by Kristie Cook
I sit in my bed for about two and a half minutes. What is the worst he can do if I don’t come out? I think angrily. When the third minute ticks on the clock, I kick my blanket off my legs and bound out of bed. “Fine!” I say through my teeth with my hands in fists.
I slip on a pair of running shoes and put on my hooded sweatshirt. I exit the dorm via the back door and I am in the parking lot with about thirty seconds to spare. Locating Reed’s car parked in the back of the lot, I trudge over to it. Reed gets out of the driver’s side and walks around to open the door for me. He isn’t wearing a shirt and I realize that he hadn’t had one on when he was on the fire escape either.
My eyebrows draw together as I think, He shouldn’t just walk around like that; it’s obscene to have to look at someone so perfect. He should do the world a favor and eat a donut or two, sheesh. Sitting sullenly in the seat with my arms crossed in front of me, I refuse to look at him.
He watches me before he sighs heavily, saying, “What happened tonight?”
My eyebrows pull together. “Let me think … what didn’t you see when you were spying on me outside my window? How did you get up there, anyway? The ladder has to be pushed off the fire escape, and it’s at least twenty feet off the ground. There is no way you could reach it you … you … total perv!” I rant at him.
His eyes narrow, mirroring mine. “JT said you fainted at the Seven-Eleven tonight. He said you were as white as a ghost, and he said you were mumbling in Latin before you went completely unconscious. Pete said he thought you were dead for a second. Now explain what happened before I lose my temper,” he grits out through his teeth.
Oh, just wait until I get my hands on that Delt composite! I think angrily. JT and Pete are each getting a big fat rating of one.
I look away from him, replying sarcastically, “Well, you can tell JT and Pete for me that the next time they hold a knitting bee and gossip circle, I could use a new sweater!”
“Genevieve,” Reed says quietly, but it has the same effect on me as if he’d shouted.
“Fine! I went to the Seven-Eleven to get snacks, I got my butt kicked by the florescent light, I woke up on the ground, and then I went home. The end. Goodnight,” I say and try to open the car door, but Reed locks it before I can pull the handle. “Ahh, Reed!” I complain when I couldn’t find the unlock button again.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” Reed says slowly, obviously deciding to treat me like an errant child. “You entered the Seven-Eleven …” he trails off so that I could fill in the blank.
Exhaling the word, “Fine,” I tell him what happened: from the dÉjÀ vu, to the gore, to the loud noise, to the KO by the flickering light, to waking up and being told that I had been speaking in tongues … well, in backward Black Sabbath anyway. I give him as much detail as I can think of; I even explain about the putrid smell.
Reed’s jaw grows more taut as my story goes on. “What were you saying … mumbling before you went unconscious, do you know?” he asks urgently when I’m done.
“No, they told me that I was saying something, but I don’t remember that part,” I reply.
“If you heard the language again, do you think you would recognize it?” he asks speculatively.
Frowning and giving him a small shrug, I answer honestly, “I don’t know.”
And then the most amazing thing happens: Reed begins to speak to me in a language that is at once so familiar and yet so foreign that the dichotomy of it makes me dizzy. It’s lithe and musical, and though I can’t understand a word of it, it calls to me in a hypnotic way. I feel compelled to get closer to the source of it, and when he stops speaking, I realize to my horror that I’m clinging to his chest with my ear all but pressed to his lips.
“What was that?” I ask him in awe.
“Did you like it?” he asks with humor in his tone; my reaction is funny to him.
“What were you saying?” I ask breathlessly.
“I was telling you what a frustrating creature I find you,” he replies.
I feel the heat of embarrassment flush my cheeks. “Oh, so it’s not the content that makes it sound so lovely,” I say, releasing my grip on him and straightening in my seat. “What language is that? It sounds Celtic, but not …” I trail off, searching my mind for any indication of what it could’ve been. “I feel like I should know what you were saying, but I don’t,” I say in disappointment. “Can you teach me it?”
“You will know it soon enough. Was that the language you were speaking?” he asks.
