“We must go to Camden. We’ve no cause to wait any longer.”
I clench my teeth, not wanting to be mad at him but hating the way he jerks me around. Jerks my emotions. But I’m helpless to resist. And I resent that.
Not that I’m giving up. “You said you’d bring something. Something to help me understand.” I want to stop, to put my hands on my hips and refuse to walk anywhere else with him until he gives me answers, but a quick glance over my shoulder shows me a distant smudge of black that I’m pretty sure is Sunglasses Guy and I don’t want to take the chance that he’ll catch up.
In fact, I’d rather quicken my pace.
“Camden. Everything waits in Camden.”
“What is in Camden? Where is Camden?” I snap, the tension of Quinn’s mystery act and the fact that I’m being followed not a very happy-making combination.
“I’ll meet you there,” he says, as though I hadn’t said anything.
“Why can’t you just talk to me?” I ask, exasperated.
He says nothing, only lengthens his stride. “Tell no one,” he hisses.
“Quinn!” I reach for his arm as he turns from the quiet neighborhood street onto a busy boardwalk in the touristy zone, but at the last second he skirts out of reach. I try to follow, but there are people in my way now, though he weaves through them nimbly. My bad leg twinges, as if in warning. I’m not sure I could have caught him even with two good legs.
I curse under my breath. Curse myself, Quinn, my heart and its wild beating. Why can’t he just stay in one place? Or, at the very least, give me a straight answer? In regular English. I guess he’s left me in a better place than the empty street we were on, as it’s hard to lose a tail in a nonexistent crowd, but it wasn’t what I wanted! He knows something and I have to find out what it is. I have a suspicion—a rational one, under the circumstances—that my safety hangs in the balance, and he runs away. Jerk.
Still, based on the direction he took off in, I’m pretty sure he’s going to the same place I was headed before I ran into him. And I am not letting him get away this time. Today someone is going to tell me something.
I take a circuitous route and after about six turns, I’m pretty sure I’ve lost Sunglasses Guy. I go straight for a few blocks, glancing behind me every hundred feet or so, but no tail in sight. I let myself breathe just a little easier and get back on track. It takes another ten minutes to reach my ultimate destination, but finally I see the specialty food store that started the whole fiasco my life has become.
But Quinn’s house isn’t there.
The white porch, the red door, the triangle, even the cheery maroon and gold tulips—all gone. The whole space is covered with grass and a couple of trees, and I think it’s actually part of the yard of the house to the right … and has been for a long time.
The minutes fly by as I stand in the middle of the parking lot thinking about everything bizarre I’ve seen this week: the house, Quinn, the triangles, the alley that disappeared, the flickering woman, the vanishing ChapStick and pencil.
Benson saw them too, I remind myself. Some of them. My chin trembles as I fight back tears of despair. I clench my fists and suddenly there’s an icy, cold weight in one of them. I open my palm and drop its contents to the ground as though it would burn me.
It’s the locket my mother used to wear—one she got from her mother. She was wearing it on the plane. I never saw it again. Couldn’t bring myself to ask about it.
Now it’s here. On the ground. I made it. Without even thinking.
Like the water. The water that could have killed Benson’s roommate.
Terror makes my whole body shake. How do you run away from yourself?
“I’m not crazy,” I whisper into the wind, then stand and stare at the curlicued silver on the ground until the locket pops out of existence.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I’m exhausted already. Not only from my long walk to avoid my tail, but because of everything that has happened. That keeps happening. My pace is slow and dragging, but eventually it gets me to Elizabeth’s office, where she invites me in as though it were just another day.
It’s not.
She doesn’t even mention that this appointment is at her request, not mine.
Or that Reese is gone.
The only reason I’m even there is to keep up the appearance that everything is normal—that I’m still the ignorant child they think I am. My emotions are completely muddled; I’m angry and frustrated and confused, and desperation is slowly devouring me from the inside. I know I need to do something; I just don’t know what.
However, the first thing I have to do is sit through at least fifteen more minutes of BS with Elizabeth. Then I can make my escape. Until then, I’m stuck here with my lying shrink, trying to convince her I’m okay.
I’m not good at lying. But I’m pretty good at not saying anything at all. So, here we are at a total impasse as I sit silently on her couch and try not to glare at her.
Or maybe just glare on the inside.
Part of me wishes I could spill everything, but after yesterday I know it’s impossible. I scoff inwardly at how close I came to telling her about making stuff out of thin air.
What would she have told Reese then? I vividly remember Reese’s all-too-serious question: Is she too damaged? If I had confessed it all, would Elizabeth have said yes?
“Why don’t you want to talk, Tavia?” Elizabeth asks, after I let too much time pass in silence. She’s calm and quiet, but I swear I can hear the frustration bubbling beneath the surface like a river of lava.
Or maybe it’s my imagination.
If it was, how would I know the difference?
“I have nothing to talk about,” I burst out, the thought of Quinn’s refusal to tell me anything unraveling my patience. “I don’t even know why I’m here; I’m fine!”
I rub my neck; it’s sore from carrying my lies, and the tight control I used to have on my temper is gone.
