I'm face to face with none other than Hershey Eyes.
Chapter Six
"YOU!" I say with force.
"You!" he echoes.
So ridonkulous that we both do that you/you thing. Obviously for different reasons, though. Me because it's the living, breathing vision of Hershey Eyes, and him because he's all Mr. Attitude about his frickin' guitar.
"You're that klutz from the airport," he says.
"And you're the idiot who keeps putting his shit on the floor."
He pulls back somewhat in surprise. "Do you have any idea how valuable that ax is?"
I crinkle my brow. "I thought it was a guitar."
He rolls his gorgeous dark chocolate brown eyes and his black eyebrows lift. "An ax is a guitar."
"Oh." I stab my fists to my sides, pulling my T-shirt a little too tightly against the girls. "Whatever it is, if it's so important and so valuable, why do you continue to leave it where people can fall over it?"
"I was told someone would be taking my bags to my room."
His lips are moving, but I've ceased hearing what he's saying. My heart slams away in my chest like a demolition crew whacking down a condemned building. I actually dreamed about this guy. Just like I did about Jason Tillson coming into my life. How is that possible? Then I harrumph to myself. Anything's possible when you're a psychic/sensitive/medium/empath. Hello! Does this mean that Hershey Eyes and I are going to hook up, like Jason and I did? I don't think so. Sure, this guy is a babe in his own right—those eyes with the perfectly formed jet-black eyebrows over them and the absurdly long charcoal eyelashes that have no business being gifted to a guy—but he's rude and is totally Mr. Attitude. Where are his manners? Can't he just apologize and be nice about the whole tripping incident?
He snaps his fingers in front of me. "Hello? Are you even listening?"
"Huh? What? Sorry. What were you saying?"
He shakes his sort of long hair that just reaches the neck of his black T-shirt. "Never mind. So what's the deal here?"
Questions start roller-coastering in my mind, up and down, side to side. "Why did you just now get here?"
"My driver took a detour and ended up on the ninety-nine in massive traffic."
I bite my bottom lip and nod. "Why didn't we just ride in the same car? You know, since we were at the airport at the same time?"
He lifts his arms. "Beats me. Does it really matter?"
"Certainly not. I wouldn't want to be stuck in a car with you for that long of a ride."
He quirks a smile at me. "Ouch. Score one for the pretty brunette."
The flush on my cheeks moves down, gradually consuming my neck and chest. Why am I letting this jerk get to me? "So, do you want to, like, join the party or whatever?"
Smooooooth, Kendall.
"That's why I'm here."
I reach out to help pick up his guitar case, but he tenses. I see now that he's wearing leather gloves, like the ones my dad uses when he plays golf. I don't know whether this is some sort of a fashion trend where Hershey Eyes lives or if he's just waiting for his tee time at the nearest country club.
He notices me staring at his gloved hands and shoves them into the pockets of his jeans. "I'm fine here. You can get back to the party."
Trying not to be offended, I straighten. "Are you coming down?"
"Eventually."
"Okay then." Our eyes lock, and I sense my knees actually going weak, like they're suddenly made of Jell-O. Give me a break! I need to get some distance from Hershey Eyes, so I dash down the stairs and find Jessica and the Pucketts, who are trying to decide who the cutest guy here is.
"Check out the new guy," Maddie says to Erin with a nudge of her elbow.
I don't have to glance over my shoulder to know who it is.
"Who's he?" Harper asks.
"Yum," Jess notes. "Does it matter?"
"Are you all in heat?"Willow comments. "We don't have to go there."
Jess and the Pucketts just snicker.
I pick up my half-eaten hot dog and begin to cram it in my mouth just to have something to do. After I swallow, I concur with Willow. "We don't have to go there."
Jess winks over at the guys and says, "Oh, honey, we're definitely going there."
I manage to satiate my sudden appetite with an ear of corn and two fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. Glenn and Chris have shut down the grill, but they've started a small bonfire in a rock pit over in the clearing. The soft music tints the chilly night air, and I feel myself being drawn to the warmth of the flames. Everyone is making small talk, and people are meeting one another, so I snatch another Diet Coke from the cooler and decide to offer an olive branch to Hershey Eyes.
