Pawn (Nightmares Trilogy #1)

by Sophie Davis

  “It’s not a big deal,” I mumbled, disappointment clouding my words. The necklace meant a lot to me, but there was no telling where or when it had fallen from my jeans pocket; daylight wasn’t going to change that fact.

  “I’m sorry, Eel.”

  “Not your fault.” I resumed trying to pull out the sliver protruding from the bottom of my foot.

  Devon crossed the room. “What happened?”

  “Cut my foot in the lake,” I said uneasily.

  “On what?”

  I shrugged. “Dunno.”

  “Well, don’t use your fingers. I’ll get tweezers,” Devon said. She hurried to the bathroom adjoining the bedroom, returning moments later with a pair of eyebrow tweezers and two hand towels, one damp and one dry. She handed me the wet one and I began gently wiping the blood away from the wound.

  When I finished, Devon asked, “Ready? This might hurt.” Without waiting for a response, she pulled the sliver free in one swift motion. It hurt like hell.

  Fresh blood poured free as Devon hurriedly covered the wound with the dry towel and applied pressure. I winced as my foot throbbed in her hands.

  “Keep the pressure on. I’ll go find some bandages.”

  Once I heard Devon rummaging in the bathroom cabinets, I chanced removing the towel to examine the cut. It was deep, the skin around the wound a mottled purple and red and extremely tender. I prayed that it wouldn’t require stitches. My mother would never believe that I’d hurt my foot while at the Westwood movie theater.

  After rewrapping the towel, I examined the sliver Devon had removed. It appeared translucent when I held it up to the lamp on the bedside table. The color was somewhere between blue and green, and there was an almost metallic quality to the smooth surface. I expected the shard to be brittle, but when I tried to break it between my fingers I couldn’t.

  “What is that?” Devon’s voice startled me and I dropped the tweezers.

  “No clue,” I said.

  Devon retrieved the shard and tweezers from where they’d landed on the bedside table. She held it close to the light bulb and leaned down for a better look. “Sort of looks like a fish scale. You know, from one of those really pretty tropical fish that you see at the aquarium.”

  A fish scale? My stomach flip-flopped. The lake creature hadn’t had legs, at least not that I’d seen. Was it possible that she was some sort of…I wouldn’t let myself finish the thought, it was too absurd. The creature in the water wasn’t even real, and here I was hypothesizing that I’d encountered a fish person, a mermaid. And my friends always joked that I was rational to a fault. If they only knew the thoughts running through my mind at that very moment! I laughed as I imagined telling Devon that a mermaid had tried to strangle me.

  “What’s so funny?” Devon set the tweezers down and began wrapping white gauze around my foot. Her mother was a nurse at Westwood General, and Devon was skilled in first aid as a result.

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. “It’s probably just a piece of rock or something.”

  “Maybe,” Devon said, her brows knitting together. “It looks a little exotic for Caswell Lake, though. Normally everything that comes out of there is brown and smelly.”

  Once Devon had swaddled my foot in so many bandages that it was five times the size of its mate, she grabbed a pair of pajamas from Elizabeth’s walk-in closet and threw them to me. I changed into the plaid boxers and blue tee shirt, neatly folding my own dirty clothing and placing it on the floor next to the bed. Devon disappeared into the bathroom to wash the blood from the towels.

  Outside the party was in full swing. My friends’ voices drifted through the open window and shouts of, “Whose hand is that?” and “Liz, where are more shot glasses?” filled the room. Part of me longed to join them and put the encounter in the water as far from my mind as possible. But I was too tired; my eyelids were barely staying open.

  “Take these. They will help with the headache.” Devon reappeared, holding two white pills on her outstretched palm. In the other hand she held a fresh damp towel. “To wash your face,” she explained when I stared at the towel quizzically.

  “Thanks.” I took the pills and swallowed them dry. Then I scrubbed the dirt streaks on my face and winced when the terrycloth material moved over the wound on my right cheek. The red patch I’d seen in the mirror burned and was hot to the touch. Where had it come from? The lake creature hadn’t touched my face, but the boy had. His fingers had skimmed my cheek when he’d brushed the hair back from my face while I was vomiting lake water. The skin-to-skin contact had produced a shock; the memory of it caused the muscle under my eye to twitch.

