The Watcher

by Lisa Voisin

“Of course!” she replied, then noticed the necklace in my hands. “Oh! Where’d you get that?”

  “I don’t know. It was in my locker. There’s no note.”

  “Maybe it’s from Damiel.” Heather handled the necklace carefully, admiring it. “For your date tomorrow night.”

  She handed it back just as Elaine came down the hall, and I quickly slid it into my school bag. I didn’t need to give Elaine a reason for more gossip. If Damiel was giving me gifts, he could be more serious than I thought. I should give it back to him and break off the date so I wouldn’t lead him on.

  As if on cue, Damiel came to see me before English class to confirm our plans. It was the perfect opportunity to cancel our plans and return the necklace, but I hesitated. I could hear my name being whispered in the back of the room; I’m pretty sure it was Elaine. Michael nodded at me encouragingly, as if he knew what I was about to do. Damiel turned to him and wordlessly touched my hand. A rush of heat shot through me so fast it made me queasy, and the smile Damiel gave me melted my worries.

  It was dinner. That was all. What was the big deal in that? Sure, Michael had warned me, but how bad could it be? Standing there in jeans and a T-shirt, Damiel looked dangerous all right, but in a different kind of way—a good way. Definitely not the Ugly.

  “You still want to come, don’t you?” he asked. “It’ll cheer you up.” When I nodded my assent, his smile grew even bigger and he went back to his desk.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw disappointment on Michael’s face as he sat in the row adjacent to mine. I didn’t want to disappoint him, but I also hadn’t agreed to anything. I’d been warned, though, whatever that meant. But why had it been so hard to say no to Damiel in the first place? Michael had said it would be. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t bring myself to look at either of them for the rest of the class.

  ***

  As soon as I got home from school, I sent Bill an e-mail asking him if he could look up Damiel online to see what he could find out. If he had a criminal record or a dangerous past, surely there would be some clues out there. I gave Bill all the information I had on Damiel: his approximate age, a physical description, and the fact that he had recently enrolled at Westmont High. I wasn’t surprised to find Bill online. He messaged me immediately, asking Who is this guy? and Is he a new boyfriend?

  Recalling how he’d offered to “take care of” any guy who hurt me, I reassured him not to worry, that this was just someone at school. He didn’t need to know I had an actual date, but I wanted to find out what I could. Damiel seemed so open, and yet his side of the story was so different from Michael’s. Could he have been lying, as Michael had said?

  My online chat with Bill took longer than I expected, so I had to rush to get ready for the movie. Mom and I had such opposite schedules lately that we had taken to leaving each other notes on the fridge. I quickly wrote her one. If she was worried, she could always text me.

  Since I was planning to have a lot of popcorn, I had only a snack for dinner: a couple of slices of cheese and an apple. Deciding to dress up, I wore a skirt and tights and kept my hair down. On a whim, I put on the necklace. If it was from Damiel, I would give it back to him the next night. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t wear it first.

  Farouk picked me up at six, and I was surprised to see that he’d dressed up too. It made him look a lot more grown-up than usual. I also liked how at ease he was. All the weirdness from earlier was gone. We were just friends, hanging out.

  The movie theater was noisy and dimly lit, with bright flashing lights around the concession stand. The line-up wasn’t long, but the short, freckled girl working there had trouble with our three separate orders. She jumbled them up and got flustered. As the line grew quickly behind us, she got even more nervous.

  While Farouk helped her figure out the change, Michael walked into the theater. At first I was so captivated by him that I didn't notice he was with someone: a tall, gorgeous girl with honey-colored hair. She seemed strangely familiar. A sharp pain seized my chest. This had to be Michael’s girlfriend.

  “Mia?” Farouk asked.

  Realizing I’d been staring, I spun back to face him.

  I’m pretty sure my emotions were clearly visible on my face, because he stiffened and muttered something in Farsi under his breath; I don’t think it was complimentary. “We should go find Heather,” he suggested.

  I nodded and was about to leave, but it was too late.

