by Kristie Cook
Reed frowns. “If I had decided you needed to be eliminated, you would already be gone,” he says succinctly.
Studying his face, I know he is telling me the truth. I’m a threat to him somehow. He is wary of me, and that thought makes me want to comfort him and promise him that I’d never hurt him.
“So, right now, at this moment, I’m not threatening enough to eliminate?” I ask cautiously, unable to bring myself to say kill or murder.
“No, not yet,” he says flatly.
His green eyes hold mine, and I think for a moment how cat-like they are. They are a deep jade color in this light, and add to that, his eyes tilt up at the corners in a perfectly predatory way.
“But …” I begin, processing what he hadn’t said, “you can imagine a scenario in which my elimination would be necessary?” I ask him. I am trying to stay alert and not get drawn in by his sexy façade. I have to pry some information out of him.
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
My mind whispers to me: I must be some kind of monster because he didn’t even have to think about that one.
I hesitate before saying, “But you haven’t done it yet, so one can only assume that you may have envisioned a scenario in which eliminating me is not advantageous?”
Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes, I pray silently. My heart hammers in my chest as I wait for his response.
“Yes,” he replies in a gentle tone, and I feel such relief that I can hardly think of anything besides breathing in and out.
“That’s good, so there is at least one pro for my continued survival,” I say, trying to think. I chew on my bottom lip anxiously. An idea occurs to me, and it is out of my mouth before I can censor it. “If you have to kill me, will you enjoy doing it?”
Reed stills in his examination of my knee, and I wait for him to answer my question. He remains silent; his face looks tense … pained.
“No,” he says with a frown, “I don’t believe I would enjoy hurting you.”
“Good,” I exhale.
His answer makes me feel better, but there is something that I have to get him to agree to. I don’t know how to begin to ask him for something like this. It sounds so insane in my mind, so it will probably sound worse out loud.
Haltingly, I whisper, “If it turns out that the pros do not outweigh the cons and … it becomes necessary to … to eliminate me … I have one last request.”
Reed stills next to me again, but he doesn’t reply, so I go on. “My last request is this: that you let my Uncle Jim know that I’m gone. I’m not saying you have to tell him. I’m saying, let him know somehow that I’m dead so that he won’t spend the rest of his life looking for me. I don’t want that for him. He has been really good to me, so can you do that for me … please?”
I need him to promise me this. I need it like I need air. It will all be all right if he says yes—then it will just be about me and I can handle that, I can handle what happens to me. “Please promise me, Reed,” I whisper.
“I promise,” Reed says in a tense tone.
Reed isn’t looking at me now. His face is in profile to me, and his jaw is clenched. Reaching out, I touch his face; I want to tell him it will be okay, but I know it would sound ridiculous, given his recent promise.
“Thank you,” I say simply. Resting my hand against his cheek, he stills, closing his eyes. His skin is warm, much warmer than I expected, and the longer I hold my hand there, the more concern I feel for him.
Is he running a fever? I wonder as my hand shifts to his forehead.
I begin trying to establish if he is ill. He appears to be okay, but his temperature isn’t normal. Reed smiles involuntarily as I scoot nearer to him and use the inside of my wrist on his forehead. He opens his eyes, pulling my wrist from his forehead. To my utter shock he brings my wrist to his lips, kissing it gently. He then pulls it gently back down, holding my hand in his own.
“I’m fine, and so are you,” he says, pointing with his other hand to my knee, which I’d bent to scoot closer to him.
I ignore my knee and say, “But you’re so hot …”
“Thanks,” he says teasingly.
“That’s not what I meant,” I retort.
“I know what you meant. Let’s try to get you on your feet,” Reed says.
Reaching over, he grasps my other hand, and with little aid from me, he has me up on my good leg. I test my knee by just applying a little of my weight to it. There is no pain. I apply a little more weight, and then a little more, preparing to back off of it the moment it hurts. But it doesn’t hurt, even when I put all of my weight on it.
