Havenwood Falls High Volume Two

by Cameo Renae

“No one.”

  “No one?” His breath hitches. “You healed? Why in the hell would you do that?”

  His anger raises my hackles. “Because I can.”

  “Breckin.”

  “Don’t lecture me, Elias. I need to go. I’ll explain everything later.” I end the call and toss my phone on the counter.

  When I return to Vivienne, she’s on her side with one hand resting beneath her cheek and the other clutching a down blanket to her chest. The thick bedding swallows her. She’s tiny, a foot shorter and seventy-five pounds lighter than me. The weight of her in my arms lingers.

  Splotches of red mar her fingers and smear her chin. Leaving her drink on the bedside table, I head toward the bathroom and return with a warm washcloth. I’m aware of each swipe of the cloth, like I’m washing my own hands. Vivienne sighs and flinches when I set her hand down and rub her jaw. A whimper releases from her throat, making me pause.

  She brushes her chin against her shoulder as she shifts restlessly. Her forehead creases as she fists the blankets and draws the edge to her mouth, tucking her face in before settling down.

  The wind howls as a thick veil of white comes down fast outside my windows. I move from the edge of the bed to a chair across the room, my heart slowing as hers does, and I wait. There’s nothing more I can do.

  Bad Dream

  Vivienne

  Slapping at my bedside table, my hand searches for the incessant vibration dragging me unwillingly from sleep. Finding my cell phone, I fumble with the screen, bringing the device to my ear. “Hello?” I clear my throat and repeat myself when the word barely passes my lips.

  “Viv? Where have you been?” Mom’s voice sounds far, far away. I blink rapidly, clearing the sleep from my brain. “Were you asleep, honey? I’ve been calling all evening. Are you sick?”

  Her questions come in quick-fire succession, and I struggle to keep up while sitting. Rubbing my aching temple, I peek at my cell for the time. Midnight. What the heck?

  “Uh . . . no. Or, yeah. Yeah, I was sleeping. I’m not sick. Just tired.”

  There’s a pause. A shift on the other end. “You didn’t call after your run. You know you’re supposed to let me know when you get home if I’m not there. I was worried. Especially with this storm raging and the disappearance of the Bennett girl.”

  Heidi Bennett. She went missing last weekend, during the Cold Moon Ball. The adults around town are freaking out, but consensus at school is she probably had a fight with her boyfriend, or parents, and will show up in a few days. I work my head side to side, stretching out the kinks as I wait for her to say more.

  “Viv? Are you sure everything is okay?”

  “Mmmhmmm,” I hum, focusing on a shadow lurking beyond my window. The hair on the back of my neck stands. I never leave my blinds and curtains open, especially at night. Living on the first floor of an apartment complex doesn’t offer a whole lot of privacy. Plus, the guys across the way are pervs. “Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t call. I laid down. I guess I fell asleep.”

  After your run. Her words register belatedly, and my pulse picks up.

  “Okay, sweetie. Go back to sleep, and I’ll see you when I get home in the morning.”

  I nod, then remember I’m on the phone. “Yeah, okay, have a good shift. Love you.”

  “I went for a run,” I say to the empty room after the call ends.

  The snow outside reflects the bright winter moon and casts long shadows across my small bedroom. Sinking into my blankets, I pull my comforter over my bare shoulders. Wait. Bare shoulders? My hands run over my body. What am I wearing? Running tights and a sports bra? Kicking into a sitting position, I draw my knees to my chest.

  I went for a run. I . . . Tears prick my eyes.

  A dark flash hurtles at me. Pain. Blood. My throat closes. No. It was a dream. A nightmare.

  Hurrying from my room, I search for my clothing. My jacket, pants, shoes, any of the gear I normally wear running. I flip on lights, search closets, the hampers, the washing machine. My heart plays the beat of a thousand drums.

  A low, animalistic snarl fills my ears. A cool touch. An urgent voice. My knees give way, and I crumble to the floor, dizzy and spent. Why can’t I remember anything? What am I missing? Nothing is right. I crawl to the couch and pull myself up, drawing a throw over my body. I need sleep. Maybe I am getting sick.

