Roam (Roam Series, Book One)

by Kimberly Adams

  “Subjects that… Asher studied?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “Except for quantum mechanics. Such a thing did not exist then. I don’t believe there is a way to time travel. I do believe you carry some type of knowledge specific to the prophecy, something that you may not even know about yourself, and this knowledge will allow us to move through the past. To give us another chance.”

  I considered his words. He stared at me intently, as if encouraging me to admit that I had some hidden, psychological past-altering talent. “I’m just- a normal person! I don’t have any answers, or secret codes or doors or… whatever.” I shook my head, shifting uncomfortably as my stomach growled. He obviously noticed, and I flushed. “I’m sorry. I haven’t eaten all day.”

  “Roam, you need to eat. Let’s get you something.” He stood, gesturing to his SUV. “There’s a little café down the road.”

  “If I don’t know about these magic doors, then what?” I insisted, ignoring him. “Are you telling me that there is some kind of evil man trying to find me and… and kill me?”

  He sighed, leaning against the railing. The waterfall behind him rushed, and I breathed deeply.

  Water comforts you.

  “I think that your dreams are not just a phenomenon, they are a device. A way to discover the meaning of these doors. I thought I’d have plenty of time to learn about your dreams, until I saw your numbers.” He gestured to my arm, and I looked down at them again. “The Alter is here, Roam. And he is close to you.”

  “He?” I repeated. He nodded.

  “The Immortal Alter searches for his counterpart, just as I search for you. When they touch, the Soul Alter receives your coordinates. Troy’s purpose is…”

  He looked at me gently, as if deciding whether to go on.

  “Troy?” I repeated.

  “His purpose is to destroy you. And I’ve lost track of him.” He sounded disgusted with himself.

  “This Troy is… hunting me?”

  “He is the Immortal Alter. He was in Saudi Arabia the last time I found him, in 2003.”

  I took a steadying breath. “So, this Immortal Alter, he’s like me, he has no idea what’s going on until his evil big brother comes to tell him? Then, they move into their dungeon together and start plotting my death?” I gripped my fingers until my knuckles cracked, and the nausea returned.

  “That’s… a creative way to put it, but yes, you’re right.”

  “West.” I sighed, shaking my head. “I can’t process all of this. I need to write it down. I need to see it to understand.”

  “I know. Books, pictures… you are a visual learner.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved his wallet. “I have something to show you, when you’re ready.”

  “Show me,” I urged, standing and walking to him. My legs burned, asleep from my cross-legged position. He nodded, reaching into his wallet.

  He handed me the photograph.

  It was in color, a white frame surrounding the picture. The paper was thick, and the photo was a square, unlike the typical four-by-six photos that I looked through in my mother’s family albums.

  A woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, stared back at me. Her long, straight blond hair was parted down the middle. She wore a floral-printed dress, the lapel very large. She smiled, teasing whoever was taking her photograph.

  The light was playing in her green eyes.

  She was… me.

  “No,” I whispered, my stomach turning. “No… where did you get this?”

  “I took it,” he said gently.

  “This was my hair, in my dream,” I cried. “I look older…”

  “Twenty.”

  Surprised, I looked again at the woman in the photograph. “What was my name? If I looked myself up on the internet, could I find myself?”

  “Your name was Julie Henry. And… yes.”

  “What happened to me in that life? How did I die?” I demanded. His jaw clenched, and he turned toward the waterfall.

  “You were murdered. Strangled.”

  I drew in a sharp breath.

  “Your continual fainting, I’m convinced, is a residual effect. You always carry something from the past life into your next life.” He took the photo from me, slipping it back into his wallet. “Your parents took you to neurologists, and they found no diagnosis. You faint because you hold your breath.”

  He knew. I remembered the battery of tests from when I was a child, and the pediatrician who had finally suggested that I held my breath to deal with anxiety. I saw a psychiatrist who taught me deep breathing methods, but every once in a while, I became so overwhelmed by anxiety that I fainted from holding my breath.

  How can he possibly know all of this?

  “I have been with you your whole life, Roam,” he answered, as though reading my mind. “But I’m still learning things about you. Like how your parents chose your name… that’s something that I can’t know from reading medical records.” He tucked his wallet into his back pocket. “Or that you’re smart, with an incredibly mature vocabulary. I’m grateful for that, by the way.”

  I smiled, trying and failing to resist his flattery. He returned my smile.

  “Thanks,” I replied quietly.

  “You love your boyfriend. Logan.”

  Caught off guard, I blushed indignantly. “That’s none of your business.”

  He reached out to still my hands. The warmth of his palms reached deep into stomach, twisting my insides.

  “I know that you love him, Roam. You’ve loved him all your life. If you will trust me, and we succeed, you can be together with him for as long as you choose. We just have to find the way.”

  “And the way… is to travel back in time, through my dreams,” I asserted.

  “Not through your dreams. Your dreams have the answer. We just need to know what the answer is.”

  “How do we know the answer… if we don’t know the question?” I philosophized. “What if we just walk away from all of this, and see what happens?”

  He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “A man of courage does not run away, but remains at his post and fights against the enemy.”