  “What’s that from?” Devon asked, pointing to where I was delicately fingering my cheek.

  “Not sure.” I shrugged, the blood rushing to my cheeks. For some reason I was reluctant to tell her about the static shock. She’d probably joke it was part of my strange quirk with electronics.

  Devon tilted my chin upwards, examining my face. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that’s a burn, an electrical burn. It looks like the patch my dad had on his thumb after he forgot to turn off the lamp before screwing in a new bulb.”

  I averted my eyes. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I muttered.

  Devon’s hands fell away and she sat down next to me. The concern was gone from her expression, replaced by a mischievous twinkle I knew well.

  “So tell me more about your mysterious new friend,” she said.

  Heat rushed to my cheeks again, likely coloring them to match the burn. “There’s not much to tell.” I shrugged, uncomfortable talking about him. “My foot got caught on something in the water. Then I hit my head and blacked out. When I came to, he was there.”

  “And you never thought to ask his name?” Devon pressed. “I mean, he did save your life.”

  Right, and then he burned me apparently, I thought.

  “And he was a total hottie,” Devon added when I remained silent.

  A picture of his brilliant green eyes flashed in my mind, and another wave of heat deepened my blush. He was good-looking, very good-looking. And I had been drawn to him. Only, even now I could recall the uneasy feelings he stirred up. There was something…off about him.

  “I’m tired, Dev,” I said in response to her probing.

  “Right.” Devon got to her feet. “All I’m saying is if some hot guy inexplicably appeared in my hour of need, I would be intrigued. Maybe even look him up online.”

  “That would be kinda hard without his name,” I pointed out.

  “True. But if he was at the lake, then he probably lives in or around Westwood. Someone we know probably knows him, too. We could find him. If you want.”

  Did I want to find him?

  “Think about it.”

  Devon stood awkwardly next to the bed, shifting from one foot to the other. Now that she had said her piece, she was anxious to join our friends outside.

  “Go on outside and join the party. I’m fine,” I assured her.

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind keeping you company.” The relief in her eyes contradicted her sentiments. Not that I blamed her. Hanging out with me when she could be lounging in a hot tub and gossiping with our friends would have been a drag.

  “Positive. I’m going to fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.”

  Devon hesitated a moment longer, indecision flickering in her big blue eyes. “Okay. But I’m leaving my cell on the bedside table. Call Liz’s phone if you need me.” There was a soft clatter as she placed the phone on the wooden surface. “Don’t touch it unless you have to,” she teased. “I can’t afford to replace it.”

  “Very funny,” I grumbled.

  I curled up under the comforter as Devon headed for the door. She flipped the light switch and paused. “I’m really sorry about the necklace, Eel. There’s still a chance we’ll find it. And maybe he’ll send another this year.”

  I said nothing. We wouldn’t find my dream catcher necklace. The woods around the l
ake were dense, and there was no telling where it fell out. And Devon was wrong. My father wouldn’t send another one this year. I had six of them, well five now - one for every birthday from my eighth to my thirteenth. But he hadn’t sent a single necklace in the time he’d been away.

  “I’m sure he’ll call, if he hasn’t already. Your phone is dead. He probably left a message,” Devon continued softly.

  A phone call. That was Dad’s birthday present to me these last five years, and I cherished each and every minute of those calls just as much as the dream catchers.

  “Anyway, happy birthday, Endora.”

  With that, Devon was gone and I was alone. Tears burned the backs of my closed lids. With everything that had happened, my father’s yearly phone call ― or, rather, lack thereof ― had managed to slip my mind until that moment. As of the time my friends had snatched me from my bedroom, there had been no message from him on my phone. I’d called my voice mail every hour on the hour to check. Of all the birthdays to miss, he had to pick my eighteenth, I thought wryly.

  The room was eerily quiet, and I had the urge to grab Devon’s phone and tell her to come back. As much as I wanted to fall asleep and forget about the incident at Caswell Lake and my absentee father, I didn’t want to be alone.

