I gave up on analyzing and returned to my most immediate need—to get out of the cold and away from demons. I levered myself gracelessly into a standing position, remembering to pick my bag up as I did so, knowing it wouldn’t be easy to get back down again.
I stood for a few seconds, taking deep breaths and checking my balance, then stumbled up the rest of the driveway as fast as I could, nearly tripping on the stairs and literally smashing into the heavy door, my fists already banging on the old wood urgently.
“Jenna!” I screamed. “Chris!”
The house remained silent.
“Jenna!” I tried again, “Help!”
Nothing. What if no one was home?
I glanced fearfully over my shoulder, looking for demons and trying to think of a Plan B if this didn’t work. I kept on pounding.
“Geoffrey, are you there?”
My fists opened up in despair until my hand eventually fell flat against the wood.
“Ben!” I finally called. “Ben... help!”
My hopes were sinking. Even if Ben was at home, what reason did he have to help me? He had not once given me a kind word or a friendly look. All he had ever done was ignore me at the best. Even if he hated me for causing his brother’s death, would he turn me away under the circumstances? “Ben... please...”
“Coming,” someone said from inside. The voice sounded so sweet in my ears, that it was impossible to ignore when my heart twisted in pain. It sounded so much like him—
Adam is dead, the voice in my head sprang to life once more.
I nodded to myself in answer to the voice.
“Please hurry,” I begged, but I dropped my arms and waited for the door to open.
On my side of the door there was night, panic, fear, and near hysteria. On the other side, the calm, orderly household of the wealthy Gallagers. No door in the history of doors had ever opened so slowly.
I pushed against it, unable to hold back and then I looked into a face that made my heart hurt.
“Hello, Claire,” Ben said.
My heart twisted again. It was so difficult to face him. How was I going to explain this frantic nighttime visit?
“Ben,” I gasped.
He could barely tolerate the sight of me, I was sure, but I was in trouble and didn’t have time to worry about that.
“Ben, I have to come in,” I said, and with an aggressiveness born of desperation, pushed past him into the warm, softly-lighted hallway. There! I was in. Next I would have to figure out an explanation for why, but at least I was in.
“Is there a problem, Master Benedict?” It was Geoffrey, materializing from the kitchen.
“Miss Gabriel has honored us with a visit, Geoffrey,” he said, keeping a wary eye on me. “I believe we will have some tea in the parlor.”
Geoffrey bowed slightly, opening his hands for my jacket, which he took with just a flicker of curiosity, then headed back for the kitchen.
I wondered if there was blood on it. Ben eyed my scratched and bleeding hands and my disheveled hair and clothing, but all he said was, “Perhaps you’d like to freshen up in the powder room.”
He led the way to a door at the opposite end of the entrance hall and opened it, inclining his body to indicate I should go in.
“Okay,” I said reluctantly.
That wasn’t my priority, but normal people would certainly think that was the right thing to do. I washed my hands with soap and splashed some water on my face. After a preemptory rake-through of my hair, I brushed my sweater and pants. Tiny bits of gravel pinged on the marble floor and I stared at them in horror. Who would be cleaning this bathroom and what would they think?
It crossed my mind that I should wipe the floor and destroy evidence, but my head was already spinning and I just wanted to get back to the parlor and the tea. And Ben—
Ben was waiting for me in the hall, leaning against the parlor door, his face surprisingly neutral and his eyes not really warm but not cold, either.
We entered the parlor without a word and I took a seat on the sofa. Ben sat nearby on a chair. The tea was already on the table.
I glanced at the Gallagers’ left son for a second and directed my eyes back to my knees when I was caught looking. My head didn’t supply me with great ideas of what to say—it was blank; with panic, adrenaline, and the feeling of being observed. The weight of Ben’s stare was heavy. It made me want to say something. Just a few words to brake the silence.
“So—umm—” I croaked. The sound of my voice startled me. “I’m sorry I made a fuss.”