Now Elizabeth sighs and it sounds real, but I know better. “Tavia, I have no idea what’s changed, but I’ve lost your trust.”
Liar.
She straightens and then leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “I don’t know how to convince you that all I want is for you to be okay. You used to believe that.”
I did used to believe it. I wish I still did. She has no idea how much I wish it.
“You didn’t bring a new sketch.” Her voice is calm, casual. Her shrink voice.
That’s because you’d just show it to Reese and Jay. “I had homework,” I mumble, staring down at my fingers twisting around each other until they ache. Homework, creating things from thin air, the problem of two boys who’ve each laid claim to half my heart, whatever you want to call it.
“Have you seen Quinn again?” Elizabeth continues without pausing to give me a chance to deny it. “It would be natural to want to keep a new romance like this secret—special, I guess. But you know you can tell me anything.”
Right.
I sift through the last few days, wondering if there’s anything I can tell her—something true to keep her swallowing my lies.
But I hesitate too long. Her shrink instincts latch on and she pounces like a cat.
“Come on, Tavia. Talk to me,” Elizabeth pleads. “I know strange things are happening to you. That’s what I’m here for. To help you understand.” She reaches out and grabs my wrist before I can draw away, her fingers tight against my skin. “I want you to understand, Tave. Everything. But you’ve got to give me something to work with.”
“Th-there isn’t anything,” I insist, pulling my hand back hard. But even if the stutter hadn’t given me away, my words are obviously a lie. “I haven’t seen him.”
Elizabeth studies me for a long time until I squirm. I don’t like the look in her eye.
Not because it looks dangerous, but because it looks safe.
She’s as good an actress as Reese—maybe better. I meet her eyes and all I can see is genuine
fondness, a real concern and desire to help.
Maybe I want it so badly I’m making myself see it.
Or maybe I’m just easy to trick. The last eight months certainly support that theory.
But those eyes …
“Are we done?” I barely whisper the words, but it’s enough of a distraction to let me rip my gaze away from hers—to break the hypnotic influence she seems to have on me. Our session is less than half over, but we’ve always had the rule that I can leave if I feel the need.
And I am feeling the need.
“Are we?” she asks.
I don’t look at her; I can’t. I just nod and pick up my backpack from beside the couch and tromp to the door.
“I … I’ve been speaking with your aunt lately,” Elizabeth says, stopping me.
I manage to not snort in derision.
But only just.
“And I know she’s gone on an important business trip for a couple days.” Elizabeth hesitates and my nerves are suddenly tingly. I glance back, my fingertips resting on the doorknob, itching to escape.
Something’s crackling in the air—a change—and it frightens me.
“When she returns, we’re going to try a different method of … of therapy. I think you’ll like it,” she adds.
I nod and my fingers pull on the knob, granting me my escape. I slip through the doorway without opening it fully, hoping she doesn’t see the quaver in my now-weak knees.
They’re really going to try it, the pull or whatever it’s called—the thing that she’s afraid will fry my brain.
Thoughts of electricity and hot acid float through my head and I try not to dwell on them—surely she wouldn’t.
But then, what the hell do I know about what Elizabeth would and wouldn’t do?
I fight the urge to run out of the office as her words echo through my head. I don’t know how to convince you that all I want is for you to be okay. You used to believe that.
Am I so gullible that I believe everything I hear?
Maybe.
As I step out from under the awning in front of the office building—it’s raining again, of course—I pull my hood up against the wind and the drizzling mist, blocking out my peripheral vision. I almost miss the guy standing on the northern corner of the parking lot.
I’d have ignored him entirely if I didn’t—even in my panic-driven haze—recognize him.
Recognize his sunglasses.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fear courses through me and I avoid looking at him and start walking toward the library.
When I catch sight of him again, he’s walking casually, a good block back, but it’s the second turn he’s followed me around. His black pullover—almost identical to my own—blends in with the sparse foot traffic, but it’s not hard to pick him out.
Still. I don’t want to be paranoid. There is the slightest of possibilities that we just happen to be going the same place.
Twice.
In the same morning.
I hesitate and then turn left instead of right—it’ll only extend my walk by a couple of blocks, but I don’t want to lead him straight to the library.
My steps slow as I approach the first corner on my new route and I sneak a peek behind me. I don’t see him yet.
Slower.
Slower.
Angling to the right, I glance up the sidewalk from beneath my lashes. Just as I’m about to step out of sight he comes around the corner, his eyes darting about. I snap my face away and begin power-walking again.
Terror ratchets through my legs, tingling in my toes, and I wonder briefly if it was a really bad idea to slow down enough to see him, if I should have gone with my gut and made my escape while I had a chance.
Problem is, I don’t trust my gut anymore. It was wrong about Reese, it was wrong about Elizabeth.
And while I wasn’t exactly wrong about Benson, I apparently was misreading him.
And I don’t even know where my gut stands with Quinn.
But now that I’m sure this guy is following me, I want to hide. Flee. Or maybe … to do something. It’s an instinct I don’t recognize as my own—or maybe just one I’d forgotten, after months of helplessness in a hospital bed and further months of painstakingly gradual recovery. Regardless, it’s unmistakable now. Do something.