Even though it's after sundown, he's put his shades back on, blocking off those rich brown orbs from others' view. I go over to the chaises near the fire pit, where he's stretched out, wolfing down his third—yes, I counted—hot dog.
I extend my hand politely and say, "I'm Kendall Moorehead from Radisson, Georgia."
He looks at my hand like it's going to cause him physical pain if he takes it, so I pull it back to my side. Ohhhhh-kay.
"I just thought you should know my name, since you're, like, hating me and such." I add a smile to my snarky comment for good measure.
He lifts his gloved hand and puts the last bite of his hot dog in his mouth. "I'm Patrick Lynn," he mutters with his mouth full. "And I don't necessarily hate you."
Returning my ignored hand to my jean pocket, I lower myself to the chaise next to him. "I don't necessarily hate you either, so we're even."
"Fair enough." He actually follows that with a chuckle.
Time to try and make nice. "So where are you from, Patrick Lynn?"
Chewing the final bite of his hot dog seems to take a few moments, then he says, "I live on MacDill Air Force Base, just a bit south of Tampa."
"Ahh ... military brat."
"Yep. My whole life. Air Force has been all I've ever known. My dad used to be part of NASA."
"Whoa! Has he gone up on the space shuttle?"
Patrick shakes his head. "Nah ... he was supposed to, but his mission got scratched because of some horrendous storm or something. He mainly flies a computer terminal nowadays."
Fiddling with the tab of my soda, I say, "That must have been hard on him."
"He dealt with it. Just like he dealt with Mom leaving him. Sticking him with me and my kid brother, Brandon."
I want to reach out to him, but considering that he wouldn't even shake my hand with his gloves on, I figure he's got some sort of skin-to-skin phobia. Instead, I try to empathize. "I'm sorry about your mom. I lost my mom too. Well, my birth mom, that is. She died when she had me."
His head cocks toward me, but I can't see his eyes. "That's got to suck."
"It does. But the family who adopted me is wonderful."
"Well, you're lucky for that."
He toys with his gloves for a moment and then tugs off the right one. I think I'm going to get a makeup shake, but nothing of the sort. He just stares at his hand and taps the leather of the glove over his palm. We sit in silence, sipping our drinks and gazing up at the night sky, while others scurry around us making small talk.
As if on cue, we simultaneously move to place our soda cans on the small table between us. Our fingers touch and... bam! A spark. A jump. A minuscule moment of contact that could power an electric car. My skin completely tingles where it's touching his, and I try to read him, this quirky Patrick Lynn with the stray grays and protective cover. Suddenly, I know he's not the rude jerk he's pretending to be. There's more to Patrick Lynn. Much more. But there's a barrier. A reef of sorts, churning information like rolling waves that slap at me. He's ... blocking me. A wall of energy gushes from him, nearly knocking me back in the chaise with its force. Patrick is trying to cover up something and hide himself from the rest of the group under that knit cap, gloves, and shades.
"Stop," he says firmly, jerking his hand away and plunging it into the
safe haven of his leather glove.
"Stop what?" I ask innocently.
"Don't try to read me, Kendall."
"I'm ... I'm ... er ... I wasn't..."
"Yeah, you were. Leave it alone."
"It's just that—" Oh, well. He busted me. Maybe it's not the nicest thing to try to read someone you just met. "Sorry."
He wets his lips with his tongue and lets out a sigh. "So am I. Believe me. So am I."
Before I can ask what he means by that, Chris rings a loud bell to gather all of us together. Patrick stands. Reluctantly, I stand too and follow Patrick to the group. Jess pats the bench next to her and motions me over with her head. Although I can't actually see Patrick's eyes, I feel them on my back as I make my way through the small group and take a seat.
He's got secrets and questions, of that I'm sure. Hopefully our host for the week can provide the answers for him. I know I can't. It's weird enough that I had visions of him. I can't be his salvation too, and I shouldn't even try.
Chris steps up and speaks loudly to all of us.