Ben didn’t react. He just continued to stare at me. I didn’t need to look up to know he did. “I was walking home and I tripped and fell and then I realized your house...”
“You should have some tea,” Ben interrupted solicitously, apparently not in need of any explanations. I wondered why. With a rustle of his beautiful, lavender plaid shirt, he leaned forward and neatly poured two cups, then settled back in his chair. I had no idea what else to say and I was always tongue-tied around Ben anyway, so I picked up the cup and sipped, grateful to be preoccupied.
Ben stared into his cup. I felt myself relax a little. It was warm and safe in the parlor, the events of a few minutes ago already seemed unreal, and now the once cold and distant Ben was quietly sipping tea with me.
I ventured a look at him. He was certainly Adam’s brother. Maybe not quite so tall, and perhaps a little more muscular. But with the same beauty and grace. Longing for Adam crept over me, along with the first glimmer of hope that perhaps Ben was getting over the tragedy and would help me just as his mother and father would, if things ever got really bad.
As though feeling my eyes on him, Ben looked over at me. He set his cup down and crossed his arms over his broad chest, the shirt rustling again. Something about the sound was disturbing and his steel-blue gaze was more than I could manage. I looked into my lap.
He did not take his eyes off of me and a long minute passed while the scratches on my hands reminded me they were still there with a pulsing pain.
At last he said, in a voice tight with some kind of emotion, “Claire, can I have a word with you?”
I flashed him a quick look of surprise. The request hardly seemed necessary to ask since we were already seated within a few feet of each other, alone in the big room in the big house. But he was struggling to convey something and I was open to it. Ben had always been a mystery to me.
“Of course,” I replied, but he merely fell silent again, staring at me with undecided eyes.
I shifted in my seat uncomfortably, unsure of whether or not I was supposed to be here. I was very aware of the fact that Ben had never before been eager to talk to me—ever. He had just been the cold, emotionless shadow in the Gallager family. He was so different now, though, seeming fragile almost, compared to the appearance of stony coldness he normally was.
I couldn’t put my finger on what it was that made him look so vulnerable; maybe the way he held his fingers clenched around his knees, or the way his forehead creased over his eyes. Maybe it was the way his voice had shaken with his words, or how he seemed to be so unable to get out what he wanted to say.
My hands reached out for the cup in front of me and lifted it to my lips. I took another sip, waiting expectantly, while outside the moon was reappearing from behind the clouds, throwing long shadows onto the ground. I watched them stretching on the grass and vanish as the next cloud shoved itself before the pale disk of the moon.
When my cup was empty and Ben hadn’t spoken a word, my nerves cracked and I couldn’t keep myself from getting upset.
“You know, you could have spared us both this uncomfortable silence if you hadn’t told me you needed to talk to me.”
I was surprised by how smoothly my accusation left my mouth. As I listened to myself, I wondered what they meant. Ben hadn’t asked me to come here. It had been me who had needed a shelter and I should have been grateful that he hadn’t kicked me out.
Curious or not, in n
eed of help or not, I decided I couldn’t wait much longer for Ben to find his voice. I had to go home. I had hit the wall. It was late and I was tired—and not in the mood for Ben’s games. I had spent the whole day talking about angels with Mr. Baker and been nearly killed by demons at nightfall.
I wasn’t just going to sit here and make a fool of myself... The room was thick with uncomfortable silence and I couldn’t bear another second of it.
Knowing it would be a mistake to leave the house, I exhaled sharply, a wordless rejection of Ben, and pushed up suddenly from the sofa.
Ben raised his head in alarm, his fingers unclenching from his knees. His face was torn in an unreadable expression.
My swift stride should have carried me to the door well before he could even get out of his deep chair, but in the hallway I was surprised by a soft touch on my shoulder.
“Please, don’t go.” he said softly, pleading. His voice sank to a whisper. “I just can’t talk here—I don’t want to be disturbed by someone walking in,” he whispered.
