Intrinsical

by Lani Woodland

  He chucked me gently under the chin before retreating back a few steps. “Of course, that’s just a theory.” Waving his fingers he lifted up some of the demolished ball. “I think we need to find you something new to work with.” Brent grinned at me. “I bet I can open the ball closet and find your next victim.”

  “Isn’t that an ironic turn of phrase?” Thomas asked, stepping out from the shadows, bringing with him an aura of gloom, a deepening to the night, and a dank iciness to the air. “My victim has a victim.”

  Brent instinctively pulled me behind him, trying to block me from Thomas’s gaze. His muscles tensed, preparing to act.

  “I’m not your victim anymore,” I said in a trembling voice, peeking around the safety of Brent’s shoulders.

  Thomas didn’t bother to stifle a yawn. “I guess this is your response to my kind offer, Brent?”

  “I thought that was off the table, considering you sent your mist after us,” Brent responded hotly. My shaking fingers rested on Brent’s arm, trying to keep him calm.

  Thomas cracked his stolen knuckles. “That was just a warning.” Thomas scowled and his eyes looked disappointed. “I had hoped it would let you see you really don’t have a choice but to cooperate.”

  A heavy fog from the mist started to leak from Thomas, its dark limbs stretched toward me. Brent pointed one finger toward it, swatting it away. Hoping to help, I stepped out from behind Brent and raised my hands, trying to channel power into my fingertips. A serpentine arm swiped Brent aside and then struck out at me, wrapping around me like the end of a whip, pulling me toward Thomas. I couldn’t stop the gasp that exploded from me. The evil darkness formed into a hand and it jerked my chin up to look at Thomas. He breathed deeply as the tentacle tightened its grasp on me and then slowly started to sink into me. The impressions of suffering and pain started again. I screamed as his head fell back, his image shaking, blurring then sharpening before my eyes.

  “Finally.” His head shot up and there was a calculating gleam sparkling in his eyes and a smile plastered on his face. “You’ve grown stronger, Yara. I can feel it— you’re what I’ve been waiting for. I can take you now and make you mine.” He licked his lips in anticipation. His inky black fingers caressed my face in a possessive way. I tried to push him away but his grip didn’t loosen. “Just think what you could bring with you if you came willingly.” He shoved me from him; a ripping sound shredded the air as his tentacle released me. He wheeled around to face Brent who had been sneaking up behind him.

  “No need for that. I’ll be going,” Thomas said, backing away from us. “I’ll be watching and waiting.” He winked before sauntering out of view.

  “What did he mean?” I asked, chafing my arms with my hands.

  “I think,” Brent said, “that he’s waiting for you to develop more of your power.”

  “But why?” I asked, balling my hands into fists.

  Brent gave me a wry grin. “I think it’s rather like fattening the lamb before the slaughter. He thinks you’ll be more useful that way.”

  I shook my head. “Does that mean I should stop training?”

  “No!” Brent said adamantly. “It’s better to be prepared. The only way to win is to be strong.”

  “But I doubt we’ll ever be stronger than he is,” I whispered.

  “He’s not stronger, he just . . . caught me off guard before. Besides, I’m thinking of a strategy, Yara. I’ve got it covered.”

  “You really think so?”

  Brent didn’t answer. Instead, he left to retrieve another ball, and started whistling.

  Chapter 12

  My afterlife with Brent fell into a predictable pattern: every day we would train, and every evening we had the pleasure of reenacting my death. I did show improvement in not only moving objects and affecting the environment, but in controlling my temper, as well. It would have been almost boring if not for Thomas, who seemed to take a sick pleasure in watching me progress. I would often feel like I was being watched only to discover I was. He would mouth the word, “Soon,” and then blow me a kiss before leaving.

  As for my death reenactment, it was like watching a movie for the sixtieth time—I knew every line, I had seen it from every angle, and nothing ever changed. I had even stopped being emotional about it; it wasn’t my death anymore, it was just an event that occurred and I was forced to watch.