  I started to reach for the cell. High-pitched giggles drifted up from Elizabeth’s back deck, and I retracted my hand. My foul mood didn’t need to ruin the rest of the night for my friends, too. At least someone should enjoy my birthday.

  Two hours later, I was still awake when a chlorine-scented Elizabeth crawled into bed next to me. I practiced even breathing so she would think I was asleep. It worked. Within minutes Elizabeth’s soft snores filled the bedroom.

  The last thing I heard before drifting off was Devon yelling she needed more Jim Beam.

  The dock swayed beneath my feet. Vertigo swept over me. A full moon cast a hazy glow over his beautiful features, creating a halo of light around his golden-chestnut waves. Blue-black water quietly lapped the wooden support beams, creating a soothing soundtrack for the evening. Spring was in full bloom; lilac shrubs were sprinkled across the grass bank behind me. Their fragrance was an intoxicating addition to the ambiance.

  He stood on the end of the wooden walkway, clad in a tuxedo with a single red rose fastened to the lapel. He held out a hand in my direction, and I moved forward to join him.

  Silk swished softly as I walked. The strapless green dress fit me to a tee, the train of which trailed behind me, gliding effortlessly over the dock. In one hand I held a pair of gold heels. The wood was rough against the soles of my bare feet, but I hardly noticed. All that mattered was reaching him.

  He stood still as a statue, watching my every move with unwavering intensity. As soon as I was within arm’s reach, his hands darted out, closed around my waist, and he pulled me against him.

  When his lips touched mine, I didn’t flinch at the spark that passed between us. The kiss felt right and familiar, like it wasn’t the first we’d shared. I threw my arms around his neck, thinking we could never be close enough.

  He lifted me off the dock and spun me around in a circle. I laughed against his mouth, thrilled by the weightlessness. He released me. Instead of my feet finding the dock, they were met with nothingness. Suddenly I was falling much too fast. What felt like a dozen tiny hands grabbed the hem of my dress, speeding my descent.

  Shock overshadowed the desire to scream or cry out. My eyes found his, silently begging him to say something, do something. He stood motionless, watching me fall, his emerald green irises full of pain and remorse.

  My back hit the ice cold water with jarring force. The hands slid over my entire body like slippery vines. The more I struggled, the tighter they held on. Just before my head disappeared under the water’s surface, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  I opened my mouth. Fishy water washed over my tongue and poured down my throat, cutting off any words I might have said. Icy water and panic engulfed me, but instead of fighting, I let the blackness take me under.

  Chapter Three

  Voices, like trumpets, blared inside my head, screaming at me that “We were young,” and to “Set the world on fire.” I flailed my arms and bolted upright. My heart was beating too fast. When I tried to swallow, my throat felt raw, like after my tonsillectomy in the seventh grade. The room spun, and my head felt like it weighed more than my neck could hold.

  “Make it stop,” Elizabeth’s muffled voice groaned beside me.

  It took me a minute to clear my head and remember that I was in Elizabeth’s bedroom. As I took in the familiar walls covered with movie posters and photographs, my pulse returned to a normal rate, and I almost laughed at how scared I’d been when I first woke up. Fun still played at max volume from somewhere across the room.

  “Make it stop,” Elizabeth repeated, burying her face deeper into her feather pillow.

  I fumbled with the heavy drapes surrounding her bed, tumbling to the floor with a thud when I finally found an opening. My feet sunk into the plush carpeting as I limped toward the noise. My foot ached, and the bandages were stiff with dried blood.

  “Practice,” I called to Elizabeth, who still lay moaning in her bed.

  “Let’s skip,” came her muffled reply.

  “I can’t,” I said, already heading to her closet to scrounge up workout clothes. “Remember, I’m the captain.”

  I was honored when Coach Peters chose me to be Captain of Westwood High’s Varsity Women’s lacrosse team. But the responsibility that came with leadership sucked. Every girl on the team could opt out of three Saturday practices per season, except for me. As captain, my presence was mandatory.

  “Well, el ca-pi-tan,” Elizabeth drawled each syllable from her sanctuary. “I think I’m exercising my right to miss today’s practice.”