I frowned, puzzled, and looked around even though I felt sure that Geoffrey was somewhere else deep in the house and Chris and Jenna did not seem to be at home. They would have come to my aid if they had been.
I wondered if he was thinking straight, but it was tempting to stay in the safe, warm house a while longer and I really was intrigued by seeing this new side of Ben.
“Will you come upstairs with me?” The words were still just a whisper. He waited for me to turn around—and after a few seconds of considering, I did. I was positive that whatever he wanted to talk about, it couldn’t be worse than the hostile silence we had been sharing so far.
“Lead the way.” I gave him an encouraging look, wanting to follow this new thread in our relationship, and unable to bring myself to leave the house right now.
Ben headed for the stairs with a quick stride. He seemed to have reached some decision and was in a big hurry to carry it out. I had to scurry to keep pace with him, up the stairs and down the long hallway until we were almost at a door that made me close my eyes in pain. Adam’s door.
I wanted to break away from Ben and just tear open that door and find Adam in there, waiting for me as if nothing had ever happened. I wanted my old life back and only Adam could give it to me. But I knew I could spare myself the disappointment—the room would be empty. And my soul—torn in two parts—would continue to painfully miss the part I had shared with Adam, and I would never be whole again.
Only the Gallagers were left to me now, and there I was with his half-brother, who was gesturing me into another door.
“Please, come in.”
I tore my eyes away from the wooden portal to my memories of happiness, trying to steel myself against the up-welling of pain, and stepped over the threshold. He closed the door behind us.
When I felt I had regained control over my mind and emotions, I refocused on my surroundings. I looked around. The room was very long and narrow, compared to the dimensions of the rest of the house. Green brocade curtains were hanging from the ceiling, draped to the wall on both sides, parting the room in two. A simple wooden desk was standing on the left side under a window. In the far right corner of the room, a bed with carved wooden bedposts was standing against the wall. Next to it, a face looking very much like my own was staring at me from a white sheet of paper clipped to an easel. The lines of the face were drawn with charcoal. Beneath the face was another drawing—my face in profile. I stared at the picture for a moment, then I looked at Ben, stunned.
“Is that—” I couldn’t finish my question, for my words faded into a faint breath as I took in the whole scene around me. There were several easels spread across the room, all of them holding drawings and paintings of my face and my body. I recognized the cocktail-dress Adam had given me a few months ago in one painting—the color was almost perfect.
“Did you—?”
I intended to ask if it had been him who had drawn and painted those pictures, but my question got stuck in my throat as I looked into Ben’s eyes. Had I ever believed his gaze was cold and full of hatred? Right now, it was filled with anxiety, confusion, hope, and pleading.
“But—” I opened my mouth to speak, and closed it again. I couldn’t find any suitable words.
Since the moment I had first met Ben, I felt he disliked me and wished me gone from Adam’s life. He had been angry and rude to me all the time. And Adam had warned me it would be so. But what was I to make of THIS? To be suddenly thrust into what seemed like a lair of obsession, with myself as the object, stunned me into silence.
I turned to look again at the display, evaluating if perhaps I was in danger from this new Ben or not. I needed information, for him to speak, to explain himself, this room, these drawings.
“What is all this?” I finally said, faltering.
I turned back to look at him but he was rooted to the spot, just looking helplessly at me. It wasn’t a frightening expression. He seemed to be pondering whether or not to honor me with a statement about his unusual collection of art.
After a few moments of watching him struggling with his dilemma, I decided to have a closer look at the artwork. I stepped farther into the room, past the green brocade drapery and up on the raised platform that held the bed and an easel. As I brushed past the soft and heavy fabric that somehow evoked a long family history, I discovered there was another easel tucked behind it, facing toward the bed. Another charcoal drawing of my face, but more this time. An entire body. An entire body that was also entirely naked. My heart began to pound in alarm.