“I don’t know, you should ask JT and Pete. I was being introduced to the floor of the convenience store at that point,” I reply absently, still enthralled by what I’ve just heard.
Reed’s eyes narrow again as he asks me arrogantly, “Why did you try to conceal this from me? You should have come to me right away after it happened.”
My eyes connect with his beautiful green ones as I scoff, “Are you serious? I’ve got news for you, pal: you’re the last person I’d go to with this information.”
“That is absurd. I’m the only one who could interpret for you what you experienced,” he says, speaking slowly as if I lack the wit to comprehend him.
“Oh, right, because you’ve been such a bevy of information for me in the past,” I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, Reed, you’re a virtual Rosetta stone!”
“Genevieve,” Reed sighs my name in frustration.
“Reed,” I reply mirroring his tone, before pointing out, “you have to admit you haven’t exactly inspired trust.”
“Oh, I see, and who does inspire your trust, your soul mate? Is that who you can tell?” Reed asks, sounding suspiciously like he is jealous.
I shake my head slowly. You’re insane, I think, Reed’s not jealous; he doesn’t even like you.
I wrinkle my nose. “My soul mate? What are you talking about … you mean Russell?” I ask incredulously.
“Yes, Russell,” Reed replies sullenly.
A flutter of fear edges through me. “I haven’t told Russell a thing about what happened tonight, and if you do, I swear I’ll never speak to you again. He’s not a part of this! And I didn’t tell you either simply because I didn’t want to tip the scales,” I say defensively, trying to explain my position.
“What do you mean by ‘tip the scales?’” Reed asks me in confusion.
My chin lifts as my throat grows tight. I twist my fingers together in my lap, before I say, “I didn’t want to add any more items to the con side of the ‘Genevieve’s Continued Survival’ list. What if this is the thing that makes you decide that I’m now dangerous enough to eliminate?” I ask, not looking at him but instead focusing on the dashboard in front of me so that I can’t assess if it is, indeed, the proverbial straw.
“You are afraid of me?” Reed asks me, sounding unpleasantly surprised.
“Of course I’m afraid of you. You’re menacing, you’re overbearing, you’re arrogant, and if you don’t see that, then you can just add high to the list,” I say, using my fingers to tick off his shortcomings.
“You are saying you don’t want my help?” he asks me angrily.
“Now you want to help me?” I laugh humorlessly, scrubbing my face in disbelief. “You’ve been treating me like I’m the scourge of the earth, and now, all of a sudden, I get knocked out by a bright light and you want to help me? Well, sorry, but I’m having a difficult time believing you. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest before I get struck by lightning, or something equally as bizarre.”
“I’m sorry I frightened you,” Reed says softly. I steal a glance at him, seeing him grip the stirring wheel with both hands as the tension translates to his forearms. His perfect lips thin as he adds, “I regret much of my behavior where you’re concerned. I haven’t handled myself, or our situation, well.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “Our situation? You mean the fact that you’re a predator and I’m prey, that situation?” I ask him softly. Reed’s frown darkens, like h
e doesn’t enjoy the obvious description of what we are to each other. “I regret that situation too, trust me,” I reply and tense, waiting for him to respond angrily like he did before, but he surprises me when he remains quiet. He almost appears lost, like he doesn’t know how to respond to what I’ve just said. “Reed,” I sigh. “What am I going to do with you?” I ask, peering at him. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“I think you had a premonition tonight,” he says bluntly.
I don’t know what I had expected him to say, but that isn’t it. Frowning and looking away from him so that I can concentrate, I ask, “Like a hallucination?”
“No, more akin to a prophecy, or an omen,” he explains.
I don’t realize that my left hand has a death grip on the car’s stick shift until Reed put his hand on mine in a comforting way. “So now I’m the Oracle of Delphi? Is that what you’re saying?” I ask him contemptuously, thinking of all the stories I’ve read involving omens. They never have happy endings. That’s why they’re called tragedies. It’s that, and the fact that someone always ends up with his eyes gouged out or becoming food for the crows, I think cynically.
