head to the side to allow him better access. I was lost in a sea of sensation when a familiar and disturbing smell teased my nose. It took several seconds for it to penetrate the haze of passion that had settled over me. But finally it did.
My eyes flew open and met the dull black eyes of a tall blonde man that stood in the shadows at the edge of the trees. I couldn't stop the startled squeal that bubbled up out of my throat.
Before I could blink, Derek was on his feet, crouched beside me, alert and battle-ready. He scanned the tree line, looking for the threat, but it was already gone. In the half second that Derek had interrupted my line of sight to roll off me, the man had disappeared.
"What is it? What did you see?" Evidently he hadn't seen what I had. Derek rose to a standing position, his posture a little less tense.
"There was a man standing in the shadows."
"Where?"
"Over there," I said, pointing to where I'd seen him.
"What did he look like?"
I described the man as a huge, handsome man with long blonde hair and coal black eyes. He was wearing a creamy button-up shirt, untucked, over faded blue jeans and cowboy boots.
"That's a lot of detail for a couple of seconds," Derek said curtly.
I just shrugged, a little shaken and a little creeped out. He'd been watching us and, for some reason, I got the feeling he was enjoying it, like he was mentally licking his lips and waiting for us to start peeling each other's clothes off.
But the most bothersome part was the smell. "Derek, I-he- there was a smell."
I saw the understanding in Derek's eyes even though he still asked, "What kind of smell?"
"The same kind that I smelled that night in the clearing."
"Fahl," he spat.
"But it looked nothing like---"
"He rarely ever looks the same, Carson. You just have to trust your gut. Even if you can't smell him, you can feel him. Trust that."
"I just-I didn't..."
"I know. I should've felt him, but I was...well..." Derek grinned. At least it hadn't totally ruined his favorable mood. It was a good sign that he could joke about missing something that important.
Needless to say, that curtailed our romantic tryst so we shook out and packed up the blanket and set out across the water in the boat.
When we were about half way to the dock, I realized that all the tiki torches still burned. "Derek, the torches," I said, pointing to the island.
Though Derek didn't even glance back at the island, the words had only just left my lips when I heard the pitter patter of a hard rain as it hit the lake's surface. After about a minute, the torch flames were extinguished and the rain had ceased.
I couldn't help but smile. "You're pretty handy to have around," I said.
Derek turned his head to throw me a provocative look. "You have no idea," he said. His wicked grin conjured up all sorts of seductive images that had me warming up inside again. I smiled back at him and let my mind wander off to places I hadn't yet been, but that I'd imagined in fairly great detail. Our trip home was extremely stimulating.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
The next day, Leah and I enjoyed an unseasonably warm walk home from school. I'd already begun my daily goodbye followed by my newest excuse why I couldn't stay for dinner.
As we neared her mailbox, we saw a young girl standing on Leah's front steps.
"Isn't it a little early for cookies?" Leah asked, no doubt referring to the girl's beige and green wilderness uniform.
I thought it a little odd, too, but didn't become really wary until we took a few more steps and I saw the woman standing beside the girl, leaning against the house beside Leah's front door. The way she smiled at me started a thread of apprehension weaving its way down my spine.
"It sure is," I agreed absently. "Come on," I said, urging Leah up her driveway. "I wouldn't mind having some cookies for the holidays."
As we approached, the young girl turned toward us, smiling in the overly cheerful way that salespersons usually do.
"Would you like to buy some cookies?" The child directed her question to Leah.
She looked to be about twelve years old. Her rusty red hair sprang from under her cap in a frizzy tangle. Her features were nondescript other than the smattering of particularly large freckles across her pert nose. She was cute and looked absolutely nothing like the woman who accompanied her.
About fifty or so, the woman's sable hair was cut in a chic chin-length bob that was longer in the front and shorter in the back. Her long, oval face was sheathed in skin so pale it appeared translucent. Her dark eyes held the shrewd look of a business woman and she was dressed for the part, her curvaceous body wrapped in a tight black skirt and matching blouse.
"Yum, I'd love some," Leah said lightly. "Give me just a minute."
Leah moved past the girl to her front door. She swung the storm door open wide, nearly hitting the woman behind it. Neither of them flinched.
"Would you like to buy some, too?" The little girl looked toward me, smiling hopefully.
As I looked down on her, the wind blew softly, rustling in the girl's copper curls. It carried a hint of something unpleasant in its cool blanket, some sickeningly sweet, putrid smell that swirled around my face. I froze.
"Hello, Carson," the woman said, pushing herself away from where she leaned up against the house. Her ruby-red lips turned up at the corners. "You're looking particularly fetching today." Though her voice was distinctly feminine, it had the sultry, husky sound of a smoker. And something about it made my skin crawl in recognition.
"What are you looking at?" The child's question startled me. When I dropped my eyes to her, she was looking toward the woman blankly. Then she raised her confused blue eyes to me.
She wasn't the only one that was confused. I stood, rooted to my spot, with no idea what to do, looking back and forth between the woman and the girl.
Just then Leah returned with some money. "All I could find was ten bucks," she said, stepping out onto the stoop in front of the girl. "Are they still five dollars a box?"
"Yes, ma'am," the girl said with a sweet grin.
Then the woman spoke, "Such a sweet and pretty girl, isn't she? Leah, I mean."
Leah and the child exchanged money and information, the little girl writing it on her order sheet. They both acted as if they hadn't heard the woman speak.
"It would be a shame for her to fall into harm's way, wouldn't it?"
My heart lurched. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Huh?" Both Leah and the girl were looking at me in confusion.
"Just that as long as you don't do anything reckless, Leah will be enjoying her cookies by Christmas," the woman said, her chilling smile widening to reveal perfectly straight, glaringly white teeth.
Leah was still looking at me strangely. "Carson?"
"Sorry, what?"
"Would you like some cookies, too?"
"I, um," I said, looking back and forth between Leah and the woman who'd moved to stand right behind Leah. "I, uh, I don't think so. I-I changed my mind, but thank you."
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Sorry," I said, shaking my head, trying to ignore the woman as she raised her hand to pinch one of Leah's dark curls between her scarlet-tipped fingers. "I was just thinking about something else. I'll just see you tomorrow, k?"
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"Yep," I said as lightly as I could manage. That seemed to have helped. Leah's wrinkled brow smoothed somewhat at my response.
I turned and made my way down the driveway. As I turned onto the sidewalk, I looked back up at Leah. The woman was gone; only Leah and the little girl remained on the stoop.
Hurrying home, I quelled the urge to run, knowing Leah could see me if she stepped out into her yard. When I reached my mailbox, I got the mail and continued up my driveway as was my habit. The garage door was closed, but I silently prayed that Derek's bike was hiding behind it.
And it must have been because when I turned the front door knob, it was already unlocked and Derek sat in the living room floor cleaning my father's Glock. Relief flooded me.
I closed the front door and leaned back against it, closing my eyes.
"What's wrong?" The question was innocuous enough, but I could hear the sharpness of anxiety in his voice.
"Fahl was at Leah's."
Derek was on his feet in an instant. "What? What happened?"
I described the encounter to him, leaving nothing out. The furrow in his brow grew deeper and deeper as I spoke.
"What could that possibly mean?"
His only response was a humph.
"Why am I seeing him? And now in the light?"
"He can travel outside the shadows. He's dead, but he's also... something else."
"What do you think it means? Why is he stalking me?"
Derek watched me carefully, his expression unfathomable. "Your time might be coming."
"What?" My heart sank. "So soon?"
"It's impossible to know when, but..."
"How long do I have?"
Derek shrugged in that way that I loved. "Hard to say."
I fought against that claustrophobic feeling that the world was closing in on me. I reminded myself that I was a survivor and that I wasn't going down without a fight. My confidence was wavering, though, with the idea that my time might be imminent.
We ate dinner that night in silence, both of us lost in thought. Later, in the wee hours of the morning, I stirred at the sound of my bedside lamp switch clicking off. Fear rose inside me at the darkness that surrounded my bed until I felt Derek's weight as he sank into the mattress beside me.
Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around me and I snuggled into his bare chest, reveling in the intoxicating scent of him. And though his presence was comforting, he'd never been in my bed before and I felt the significance of it, like a nail of finality in the coffin of my circumstance.
The days that followed drifted by in a haze of desperation and awareness. There might as well have been a giant clock with glowing red numbers hanging over my head, counting down the days to my summons. Only the invisible clock that ticked away inside me had no numbers, no way of letting me know exactly how long I had left and, crazy as it might sound, that was the most disconcerting thing of all---not knowing.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Two weeks later, I sat in front of the Christmas tree, drinking my coffee, staring at the single, cheerfully-wrapped package that lay beneath it. My curiosity was at fever pitch. The gift had arrived last night. I'd noticed it when I'd come into the living room looking for Derek. He was gone when I woke up.
He'd left sometime while I slept, like he was doing more often of late. I never knew where he went, what he was doing or how long he was gone. I just knew that it was making me more and more uncomfortable as the days went by. At this point, I'd shifted from uncomfortable to downright suspicious.
Just then, I heard the roar of Derek's bike as he zoomed up the driveway. I didn't move, choosing to wait patiently where I was for him to come inside. And he did.
He came through the front door, carrying a bag with golden arches on the side. He smiled when he saw me sitting in front of the Christmas tree. "You're up early. Aren't you supposed to sleep in when school's out?"
I smiled a sleepy smile in response.
Dropping a quick kiss on my lips as he passed, Derek took the bag into the kitchen. "Want some breakfast?"
"I'm not very hungry," I said flatly.
I heard Derek's boots clacking on the linoleum as he crossed the kitchen back toward the living room. "Is something wrong?" He asked, poking his head around the corner to look at me.
I said nothing at first, knowing that I wouldn't get a straight answer if I asked the question that was always hovering at the back of my mind. Instead, I said, "Where'd this package come from?"
"The store," he said with a mischievous grin.
"Duh," I said, trying a brighter smile in return. I failed miserably, though. It's not an easy task when your heart is heavy.
"You'll just have to wait and see when you open it," he said, turning back into the kitchen. "Come and eat."
As I listened to the crackle of the fast food bag, I tried to push the doubts and reservations from my mind and pull out my most convincing "normal" demeanor. When I felt like I had been moderately successful, I reluctantly got up and went into the kitchen.
Over a sausage, egg and cheese biscuit, I did my best to smile a lot and chat about all the things I might normally chat about. But behind my attentive eyes and easy laugh I was elsewhere, hatching a plan. And though it gave me a modicum of comfort to be in control of something, I could feel my mood growing darker and darker as the day wore on.
By the time the sun had set, I was extremely anxious and my heart felt like lead in my chest. I had let myself care far too much for Derek, especially considering that I hardly knew anything about him. I'd let my emotions have free reign and now that misstep was coming back to bite me. And it had nasty teeth.
I was not to be deterred, however, so that night, true to the habit we'd fallen into, I got ready for bed and laid down, leaving my bedside lamp to shine brightly into the corners. I turned on my side and closed my eyes. I slowed my breathing as much as I could and purposely relaxed my muscles, pretending to fall asleep. But inside, I was a bundle of nerves. I just hoped that if Derek could feel my anxiety, he'd attribute it to something else. It's not like there was a lack of sources of turmoil in my life.
About two hours after I'd gone to bed, I heard Derek's footsteps. They padded softly across my bedroom floor and stopped beside the bed. He must've been watching me because there was a full minute's delay before he turned off the light and slid into bed beside me.
As usual, he pulled me into his arms and, as usual, I went willingly. His lips brushed my forehead and he whispered something I couldn't quite make out before he stilled. I lay perfectly motionless until I heard his breathing become deep and even.
I don't know how long we lay like that. I must've dozed off at some point because I came awake when Derek gently shifted and pulled away. I let him rearrange my limbs, making them as heavy and limp as possible. Then I listened as he quietly made his way from my room.
As soon as I heard the door from the kitchen open and close, I leapt up and threw on the jeans and sweatshirt that I had readied just inside my closet. I pushed my feet into my shoes and hurried to the door.
Derek quietly slid the garage door open and I watched as he pushed his bike down the driveway. I grabbed the Camaro keys from the hook beside the door and stepped out into the garage.
When he fired up the motorcycle's engine, I ran to the car and started it as well. As soon as he was out of sight, I backed out of the driveway and flew down the street after him.
I reached the stop sign and said a silent prayer that he took a left. That was the direction that most everything was from my house so I figured that's the way he'd go. I made the turn and sped up, looking for the single tail light of his bike.
Finally, it came into view. I slowed to avoid him paying too much attention to who was behind him. I just needed to keep him barely in sight, just enough to see if and when he turned.
We made several turns. Never did he drive any differently or let on that he knew I was back there. I could only assume that I had remained undetected.
After a few minutes, I found that I was anticipating his moves and that was because the roads were familiar to me. I knew where he was going.
Derek made the final right turn that would take him to the forks. I hung back so that he could drive ahead and not see me stop behind him. I killed the lights, pulled the car onto the shoulder and parked, climbing out quickly and making my way across the road and into the forest. I assumed he was going to the clearing and decided I would take a slightly different path to it so that he wouldn't hear me following him.
It took me a bit longer to get there from my convoluted approach, but when I reached the small open area in the woods, my suspicion was confirmed. There, standing in the middle of the bare trees, was Derek. He was perfectly still and silent, as if he was waiting, but for what I didn't know.
After several minutes, he finally turned as if he'd heard something. I looked toward the tree line and my heart sank.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Out of the shadows stepped a woman. I watched, spellbound and heartbroken, as she glided across the clearing to where Derek stood.
She was petite, her tiny but perfectly-formed body wrapped in snug black jeans and a jacket. Her long blonde hair hung in luxurious waves down her back and even from a distance I could see the classically beautiful features that the moon shone down upon.
When she reached Derek, she spoke. Though I couldn't make out the words, I could hear the delicate tinkling of her voice. His response was unintelligible as well, just a rumble in the cool night air. The woman threw back her head and laughed, a seductive sound that made my stomach clench in misery.
She stepped closer to Derek, laying one hand on his arm and leaning in to his body. It was such an intimate gesture, I had to look away. And, though my heart was breaking, I had to know what they were saying.
As quietly as I could, I made my way through the trees to a position still hidden from view, but hopefully one that was within earshot.
It was.
"...my brother. I've done everything you've asked, told you everything you wanted to know."
"What if I agreed to give you what you want most---your brother---for the small price of your...influence over her?"
I watched Derek's expression, his lips tightening as an internal debate raged within him. "Why do you want her so badly?"
"She's going to be one of my greatest weapons," the woman said excitedly.
"How is that?"
"Why don't you leave the details to me?"
"I want to know what you have planned for her before I turn her over to you."
"Nothing you need to worry your handsome head over, Derek," she purred.
The woman took Derek's arm and led him to the other side of the clearing, away from me, where I could no longer hear their conversation. It didn't matter. I'd heard enough.
I leaned back against the tree I was hiding behind and pulled my arms up to my chest. It felt as if someone was literally tearing out something from inside me. I felt the sting of tears at the back of my eyes and knew that I had to get moving before I made a complete fool of myself.
Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I quietly made my way out of the woods and back to the car. When I was safely inside the Camaro, I let the floodgate open, tears falling unchecked down my cheeks.
I sat there for several minutes before my vision cleared enough to drive. I turned the car toward home and pressed lightly on the accelerator. I was in no rush to get there. The excruciating pain of loss after my father's death had been eased somewhat by the arrival of Derek. But now, with heartache and betrayal marring those memories as well, home seemed more like a place of torture rather than the sanctuary of solace it was supposed to be. If I'd had somewhere else to go, I'd have skipped the house altogether.
I pulled into the garage and got out of the car. Briefly, I considered leaving the garage door open, as Derek had, so he wouldn't know I'd followed. But then I decided against it. He'd know soon enough anyway.
Once inside, I sat down on the couch in the living room to think. The terrible tearing sensation in my chest had settled to a dull, empty throb and my mind was somewhat clearer.
I debated the best way to handle the situation. Several ideas flitted through my mind, but I quickly discarded them for one reason or another. I thought of my father's letter and what seemed to be his last request.
I want to find your sister...it's all up to you.
As I considered this, I heard his voice. Though it was very much just inside my head, it was as if I'd once heard him say the words and was remembering it. Only I was positive I'd never heard him mention the name.
Find Byron Allsley first.
I had never seen or heard of Byron Allsley until the package had arrived after my father's death. And obviously my father wanted me to go and find him. It was like I was hearing him inside my head and feeling him inside my heart. I didn't know how he was communicating that to me, but I didn't doubt that he was.
It only took a moment for me to realize that finding him could eventually lead to finding my sister, which was what my father really wanted. And that was enough for me.
As I worked out the details, my eyes fell on the package beneath the Christmas tree. A shard of sadness sliced through my heart. Though I'd never really planned for the future, what with it being so uncertain and all, I guess I had begun to think of Derek as being a part of whatever hovered out there on the horizon. I'd never really analyzed my feelings for him; I'd just accepted them and went with it. Totally impulsive, like I'd always wanted to be when it came to love. No thoughts, just feelings.
And look at me now. I was learning the wisdom of rationale over rash love, and I was learning it the hard way.
I walked to the tree and knelt to pick up the package. After only a second's hesitation, I ripped open the paper and tore into the box.
There, beneath several gauzy sheets of white tissue paper, was the sweater I'd tried on at the mall the night I'd gone shopping with Leah and her mom. It was the one I'd been wearing when I'd seen Derek for the first time (outside of a dream that is), when he'd walked by behind me.
I brushed my fingertips over the soft cashmere; it was like touching a cloud. And even in the dim light, I could see the warmth of the deep apricot color, just as beautiful as I remembered.
Gently, I pulled the sweater from the box and held it up. An envelope fell out as the sleeves unfolded. Laying the sweater aside, I picked up the envelope and slid my finger beneath the glued edge to loosen it.
Inside was a card. On the front was a picture of a huge silvery moon as it shone down on a snowy clearing in the woods, much like the one I'd just left (minus the snow). I opened the card and it was blank inside but for a few handwritten words.
You glowed like the moon in this, only much more beautiful.
I thought of my new plan and, for just a moment, reconsidered. I reread the card then held the sweater up to my face, rubbing the fuzzy fabric back and forth across my cheek. Then, with a pang of regret, I laid the sweater back in the box and put the card on top. I slid it back under the tree and went to the kitchen for a pen. I wrote on the blank envelope:
Too many blondes in the clearing. Don't try to find me, just be gone by the time I get back.
I laid the envelope on top of the card and went into my bedroom to pack a bag. When I'd stuffed some toiletries, several pair of jeans, socks and underwear, a few bras and several sweaters into the bag, I carried it into the kitchen. I quickly added to it my father's gun, an atlas, two granola bars and the package from Byron Allsley. It had all sorts of information I might need.
I turned down the heat, made sure the doors were locked then, without a backward glance, grabbed my bag and headed for the garage.
I drove through town toward the interstate. When I reached the intersection, I sat staring at the blue I-77 sign. Somewhere deep inside, I knew that if I proceeded, I would be passing the point of no return. Carrying out my father's wishes would forever change my life, even more than what it had already changed. I could feel it. It buzzed in the air inside the car, like the crackle of destiny.
Images of my father and Leah, the Kirbys and, yes, even Derek drifted through my mind. I thought of the memories I was leaving behind, as well as the possibilities. But I knew it was something I had to do. And now was the time. I might not get a second chance. So, throwing caution to the wind, I pushed on the gas pedal and guided the car up the entrance ramp and set out to find Byron Allsley and my sister.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
My inner turmoil fueled me all through that day and into the evening. I teetered between devastating heartbreak and iron-clad determination and I let them drive me. I stopped only for gas, refusing to look back or dwell on my decisions. I was going forward, consequences be damned.
When I'd stewed about as long as I could stew, the tears came. I began to cry about half way through West Virginia.
I grieved, grieved like I should have grieved months ago. Only I had more to grieve now. I grieved the loss of my father and Derek. I grieved for my sister and my mother, for Leah and my future, the life I could've had, should've had, but could never have now. I cried for miles and miles, pushing myself relentlessly.