  I had just finished drowning again and was waiting for Brent to come in as Steve. He entered the room, really wanting to be outside kissing Cherie, but coming with her anyway. Cherie saw my purse and rushed toward it. Steve, following behind her, stumbled over a chair.

  Wait, what? The tripping over a chair was new. Someone had left the chair by the pool earlier in the day and hadn’t returned it back to its place before leaving, and for some reason it had been brought back into the past. I sat up watching carefully, waiting to see if anything else new happened.

  Steve turned, looking at the chair in confusion, rubbing his knee. I felt Brent’s consciousness shining through to the surface just then; Brent’s familiar twinkle swam in his eye before it got smothered by the role he had to play. Steve turned back toward the water, squatting, looking in, circling the pool; when he finally dove into the water, the tipped chair caught on his foot and clattered into the water with him. I stood up with an idea so impossible I was afraid to let it fully form. I began tugging on my earlobes as my mind surged in hope and waited for Brent to become himself again.

  “Did you notice anything different this time?” I asked Brent as he strolled near.

  Brent stretched out his shoulders, feeling the importance of the question. “No, not really. Why? Why are you so worked up?”

  “Well, when you came rushing in this time you stumbled over a chair that was in the way.”

  Brent scratched his head, nodding. “That’s right. That was new.”

  “And for the briefest of seconds you were you, not Steve. Do you remember that?”

  “Sort of,” Brent said cautiously, turning his head toward the pool. The chair was still there, slowly sinking into the water.

  “That chair was from the present and it altered things. It was only a little change—but what if something more than a chair, something bigger was added to the mix? Maybe it could change the outcome. What do you think?” My hands were rubbing together like I was praying as I waited for his answer.

  “Yara, I know it must be hard for you but—” he started, his voice soothingly gentle.

  “That isn’t it,” I argued— without anger. “Okay . . . it’s part of it, but I just think there’s a reason why we keep reliving it.”

  Brent dropped his head, not meeting my eyes. “I wish that were the case, but you die every night. Nothing changes.”

  “The chair . . .” I corrected.

  He reached out and took my hand, completely engulfing mine in his. “Nothing significant changes. I wish we could fix this . . . it isn’t just hard on you, you know? Every night I have to live through letting you die, knowing I was only a few minutes too late. Every night I fail,” Brent said his voice breaking. “I wish we could change it. I really do.”

  In all the time times I had drowned I had never considered how hard it had to be on Brent, too.

  “Brent, I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault. I’ve got a hero complex,” he said with a wink. “Let’s get out of here?”

  “Please.”

  As had become our nightly post-death habit, Brent steered me toward the fire escape that led to my old room. I still hadn’t climbed those steps, afraid they might open up emotions I wasn’t ready to deal with.

  “Ready to see her tonight?” Brent asked as we paused before them.

  I sat down on the bottom step and leaned against the metal handrail. After a few moments, I picked at one of the sequins on my dress and asked in a pleading voice, “Do you think she’s okay?” I wiped away the tears forming in my eyes.

  “I don’t know,” he said softly, “I’ve been here with
you.” He smiled as he offered, “Do you want me to go and find out for you?”

  “I do want to know . . . I think I want to know . . . but I think I need to go with you.”

  “Are you ready then?” His tone was gentle, as if he had his own doubts about my readiness.

  I took a ragged breath. “Uh, in just a few minutes.”

  He nodded as he stood and walked to the window. Ready or not, I decided I needed to do this, and followed him. I nodded to Brent, trying to exude a calm I didn’t feel. With a glance of his eye, the window smoothly slid open. I paused for a second, awed by his strength.

  “You really are powerful.” I realized my words sounded strange, but I meant them. It was like Brent was some sort of warrior, but instead of leading people, he commanded the world around him with a wave of the hand, a flick of the wrist, or even a glance.

  “It isn’t a big deal,” he said humbly.