I coughed involuntarily. This was going downhill, and fast. I needed more than pleading gazes from steel blue eyes. I needed to understand.
Taking a deep breath, I wheeled around to face him where I thought he would be still frozen in confusion. Instead, he was standing very close behind me, his face flushed and his hands raised, palms out, in a gesture of apology and defenselessness.
Anger and adrenaline flamed up in me, making me feel stronger than I had in weeks. I had accepted that Adam was dead, I had accepted that demons would soon kill me, too. I had accepted that my world was strange and perilous and I was an innocent in it without protection. But I would not accept that I might also be in danger from a Gallager who disdained me to my face and drew nudes of me in private.
Ben took a slow step toward me. I backed a step away at the same moment, not wanting the distance between us to decrease even an inch.
“You need to talk to me, Ben—now,” I demanded.
Ben had his hands still up, defensively. He dropped his head and said reluctantly, “I like to draw—”
The air left my lungs in a hiss as I shook my head at his unsatisfying answer. A big question-mark was floating in the room halfway between him and me. What did he think he was doing? How could he take me to this room? He must have been well-aware that I would be more than a little irritated by the decoration there?
“Explain yourself,” I demanded, and folded my arms across my chest.
“As I said—I like drawing,” said Ben.
“How come you are working only on one subject?” I threw at him with heavy sarcasm surfacing in my voice.
No answer.
I tapped my foot against the wood of the floor impatiently, boring my eyes into his, hoping to find a hint of what he would have said if he had been honest right now.
“You know, I’m not joking.” It sounded almost as unfriendly as I had intended it to. I would get his confession and then I would be gone. Whether or not Chris and Jenna could help me after that, I didn’t know, but I was going to solve this particular problem right now.
“Tell me now, Ben,” I said with a force that surprised even me. “Tell me now or—” I realized I had no threat to offer. I knew nothing about Ben or what would motivate him. We were standing in his bedroom surrounded by these drawings but I actually knew nothing.
Then, to my relief, I saw that my bluff was going to be good enough.
Ben m
oved a step away, rubbed a hand once over his face and began, “Claire, I know I gave you the impression that I hated you, and, believe me, I hate myself for doing that.” His voice was soft, almost velvety, and so much like his brother’s—his dead brother’s.
Pang, the pain flared up in my chest, like iron needles shooting through my heart. I felt my knees turn into pudding under my weight.
“Are you alright?”
Ben was at my side in a second. He had his hand at my back, ready to catch me if I couldn’t support my weight by myself anymore.
I nodded, working hard on maintaining my vision.
“I don’t believe you,” said Ben. “You look like you’re going to black out any second.”
I shook my head, fighting against the needles in my chest. They slowly swallowed the control I had on my limbs, washing over me with a force they had never had before.
“Hey—you need to sit down.” Ben was already pushing me towards his bed where he pressed me down into the soft mattress.
“I’m fine, Ben.” I fought against his hands.
“You don’t look fine,” he told me coldly, not lifting his hands from my shoulders.
I inhaled deeply and shut the images of Adam away into the back of my head. That cleared my mind a little. I was wondering how he could still have such a hold on me, how he could still affect me so much—even now that he was dead, even with my split soul. I didn’t know which part of this insanity was worst; that I couldn’t walk anywhere without the memories of him tearing me apart all over again, or the part of being unable to control the attacks of pain and horror I felt every time I was reminded of him. I had to get a grip on myself if I ever wanted to coherently interact with people again.
Another deep breath and I felt stable enough to face Ben and the weird collection of portraits behind him.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” I found myself saying. “With me or with you.” I hadn’t meant to sound so vulnerable.
Ben stiffened slightly beside me, the weight of his hands still on my shoulders.
I waited for a moment, counting to five in my head, preparing myself to stand up and leave if I didn’t get an answer. At four, the pressure left my shoulders and, at five, Ben crouched in front of me, fixing me with sad eyes.
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