Until Beth

by Lisa Amowitz

  Instead of backing off, I tried to make another dent in that saintly demeanor of his, knowing this too would bother him.

  “Xavier asked me to jam with him.”

  Vincent’s eyes went wide. “Never. You should not…you should steer clear of him.”

  “But why?”

  Vincent inhaled deeply, regaining his composure.

  “Bethany. I told you that I am looking out for your best interests. And Xavier is the furthest thing from your best interests.”

  In a swift motion, he reached for me, his expression strangely intense. Heat sizzled up my arm and I was woozy, then terribly tired. I shuffled to my bed, sat heavily, and yawned.

  “Man. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Life here is an adjustment,” Vincent said kindly. But there was a slight strain to his voice. He looked tired and a little haunted, his bright eyes the tiniest bit glassy. “I will be back in a half-hour to escort you to dinner.”

  Thirty minutes was enough time to dress, but not nearly enough time to sort out my wobbly thoughts. My adrenaline-fueled heart beat double-time, as though I was on the verge of an anxiety attack. Phantom worries whirled around me, but couldn’t seem to get a toehold or make themselves known. The net effect was numbness. I was as fuzzy inside as if my emotions had been shot up with novocaine.

  I had to wonder if this was how a complete nervous breakdown begins.

  As promised, Vincent returned to take me to dinner. None of the tension from earlier darkened his mood. As we walked to the dining hall, he kept up a steady stream of banter, recounting the story of how he’d gotten his first violin when he was a boy in Normandy. Somehow, he managed to do this without giving away much factual detail, his tale carefully edited to reveal as little as possible. His ploy worked well. By the time we got to the dining room, I was relaxed, though no closer to understanding Vincent and what exactly made him tick than ever.

  Once we were seated, all thoughts, formed and half-formed, fled my mind as the servers set steaming platters of roast chicken and vegetables on the tables in front of us. I loaded up my plate with the goods. I was ravenous.

  I scanned the dining hall for a glimpse of Xavier, but he was nowhere in sight. Catching Vincent’s wary gaze, I reached for my glass of sparkling cider to wash down the lump in my throat. I wanted to tell Vincent that he might be taking his watchdog thing a little too far. That I was feeling better and didn’t need a bodyguard.

  My drink tipped over, sending a waterfall of sparkling cider across the table and onto Vincent’s lap. Everyone laughed and threw their napkins at him. Vincent, to his credit, smiled, taking it well. But his eyes were pinned to me. The odd thing was that they were not angry in the least.

  They were worried.

  After dinner, once again, Vincent walked me to my room. The courtly gentleman was back. There was no sign of the boy who had leaned in so close I could taste his aftershave.

  “I hope you rest well tonight. They have decided to go ahead with your evaluation tomorrow.” Vincent’s brow was furrowed.

  “Should I be worried? What’s the big deal about some academic and music tests? I don’t understand why they didn’t do them the first week. Most likely I’ll barely pass the academics and ace the music.”

  Vincent was still looking at me. More like through me. “It’s a bit more intense than anything else you may have experienced in the past.”

  “C’mon. How bad can it be?”

  “Get some rest.” There was no tenderness in his gaze, but his touch on my arm was feather-soft.

  He turned to go, leaving me shivering. Alone in my room, I was that same restless combination of vacant and hyper. I paced, strummed a few chords on the guitar, and hummed a new tune, but that only made me less able to sit still. I checked under the mattress to make sure the Blast Mahoney button was still there.

  It was, but that did nothing to calm my restless energy. I peered out the window, half-expecting to see the shadowy figure, but the moon was hidden behind a thick covering of cloud. It was pure darkness out there.

  Then I remembered Xavier’s invitation and wondered if he really meant for me to come to him any time I wanted. The thought of his voice and my guitar brought a little heat to the back of my neck. I didn’t give a crap what Vincent said. He wasn’t my keeper.

  I threw on some sweats and trod the silent halls to Xavier’s room in the South Wing on the other side of the central staircase. I found my way easily, pleased by my stealth. Standing outside Xavier’s door, my hand poised to knock, I heard a low moan from behind the door, followed by laughter. Xavier was not alone. Apparently, I wasn’t the only invited guest.