  I knew he was being modest; I had been practicing for over two months and didn’t have even a sixteenth of his ability. He’s really pretty incredible. He—

  At that moment, I was aware of Brent trying to find out what I was thinking, and I quickly changed my line of thought.

  With a warning grin I shook my finger at him. “I don’t think so.”

  Rather brazenly, he said, “You were thinking something about me. I was curious.”

  I had several comebacks on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I smiled with a slight shrug. For a brief moment, I almost forgot what I was about to do, but as soon as I remembered, the tip of my thumb was in my mouth, being bitten on hard. It was a bad habit that I had broken when I was twelve.

  I paced back and forth in front of the window, inspecting the empty, darkened campus. A few of the lights in the dorm houses were on, and I could occasionally make out shapes of students inside their rooms, most bent over books and laptops.

  “You can do this,” Brent offered encouragingly. He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

  “I know,” I said, trying to sound fearless. But I knew he wouldn’t miss the spasms of doubt that flooded through me.

  “What exactly are you afraid of?”

  I turned to face him, leaning on the railing. “That she won’t be okay.” I bit my thumb again and then released it from my teeth as I added, “And I’m even more afraid that she will be.” I sighed in self-reproach. “I’m the most selfish, horrible person I’ve ever met. How could I ever wish that on Cherie? She’s been through so much.”

  I spun around and marched with determination down the stairs, toward the refuge of the groves. There was no way that I, being so self-centered, deserved to see Cherie. Brent caught up to me and blocked my way.

  “Wait. Of course you feel that way. I don’t think you could actually care for someone and not hope that some part of them misses you.”

  I shook my head, still angry with myself and unwilling to accept his words. “No.” I covered my ears with my hands and squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to hear anymore.

  “Yara, please listen.”

  “No, you are going to try to make me feel better and I refuse to let myself feel that way.” I realized I was having a tantrum of sorts, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

  “Oh, you refuse, do you?” He queried with slight amusement. Suddenly Brent was in my thoughts.

  You can’t shut me out. You’ll hear what I have to say. It’s normal to feel that way.

  My eyes popped open and I dropped my hands to my side. “Do you really think so?”

  “I’m very aware of your emotions. You love her. I know you don’t want her to forget you— but even more than that, you want her to be okay.”

  “I do?” I looked at him with relief, knowing I couldn’t hide things from him. I hoped he wasn’t just telling me what I wanted to hear.

  His eyes communicated with complete honesty the truth of what he said. “You do.” He made sure I was walking beside him as he headed back toward Cherie. “If you don’t go and see her while you can, it will haunt you for the rest of your . . . existence. I don’t think I could bear that. Remember that your pain is mine now, too.” We were at the fire escape again. “For both of us, please go see her.”

  I turned toward Brent. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “Nah. I’ll give you some privacy. Besides I can always watch the repeat tonight in your thoughts.”

  He turned toward the groves with a quiet whistle. As he walked, I felt some sort of sadness in him that I hadn’t noticed before. Part of me felt the need to go to him and comfort him the same way he had for me since I died. A small ache formed in my stomach as I stood watching him, hearing his tune carried toward me on the wind. I hadn’t been this far from him since my death and I missed him. The string that connected us was stretching further than ever and it hurt me; I needed to be closer to him. I took a step down the stairs and at that moment he turned back toward me.

  My hazel eyes found his brown ones. Suddenly, even though he was more than thirty feet away, I could feel Brent’s hand lightly caress my cheek. I looked at him from across the distance separating us; he hadn’t moved an inch. He was watching me with his thumbs still casually resting in the pockets of his pants. Only the intense look in his eyes betrayed that he was doing anything besides just standing there.

  Could he really touch me from so far away? In awe, I raised my unsteady hand to my face where I could still feel his gentle, lingering touch. Our fingers intertwined for a second, and I smiled at Brent, enjoying the sheer impossibility of the moment. His touch was so tender, so caring that I felt my face flush.