  I smirked, looking down at my feet to fight away the incredible heat on my skin. “Socrates?”

  “You seem like a fan.” He pulled his car keys from his pocket, standing and heading toward the SUV.

  “My sister calls me Socrates. She has since we were kids.” I hurried after him, suddenly gripped by panic. “Morgan and my dad have nothing to do with this, right? They’re safe?”

  West opened the passenger side door, turning to me gravely. “No one that you love is safe, Roam.”

  Chapter Eight

  We sat in silence. Every time I opened my mouth to form a question, another question surfaced. He pulled into the parking lot of a small coffee shop. “This place makes good sandwiches. Do you have a preference?”

  “No, thank you.” I stared out the window, resting my head against the glass. “I don’t care. I’ll just wait here.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he promised. I watched him walk to the door of the café, unabashedly admiring his broad back and arms.

  I’ve spent lifetimes with this man. Wouldn’t I remember him?

  My phone chimed, and I touched the screen.

  Missed call from Logan.

  I called him back, careful to watch West through the café window.

  “Where are you?” Logan answer was clipped. “I’ve been calling you. You were so sick this morning, and I’ve been worried. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I promised, clearing my throat. “I got involved in researching something… you know me…” I laughed halfheartedly, hoping he wouldn’t detect the shaking in my voice.

  “You’re not at the library, you’re not at home. Where are you?”

  “I went for a walk at the park. I needed to think about what I learned.”

  “What are you researching?” He was unconvinced; I couldn’t blame him. Disappearing for an entire
day was not my style.

  “Medieval alchemy,” I blurted, watching West speak to the cashier through the window. He turned suddenly to look for me, and I gave a small wave.

  “Exciting.” Logan wasn’t usually sarcastic with me, and I winced at his tone. “Do you want me to come over tonight, or should I just pick you up in the morning?”

  The sandwiches must have been premade; West was already paying for them. “I’ll just see you in the morning. I’m going to bed early tonight.”

  “Do you have a lot of homework?”

  I thought of the books piled in my locker. “A ton.”

  “Okay. Promise you won’t ever do this to me again. I worry about you, Cam.”

  “I promise. Okay.”

  “You’ve been acting strange ever since the game. You know, if you really want to take advantage of me, I will give in. Eventually.”

  This was the Logan I knew. I grinned. “Good to know, Rush.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, ‘night. I love you.”

  “Love you too.” I let him hang up, dropping my phone back into my backpack as West returned with two bottles of water and a brown paper bag. He handed me a bottle through the open window.

  “I got you turkey with tomato and lettuce.”

  “Thanks. I have some cash, but my purse is at home. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

  He eyed me, sliding into the front seat. “I’ll put it on your tab. Was that your father?”

  “Logan.”

  “And you haven’t shown him the numbers,” he confirmed. I rolled my eyes, gripping the brown paper bag.

  “No, I haven’t. But Logan would understand, and he would help.”

  West started the ignition, shifting the SUV into reverse. “He can’t know.”

  “Why?”

  “Trust me,” he ordered. I scowled.

  “So, same for my dad and Morgan?”

  “That’s right.” He pulled out to the main road. “Do you want to eat these in the car, or-”

  “And you’re not going to… touch me,” I repeated, my restless fingers ripping the brown paper bag.

  He turned to me, his blue eyes narrowed. “Roam, I promised. I will not touch you.”

  “Okay.” I nodded, meeting his eyes. “Because I don’t want that. From you. Or anyone. At all,” I stumbled over my words, blushing furiously. “And I may not know self-defense, but I will be buying some mace… and possibly a pocket knife very soon.”

  He slowed at a stop sign, turning to me again.

  And he smiled.

  “I will teach you to fight. And I’m glad to hear you don’t want that… from anyone.”

  I looked up at him tentatively. “You touched my forehead. When the numbers came. You were touching my hair and my head,” I stated, accusing. The memory of his fingertips against my temple hollowed my chest.

  He nodded once. “I understood your pain. I was comforting you. There is no need for that again, unless the numbers change.”

  My mouth fell open. “Why would they change?”

  He sighed. “If the Alter makes a significant move, the numbers change. Remember, that’s a good thing.”

  “But it hurts… so much,” I whispered, running my fingertips over the marks.

  “I’ll be there for you,” he replied quietly.

  Apologetically.

  I nodded, taking a calming breath and counting backwards from ten in my mind. By two, I was breathing normally. “Great. Okay. Let’s eat in the car.”

  We ate while he drove. He turned on the radio, and I was comforted by the familiar songs. Everything that we had talked about that day was extraordinary, but I realized that I was beginning to believe him and was irritated with my gullibility. “Do you think that I’m bored with my life, so I’m just choosing to believe this?” I blurted.

  West considered my question, turning the music down. He brushed his fingers with a napkin. “You ask theoretical questions that I’ve never had to answer,” he said, turning into my subdivision. “Are you bored with your life?”

  “Isn’t every seventeen-year-old girl looking for something more?” I pointed out, shrugging.

  He smirked. “Does every seventeen-year-old girl answer questions with more questions?”