  Embarrassed, I slinked back to my room. Vincent had warned me to stay away from Xavier. Maybe it was time I started listening to him.

  In the morning I woke from a sleep fractured by dreams of my brother and my mother scolding me. Guilt lingered as a bitter film in the back of my throat.

  I pried my eyes open and was shocked to see Andre sitting at the edge of my bed, smiling. I was certain I’d locked my door.

  “Morning, stranger. Bad dreams? You talk in your sleep, you know.”

  I rubbed my eyes, disoriented. I was so happy to see him, I threw off the covers and dive-bombed into his lap. “Andre!”

  “Easy, mama! You’re small, but shot out of a cannon you can still do some damage.” He laughed and squeezed me into a bear hug.

  I buried my nose in his shoulder. He smelled like wood-burning stoves and home. Tears sprang into my eyes. “How is my mom? Have you seen her?”

  Andre massaged my rock-hard shoulders, the knots easing under his supple fingers. “She’s coping. Your mom is a trooper.”

  It was not easy to pull away, but I got up and padded to the other side of my room, where my ache for Mom, for home, even for Carson deepened.

  “How’s your dad?”

  “He’s well enough to… Well. Let’s just say the crisis has been averted and he’s back in business. For now.”

  Another dodge. Why were all these guys so damn evasive? I let it drop. Andre was entitled to his privacy. I knew pity was the last thing he wanted. “Have you seen Carson? How is he doing?”

  Andre’s face took on a grayish cast. “He’s stable now. He can lift his arms with effort, but hasn’t regained much use of his hands. The doctors think it’s as good as he’s going to get. Carson’s not—he’s not in a good place mentally.”

  I pulled back the drapes to stare out at the bleak snowfield. Mist obscured the forest floor like a carpet of clouds. “I should be with them. I shouldn’t be here.”

  Andre came up behind me and, gently pushing a tuft of hair behind my ear, said softly, “With you here, your mom has one less thing to worry about.”

  “But—” I whirled on him, a protest on my lips, but the worry had already lost its sharp edges. “I just want to see him.”

  Andre’s mouth pulled tight. “Beth,” he said. “With your brother’s health so fragile, your mother agreed with the doctors that it’s best for you to stay away.”

  “What?”

  “Your mother asked me to tell you she doesn’t want you to visit. Not for the foreseeable future.”

  The sob I’d been withholding for months thrust its way out of my chest in a great heaving gasp. First losing Sam. Then Carson’s accident. Now my own mother didn’t want me to come home.

  “Doesn’t she want me to call? Send an email?” Questions slammed against the inside of my skull, but died on my lips as Andre gathered me in his arms.

  “Everything’s going to be all right, Beth,” he whispered, and shook his head. I leaned into a hug and let myself go limp against him. We stood that way for I don’t know how long, just breathing.

  Andre pulled away first, and met my gaze, eyes glimmering. I felt our bond as a physical connection, linking us in shared pain.

  “If you say so, Andre,” I said finally.

  His dark eyes danced with relief. “You’ve been through so muc
h, Beth. This is the best place for you to heal.”

  I nodded in agreement. It was a hard pill to swallow, but I knew he was right.

  “Are you ready for your evaluation now?” he asked. “Because they’re ready for you.”

  Andre escorted me down twisting halls to an unfamiliar wing of the school. We entered a magnificent library where shelves of old books lined the soaring curved walls. Upholstered chairs clustered around polished oak tables, the soft light from green table lamps reflected in their polished surfaces. Other than us, the place was empty.

  Andre led me to a group of chairs in the center of the room and let go of my arm. “This is the library,” he said.

  “No duh,” I snarked, but my jumpy nerves snapped into panic mode the moment he let go of my arm.

  “Try to relax,” he said. “They’ll be here in a minute.”

  Fear tightened my throat. I had no idea what I was so afraid of. “You’re not going to stay?”