But what?
Make something, I finally realize, identifying the unfamiliar urge. But I reject the possibility. No. Not a chance.
I duck into the doorway of a colorful candy shop, hoping to maybe lose Sunglasses Guy that way. After a minute or so a very tall man walks past the door going the opposite direction I had been walking and I decide to fall into step just behind him, use him as a human shield. I’ll follow him to the end of the block, then double back on another street.
I stall, pretending to mess with the zipper on my backpack, then edge into the crowd so close behind him that I almost step on the heels of his shoes. Even with his head hunched down and the way he pulls his coat around him like he’s tired—or sick, maybe—the man is huge and makes me feel safe and hidden.
Until he flickers.
Just like that lady the day I ran into the wall.
I draw in a loud breath but manage to keep walking. I glance around me, but no one else seems to have noticed. I look at the tall man again, his back broad and solid. He’s still hiding me.
I squint, focusing on him, waiting for it to happen again.
But I don’t expect him to disappear entirely.
I stop walking and someone plows right into me, making me stagger forward.
“Watch it,” the woman says, hardly glancing back as she and her boyfriend step aside and keep walking.
I whip around. No one else even pauses.
They didn’t see him disappear? But he was really tall—and now it’s like he was never even here. Like he blinked out of existence.
I tighten my fists over my backpack straps and face forward, trying to walk evenly—I have to get to Benson, I think. He’ll help. Good sense manages to pierce through my panic and I begin counting so my limp doesn’t make me conspicuous.
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
I’ve completely lost sight of my tail, and I don’t dare look around to check.
I’m about two blocks from the library when the sky bursts open and starts really pouring on me. “Wonderful,” I mutter under my breath. “Just fan-freaking-tabulous.”
I’m soaked in seconds—as if the world seriously wants to spite me—but I can see the library now and it looks like a sanctuary. I know it’s not, not really—Sunglasses Guy can go in there too.
But Benson is inside and he makes me feel safe.
Nervous sweat trickles down my back as I reach the stairs and adrenaline fuels my steps. I pull the entrance door too hard and it clatters against the wall behind it, earning me the attention of every library patron within earshot.
Great.
I’m soaked to the bone as I step into the warm lobby, wishing I didn’t look quite so bedraggled. Benson is by my side before I can take more than about three steps and I want to throw my arms around him, hold myself against his chest until the trembling stops.
The impulse shocks me into stillness. I shouldn’t want Benson so strongly—especially after having just seen Quinn this morning—Quinn, who makes my chest ache with longing and my mind spin in bliss.
So why do I?
I don’t know. But I keep coming back to the burn of Benson’s lips on mine, the possessive way his arms wound around me, how warm it felt to have his body pressed against me. I look up at him and know the sheen of wanting is shining in my eyes. But I don’t have the energy to hide it.
“You okay?” he asks, his face lined with concern. “Rough morning?”
Tell no one. “You could say that,” I grumble.
The main doors open, and just past Benson’s shoulder I catch a glimpse of dark hair. I take half a step to my right to put Benson’s admittedly slim profile between us and p
eek out.
Black pullover and sunglasses.
He found me.
“Can we go to your office?” I ask, desperation in my voice. “Right now? Please?”
“Yeah, sure,” Benson says, looking confused. He doesn’t ask any more questions, though, and leads me zigzagging across the floor, through the study tables, to the doorway of a barely closet-size alcove.
With a fast but searching glance behind me, I sit in the chair across from Benson and shove my backpack underneath the table. Then I scoot to the side of the chair, attempting to hunch out of view.
“If it’s about yesterday, we can find another way to get some privacy,” Benson whispers—his office doesn’t have a door, or even a proper doorway, so it would be ridiculously easy for someone to overhear us. “We could even go somewhere else if you wanted—”
“It’s not about that,” I murmur. But just bringing up yesterday makes my head pound. It was too strong a mix of amazing and devastating. I sit up and within seconds am squishing a stress ball first in one fist and then the other. I’ve passed it back and forth a few times before I realize I created it without even thinking. Horrified, I thrust it onto Benson’s desk, where it rolls innocently across the uneven surface until it collides with a pile of paper clips.
Benson leans forward, reaching for my hand, doing his best to ignore the yellow ball. “Are you okay?”
My nod is more than a little spasmodic and I pull my hand out of reach. My thoughts are caught in a whirlpool of confusion and I can’t let the touch of his skin make things worse. I begin to wonder if this is what having a mental breakdown feels like.
“Are you sure? Because, um, you’re sweating.” He looks meaningfully at my forehead and I realize I didn’t even feel the drop of sweat that’s now tickling my cheek. I lift my sleeve to wipe it away, feeling gross.
“Benson?” My throat freezes and I can’t continue.
“Yes?” he says after a long pause.
“Remember the man I told you about?” I say it before my jaw can clamp shut against the words.
“You mean … Quinn?”
“No.” Please don’t mention Quinn. I can’t talk about Quinn. Not just yet. “No, the man with the sunglasses; the one who I’ve seen a couple times.”
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