by Kristie Cook
“That startled me. They came out of nowhere,” Mark mumbled. All I could do was nod.
Ten minutes later, Mark pulled the truck into the driveway, turning off the ignition. He sighed heavily and sat back.
Uh-oh … here it comes.
“Sheriff Weiss is convinced you had something to do with the electrical explosion.”
“I kind of got that.” I looked down, playing with the zipper on my coat. “What do you believe?”
He sighed again and rubbed his face. “I want to trust you, Em, but I’d have to be blind and a fool to continue to ignore what is going on.” He sat quietly for a moment before he spoke again, his voice softer. “I’m really trying here. I really am. I don’t know what to do anymore. I wish your mother were here. Then again if she were, I don’t think we’d be in this situation.” His voice broke, but he quickly cleared his throat, covering the escaped emotion. “I can’t imagine you having anything to do with something like they say, but we have been here before.”
I saw the blocks begin to stack against me. The first time your daughter is accused of trying to burn a school down may be easier to ignore. A second time … not so much. I bit my lip and looked out the window into the dark forest next to the house. He was right. We had been here before.
I was asked to leave school after a part of my junior high in Monterey burned down. They had accused me of having something to do with its demise. Between the fire and my mom, Mark felt it was time to leave. He had wanted to get back into field research for the forestry service for a long time. Mark had gotten a job in Olympia right after I had been kicked out of the school in Monterey. It was a great opportunity for him and an even better reason to depart. Moving here gave us a fresh start, leaving the rumors, gossip, and bad memories behind.
“I thought moving away would help. I thought things were better here, but they aren’t, are they? You’ve been lying to me this whole time.” Mark stared out the windshield. “With what happened to your mother … we stopped your medication and therapy too soon.”
Therapist, shrink, counselor, whatever you wanted to call them, I had seen them all. Teachers, doctors, and family friends thought I might have some psychological problems after finding my mother’s dead body. She had died a little over five years ago.
Died …
That word always made it sound as if she had simply passed away. The word murdered got trapped in my throat, making me want to throw up. To think of my mom being killed was too much, and the visual of her shredded beyond recognition still haunted me. I woke up screaming from night terrors on a regular basis. Her killers still hadn’t been caught.
Since that day, I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry until I no longer felt the emptiness inside, letting my attachment to reality disappear altogether. However, those options were simply an express ride to another therapist, another diagnosis, and more medication … and me being institutionalized. The last was something I was trying to avoid at all costs. Mark sent me to a dozen therapists and counseling groups after my mom’s death. None of it helped. I still heard voices and still saw things that weren’t there. Schizophrenic was one term many doctors used. I became really good at hiding the truth and making a show of taking my meds, before secretly flushing them down the toilet. They all patted themselves on their backs at my miraculous recovery. As good as I got at covering the truth, in reality I was only getting worse.
“What?” I looked at Mark. He pressed his lips together. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Seriously? Is that what you think?” My voice raised an octave. “I blew up my school because I missed a therapy session? You really believe I did these things? I hate school, but I didn’t blow it up!”
“Ember …”
“No!” My face heated with anger. “I can’t believe you’re using Mom’s murder and my therapy against me,” I burst out. “There was a time when you were on my side and believed me. I guess I can no longer count on you, either.” I threw open the truck door and slammed it behind me. I stomped up the porch and into the house, thankful I had my keys in my pocket. Nothing ruins a good exit more than when it’s locked.
As I slammed the front door, I saw Mark still in the truck with his head on the steering wheel. Guilt and remorse tugged at my gut, but my pride made me continue to the safety of my bedroom. I slammed that door, too. Even if he didn’t hear it, it made me feel better.
Mark entered the house as I changed into my sweats and quickly turned off my lights, hoping he’d think I went to bed, even if it was only six in the evening. I didn’t want to deal with him right now. I didn’t want to be with anyone right now, including myself, though I couldn’t seem to get away from me so easily.
