Run to You Part Two: Second Glance
Page 6
* * *
Downstairs in the kitchen, I modeled the dress for my mother. “You look like a snowflake, Babydoll,” she said. “A tiny silver snowflake.”
I gave her a small smile, and she returned it. “Why don’t you take some extra time tonight with Tristan?” she said. “We can extend your curfew by a couple hours.”
We both knew her offer was an apology for last night. I accepted it. I needed to apologize for something too. “I’m sorry about emailing the professor.”
She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “I’m sure you were just doing what Jillian told you to do.”
I spoke in a whisper. “It was my idea.”
Her head jerked up, eyes flashing. “You know how dangerous Dennis Connelly is, more than anyone! How could you create trouble like that?”
A glass shattered behind me and I flinched, bracing myself to be flown into the wall. “Mom, I’m sorry! Please!”
The anger in her eyes was replaced with horror, then remorse. “I’m losing control,” she said, high and helpless. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she covered her face. “I’m just so...tired. I’m so tired, Tessa.”
She looked so small, hunched over like that, rocking back and forth. I put my arms around her. “Things will get better soon,” I said, knowing my words were just another lie.
* * *
Logan got a ride to the dance with his friends from jazz band. While I waited for Tristan to pick me up, I found my dad slouched in his leather armchair, rubbing his temples. When he saw me, he straightened. “Hi, Tessa Blessa.” As usual, his eyes went straight to my stomach before focusing on the total me. “You look adorable.”
I perched on the armrest next to him. “Thanks.”
“Pretty scary, last night,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve never seen your mother like that.”
“Mom had a right to be angry,” I said, and I meant it. “What we did was wrong.”
He looked at me then with such guilt and despair, and for a few seconds he didn’t breathe. “I’m so sorry, Tessa,” he said, his voice tight. “For...” He gestured to the kitchen where my mom sat, up the stairs where my sister lay in her room, to my stomach, and finally threw both hands in the air. “For everything.”
He looked so hopeless, so...broken. “Dad, no one blames you for anything.”
He finally exhaled. “I blame myself. For everything.”
The doorbell rang. “Go on,” he said with a sigh. “That’s got to be Tristan.”
I hesitated. “I should stay home.”
“He’s a good guy, that Tristan,” Dad said. “Have a good time at the dance. That’s an order.”
“Okay, but no more headaches, Daddy. That’s an order.”
He chuckled and closed his eyes.
* * *
Dozens of giant cardboard snowflakes dangled from the ceiling and strings of tiny white lights twinkled, transforming the school gymnasium into a winter wonderland. The music pulsated and the gym was packed with TLC students, but I entered the dance with confidence, certain Tristan would whisk me away before a panic attack hit.
As I slipped off my coat, I saw a sparkle of lust behind his tired eyes. I grinned and twirled around. “You like?”
He touched one of my curls, then slid his hand down to my bare shoulder, then to the silver ribbon around my waist. “I love.”
“I love you too.” I gave him a kiss. “Your turn.” He imitated me by slipping off his sports jacket and spinning around. He wore a crisp white button-down shirt with a little pink horse embroidered above the pocket, showing off his broad chest. His wavy hair was tousled. His chin was scruffy, and his lips...
Suddenly ravenous for him, I slid my arms around his neck, drawing him close. He kissed me, tender and eager at the same time. The DJ played a series of romantic ballads, and Tristan and I swayed to each song. The crowd swirled around us, but I felt like we were alone on the dance floor.
When I saw a girl take out her cell phone and start snapping pictures, I told Tristan I was thirsty. We went to get a drink in the front hall. While we waited in line, Logan came over and pulled me into a quiet corner. “This is our first chance to talk,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry.”
My whole family was a big bundle of apologies today. “For what?”
“For telling Mom and Dad about the professor. Well, I’m not sorry I told them, but I’m sorry if it upset you.”
“No, you did the right thing.” Now I was the only one keeping secrets from our parents.
Logan leaned against the wall. “Mom’s losing it. Big-time.”
“Yeah.” I leaned next to him. “Dad too. Jillian’s given up.”
But since neither of us knew what else to do, we said nothing more. Tristan broke through the crowd and headed over, holding three cups of punch.
And then I did know what to do.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I told Tristan I wanted to skip the rest of the dance. I needed to go home, I explained, but first I needed to tell him something. With a slightly suspicious look, he suggested we go back to his house.
When we got there, Melissa and Philip weren’t home. Tristan was surprised, but I was glad. We had the whole house to ourselves. But really, I only wanted to be in one small part of it. We climbed the stairs to his room, then after Tristan turned on his speakers, we sat on his bed, facing each other. “Tristan,” I started.
“Wait.” He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. “Give me your hand.”
I did, and he slid a circle of tiny pearls, set in a band of gold, on my forth finger. It fit perfectly, like it was made just for me. “It’s like the ring in Anne of Green Gables.”
“I know.”
“You read it?”
“I skimmed it. I thought you’d like a ring like the one in the book, so I found one. I’ve been carrying it around for weeks.”
I held it up to the light. It was old but clean and polished, and the gold shone. My parents never took off their wedding rings because their love would last forever. My sister never took off the gold bracelet from her Nebraska boyfriend because it reminded her that love was possible, even if it couldn’t last.
Either way. “I’ll never take off this ring. No matter what. I promise.”
“Good. Because this is a promise ring,” he said, taking my hand and kissing it. “A promise that every time I’ve told you that I love you, I meant it. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I don’t want to lose you, Tessa. I wish...”