  The view from the couch to my bedroom window is unhindered, and there—beside the pine outside my building—is a shadow.

  My eyelids grow heavy as I peer across the apartment. A shadow in the form of a human.

  I pry my eyes wider, my temples pounding. A shadow with amber eyes.

  I should be scared by a shadow outside my window in the middle of the night. I should call 911, I should scream, but I don’t. I’m not afraid. My mind calms as my frantic heart settles. With one last sleepy effort, I search out the shadow, catching a wavering glimpse before everything falls dark.

  * * *

  “You’re bloody crazy, Viv.” Zara blows into her cupped hands as she shifts from foot to foot.

  “Are you being British again?” I laugh as I walk the steps from my window to the pine for the third time. My gaze searches the ground for something—anything—that proves someone stood out here last night. “Which Austen movie did you watch yesterday?”

  “It wasn’t Austen. It was a documentary on the royal family. It was brilliant.”

  “You’re mad.” Though I’m teasing, I can’t help but go into character and pull out my British slang.

  “Well done.” Zara’s tone and accent come out a bit Mary Poppins. Her fascination with British culture knows no end. We’ve spent thousands of hours watching, listening to, and studying British entertainment. “But, I would argue I am not the one here who is insane, my dear Viv.”

  “I know what I saw. Someone was out here last night.”

  “And in your apartment, stealing your clothes?” She steps into the snow and works her way to my side. “There is nothing here. Even if you did have a Peeping Tom, there would be no evidence. It snowed all night. You’re not going to find a fresh set of footprints. You’ve watched too many crime shows.”

  Why did I bother telling her?

  Zara tugs her knit hat over her ears, smooshing down her thick, dark hair. “Can we go inside? I’m freezing and you don’t have a jacket on.”

  “That’s because I can’t find my jacket,” I remind her.

  “Did you tell your mum?”

  Grabbing her arm, I lead her toward the apartment. “Tell her what? That someone robbed me of my running gear? That I’m seeing things?”

  I’m positive something happened yesterday. Something bad. Something dangerous. I rack my brain for any semblance of what it could have been.

  A smattering of needles prick across my shoulders, and I pause, my gaze scanning the parking lot, looking for something, sensing it. Other than the kids building a snowman by the building across from mine, the complex is quiet.

  “Mom’s already giving me a hard time about running alone since Heidi went missing. If I alert her to anything out of the ordinary, she’ll start making me spend all my free time at the medical center with her.”

  “Good point.” Zara weaves her arm beneath mine. “Let’s go. We can drive over to Backwoods and buy you a new coat before the movie.”

  * * *

  “This is not how I intended spending the last of my birthday money,” I complain as I dig for my wallet and hand most of my cash to Willa Kasun, who smiles sympathetically from behind the register.

  “The fact that you still have birthday money from last April is telling, my friend,” Zara, the spendthrift, says with a shake of her head.

  The snap of a shopping bag opening draws me from my pouting. “Oh, actually, can you remove the tags so I can wear it?” Willa’s dark brow arches. “I lost mine, and it’s a bit chilly out there without one.”

  Zara nudges my shoulder, an inelegant snort jerking her shoulders. “She’s so d
aft. She’d misplace her arse if it weren’t attached.”

  Daft? I mouth, giving my so-called best friend a fixed look.

  Willa’s lips twitch as she pulls out a pair of scissors, cuts the tags, and slides my new jacket across the counter with the receipt on top.

  “Thanks. See ya.” I toss a wave as she gives me her canned “Thanks for shopping at Backwoods Sport & Ski.”

  Shoving Zara toward the exit, I hiss, “Way to go, Z. She probably thinks I’m a complete idiot.”

  Zara giggles and stops at a sunglass display. She slides a gaudy red and gold pair on and poses. “Whatever. No one thinks you’re an idiot. We go to the same school; she knows you’re Ms. Academia. Plus, she shared a womb with Kase. She most certainly knows an idiot when she sees one.”