Sleep seemed highly unlikely. What sounded good was a kickboxing class. That not being possible, I grabbed my iPod, shoved the ear buds in, and turned it on full blast. I walked to my desk, turning on the small lamp. Messy piles of half-finished sketches covered the top. Drawing, painting, sculpting, and writing poetry always helped release any pent-up emotions. Something I needed right then. Grabbing my sketchpad, I sat drew, the pencil moving swiftly across the paper.
About an hour later, I heard a knock on the door. I plucked one earpiece free.
“Em, I made soup and sandwiches, if you want some.”
I hesitated, my heart softening, but my pride and stubbornness overshadowed everything.
“I’m not hungry.”
I felt he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. After a moment, he walked away.
The happenings of the day continued to roll around in my head as my hand absently moved across the page. The TV blared from the other room. Mark was watching the sports channel, but I wondered how much he was paying attention. I was sure he was going over every word Weiss and Mitchell had said. I bit my lip stopping the tears wanting to come.
I looked down at my sketchpad. My mind had been on other things as I drew, so I really didn’t think I was drawing anything particular. Through the abstract lines, a pair of eyes stared back at me. I immediately recognized them. Even without the piercing green color, there was no doubt whose eyes I had sketched. Why in the hell did I draw his? I put my head in my hands. I couldn’t handle analyzing one more thing right now. I was so tired of being scared and feeling lost and alone. I leaped up, switched off my lamp, and crawled into bed, feeling drained and exhausted.
I stood in a shadowy forest of oak and ash. Wind ruffled through the dense trees, making them creak and moan. A gust rippled over my skin, and I drew up my hood and pulled my dark cloak closer to my body. Flames danced rhythmically in front of me. I huddled closer to the fire, feeling its warmth and strength, as it rose higher. The sun met the horizon, and darkness slithered in around me.
Anxiety tapped nervously on my neck. Something out there was coming for me, and it was getting nearer.
A warning crept into my body, and I felt eyes on me from all around, as if the trees themselves were staring at me. The branches swayed, creating bended, gnarled skeleton shadows. An unnerving guttural growl echoed over the wind. Fear slithered down my spine. I spun around, searching frantically for the threat.
They were coming for me. I had to run.
A deep, menacing laugh ricocheted off the rock walls beyond the trees. I whipped around again, a scream catching in my throat. Electric green eyes were only inches from my face and looked directly into mine, dancing with menacing glee.
“Time to join your mother.”
***
I gasped as I woke, my legs and arms thrashing. Sweat soaked my tank top, making it cling to my chest. Chills clutched my spine, as I got my bearings and tried to calm myself. Leaning over, I turned on my nightstand light. The darkness created too many gloomy corners and shadowy figures, which my imagination wanted to make into monsters. I rested my head against my headboard.
Why were the eyes in my dream the same color as the guy’s from the police station? He had unnerved me, and the fact he had been out on Delphi Road only made me more uneasy. Had he followed me?
Did he know where I lived, or did he happen to live out here, as well? He wasn’t merely passing through town—he was too familiar with the police officer. They let him go, so he couldn’t be too dangerous to society, right? Maybe he forgot to pay a parking ticket, and I was making way too much of this. But then, why couldn’t I get rid of a nagging fear in my gut?
Jumping at every creak the house made, I threw off the covers and grabbed my iPod from my desk. Playing music would help break the silence and relax me. I perched myself on top of my desk and pried the window blinds apart to look out into the night. The moon broke through the clouds as the fog slid through the trees. I was trying to relax and get in rhythm with the soothing music, but chills continued to prickle my skin. The feeling of being watched crept over me again.
I was about to snap my blinds together and go back to bed when something moved in my peripheral. A pair of green, cat-like eyes stared right back into mine from the forest. I jerked. Fear clamped down and strangled the scream wanting to bubble out. I blinked and the eyes were gone.
