Monarch: A Contemporary Adult SciFi/Fantasy (Swann Series Book 2)

by Schow, Ryan

  All I know is it’s now Monday night and it’s ten o’clock and someone’s knocking on my door. With all the amenities Astor Academy included in my dorm room—my Five Star suite—the designers forgot a freaking peep-hole.

  With my stun gun in hand—because after Blake’s brazen attack, it’s become my new BFF—I slowly open the door and see Damien.

  “Oh, it’s you,” I say, relieved.

  “Were you expecting someone else?”

  “After getting tazed by Blake, I’m not exactly sure who’s going to be showing up this time of night. Come in.” Opening the door wide and stepping out of the way, I let him in.

  “It looks the same,” he says, his eyes taking in the whole of my room.

  “As what?” I ask, knowing exactly what he means.

  “This was my friend’s room, last semester. Savannah Van Duyn.”

  “The fat girl, right?”

  “She’s not fat,” he says, defensively. “I mean, she was, but she’s not anymore.”

  “What’s the deal with her anyway?” I ask. “How come she’s not back this semester?” The way Damien’s acting, I’m certain Brayden didn’t reveal my secret. I made him promise not to. So far, he’s proving trustworthy.

  “She’s, well, she got sick and…I don’t know what happened to her.”

  “Some friend you are.”

  “I tried to call her, but she changed her number,” he says, his face reflecting a pain I never expected to see. Then again, he was practically obsessed with Kaitlyn’s disappearance last semester, so maybe he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t show you attention when you’re around. But when you die, or get stuffed into a liquid cotton candy DNA machine, that’s when he gets all soft and weepy.

  “That’s the look of a disappointed stalker,” I say, poking fun at him.

  “I never stalked her, it’s just…I’m worried.”

  “Well get over it, you’re with me now.”

  “Okay,” he says. “I guess.”

  “You came over here,” I say, smiling. “What do you want?”

  “I don’t know, I guess, when I heard you were living in Savannah’s room, I just…I don’t know.”

  “So it’s true. You are annoyingly indecisive.”

  “Who said I was indecisive?” he says, showing the first signs of life.

  “I don’t know…everyone?”

  “That’s not true.”

  “So do you like Maggie or not?”

  “Of course I like her.”

  “But do you like her like her?”

  “We’re not dating if that’s what you mean.”

  “Why not? Every time you’re around her, it’s like you’re pretending you’re a couple, even though you’re not.”

  “I should go,” he says, ruffled. He starts for the door.

  “Make up your mind is all I’m saying,” I say to his back. He turns around; I plant a hand on my hip and raise an eyebrow.

  “You don’t know me very well,” he says in his flustered voice. “And it seems you don’t really care to know me, either. You just want to judge.”

  “I just can’t stand indecisive guys. You got balls, use them. Be a man. Say what you want and take it. What do you want?” Holy cow, where is all this aggression coming from?

  Or is this confidence?

  “I miss my friend!” he snaps, an Arctic chill to his tone. “I miss all my friends who are gone.”

  The first time I snapped on my therapist, it was because the truth wouldn’t stay down any longer. The woman finally dragged it out of me the same way I just dragged it out of Damien.

  “So that’s why you’re here,” I say.

  “You kind of remind me of her,” he says. “Savannah was as much a pain in the ass as you are.”

  “People say you’re grieving the loss of your sister. Kaitlyn, right?”

  “She’s my step-sister, and she’ll turn up,” he says. “We still have hope.”

  “I hear she was gorgeous.”

  “She is,” he says, his eyes sort of glazed over in thought. Usually he comes alive when talking about her, like she’s all he thinks about. Then it hits me.

  “You were in love with her, weren’t you?”

  “No! Why would you say that?”

  “I had a friend I knew back in New York,” I say, crafting the lie that will either prove my point or make me look like a total clown. “She was in school with me—it was an all girls school—and she confessed to being in love with her step-sister, who was also in love with her.”

  “First off, that’s gross, and second, that’s not the case with me.”