  “No,” Andre touched my arm, but at the withdrawal of his touch, more anxiety poured in. He coaxed me into a seat.

  “Please? Stay until they come?” I pleaded.

  “I can’t, Beth. No one is allowed to attend an evaluation. But I promise, you’ll be fine. It’s not like you’ll fail and get kicked out of the program.”

  I studied the lock of glossy chestnut hair that slanted across his forehead, the elegant tattoos coiling gracefully up one ropy copper-skinned arm. Andre smiled his beautiful smile and I was warmed. Protected. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder vaguely why my brain seemed unable to hold onto a single coherent thought these days.

  “Can you wait outside? I’ll feel better just knowing you’re there.”

  He nodded. “Certainly.”

  As I waited alone in the silent library for what felt like an eternity, thoughts and impressions dead-ended in my mind. Time had become distorted in this place, with no beginning or end. Had I always been here? My memories of life before High Step were growing threadbare and thin.

  Maybe it was true, I thought, that the best way to heal was to shed the painful memories like a snake sheds its skin.

  The library doors whispered open. Monica DeWitt entered with three other people I didn’t recognize. Treading softly across the carpeted room, they faced me in a semi-circle. Two blank-faced and beefy young men flanked a frail elderly man with Coke-bottle thick eyeglasses. The frail man carried a satchel that looked a little too heavy for his thin frame.

  Monica DeWitt’s porcelain face broke into a radiant smile. “How are you today, Beth?”

  “A little nervous, I guess.”

  “There’s no need to be. This is simply for placement. Your position and scholarship with the High Step Program are secure.”

  I sucked in a breath and told myself I’d be fine.

  “This is Dr. Randall Wellington,” Monica said. “He will be performing your evaluation.”

  “Performing?” There was something ominous to the sound of that. I eyed the door and wondered if Andre was really out there.

  “This is all very routine, dear,” Monica soothed.

  Despite her reassurances my heart kicked into a wild gallop. My addled brain fired off a warning and I wondered if I should mention that I could really use a dose of my meds right about then.

  The man, Dr. Wellington, reached into his bag and pulled out a gleaming contraption, some kind of steampunk offspring of a massive hypodermic needle and a pressure gauge. The greenish light reflected off his thick glasses so that I couldn’t see his small eyes.

  I sat ramrod straight, in full panic mode. “What the hell is that? How is this a test of my talent?”

  “Please,” the man said, his voice trembling and weak. “You must be still, my dear.”

  My heart thumped harder as Monica retreated into the shadows. I tried to stand, but it was as though I was tied to the chair by invisible cords. I wanted to scream for help, for Andre to rescue me, but the words sat unsaid in my mind as if I’d lost the ability to speak.

  I was wordless and frozen, but my vision was laser-clear. The contraption loomed closer. Beads of sweat dotted the man’s wrinkled forehead as he placed the thing against my neck. He licked his dry lips with a bluish tongue as I tried to scream for Andre.

  And couldn’t.

  My heart was a runaway train, but even my eyes were paralyzed and locked into position. I couldn’t even blink.

  Oh God, oh God. I’d never had a panic attack this intense before. Darkness rolled in like thunderheads until I was completely paralyzed and in the dark. I could hear the man’s raspy breath.

  “This will only sting for a moment, my dear,” the man said.

  The needle pierced my neck with a bite of frigid cold. Icy shock spread from my spine to my head. My tongue swelled, crowding the back of my throat, blocking my airway. I couldn’t breathe. Colors swam in darkness as bright clear pain shot through every nerve in my body.

  There were muffled shouts, the scuffling of feet as I slumped over and fell out of the chair. My body began to jerk crazily as violent spasms rocked my limbs, slamming my head against the floor again and again.

  As quickly as it started, the fit ended.

  I freefell into black nothingness.

  11

  I WAS IN A BED, MY BODY TICKING WITH NERVOUS energy, my bones made of lead. My eyelids were too heavy to open, so I sat in darkness and wondered if I was still alive.

  A cool cloth pressed against my forehead. I moaned and tried to say something, but my voice came out as a strained croak.