  “Mia,” Michael said, approaching us. When he smiled at me, his entire face lit up. You’d never know we’d had an almost argument earlier that morning, or that I’d disappointed him by not breaking off my date with Damiel.

  “You know Farouk,” I said, afraid my sadness over his being there with his girlfriend might show.

  Michael gave him a nod. “I do. Hi.”

  Farouk held up the bags of popcorn he was carrying and said flatly, “I’d shake your hand, but…”

  “Quite a lot of popcorn,” he said. If he noticed Farouk’s snub, he was ignoring it.

  “We’re here with the rest of the gang,” I said, raising my drinks awkwardly.

  The girl Michael was with gave me a beautiful, warm smile, and I realized where I’d seen her before. She was the girl I’d talked to at the café that day I’d gone there with Bill.

  “That’s a pretty necklace,” she said.

  “Thanks.” I touched it self-consciously, not wanting her calling too much attention to it. The fact it probably came from Damiel would only cause another argument between Michael and me.

  “Yeah.” Michael leaned in to take a closer look. “It looks Turkish.”

  “It’s Persian,” Farouk said, edging closer, until he practically stood between us. “My sister Fatima gave it to her.”

  “Fatima?” I asked. When he nodded, I tried to hide my sudden relief.

  “Well, it’s very nice,” the girl said, then turned to Michael. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  I wasn’t sure if I should say anything about how we’d sort of met before when she spoke to me in the café. Obviously she didn’t recognize me. Why should she? She was the one who looked like a Victoria’s Secret model. People probably noticed her all the time.

  “Of course,” Michael said. A flattering shade of pink touched his cheeks as he turned to me. “Mia, this is Arielle, and Arielle, this is Mia and Farouk.”

  We exchanged polite hellos. Then Arielle said to me, “Michael’s told me about you.”

  I instantly tensed, almost spilling the drinks I was carrying. Surely he hadn’t told her about the ridiculous crush I had on him, or that I was going on a date with his arch-enemy. Michael kept his relaxed smile, his face unreadable.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Yeah, he mentioned you’d had a nasty fall in the woods, I guess it was a few weeks ago now,” she said. “How are you healing up?”

  “Quickly,” I replied, relieved he hadn’t mentioned anything else, then added as if I was his PR person, “Michael was really helpful. I don’t know how I would have gotten out of that creek without him.”

  She smiled sweetly at him. “That’s our Michael.”

  Was it me, or was he uncomfortable receiving the praise? He crossed his arms over his chest, looking positively gorgeous. “You would have done the same thing,” he said to her.

  “We should probably get inside,” I suggested to Farouk, “before the movie starts.”

  We exchanged polite goodbyes and went off to find our seats. Heather waved when she saw us, happy that her night out was going so well—considering. Even Dean, playing a pre-movie trivia game with Jesse, seemed cheerful. As for me, I had a 400-pound sumo wrestler sitting on my chest. It wasn’t until after the opening credits, when we were well into the movie’s first scene, that I let myself cry. Fortunately, the movie grabbed everyone’s attention and whisked them away, so I had time to pull myself together before they noticed.

  On the ride home, Farouk played the movie highlights over in conve
rsation, and I was grateful for the recap. I hadn’t been paying attention. Neither of us mentioned Michael, or Fiona for that matter.

  When we pulled up in front of my house, Farouk said, “I’m glad you wore the necklace. It suits you.”

  “It’s beautiful! I love it,” I exclaimed. “It’s really sweet that she thought of me.”

  “It’s a Hamsa—a ward against the evil eye.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a type of protection from people sending you bad thoughts. You know, when people are jealous or wish you harm.”

  “I could sure use that,” I said, thinking first of Elaine, then Fiona. Had someone been sending her bad vibes?

  “We sell them at my father’s store. They’ve even been blessed by an imam—a Muslim priest.” He gave me a shy grin. “I guess that must sound odd to you.”

  I shook my head. Who was I to judge his beliefs?

  “You know how I told you about her gift the other day?”

  “Yeah,” I said, remembering how he thought I was seeing things. I still didn’t want to talk about it.

