Keeper

by Kim Chance

  “Mom! Mom!”

  I ran through the darkness, my arms reaching and clawing through the blackness in front of me, but touching nothing. “Mom, where you?”

  Her face appeared, the one that looked so much like my own, but the lovely smile I’d seen in pictures was gone. Her lips were curled back in a scream, her eyes seeing beyond me.

  “Lainey!” she cried. “Run!”

  I didn’t wait to see what the danger was. I ran as fast as I could in the darkness, my mother’s frantic voice in my ear. “Run, Lainey!”

  I saw a sphere of light ahead, and I dashed toward it. It bobbed against the darkness, and I threw myself forward, desperate to catch the light.

  I landed on a patch of grass.

  Trees surrounded me on three sides. In front of me was a large white plantation house.

  And standing in front of the house was my mother. Fear still danced in her eyes, but there was a calmness about her.

  “Mom?” I didn’t understand what was happening.

  She stepped toward me, holding out her hand. I reached for her, but someone stepped out from behind me, getting to my mother before I had the chance to grasp her outstretched fingers.

  The bloody woman from the road turned to face me, her bright green eyes trained on my face. She held out a hand to me, the emerald amulet around her neck glowing brightly. “Lainey.”

  “Leave me alone!” I screeched, shoving past her. “Mom!”

  But my mother was already gone.

  Sweat poured down my face and neck as I sat straight up in bed. Gasping for a breath of air, I gripped the wad of crumpled bedsheets and waited for it to fill my lungs. A few seconds passed and I could breathe, but I couldn’t shake the images of my mother and the bloody woman from my nightmare.

  The photograph of my mother and father sat on my bedside table. A silver stream of moonlight fell perfectly against the picture, illuminating my mother’s face. My eyes focused on the emerald amulet around her neck.

  “What does it mean, Mom?” I whispered, hot tears filling my eyes. “What’s happening to me?”

  I sucked in another breath and fell back against my pillow, tearing my eyes away from the picture.

  I wish you were here, Mom.

  Come on,” I murmured. “Brew faster.”

  The next morning, I stood bleary-eyed next to the ancient lime-green coffeepot on the counter, gripping my empty mug like the Jaws of Life. I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but on mornings like this, when exhaustion clung to me like a second skin, I made an exception.

  I hadn’t slept well. No, that was an understatement. I hadn’t slept at all. Right after I’d crawled into bed, the familiar black spots had appeared and my mind started alternating between flashes of things I couldn’t explain and nightmares of my mother and the bloody woman.

  By the time the images had finally faded away, I couldn’t get my mind to shut off. Exhausted, I was depending on a cup—or two—of coffee to make me feel more human and less like a zombie.

  Refusing to wait any longer, I yanked the coffeepot out midstream. I ignored the hissing sound the coffee made when it hit the burner and filled my mug. The hot liquid nearly scalded my throat when I took a few desperate swigs, but knowing the caffeine was working its way through my system gave me the jump start I needed.

  Back upstairs, I dressed without really thinking about what I was putting on. I was aiming for comfort: a soft t-shirt, faded blue jeans, and red Chucks. My favorite black cardigan, however, was MIA. Swearing under my breath, I searched for an alternative. My eyes fell on the leather jacket lying on the corner of the bed. Ty’s jacket.

  It was absolutely ridiculous, but I had slept with the damn thing. The scent of spearmint and leather had been oddly comforting when I finally woke from the nightmares, and it occurred to me that it might have the same calming effect during daylight hours. So, given that I was feeling as cheerful as a cactus, I threw on the jacket and decided to hell with my sanity.

  A car horn sounded outside. I stomped down the stairs and grabbed my backpack from the landing. Outside, Maggie’s yellow ’74 VW beetle was idling by the curb, the engine sputtering and coughing.

  I yanked the rusted passenger door open and plopped down inside, throwing my bag onto the backseat.