  “Don’t try to speak.”

  It was Vincent. “Where’s Andre?” I rasped. “What happened?”

  “It’s okay, Beth,” he said. “You’re fine. You had a bad reaction to the Evaluation. It happens sometimes.”

  I tried to sit, still unable to fully open my eyes. Through my slitted lids the room was a blur of light and shadow, and I wondered if I’d been drugged.

  “What did they do to me?”

  “It’s okay, Beth,” Vincent whispered. “Everything is okay.”

  Cool fingers brushed against my temple, pushing away clumps of damp hair. I clung to consciousness, but it was no use—my grip failed and I returned to thick black sleep.

  I had no idea what time it was when I finally woke, but my heart was pounding. I was weak and drained yet restless.

  I checked under my mattress for the Blast Mahoney button and found it was still there. The room was stuffy and hot. I thought about escaping to the woods where I could breathe, but as soon as I threw on my robe I realized that was a bad idea, since I could barely stand on my wobbly legs.

  But I didn’t want to be alone with my formless fears. I wanted someone to talk to.

  I staggered through the darkened halls like a drunk and found myself in Xavier’s wing, not quite sure how I’d gotten there. A clear thought sliced through the layers of my confusion. I needed to know exactly what the Evaluation was and what had been done to me.

  I was pretty sure, though I couldn’t say why, that Xavier was the only person who would tell it to me straight. Maybe it was because of how eager Vincent was to keep me away from him.

  I pressed my ear to his door and listened carefully to make sure he didn’t have another nocturnal visitor. It was all silence in there. I was about to knock when the door crashed open and a slight girl with a corona of white-blonde curls glared at me before flouncing away. I knew I’d seen her before, but with my mind all fuzzed up, I couldn’t say where.

  Maybe talking to Xavier was a bad idea, I decided. But the door was ajar, beckoning. It wasn’t like I wanted to date him. All I wanted was a few answers about what the hell was really going on.

  I slipped in. The room was pitch dark and silent. It felt empty.

  “Hey, Xavier? Sorry to barge in like this.”

  There was no response. Maybe, for once, he was actually asleep. I was about to leave when a barely audible moan issued from near the bed.

  “Xavier? You okay?”


  Another weak moan. I was sure he was sleep-talking, but it struck me as odd for a guy who suffered so famously from insomnia to be in such a deep sleep.

  I pulled back the drapes to let in some scant moonlight. Xavier was sprawled flat on his back, covers off, eyes closed, like a body on a morgue slab.

  “Xavier?”

  His eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. Moonlight threw the patchy skin of his scars in sharp relief. Still, he was beautiful, like an ancient statue that had been damaged by vandals but not enough to destroy its grandeur. I felt like an idiot watching him sleep, like I was violating his privacy at the basest level. I was about to leave when a faint murmur slipped from between his lips.

  “Beth,” Xavier said, so softly it could have been a breath. But he didn’t move at all.

  I drew closer, intrigued that he recognized his intruder in his sleep.

  “Beth,” he repeated with a tiny shudder. Still, he didn’t wake.

  I nudged his shoulder gently. “Xavier? Is something wrong?”

  His lips trembled. The word came out as a soft hiss. “Help.”

  It was then that I remembered where I’d seen the girl who’d fled his room.

  I was almost certain she was One-Digit Della, the severely disabled girl I’d seen at lunch two days before.

  But that couldn’t be possible.

  I raced from the room, operating on gut instinct. There was something abnormal about the way Xavier wouldn’t or couldn’t wake. He seemed to be in some kind of pain.

  I barreled through the halls, not sure where to go for help. There had to be a school nurse or doctor on call somewhere in this place. I’d heard about a medical team examining me, but couldn’t recall any of it.

  I had the wind knocked out of me when I slammed into an immovable object. I was momentarily stunned, but not entirely surprised, to find myself gazing up into Vincent’s concerned eyes.

  “What’s the hurry?”

  I backed up so he couldn’t touch me. I wanted to hold onto the raw clarity of my emotions before Vincent’s strange touch clouded them over.