By the time I started seeing signs for the Ohio state line, I was overcome with fatigue. I watched the billboards for hotels. When I saw a reputable name, I noted the exit number and then watched for the sign.
Once I was off the interstate, the hotel was easy to find. It was a huge monstrosity that sat right off the exit. Relieved, I pulled into the lot, parked, and then made my way into the lobby.
A bell chimed as I pushed through the door. I was instantly assaulted by bright lights. The harsh fluorescents hurt my eyes and worsened the headache that I'd developed half way through West Virginia. I assumed it was a result of the climate and/or altitude change because my nose was stopped up, too. Between that and the puffy face from crying a river of tears, I felt pretty rotten.
As I approached the front desk, I saw the back of a maroon vest-clad attendant as she rounded the corner into the mysterious place behind the reception area. I leaned on the counter to await her return.
Several minutes later, the attendant still had not re-emerged. I had begun to get impatient, my fingers hovering over the little service bell threateningly, when a man materialized through a door behind the desk. He straightened his little maroon bow tie as he approached me at the counter.
"May I help you?"
The man's face was narrow and pointed. His sloped nose was dramatically exaggerated by a weak chin that resided beneath a row of overly-prominent front teeth. His tongue flicked out to wet his already-glistening lips, making me shiver in revulsion.
He had combed all that was left of oily brown hair over his balding scalp in one long swoop from left to right. I was sure from the looks of it that he couldn't possibly have washed it even once in the past week. All in all, my immediate impression was one of a weasel (if a weasel was pink, walked on his hind legs and talked in a whiny, nasal voice that is), right down to his beady eyes. They looked out at me from behind thick, black-rimmed glasses, watching me more like those of a hawk, sharp and cunning.
"Yes, I'd like a room please. One night, king bed, non-smoking," I said confidently, as if I'd done this a thousand times.
The man nodded and asked to see my identification. I handed it over, hoping that he wouldn't note my date of birth. When he began typing the information into the computer, I slowly released the breath I'd been holding.
When he was finished, a form printed out and he had me sign the bottom. After tearing away the perforated portion of the paper, he handed me a card key and directed me to my room on the third floor.
"Enjoy your stay, Carson," he said with a creepy smile.
"Th-thank you," I said. The way he said my name triggered some visceral response that made me distinctly uncomfortable.
I could feel his eyes on me as I walked back out to the car. I shook it off and chastised myself for such ridiculous suspicion. Being alert and aware was one thing; being cripplingly paranoid was quite another.
Dragging from the car my bag that once weighed about twenty pounds but now felt like it weighed about a hundred, I carried it inside to the elevators and punched the number three button.
Once I got to the room, I was thankful it was a Marriott and not a really cheap motel. I'd had the misfortune of staying in those before with Dad and that just wouldn't do tonight. I ached from sitting most of the day, I was tired of the road already, and I was emotionally exhausted from life in general. The only things I wanted were a hot bath and sleep and I wouldn't feel comfortable doing either of those in a lesser establishment.
After I'd locked and chained the door, closed the curtains and pushed a chair up against the doorknob, I took my bag to the bathroom and turned on the water in the bathtub.
When the mirror was steamed up from the heat, I peeled my clothes off and slipped into the tub. I sank down as low as I could, which left the water just grazing my chin. I closed my eyes and listened to the steady drip of the water from the leaky spigot, letting the rhythm soothe my overtaxed mind.
I must've dozed off because I could've sworn I heard someone whisper it's almost time and touch my cheek. I awakened with a start and looked around. I was relieved to see that I was alone.
After my bath, I put on clean underwear and went around turning on every light in the small room. Much to my surprise, when I laid down, I went to sleep almost instantly.
That night I had the same dream I'd had many times before, the dream about the black house in the field. I would awaken in the hotel room then for some reason I'd go outside and find myself right back in the field, walking toward the house with no windows. It was all part of the dream this time and it ran on an endless loop. Three times I dreamt of waking before I actually woke and the last time, I saw the girl who looked just like me. She was whispering, "It's almost time."
When I awakened (for real), it was six minutes after three. I was still tired, but I was edgy, too, like something unpleasant and unavoidable was just around the corner. It was a very unsettling feeling, but one that had plagued me quite regularly for the past few months, only not quite as intensely. I knew after about thirty minutes that I wasn't going to be getting any more sleep tonight so I got up to hit the road early.
Once I was dressed, I wasted no time packing my bag and heading to the lobby for check out. There was a young girl behind the desk this time. Though she looked bleary-eyed, she gave me a bright smile as I approached.
"How can I help you?"
"I'd like to check out please."
"And so early, too," she said pleasantly and waited for me to comment. When I didn't, she continued. "Your room number?"
I handed her my key and told her my room number. When she punched the number into the computer, a frown came over her face. "Did you say 'three-o-six'?"
"Yes."
She typed the number in again and her frown deepened. "We don't have anyone checked into that room."
"Can you type in my name and see if it comes up that way?"
"I can try, but it should still be associated with that room number," she said skeptically. "What's your name? I'll give it a try."
"Carson Porter."
She typed my name in the computer and still nothing came up. "Who checked you in?"
"Um, I don't know his name, but he was an older man with glasses."
"Glasses?"
"Yeah. And thinning brown hair," I said, opting for that description rather than saying he had a hideous comb-over.
She pursed her glossy lips. "The thing is, I can't think of one person who works here that wears glasses."
Something tickled the back of my mind, like I was missing something, but I just couldn't pin it down.
"Alright, well how can we work this out? Do you want to just check me in again or...?"
The girl looked left and right then leaned across the desk and whispered conspiratorially. "You know, it's not your fault. And it'll be a mountain of paperwork for me. Why don't we just call it even? You can just consider it an early Christmas gift."
I would've sounded like an ungrateful clod had I done anything more than just thank her and be on my way, so that's what I did. Plus, far be it for me to cause her any extra work. That wouldn't be very kind at all.
After stopping for a cup of coffee---something I was quickly becoming addicted to---along with a muffin, I turned toward the interstate ramp. By lunch time, I was well into the middle of Ohio. I pulled over on the highway to check the atlas once more before proceeding to Weston, the town where Byron Allsley practiced law.
It wasn't hard to find and it was just before five o'clock when I turned in to park in front of the brick building that boasted a huge LEWIS, LEWIS & SCHMIDT sign.
I was a little confused by the empty lot. I got out and walked to the door, looking as I went for an employee parking lot that I might've missed. When I reached the door, the sign that was taped to the glass told me all I needed to know. CLOSED FOR CHRISTMAS, it read in large, bold print. Then, below it, in smaller letters, WILL REOPEN MONDAY, DEC 27. I realized then that my plan had a couple of fatal flaws. I had been so upset and desperate to get away the previous morning that I hadn't even considered the weekend, let alone the holiday. It was Thursday, two days before Christmas, and apparently Mr. Allsley had given his employees a nice long holiday break.
Frustrated, I stomped back to the Camaro. I pulled my bag into the front seat and rifled through it, looking for the papers from Mr. Allsley. When I found them, I pulled out the cell phone I'd purchased at a gas station in Charleston, West Virginia and punched Mr. Allsley's mobile number into it.
It rang and rang until a voice message began to play, informing me that I'd missed Mr. Allsley, but that if I left a message, he would surely return my call by the end of the day.
I left my name and new cell phone number, asking for Mr. Allsley to give me a call as soon as he could, then I hung up and sat back to consider my options. First of all, I had to find something to eat and a place to stay for the immediate future. I'd have plenty of time to think after that.
On my way north toward Toledo, I found a Marriott that looked suitable enough for what I hoped would be a fairly short stay. Across the street were Starbuck's and McDonald's, two establishments I'd recently learned were staples in my simple existence.
Later, as I walked back from McDonald's, I noticed that the street I was on was heavily trafficked, but not by foot traffic. I had the sidewalk all to myself but for the man I saw up ahead jogging toward me. Though he was looking right at me, it was more like he looked right through me. His eyes were focused on something off in the distance. It was obvious he was totally preoccupied.
He was tallish and lean and, despite the cold temperatures, he was dressed in blue shorts and a sweatshirt, which indicated to me that he was a seasoned runner. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut short and neat and, though I'd put his age in the mid forties, he was very handsome with his olive skin and aristocratic features. Something about his carriage made me think he was both highly educated and highly successful.
I watched a strong wind whip his short hair and sweatshirt, but, strangely enough, I didn't feel the slightest breeze ruffling my hair or nipping at my cheeks.
When he was within twenty feet of me, he still didn't acknowledge that he saw me, that faraway look still in his eyes. Then suddenly, he looked to his right. An expression of sheer panic flitted across his face. He had no more than raised his arms defensively when his body flew across the pavement as if he'd been hit by a car.
I was stunned into immobility, confused by what I'd seen. We were on the sidewalk and no cars had even come close to us. I looked around and saw nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, no passersby seemed even to have seen the accident, if that's what it really was.
When the initial shock wore off, I ran to the man's side and knelt on the ground by his head. The whole right side of his body was mutilated. His white sweatshirt was liberally stained with blood and I could see unnatural lumps beneath it, presumably displaced bone and tissue. His bare legs were riddled with cuts and contusions, pieces of bone sticking out in numerous places. His head was crushed beyond recognition. Had I not just seen him, healthy and hale only moments before, I would never have guessed this was the same man.
His body twitched and shook, a gurgling sound bubbling up from his throat. I didn't know what to do. His injuries were so extensive, I was afraid to touch him. Then, a few short seconds later, he went absolutely still. I watched him carefully for signs of life---for movement, sound, anything---but there were none.
I stood up, knowing I should do something, but not sure what that something was. Internally, I went over what I could've done differently, wondering if there was some way I could've helped him.
As I stood there, staring down at the man, I suddenly felt a cold, tickling sensation ripple through my entire body.
And then I saw her appear in front of me.
Her back was to me and she was nearly transparent, but I could still make out who she was. Her red hair glistened like fire in the sun. I watched as she stepped over the lifeless body of the runner then turned toward me. She knelt beside his broken and bloodied body then looked up.
Pleasure was evident in her hollow, black eyes. She inhaled deeply, as if savoring her favorite smell. She ran her finger over the indention that used to be the man's cheekbone then down to his neck where a small trickle of blood still flowed. She brought her finger to her mouth and her tongue flickered out to lick it. Her eyes closed in ecstasy. "It's what we do," she said.
I stood helplessly by, paralyzed by fear and revulsion, and watched as her lips curled back, bearing a multitude of long, sharp teeth that she drove into the man's neck.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
For a minute, I actually doubted my eyes. I squeezed them shut and prayed that the runner and the girl would disappear. But when I opened my eyes again, she was still bent over the man, feeding on him. Above her soft mewling sounds, I could hear wet slurps and sucking noises. My stomach growled sickeningly and my throat burned, hot and dry, like I'd swallowed fiery ash.
And then they were gone. They disappeared right before my eyes. I looked at the empty ground where the runner had lain only seconds before. There was no blood, no flattened grass, no disturbed dirt, no nothing. It was as if I'd imagined the whole thing.
Only I knew that I hadn't. I had actually seen that man get killed and then fed upon. It was real. I was certain of it. I could feel it. But where was he? Who was he?
Shaken, I hurried back to the hotel. As soon as I was ensconced in the privacy of my room, I punched my home number into the cell phone. Then, as my thumb hovered over the green call button, indecision struck me.
My first instinct had been to call Derek, but that action was fraught with consequences, consequences that I wasn't ready to deal with yet. Reminding myself that I am smart and capable, I hit the disconnect button. I was going to figure this out on my own. Once I found out the identity of the man, it would surely lead me to some explanation as to why I was seeing the girl from the Darkness feeding off his blood.
I spent the rest of the evening scouring the news channels for local deaths and tales of tragedy. Though there were many gruesome stories, none detailed a man hit and killed while jogging.
I walked down to the lobby for a newspaper, thinking there might be a small chance I was witnessing something that happened yesterday or the day before, but there was nothing.
Reclining on the bed, I dialed Mr. Allsley's number once more, but got his voice mail again. This time I didn't leave a message.
I flipped to another local news channel and settled in to watch television until I heard from Mr. Allsley. I was kind of stuck until I could reach him.
I must've drifted off to sleep, but I woke quickly when I heard a man's voice saying something about a local man by the name of Byron Allsley. I blinked my bleary eyes at the television and saw a reporter standing alongside some railroad tracks.
"...Investigators believe that Allsley was out for his daily run when the train came upon him. A spokesperson from United Railway denies any knowledge of the dysfunctional warning system at this crossing, stating that all the quarterly diagnostic reports for this location checked out.
Allsleywas reported missing last night by his wife of nineteen years, Alicia Gaither Allsley, who has refused to comment at this time on whether or not the family will be seeking any kind of settlement from the railway..."
His words faded into the background when the screen switched to a picture of Mr. Allsley. My heart stuck in my throat as I looked at the handsome, olive-skinned face of the jogger I'd seen get crushed and eaten that afternoon.
Find Byron Allsley first.
I had thought I was supposed to find Byron Allsley first, as in before I went in search of my sister, but what if I was supposed to find him first, as in before someone else did, someone like the girl from the shadows? And why was she out of the shadows?
I thought of her, how much she looked like me and why I was seeing her. Was she really my sister or...someone, something else? Why was I linked to her? I mean, there was no question about our connection. I could feel it, like she was the other side of the coin, the yin to my yang. Was that a twin thing or something else?
Then I thought of my elemental powers and wondered about how I always saw her in the mist before, like she traveled in water. At least that had been the case until yesterday, when I'd seen her with Mr. Allsley. Why the sudden change? What had happened?
I had no answers, only the sinking feeling of inevitability. Was that my fate as well, what she was doing and seeming to enjoy? Would I soon be joining her?
A shudder ran through me followed by that steely sense of determination. I would either find her or find out what happened to her. And, aside from Derek, there was only one person I could think of that might know---my mother.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
My luck took a turn for the better the next morning. After locating a library that would allow me to avail myself of their internet access without a cavity search, I was quickly able to come up with an idea of where my mother might be. And I was closer to her than I thought.
If it was, in fact, my mother that I had found, then she was going by her maiden name, Reilly, rather than Porter and she hadn't moved from the town of my birth. It would take me about two hours to travel the distance from my current location to where she lived in Mansfield, Ohio.
Ready to get some answers, I got right on the interstate and headed southwest. As the highway miles sped by, I was plagued by doubts about whether or not I was doing the right thing. I mean, my father had gone to great lengths to make sure that my mother never found me. And obviously she hadn't been very much help to my sister (as evidenced by the statement in her letter that Grey was already gone...to wherever). Plus, if Derek was right and someone made a deal, it made the most sense that the dealmaker was my mother. Was she really the person that I wanted to seek out for help?
I was getting off the exit in Mansfield before I could change my mind. I probably wouldn't have turned back anyway. The fact was, I needed some help and she might be able to give it. End of story.
I had no trouble finding Maple Street. It had a wide median with trees planted all along its length, maples I assumed. When I reached the three hundred block, I slowed to look for number 306. When I found it, I parked across the street and cut the engine. The house looked nothing like the kind of place where a ruthless, wheeling-and-dealing person would make their home.
It was adorable. Small and white, the structure looked like a dollhouse with its decorative gables and cozy front porch. The front door was green, as were the winter-empty flowerboxes. With its white picket fence, all it needed was smoke rising from the chimney and apple pies cooling on the window sills to fulfill the perfect cliché.
I watched it for well over an hour, debating my next move. I mean, if I went to the door, what would I say? "Hi, I'm your daughter, one of the two that you traded for a new car or a bigger house. Where can I find my sister?"
Fate took that awkward conversation right off the table, however, when the front door opened and a woman emerged. Her hair was much shorter than in our pictures, but I'd have recognized her anywhere. My mother had aged beautifully, changing very little other than the length of her hair.
I slid down in the driver's seat and watched as she walked down the sidewalk, through the little white picket gate, and got into a black Volkswagen parked at the curb. When she started the car and drove off, I started my own engine and followed her.
She parked in front of a brick building that had the old world appeal of a whole-in-the-wall rare book store. It even boasted an old, yellowed sign declaring it was FIRST EDITION. In smaller letters beneath that was JANINE REILLY, OWNER.
I watched discreetly as she walked to the front door and unlocked it, disappearing inside. Though she kept strange hours, it appeared that my mother was the owner of a small bookstore, a fact that didn't really surprise me, what with the names she'd chosen for me and my sister.
I watched as she opened the store up, turning on the soft overhead lights, raising the gate that covered the large picture window and shuffling back and forth busily behind the cash register.
Since discovering that my mother was alive, I hadn't really had the chance to fantasize much about her, what she looked like, where she worked, where she lived. But somehow, this didn't fit. Somehow I expected her to be more...ruthless, I guess. I mean, if she was the person behind my current predicament then she'd have to be cunning and cruel. Wouldn't she?
A few customers came in early. She smiled and interacted with them, walking them up and down the aisles of books, searching for what they wanted. After she checked them out, she walked them to the door. With my window cracked, I could hear her when the door opened.
"Have a great day and come back soon," she'd say, her voice like a soothing lullaby, remembered comfort from long ago pouring over me.
As I watched her bustle through the store, I wondered if what she'd done could possibly have been an act of love. Had she been so devastated by the loss of her children that she reached out in desperation to whatever power would grant her those lives back, consequences be damned---literally? I mean, I'm the queen of consequences be damned and it-seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time behaviors. Maybe those flaws are genetically transmitted.
Almost two hours later, I was still working up the courage to go in and talk to her when something occurred to me. Out of the clear blue, my gut told me that Leah was in trouble.
I diverted my attention from my mother to the strange notion. I was wondering whether or not I should just write it off as some kind of neural misfire when it happened again, like a persistent gnawing at my insides.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Leah's number. No one answered so I left a message.
"This is Carson. Just looking for Leah. If you could have her call me, I'd appreciate it. Thanks," I said and then hung up. Less than a minute later, it occurred to me that she didn't have my cell phone number so I called back and left that on the answering machine as well. Then I sat back to think.
My mind rationalized that it was Christmas Eve after all. Maybe Leah and her family had gone out of town or were just busy with last minute preparations or shopping. I decided to just wait and see if Leah called in the next couple of hours. If she didn't, I'd try again and then go from there.
I rearranged my limbs into a more comfortable position and tried to concentrate on my mother once again. But now Leah was on my brain, that gnawing sensation growing stronger and stronger. Then my phone rang. Leah's number showed up on the caller id. Relieved, I answered.
"Where are you?" I said without preamble.
"Carson, this is Dina."
"Oh, hi, Mrs. Kirby. Is Leah there?"
"We were hoping that she was with you."
"What do you mean? I've been out of town. I'm, uh, I'm visiting relatives in Ohio."
I heard a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. "Leah and Ryan broke up and she left this morning. She said she was going for a walk, but that was hours ago and now we can't find her. Bruce and I just got back from driving around the neighborhood and the park looking for her."
The gnawing stepped up to a jittery feeling of urgency. "Did you check the library?" Sadly, that was Leah's favorite place.
"They're closed for the holidays. Can you think of anywhere else she might go?"
I really couldn't. "No, but I'm coming home. Will you call me if you hear from her? And I'll do the same."
"Alright."
"I'll come to your house as soon as I get there."
"Thanks, Carson. We appreciate it."
"No problem, Mrs. Kirby."
I was already going back through my trip, plotting out shortcuts, planning on speeding and making as few stops as possible.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
After quickly collecting my things from the hotel and checking out, my trip sped along even better than I anticipated. I was well in to West Virginia when I saw that my gas gauge was almost empty again, so when I saw a sign for a convenience store with a sub shop inside, I took that exit.
I was sitting in the car munching on my meatball sub when I saw Leah run by just beyond the hood. I doubted my eyes for a second, squeezing them shut before looking down at my sandwich, wondering what they'd put in the meatballs. But when I looked back up, I could still see her.
I could tell her pants were pale in color, but I couldn't make out much more detail; she was shrouded in shadow. As she scrambled, I could see that her usually curly hair was stuck to her cheeks, water dripping from the ends. She stopped, chest heaving, and leaned back against a tree. I could barely see the two black letters DC burned into its bark above Leah's head.