"Kids, I'm thrilled to introduce you to the host of your Enlightened Youth Retreat. From television's Ethereal Evidence, help me welcome psychic and medium Oliver Bates!"
We break into applause and the outside lamps of the complex click on as bright as airplane lights. At the top of the staircase I just went up and down stands a man in a black suit and a gray-striped shirt. He makes his way down the steps, careful not to trample the elephant ferns like I did. At the bottom, he waves.
"Welcome to all of you!" he says.
I may not be sure of a lot of things, but of this I'm certain: "Oliver Bates is much shorter in real life than he is on television," I whisper to Jess.
"Shhhh."
"I'm like five-six on a good day, and I bet I'm taller than him."
She growls, "I said, shhhh."
"That's the illusion of television for you."
"Kendall, would you be quiet."
I stifle my giggle and pay attention. Oliver walks through our crowd of thirteen and shakes everyone's hand. He knows our names on sight. I don't know whether that's because he's psychic or because he read our applications and memorized our information.
Standing in front of me, he smiles kindly and offers me his hand. "Kendall Moorehead. I'm so glad we could fit you in for this week."
"Thanks, Mr. Bates"
"Call me Oliver."
"Okay ... wow, then—Oliver. I appreciate your having me."
He covers our joined hands with his other one and pats for a second. He's connecting with me somehow, but the transfer of information is one-way. I'm not sure why he's doing this, so I try that blocking thing that Patrick did on me earlier, sending out a mental barrier. Oliver pauses and then smiles at me.
"Very well, Kendall. We'll talk soon." And then he moves on to Jessica.
Did he sense my fear, like dogs can? Probably so. Who knows?
Oliver finishes his handshaking and returns to the bottom of the stairs. "You've all come here for your own reasons. I won't try to pick them apart right now, but there are some of you here blocking your abilities. There are others who don't understand them. Some who doubt. Many who question. And that's what I'm here for. We've got an interesting week ahead of us at the lovely Rose Briar Inn. Chris and Glenn will be taking care of you twenty-four/seven in terms of the hotel, food, and general hospitality. You'll meet the counselors in the morning and they'll be the ones to help you along your path, whether it be to hone your psychic abilities, read auras, dabble with reading tarot or runes, dowsing or divining, healing, whatever you need counseling on. There will be group and individual sessions, group discussions, meditation, and my favorite thing, a very special field trip."
"Where to?" Maddie asks Jess and me.
Oliver shifts his eyes to Maddie. "For now it's a secret, but I will tell you it's very spiritual, emotional, and quite moving. It's where you'll face your biggest fear when it comes to your abilities. What it is that might be holding you back or scaring you. And it's where you'll find additional guidance to help you through it. That's what you're here for. To enlighten yourself. Not until you truly accept the particular gift you've been given will you be able to fully use it to help others"
This certainly isn't something I haven't heard before from Loreen and Father Massimo. But my parents paid good money for me to be here, so I won't block myself anymore and will try to be more open-minded to what Oliver and his staff have in store for us.
This is one of those times that I truly miss Emily. My spirit guide ... my mother. She'd have something smart, comforting, and appropriate to say at this moment. It makes no sense to me how her spirit was with me my whole life, but as soon as I figured out she was there, she left. She passed into the light. Just when I needed her most. I've lost my mother twice. Maybe that's something Oliver can help me accept and move past.
"We all have things we have to accept and move past," I hear next to me.
My head snaps up and I see Patrick right there. His sunglasses are up on his forehead, revealing the deep, dark eyes that seem to go on for miles. Speechless, I feel I could drown in their depths. I chortle in spite of myself and my thoughts.
He jerks to attention and hurriedly tugs his sunglasses into place. "Drowning's no laughing matter, Kendall."
Is he reading my thoughts?
Hot flames paint my cheeks, and the animal instinct part of me chooses flight instead of fight when I see my roommate and the other kids headed toward the cabins.
"Jess! Wait up!" I call out. "See you in the morning, Patrick."
"Bright and early, I'm sure."
Jess loops her arm through mine and drags me in the direction of our cabin. " What is up with you and the intense guy?"
"Nothing!" I snap. "Not a damn thing."