I try taking a step. Reed drops my hands so that I can move freely. My knee is a bit stiff, but otherwise, it feels fine. Examining the surface of my knee, I see a slight discoloration over the kneecap, but other than that, it’s nearly as good as new.
Feeling myself panicking I cover my hands over my face as I think, I’m a monster! Don’t fall apart here—you can fall apart later …
Plastering a fake smile on my face, I bring my hands down to see Reed standing just a few feet away, watching me closely. I try to think of something offhand to say, but all I can come up with is, “Amazing … I can’t wait until that third eye grows out of my forehead.”
I don’t know if I fooled him, but he replies, “I think I have an ace bandage. I will go look for it so we can wrap your knee. You will need to limp around for a day or so. Can you do that?” he asks me.
“Sure,” I say, walking stiffly over to one of the bookshelves on the far wall of the room.
Pulling a book from the shelf, I can’t read the title of it because my eyes are brimming with tears. I try really hard to hold them off until Reed leaves the room. Then, bracing one hand on the bookshelf, I bend over slightly at the waist, clutching the leather-bound book to my chest. Tears fall from my eyes, and I brush them away with the back of my hand.
Breathing in deep breaths, I manage to get my emotions under control, but it is a struggle, and I know the least little thing can set me off again. Feeling Reed getting nearer to the library, I wipe the tears from my face with the back of my hand once again and straighten my posture. I crack the book in my hand, but I can’t read a single character because it’s written in Chinese.
Believing it wise to keep my head down as Reed enters the room, I try to act “normal”. “What is this one?” I ask over my shoulder, holding up the book for Reed to identify, feeling proud of the way my voice doesn’t crack or sound too weak.
“It is a compilation of writings by Sun Tzu and Sun Pin,” Reed says, coming up behind me.
I close the book and put it back on the shelf where I had found it. I walk stiffly to another bookshelf farther away from Reed, keeping my back to him. Selecting a small, brown-leather book, I read the title Heaven and Earth by Lord Byron.
“You have quite a collection. Is this a first edition?” I ask in disbelief, reading the title page, running my fingers over the embossed paper.
“Yes, but I did not care for the play,” he admits.
There are so many books here that I want to read, I think, running my fingertips over the bindings. Who am I kidding, I’ll be lucky to finish a comic book at the rate things are going now.
A small, familiar pain in my chest begins overwhelming me at that moment. The pain usually happens on those rare occasions when I allow myself to think of my parents. I recognize the ache as sorrow. Things will never be the same, I think sadly. From this point on, I am changed. I’ve been given proof now that I’m not a normal person. This is real … My vision blurs as I desperately try to control my shaking hands.
“Genevieve?” Reed says behind me, but I can no longer answer him.
I am losing control of my emotions, and the sobbing sounds that are coming out of me are as unfamiliar to me as they probably are to Reed, but I can’t stop. In the next moment, Reed lifts me off my feet and carries me to the sofa where I’d spent most of the evening.
He sits dow
n with me on his lap, and I bury my face in his neck and continue to cry unchecked. Reed strokes my hair, attempting to soothe me, which makes me cry harder. We sit together like this for a long time until I finally quiet. Sniffling a couple of times, I try to wiggle off of Reed’s lap, completely embarrassed by my inability to control my emotions.
Reed holds me in place and asks, “Are you feeling better?”
I nod my head weakly, but I don’t speak. He pulls the blanket that I’d used earlier from the foot of the sofa, using it to dry my tears. Hugging me briefly, he slides out from under me to kneel at my feet in front of the sofa. Then, he takes an ace bandage from his pocket and begins wrapping it gently around my knee while I sit limply on the sofa. When he finishes, he secures the ends with a couple of clips, before sitting back silently.
“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?” I ask in a small voice that sounds pleading, even to me. “I really need to know.”