I got out of the car, one foot still on the floorboard inside, and stood behind the open door. "Leah?" I said hesitantly. It was no surprise that she didn't acknowledge me. Though I didn't really know what was going on, after yesterday, I felt sure that these "visions" were not interactive. At least I couldn't interact; obviously the other girl could.
Walking to where Leah stood, I noticed that the closer I got the less clear her form became. It was grainy like an old photograph. Tentatively, I reached out to touch her, but my fingers slipped right through her image. It was like moving through fog. For a moment, it dissipates, but then it settles right back into place, as if you'd never disturbed it.
I saw her face contort. She was crying. She bent over and put her hands on her knees, presumably to catch her breath, then she stood up. After taking three deep breaths, she took off running again.
Through her, I could see trees and shrubs flit by as she ran, though she never got out of my sight. She was running through the woods, my woods, and I guessed it was raining. She tripped over a fallen log once and then over a root sticking up, both times catching herself on her hands before she hit the ground.
I could see her dipping and bobbing over the uneven terrain, having run through the woods with Derek many, many times. A pang of longing stabbed at my heart, but I squelched it and turned my full attention back to Leah. She fell out of sight.
I searched the parking lot pavement for her, frantic that something had happened to her.
I saw her arms flailing. Then I saw her head briefly before it sank back out of sight. I saw water droplets fly from her fingertips as her arms thrashed and splashed. She'd fallen into water and couldn't get out.
Panic thundered in my chest. And then I saw Derek, standing in the trees behind her, watching.
I raced back to the car and punched my home number into the cell phone. No answer. Though I wasn't really surprised, what with the note I'd left and all, I thought there might be a slim chance Derek was still there. Next I dialed the Kirbys. Dina answered.
"Hello?" There was a hopeful note in her voice that tugged at my heart. No doubt she was hoping that I had good news about Leah.
"Mrs. Kirby, it's Carson."
"Have you heard from Leah?"
"No, but I, uh, I..." I trailed off. What was I supposed to say? That I'd had a vision of Leah drowning in the woods? That would certainly make an impression, just not one that would do any of us any good. Then it came to me. "I just wanted to know if you checked the woods. I mean, sometimes I take walks in there when I need to think and stuff."
"No, we didn't. That just-I don't know. That just doesn't sound like Leah, does it to you?"
"Well, maybe not, but if she was upset then..."
"We could check," Dina said weakly, doubt evident in her tone.
"Derek could probably help look for her. He knows the woods really well, lots of trails and things like that."
"Derek's gone. He left day before yesterday. There's no way to reach him now."
I was struck speechless. I guess I had been holding on to some hope that I'd been mistaken and that Derek would find me when I got home and give me some logical explanation that would make it all better. Then he'd declare his undying love and I would do the same and we'd live...well, as happily ever after as we could, all things considered.
But the hollow reality was much more painful than I ever anticipated. My heart ached like a hole had been torn in it, one that was bleeding profusely. Even if I wanted to try and find him, I couldn't. I had no way of reaching him. No one did apparently. No phone number, no address, no family to track him to. Just the Kirbys. And they said he was already gone.
Then a thought struck me: how had I seen him in the woods with Leah then? Was I seeing what had already happened this time?
"Carson? Are you there?"
Mrs. Kirby's voice brought me back from my musings to the task at hand. "Oh, sorry. Well I can go look for her when I get back. Maybe I can find her if she's not home by then," I said, hoping to encourage Dina, but knowing deep down that there was a great likelihood that she would not return. "And, one more thing. Is it supposed to rain tonight?"
I knew she probably thought that was an insane question to ask in the midst of such a traumatic situation, but she didn't say anything about it, merely answered my question. "No. It's supposed to be clear. As cold as it is, it would probably be snow anyway."
"So it hasn't rained in the last couple of days either?'
"No."
What was supposed to add clarity only served to further confuse and alarm me. If it hadn't rained, then maybe what I'd seen hadn't happened yet. On the other hand, what if it was only raining in a small section of the woods? What if someone was making it rain? I thought again of Derek standing behind Leah and a sickening feeling washed over me.
Pushing my emotions aside, I turned the key and revved the Camaro's engine then pulled the shifter down into drive. I stopped by the trash can on the way out of the parking lot and pitched the rest of my sub in; my appetite was a thing of the past.
The rest of the drive home turned out to be a lesson in frustration. My erratic and highly-emotional thoughts served no purpose other than to give me a massive headache.
Finally, almost three hours later, I saw the Camp exit sign come into view. I took it and guided the car to the forks rather than to the Kirbys. I was going to the woods to look for Leah. There were miles and miles of forest she could be in, but I knew where that tree was and that would be as good a place to start as any. I was showing off one evening and had burned DC into a tree on the path to a training site Derek and I frequented.
My heart clenched painfully at the memory and I immediately made myself think of Leah and how I might be able to help her when I found her. If I found her. I hoped that I'd be able to get there in time.
I pulled off the road into a spot where Derek had parked his bike dozens of times. I hopped out of the car and struck out immediately for the trees. Luckily, as a direct result of my time spent with Derek honing my skills, I didn't even need a flashlight to navigate the uneven terrain.
As soon as I entered the forest, big, fat raindrops started to pepper through the bare trees as I picked my way around the vegetation. Despite the cold temperature, I was stuck in the middle of a downpour. I was soaked by the time I'd made my way to the tree with the DC carved into it, but there was no sign of Leah.
I stopped to listen and that's when I heard it. Splashing and sputtering.
Darting off in the direction I'd seen Leah run in my "vision", I ran at the fastest speed that I could safely travel without getting myself hurt and being of no use to Leah.
When it seemed that I had traveled far enough to have already encountered her, I stopped to listen again. It was quiet but for the occasional drop of moisture that fell from the wet branches onto the forest floor; it had already stopped raining.
Looking as deeply into the shadow as I could, I scanned the ground for signs of flailing limbs, but saw none. Something moved to my right and I whipped my head around.
Derek stood in the shadow of a tree, staring at me blankly. A kaleidoscope of emotions played through me until he raised his arm and pointed into the woods to my left. I looked that direction and caught a glimpse of something pale. It had to be Leah.
I looked back to Derek. He said nothing, just kept pointing.
Denying my urge to go to him, I bolted through the trees in the direction Derek had pointed. As my feet plodded through the wet leaves, I prayed that Derek had had nothing to do with the rain. When I saw Leah up ahead, lying on the ground, all thoughts fled my mind except her.
She wasn't alone.
Drops of rain sparkled in red hair when the girl turned toward me and smiled. "Just in time, Sis," she shouted, confirming my suspicion. As she dropped to her knees beside Leah, her tinkling laughter drifted to my ears, curdling my blood.
"No!" I ran faster, my heart hammering against my ribs.
When I reached them, Leah was lying limp in my sister's arms, Grey's lips at her neck. Ghostly forms hovered just behind them, teeth gnashing, fingers grasping, their pale faces ravenous. Rage washed over me and, without another thought, I hurled myself at Grey.
When I hit, the impact dislodged her from Leah and sent us both flying through the air. We landed several feet behind where Leah lay. In an instant we were both on our feet, facing one another.
Grey's hair glinted crimson in the tiny bits of light that peeked through the branches. The black, hollow pits of her eyes were murderous and her pale face was marred only by the ring of blood that encircled her mouth.
Then her red lips lifted in a ghoulish smile. "Mmm," she moaned. "That was sweeter than I expected. Want a taste?"
My throat stung and my jaws burned as saliva poured into my mouth. I was appalled. And she must've known it.
Grey's laugh was a sarcastic bark. The cold, empty sound sent chills racing down my arms. "Of course not. You're the good girl," she sneered. "You'd never do something so vile, would you? Not yet anyway," she teased.
I was so taken aback I couldn't speak, a thousand gruesome thoughts swirling in my head.
"Thought you'd come and save the day. Is that it? Well, you might've saved her for the moment, but you've just sealed an even worse fate for her. Now when she goes, she'll go straight to hell, like the rest of the murderers."
"What?" I snapped.
"Oh, didn't you know that if a human is bitten by a reaper, they're cursed with our thirst? Only she won't have the dying to feast on. She'll kill the living, all for the bliss of one sip," she said darkly. "And then something else will come for her, something worse than me," she taunted.
"What have you done to her?" I didn't give Grey time to answer. Instead, I turned and raced back to Leah.
I knelt beside her and pulled her head over into my lap. I bent to listen and could just barely make out the rattle of her breath in her throat.
"It's not what I've done, it's what you've done."
Grey's voice came from behind me, but when I turned my head to tear into her, she was gone. Only the faces of the dead remained, but they were subdued. Apparently there'd be no body for them to feed on this night.
Just then Leah moaned.
"Leah, it's Carson. Can you hear me?"
"Carson?" I watched her eyelids flutter as she tried to open her eyes.
"It's me. I'm here."
"Carson, it hurts so bad." Her voice broke on a sob that tore at my heart.
"I'm so sorry, Leah," I whispered, leaning my forehead against hers. She was burning up. I lifted my hand to her cheek and it was on fire.
"I've got to get you home, Leah. Can you get up?"
I knew that was asking a lot from someone who had just been through a near-drowning and a partial feeding, but we had to move and I couldn't carry her all the way back.
"I think I can, but I'm so thirsty, Carson. You have to get me something to drink," she whined.
"In a minute. We've got to get you home first."
"My parents, are they worried about me?" Her voice cracked. "I didn't expect to be gone this long, but Ryan," she sobbed. "Ryan broke up with me and I just-I just had to get out of the house."
"I know, Leah, but right now we have to get you out of here, alright? Can you stand up?"
Leah nodded her head weakly, still sobbing quietly. I helped push her into a sitting position then I went around in front of her and grabbed her hands. "Now on the count of three, I'm going to pull and you're going to stand up, ok?"
Leah nodded again. I hoisted her into a standing position then put my arm around her waist and urged her to walk with me. She stumbled quite a bit, but eventually we made it back to the Camaro. By that time, she was spent and her fever was raging even hotter, if that was possible.
"Carson, please help me. I can't stand this. I'm so hot and my stomach hurts so bad. And my throat," she croaked, clenching and unclenching her fists. "It's so dry." She attempted to clear it, but it only made an arid, rasping sound.
"In a few minutes. Right now we need to get in the car so I can take you home."
I opened the passenger side door and helped Leah into the seat. I grabbed the lap belt and bent across her to click it into place. I felt Leah brush the wet hair back from my face and as I started to back out, she threw her arms around my neck and hugged me to her.
"Oh, Carson," she cried.
I whispered soothing reassurances to her as she cried. I felt Leah turn her head and nuzzle my neck. Then I felt her soft lips brush my skin with a feather-light kiss. And then I felt her tongue.
"Leah, what are you doing?" I asked, trying to keep my calm.
A little hum sounded in the back of her throat and she began to lick and suck at my neck. Her arms tightened around me, holding me to her with a surprising amount of strength. And then I felt the nip of her teeth. They were blunt, but still, I knew what she was trying to do.
"Leah! Stop!" I reached behind my neck and grabbed her wrists and pulled as hard as I could to dislodge them from around me. When I pulled away from her, she leaned forward, following me, biting and licking.
"But I need it, Carson. I'm so thirsty," she whimpered.
When I got away from her, I looked down into her face and it was like she'd been taken over by someone else. Without her glasses, which she must've lost in the woods, I could see that her lids were heavy and a sensuous smile played upon her lips. She squirmed like she couldn't sit still, almost writhing in her seat.
I slapped her lightly, which only made her smile deepen and a lusty look come into her eyes. "Snap out of this, Leah. You have to fight it!" She laughed huskily. "This is important," I spat, shaking her shoulders. "Leah!"
With that, she seemed to sober somewhat and I took advantage of the moment. "I can't take you home like this. You'll have to stay at my house until I can figure out what to do."
And that did the rest. "But what about my parents? And what if Ryan calls?"
"Tough. He'll just have to wait," I said coldly, slamming the door for emphasis.
I went around to the driver side and climbed in. Leah had begun to cry again. "Leah," I snapped. "Enough!"
Her sobs dribbled off to the occasional sniffle, but at least I could hear myself think.
I drove to my house and parked in the driveway. Once Leah was in my room in the bed, I went to the living room and called the Kirbys. I told them that I'd checked one of my favorite spots on the way home and found her and that she was safe and was going to stay the night with me.
When Mr. Kirby asked to talk to her, I whispered conspiratorially, "That's probably not a good idea right now. She's pretty torn up about all this. Can she just stay here tonight and call you tomorrow?"
"But, it's Christmas Eve and my daughter---"
I heard Mrs. Kirby's voice interrupt him in the background just before Mr. Kirby covered the phone. When he came back on the line, he was more amenable. And though I could tell he wasn't pleased about it, Mr. Kirby agreed to my suggestion.
I had completely forgotten that it was Christmas Eve, but unfortunately, that didn't change anything. Right now, the main thing was that everyone was safe for the night and that I had a little time to figure out what to do next.
When I went back in to check on Leah, she was asleep. Her face was beet red and she was laying spread eagle with the covers thrown off, like she was hot. She muttered and tossed, but didn't wake up so I closed the door behind me and went to get a pillow and blanket for the couch.
Of course Derek was the first thing to pop into my head when I pulled the pillow down from the top of the linen closet. His scent assailed me, that dark, woodsy smell. He was the last one who used the pillow and blanket. I felt a stab of pain as the gash in my heart started bleeding again.
Purposely, I began thinking about Leah and my sister and what to do about my current dilemma. I made up the couch and then went into the kitchen for a soda. Lying on the bar was the sweater that Derek had bought me and a piece of paper was sticking out beneath it.
It read:
Carson,
I'm so sorry that I brought Fahl into your life. Maybe he would've found you anyway. I don't know. I did it for my brother, but now I know some deals aren't worth the sacrifice.
I didn't want you to find out this way, but my betrayal was not what you think. It didn't take me long to figure out that you were special. Very special. I was hoping that by stringing Fahl along, together we could find a way to beat him, a way to free us all. I know how it must look, but I thought that you knew how I felt about you, that I could never hurt you. Not again.
It doesn't matter now anyway. There's only one thing I have left to bargain with, one thing I can give away to make things right.
I hope one day you'll forgive me.
Love,
Derek
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
If I'd thought the pain I'd felt earlier was devastating, it was nothing compared to the excruciating heartbreak that I felt now after reading his words.
Although I knew very little about Fahl and his mysterious deals, I knew that they were extremely expensive. And when Derek said he only had one thing to bargain with, I knew what that one thing was.
An image of him standing in the woods, pointing the way to Leah filled my mind. Now I knew why he was there. He'd given his life to Fahl. For me. Derek was one of the dead.
Love and agony bled from the giant, gaping hole in my heart. He was gone, really gone. He was gone from this world, he'd traded his life, his very soul, for me.
I sat there, chest so tight I couldn't breathe, certain that I couldn't stand the pain of it. Thinking he was gone and that I'd never see him again was bad enough, but knowing what he'd sacrificed for me was unthinkable and unbearable.
I crumbled to the kitchen floor, my insides twisting and churning painfully. I felt on the verge of bursting, like my body couldn't contain the anguish. That's when the red haze of a blind rage came upon me. There was one entity responsible for almost all my sorrows, on source---Fahl. All my emotional angst focused on him until it suddenly exploded into a bottomless black hole of hatred.
I couldn't hold the scream inside. It radiated from my throat and my chest and my heart. It roared through every cell of my body like a forest fire, burning away logic and reason.
And then I was on my feet, heading to the car. I drove to the forks, my hands trembling with my efforts to control my powers. They swirled inside me, begging for release, but it wasn't time. Not yet.
I slid onto the shoulder of the road and slammed the shifter into park and jumped out of the car. I took off at a dead run for the trees, racing through the forest at breakneck speed.
I burst through the laurels and into the clearing, screaming at the top of my lungs, "Fahl! Fahl, come out here! Fahl!" Over and over, I cried his name in every direction, turning circles in the middle of the clearing.
I scanned the tree line looking for him. I saw faces emerge from the deepest shadows to hover around the edges, just beyond the low light of the moon.
And then I saw her. It was the blonde I'd seen in the woods that night with Derek. It was Fahl.
"I knew you'd come," she purred as she stepped out into the clearing and moved toward me.
The instant she spoke, I felt flames burning on my fingertips. My cheeks grew hot and damp. I heard the trees throughout the forest creak as they bent toward me. I saw leaves rise from their place on the clearing floor and drift into the air, spinning and twirling wildly all around me. I felt the earth shake beneath my feet, the deep rumble a warning that it was about to split wide open. I was on the verge of losing control and everything around me could feel it.
"Everyone has a price," she said, her voice to me like gasoline on a fire. "I---"
I couldn't listen to one more syllable, not one more lie, not one more rationalization. My control snapped and I was helpless to prevent it.
"What have you done?" I cried, launching myself at her. I felt the wind on my fiery cheeks as I ran. I heard the pop and whoosh of trees as they burst into flames all around me. The earth opened up in two huge cracks, running alongside me on my left and right, heading for Fahl, threatening to swallow her, to drag her to hell.
And then I was weightless. I was on my back, spinning in the air like I was on a clock face and I was unable to breathe. It was as if all the oxygen had just vanished. My insides started to burn like I'd swallowed acid then the pain slowly made its way to the surface.
My skin felt like it was being peeled off, inch by agonizing inch. Then an intolerable pressure began to build inside my head. My vision blurred and my eyes felt like they were being forced out of their sockets---from the inside.
I gasped and flailed, fighting for a breath and writhing in pain. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't utter a single sound.
In the silence, I heard her cluck her tongue at me and then I was inverted---feet in the air, face down and falling. My body jerked to a halt and I floated in the space in front of her. We were eye to eye. Only it wasn't a woman anymore, it was a man. It was the Fahl I'd seen the first night in the woods. Even upside down, I could make out his emaciated form and black wispy hair.
"Now, are you going to be reasonable or am I going to have to be mean?"
I shook my head, in no way ready to do anything less than tear his head off.
Suddenly, I was upright again. Fahl turned and walked toward the trees and, like a balloon tied to a string, I trailed helplessly along behind him, floating several feet off the ground. The pale faces in the shadows grew closer and closer, clearer and clearer until I was upon them.
Their mouths yawned wide and I could hear the clicking of their teeth as they snapped their jaws at me. With their arms outstretched, they clutched and clawed at me, but only so far as the darkness went. I hovered just outside their reach.
I scanned the gruesome faces and tattered clothes, fear rising inside me.
"I could let them have you for a while. That might change your mind," Fahl crooned happily, stepping into the forest, pulling me along behind him where I could feel greedy hands grabbing at me. I kicked my legs and lashed out with my arms, but there was no resistance, no contact so I drew my legs up out of their reach.
I scanned the ravenous crowd and then I saw him. Derek stood at the back of the crush, arms crossed over his wide chest, staring at me, an inscrutable expression on his face. His eyes were dark, onyx beads in a pale face, just like the rest of them.
I felt the pain of my wound again as the chasm in my heart grew, widening as the loss of him became more poignant than ever. Bitterness began to churn in my stomach. Derek held my gaze for several long seconds before he looked to his right. I followed his eyes. And the bottom dropped out of my world.
I existed in a vacuum of pain and suffering, the most incredible sorrow I'd ever felt rushing in on me, occupying all the space around me. I was certain it would suck me into oblivion and I would cease to exist. And, for a moment, I wished for it.
Standing on the other side of the crowd, to Derek's right, was the pasty, weary face of my father.
When Derek suddenly moved, my attention was drawn back to him. He rushed toward me. For an instant my heart soared, but it was short lived. Though his expression never changed, he raised his hand and lashed out at me, striking my cheek. More than the sting of the slap, I felt the painful burn of my flesh tearing. There was something in his hand.
I looked at him, dumbfounded, my eyes drawn to where his brother's medal dangled from his fingers. When I raised my eyes to his face again, he was mouthing something to me. My confused brain struggled to make sense of it, rational thought beyond my capability. And then I saw him raise his arms like he used to when he was wielding fire. I looked back at his lips and saw him say, "Fight."