  Brent sensed my blush and I detangled our hands in confusion. I looked away, befuddled at the stirring of emotions arising in me. He was still watching me as I cleared my throat and looked up at him again.

  He looked different, more content, wearing a calm smile as he whispered, “Go.” Bewildered by the moment, I nodded. He turned away, whistling again, a song that sounded much happier than it had before.

  The connection between Brent and me was stretched taut, causing me a twinge of bearable pain. I turned back toward her window and paused, preparing myself. Taking a deep breath I climbed through.

  The room was stripped bare of both Cherie’s belongings and mine. I took in the complete emptiness of my former room with an overwhelming feeling of having been blotted out. It was like I had never been there, my time at Pendrell totally erased like the click of a delete button. Without our personal items, the room was as stark and bleak as my mood.

  I scooted myself onto my old desk, feeling completely insignificant. The faint scent of Cherie’s perfume still lingered, but all other traces of our time here were gone. My hand brushed the bare wall beside me, and I smiled as I the felt tiny holes where I had tacked up pictures and the sticky remnants of hot glue that I had used to hang up posters, proof that I had once been here.

  Brent slinked through the window, leaning on the its edge. “I was worried . . . you felt so sad. I can go,” Brent said, half crawling back out.

  “Please don’t.” I crossed my feet, the point of my heel scratching the top of the opposite foot. I patted the small space beside me on my desk. Brent backed in next to me and reached over taking my hand in his. His thumb tickled the inside of my palm and I laid my head on his shoulder. His other arm snaked around me, holding me tightly; I had never felt more protected.

  He didn’t make empty promises or cliché remarks like, “It’ll be okay.” He didn’t say anything, and that was what I needed, just someone to be there. I snuggled in closer to him, my head so close that my eyelashes stroked the bare skin on his neck. Brent swallowed hard, dropping his arm from around me and stood up, striding across the room.

  The inside of my cheek was feeling raw from my constant chewing. “Do you think she changed schools?”

  “Maybe she changed rooms,” Brent suggested, flicking the room lights off and on.

  My thoughts spun out of control. Is she okay? If she switched schools, will I ever see her again? And my
family, had they come to the school and I missed them? Will I ever get to see them again? I’m alone. I’m going to be alone forever.

  All the grief, pain, and anger I had been repressing hit like a tidal wave. I felt knocked off my feet, awash in a current that pushed, pulled, and spun me around like a feather, drowning me in an emotional flood I couldn’t swim through. The room tilted and veered like a carnival ride leaving me gasping for air as my chest constricted. I doubled over, clasping my knees. “I . . . I . . . can’t breathe . . .”

  Brent was beside me again, caressing my back, whispering in my ear, “You aren’t alone, Yara. I’m with you. Breathe with me.”

  I tried, but small, desperate gulps were all I could manage. Brent pulled me close, holding my head to his chest. “Let’s try that again. Breathe.” He radiated calm, sharing it with me, battling the grief that attacked me with his touch like an antidote that soaked in through my skin. My ribcage shuddered as I forced my breathing to slow, Brent helping me gain control.

  “Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Good.”

  “I waited too long to say good-bye. Now it’s too late.” Tears welled up in my eyes again, then watered down my cheeks, down my nose and onto Brent’s white shirt.

  “Shh . . . shh,” he soothed running his hands through my hair, massaging my scalp. “It’s never too late. Did I tell you I said goodbye to Steve? It wasn’t the ending I wanted either. Steve was ticked at me because the hijacker pretending to be me picked a fight with him. It’s hard to say your goodbyes when your friend is cursing your name. He doesn’t even know I’m gone. Still, it helped.”

  “I just wish I hadn’t been such a coward and done it before.” The purple fabric of my dress flowed around my feet as I tucked my legs beside me. “I knew the world would go on without me, but I didn’t know it would be so soon.”

  “It has to,” Brent informed me, winding one of my curls around his finger. “Look, there’s something there.” My eyes followed the thrust of his chin toward the ceiling. There spelled out, in glow-inthe-dark stickers, the number 774.