  “Hey now, easy on ole Delilah! She’s fragile!” Maggie complained.

  “Excuse me, I forgot your car is practically a senior citizen.”

  “Well, good morning to you too, grumpy pants.” Maggie pursed her lips, trying not to laugh, and shifted into drive, the whole car vibrating and shaking. “Sorry I’m late, but you know Delilah’s not a morning person. It took a while to get her going.”

  I rolled my eyes. Delilah was about as reliable as a tin can. “Battery again?”

  “Yeah, needs a new connector. I’ll swing by Joe’s house later and see how far a few bats of my eyelashes will get me. I bet he has some spare parts from his dad’s shop.” She grinned wickedly, and I snorted.

  “You don’t play fair. Joe’s been in love with you since elementary school.”

  Maggie shrugged. “All’s fair in love and car repair.”

  I rolled my eyes again but did manage to crack a tiny smile.

  “So,” Maggie began after turning on the main road, “I see we’re going for the hot biker chick look today.” The smirk on her face was one of pure amusement.

  “Oh, don’t even start with me. I know it’s stupid, but—”

  “Hey now,” Maggie interrupted. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. If I managed to meet some gorgeous mystery guy in this town, I’d probably steal more than his jacket.” She waggled her eyebrows. She’d finally managed to coax out the details about my encounter with Ty and had done little else but tease me about it.

  “Oh, good gravy!” I said, the tips of my ears growing hot. “I didn’t steal it. He left it. I’m just . . . keeping it for him till he wants it back.”

  “Keeping it warm, you mean?”

  I groaned. “I know it makes no sense,” I said, pulling the jacket a little tighter around my shoulders, “but in a strange way, it kinda makes me feel better. After the library and everything . . . knowing that we’re no closer to figuring out what’s going on . . . I don’t know. I guess I just felt like wearing it. That sounds really stupid, doesn’t it?”

  “Like I said, you don’t have to explain anything to me, Styles.” Maggie smiled as she pulled the car into the student parking lot. “Our friendship is a no-judgment zone. Besides, if the hot boy takes your mind off all the other crap, then I’m all for it.” She drove down the aisles of the parking lot, looking for a space. “Hell, he could’ve been a figment of your imagination for all I know, but at least the thought of him is keeping you from freaking out.”

  I coughed, nearly choking on spittle. “Uh . . . well, I can definitely vouch for the fact that he was real enough.”

  Maggie looked over at me quizzically.

  In the penultimate spot in the long row of parked cars, clashing violently with the familiar hand-me-down cars and a bunch of rusty trucks, was a shiny black car. It wasn’t a fancy model or anything, but it was easily the newest and nicest vehicle in the lot, and more than one person stopped to check it out on the way into the building. But it wasn’t the car that made my mouth drop open in shock. It was the guy leaning up against it.

  “Because he’s standing right over there.” I cocked my head in his direction.

  He was standing there in a pair of loose blue jeans and a long-sleeved black Henley. He was facing the building and wearing a pair of sunglasses, but it was undoubtedly him.

  Maggie began to slow the car down, seeing an empty parking spot adjacent to the black car.

  “Maggie! What are you doing?” I shrieked, ducking down in my seat.

  “I’m parking! Don’t you want to talk to him?�
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  “NO! Keep going!”

  “Are you serious, right now? I never get a space this close to the building!”

  “YES!”

  Maggie stifled a giggle, but gave the Beetle a little bit of gas and headed toward the opposite side of the lot. “Of course, you realize you owe me huge best friend points for letting go of such a primo space so you can duck and cover from the guy you won’t admit you’re swooning over.”

  I ignored her, covering my face with my hands. “What is he doing here?”

  “Well,” Maggie said, still trying not to laugh, “you could ask him. But that would require actual face-to-face communication, and clearly you’re not up for that.”

  I turned and glared at her. “Just tell me if you can still see him.”

  Maggie craned her neck toward the window looking back in the direction of the black car. “No, I don’t see him anymore. The bell’s about to ring though. Maybe he’s already inside.”