I looked down at the mob reaching for me and I relaxed my legs, my feet quickly falling to within their grasp. One woman who'd obviously suffered a fatal wound to the side of her head took my foot in her hand and yanked. When my body dipped, I saw her intentions in slow motion. Her mouth opened and she bore her teeth, aiming them toward a spot on my calf just below my knee. Her eyes glazed over with the anticipation of pleasure and her lids drifted shut. And then I kicked her.
My foot made contact with her face and she fell back into the crowd. Frenzy broke out. The faces of the dead twisted into wicked snarls. They turned on each other, biting and jabbing at one another in their efforts to get to me.
Quickly, I scanned as many faces in the crowd as I could. Closing my eyes in concentration, I pictured them in my head and then imagined them all on fire. I heard a loud whoosh and then a blast of heat smacked me in the face.
When I opened my eyes, most of the dead were aflame. They thrashed and danced in pain, shaking their heads and limbs in a futile attempt to escape the blaze. One receded into the shadows, the fire retreating as he sank further into the darkness. It didn't take the others long to follow suit, falling back as the pain overcame their hunger for my flesh, their thirst for my blood.
My feet touched the ground and I turned toward Fahl. He clapped his hands together once, twice, three times then he picked up the pace as he approached me. A mirthless smile tugged at his lips. "Very good. Even better than I expected, actually. You and your sister are naturals," he declared cheerfully.
"What have you done to her?"
"I haven't done anything to her. She's my reaper."
"Your what?"
"My reaper. She's already been very valuable. She has a natural...dark side that you don't share. But you, you've shown your worth, too. You've brought me two souls without even trying."
I knew to whom he was referring. Derek had insinuated that was what he planned to do and seeing my father there left me to draw only one conclusion---he'd made a deal with Fahl, too. "How? How did you get them?"
"They made their own deal, of course, but you were the inspiration. They were both willing to give up their lives to help you, regardless of the...discomfort," he said.
"Discomfort?" I probably shouldn't have asked because just then I saw my father grab his throat as if he couldn't breathe. He gasped and sputtered, his arms flailing and clawing at the air. I looked to Fahl and he was smiling. "Stop it!"
I turned my eyes back to Dad, his expression was one of panic. He fought and kicked at some imaginary force, all to no avail. The veins in his forehead stood out sharply against his pale skin.
"Please stop, please!" I wasn't afraid to beg. I would've done anything at that moment if he would agree to stop whatever he was doing to my father.
Dad shook his head and craned his neck, like he was trying to catch his breath. Finally, water began to spew from Dad's mouth and his struggling weakened. It was like watching the life drain out of him as he fell to the ground, out of sight behind the crowd.
"What did you do to him?"
"It's what's already done. He has the pleasure of reliving his demise over and over and over again. Forever."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "What?" My father was going to have to drown over and over again for...eternity?
"That's not to say, however, that certain things can't be undone," Fahl taunted.
Undone? Desperation struck suddenly, fueled by the little glimmer of hope offered in that one word. "How? Tell me how?"
"I can make a deal with you, too, you know. You can decide who goes free. Your sister, your father, Derek. It's all up to you."
"You can't make me choose," I cried, a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach.
"Too hard, is it?" Fahl pressed one finger to his lips as if he was reconsidering. "How about dear sister or father and beau. Is that easier?"
As soon as he restructured the options I felt the weight of the choice pressing in around me. And, though I knew that I had to at least strongly consider each alternative, I already knew what my choice would be.
Miserably I asked, "What do I have to do?"
"It's simple. Take your sister's 'life' and I'll let her go free. Your sister takes your life and your father and Derek go free." Fahl smiled as he said the last. I think he knew which option I would choose, too. "Are they that important to you, Carson?"
I had to think. Was he tricking me somehow? Derek said you could never really win with Fahl, but there was so much on the line, what choice did I have?
I knew I would have to make a decision very soon, so I stalled as long as I could. "What about Leah?" Though I did want to know what was to become of her, unfortunately, she wasn't foremost in my mind and heart.
"She'll decide her own fate now."
"But Grey said she'd go to hell for being a murderer."
"That's one possibility. But, again, it's up to Leah."
My mistake was in believing that either of them, Grey or Fahl, was capable of being completely truthful. Like any business dealing, there was always fine print, some hidden clause or consequence that you weren't expecting. I knew it would serve me well to keep that in mind. I never thought I'd look at Faust as a relevant cautionary tale in my life, but...like Derek said every hell has its devil.
"What are her choices?" It always boiled down to choices, but just like Dad had reminded me in his letter, there was always another option.
"Well, if she controls herself and manages her thirst, she could make different decisions in life and end up going to heaven. Or..."
"Or what?"
"She can control herself and remain undecided."
"Undecided?"
Fahl pursed his lips as if he was searching for the right way to explain. "Think of it this way, no space is ever empty. It is always occupied by something. Now think of a person's heart like a space. If Leah kills then her heart darkens to...let's call it gray. That's the area where I like to play, where black and white meet in the shadows. Now," he paused, obviously enjoying his lesson. "People have been known to come back around to the light after killing, but it's not a journey for the faint of heart. But it could happen.
"On the other hand, if she continues to kill, her heart will continue to darken and it will eventually be occupied by the ruler of the natural world and hell will be her resting place. And, of course," he said, his tone dropping as if he were glossing over the last. "If she believes in the one who died for her, then her heart will be occupied by the light. But," he said, his animation returning. "If she remains undecided..."
"Then?"
"Then she's fair game and Grey will have another chance to reap her. For me."
"When will-how will I-how will all this happen?"
"You'll know," he said, his malevolent tone freezing me from the inside.
I thought about his words for a long time before something occurred to me. I felt selfish for even considering it, much less asking, but I had to know.
"And what about me? What will become of me?"
Fahl's smile was pure delighted evil. "Well, that depends on what your choice is, Carson."
In a way, I was glad he didn't answer me too directly, with too many specifics. I didn't want anything to falsely influence my decision. I had to have a singular focus and I couldn't do that if I was thinking of myself at all.
"Alright," I said gravely, instantly feeling the heavy mantle of doom as it settled on my shoulders.
"Is that a yes?" Fahl was all but salivating over my agreement.
"Yes, that's a yes."
As soon as the words left my tongue, Fahl's thin lips twisted into a smile of great pleasure, so much pleasure that it made me wonder what I'd really just agreed to. But I quickly reminded myself that no price was too high for my father and Derek.
"I'll be in touch," he said mysteriously and then he was gone and I was alone in the woods.
I stood in the clearing for a long time. The tempest of emotion that thrashed about inside me finally died down into a strangely welcomed numbness. I felt...nothing. Maybe it was the peace that comes when the end is near. Maybe it was that I'd faced a difficult decision, made a choice and now I knew my path. Or maybe there was just too much to feel, therefore I felt nothing. Whatever the cause, I was thankful for the reprieve.
Quietly, I moved out of the clearing and picked my way through the forest toward my car. Once I looked up and thought I saw Derek watching me from the deepest shadow of a tree, but when I blinked he was gone. I couldn't even be sure he'd really been there at all. I certainly didn't feel any comforting presences. I just felt...alone.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
That night, I lay on the couch, trying to go to sleep, but my mind was plagued with questions---millions of them. Strangely enough, one of the most recurring ones was about something Fahl had said earlier, about each of us being "occupied" with something.
Could it be that Dad had been right all along? I'd scoffed at Pastor Mike's sermons for the last year and a half, and dozens of other preachers before that. Where would I be now if I'd believed?
It was that troublesome thought that ushered me into a fitful sleep. The up side was that when I finally relaxed enough to dream, I dreamed of Derek.
I was on a huge flat rock that was anchored in the side of a cliff and stretched way out over a slow-moving river. The sun was shining brightly straight over head and I was in a bikini working on my tan. I could smell the sweetness of coconut oil mingling with the crisp freshness of running water. The heat of the rock at my back and the sun on my face was like a tranquilizer, lulling me into a semi-comatose state of relaxation.
A cool fingertip on my stomach forced me to crack my eyelids the tiniest bit. It was Derek, leaning over me, a beatific smile on his face. Immediately, my insides warmed faster and hotter than my outside.
"You're here," I said breathlessly.
"I'm here," he said softly, his fingertip drawing lazy circles on my belly.
"I've missed you."
"And I've missed you."
"Can you stay?"
"Not very long. Your dreams aren't safe. A part of you already belongs to him."
"But I haven't done anything yet."
"No, but you made the deal. That's all that matters. There's no backing out now," he said sadly.
"But I did it for you."
"I know. And I wish you hadn't. I did what I did to set you free. But now..."
"Why? Why did you do it? We'd have been fine if---"
"No. I led him to you, Carson. I-I was so selfish and I had so much guilt and he used that. He knows every weakness, every single one."
"But if you hadn't, I would never have met you. And I wouldn't trade that for...well for anything." I paused, love spilling out of my heart and trembling on the tip of my tongue. Then I realized that I had nothing to lose; it was only a dream. "I love you."
A tender expression came over Derek's handsome features and my heart melted. "I know." He dipped his head a few inches further toward me until our lips met. His were cool and firm and he tasted just like I remembered. Then he pulled away. "The only thing I would have traded meeting you for is your soul. I'd give anything to know that it's safe, that you are safe."
His silvery eyes were like warm, shimmering pools, swirling and hypnotic. I could've stared into them forever, gladly drowning in the depths. But then they hardened and he said, "He's coming. I have to be quick."
"Who's coming?"
"Fahl. This is where the undecided souls separate from their bodies. You picked a bad spot to sunbathe," he mentioned wryly. "Listen, Carson," he began, leaning up and pulling me into a sitting position. "There are some things I want you to know, things that will help you. He's going to use you as a reaper, like Grey. You'll be able to see them right before their time is up. If you can find them, you can warn them, maybe save them."
"But how do I find them?"
"Now that you've made the deal, there's a house you can use. I've never been there, but I've heard others talking. Some black house that has a bunch of doors. They'll take you to the marked. Just be careful. Watch out for her. And watch out for the others." He stood to leave, looking out across the water, scanning the shoreline.
When he mentioned "the others", it reminded me of something that I had wondered about, something that had bothered me. "Wait!" I said, grabbing his arm. "Last night, why did you hit me?"
Derek turned his attention to me, a pained expression on his face. "I had to do it. That's something else I found out over here. When your skin is broken, what's underneath is like...it's like..." I watched him struggle for the words. Rather than the disgust I would have expected him to feel over my creepy white layer, he features showed nothing but wonder. "light or something. It's powerful. I don't know what else it can do, but I know it makes the dead vulnerable to you."
Oh, great. So I could literally repel people with my freak-show skin. Just what I always wanted. All I had to do was slice off my epidermis and, presto bingo! Fan-frickin'-tastic.
Hurriedly, Derek bent over and pressed a quick kiss to my forehead. "He's coming. He can't know I can find you in your dreams," he whispered. And then he was gone, disappearing into a cleft in the rocks.
I looked back across the water and I saw a young girl appear at the shoreline. There was something familiar about the curly copper hair that shone in the sun. Then I looked at her clothes. She wore a beige A-line dress with a green sash decorated with patches. It was the girl selling cookies at Leah's house.
Just then, she looked up at me, smiling and waving as if I were her favorite aunt. A chill spread over my skin as I watched her. She picked up rocks from the water's edge and threw them toward the middle of the river. I thought at first she was trying to skip stones and I snickered internally. She'd never manage that in moving water.
Then I saw the white belly of a fish break the surface. It bobbed lifelessly in the current. I looked back at the little girl. She was giggling gleefully, clapping her hands. I watched as she picked up another rock, a bigger one this time, and hefted it over her head. She scanned the water briefly then lobbed the rock. Seconds later, another white belly floated to the surface. Again, she giggled and clapped, thrilled with either her aim or the result, I didn't know which. Either one was bothersome.
I looked back to the fish and discovered that it wasn't a fish's white belly at all. It was a person's. A woman's to be precise. I could see where the water lapped at her naked breasts. I looked at her face, but I couldn't make out any detail. Where it was covered with water, the glare of the sun obscured her features. I could, however, make out a tangle of dark hair floating out around her head. And there was something familiar...
A warm breeze ruffled my hair just then. That's when I caught the scent, the stench of death and decay. The stench of Fahl.
Just then, the girl looked up at me, meeting my eyes from across the river, and she smiled again. I felt a hand at my bare thigh, gently stroking the inside, rubbing the pulse that beat there. I looked down, but no one was there. I looked back at the girl and she smiled wider.
With a start, I awoke on the couch, the nauseating smell of Fahl still in my nostrils. I was relieved to see the familiar ceiling of my living room hanging over my head. I sat up and looked down at my legs. The covers were pushed up to my waist and my bare legs were sprawled out in front of me.
The smallest disturbance of the air alerted me to her presence. It was almost like a sigh drifting across my skin. I turned my head and there, sitting crossed-legged on the floor next to where my head had been, was Leah.
My leg tingled again, right where I'd dreamed that someone was touching me. "Leah, what are you doing?" I pushed the covers back down to my toes. "You scared me half to death."
"I could hear your heart beating all the way in the bedroom, like drums pounding inside my head," she said absently, her eyes fixated on my throat. She seemed dazed, dreamy almost, like she wasn't quite awake. "It got faster and louder and then I could smell..." She paused, her brow wrinkling delicately. "Fear."
I couldn't imagine that babysitting a shark would've felt any different. Perilous. "I, uh, I had a bad dream. Sorry I woke you," I said, swinging my legs around to put my feet on the floor. I felt too vulnerable lounging on the couch. I had to be able to move. Quickly.
"It's ok. I need to be getting home anyway. It's Christmas. Mom and Dad will be opening presents soon." Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles. She was like a talking doll or something, robotic and distant, her voice very childlike.
"Do you, um, do you think it's a good idea to go home when you're...you're...like this?"
"Like what?" She still had that dazed, faraway look in her eyes.
"Leah, you're obviously going through some, uh, changes and it might not be the best time, the safest time for you to be around your family. You think?"
"I'll be fine. Look," she said, holding her spread hands up in surrender. "Am I trying to hurt you?"
No, she wasn't. Not now, anyway. But what if I hadn't awakened when I did? I shuddered at the thought.
I looked into her oh-so-innocent eyes, but I was not deceived. I had the distinct impression that Leah was unstable---in a big way. And I was no help. I had no idea what to expect, what she was capable of or how her "condition" would progress. I mean, I didn't think that having seen a few old 80's vampire movies and Twilight made me any kind of an expert on bloodthirsty creatures.
"No, but---"
"I'll be fine," she reassured me mechanically.
I didn't know how I could keep her here if she really didn't want to stay, so I decided to take another tack. "Hey, maybe I could come with you. I mean, this is my first Christmas without Dad and I really don't want to be alone."
She looked at me blankly for several seconds before she said agreeably, "Alright."
"And then maybe we could come back here together so I don't have to stay by myself," I added, hoping I wasn't laying it on too thick.
"Alright," she assented once more in her sing song voice.
"Good," I said rising to a standing position and backing a safe distance away from her mouth. "Do you want to shower here or wait until you get home?"
"I'll wait."
"Ok. I'll be quick and then we'll go," I said, hoping she'd be alright while I bathed. "Why don't you make us some coffee?"
Almost as if she were unaware of doing it, Leah made a face that said coffee didn't appeal to her in the least. Yet, she agreed. "Alright."
I left the bathroom and bedroom doors cracked hoping I'd be able to hear anything amiss. I was somewhat relieved when the smell of coffee wafted into the shower.
As I was hurriedly smearing lotion on my skin, I caught sight of my shoulder in the mirror. It looked like the "tattoo" had spread. A lot.
I took a small handheld mirror and turned my back to the sink so I could see my entire posterior. I was right. The markings had exploded since my tryst with Fahl in the woods last night and the configuration had changed as well.
A single flame started at my tailbone. It spread upward in a v-shape, widening as it went, licking its way toward my head in shades of pale orange, red and blue. As it neared my armpits, it spread from left to right all the way across my back. But then the flame tips twisted into twirling translucent vines with tiny green leaves and delicate purple flowers. That pattern decorated the upper half of my back and my shoulders then tapered to a point at my neck, disappearing into my hairline at the base of my skull.
They were lighter than before, like a soft stain on my skin, beautifully colored and shimmering. Some spots were so pale they were almost undetectable. But as I watched, they appeared to move, like living, breathing flames and flowers. The colors swirled and faded and shifted. It was like watching a Chia Pet grow.
For a moment I was enthralled. Then it occurred to me that the designs were a result of my dealings with Fahl, that they served as a constant, physical reminder that my time and my life were limited. That's when my anxiety rose.
To my amazement, as my distress increased, so did the vividness of the colors and shapes. It was like they raged as I did, thriving on my anger, becoming darker and darker, pulsing with color
I lowered the mirror and closed my eyes, trying to calm my tumultuous feelings. I used Dad's old trick and counted to ten. When I felt a little less agitated, I picked up the mirror and opened my eyes to look at my back again. The markings were already fading back to the translucent hints of color on my skin.
I lowered the mirror again. I couldn't stop the squeal that erupted when I saw Leah standing in the bathroom door staring at me. She'd moved so quietly I hadn't even heard her push the doors open wider or come into the bathroom. That or I was just that preoccupied. Either way, not good.
"Leah, you scared me," I said, breathless all of a sudden. I pulled my towel up to cover myself. Then irritation set in. "Don't you knock?"
"I heard your heartbeat speed up again. I came to see if you were alright," she said matter-of-factly.
On the one hand, I was relieved to hear her sounding more like Leah than a talking baby doll. On the other hand...
"I'm fine. Sorry to have worried you," I said sharply.
"When did you get that?" She was looking behind me, at the mirror over the sink, at my tattoo.
"A few months ago," I answered casually.
"Lucky for you tattoos are in," she snorted then turned and walked out of the bathroom.
I turned toward the sink and put the handheld mirror away, saying to no one in particular, "I don't know if my nerves can make it through the holidays."
Less than an hour later, Leah and I were walking through her front door. We hadn't called ahead. Leah wanted to surprise her parents.
When we rounded the corner into the living room, it was empty, but I could hear Mr. and Mrs. Kirby talking quietly in the kitchen just beyond. Leah stopped suddenly, her arm striking out, lightening fast, to grab my wrist as I continued on in front of her. The grip of her hand was like silk-covered steel as she pulled me back to her side.
"What is it?" I asked as I turned to Leah.
She was sweating and panting, saliva pouring down her chin in thick rivulets. Her eyes were wide and they darted around the room nervously. Her nostrils twitched as she smelled something and I could see the tips of several teeth, extremely pointy teeth, peeking out from below her upper lip.
"Carson, they smell so good," she said, closing her eyes in ecstasy. Her fingers squeezed even tighter around my wrist. She moaned and threw her head back, lifting her nose into the air and inhaling deeply. "Ahh," she breathed, her chest heaving.
When she opened her eyes again, she looked right at me, but I could see that the person looking out from Leah's face was not Leah at all. Something else had taken over, something wild and dangerous, something deadly and thirsty.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Panic began to rise inside me. I couldn't let Leah kill her parents. The one thing I knew for sure was that I had to get Leah out of there before something terrible happened.
I had the element of surprise on my side when I bent and rammed my shoulder into Leah's stomach. Reflexively, she let go of my arm and doubled-over on a grunt. When she did, I wrapped one arm around her legs and lifted, pitching her over my shoulder. I took her right hand in my left and had her fairly subdued in a fireman's carry. Luckily, Leah was a lot smaller than me, so I was able to get her out of the house before she started to struggle too much.
Moving as quickly as I could, I rounded the garage and set Leah on her feet, pushing her up against the siding. "Leah! Get a hold of yourself. Those are your parents!"
Leah wasn't even looking at me. She had turned her head toward the front of the house and her nose was wiggling again like she was sniffing.
I pulled my hand back and slapped her as hard as I could. "Stop that!"
Leah's eyes met mine and, for an instant, there was murder in their depths. At least it wasn't that animalistic hungry look, though. I considered that progress.
"Leah, please! Snap out of it," I pled.
She closed her eyes as if she was concentrating, though she huffed and panted a little more. When she opened them again, I could see my Leah surfacing in the chocolate depths.
"Come on, let's get you back to my house," I said, putting my arm across her shoulders, a very pal-like gesture, but one meant to ensure that I had some control over her if she decided to bolt.