  “They weren’t related, so I didn’t see anything wrong with it. She told me they had sex and everything, that she felt all backwoods about it, but in the end, I tried to tell her you just love who you love.”

  “You don’t love family, not like that.”

  Inside, I’m breathing gigantic sighs of relief. Still, there are some secrets people will protect to their dying breath. Sticking it to step-family would definitely qualify. I keep pushing, just in case.

  “It’s not like it was incest or anything.”

  “Do you have a sister or a brother?” I shake my head, no. “Well then you can’t understand. It could never be like that.”

  I’ve met Kaitlyn—sort of—but I’ve never seen them interact together. Damien once told me they were close growing up, and it’s plain to see he cares about her immensely. Maybe it’s not that he’s obsessed as much as he’s a protective step-brother. Maybe what he has is loyalty. Aren’t those the bonds they say exist between members of a family who love each other?

  My father showed me love by turning me into a different person, one I like, but Margaret—if there’s a loving bone in her body—even Sherlock Holmes couldn’t find it.

  “So if you’re not in love with her, what is it?”

  “Kaitlyn is nothing like the girls here. She’s not into herself or putting on airs or being snotty and competitive. There is so much good in her, she’s not only inspirational, her mood is infectious.”

  “Holy crap, you’re gay.”

  The strain hits his face hard. “Wow, you really don’t get it,” he says with a look that makes me embarrassed for continuing to pry. I can tell he’s about to go all Lindsay Lohan on me.

  “Then what is it?”

  “What’s what?” he asks, now more irritated than ever.

  “Every guy in this school is making me feel like prey but you. You haven’t made a move on me, or even intimated at being attracted to me, which is fine. But you don’t make a move on Maggie either and you’ve got the conversational skill set of a freaking monk.”

  “You might be surprised at what you learn watching people.”

  “Didn’t David Berkowitz say that before he killed all those girls back in the seventies?”

  “Who the hell is David Berkowitz?”

  “Son of Sam? The .44 Caliber Killer? New York, 1976. That big, fat ape killed six people because a demon controlling his neighbor’s dog told him to.”

  “You weren’t even born in 1976.”

  “I used to watch a lot of TV. When I was…fluffy, and didn’t have any friends.”

  “Fluffy?”

  “That’s what…my mother called it.” Holy cow, I almost said Margaret! Catching myself, I continue, closely monitoring my every word. “She said I shouldn’t think of myself as fat because fat people have no self-esteem and really no chance at happiness.”

  “You know that isn’t true.”

  “Yes. Now. But not then. Anyway, fluffy was cute, like a bunny, or a fur coat. Fluffy could be fixed.”

  “The girl who lived here, she was—”

  “I don’t care about that girl,” I bark, irritated with this endless loop we can’t get out of. “I don’t know her, and besides, I heard she was some sort of…GMK.”

  “GMK? What the hell is that?”

  “Genetically modified kid.”

  “Oh,” he says. “No,
she just came into her own faster than usual.”

  “Why do you miss her anyway?”

  “There was something durable about her—”

  It’s all I can do to keep from rolling my eyes. “Gosh, I’m sure she’d just melt hearing you say that, because it’s every girl’s dream to have some guy say she’s durable.”

  “I didn’t mean in like that.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you absolutely suck with words?”

  “I know,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and glowering. “But just shut up for a second while I answer your question.”

  I’m looking at him and the look in his eye says he’s really trying, so I open my hands and give him the “I’m waiting” look.

  He walks over and sits on the edge of my bed and says, “That girl went through hell last semester, yet she did something so selfless and so…courageous, that I’ll never be able to thank her because how I feel inside, I just don’t have the words.”

  Finding his step-sister. Killing the genetic monster who nearly killed them both. I try a different tact. “Sounds like you liked her,” I say gently, hopeful. I know I’m being a jerk. I’m just really tired of Damien being…Damien.

  “I did like her, but not like that.”

  The hurt starts as a pinprick of light that begins to grow inside me, like when a star dies, how it’s supposed to let off a brilliant light. Inside, all I ever wanted was to have someone like me enough to want to be in love with me. I wanted that boy to be Damien. I thought, this time, looking the way I do, which is to say beautiful, and not the same as his step-sister, I had a chance.