  Thank God for small miracles. “Good.”

  “So, are you gonna explain what this sudden shyness is about? I mean, I thought you’d be kinda excited to see him again.”

  “I am. I mean, I think I am. I just . . . I don’t know. I just don’t have time to deal with this right now.

  Maggie chuckled. “Don’t you at least want to talk to him?”

  I thought of our previous encounters, and the heat from my ears spread to my neck and cheeks. I shook my head. “No,” I said, pulling my backpack from the backseat. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

  We headed inside, making our way through the packed hallways. I was fully prepared to dive into the nearest doorway if I had to, but thankfully there was no sign of Ty.

  At my locker, I crammed my books inside at warp speed. All I could think about was hightailing it to English class without being seen. I slammed the locker door shut, the metal clanging loudly, and hurried down the hall toward my classroom.

  I ran around the corner and sighed with relief when the class door came into view. Just a few more steps and I would be home free.

  But my feeling of relief popped like a bubble when the familiar tenor of two little words broke through my thoughts.

  “Nice jacket.”

  I let out a squeal and spun around like a ninja, my arms up and ready for attack.

  “Easy there, Karate Kid.” Ty was leaning against a row of lockers, his arms folded across his chest, the corner of his mouth slanted up in amusement.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, my heart racing.

  “Heading to English. Same as you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean. What are you doing here? At my school.”

  “Well, according to this,” Ty said, pulling a crumpled schedule from his back pocket, “it’s our school.”

  “You go here?”

  “Well,” Ty said, pushing off from the wall, “my parole officer thought it would be a good idea for me to get a little education. Makes me look better to the judge.”

  I sucked in a breath of air—a little too quickly, in fact, which resulted in a small fit of coughing and sputtering. Parole officer?

  “You all right?”

  I waved my hand in dismissal as one last cough shook my shoulders. “Yeah,” I managed, my voice strained. “Allergies.” I stood up a little straighter and tried to play it cool, though I was secretly hoping a freak sinkhole would suddenly open up and swallow me whole.

  “Right.” Ty watched me for a moment, a full grin of amusement on his face, before finally leaning forward. “You know I was kidding, right?” He smirked. “I haven’t talked to my parole officer in months.”

  “Oh,” I shrugged. “Of course. Right.”

  Ty chuckled again. “Look, it’s pretty basic. I’m eighteen years old. If I want to graduate, I kinda have to attend this little establishment.”

  “Right. So you obviously just moved here. I mean, Lothbrook’s a pretty small town. Everyone knows everyone—that kind of thing. I haven’t really seen you around much.”

  Ty shrugged. “I guess I make it a habit of staying out of the spotlight.”

  “Yeah, except for those random fights in the alleyways,” I pointed out. “Right? I’m assuming from the color wheel that is your face that it’s a pastime of yours.”

  Ty laughed and a slight flush colored his cheeks—which in fact was covered in various degrees of fading bruises. “Sometimes I make an exception.”

  I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue. Geez, when did I turn into a five-year-old? Ty’s knack of answering questions with complete non-answers was getting on my nerves, though. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of frustrating?”

  Ty smirked again and moved a little closer. He smelled like laundry detergent. He leaned toward me. “Not today. But it’s still early.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I put my hands on my hips, meeting his challenge. The tips of my ears blazed hot—though I wasn’t sure if it was my annoyance or his proximity.

  Behind me, someone cleared her throat.

  Mrs. Runyan, my English teacher, was staring at me from the door of the classroom. “Ms. Styles, are you planning on joining us for class today?”

  “Yes, I am. Sorry, Mrs. Runyan.” I dashed into the classroom and plopped down in my seat without waiting to see if Ty would follow. My seat in the back of the room was directly underneath the air conditioning vent, and despite the heat still burning my face, the cool air made me shiver. Mrs. Runyan led Ty into the room and pointed him in the direction of an empty seat. Ty caught my eye as he made his way down the aisle and grinned before settling in at his desk.