Leah said nothing. And, though she nodded in agreement, my anxiety was only marginally eased.
I decided that we'd have less chance of being seen if we traveled to my house using back yards instead of the sidewalk so Leah and I took off around the back of the house.
We darted behind fire pits and barbecues, decks and trees, anything that we could hide behind as we went. I'd never thought to be pleased that none of our neighbors had fences or pools, but today I was.
When we were two houses away, in Mr. Vanderpool's yard, his dog, Bodie, leapt out of his doghouse and started barking. I started shushing him, trying to calm him, my concentration on his noise level rather than on Leah. That few-second lapse was a huge mistake.
She moved so quickly it was over before I really knew what happened. Bodie was lying on his side, behind his doghouse, whimpering quietly as Leah fed from his neck. I couldn't see any of her face; it was buried deep in his fur. I was so appalled and so taken aback, I just stood there watching for the longest time before it occurred to me to try and stop her.
Finally, I jerked into action, grabbing Leah by her shoulders and pulling as hard as I could. Nothing would dislodge her from the dog's throat, though. Her control was complete. "Leah," I whispered, my voice a little shaky. "Leah, please stop. We've got to go."
I could hear wet slopping sounds that made my stomach roll and saliva pour into my mouth. I liked dogs, but not that much.
"Leah, please."
I tugged again and this time she released her hold on the dog. When she looked up at me, her face was covered in blood and blood spatter from her nose down. There were even a few specks dotting as far up as her forehead.
Her expression was strangely blank. I really don't think she had any idea at that moment who I was. I think the only reason she stopped was because she was finished feeding.
I grabbed her arm and pulled. Mechanically, Leah got up and followed me.
By the time I got her home, Leah was coherent. And very upset. She ran straight into my bathroom and slammed the door behind her. I could hear her retching, but it didn't sound as if anything was coming back up. I heard the water run and some splashing sounds. Finally, the door opened and one very subdued Leah emerged. Her face was shiny and clean, but her eyes were dull and burdened and a little teary.
She walked to the bed and perched on the edge, her shoulders slumped in dejection.
"I can't believe I did that," she said, her voice wavering. "I love animals, especially dogs." Though her head was lowered as she picked at her fingernails nervously, I could see that her chin was trembling with suppressed emotion.
I sat beside her, shoulder to shoulder. "Leah, don't be so hard on yourself. It's going to take time for you to learn how to control this, to manage it. I mean, it's not like you set out to do it," I said, hoping to encourage her. "Look at it this way, at least you didn't hurt somebody, like your mom or dad. Or me." I smiled then bumped her shoulder playfully. "Especially not me." I saw her lips twitch in a weak smile and I took that as a good sign.
Leah fell back on the bed and pulled a pillow over her face. She lay like that for several minutes. I debated leaving her to herself for a while, but then she spoke. Her words were muffled by the pillow.
"What? I couldn't understand you."
Leah lifted the pillow just enough to clear her mouth so I could hear her. "I said, 'Why don't you smell like that'?"
"Like what?"
"Like that? They smelled so delicious, my parents. Even the dog smelled good," she complained.
"I don't know. Maybe it's a chemistry thing."
"Maybe," she said doubtfully. She flung the pillow off and sat up, her brows pulled together in a tight little frown. She bit her lip pensively. "You smell more...I don't know. Maybe it's less, less...fresh and juicy, like you're not quite...I don't know." She watched me thoughtfully, unable to articulate what she was sensing.
"Alive?"
She mulled that word for a while, looking at me as if she was trying to see deep inside my cells. "Maybe, but how could that be?"
"It's a long story," I said vaguely.
"And we've got," Leah looked down at her watch then back at me, "eight days until school's back in. I'm all ears," she declared, her smile a little stronger and more genuine. She needed a distraction from her worries and she saw one in hearing about my worries.
I deliberated for a moment. Having held my secrets so close for so long, the thought of confiding in someone felt strange. But then I realized that Leah had nearly as much going on as I did, only with more to lose. If there was anyone I could trust to keep my confidences at this point, it would undoubtedly be her. "I'll tell you all about it after you call your parents. Deal?"
With a nod, Leah hopped off the bed and agreed. "Deal." She walked past me and a minute later I heard her end of the conversation with her parents.
When she returned, Leah and I sat on the bed and I told her the whole story, beginning with the accident that revealed my shiny layer of skin and ending with me tackling Grey as she attempted to reap Leah for Fahl.
"I guess I owe you, well, my life then, don't I?"
"Look at it as a second chance, one that you have to make the best of." I thought of my father drowning right before my eyes. "Trust me, I don't think you want to spend eternity in Hell or the Darkness."
Later that night, as Leah and I sat on the couch watching a Christmas movie, I felt lighter, better for having shared my troubles with someone. I guess misery really does love company and Leah and I were quite the pair. Talk about your odd couples!
The relative tranquility of the evening was short-lived, however, when a young blonde girl appeared in my living room floor. She was walking backward, talking and gesturing to someone I couldn't see.
I glanced at Leah to see if she had noticed her, but she was still watching television.
"Leah, can you see that?"
Leah looked around curiously. "See what?"
I guess that was my answer.
As I watched, the girl pulled a sweater she was wearing over her head, leaving her in only a camisole, and then she lay back on a bed that suddenly appeared beneath her. That's when I saw a boy's dark head come into the picture. He picked up her leg and began kissing at her ankle, working his way up her slim leg and pushing her skirt up as he went. He stopped and paid particular attention to a geometric tattoo that graced the outside of her knee, rubbing it with his thumb then flicking his tongue over it.
When he continued his ascent, I looked away, embarrassed for watching them. My eyes met Leah's. She was eyeing me suspiciously.
"What are you looking at?"
"There's a girl right there," I said, pointing to where the couple lay, but keeping my eyes averted and trained on Leah.
"I don't see anyone."
"Obviously," I said, rolling my eyes in that way that says duh. "I guess this is one of those weird visions," I explained. Then it hit me. The other two visions had been centered around someone's death, or imminent death in Leah's case. If that held true here, maybe if I watched closely enough, I could find out who and where the couple was so that I could intervene, like I did with Leah.
"Who is it?"
"I don't know."
With heated cheeks, I turned my gaze back to the couple. I squashed the urge to look away and give them privacy as they fooled around.
At one point, the couple was kissing passionately and I thought of Derek, remembering the pleasure we'd shared. Shaking my head as if shaking off the memories, I concentrated on the couple, dissecting them and their surroundings, waiting for some clue as to their location and/or identity.
I watched as the boy slid his hand beneath one of her spaghetti straps. She tore her mouth from his. "Nathan, that's too far. I told you I'm not ready for that yet," she said.
Nathan! At least I had that to go on.
Not taking her protest seriously, Nathan responded, "You knew you were playing with fire." Breathing heavily, he began kissing her neck, his hand trailing down over her breast to the bottom of her shirt. He pushed the thin material up high on the girl's ribs. She grabbed his wrist to stay his hand.
Even to my eyes, it seemed Nathan's hands were everywhere. While she was tugging at one, the other found its way to her bare leg, gliding up her thigh to disappear beneath the edge of her skirt.
The girl squirmed uncomfortably beneath his increasing ardor, pushing at his other hand now. She had zero luck. Neither hand budged so she began pushing at his shoulders. "Nathan, I said no," she cried. I could hear the rising panic in her tone.
Ignoring her, Nathan's arm jerked as he pulled violently at something I couldn't see. I heard the ripping sound of seams giving way; I assumed it was her panties.
The girl began to struggle in earnest, realizing what he was attempting. "Nathan!" Her voice trembled. She was about to cry. Cold chills raced down my arms. She just realized she was in serious trouble.
With a growl, Nathan reached between their bodies and I heard the sound of a zipper. I raised my hand to my mouth to smother a gasp. It was horrifying to watch, yet I couldn't look away.
Despite her thrashing, the girl must've heard it, too. She raised a hand and dug her fingernails into the side of his face, dragging them down his neck, leaving long bloody gashes in his skin. With a growl, Nathan clenched his fingers into a fist and hit her in the side of the head.
The girl's head lolled back and forth for a minute; she seemed addled by the punch. I scooted to the edge of my cushion, every muscle in my body tensed and ready for action, action that could not help her no matter how much I might wish it. Hot tears streamed silently down my face as I willed the girl to do something, anything, to save herself.
Within seconds, I saw the light of alertness come back into the girl's eyes. I watched as it shifted first to panic. It swelled in her face and my heart broke for her. I felt her fear and her helplessness almost as if they were my own. And then I saw something that I had experienced too many times in the last several months not to recognize. I saw her panic turn to rage.
Nathan's ardor had only increased by her resistance. He was going to persist, whether she wanted him to or not.
As his mouth skated across her jaw line dropping unwanted kisses toward her mouth, the girl turned her head. She found his nose with her teeth and she bit down. Hard.
Nathan screamed and rolled off the girl, coming to his feet beside the bed. He was holding a hand over his face. Blood was oozing between his fingers. Though his voice was muffled, I could plainly make out what he called her. And she heard it, too.
As he turned to walk across the room, I glimpsed the wall behind him. It looked like the interior of a cabin, with its large exposed beams and whitish chinch fill in between. He stopped at a dresser that sat against the wall opposite the bed. He leaned in to the mirror that hung above it. As I watched his reflection, I caught sight of something else moving in the glass. In the image of the window near the bed, I could see a pale face floating eerily against the black of the night.
It was Grey. Her eyes met mine in the mirror. Anticipation was gleaming in the obsidian depths.
"Look what you did to me!" Nathan yelled, turning back to her, fists clenched at his sides.
"You deserved that. And more!" The girl had risen to her feet and was standing in the center of the bed, shouting defiantly at Nathan. "Just wait until people find out what kind of monster you really are. Only a total loser has to take what he wants because no one is willing to give it to him. And that's what you are---a monster and a loser."
Nathan's blood-streaked face blanched at her words and a look of utter satisfaction settled over her pretty features. But, alas, it was short-lived.
Suddenly the blood rushed back into Nathan's face, turning it beet red, and he began to shake. The smugness drained from the girl's expression when she realized that she'd overshot her mark. She'd made her threats before she was out of harm's way. And her mistake was a fatal one.
With a cry that sent chills racing down my arms, Nathan leapt up onto the bed and grabbed the girl by the throat. Her eyes widened in shock and she pulled at his wrists. She couldn't move them an inch. She beat and smacked at his arms then turned her fingernails to his face once more. When that didn't work, she reached for his nose, but he was able to turn his face this way and that, keeping his wounded nose from her grasp.
He tightened his grip on her neck and began to shake her. She made coughing, sputtering sounds, her face turning an unhealthy purplish red. Tighter and tighter he squeezed, her struggles becoming less and less robust. Finally, her eyes rolled back in her head and a whitish ring began to develop around her mouth. Seconds later, she went limp in his arms.
Nathan followed her down to the bed, where he straddled her lifeless body. He continued to strangle her even though she showed no signs of consciousness. He muttered something under his breath and shook her again.
Furiously, he growled and mumbled, spittle flying from his lips and peppering her ruddy face. Again and again, he shook her, her head snapping back and forth violently.
Finally, Nathan released his grip on the girl's neck. Behind him, I saw Grey walk to the bed and slide in beside the girl's limp body. With a toothy smile that turned my blood to ice, she lowered her mouth to the girl's throat and bit down.
The girl's body twitched, almost as if she'd felt it. I wanted to shout to the boy, "Check her pulse! Check her pulse!" I knew it wouldn't have mattered, though. He wanted her to be dead. That much was obvious.
And then my living room floor was empty once more, all the characters in the macabre play vanishing into thin air.
I sat on the couch, appalled at what I'd seen, but also thankful that my tryst with Stephen Fitchco hadn't gone that far awry, ending in a similar manner.
My mind raced with one thought. What can I do? What can I do? What can I do?
Derek's words broke the loop, so clearly he could've spoken them aloud.
Now that you've made the deal, there's a house you can use... has a bunch of doors...take you to the marked.
A house with a bunch of doors? I thought of the house that I'd dreamt of, that huge, dark monstrosity that seemed to ooze evil from every nook and cranny. Could he have meant that house? "But how do I even get there?" I asked absently, speaking to no one in particular.
"Get where?" I'd forgotten that Leah was there.
"Oh, uh, nowhere. I was just thinking."
Leah tipped her head to the side. "Car-son," she said warningly. "Spill."
"I just, um, I, uh---"
"Stop trying to lie without lying," she interrupted. "Just tell me the truth. Aren't we kind of past keeping secrets by now anyway?"
She had a valid point. It's not like I hadn't just told her all the gory details about my insane life anyway. What was I afraid of? What was I hiding?
I told Leah what I'd seen (foregoing most of the detail) and then explained my dilemma. Leave it to Leah to see the logic.
"If you've been dreaming of the house and Derek knows about it, it's probably not over here," she reasoned. "Maybe you should start with the clearing. Seems like the woods are where all sorts of bad things happen anyway." She said the last under her breath and with no small amount of bitterness.
I couldn't fully agree, considering all the good times Derek and I had shared in the woods, but Leah didn't have to know that so I didn't argue with her.
"You may have a point," I conceded, still trying to think of another way, one that didn't involve going to the clearing.
"What exactly is your plan anyway?"
I looked at Leah, puzzled. "What do you mean? I'm going to save her. What do you think my plan is?"
"Save her?" Leah sounded skeptical, which was odd since she'd very recently benefited from just such a plan.
"Yes. Is there a problem with that?" Leah's attitude rubbed me the wrong way, aggravating me.
"No," she said, looking away, but her body language and expression clearly said there was.
"Alright, Leah. Out with it."
"Nothing," she maintained then, after a moment, reconsidered. When she lifted her eyes to mine, anger simmered in their sable depths. "Well, look at me. It's not like your rescue of me worked out so perfectly, you know?"
I was speechless. Did she really feel like this was somehow my fault?
"Well, excuse me for saving your life. Maybe I should've thought of the pros and cons first, asked around a little bit even. Oh wait," I snapped. "I was too busy saving your life."
Leah opened her mouth to rebut, but I wasn't interested in anything she had to say. I turned on my heel and stalked out of the living room. I grabbed my jacket and the keys then walked out to the garage.
On the short drive to the forks, I seethed over Leah's audacity, the conversation playing over and over in my head. Then, unbidden, a cryptic warning Fahl had given me popped into my mind. I hadn't known how to make sense of it at the time, but now...
...as long as you don't try anything reckless, Leah will be enjoying her cookies by Christmas.
Was this what he'd meant? Had I really somehow caused what had befallen Leah?
I pushed that disturbing thought to the back of my mind as I had arrived at the forks. I pulled onto the shoulder of the road, got out and headed for the forest.
I jogged through the woods, toward the clearing, eager to get in and get out. When I arrived, Fahl was already there, in his tall, blond form, waiting for me.
"Good. You're here," he said in a deep voice with traces of a Swedish or German accent. It was strange to be standing face to face with the man that had been spying on me and Derek at the beach. His long hair glistened in the moonlight and a satisfied smile graced his handsome face. "Three things. First, picture the black house. Can you see it?"
When he jumped right in like that, it took me a minute to catch up. I shook my head, as always too distracted by him to think very clearly.
"Close your eyes and concentrate," he said more slowly, his voice becoming soft and hypnotic. I did as he said. "Can you see it?" I could hear the leaves crackle under his weight as he approached me.
Focusing, I conjured up the image from my dream, just as haunting and intimidating as it had been while I was asleep. "Yes."
"Good. Now, think of the symbol on the girl. That's the door you'll use."
I nodded, eyes still closed so I wouldn't lose the image.
"And, Carson," he whispered, his voice right at my ear. "Don't forget our deal."
I got that cold spider web sensation again and then a terrible taste invaded my mouth. I opened my eyes just in time to see Fahl start to move past me, through me. His body began to shake and shimmer and then he was gone, his odor the only sign that he'd been there at all.
Closing my eyes once more, I pictured the black house. I wasn't sure how long I was supposed to do that so I kept my focus on the image.
The first things I noticed were changes in ambient noises. There was absolute silence, an eerie stillness that speaks of an inherent lack of life and all things living. Then I started to feel dizzy. When my feet began to feel wet, I opened my eyes to see what was going on.
I looked down. I was standing in water up to my knees. I looked up and around. Up ahead, I could see the black house hovering on the moonlit horizon. I was in the pond that I'd seen my father floating in.
With a shriek, I started running, which was a slow, wet process in any amount of water.
When I reached the shore, I walked toward the black house. In my peripheral vision, I could see shapes moving inside the shadow, just like in my dreams, but I kept my focus on the task (and the house) at hand.
I moved cautiously up the steps and stood in front of the narrow front door. I looked back and, just like before, the pond was gone. Only the crisp field remained.
I turned back toward the house and looked down at the door knob. It, too, was just as I remembered---silver with an intricate design etched onto its surface. I bent to get a better look.
Best I could tell in the dark was that the knob was divided into four quadrants. In each quadrant was a different design. I recognized two of them. One had vines with tiny leaves and delicate flowers. The other was flames, just like the ones on my back.
The other two were unfamiliar to me, but I thought I knew what they meant. One looked like waves in a tumultuous sea, the other swirls of silver. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say water and wind, the other two of the four elements. The two I suspected that my sister could control.
I reached for the doorknob and the instant my skin made contact, my insides caught fire. Never in my life had I felt such an intense, indescribably horrific pain. I gasped, filling my lungs with burning air. I let it out on a blood-curdling scream that I thought surely echoed into the other world. When my chest was empty of both fire and air and I could scream no more, I listened as other sounds began to fill the dead silence. Shuffling, dragging, moaning, gurgling.
I pushed through the pain and turned my head to the right as much as I could. And I saw them. The dead were all around me, closing in on me where I stood on the stoop.
With every ounce of strength I had, I twisted the doorknob. Luckily, it turned easily and I all but fell inside. I lay on the floor, immobilized by the excruciating pain. I could see the door from my position, and the dead just outside it. I knew in my current state I wouldn't be able to defend myself and, as my mind raced with thoughts of what they might do to me, my heart raced with terror.
The dead mounted the steps slowly, dragging dangling limbs and wobbling on broken legs, bumping into one another. A man made it to the top first. He wore only a grungy dress shirt that hung in tatters from his bloody shoulders. I could see teeth marks on nearly every visible inch of skin. There were even chunks of skin missing from his cheeks and chin. And one eye socket was a gaping black hole in his head.
I watched, terrified, as he stepped to the door. I tried to get my legs to move, but I was still in too much pain.
As he took the next step, the step that would bring him into the house and within inches of my foot, he stopped with his foot in midair. He set his foot down and looked at the doorway. He raised his leg to take that step again, but once more he stopped.
Anger contorted his mangled features and he raised his hand toward the doorway. I could see the palm flatten as if it were pressed against an invisible barrier. He tightened his fingers into a fist and beat at the doorway, but still he couldn't pass through it.
Relief flooded me and as I watched the others approach the door and try to get in, unable to. And, slowly, my pain began to subside.
When it had lessened to something more like menstrual cramps (only in every muscle of my entire body), I sat up.
And I saw that I had no legs.
Panic erupted from the churning pit of my stomach and I felt the blood drain from my face. I reached down to touch the empty space where my flesh should've been and I felt...my legs. I flexed the muscles in my right thigh and felt them contract under my fingers. Puzzled, I wiggled my toes. I felt the material of my socks and the rigid toe of my shoes. I bent my legs at the knee, preparing to stand---or try to anyway---and that's when I saw the hint of an outline, an outline that looked like my legs.
As I moved them, I could see the hardwoods through them, through my legs. They shimmered and danced like I was seeing them through heat waves. I thought of the way Fahl shimmered when he walked through me and realized it must have something to do with traveling through the Darkness.
Then, right before my eyes, my arms began to fade. I pushed myself onto my feet and looked down at my body. My trunk was fading as well. I could just barely see the faint lines of where my body stopped and thin air began. To the untrained eye, there would probably be no difference. To most people, I'd be invisible.
A familiar voice interrupted the unhealthy escalation of my emotions. I recognized her words as well. It was the girl from my living room floor, the girl that would soon be dead if I didn't find her in time. And, though she might be anyway, I was determined to do everything within my power to prevent it.