  Clearly I don’t.

  “Then what’s it like?” I say, willing the threat of tears away. I think my voice actually breaks for a second.

  “She reminded me of Kaitlyn. How there was something inherently good in her, the kind of good you get when you know someone’s had a difficult life. Savannah had social anxiety disorder and her mother, this beautiful, wicked woman, loaded her up on antidepressants and told her she wasn’t pretty. Margaret—that’s her mother’s name—she made Savannah feel like she was a disappointment and honestly it just broke my…it broke my heart.”

  For a second there’s a shine in his eyes, which is a miracle because I wasn’t sure he felt emotion for anything but his precious Kaitlyn.

  I stand corrected.

  He stood and walked across the room, hiding his eyes from me. He sort of turns his face into shadow, then shifts his body away from me. By the movement of his arm, I see he’s wiping his eyes. I can’t believe this is happening.

  Seriously, I can’t.

  Speaking low, trying to control the tremors in his voice, he says, “Some kids, when they’re not loved, or valued even, they never get their confidence, or their sense of safety, so what’s left is a person whose emotions lay raw to the world.”

  “You did like her.”

  “Maybe I did,” he whispers.

  “You sound like you liked her a lot.”

  I see his shoulders give an involuntary shudder, and his head falls. He wipes his eyes and that’s when I go to him. I pull him into an embrace and I want so desperately to tell him who I am, but I can’t. If he knew Abby Swann was really Savannah Van Duyn, would he be so honest? No. I don’t think that he would. This might be the only chance I get to know the real Damien Rhodes.

  He hugs me back and I can tell he’s fighting his emotions.

  “I saw her, over winter break,” he says into the top of my shoulder. “I saw her and I couldn’t help her.”

  “You did, though. You were there with her.”

  “It didn’t do any good.”

  “It did.”

  “And now she’s gone and even though I don’t connect well with people, in the end, her and I connected just fine. Better than fine.”

  “Did you tell her these things?” I feel him shake his head against my body. “Why not?”

  “It’s stupid,” he says, standing up, drying his eyes. “She looked like Kaitlyn, and so it was hard for me to…see her…the way she wanted me to see her. She just looked so much like…family to me.”

  “And here I thought you couldn’t make a decision and you couldn’t fall in love.”

  Pulling back, he says, “You thought I was gay.” A smile reaches his eyes and it’s so difficult to look at him knowing how much I crave his affections, knowing—in spite of this—earlier this evening I was making out with my Psychology teacher.

  “I never thought you were gay. I had to ask. I just…”

  “You don’t understand why I don’t look at you the way everyone else looks at you, right?”

  “Yes. But hearing you put it like that, it makes me sound so shallow.” Now I head to the bed to sit down. I want to be near him, but he’s always been protective of his personal space. The way he can open up one minute then shut down so quickly and thoroughly the next makes him unpredictable. Now that he’s opening up, I want him to stay this way for as long as possible.

  “You don’t sound shallow,” he says, “maybe just insecure.”

  My first notion: get defensive, attack back. But am I being attacked or am I being force-fed the truth? Is this me or my new DNA bristling? Can I even separate the two anymore?

  “I guess I’m insecure.”

  He takes a few steps toward me and says, “Looking so beautiful the way you do, it’s hard to believe you’re insecure, but I can’t see any other possibility.”

  “Whatever. I’m not going to sell you on all my shortcomings.”

  “I sort of have a thing about Maggie, but she’s lost, you know? Something happened to her over winter break.” He sits beside me and says, “Did she say anything to you?”

  And here is where I have to start lying. “No, not really. I just thought she was the melodramatic type. You know, that’s how some girls get attention.”

  “She’s not like that.”

  Frowning, I say, “Yeah, I know. But whatever it is, she isn’t telling me anything. Plus, with the party we’re planning, she’s not in that funk as much anymore. I’m hoping once the party’s done she’ll be more sunny skies and less thunder and rain.”