  I pretended not to notice.

  At the front of the room, Mrs. Runyan began giving directions for an upcoming persuasive essay. Her even monotone droned on and on about the role of persuasive writing and how to make and argue a claim.

  While she lectured, I made a valiant effort to pay attention and stay focused, but my eyelids were drooping. The caffeine rush from the coffee was fading fast, and the insomnia-induced drowsiness was getting harder to fight.

  Using the beefy boy in front of me for cover, I put my head on my desk and closed my eyes. Just a few minutes . . . Just a few minutes to rest my eyes.

  Mrs. Runyan’s voice was already fading into the background.

  Just a few minutes.

  And with that, everything around me faded away.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JOSEPHINE

  Athick plume of smoke blackened the sky.

  Josephine’s heart pounded against her ribcage, and every visceral cell in her body screamed for her to run.

  The warning of the blood moon—the very thing that had driven her from her bed in the first place—was lost behind the pillar of charcoal haze. An eerie orange glow broke through the trees as a symphony of discordant sounds sliced through the air, shattering the usual quiet of the night.

  Josephine broke into a run, ignoring the pain of the branches that clawed her bare skin. She had forgotten her slippers when she left the house, and now the soft soles of her feet were paying the price. Blood squished between her toes, but she didn’t stop running. Cold fear crawled up and down her spine, a strange juxtaposition against the heat that coursed through her body as she ran.

  Her neat braid was coming undone, and long tendrils of dark hair whipped around her face. The emerald amulet hanging around her neck thumped painfully against her chest as she ran.

  She was getting closer now. The sounds were becoming more defined: the horses whining in the stables, their frantic squeals sharp and panicked, the loud pop and crack of wood burning, glass breaking.

  She burst through the tree line, her eyes wide and searching.

  Bright orange flames danced, almost mesmerizingly, along the woodwork, igniting everything they touched. There was no saving it. The house
that had taken two years to build, the place that had become her home, was lost. In minutes it would be nothing but a pile of ash and blackened rock. Josephine bit back a scream as the inferno burned.

  Several feet away, two men dressed in black surveyed the work of the flames. She had never seen them before.

  Where are father and mother? What about Mercy? The servants? Her mind was racing. Henry! Oh God, where’s Henry? An image of their earlier rendezvous flashed before her eyes. The picnic by the river. His sweet smile. The caress of his warm lips against hers. A sharp pang pierced her chest at the thought of her beloved. She couldn’t stand still any longer.

  Without even thinking about her actions, she sprinted toward the house, her long nightgown billowing around her like a sail.

  One of the men cried out as she raced past, but they wouldn’t be able to stop her—she was too fast.

  Inside the house, the scorching air was thick with smoke, and her lungs screamed for oxygen. Her eyes watered from the thick smoke, making the limited visibility even worse. She tried to find her bearings, but she could hardly see two feet in front of her.

  “Mother!” she cried out, choking and gasping. “Father! Are you here?”

  She kept moving forward.

  With every rapid heartbeat, a spasm of pain ricocheted through her skull. The loud sounds that had been deafening only moments before were now distorted and muted, as though she were swimming and her head had slipped beneath the surface of the water.

  She stumbled forward, losing her footing.

  “Josephine!” a familiar voice called to her as she fell. “Josephine, you have to get out of here! Hurry!”

  A hand grabbed her wrist, yanking her through the burning wreckage and out through the service door. Once outside, clean air filled her lungs, and she choked and gagged until her throat was raw.

  “What were you doing, girl? Trying to get yourself killed?”

  Josephine looked up and almost burst into tears. The man standing before her with his full beard and thick wavy hair was as familiar to her as her own reflection.

  “Father!” She threw herself into his arms. His dark green overcoat was singed and covered in soot, but he quickly removed it and covered Josephine’s bare arms with it.