  “She thinks that someone means to harm you, and that wearing the necklace will protect you.”

  Invisible, icy cold fingers danced up my spine. “Oh.”

  “I hope it brings you luck.”

  Chapter Eleven

  In my dream, Michael and I walked hand in hand up an arid, grassy hill. Sheep grazed in the meadows, and gardens stretched out like patchwork blankets below. Heat waves shimmered in the air around us, and the sky shone a crystalline shade of blue. Halfway up the hill, Michael stopped. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulled me close until our bodies grazed each other’s—not quite touching. I pressed myself into him. At first his kiss was gentle. Then those kisses became hungry, intense.

  A voice in my dream said: Open your eyes.

  When I did, I was surrounded by darkness, and I wasn’t with Michael anymore. I was with Damiel. Startled, I tried to back away, but he was so strong I couldn’t move. His smile sharpened, the corners of his mouth pulling fiendishly tight, and his brown eyes glowed red. I got the sense his hunger had nothing to do with kissing. He put his hand over my heart and it lurched, as though it would rip out of my chest. I gasped, pushing away from him with all my strength, but I was starting to weaken…

  ***

  As she pulled her mom’s minivan into Fiona’s driveway, Heather cleared her throat so loud it made me jump. I’d spaced out.

  Fiona lived with her mom and dad in a big, modern house with huge windows overlooking Puget Sound, and the view from their living room was incredible, especially today. The sun peeked through the clouds and beamed rays of light onto the water below like something from an inspirational greeting card. Fiona sat on her bed, fully dressed, reading a horror novel. A large gauze bandage was taped to her left wrist; she must have gotten stitches.

  When she saw us, she sprang off the bed, her arms outstretched to hug both of us at once.

  “So good to see you guys!” Fiona said.

  “You too.” I hugged her.

  Heather backed away first. “I’m so sorry,” she said. I wondered where she was going with this. “You’re my friend. I should have—”

  Fiona cut her off. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to put everyone through this. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just…” She sat back down on the bed. When she looked up at us, her eyes were shining and wet. “Don’t know what happened. I really don’t.”

  Heather sat on the bed and put an arm around Fiona. I grabbed the chair near the vanity table. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re going to get through this together.”

  Fiona shook her off. “You don’t get it. I’ve been sad in my life, sure, but I’ve never been depressed. Over the last few days, I’ve been examined by doctors, psychiatrists, psycho-everything and all they could say is I didn’t fit the profile for a suicide attempt. My mom was ready to think I did it for attention.” She choked out a sob. “But I didn’t.”

  I’d never seen Fiona so emotional before, and it worried me. Was she denying what happened? “Hey,” I said. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it. We can just hang out.”

  “No, I want you guys to believe me. Nobody believes me! I’m not crazy, okay? I know it sounds nuts, but when I was in the changing room… You know me—I’m afraid of kitchen knives. I don’t even know where it came from. It may have been my hand holding the knife, but it wasn’t me in there.” She took in a deep breath and let it out, shaking her head. “Then, as soon as I…cut myself…it’s like I came around. I tried to stop the bleeding and couldn’t. I called out and Ms. Callou came to help.”

  “Dissociation,” Heather muttered under her breath.

  “Heather,” I said. “Now isn’t the time for psychoanalysis!”

  My mind flashed back to that morning when Damiel spoke to Fiona in the hall. He was so intense, and she didn’t seem herself.

  “I believe you,” I said to Fiona. “I saw you that morning. You looked sad.”

  “I was sad that morning. All I could think was what a loser I am, and how no guy could ever want me. Not Dean. Not anyone.”

  “You’re a total babe, Fi! Don’t you ever forget it.” Heather put an arm around Fiona’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “Have you talked to Dean?”

  “Yeah. We’re good, I think,” she said. Grinning, she grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “He’s coming over later.”

  I couldn’t shake the image of Damiel whispering in Fiona’s ear. I wasn’t sure if now was the right time to bring it up but I had to know. “Did Damiel say something to you?”