  “You can’t. I need a ride. Devon already called dibs on not going.”

  This marked Devon’s third missed Saturday practice, and the first game was the following Friday. Coach Peters would be furious. Part of me thought she had made me captain in the hope that I would keep Devon in line.

  Like me, Devon made varsity as a freshman, and she was no doubt the better player. But she was irresponsible and lacked focus ― Coach Peters’ words, not mine ― and had therefore been passed over for captain. Devon was a natural at everything: academics, sports, popularity. She wasn’t used to losing. While Devon assured me that she was happy I’d been selected, I knew it secretly bothered her.

  “Fiiiiiiiiine.” Elizabeth gave an exaggerated sigh. “Pick out some clothes for me while I take a cold shower and wake my brain.” With that she disappeared into her bathroom, and the next thing I heard was the sound of running water.

  While Elizabeth showered, I used the guest bathroom to get cleaned up. The cut on my foot looked a lot better this morning, just a little puffy and red. As I showered and applied fresh bandages, I tried to recall the dream that had startled me awake. I remembered water and nothing else. Not that I normally remembered my dreams after waking up, except for the recurring one from my childhood about the green-faced witch chasing me into a cage – I loved the Wizard of Oz. But not being able to recall the details of this one bothered me. Remembering felt important, like it somehow mattered in the grand scheme of life.

  Since time was short, I skipped washing my hair, even though the stench of lake water still clung to the strands. When I tried to brush out the tangles, the bristles kept snagging at the base of my skull. Frustrated, I switched to using my fingers to comb through the more matted pieces. Something sharp sliced my skin; it felt like a paper cut. I looked at my finger. One small drop of blood welled on the tip. Tentatively, I felt around the lump on my head. Several sharp pieces of something that felt like glass were stuck in my hair. I worked them free, my anxiety spiking. I had a bad feeling, which was confirmed when I examined the small slivers. They weren’t glass at all. They were identical to the blue-green shards that had been lodged into my foot.

&
nbsp; I swallowed thickly, closed my eyes, and counted to ten to calm my racing heart. Shards of rock, I told myself, just as I’d told Devon the night before. Once I felt more in control, I opened my eyes and stared at my reflection over the porcelain sink basin. “There was nothing in the water. Your mind was playing tricks on you,” I said out loud.

  My jaw clenched, the muscles around my mouth twitching noticeably. Even my reflection knew that what happened in the water wasn’t purely a figment of my imagination.

  ****

  Twenty minutes later, Elizabeth pulled her sleek BMW into Westwood High’s jock lot. The school was so big that it needed five parking areas for all of the students, teachers, and staff. Jock lot, as it was so aptly named, was the one closest to the locker rooms. Both the junior varsity and varsity girls were already congregated and stretching on the practice field.

  Elizabeth and I grabbed our sticks from the trunk and dashed across the grass to join them.

  “You’re late, Andrews,” Coach Peters called as I took my place in the center of the circle next to the JV captain, a sophomore named Anna Beth Walters.

  “Sorry, Coach,” I apologized, dropping my stick to the grass and mimicking Anna Beth.

  “You and Bowers owe me suicides on the hill,” she said pointedly, gesturing to a steep, grassy slope behind the practice field.

  I caught Elizabeth’s gaze across the circle. “I’m soooooo sorry,” she mouthed. I shook my head to let her know it was fine.

  Frequently relying on Devon for rides to practice meant I was often late. It wasn’t the first time, and certainly wouldn’t be the last, that Coach punished my tardiness by making me run that hill.

  Practice went as well as I could have hoped on barely four hours of nightmarish sleep. During the warm-up drills I was sluggish and dropped several easy passes. Most of my shots on goal went wide, but since I normally played defense, that wasn’t unusual.

  Elizabeth didn’t fare much better. She was normally one of our leading scorers, but she missed every eight-meter shot she attempted. Every time the ball sailed over the goalie’s head, Coach Peters’ jaw clenched tighter, and I knew that she was keeping a mental tally of our respective screw-ups so she could assign a corresponding number of suicides.