  “On that note, I’m going to go and say hi to her. And just for the record, even when she was feeling better, Maggie wasn’t into me. She’s kind of like my impossible girlfriend.”

  I laugh, and it sounds like a defeated, impoverished sound. “Yeah, I have one of those, too.”

  “An impossible girlfriend?”

  “No, a dumb guy I like who won’t ever like me back.”

  “What’s his name, I’ll put in the good word.”

  Frowning deeper, blowing out an exhausted sigh, I say, “This guy, he’s so f*cking dumb, he wouldn’t get the message.” I’m looking right at him when I say this.

  “Still,” he says, wincing at my f-bomb.

  And this is where I lie again and it sucks balls even worse being a repeat offender. “His name is…Jacob Brantley. Obviously he doesn’t go to school here.”

  It practically makes me sick to say Jacob’s name, but whatevs, it’s all I’ve got.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got to get going.” He gives me a hug and says, “I think we should hang out more often. I really like you.”

  I open the door, hold it wide for him. At this point, looking like a gosh damn angel from God and still not winning his affections, I feel more unlovable than ever.

  “Can’t wait to be a part of the Damien Rhodes friend circle.”

  He smiles, and right then he knows. He knows I like him, that he hasn’t pleased me, but still the douchebag has the audacity to say nothing on the way out.

  “Say hi to Kaitlyn for me,” I mutter as I’m shutting the door. Kaitlyn, his step-sister who is not dead and not missing. I hear him gasp and say, “What?” but by then the door is shut and I’m practically ready to crawl in bed and cry.

  6

  So phase one of finding our friends was a longshot I really hoped would work. M
aggie, Brayden and I were supposed to meet the eleven new girls and see if they bore any resemblance to Georgia, Bridget or Victoria. Naturally, phase one was a bust. Then again, I look nothing like I did last semester, so for me to think I’d so easily recognize them now seems silly.

  I wanted to convince myself Gerhard didn’t change them so much, but maybe—like me—all you can do is change them completely. Maybe there are no half measures in Gerhard’s science.

  So now it’s phase two, and this is more Maggie’s brain child than mine. She says, “Abby, if you can stomach being downright rude, I think we can flush out your friends.” Looking from me to Brayden, she says, “You’re going to need to film it, Brayden, and not where any of the girls can see it. Can you do that?”

  He was like, “Uh, Magpie, surveillance is soooo my thing.”

  “Pervert,” I say.

  “Careful what you say, Abby, you never know when you’re going to hit too close to home.” He sort of winks at me and I start laughing.

  So Brayden’s hidden cameras are now ready, the room is prepared, and Maggie and me have our emotions in order. I check my cell phone. It’s time. The docked iPod has Taylor Swift on deck. I surf through a dozen artists in search of background music before choosing an older Moby album. Within a few minutes the girls begin to arrive.

  Maggie and I moved my desk into the closet, and catering brought a table with a very chic tablecloth to put in its place. The colors are cream, silver and deep purple. We have cupcakes with fancy frosting displayed on three tiers, chocolate dipped fruit in chilled, decorative baskets, and drinks, the fancy kind that aren’t virgin anything. Eat too much of this food and you’ll get the year round baby bump even if you’re a virgin; eat just enough and you’ll tell everyone how cool the party at Abby’s was.

  But it’s not going to be cool. It’s going to be mean.

  So everyone introduces themselves to us, we introduce them to each other, and pretty soon we are all eating and drinking and being merry. Back in Maggie’s room, Brayden’s streaming this live, watching the feed, and maybe salivating over the more voyeuristic parts of this brilliant, reckless plan.

  After a half an hour, I turn off the music and ask everyone to sit down.

  “First off, thanks for coming,” I tell them. “The reason Maggie and I invited you here was for an informal orientation. My older sister went here last semester so she told me whom to associate with and whom to avoid. With this information, I feel it’s only fair to share. My sister, she called it ‘leveling the playing field.’ Ultimately, in a elitist school like this, knowing who’s nice and who’s not will determine your happiness here. We want you to be happy.”