I only imagined it. I repeated in my head as the therapists had conditioned me to do when an “episode” happened. I did a running jump to my bed so nothing underneath could reach out and grab my ankles. I wrapped myself tightly in my duvet and kept the lights on, drifting in and out of sleep for the rest of the night.
SEVEN
On Monday, I took advantage of not having to go to school and spent most of the morning catching up on the sleep I hadn’t gotten the night before. By noon, I finally dragged myself out of bed, mostly because my stomach was growling so loud it sounded like bears were waking up from hibernation in my gut. It was threatening to start gnawing on itself, so I finally gave in.
It was strange not to be at school. I could picture Kennedy and Ryan sitting at our normal table at lunch, one person short of our three-pack. My heart twisted at the thought. Unless Principal Mitchell had a change of mind, I would not be eating lunch with my friends in the foreseeable future.
I sighed and lugged my body down the hallway toward the kitchen. Mark sat at the breakfast bar, working on his laptop as I lumbered into the room. He was obviously doing a “work at home” day. At least we didn’t have to go out in the torrential rain assaulting the windows.
“Morning … or afternoon, I guess,” I mumbled, feeling awful about our conversation the night before. I had many sleepless hours to go over the situation and see what a brat I had been. Although I was still upset, I hated hurting Mark. I knew he was trying his best. He didn’t ask to be a single parent of an orphaned girl. But he had me, for better or worse.
It made me miss my mom so much my heart ached. I longed for her laugh, her smile, the way she made everything better. We had been really close. For so long, it had only been the two of us. I longed for our talks, especially since talking about boys or girl stuff with Mark was not particularly comfortable for either one of us.
“I was wondering when you’d get up,” Mark said breaking into my thoughts.
I poured some coffee, thankful he had kept a pot going for me. “Yeah, I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Mark pinched his lips together. He looked like he wanted to say something. An awkward silence filled the room when he said nothing. Glancing around, I noticed some eggs left on the stove for me. My throat tightened. I grabbed a plate from the cupboard. He pointed to the microwave. “There’s some turkey bacon in there.”
“Thanks,” I replied, but I knew he didn’t hear me. My voice couldn’t get above a whisper without it cracking with emotion.
Quiet hung in the air before Mark started again. “I set up a meeting later this afternoon with Mrs. Sanchez, who runs the facility at Silverwood.”
I kept my back to him and only nodded. More silence. Eventually Mark got up with a heavy sigh. He moved into the living room and tuned into the sports channel. I turned back to my plate of bacon and toast. As hungry as I was, my stomach was contorted with sadness and guilt. I forced the food down.
After I finished, I controlled the impulse to retreat to the safety of my bedroom and went in with Mark. We sat in awkward muteness, staring at the television. When the program went to a commercial break, Mark turned off the TV.
Oh boy …
“Em, I’m sorry for what I said last night. It was wrong, and I didn’t mean to insinuate you had anything to do with the incidents.” He hesitated. “You and I have always been able to talk, but I have to say it’s harder now. It was much easier when you were a little girl, but you’re technically an adult. I’ve known for the last couple years we were heading into areas that weren’t going to be comfortable for either of us. But yesterday was different … I wasn’t ready for it. I don’t know what to do here, kiddo. The sheriff is committed to finding and punishing who caused the explosion, and you seem to be the scapegoat.”
“I’ll put on a bell and start chewing on some paper.”
“I do believe you, you know? I don’t think you are a part of what happened.”
“Thank you.”
“But …”
Why was there always a “but”?
“But … there is something going on with you. I’m really worried. I know how hard it’s been for you, losing your mother in such a way. I can’t imagine how tough it was going through what you did.”
I looked down. “I know nothing has been easy for you either.”
He didn’t say anything for a while. I thought I’d said the wrong thing, but when I lifted my gaze, tears glistened in his eyes.