Pushing my transparency and implications thereof out of my immediate thoughts, I turned in a circle, examining the halls that sprouted off in different directions from the hub in which I stood.
Now, think of the symbol on the girl. That's the door you'll use, Fahl had said.
"But which hall is it in?" I said to the empty room. It was no surprise when no answer came. Knowing time was quickly running out, I tried to imagine which direction the voice had come from. I decided it was definitely from my left so I chose the hall closest to me, on the left, and I took off down its dark length.
I stopped in front of the first door, straining to see the symbol etched onto its front. It was too triangular to be the right one so I moved on. The next one I came to was similar, but still not right. It had too many horizontal lines. Next.
I performed this same examination on every door down that hall. I was beginning to think I'd chosen the wrong hall when I was down to the last three doors. Door number three was all wrong. Its symbol was circular, not at all what I was searching for. Door number two looked close, but it was missing a vertical piece that I was pretty sure I'd seen. I was beginning to walk on to the last door when I saw another stroke appear.
It was as if the symbol was forming as I stood there. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I could see the vertical piece that it lacked, as well as the final horizontal line, come into view as I watched. When the last line was drawn, forming the symbol I sought, it shone brilliantly for about three seconds then started to blacken, as if it were tarnishing, fading right before my eyes.
Taking a deep breath and sending up a silent prayer to the God I was beginning to think really was up there, I twisted the door knob and stepped through.
And there I was, in the room with Nathan and the girl. And I wasn't too late. I watched as the girl rose onto her feet in the center of the bed.
"You deserved that. And more!" The girl was shouting at Nathan and I knew her threats would come next. "Just wait until people find out what kind of a monster you really are. Only a total loser has to take what he wants because no one is willing to give it to him. And that's what you are---a monster and a loser."
It was like the scariest déjà vu ever. And just like in my vision, I watched Nathan's face blanch and the girl become smug.
As the blood began to fill Nathan's face, one thought rolled on a loop through my head because I knew what was coming. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?
I watched the surreal scene play out as if in slow motion. Nathan's face turned beet red and he shook with rage. Then there was the cry, the one that proclaimed he was out of control and homicidal. It still sent chills down my arms, just like it had earlier.
I watched him jump up onto the bed and grab the girl by the throat. My mind scrambled for what to do. That's when I saw Grey outside the window, watching. In reality, the look on her face was hunger. And pleasure. And that spurred me into action.
Distract him, I thought.
Concentrating on the curtains, I lit them on fire, hoping that would distract him long enough for the girl to escape. He didn't even notice. I shook the ground, the bed trembling on its heavy frame. Nathan didn't pause. He was intent on killing the girl.
I saw the fire burning higher and hotter and wondered if I'd acted too impulsively. Just then a vicious wind blew open the window and rain started peppering in on the curtains, quickly dousing the flames.
And my eyes met Grey's. Her lips twisted in a dark, satisfied smile that enraged me.
I looked around frantically for something to use as a weapon, but I heard the girl's choking sounds begin to fade. In desperation, I leapt up on the bed and kicked Nathan in the head as hard as I could.
Dazed, he sat up, releasing the girl's throat, his body weaving dizzily. I took advantage of the opening, curled up my fingers and punched him as hard as I could in the jaw, knocking him back onto the bed.
I screamed at the girl, "Get up! Get up!" She didn't move. I bent to look into her face. Her eyes were open and she was conscious.
"She can't hear you," Grey said, appearing on the other side of the bed.
I reached down to grab the girl by the shoulders and shake her when a mighty wind blew through the window and knocked me off the bed and into the wall across the room.
The gale force of the current pinned me against the wall. Helplessly, I looked back at Grey. She held one hand out toward me and with the other, she was flicking her fingers at Nathan's face.
"Get up, loser," she was saying.
I watched helplessly as Nathan sputtered and sat up. Disoriented at first, he looked down at the girl. I held my breath, hoping he would forget his deadly intentions. I was encouraged at first when he got off the bed. But then I heard Grey whispering something. She was chanting below her breath.
I watched Nathan go to the dresser and pick up a handheld mirror. He broke it against the wall then bent to pick up a long, jagged shard. I looked back to Grey. She was still chanting, nodding in approval as he walked slowly back to the bed.
"No," I screamed, but no one seemed to notice. Was he hearing Grey or was she doing something else to him to get him to do her will, influencing him somehow?
I had to stop him. And I had to stop Grey---without killing her. I closed my eyes and pictured the black sweater and jeans she was wearing. Then I pictured them on fire.
I didn't open my eyes until I heard her screams then I turned my attention to the boy. With Grey distracted with the flames, the wind died down and I slid to the floor. I sat back on my haunches and watched Nathan as he lofted the piece of mirror over his head, aiming roughly for the girl's face and neck. And I pictured his hands on fire.
Suddenly, they burst into flame. He shook his fingers and jumped back as if he'd touched something hot. But there was no escaping the fire that was consuming his flesh. Not unless I willed it.
As he hopped around the room, squalling, shaking and swatting his hands in the air, I hurried to the bed. I put my hands on the girl's shoulders and urged her into a sitting position. I grabbed her legs behind the knees and turned her around until her feet dangled off the edge of the bed.
Grabbing her hands, I pulled her off the bed and hurried her to a door on my side of the room. I opened it up. It was a closet, nearly empty, so I shoved her inside. I closed the door behind me and turned my attention back to the two people on fire.
The flames were working their way up Nathan's arms. He was on the floor writhing in pain. In my mind, I doused the flames and they dwindled to nothing, leaving only charred and melted skin in their wake.
Grey was not in as bad a shape. She had walked to the window and let the rain blow in on her, effectively extinguishing most of her flames. Her eyes were on me. And they were murderous.
The wind began to blow again, even stronger this time. Quickly, I was pinned to the wall again, but then I was sliding along it toward the other door in the wall.
As I neared it, the wind blew it open and I was propelled inside, slamming against another wall, this one above the tub, which was full of water.
My heart beat pounded against my ribs and thumped in my ears. A knot of fear lodged in my throat and my mouth went dry.
And then I was under water. I struggled to lift my head, but I couldn't. It was as if huge invisible hands held me under, hands that were impossible to move. I tried to clear my mind enough to focus on Grey, but panic had taken over. My worst fear was coming to pass. I was drowning. And it was all I could think about.
In the back of my mind, I saw my father and Derek and remembered that this was the deal I'd made. If I was to free them, I had to let Grey kill me. But something in me, some primal part of my spirit, wanted nothing more than to survive. And it fought. It fought hard.
I kicked my legs and flung my arms, but there was nothing to grab onto, nothing to help me. My lungs burned with the need to breathe, but still I fought. Then my head started to spin lightly, an almost pleasant feeling amid the turmoil I was otherwise feeling. My arms got heavier and heavier until they felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each. It got harder and harder to move them.
I shook my head to clear it, but that only served to make it spin faster. And then the urge to breathe was just too much. I opened my mouth to gasp and...air filled my lungs.
I coughed and sputtered, struggling to catch my breath. When finally my head began to clear, I was more confused than ever. I opened my eyes to look around and saw Grey hovering over me, her hands on my shoulders.
Then anger struck.
"Why did you save me? I was almost gone. I could feel it. Why did you do that? I'm supposed to die!"
Grey shrugged nonchalantly and leaned her hip against the sink, her red hair cascading over her shoulders.
"A, it's not that easy. See?" She held out her arms, which should've been burned to a crisp, yet there was not so much as a single blister to indicate she'd been on fire. "And B," she said, stepping to the edge of the tub and bending down to whisper in my ear. "I have other plans."
With that, she straightened, gave me a chilling smile and then she was gone.
I sat in the tub, silent and dumbstruck, trembling in the aftermath of what had happened. A low moan startled me into action.
Rolling out of the tub, I was on my feet and through the door in a flash, only to find Grey hovering over Nathan, her teeth buried in his neck.
"Grey! What are you doing?"
She ignored me, sucking voraciously on his artery. My mouth watered and my throat burned with sudden thirst. My gums ached and the throb of another pulse beat in my ears.
With a thump, she let his head drop back to the hard floor and she stood. "You can't save everyone, Carson," she said, wiping her forearm across her bloody mouth. "And now I have help." And then she was gone. Really gone.
I was alone in the room with Nathan, who was lying barely conscious on the floor. His hands were a burnt mess and his throat was ravaged.
A pounding to my right brought my attention to the closet. I rushed to open the door. The girl just stood there for a minute, looking confused, before she peeked curiously around the room then took a tentative step forward. Like a frightened doe, she eased out little by little until she was clear of the closet.
I closed the door behind her and she screeched, jumping like I'd pinched her. She whirled around and looked sharply about. It was then I remembered that she couldn't see me.
If she can't hear me and she can't see me, then how can I help her? How can I tell her she's got another chance?
She backed cautiously away from me, stumbling into the bed. Clearly spooked, she hurriedly bent to pick up her clothes and get dressed. I looked around in frustration, searching for some way to communicate with her. Then I saw the desk in the corner.
Rushing to it, I saw a stationary box on top, along with a pen. Quickly, I wrote her a note and carried it over to the bed. Gently, I slid it onto the bed behind her where she'd see it when she turned around. And she did.
Slowly, cautiously, the girl picked up the note and read it. Her brow furrowed in perplexity and I saw her eyes go back to the top. She read it again.
This won't make sense, but you were supposed to die tonight. At Nathan's hand. You've been given a second chance at life, at choosing where your soul will end up. Don't waste it. Believe.
I watched the girl's face crumple as she squeezed her eyes shut. Then the tears began to fall. She fell onto the bed and put her face in her hands and she wept. For several minutes I stood there, feeling accomplished and satisfied, but then I remembered that there was now a creature, more dangerous than ever, lying several feet from where this girl sat. I needed to get her out of there. Fast.
Scanning the room again, I spotted some cosmetics on the floor by the girl's overturned purse. I picked up a lipstick and uncapped it. Red. Perfect.
I walked to the dresser and penned letters onto the attached mirror then threw the lipstick at the girl to get her attention. She first looked down at the lipstick and then up, in the general direction from which it had come. I knew the instant she saw my message; her mouth fell open.
Get out NOW!
Within seconds, understanding prodded her into motion. She swiped the lipstick off the bed, bent to her purse, shoved the contents back inside and took off out the door. I followed her as far as the driveway where she hopped in Nathan's car, started the engine and peeled out toward the main road at the end of the short drive.
I walked back inside and went to stand over Nathan. He was beginning to stir more and smack his lips, as if they were parched. I knew what was coming for him, at least as far as what I'd experienced with Leah. And I knew it wasn't good.
As I watched Nathan, a symbol appeared on the door behind him. I assumed it was the door that led to the rest of the cabin, as the other two were to the bathroom and closet. The symbol was the one I'd seen on the girl, the same one I'd found on the door that brought me here. Stepping forward, I was thinking, It only stands to reason...
I opened it and stepped through the doorway. Sure enough, I turned to shut it behind me, but it was no longer there, only trees. I was in the clearing. And it was empty.
The sky was turning a lighter blue, a sure sign that dawn was on its way. Though I was anxious to get home and check on Leah, I spotted a felled tree at the edge of the clearing and I sat.
Slowly, the sky turned from pale blue to a soft orange as the sun burned its way onto the horizon, chasing away the darkness and the moon. Though I couldn't see the great yellow ball yet, I felt its light and warmth deep on the inside, chasing away my darkness, too.
As though the thirst I'd felt when I saw Grey drink from Nathan had somehow begun to possess me, too, I felt it seep away as I sat in the light. It was then that I knew. As I looked up into the ever-brightening heavens, I knew that my life (or death, as it were) had a purpose. I had work to do, lives to save.
I'd done a good thing tonight. And I was glad for it. I'd never really helped someone like that before. And it felt incredible. Though it had been scary at times and I had no clue what I was doing, it was totally worth it in the end. Now all that was left was to save my loved ones, not that death was such a trivial thing ---if you could even call the second death of a dead person "death".
It was then that I remembered what Grey had said. I stood, suddenly feeling harried and uncertain.
A thundercloud settled over me. Grey had said she wouldn't kill me. And if she wouldn't kill me, then how was I going to save Dad and Derek?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Back at the house, I pulled the Camaro into the garage and managed to drag my tired feet through the door and into the kitchen where I collapsed onto one of the bar stools. I crossed my arms on the bar and laid my head down, stress taking its toll on my body, leaving me utterly exhausted.
I heard soft footsteps and I raised my head when I heard them come to a halt somewhere near the doorway that led into the living room. Leah was standing there, smiling broadly. I wondered what she was so frickin' happy about and my lips were actually pursed to ask just that when the words died on my tongue.
Someone was standing behind Leah. And that someone was my mother.
I don't think I could've been more surprised if I'd awakened locked inside an ant farm wearing a bread tutu and lettuce boots. I came slowly to my feet, my mouth working itself open and closed, open and closed, like a fish out of water.
Finally, with a tolerant, knowing smile, my mother stepped around Leah and made her way to me. She stopped a couple of feet away, giving me a much needed buffer zone.
"You're even more beautiful than I expected. You glow...from the inside," she said, reaching out as if to touch my hair in wonder then stopping just short and dropping her hand. "I'm sorry. I've just imagined this day for so long and it's finally here. I-I- I just---" Her voice broke and I saw her chin begin to quiver.
"I have questions," was all I could squeeze past the lump of emotion in my throat.
My mother nodded, casting her eyes down. "Of course you do. I just got caught up in the-in the---," she stammered, her eyes finding mine again. They were awash with unshed tears.
I tried for a smile, though I imagined it looked pretty weak and wobbly. I was just so caught off guard, had so many mixed feelings about her, I didn't really know how to respond.
"Why don't we go sit down?" Leah was still smiling brightly, maybe a little too brightly. I wondered briefly if she was suffering because of her condition. Her newfound thirst coupled with the smell of my mother's blood was probably playing wreaking havoc on her control.
"That sounds like a good idea," I said, almost sighing with relief that the awkward moment was over. "I need to use the bathroom and then I'll be right back."
I hurried to my bedroom and shut the door behind. Not stopping there, I all but ran into the bathroom and shut that door behind me as well. I fell in front of the toilet, suddenly overcome with nausea. I had no idea what was the matter with me. It just hit me out of the blue.
I dry-heaved into the commode. Nothing but saliva came out, though. Not even any bile, but that terrible sense of sickness was still strong.
Closing the lid, I laid my cheek against the cool plastic and took deep cleansing breaths. I reasoned that maybe I was too tired or hungry or stressed. I could think of no other logical explanation.
After fifteen minutes, I pushed myself to my feet. I had to get back out there before someone came looking for me or Leah tried to eat my mom.
Splashing cold water on my face helped, but I still had a kind of green look that was uncharacteristic of my skin tone. Luckily my mother hadn't seen me in, oh I don't know, a lifetime so she surely wouldn't notice.
I made my way back out to the living room and sat in the recliner, the seat that had belonged exclusively to my father in every house we'd ever lived in. Taking it didn't feel like a betrayal or an act of disrespect; it felt comforting, like he was wrapping his arms around me. I leaned my head back against the pillowed headrest and closed my eyes, drinking in the smell of Old Spice that wafted up from the beige material.
I lifted my head and met my mother's eyes. She was staring at me. So I stared back.
I could see some of me in her---the perfectly oval face (not too long, not too round), the pert nose and almond-shaped green eyes---but the lips were a dead ringer. It was like looking at my own mouth in the mirror, only her lips were moist and stained with a dusty rose gloss whereas mine were usually dry and cracked. I could see some of Grey, too, in the reddish highlights that sparkled in her short, blonde hair. They were only visible when the sun streaming in the window hit them a certain way, but they were definitely there. I hoped that was all she had in common with Grey.
But despite the physical similarities, she still didn't feel like "Momma" or "Mom" or even "Mother". She felt like Janine, a distant aunt. Or Janine, my fourth grade English teacher. It was strange, especially considering how long and how badly I'd always wanted a mother.
"Your father's chair," Janine said. "He always laid claim to the recliner, though I'm sure you've gone through several since that old green one."
"This is the third one in five years," I said, feeling the corners of my mouth threaten to pull up into a smile. I squelched the urge.
"That doesn't surprise me," she admitted, smiling in nostalgia. Then her expression sobered. "I was so sorry to hear that he died. I wish---" She stopped when her voice cracked. She cleared it and continued. "I wish I could've seen him again. I'd thought so many times about coming to find him, but always talked myself out of it. I wasn't sure he wanted to see me."
"He was on his way to find you when he died," I said flatly.
"What?" She seemed genuinely surprised. "Was he-what did he---"
"He wanted to find Grey," I supplied, interrupting her stammer. "He was convinced he could save her."
Janine bowed her head, I assumed in shame. I didn't realize she was crying until I saw her shoulders shaking delicately. "I never wanted to hurt any of you. I just couldn't bear to lose you both. You can't imagine what that felt like. It was like being ripped apart," she said emphatically, her voice quivering with emotion.
"Is that why you did it? To save us?"
Janine looked up at me with her puffy red eyes, a frown drawing her tawny brows together. "Of course. Why else would I give up my own life, my own soul?"
Something stirred deep in the pit of my stomach. "What do you mean?"
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She sniffed twice then reached into her pocket to pull out a tissue. After she blew her nose and took a moment to collect herself, she explained.
"When Bobby brought you and your sister to shore and you were both-both-" She began to sob again, but quickly pulled herself together to continue. "Well, I just couldn't accept it. I was devastated beyond anything I can describe. And then when he left to go get help, a man stumbled upon us. He offered to help, but I told him Bobby would be coming back with someone. He's the one that told me about the exchange."
"What exchange?"
"The exchange of my life for yours," she replied.
"What did he tell you?"
"He told me that all I had to do was take you into the woods, to this clearing not far from where we wrecked, and call out what I wanted, what I was willing to do for you. And that was it," she said with a shrug. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but I was so desperate, so crushed, I would've done anything, absolutely anything, to have you back again."
And I believed her. Her eyes were glittering green pools of misery and I could practically taste how badly she wanted me to believe her.
But one thing confused me. "If you made the deal for your soul, then how are you here?"
Janine shrugged. "It was part of the deal. I wanted to be a mother to you both until you turned eighteen. He promised he wouldn't take me until then."
The bottom of my stomach dropped out. That was only a few short months away.
Looking down at her hands, she confessed, "I didn't tell your father. I didn't think he'd understand. We didn't even speak of it. I knew he wondered how you were alive, why I was so scratched up, but he never asked. He knew when he saw Grey, though, that something was...wrong."
"Why? What happened?" Even though Dad had told me what he'd seen, I wanted to hear it from Janine's point of view, I needed to hear it.
"Late that night, I got up to go see you. It felt so surreal, the whole thing, that I was afraid when I woke up, you'd be gone. When I went into your bedroom, Grey was awake. I picked her up and she was burning up with fever. I cooed to her and rocked her, but she just wouldn't sleep. She was so restless. I thought I should stick her in the tub to cool her off so I took her pajamas and her diaper off. That's when she started shaking and choking. Or at least it sounded like she was choking.
"I thought she was having a seizure from the fever. My first thought was that she was going to die again. I closed my eyes. I kept thinking that I couldn't lose her again. Not again. It's when I opened my eyes that I saw what she...what she..."
"She what?" I prompted.
"What she had become. She was a different color. It was like her skin had turned black, like the fever had burned her all of a sudden. It startled me so that I dropped her. But---"
Janine's eyes had a faraway, haunted look that chilled me to my toes. "But what?"
"But she didn't fall. It was like a terrible wind from...well I don't know where it came from, but it seemed to lift her up almost. She just hovered there in the air." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I've never seen anything like it. And it's troubled me to this day."
I sat silent, motionless, digesting everything she'd just told me. It jibed with Dad's account, only from another perspective. And that made all the difference in the world.
I began to think that maybe she really wasn't the bad guy in this after all. Maybe there was a chance for us. I couldn't deny that the prospect of having my mother in my life pleased me in several ways. It's no fun believing that your mother's pretty much the equivalent of hell's mistress.