  “Oh my gosh, shut up.” I swallow back a giggle and search the immediate area, clamping down on her arm. The Kasuns own this store. Their dad is sheriff, their older brothers are deputies, and Kase—while not the sharpest pencil in the box—is well-known and well-liked. “Besides, I know for a fact you’re smitten with him.”

  “Smitten?” Zara’s light caramel skin flushes as she smirks. “I am not smitten. He’s hot, I’ll give him that, but after that mess with Ana? No, thank you. I’m staying far, far away from him.”

  “You have excellent self-preservation skills. They may be over, but Ana would rip your head off if she thought you were after him.”

  A deep chuckle nearby stops me. I turn, blood creeping up my neck at being overheard, but there’s no one there. The store’s busy enough, locals and tourists alike flipping through the racks of ski gear and sporting goods, but not one of them pays us a bit of attention. No smiles, no curious eyes. I adjust my scarf, pulling it around my neck as goosebumps appear across my skin.

  “Pizza or burgers?” Zara asks as we step outside and I shrug into my jacket. I lift a shoulder, my mind occupied with the eerie sensations crawling over my skin. Everything within me screams in warning, and like last night, nothing is right.

  “You said burgers, right?” she prods and bats her large Bambi eyes.

  It’s a standing joke—what’s for dinner? Zara works at Napoli’s. She always wants Burger Bar when we go out. I prefer Napoli’s, probably because they prepare me special orders since they’re used to me hanging around. Shaking away the pall hanging over me, I agree to burgers. I’m in no mood to argue.

  “Burgers it is.” She swings her keyring around her index finger and heads for the parking lot. I glance back at the store one last time before following.

  There are a few cars parked at the drive-in bays outside the Burger Bar, but the inside is packed. The crowded booths and occupied tables aren’t a surprise. Some of the girls from school wave us over and share their booth.

  Living in Havenwood Falls is like living in a fishbowl. We breathe the same air and walk the same paths daily. We see the same people at every restaurant, movie showing, and festival. It’s the second Saturday of the month—movie night. It’s been a Havenwood Falls tradition since long before my birth. It began as a summer ritual, a family-friendly movie in Danzan Park, but once the Arts Council renovated the old mining warehouse—adding a stage and theater—the city extended the showings to year-round. Havenwood Falls, known for strange occurrences and more festivals than days of the week, is heaven for a people watcher like me.

  Dipping my fries in a pile of peppered mayo, I half listen to the girls chat about their day on the slopes while my gaze flits over the crowded restaurant. I’m entertained by the guys at the next table as they jostle one another over a ketchup bottle. No need to question why I’ve never seen them with dates. Poor immature fools.

  Across the restaurant, Nikki Morris fusses with her perfect hair and makes faces at her phone. I can’t tell whether she is taking a selfie or using the camera as a mirror. The new kid, Max Cooper, arrives, and she straightens, plastering on a glowing smile and lowering her cell. I’m happy they’re still dating after all the mess she’s been in lately. They’re both insanely good-looking, like many of the people in Havenwood Falls, and popular. I turn my head, my gaze sliding past holiday decorations covering every vacant spot in the restaurant, before they stop on a vaguely familiar face. He’s propped against the wall next to the entrance with a menu in his hands, but his eyes aren’t reading the daily specials. They’re firmly set on me.

  Intensely charged blue orbs framed by dark lashes and a pale face— Wait. I blink nervously. My eyes and mind play tricks on me. I don’t know him at all, yet my pulse ratcheted up the moment I spotted him. Flickers of memories tickle the back of my mind, knocking and asking to be let in.

  My lungs deflate, each breath more difficult than the last, the longer he stares. I grip the table, my fingers curling around the metal edge, as a chill creeps up my spine. He pushes from the wall, and I lurch forward.

  Zara jumps, her hands grabbing the cup of water I knocked over. “What the hell, Viv?”

  She pushes my shoulder while across the table, the others shift baskets and throw napkins on the mess I’ve made.

  “Sorry. I don’t know what happened. I—”

  “You were totally eye screwing that guy, that’s what happened. Who is he?” Zara nudges my side again. “You’re soaked. Get up, you loon.”