“No, of course not,” he says. “You are speaking of mythology. This is real.”
“Okay, so an omen. So now I’m forecasting the future?” I ask as he laces his fingers with mine, distracting me momentarily from my line of thought.
“I’m not certain if it was you forecasting it or if …” he trails off thoughtfully.
“Or if something provided me with the information in the form of a high-powered light.” I pick up his line of thought, remembering just how it felt to get hit by the light that had no heat, but that had felt like a whiplash when it hit me.
“Yes,” he says simply, gazing at our intertwined fingers as if he hasn’t held someone’s hand in a long time, or like it is a new experience for him.
My mind races, trying to make the puzzle pieces fit together. They don’t seem to match up. “Okay, so when is the mother ship coming to pick us up?” I ask worriedly.
“The what?” Reed asks with confusion clouding his eyes.
“The mother ship, you know, aliens?” I ask tensely.
He gives me an impatient look. “Aliens?” he scoffs.
“We’re not aliens then?” I reply, not even trying to keep the relief out of my voice.
“No!” he says emphatically as he searches my face—probably for other signs of mental illness.
Sighing, I ask, “Then what are we, Reed? Because seriously, if some big alien bug cracks me open from the inside and starts wiggling out, I’m going to be really ticked off that you didn’t warn me.” The exasperation I feel is overflowing.
“Genevieve, I am not an alien. You are not an alien,” he says clearly, making sure I understand him.
“Then what am I?” I ask pleadingly, holding his hand in mine now as if I could wring the answer from him.
“I can’t tell you,” he frowns, focusing on our fingers entwined.
“I’m getting out of the car now! Open this door!” I say, trying to disengage his hand from mine.
“I said I couldn’t tell you; I didn’t say that I did not want to tell you. There are laws, rules that I cannot break,” he lets go of my hand reluctantly and continues. “Remember when I said there is a war and I’m a soldier?”
“Yes,” I reply grudgingly.
“There are so many things that I cannot reveal to you. I cannot tell you what you are, or what I am. But, trust me, it will not be long before you will know what you are.” He brings his hand to his forehead, rubbing it as if his head aches.
“I can’t pretend to have read much of the law of war, ‘jus in bello,’ but I seriously doubt that those are the rules of war you’re alluding to, and can I go on record as stating I really don’t care for your rules?” I ask with a pout.
Reed smiles at my comment, “Genevieve, you are fascinating.”
I know he must be teasing me, so I ignore him and ask, “What are the consequences if someone should step out of line and break one of your rules?”
His face darkens, becoming almost pained. “Let us just say that one is rarely given a chance to make amends for it,” he replies.
I shiver, wondering, Who’s in charge here?
Then I ask, “What are the consequences for helping someone like me, if it should turn out that we’re not on the same side … if I’m your enemy?”
“Dire,” he replies, and even the sexy tone of his voice fails to stop the chill that runs through me.
I allow what he said to sink in. He does have reason to be wary of me. If he is wrong about me, there will be no amnesty for him. What would he gain by helping me? I wonder … nothing. As a soldier, I bet he has learned to reduce his risks, just like Buns had said earlier tonight, a pre-emptive strike. Eliminate the threat and go on with your existence until you detect another threat. What did he say about me? I try to recall … He said that I’m a threat he’s never seen before, something new. But he hasn’t eliminated me, and he’s here tonight because JT and Pete told him about what happened to me. He’s going to try to help me at his own peril.
“Okay, Reed, you’re out,” I say, fumbling with the door handle.
One of Reed’s eyebrows rises in question. “Excuse me?” he asks as if he hasn’t heard me.
“I said you’re out. You can’t help me. Now I can see the risks in this for you. I’m sorry, I couldn’t see the bigger picture before now, but I think I grasp your position. There is no winning position for you where I’m concerned. If I’m your enemy and you help me, then you’re a traitor and you’re toast. If I’m not your enemy and you help me by giving me some information I’m not supposed to know, then you’ve violated some law, so you’re toast. And if I’m a pawn for both sides, then the wisest thing you can do is walk away. So you’re out, you’re not in this with me anymore.” I finally locate the unlock button, but my triumph at unlocking the door is short lived.