Laughter spills out of Jess. "Oh, honey. I'm not a psychic, but even I can tell something's going to happen with you two."
My intuition tells me that she's right.
Chapter Seven
I'M FLOATING AWAY. In clouds, perhaps? No ... in waves.
Peaceful, lapping water—or is it? Menacing salty fingers grab at me. The churning foam of the ocean pulls and tugs my limbs, drawing me into its depths. Sea foam green that looks so pretty as a wall color but terrifying as a grave marker.
Help me! Help! I call out.
Who can hear me? who can help me?
Oh no, not again. Not another disaster on the horizon of my life.
Can anyone save me? Can I save myself?
Through the mirrored haze of confusion, I see him. Hershey Eyes. No, he has a real name. Patrick. Patrick Lynn. His eyes are so deep and mysterious that they beckon and call to me even in my darkest hour.
He kisses me. Lips so cool. Attitude to match.
"I've got you, Kendall."
Words I've heard before, only not from him.
The strained buzz from the monitor signaling the end of life. A sound I've heard before. A sound that represented my heart.
Only now my heart cries out for...
"Ahhh!"
I bolt straight up in bed. Sweat covers me, imprinting my shape on the pink sheets of cabin 14 at the Rose Briar Inn.
"Kendall?" Jess asks softly from her side of the room. "Are you okay?"
Slowing my rapid breathing, I say, "Yeah. I guess." I tug the black elastic from my wrist and wrench my long hair up into a messy ponytail/bun thing to get it off my moist neck.
"Nightmare?"
"Something like that." Or the most heavenly dream ever of being kissed by Patrick Lynn. Must block that thought before 8:00 a.m. arrives and he can read me over my morning waffles.
"I have vivid dreams too," Jess admits. "I think it's a teenage thing. Rite of passage and all. Especially for kids like us. Our minds are so active when we sleep. We're working out a lot of shit in our subconscious, you know?"
I snicker. "Some rite of passage. Can't I just, like, have to toilet paper someone's house or clean a bathroo
m with a toothbrush like they do in fraternities and sororities?"
"Nah," she says. "Hazing like that got outlawed years ago. Teenagehood is sheer torture. We just have to deal with it. Sooner or later, we'll be out of it and be adults in the work force trying to pay our mortgage, take out the garbage, feed our kids and get them to Scouts and soccer. We'll worry and stress about bills and pray we won't get laid off from our jobs, all the time wishing we were teenagers again."
She's got a point.
"Go back to sleep, Jess. Sorry."
It's not long before my roommate's soft snore sounds in the room.
I stare at the clock; it reads 1:11 a.m., 4:11 a.m. back home. Sleep does not come quickly ... or last long.
Before I know it, Ms. Morning Person, Jessica Spencer, is bouncing off the walls like she's had about ten 5-Hour Energy drinks.
"Good mooooorning, Kendall," she sings out. "It's a beautiful day in the mountains with the sun shining and the trees waving to us."
I crack my eyes open. "Are you on some sort of mood-altering medication?"
"Fresh air, baby, fresh air. I've grown up with the smog of the LA area. You've got to give me this."
"Whatever," I say with a snicker. I swing my feet around and drag my East Coast ass out of bed. Jess is already showered, madeup, and dressed to go. I forgo a shower and drag the brush through my unruly, tangled curls. I throw on a woven tank top and my jeans after I brush my teeth and spray a little Secret on. I follow Jess out of the cabin and up to breakfast, wondering what exactly the day will bring.
"What am I smelling?" Harper Puckett asks when we all enter the large kitchen.
Chris is hard at work at the stove, oven mitts covering both her hands. "You kids sit at the table and help yourself to coffee, juice, or whatever."
Evan Christian, Ricky, and Carl all tromp in and join us at the table. I'm so not a coffee drinker, but following last night's lack of slumber, I'm going to need all of the caffeine I can get. I pour the thick black liquid into a mug and dump about five teaspoons of sugar in before topping it off with maybe half a cup of cream. Ahhh ... there, now that nasty, bitter coffee taste is covered up.
"Everyone sleep well?" Chris asks.
The Counseling Page 5