Indecision clouds his eyes before he asks, “What if I said there is a war going on, and I am a soldier in that war?” My eyes narrow as I try to understand what he is telling me. “As a soldier, I’m versed in destroying my enemies whenever and wherever I find them,” he continues, and I try to ignore the fear that his words inspire in me. “But I have found something I have not seen before, something new. I don’t know if it is my enemy, if it is a weapon of my enemy, or … if it could be on our side. If it is my enemy and I help it, then I’m a traitor; but if it is on my side, and I fail to protect it, then I …” He doesn’t go on.
Feeling like I’m in a daze, I think, A war? What war? His enemy? If he has enemies, then that means there is something more frightening than him out there, and it could want me dead, too.
“I should get you back to your room now; you look very tired, Genevieve. Or, would you rather sleep here? I have several rooms—you could choose one,” Reed asks, but I shake my head.
“No, please take me back to Yeats,” I say hoarsely.
Reed nods and then he stands. Holding out his hand to me, I take it and let him lead me from the room. He turns on lights as we go because it’s quite dark outside now. When we make it to his car, he opens the door for me, and I slide onto the seat, not looking at him while he closes my door. I buckle my seatbelt as he seats himself and starts the engine.
I sit mutely in the passenger seat, watching the stars in the sky outside my window as Reed drives back to campus. I can feel Reed studying me, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. When we pull into the parking lot of Yeats, Reed stops the car by the back door. I try to open my door to get out, but it’s locked, and I can’t figure out where the unlock button is to open it.
Stupid imported car! I think uncharitably.
“Genevieve, you have to tell me what you are thinking before you leave,” Reed says, looking at me as I fumble with the door handle that keeps me from escaping. “You haven’t spoken a word since leaving my house, which seems contrary to your character.”
“Is that your way of telling me I talk a lot, Reed?” I ask distractedly.
“No, I just would like to know what you have been thinking,” he insists quietly, making no move to let me out of the car.
“Why? Are you worried about me?” I ask doubtfully, continuing to look for the button that will release the locking mechanism.
He doesn’t answer me. When I still can’t locate the button, I say in growing frustration, “Fine! I was thinking about something you said earlier, about how I’m responsible for bringing Russell here, like I’m a Russell magnet or whatever.” Reed stiffens when I mention Russell’s name, but I continue accusingly, “Well, I was thinking that if I’m responsible for him being here, then maybe someone else is responsible for me being here.”
“What do you mean?” he asks slowly.
“I don’t know, Reed, but whenever you’re around, I have the strangest sensations, a lightness … in here,” I say indicating my abdomen. “That, coupled with the fact that I want to throw myself at you whenever you’re near, indicates to me that perhaps you are responsible for me being here! Now let me out of this car before I die of embarrassment,” I demand, pulling on the handle again and hoping it will magically open.
“You cannot die of embarrassment,” he says with a smug smile on his lips.
“Reed!” I shout, and when I hear the automatic lock click, I am out of the car instantly.
CHAPTER 7 - THE HISTORY OF ART>
I don’t have my keys to get in the dorm. I’d left everything that I had brought with me to field hockey practice on the field. Walking around the dorm to the front doors, I find them locked—of course. It is nearly midnight now; I’m beginning to realize that I had been at Reed’s house a long time. Locating what I think is the window to Buns’s room, I search the ground for a couple of small pebbles to throw at it.
Relief floods through me when Buns come to the window after I manage to hit it with a pebble. “Evie,” Buns squeals girlishly. “I’ll be right down, sweetie, don’t move!”
She disappears, and it takes less than a minute for Buns and Brownie to come bursting out of the double doors, letting them close and lock behind them. Before I could point this out to them, they sandwich me between them in a group hug.
“Are you okay, sweetie? We were so worried about you. How’s your knee? Tamera is so off the team; she totally did that on purpose. What did the doctor say? Can you walk on it? Can you play?” Buns and Brownie say in a torrent of words.
“I’m okay. I’m just supposed to rest my knee for a day or so, and then it should be as good as new. See, I can walk on it already,” I say, demonstrating a limp for them when they disengage from the hug that had me pinned between them. “Can I still play, when I’m better?” I ask hopefully. If I play field hockey, then that would be at least an hour out of my day when I wouldn’t have to think about what I am—or what might be out there waiting for me.