  “I’m—” Soaked? Cold moisture seeps through my jeans, and I look down as water dribbles off the table into my lap.

  “Yep, I’m wet,” I say lamely, sliding from the booth.

  “What guy?” the girls ask in tandem as their heads swivel in the direction of the door.

  He’s gone.

  “Viv?” Zara touches my hand at my side. “Are you okay? You’re shaking.”

  My head nods of its own accord as I will my trembling to cease and look over the restaurant. People laugh, people eat, everything’s the same. Except for the guy, who is no longer by the door. I tug at the sleeves of my sweater.

  “I’m fine. Um, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be back.”

  Faint voices tap at the back of my head, like gnats flying around on a summer day. They buzz and swoop close, only to retreat—taking whatever secrets they hold with them. The sensation makes me dizzy as I round the corner to the bathroom and pull up in time to miss bumping into Scarlet Howe. Scarlet smiles and holds her hands up like I’m a robber as I apologize and press against the wall so she can pass. I take three steps backward and turn for the door handle when someone grabs my wrist and yanks me into the bathroom.

  “Don’t scream,” a voice says as the light flicks on in the single-person restroom, and he spins my back to the wall.

  My scream dies when I see Breckin Roberts standing over me, his face so close his breath caresses my cheek. My entire body lights up like a Christmas tree. A spark of something—awareness?—slips across his face, and his head cocks to the side. Gosh, I could stare at him all night. I want to. Just stand right here and look at him.

  “You need to come with me.” His tone leaves no room for questions, so of course, I scoff.

  “Are you high? This is the girls’ restroom, Breckin.”

  “I need you to come with me,” he says again, as if I didn’t hear him the first time.

  “You want me to come with you? Is this your way of asking me out?”

  What a ridiculous question. Breckin Roberts would never ask me out. Breckin doesn’t ask anyone out. He skulks in corners as girls flock to him. Not that I’ve been watching him or anything. I attempt stepping sideways, but his palms slap on either side of my body, caging me. Something within me springs forward, reaching for him.

  “Did you see him?” Breckin dips his head until our eyes are level, which is a feat, considering our one-foot height difference. Any attempt at words dies on my lips. “Did you?”

  The urgency in his voice stirs the gnats to circling again. My eyes burn. The blue eyes, the dark presence. My jaw trembles. Where is this fear coming from?

  “Hey.” Breckin scans my face. “I’ve got you.” He rubs the len
gth of my upper arms, his touch light.

  Time stops.

  It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.

  “What? What did you say?” The echo of a growl haunts me.

  Breckin tilts his head, his teeth tugging at his bottom lip. A phantom pain slashes across my side as the image of a hand clawing at snow breaks through my mind. Gasping, I clutch my stomach. “I need to go.”

  I push at his chest, my words a mere whisper as blood pounds in my ears, but he stands his ground.

  Breckin shakes his head, his golden-brown hair falling over his flawless face. “I can’t let you go, Vivienne.”

  His tone is one I’ve never heard from him. This is Breckin. He usually drawls every syllable he says as though he couldn’t care less about what he’s saying or to whom he’s speaking. I’ve always had the impression that he’s honoring us with his words when he speaks. This is different. This is authority.

  Don’t Close Your Eyes

  Breckin

  The color leaches from Vivienne’s delicate face as her shoulders roll forward, making her appear tinier than she is. She drops her head, her long hair forming a curtain and closing her face off from my gaze.

  “What happened yesterday afternoon?” Her voice cracks as she wraps her arms across her stomach. “What did you do to me?”

  The moment I touched her and pulled her into the bathroom, I longed for more. More of her skin beneath mine, more of her scent, more of her presence. A spark ignited. Desperate, my fingers tangle in her blond strands, pushing them back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Vivienne grabs my wrist, holding my hand to the side of her head.

  “You’re lying.” Her head remains bowed as her gaze lifts until she stares at me through thick, dark lashes. My thumb brushes her temple as she speaks. “Something happened to me. You were there. That guy—” She cocks her head toward the restaurant. “He was there. I feel it. I know it.”