  I tried to return his smile, shaking my head. “I don’t know. I feel like I’m losing my mind a little. I’m sorry. I need to think about all of this. I feel better now that I’ve eaten, so thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, and don’t apologize.”

  He was suddenly harsh, and I was taken aback. He pulled onto my cul-de-sac road. “What am I supposed to do, just see you in history? What are you asking of me?” I struggled to articulate my confusion.

  “Just pay attention to what comes into your mind tonight. If you can, keep a notebook by your bed. Write everything down as soon as you wake up.”

  “Okay, I can do that.” My dad’s car was not in the driveway yet, and it was almost seven. Sometimes he stopped at the VFW for a beer after work, but with Logan calling about me being sick that morning, I would have expected him to be home and calling my cell. “My dad should be home soon.”

  “And Roam… these dreams, they are very vivid. In the past, I’ve been there to comfort you. Right next to you,” he added pointedly. “Are you sure that you can handle them?”

  I was distracted by my father’s car being gone. “I’m used to nightmares,” I murmured, gathering my sweatshirt and backpack. When I checked to see that I had everything, I glanced up at him.

  His face was filled with compassion. “Your mother,” he said softly.

  I nodded, my shoulders stiffening. “Yes.” I slid out of the truck, thoughtful, and then met his eyes through the open window. “You know, my world already ended once. It can’t be as bad as that.”

  He swallowed hard, nodding. “This time you won’t be alone,” he promised.

  Relief took over, bringing tears to my eyes. I flashed a hopeful smile. “Okay, then. See you in the morning, West.”

  Once in the house, I dropped my bag to the floor in the entryway. The corkboard just inside our door was reserved for my father’s handwritten messages. Occasionally I would add one too, but lately texting was more convenient. One of his notes was tacked to the board.

  Morgan’s car broke down- went out to the college to help her.

  Please txt when home- Logan said you were sick this AM.

  Love you.

  I sat down on the carpeted staircase. Sending a quick text to my dad to tell him that I was home and fine, my eyes began to burn.

  Crying was something that I reserved for physical pain. Now, tears flowed freely down my cheeks, and I had to wipe them away with the back of my arm. I caught a glimpse of the numbers and reached for my sweatshirt, covering them quickly. Dad can’t see them.

  I didn’t want to be alone, but I’d already told Logan I was going bed early. I wasn’t sure if I wanted his company, anyway, knowing that he’d be full of questions. Morgan and Dad were occupied over forty-five miles away, and Ally-May had cheerleading practice until eight o’clock. I wasn’t sure I wanted her company, either, but anyone would do at this point.

  My phone vibrated, and I picked it up.

  Everything OK?

  It was West. I took a moment to enter his name as a contact. Strangely comforted, I texted him back quickly.

  Me: It will be. Goodnight.

  Turning to climb the stairs, I made the first right into my bedroom. I considered a shower, and then decided I’d take one in the morning. My bedroom was still very childish, with pale pink walls, beige carpet, and a beige, yellow, and pink floral comforter. I had packed up the stuffed animals and put them in the attic long ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to change the way that my mother had decorated my bedroom.

  I ran my fingers through my thick, still-damp hair. A glance in the mirror over my dresser made me wince. Sighing, I traded my clothes for a fresh t-shirt and shorts.

  After a trancelike walk to the bathroom, I sigh
ed heavily. Questions tumbled over and over in my mind, and just when an answer arrived, another question invaded. Peeling my contacts out of my stinging eyes, I reached for my simple, black frames.

  My bed was still unmade from the crazy morning. I straightened the comforter neatly and then crawled under the covers. Using my phone to type the name Julie Henry took seconds, but after a Google search and a Google Image search, nothing relevant came up. Without dates, I was at a loss. I should try public records.

  The sound of the garage door just under my bedroom woke me. My phone was still in my hand, and I checked the time. One AM. I had fallen asleep researching, wearing my glasses. Dropping my phone to the nightstand, I sat up and looked around. Dad’s getting home so late… he’s probably exhausted.

  He was at my door in minutes. “Are you awake, Roam?”

  “I’m up, Dad. I heard the garage door. Is Morgan okay?”

  He stood in the doorway tiredly. “She’s fine. It’s the engine. I knew we wouldn’t get much more time out of that car. I told her we’d look for another one tomorrow.”

  “Camden Car Curse,” I joked. He snorted, his best attempt to laugh over the situation.

  He crossed the room and touched my forehead with the back of his hand. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

  “I’m really fine. I wish Logan hadn’t called you. It must have been something that I ate.”

  “Okay,” he murmured, his voice filled with concern. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he replied finally, blowing me a kiss on his way out the door. I smiled, sending one back to him.

  Wide awake now, I reached for my phone. I contemplated more research, but a text message had come through at eleven PM.

  West: You can’t dream if you’re awake.

  I rolled my eyes, texting back.

  Me: What am I looking for?

  His text came back before the backlight went down on my screen.

  West: I’m the one looking. You’re the one dreaming. Go to sleep.

  I lowered my phone and punched my pillow, trying to get settled.

  I didn’t want to dream about anything scary. The story about my birthmark frightened me to my core. What were the chances that I would dream about that particular event again?