“Of course! It’s so awesome that you’re gonna be on the team! We’re gonna annihilate the Kappas this year,” Brownie says, jumping up and down with her pale platinum hair shining in the moonlight.
“Uh, Brownie, we annihilated the Kappas last year—they suck,” Buns says in amusement.
“I know, but we’re going to really, really annihilate them this year!” Brownie agrees evilly.
“Yes, let’s, that sounds amazing!” I agree, getting swept up in their enthusiasm, but a yawn escapes me.
Buns sees it before I can hide it behind my hand. “Evie, I’m so sorry!” she gushes in concern. “We have you standing out here in the middle of the night after you’ve been at the hospital for hours—stuck with Reed. Did he bore you to death in the waiting room? I hope they had some fashion magazines to read at least,” she says, walking over and unlocking the door with a key stashed behind the stone bench.
“Uh, there was plenty to read where we went. Thanks,” I mutter, feeling a little guilty when the girls get on either side of me to help me limp up the stairs. I quickly decide that the guilt is preferable to having to explain my amazing healing capacity. When we reach their room, I wait while Brownie runs inside to get my bag and keys.
Thanking both girls again for their help, I start to go to my room, but Buns stops me as she says, “Oh, Evie, by the way, we left something for you in your room. Let us know if you need help getting it back out,” she says with a wink.
“What is it?” I ask, but she just smiles and goes into her room, closing the door.
I stop by the bathroom on my way back to my room, and then I go wearily down the hall and unlock my door. It is almost completely dark inside; the only light comes from my desk lamp in the corner across from my bed. The light is shining down on the tawny hair directly beneath it.
Russell, seated at my desk, had fallen asleep; his large body is slumped over with his head cradled in his arms. I lean my head against the doorframe, watching him for a few moments. He must’ve been very worried to risk getting caught in my room. A stab of guilt shoots through me when I loo
k at his handsome face. Poor Russell, he tried to rescue me again and wasn’t able to because he had been seriously outgunned.
I close the door and kick off my shoes, watching for signs of wakefulness in him. Then I strip off the filthy practice uniform I’m wearing and change into a clean t-shirt and boxer-like pajama bottoms. Running a brush through my hair a couple of times, working out the knots that have accumulated in it from practice, I sweep it up in a massive ponytail near the crown. Brushing my teeth and washing my face, I watch Russell, who hasn’t stirred at all.
After I cross to my desk, I lay my hand on Russell’s hair and gently smooth it away from his face, tucking some of it behind one ear. He smiles in his sleep; it is so sweet that I find that I am smiling, too.
“Russell … Russ,” I whisper in his ear with my hand resting on his shoulder.
“Evie?” he asks groggily, lifting his head from the desk and squinting at me.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Are you okay? You look terrible. What’re you thinking sneaking in here? You want to lose your scholarship?” I scold gently. He doesn’t answer me but pulls me down on his lap, hugging me fiercely. I rest my head against his shoulder and say, “I’m okay—my knee should be better in a couple days.”
I’m glad he can’t see my face. I hate lying to him because it feels like such a betrayal after what we’ve been through together, but what are the consequences for him in discovering the truth? He’ll be more entangled in my mess, for one, and I can’t have that. I can see that clearly now.
“I checked the Crestwood Hospital, Evie. Where’d he take ya?” Russell asks me quietly.
Paling, I realize I have to come up with a lie that will cover this and be unverifiable. “Reed thinks the local hospital is inept, so he drove me to a specialist near Ann Arbor. That’s why it took so long. I’m sorry you were worried. I didn’t have my phone with me; I left it at the field,” I say lamely, feeling like the monster I no doubt am.
“Really, what’s the doctor’s name?” he asks suspiciously.
“I can’t remember his name. Reed signed me in. I’m sure it’ll be on the big fat bill my uncle gets in the mail in a few weeks,” I sigh. I’m going straight to hell; there is no question. “I’m sorry Reed got you again with his voice thing. I asked him not to do that to you anymore.”