“Some days I feel like I’ll be all right, and other days it hurts so much I can’t even breathe. I miss her beyond words, but it’s nothing compared to you. You’ve lost your mother, who was also your best friend …”
“You did, too.”
“I know, but losing a mother is a different kind of loss, especially your mother,” he said, his eyes still glistening. In that moment, I saw how lonely he was. He thought “until death do us part” meant when they were old and gray, and he would go first. “I worry about you, Sunny D.”
I smiled. He hadn’t called me that in a while. Devlin was one of my middle names. Mom told me it was from my biological father’s family. I had never been an overly cheerful little girl, always choosing sarcasm and biting wit, even at six years old. So Mark found it amusing calling me Sunny D.
“I’m fine, Mark,” I lied. “I’m dealing with a lot lately.”
He studied me. “Okay.” His expression made it clear the topic was not going to be dropped, only suspended for now.
Mark decided to go for a run to clear his head. I knew how he felt. The forest behind our house called to me. So while he went running, I left to clear mine under the canopy of the trees, which protected me a bit from the relentless rain. I loved it out here. There was something about nature that instantly calmed me and made me feel complete. I sat on a rock and ignored the wetness soaking through my jeans. I picked up a leaf, tracing its veins.
A whisper floated with the wind.
“Ember …”
My head snapped up at the sound of that voice.
“Ember.”
A crawling sensation crept down my spine when I realized I heard the voice in my mind, instead of out loud.
My eyes darted around the forest and the canopy. The air that shimmered between a break in the trees grabbed my attention. Like ocean waves, the air danced and bobbed between the trees with increasing urgency. It twisted and rolled until a tall, broad, gorgeous man with piercing blue eyes stood there. A high pitch noise escaped me as I stared at him in fear. He was dressed in black leather pants and a black fitted shirt, which hugged every muscle to perfection. He was the vision from the dance, but this time I could see all of him clearly. And, wow, even though I was scared to death, I could appreciate the man’s breathtaking looks and toned physique.
He appeared to be in his mid-to-late twenties, although there was something ageless and ancient about him at the same time. If his black hair and alluring smile didn’t bring m
e to my knees, the magnetic energy resonating off him did. It seized me and turned my senses into an overcharged battlefield. I was mesmerized, terrified, and aroused by him all at the same time. As he stepped closer, I jerked back. I stumbled over a rock and fell to the ground, scrapping my arm. I tried to choke out a cry.
His voice fluttered through my mind again. “I’m not trying to scare you, Ember. I came here for you.”
I scrambled to my feet. “How do you know my name?” I hadn’t thought about how he knew it until now. “Who are you?”
“You’ve been familiar to me since your birth,” his voice slid into my mind. “As for who I am, I am someone who’s been waiting for you for a long time.”
“H-How are you doing that?” My voice was barely a whisper.
“How am I doing what?” His words entered my head. From the smile, he knew exactly what I was talking about. Not that I noticed his deliciously beautiful lips.
I kept my voice level and low. “Speaking in my head.”
“That’s not important. What’s essential right now is you.” He spoke out loud now, his voice captivating.
“Me?” I asked. “Why me? What do you want? Who are you?”
Without even seeing him move, he was now only inches from me. “I am Torin.” He said his name with honor and pride. Taking my hand, his lips brushed against my knuckles, sending butterflies to duke it out in my stomach. Okay, Em, now you are letting your hallucinations name themselves and touch you. At eighteen, I still had imaginary friends. Hot ones, granted, but still …
His hand came up and gently cupped my cheek. I felt protected and oddly safe. “This may be the last time I can appear to you in person. I must keep you safe for as long as possible.”
“What? You’re not coming back?” Panic pitched my voice higher. Why did I care? He was simply a figment of my imagination. But he felt so much more than that. He felt so comfortable, so familiar.
“No mo chuisle, not like this. It is too dangerous. But keep your mind open for me.” He leaned down, kissing my hand again. “Sweet dreams, Ember.”