Janine laughed bitterly. "Your father was gone the next morning when I got out of the shower. He didn't even give me a chance to explain, just took you and left." Her eyes glazed over as she looked back through time. "It wasn't long before I got the divorce papers from Byron. I went to him and begged him to tell me where you were. He wouldn't of course, but I got a current mailing address from the courthouse. I drove down to see if it was the right one, and it was, so I kept track of where you moved after that." She looked at me intensely. "I had to know that you were alright, that my baby was ok," she declared in a voice thick with emotion. "And I always hoped..."
"But why didn't you ever contact us? Why did you let me think you were dead?"
"I didn't know at first. I was just trying to give your father some room. You know, some space to work things out on his own. I thought surely he would come back eventually, if nothing else to see Grey. But then, as Grey got older, I knew it wasn't safe to bring her around you."
I saw a chill pass through Janine and she pulled her sweater tighter around her.
"Wasn't safe?" I shuddered. It was as if Janine had passed her chill on to me, along with an intense sense of apprehension.
I watched misery fill her eyes again. "No, it wasn't. When your sister came back, she wasn't the same. It started with her skin and the wind, but as she got older, I began to see something dark growing inside her, like evil was eating away at her soul," she described, her lips curling in distaste. "She was always incredibly mature for her age, but she was also incredibly mean. I saw it with animals and other kids, sometimes even with adults. I knew I couldn't risk your safety by bringing you two together. I had no idea how that would affect her, how she would react, what she might be capable of. So I stayed away."
I understood what she was saying. And to a certain extent, I might even have agreed with her decision, but for some reason my heart was still holding back from her. Even though I wanted it so badly, always had, something was off and I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
"So why the letter? What did it mean?"
"Ah, the letter," she said with a sigh. "When I found out about Grey, I was afraid he'd be coming for you, too. I wanted to warn you somehow, but I wasn't sure what your father had told you. That's why I was so cryptic."
"Found out what about Grey?"
"She made a deal of her own. She had gotten quite dangerous and I think that living in this world, by this world's rules, was too restrictive for her. So she found another place and another way to satisfy her...appetites."
"She did this on her own?"
"Yes."
"What about my skin?"
"What about it?"
"Underneath, it's white. Pearly white."
Janine looked thoughtful, but troubled. "You must've come back different, too, brought something back from the other side."
"That's it? It's just some fluke of being dead? I was never doomed, because we are twins?"
"What do you mean, Carson?" She looked genuinely puzzled.
That was answer enough.
"Did you tell Grey about the deal you made?"
"No. I was afraid---," she began, stopping suddenly, as if catching herself. "No, I didn't."
"Then how did she know what to do? That it was even possible?"
"She met someone. A boy. He filled her head with all sorts of lies and deceptions, I think. It wasn't long after that when she told me she was leaving, that she'd gotten a 'job' with a man named Fahl. That's when I knew."
She met a boy? I thought of Derek. And my blood ran cold at where my thoughts were headed.
"I just didn't want you to make the same mistake, fall for the same lies and trickery," she continued.
"What do you mean?"
"I wanted you to know what a disaster it is to make any kind of arrangements with someone like that. It never ends well. Ever."
I bowed my head, knowing without a doubt that I'd been duped. And, unless I found a way out---a loophole, a way to thwart him---I'd pay for it with my life, my very soul.
"It's too late," I whispered.
Janine scooted to the edge of her seat. "Carson, what have you done?"
Doubts assailed me and the room dipped and swayed under my feet. Had I really seen my father and Derek trapped in the Darkness or was it some kind of trick? Had Derek been planted in my life rather than just sent to find me? Was it all just lies? Had I agreed to the ultimate demise of my soul for nothing?
I doubled over in my chair, a terrible pain seizing my stomach, my guts. I squeezed my eyes shut, unwilling to consider the possibility that I'd given it all away for ...nothing. "No, no, no, no, no," I chanted, rocking back and forth.
I felt a hand on my back and opened my eyes to two loafer-shod feet on the floor in front of me.
"Carson, tell me what happened," Janine whispered urgently, rubbing soothing circles on my back.
"Oh my God, what have I done?"
I sat back suddenly and for a moment, I thought I saw Leah smiling where she sat in an armchair to my right, but an instant later, her expression was carefully blank. Then my mother was blocking my vision as she squatted in front of me and took my face in her hands.
When I saw her expression, I recognized it immediately. I'd seen it a thousand times with Dad. It shone from her face like the light of a million bulbs and it warmed me just the same. It was love. So when she drew me into her arms, I went willingly. And then I crumbled.
Weeping bitterly, I let her soothe me, just like a mother should, just like I'd imagined it all my life. And it felt wonderful. Bittersweet, but wonderful. She whispered quiet, calming things into my ear. I didn't pay attention to the words, just the tone. It was like a salve to a raw wound.
She held me like that for quite a while before she leaned back and looked into my face.
"Tell me what happened. From the beginning. We'll figure something out," she said with a smile. It was intended to be a confident smile, I'm sure, but it was more worried than I think she realized.
So I told her everything, everything from my skin changing all the way to Nathan's new condition. I omitted nothing---not my feelings for Derek or what had happened with Leah, though when I got to that part, my mother looked back at Leah with a hint of concern on her pretty face. She said nothing, though, just returned her attention to me.
"Well, that gives us a lot to think about," she said, rising to a standing position. She reached down and took my hands, pulling me to my feet. "Why don't you go get some sleep? You're bound to be exhausted," she surmised, tucking my hair behind my left ear in a distinctly motherly gesture. "We might have a long night and you'll need your rest. We'll start in the woods, alright?"
What her look and her tone implied was that she would take care of everything and, though I didn't see how, it was enough to appease me for the moment. I was tired of being an adult; I wanted to be a carefree kid again, letting my parents take care of everything. And right now, all I wanted was my bed.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
A nagging feeling of dread and urgency woke me. I'd been dreaming of my mother. She was walking through a midnight forest, the tiny sliver of moon that hung low in the sky barely enough to light her way. I'd glimpsed a symbol on the inside of her right wrist as she pushed a branch back and held it for Leah, who trailed behind her.
I sat up and looked around. My room was dark, as was the night outside my window. I'd fallen into a deep, numb sleep and awakened to a quite house. I listened for sounds of movement or voices, but there were none. That couldn't be right. Where was everybody?
Pushing the comforter off my legs, I rushed out of the bedroom to the living room. It was empty, as was the kitchen. Where would Leah and my mother have gone? At night? Without me?
The first answer that came to mind was disturbing enough. The second was downright terrifying. I'd left Leah alone with my mother.
I ran to the kitchen door and pushed my feet into my tennis shoes. I grabbed the car keys from the hook mounted to the wall and reached for my coat, only it wasn't there. I looked to the coat that hung next to it. It was a yellow parka. I figured it was my mother's. The cold chill of destiny washed over me as I grabbed the coat and ran out the door.
My heart and my mind raced all the way to the forks, where I pulled off the road and parked on the shoulder. I leapt out and headed for the woods.
As I quickly picked my way across the uneven terrain, I went back over my dream, trying to remember as much detail as possible, hoping it was just a dream and nothing more. Something in my gut, however, told me that it was much, much more than that.
I rounded a tree and nearly tripped over my own feet when I saw my mother pinned up against a tree just ahead of me. My heart stopped for an instant before restarting at a breakneck pace. I haven't had her long enough. I haven't had enough time! I thought frantically. And then Leah tore into her throat.
I raced forward, ready to tear my friend limb from limb, but I ran right through them. They evaporated like mist. It was only a vision. I turned back and the image solidified again, but it was like I'd hit the rewind button.
My mother was saying something, shaking her head and taking slow, careful steps backward, until she ran into a tree. At first, I couldn't see who she was talking to. Then Leah entered the picture. Only she didn't look entirely like Leah.
Framed by her trademark springy, dark curls, Leah's face was a mottled gray color. Her eyes were wide and feral. They looked like burnt, obsidian holes in her head with a smoky ring of soot around each one. Her lips were curled back viciously, baring dozens of sharp, elongated teeth that chattered in anticipation. Thin black veins crept out from around her mouth, across her cheeks and down her chin, like inky spider web.
She tilted her head to one side, as if she were trying to understand what my mother was saying. And then, in a movement so fast I couldn't track it with my eyes, she was pinning my mother to the tree. This time, I could see the filmy presence of Grey by her side. She stood to Leah's left, her head bent toward Leah's ear. I could see her mouth moving as if she were speaking and then, like she'd said something to enrage Leah, Leah bent her head and tore violently into my mother's throat.
I had to look away. Even though it wasn't real (hopefully it hadn't even happened yet), I couldn't bear to watch Leah feed from her.
Then the sound of voices---raised voices---reached my ears. I turned back toward the clearing and took off at a dead run. When I came upon them, they were in the woods right at the edge of the clearing. Leah was shouting, though I couldn't make out the words, and my mother's soothing voice was all but drowned out by it. She was backing up and I could see the tree that she would eventually be pinned to.
Pushing my legs as fast as they would go, I bent at the waist and aimed my shoulder right for Leah's middle. When I hit her, I heard the air whoosh out as it was forced from her lungs in a grunt.
Once Leah was on the ground, I turned back toward my mother. I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the clearing. I was going to take her to the one place I knew Leah couldn't follow us.
"Close your eyes," I commanded. Without question, she did as I asked. Satisfied, I grabbed her hand, pulling her arm in tight under mine, closed my eyes and pictured the black house, hoping my concentration would hold long enough to get us there before Leah reached us.
When I started to get that dizzy feeling again, I opened my eyes. We were in the charred yard of the black house, the one place I didn't think I'd ever be pleased to see. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that we'd escaped Leah.
When I turned to face her, I saw movement behind her. My heart lurched as I saw the dead, clumsily making their way across the crispy lawn toward us. And they looked ravenous.
Regrettably, I hadn't had time to think my plan all the way through. I didn't know how to get us back.
There was nothing I could do about that now, though, so I scanned our surroundings, looking for a place to take my mother---a safe place. But there was nothing around for miles it seemed, nothing but the house, the field and the dense forest on every side.
"Come on," I said, pulling her along behind me. We ran toward the black house. I had no idea what I thought we might do once we got there, but it appeared to be the only viable option for shelter and safety.
It wasn't that far, which was good, but that also meant that it didn't give me much time to think before the dead reached us.
We climbed the steps and stopped on the stoop. I looked down at the doorknob, knowing what was coming if I touched it. But what choice did I have?
Gritting my teeth, I curled my fingers around the silver knob. And, as I expected, the pain arrived almost instantaneously. Gasping, I bit my lip to keep from crying out and, just like before, I was temporarily immobilized by agony.
Focusing on my fingers, I waited for the worst of it to pass so I could grip and twist the doorknob and get my mother to safety.
And then I heard her scream.
Fighting against the pain, I was able to turn my head just enough to see what she'd screamed about. It was the dead. They were all around us, many even up on the steps. They were grabbing and snapping at my mother. She had flattened herself against the door as much as possible, but they were quickly closing in on us.
I called my reluctant muscles into action, using every ounce of strength I could summon. I tightened my grip on the doorknob and twisted. Inch by excruciating inch, it turned and, as it released, I all but fell through the door. Just like last time.
Landing on my back knocked the breath out of me, but other than that, I was feeling much better. The pain was subsiding much more quickly than it had the previous time. Gingerly, I turned my head and looked around. My mother was neither to my left or my right.
I pushed myself into a sitting position and, through the invisible barrier that covered the doorway, I saw my mother's back pressed up against it. She was trapped outside.
"No!" I screamed, finding my feet and launching myself toward the door. I grabbed my mother by the shoulders and tried to pull her through into the house, but I couldn't so I walked back through the doorway and tried to push her inside. That didn't work either; it was like trying to stuff a doll through the cracks in a brick wall.
I turned my back to her, pressing my body against hers, effectively shielding her from all the hungry mouths and greedy hands that were reaching for us. I kicked at them, forgetting that it was useless, like raising my leg into thin air.
My mother squealed at my back, jerking her leg away from something. I looked down and saw that several staggering dead had found their way around to the sides of the steps where they could just reach our feet with their greedy fingers.
Time was running out. I had to act quickly.
My father's words, you're truly a light in the darkness, mingled with something Derek had said about my skin and melted into understanding.
Looking down at my arm, I pushed my sleeve up and dug my fingernails into the tender flesh of my wrist, exposing the pearly white layer beneath. Immediately, I could feel something crackle in the air around me, a power I'd not felt before.
Just then, a woman I'd seen previously, the nearly-beheaded one, lunged at me, bearing her blunt teeth as if she intended to take a bite. I raised my bent arm and slammed my elbow into her face, knocking her backward into the throng. I wondered briefly if I'd detached her head, but when she stood back up, it was still in place atop her shoulders.
Blood was in the water, though (or, in this case, in the air). My actions seemed to enrage and innervate the dead. They became frantic and desperate, more so than usual. I kicked and punched, clearing out a spot from which to defend us.
When I looked out at the sea of bodies in front of me, it seemed to be ever-growing, like they were multiplying right before my eyes, sprouting from the ground or crawling out of the trees. Seeing them begin to close in on us again so quickly, I realized that I couldn't fight them all. We wouldn't stand a chance. I needed something...bigger.
I was afraid to close my eyes, but I knew that if my plan was to be successful, I needed to focus. I scanned the mangled faces on the steps then quickly closed my eyes. I brought the faces to mind, one by one, and then pictured them all on fire.
The screams were muffled at first. Then they became loud wails of agony. I opened my eyes and watched as the torn and broken bodies of the dead stumbled down the steps and into the yard, flailing blindly, their voices crying out from among the flames.
Satisfied, I pictured the crowd to the left of us next, the ones on the ground that were reaching for our feet. In seconds, they were on fire as well. I repeated the process with another section of the group, then another. It seemed I'd dispatched hundreds of the dead, but each time I looked out there was more rather than less.
Trying to get ahead of the endless ocean of snapping teeth, I shook the earth and opened up a huge crack that swallowed dozens and dozens of the unsuspecting dead, catching them unawares.
That worked so well, I was deciding where else I could put such a crevasse when it began to sprinkle. Faster and faster, fat drops flew past my face, rising from the ground in a torrential rain that quickly extinguished the writhing, burning bodies scattered about the yard. I watched, mouth agape, as many began to make their way to their feet.
Looking wildly around for the location of my next chasm, I stopped when I saw bodies floating to the surface in the one I'd just created. The upside down rain was flooding the gorge, pushing the dead up and spitting them out onto the wet ground, where they quickly found their legs and started toward us once more. My confidence faltered, quickly succumbing to the panic that was blossoming in my gut.
Then I saw Grey.
She came strolling out of the woods, as carefree as if it were a sunny afternoon in the country. She stopped at the edge of the horde and smiled.
"Not so easy when you have a capable opponent, huh, Sis?"
A wind arose so quickly, so strongly, it almost knocked me off the porch. I was nearly horizontal as I held on to the door frame. My mother seemed unaffected by it. It was as if I alone was in a wind tunnel.
I turned my face away from the wind and tucked it into my arm. I opened my eyes just a crack and saw my mother. A frown came over her face then a look of surprise as she fanned her hand in front of her face. As I watched, her eyes grew round and her mouth opened up as if she was taking a deep breath. Only she didn't. Her chest didn't rise at all. She started shaking her head and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, they were watering and her face was turning red. Engorged in her strain, the veins in her neck and forehead stood out as she began to claw desperately at her throat. Her mouth opened and closed several times like she was trying to speak or breathe, but nothing was happening. That's when I realized she was suffocating.
I looked back at Grey, her focus concentrated on our mother. "What are you doing?"
She didn't even glance my way, her empty gaze never wavering from Mom. "Showing Mommy Dearest how it feels to live inside a vacuum," she sneered, then dropped her voice to a loud whisper and cupped one hand around her mouth like she was telling me a secret. "Here's a hint: there's no air in a vacuum."
In the blink of an eye, the wind died completely and I came crashing down on the hard stoop, face down. I scrambled to my feet and rushed to Mom's side. Her eyes were bulging and tears streamed down her bluish red face. Her tongue was protruding grotesquely as she tried to take in a gulp of air, but found none.
"Stop it! Stop it!" I shouted over my shoulder to Grey. Her bark of laughter drifted to my ears followed by a mocking, "Stop it, stop it."
As I watched my mother suffocating and could hear the dead scrambling toward us once more, panic rose inside me and a thousand things drifted through my mind in an instant.
I thought of the years with my mother I had missed out on. I thought of the past months I'd spent nearly hating her. I thought of what she'd done to save me and my sister and how much she'd suffered because of that choice.
I thought of my father. How he'd taken care of me all my life, of how he'd shown me the meaning of commitment and sacrifice. I thought of how he'd taught me to survive and not to be a quitter. In the end, he'd traded himself for me, too.
Then I thought of Derek. A mixture of complex emotions flooded my heart and mind. I didn't know how much of our relationship, if any, had been real, though I desperately wanted to believe that it was. It felt real to me, still did, and maybe right now that was enough.
I knew that I'd never see any of them again. If I killed Grey to save my mother, I'd be condemning Dad and Derek to eternity in the Darkness. Yet, I couldn't stand idly by and watch my mother die right before my eyes. The only choice I had was to try and make another deal.
I called out to Fahl. I knew he would be nearby, watching.
"I'll give you my life for hers. No one has to take it. You'll have us both, me and Grey. She won't have to kill me and I won't have to kill her," I shouted, my voice ringing out in the night above the moans and grumbles of the dead.
Like it was coming from miles away, I heard my mother scream, a shrill and panicky, "No!"
And then I heard a familiar deep voice, a voice that I literally felt from head to toe like the brush of velvet against my skin.
"Carson, don't!"
I turned and saw Derek emerge from the woods to my right. I could tell he was trying to run to me, but it looked like he was moving through tar. With each step he struggled all the more to put one foot in front of the other.
Then Fahl appeared, looking just as he had that first night. His black hair danced around his head weightlessly in the light breeze and his black suit was as ill-fitting as ever. He looked like death. And rightly so. He'd come for me.
"A new deal means the other is broken," he advised pleasantly, as if we were discussing the NASDAQ over coffee.
"I know, but Dad and Derek still go free, and my mother, too."
"And you'll reap for me in exchange?"
"Whatever you want, just let them go."
With a smile that would've given the devil pause, Fahl whispered, "Done."
As soon as the word left his thin lips, I heard my mother gasp, drawing in a huge breath. I turned toward her as she sputtered and coughed. I held out my hand to touch her, to make sure she was alright, but my fingers met with nothingness. She fell through the doorway, into the house and disappeared.
I stepped forward to follow, but the threshold sealed after she passed through, the barrier once more firmly in place. I leaned my head against the invisible wall and breathed a sigh of relief. Even though I wasn't sure where she'd gone, I was comforted by the fact that she was no longer in any immediate danger of being suffocated or eaten.
Tears burned my eyes when I felt the air thicken at my back, my tormentors closing in around me once more. I turned, back pressed to the barrier this time, to face the gruesome dead head on. My fate was sealed and I was trapped, by my own design, forever. But it was my decision and I was going to go on my own terms. Fahl wasn't going to get everything, tied up nice with a bow.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. As I exhaled, all my turbulent emotions drained out of me. There was no fear or heartache or regret or sense of loss, just acceptance, the sense that I'd done what needed to be done, that I'd made the necessary sacrifices to ensure the safety and wellbeing of my loved ones. Most of them anyway. Leah was a whole other matter. She'd already made her choice. She'd sealed her own fate.
I looked toward Derek. He was still trying to get to me, but the look on his face assured me that he knew there was nothing he could do. He looked crushed. He'd given up so much for me and now he was going to watch me die.
I smiled, hoping he would take comfort in my resolution, in my calm. "I think I'll be brave for you," I whispered and stepped forward to meet the fate I'd made for myself.
All at once, hands were all over me. They grabbed and pulled, their filthy nails tearing away at my flesh. And then, gasping in pain, I felt teeth at my wrist, sinking into the tender flesh there, already bleeding from my self-inflicted wound. I knew that I could fight back---I had the power---but I also knew that it was futile. I had to die in order to save the others. And I was going to go willingly, my way.