Reed growls, “Genevieve, do not even think about getting out of this car until you explain what you meant by saying that I am out. If you’re calling me a coward, I can assure you that—”
I interrupt Reed before he can finish, saying, “The last thing I would call you is a coward. The fact that you’re here with me now shows how little regard you have for your self-preservation. The fact that I’m still alive, even though it’s obvious to me now that you’d be much safer if I were not, proves you’re not a coward. But, I didn’t know that I was endangering you like this. I may be guileless, but I’m not ignorant, and I can see that there is no other way to protect you than to cut you out.”
“Protect me? No one would dare try to protect me!” Reed sputters, taking offense.
“Why not? Are you unworthy of protection?” I ask, trying to understand why my words made him react this way.
“I am not weak! I do not need protection,” Reed says in a commanding tone. “You need me, Genevieve. I’m in this, and you will cooperate with me. I’m not asking you.”
“No, you’re not asking, you’re ordering … it’s that whole arrogance thing again,” I reply, definitely intimidated by him. I try to hide that fact as I go on, “Fine, you want in? I’ll let you know when something else happens. Sheesh, try to protect someone and you get your head bitten off! Just don’t come crying to me when something bad happens to you because I’m the one who suggested you get out!”
“I never cry,” Reed states definitively.
“Well, good for you!” I counter, opening the car door and getting out. I bend my head back in the car and continue, “And I never for one second thought you were weak.”
Reed’s eyes meet mine then, and I see something flicker in them that I think I recognize. He looks … lost … as if he is struggling with something he’s unfamiliar with. I sigh softly and say, “Thank you for your help. Goodnight, Reed.”
Before I can close the door, Reed begins speaking in the language he used earlier, the lovely on
e. I lean against the quarter panel of his car, listening blissfully to him, not knowing what he is saying to me. I close my eyes and just listen. It is sweeter than music. When his voice trails off, I close the door softly and walk slowly to my room, trying to ease the unaccustomed yearning I feel inside of me.
CHAPTER 10 - THE LAWS OF ATTRACTION
When I meet Russell at Saga for breakfast this morning, he tries to apologize again for his comments regarding the portrait, but I cut him off before he can go too far. “Russell, I appreciate that you’re looking out for me. I thought it was sketchy, too, when Mr. MacKinnon asked me to pose for him. You don’t need to apologize anymore,” I explain. “I’m sorry, too.” I smile at him. “So, how was practice yesterday? Are you ready for your first game?” I ask as I spread strawberry jelly on a half of a bagel.
“Sure, but I won’t be in it. I’m a redshirt so I probably won’t play in the games until next year.” Russell says, pouring syrup on a gigantic, heaping stack of pancakes. “I’ll suit up and sit on the bench,” he explains, smiling at me indulgently. “To tell ya the truth, I think I’m lookin’ forward to watchin’ yer first game more than mine.”
My eyes widen. “You are?” I ask in surprise.
“Uh huh, I can’t wait to see ya in yer uniform,” he replies and winks at me.
“Russell! Field hockey is a serious sport; it’s not just for the enjoyment of the male spectators,” I say, blushing.
“Yeah, it is serious … seriously savage to watch,” he teases.
My eyes narrow in mock anger. “Okay, Marx, you’re getting some serious pay out at your game on Saturday, and I now have the resources to back me up. I’ve made a couple of amazing friends in my dorm, and I’m sure they’ll be game for a Russell take down.”
Russell grins. “Ya mean the blonds that let me in yer room the other night? I got the impression that they’re on my side,” he says, chuckling. “What are their names, Brownie and Bunny?” he asks.
“Brownie and Buns, and you wish, pal. Oh, before I forget, I emailed my uncle last night so he can check out your computer,” I say, struggling to get the lid off of my orange juice. Russell reaches over and takes the juice from my grasp, popping the top off easily and handing it back to me. “Thanks,” I say, smiling at him.