  “Damiel? No. He’s never really spoken to me other than to say hi.” Fiona leaned forward tapping her foot. “Why? Did he say something?”

  “No. Not at all.” I wasn’t quite sure what to say next. Hadn’t she seen him?

  Heather cut in. “Mia’s got a date with him tonight.”

  “Oh my God! Really? You lucky—”

  “About that…” I began. I couldn’t go out with Damiel, not if he’d said something that hurt my friend. But if he did, she didn’t seem to remember it. While I thought I saw him talking to her, I could be wrong. Maybe it was just my imagination. Was I the one going insane?

  “Don’t you dare cancel that date,” Fiona said. “I want to hear all about it.”

  While the idea of going out with Damiel felt far from right, I agreed to go. My gut was telling me there had to be some kind of link between Fiona’s suicide attempt and what I saw that day. Even if he hadn’t been in the hallway talking to her, I must have seen something. Farouk had said his sister had visions of future events. Maybe I was having them, too. What if he was going to talk to her later and that was what I saw? Some possible future event. It was almost too strange to consider. The only way to know for sure was to ask Damiel. He had answers, and I wanted to know what they were.

  If he was as dangerous as Michael said, I needed some kind of backup plan, someone who could come and help if I needed it.

  “Can I ask you a favor?” I said to Heather when we were on the ride home.

  She turned down the car stereo and checked the rear-view mirror. “You know you can.”

  “Can you call me tonight at eight, just to check in?” I asked. I didn’t want to worry Heather with the reason why, not without proof, but I figured if she called me I could make up an excuse to get out of there.

  “You mean a bail-out call?” she said, her attention focused on the road. “I doubt you’ll be bored.”

  “Probably not,” I said. Being bored was the least of my worries. “You will call, though? At exactly eight o’clock.”

  “Of course.”

  After she dropped me off at home and I was alone, I tried to convince myself that the sweaty palms and tightness in my chest were just nerves, but I knew it wasn’t true. Something about going out with Damiel, alone, seemed really wrong. It was misleading, and I didn’t want to do that. What I wanted were an
swers, but I didn’t know how else to get them.

  To bolster myself, I decided to wear the temporary tattoo Heather had given me. I’d been saving it for a special occasion, and for some reason tonight felt like I needed to have wings. Wearing my hair up would even show them off. I was so curious about how they’d look, I applied them right away. It took a little while to center them between my shoulder blades and the nape of my neck, but when I was done, they looked amazing.

  I put on a little black dress. It was cut low in the front and back, so you could see the tattoo, but not too low. Soft and comfortable, it hugged my curves without being too clingy and looked good with my high black boots. My hair was tied up, and I was putting on eye shadow when the doorbell rang. Startled, I checked my watch; it was only 6:55. Was Damiel early? I double-checked myself in the mirror. I still needed mascara at the very least. He would simply have to wait on the sofa while I finished.

  The knock on the door came again. Determined to not let the idea of seeing Damiel intimidate me, I flung the door open.

  “Michael.” I almost fell back on my heels. “What are you doing here?”

  He scanned my outfit with a quiet intensity that made the skin on my neck flush. Catching himself, he focused on my boots and let out his breath. “I’ve been sent.”

  “What do you mean you’ve been sent?” I demanded. “Who sent you?”

  He raised his hands as though I held him at gunpoint. “I’ve come to talk. May I come in?”

  I’d forgotten how tall he was. He towered over me, and I couldn’t help but notice how clear his eyes were, how even the dim porch light played off his skin, making it glow. His hair shone almost black.

  “I’m still getting ready,” I said, moving out of the doorway and leaving him to close the door while I put on a light.

  He cleared his throat. “Nice tattoo.”

  “It’s not real,” I said, turning back to face him. “I can’t get a real one ’til I’m eighteen.”

  “Wings, huh?”

  “Yeah. I had this dream about them once. It meant a lot to me.” It seemed natural to tell him, as though he’d understand. But when he looked away with a wry grin, I regretted saying anything. “Why are you here?”