I gave myself up to the excruciating biting and tearing, ripping and gnawing of the group. Blood was pouring down my arms and dripping from my fingertips before I fell to my knees, my legs suddenly lacking the strength to support me.
Above their hungry groaning and vicious squabbling, I could hear the coarse crackle of my clothes ripping as they struggled to get through my jeans and sweater to the skin beneath. I could only imagine what they'd already done to my arms and chest.
I stayed upright as long as I could, but within minutes, the force of bodies pushing and hands pulling was too much for me to bear. When they maneuvered me to the ground, I knew I didn't have much time left.
At that point I must've blacked out because I awakened some time later to the sensation that my insides were being torn from my body. Even if I had maintained the energy to raise my head and look down, I wouldn't have. That was exactly what was happening, I was certain of it. I knew I was dying, but there was one last thing that I wanted to do.
Pushing past the pain that wracked every single nerve and fiber of my body, I cleared my throat. There was something I wanted say, out loud, and I wanted Fahl to hear it.
"God, I know you are up there and I just want you to thank you for sparing them. I wish I had believed in you sooner," I said. Then, closing my eyes, I finished. "But I believe in you now."
Suddenly, a blinding light penetrated my closed lids. I felt the warmth of it on my face, the brightness of it chasing away the pain and the worry and that haunting feeling that I was doomed. I felt my lips pull up into a peaceful smile. I knew right then that I'd made the right choices, done the right things...in the end.
Then, as if he was far away, I heard Fahl's voice rise to a shrill pitch as he shouted, "You knew this would happen, didn't you? You knew! She's supposed to reap for me, for me!"
I turned my head toward his voice and cracked my lids the tiniest bit. Fahl stood in the midst of the dead, looking heavenward, shaking his fist angrily at the sky. And then it was as if I was drifting away from him, rising up into the brightness. I closed my eyes, content to float, and I heard, way off in the distance, Fahl scream, "Nooooooo!" And then there was nothing.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I didn't know what to expect when I opened my eyes, so I didn't. I didn't know how long it had been since the last of the dead had given up on picking my bones clean or where I'd be "kept" once they were finished. I had no idea what I might look or feel like, if there would be pain or not. I was clueless and totally unprepared (as I suspected most people in my position were) so I reached out with all my senses to acclimate myself as much as possible before I added sight to the mix. Depending on what you're seeing, vision can be terrifying.
I was lying on my back and there was something hard and cold beneath me. I was freezing and my fingers and toes had lost most of their feeling, though I could still wiggle them. I considered that a good sign.
I took a deep breath and analyzed the ambient smells. Fresh, cold air filled my lungs and, carried on it, a coppery tang that I wasn't familiar with.
Next, I exhaled slowly and listened. Absolute silence. I waited for the sound of voices or movement or some sign of life and activity, but there was nothing. Though the Darkness was super quiet like that, I had imagined I would hear screams or something, some sign of everlasting torment. Of course, maybe I was confusing it with Hell. What did I know about the Darkness?
Then I turned my senses inward. I had wondered if I would feel evil or hollow or doomed or...something, but I felt no different. In fact, if anything, I felt...better. Surely that couldn't be right.
That's when I noticed my headache. A dull throbbing in my right temple that radiated down into my cheekbone and eye socket. Other than that, I wasn't in any pain or discomfort, just cold. I found that even more unusual, especially considering the devouring I'd just endured.
Finally, when there was nothing left to assess but the visual information, I tried to open my eyes.
A blinding whiteness poured through the cracks and pain cut through my head like a hot knife. Quickly, I squeezed them shut again. I waited a few seconds, counting to ten in my head, before opening them again. When I did, it was just a slit, only this time I was prepared for the pain. Gritting my teeth, I waited for it to subside as my eyes adjusted to the brightness. When they finally did, I opened them wider.
The scene that greeted me was familiar somehow, but I couldn't put my finger on it right away, my brain feeling a bit addled and mushy. Above me were bare tree branches, crisscrossing the sky like dead, bony fingers laced together. Beyond them were ominous gray clouds. They looked like snow. And that would explain the brilliance as well as the cold. But there was neither snow nor daylight in the Darkness, was there?
Slowly, I turned my head, following one tree's branches to the trunk and the trunk to the ground. At its base, about ten feet away, was a dense patch of mountain laurels. Their evergreen leaves sagged under the weight of a thick dusting of snow. I looked to my right and saw a similar scene. I was in the woods, in a clearing. I suspected it was the clearing, though I had never seen it snow-covered so it was hard to be sure.
A spot of color drew my eye. A bright red dot marred the fluffy white topping on one leaf. I raised my head a few inches off the ground to get a better look. That's when the familiarity of the site really hit home. It was the scene I'd dreamed of so long ago.
Knowing that when I sat up I'd be covered in blood, I wasn't quite as shocked when I looked down and actually saw it. I was still wearing the yellow parka that I'd grabbed at the back door of my house the night before and, just like in my dream, it was shredded. That made more sense now, however, since I'd had quite the run-in with the bloodthirsty, flesh-eating dead not so long ago.
I rubbed a bloody finger over the skin visible through one of the many tears. It was smooth and unmarred, as if hungry teeth had never penetrated it. But I knew they had. I'd likely never forget the feel of it, the torturous agony of it.
Like a delayed reaction, my heart began to race with fear, fear that I hadn't felt at the time but for some reason was plaguing me now. I reminded myself that it was over. There was no reason to feel afraid now, so I put my focus elsewhere.
What happened next in my dream?
Derek.
I stood to my feet, squishing in the pool of blood in which I'd been laying then turned my head. I looked expectantly in the snow behind me. And I wasn't disappointed. There lay Derek, sprawled and unconscious, wearing black leather and unbound hair just like I remembered.
My first inclination was to go to him, but something in my gut stayed me. How could it be Derek? I'd freed him by sacrificing myself. There's no way we should be together.
And then the suspicions arose. What if he'd never really been mine? What if our entire relationship had been a machination of Fahl's? Or what if he hadn't really wanted to be free?
A tornado of unsettling thoughts whipped through my mind as I stood looking down on his big body and beautiful face. Finally, I decided to leave our confrontation to a later time, after I'd had a chance to figure out what was what. Setting one foot quietly in the snow behind me, I began to back up.
The snow crunched lightly under my foot as I lowered my weight onto it. I watched the steady rise and fall of Derek's chest as I stepped back with the other foot. When it stopped so did I, holding my breath until he started breathing again. When he did, I took another step back, all the while watching his chest.
When it seemed he was still out, I picked up the pace a little, keeping my steps as light and soundless as possible. Then, when I'd put nearly ten feet between us, I turned to navigate the trees. I remembered running into Derek from my dream so I chose a different path through the woods. But, I'd no sooner taken three steps into the laurels when I ran right into his chest. And, just like I remembered, I raised my eyes and crashed immediately into his furious silver ones.
Derek grabbed my upper arms with his big hands and squeezed, lightly shaking me as he would a child. "How could you do that to me, Carson?"
"Do what?" I was confused. And leery.
"How could you give your life so easily?" He pulled me into his chest, wrapping his bare arms around me. "Do you know what it was like, watching you walk into your own death and not being able to do anything about it?" His voice was thick with emotion. "For God's sake, Carson, I watched you feed yourself to them. I had to watch."
For the first time, he let me know what he was feeling. For the first time, he wasn't in perfect control. He did feel something for me. And it was real. "I had no choice," I murmured against the cool leather of his vest, oddly relieved by his upset.
He leaned back, holding me at arm's length as he looked into my eyes. His were warmer now, once more the inviting pools of mercury that I'd always wanted to drown in. "You could've left well enough alone. I did what I did to save you, not for you to go and get yourself into more trouble," he said emphatically.
As I looked up into his handsome face, all the love I'd tried to deny and overcome in the past several days came rushing to the surface. "You were worth it," I said. Then, suddenly feeling insecure and a little self-conscious, I cast my eyes down and whispered, "I'd have done anything for you."
His finger beneath my chin tipped my face up toward his and I saw a reflection of all the love and devotion I felt, all the fierce emotion that I couldn't describe. It was all right there on his face, plain as day, for me to see. And then he said the words that I'd longed to hear...and to believe. "I love you, Carson. I thought you knew that."
I shrugged, afraid to open my mouth for fear of what gooey nonsense might fly out. I was relieved when he drew me back into his embrace so that my tears fell unnoticed. They poured down the leather of his vest and dropped to the ground in a delicate patter. This was all I needed to hear before spending eternity in a hell-like existence. This was what made it all worthwhile.
Finally I looked up and asked a question that I wasn't certain I really wanted the answer to. "Am I dead? Is this even real?"
"The dead part's debatable," he said with a wry smile. "Let me put it this way: you're no more dead than you were yesterday."
"Then how did I survive the-the---"
"The eating?"
I nodded.
"You healed. It was slow, but by the time they'd moved on to your," he paused to swallow, "your lower body, your chest and arms had already begun to heal. It was amazing. I've never seen anything like it."
It boggled the mind to even think about. So, with a shake of my head, I moved on to another question. "My parents? Are they---"
"Both out? Yes. Your mother is most likely at her house. But your dad, well, you know he was already-already..."
I shook my head. He wouldn't be going back to the land of the living, but at least he could move on to heaven. I knew without a doubt that was where he belonged.
"How are you here? Is this just the last time that I get to see you before...before...?" I couldn't even bring myself to say the words, swallowing them along with the lump that formed in my throat.
Derek smiled indulgently. "You're not getting rid of me that easy."
I was confused again, which shouldn't have come as much of a surprise considering how much of the last four months I'd spent in just that state. "Then what-how---"
"How about the short version?" He interrupted. When he began to speak, his voice rose in wonder and his face shone with admiration. "You made the ultimate sacrifice, Carson. You actually laid down your life for someone else. That set us free. And since you gave your life, the only thing Fahl could've taken was your soul. But, even though you made a deal with him, he can't take the soul of a believer. That's what set you free," Derek concluded with a smile. "And as humbled as I am by what you did, we really need to get out of here so," he said, throwing his arm around my shoulders and guiding me away from the clearing. "Let's go home. We can talk more later."
Home? "Wait," I said, pulling him to a stop. "So I can-I can stay? Here? With you?" I was almost afraid to consider the possibility. You know the whole if-it-seems-too-good-to-be-true-it-usually-is thing. I held my breath until he answered.
With a smile that took my breath away, Derek brushed his lips over mine and whispered, "Yes," then took my hand and pulled me along behind him.
In a dreamlike state, I walked beside Derek through the snow-crusted woods as we made our way slowly to my car. It was hard not to dawdle. I felt almost captivated by everything, even the small, mundane things. The snow was more amazing than I'd ever noticed. The air was fresher than any I'd ever smelled. The touch of Derek's skin on mine was more exciting than anything I'd ever felt. It seemed that everything was just...more.
On the way home, I saw that the streets were scraped clean, but huge mounds of snow were piled up along the shoulders, burying cars and mailboxes alike. All the houses looked sleepy and picturesque with their white-covered roofs and smoking chimneys. Evidently, the families were taking advantage of a wintry, post-holiday morning. They were all inside, enjoying their lives. It was so idyllic it made what I'd been through feel surreal in comparison.
When we passed Leah's house, I remembered her part in my mother's predicament. I'd all but forgotten about it; it seemed that it took place a lifetime ago. Seeing her house, though, made me remember the friend she'd been to me all this time. And that brought a pang of regret to my heart.
"Do you know what happened to Leah?"
He shook his head. "Only what I could see from the shadows over there, which wasn't much. I was preoccupied with you, as you can imagine."
"I doubt she'd be there," I said, indicating her house. Then I considered that possibility. "I hope not anyway." I shook off the disturbing thoughts of my friend. "I'll call them later, see how they're doing."
As Derek slowed, approaching my driveway, I asked yet another question that I wasn't certain I really wanted the answer to. "So what will happen to me now?"
Derek didn't answer right away. He pulled into the driveway, put the car in park and turned toward me. "If I understand correctly, not a lot has changed. But," he said quickly when he saw my head fall back against the headrest. My heart had dropped into my shoes and he knew it. "But," he said again. "You are going to have a chance to save people, or help save them anyway." His pleased smile set me at ease a little. Obviously this was a good thing, especially if you considered what I'd originally thought I'd be doing.
Trying to see the positive side of the situation, I looked out the window and turned my attention to the house. I never thought I'd be here again. That was positive.
I looked at its simple lines and modest yard. I let the pleasure of just seeing it again, the house that my father and I had occupied together, pour over me like warm sunshine. Finally, after a couple of minutes, I felt a smile tug at my lips.
The backs of Derek's fingers brushed my cheek. "What's the smile for?"
I turned to look at him, to enjoy the gorgeous face I loved so much, and let it warm me on the inside. "Just a lot of good memories here, that's all."
"Don't worry," he said, reaching out to squeeze my hand. "There'll be more."
Derek got out and came around to my side, opening the door and grabbing my hand to help me out. "But what about---"
Derek put his finger to my lips and shushed me. "Let's just be glad that we're together, out here. Can we not think about the future, just for a little while? I don't want anything to ruin this. Not yet, at least."
I sighed. "I know. I'm sorry," I confessed. I leaned my head against his chest and ran my hands around his trim waist.
I thought about my life now and how much it had changed in a few short months. I had always wanted to be normal, but I'd also always wanted to be significant somehow, too. What I never realized is that the two can't peacefully coexist. Obviously, I will never be normal. But I could be significant, my life (or death as it were) could be significant.
For the first time, I thought of the future and the man in my arms with hope. I would focus on the good I could do, on the unique opportunity I had been given to help save people's souls by keeping them from Grey. I mean, how much more significant could life get than that?
So, with a smile back on my lips, I determined right then that the world and all its troubles could wait, for a few days anyway. I was going to take time to enjoy the nearest thing I'd ever have to normal---love.
EPILOGUE
Once we were inside, I opted for a shower before our talk. As crazy as it sounds, I was more anxious to scrub away the last twenty-four hours than I was to be in Derek's arms. And that was pretty darn anxious.
After I'd wet my hair, I closed my eyes and turned my face toward the spray. All at once, a barrage of imagery flashed behind my lids---blood and teeth, black eyes and pale faces, unimaginable pain---followed by a series of screams that sounded strikingly similar to my own.
Startled, I turned my head and opened my eyes. I was relieved to find that I was still in my shower (alone), but a nagging sense of dread and urgency plagued me after that. It pretty much ruined my languorous shower experience so I set to work scrubbing and then got out to towel off.
Steam had fogged the mirror so I took my towel, as I'd done a thousand times in the past, and wiped it clean. When I lowered my arm, I froze, confused by what I saw. My reflection moved when I did, wrinkled its brow when I did, but it didn't look like I'd expected it to.
The hair was jet black and the eyes were darker, black even, as if the pupils were dilated. The skin was chalky white and the lips ruby red. I leaned closer, as did my reflection. I reached up to touch my hair. My reflection did the same. I pulled a lock around in front of my face. What I saw was my hair, my blonde hair. Though it was nearly a white blonde, I still recognized it as my own.
With a gasp I looked back into the mirror. My reflection was smiling. And I was not.
I squeezed my eyes shut, counted to ten and then opened them again. My reflection hadn't changed. She was still raven-haired and smiling at me, only wider now. She looked on the verge of laughter.
And then she spoke.
"What's the matter, Sis? Cat got your tongue?"
"What the---"
"Didn't you think there would be consequences?"
"Consequences? For what?"
"For playing Fahl. That's a big no-no. It's something that's just not done."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, and I genuinely didn't. But whatever it was, it didn't sound good.
"Well, you can play dumb if you want, but it won't change anything. What's done is done."
"What's done? What are you talking about?"
Grey's smile turned cruel and cold. "For one, thanks to you, we're stuck with each other, linked through mirrors. You know, opposites and all that. We're kind of like the fair and balanced way to reap. Each of us has a chance, neither of us gets a head start." She sneered and leaned in closer to the mirror. "Now you can never escape me. Never outrun me. You can't hide inside your pathetic little life anymore." Her bark of laughter was harsh and without humor. "You can try to stop me, Sis." She hurled the term like an obscenity. "But you never will."
With that, she threw something over the other side of the mirror so that all I could see was my own reflection, replete with blonde hair, staring back at me.
Dressing quickly, I found Derek in the kitchen, cooking of all things. The smell of bacon and eggs teased my nose just as the toaster popped its payload up.
"Smells good," I said appreciatively. It didn't hurt that Derek was the chef either. He tossed a sexy little smile over his shoulder, one that did funny things to my belly, not to mention what seeing him barefoot and bare-chested did to the rest of my organs. But now was not the time to explore those kinds of feelings. We had much of a serious nature to discuss. "So, I just had a visitor," I said, pausing for dramatic effect. "In my mirror."
Derek turned completely around, spoon in hand, his expression sober. "Really?"
"Yep. My dear, sweet sister."
Derek eyed me suspiciously. "What did she want?"
"She tells me that we're linked somehow through mirrors. I guess things will go on like they have been. Grey out wreaking havoc and me trying to stop her." Even as the words left my tongue, I was already correcting them in my head. I wasn't going to try to stop her. I would stop her. I'd stop her from taking souls before they had a second chance. I'd stop her from turning people into bloodthirsty monsters. I'd stop her from ruining even one more life.
"That looks serious," Derek said, frowning.
"What? Oh," I said, realizing that I was frowning more than he was if the ache between my eyebrows was any indication. "Sorry. I was just thinking."
"Weren't we going to leave all this alone for just a little while?"
Shaking off the troubling thoughts, I slid my hands down Derek's chest to his belly then around his trim waist, reveling in the glide of his silky smooth skin beneath my palms.
"Yes, we were. And I can think of many other things I'd rather be focusing my attention on right now," I said, rising onto my tiptoes and nipping at his lower lip.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Later that night, we were watching a DVD when I was suddenly and inexplicably overcome with the urge to call Leah's parents.
"Can you pause that? I should call the Kirbys, see if they've heard from Leah."
"Alright," he said, raising his arm to let me up.
I pushed myself off Derek's chest and rose to my feet, walking casually to the kitchen. I heard the sound of the television change when Derek switched to the local news. As I punched in the Kirbys' number, a reporter's words caught my attention. I listened to it with half an ear as the phone rang on the other end.
Official reports claim the cause of death was a wild animal attack, though police are uncertain how the animal gained entrance into the couple's home. Police are still searching for the couple's only child, Leah Kirby, a seventeen year old senior at...
Right then, deep down, I just knew that Leah had killed her parents. She was not just lost to the police now, she was lost to me, too. Whether or not a soul could ever recover from such horrific deeds I didn't know, but for Leah I was pretty sure there was no coming back. Not for her. It would be too hard, too much of a fight. And Leah wasn't strong, she wasn't a fighter. She was just gone---long gone.
Another thing I was certain of was that my role in her life was over. She was playing for the other team now and we were all playing for keeps. I couldn't afford to let my guard down around her again.
As I stood there in the kitchen, phone in hand, considering the implications of what I'd heard, I was startled when I saw an image of Derek appear in the middle of the floor. His hair was a little shorter, but his handsome face was unmistakable, even with eyes the same dark, hollow black as Grey's. He hovered like a transparent, malevolent spirit over a young girl who was sleeping peacefully beneath a frilly, pink canopy.
I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp when I saw his face and body transform into some kind of creature, some demonic looking thing. My mind struggled to grasp what was going on when I saw Leah enter the picture. She walked to the side of the girl's bed and leaned over her, trailing her fingers down the girl's neck. It was then that I knew what was going to happen.
The urge to look away was nearly as powerful as my fixation on the couple as they descended on the young girl. At first they seemed to be almost playing with her, nipping at her with their teeth, tearing at her skin with their claws. She screamed and fought, to no avail.
When her struggles had lessened and puddles of her blood were shed, however, playtime was over. That's when they began to cut deep into her flesh, tearing out large chunks. They chewed and ravaged her, licking up trickles of blood as it spilled.
My heart broke as I stood helplessly by and watched them do unspeakable things to her, things she had no hope of surviving.
When the image disappeared and I was once more alone in my kitchen, something inside me reminded me that there was always hope. I just had to find her first.