“Shh.” He wouldn’t lose me. Not if my plan worked. Locking my eyes on to his, I straddled his legs and ran my palms over his cheeks. My new ring sparkled. “Tristan.”
“Hmm.”
“I have an idea. A plan.”
He tensed, eyes narrowing. “Okay...”
“You promised that you would keep me safe.”
“Yeah.” The suspicion didn’t leave his voice. “And I will.”
“But there’s only one way you can keep me safe,” I said. “And that’s if I tell my parents.”
His eyes flew open wide. “About what?”
“About how I told you everything. About your warning premonitions.”
“What? No!” He slid me off his lap onto the bed, almost angrily. “You can’t!” He stood, raking his hand through his hair. “You didn’t tell your brother and sister already, did you?”
“Not yet. Tonight. When you take me home, maybe we can tell them together.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“My parents are so tired. My dad’s headaches aren’t getting better. And my mom—you know how upset she got last night. They won’t be able to keep us safe much longer. But you can. Y
ou’re the only one who can. You can warn us if something bad is about to happen.” I swallowed hard. What I was about to say would sound desperate, but I was desperate. “...And when we run, maybe...maybe you can come with us.”
He froze, his face a mask of horror.
“I’m asking you to go into hiding with us,” I said. “That’s huge, I know. We’ll find a way for you to keep in contact with your family.”
Why wasn’t he saying anything? I drew my knees to my chin. “It’s the only way we can stay together,” I said. “Us. You and me.”
He paced, frantic, scraping both hands through his hair. “I need to think. Let me think!”
“But Tristan,” I whispered, “you promised you would keep me safe.”
Pity and despair chased each other across his eyes as he sat on the bed and took my face between his hands. With an anguished, guttural groan, he pressed his lips on to mine. He slid one hand behind my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, the other hand sliding down my neck, my bare shoulder, stopping at the ribbon around my waist, and pulled me close.
I pressed closer to him, tasting him, inhaling his smell of soap and spice and masculinity. But this kiss was different from all the rest. So joyless, so...final.
With a gasp I pushed him away. “You’re not going to help us,” I said, forcing my words around the brick in my throat. He grabbed me before I could run away, because he knew I was about to do just that.
“Let me go.” I tugged, but he held tight. “Let me go!”
“Tessa.” He held on, staring hard at me until I met his eyes. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to hear how he thought my family’s situation was hopeless, that there was no escape, that we were fated to be slain like animals. I didn’t want to hear him say I was selfish for asking him to give up his family, his friends, his future.
I didn’t want to hear him say he wasn’t helping us because he didn’t love me as much as I loved him.
But, chin trembling, I waited for him to tell me anyway. It would be easier to leave him if I heard him say it.
“I’m not who...” He stopped, took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Closed his eyes. Then another deep breath. He opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could, his eyes flew open wide with terror.
* * *
“Get up.” Tristan grabbed my arm and pulled me off the bed. Rushed me from the room. Peered down the stairway. “I have to get you out of here. Come on.”
Heartbroken and confused, I stumbled behind him down the stairs and through the living room, to the front door. “Tristan, what were you saying? You’re not who?”
“Shh.” He reached for the knob, then drew his hand back. “He has a guard at the door to stop us.”
And then, like an axe to the chest, the panic hit me. There was only one he.
The living room, the entire world, spiraled as Tristan pulled me into the kitchen. “We might be able to sneak out through the patio—damn it.”
A bald man with a red beard—my memory flashed an image of him sitting at the bar with two drinks when Tristan took me on our first date—stood by the patio door, blocking our exit. Two expressionless men in black jackets stood behind him.
A grin slid across his bearded face like a snake slithering in the grass. “Tessa Carson,” he said. “At last. Our friend Dennis Connelly will be so happy we finally met.”
This man knew my name. My real name. My last name.
I’d never told Tristan my last name.
“Get out of our way, Kellan,” Tristan growled. “I know what you want to do, and I won’t let it happen.”
Heart pounding in my ears, lungs frozen in my chest, I was unable to take my eyes off the man whom Tristan had called Kellan. Tristan knew him?
Where was Dennis Connelly? I glanced around, every nerve prickling with panic. Was he in another room? Stealing in through the front door? Creeping up behind me?
“Dennis isn’t here,” Kellan said. “But don’t worry, I’m here to take you to him.” He snapped to the guards and pointed at me. They shoved Tristan aside and grabbed my arms.
“But this isn’t the way we do things!” Tristan yelled, and lunged at Kellan. Kellan threw a punch, but Tristan darted away and Kellan swung into empty air. “You can’t touch me,” Tristan said. “I’ll always see it coming.”
Kellan chuckled. “But she won’t.”
Tristan’s eyes widened. “Tessa, duck!”
But I couldn’t. The guards held my arms, and Kellan swung, cuffing me hard in the face. I stifled a scream as my head jerked back, pain exploding in my cheekbone.
Tristan pounced at him. “You son of a bitch!”
“You want me to do it again, Junior?” Kellan roared, his fist flying back. “Because I will do this as many times as it takes to get you to back off.”
Cheek throbbing, vision blurred by red-hot tears, I watched Tristan back away. “I’m sorry, Tessa,” he mouthed.
Kellan turned to me. “Now. Just in case your father’s watching...” He pinched my jaw in his fingers, forcing me to look up at him. “Good evening, Mr. Carson,” he said into my eyes, my father’s camera. “Connelly told me not to make this a personal thing, but it’s about eight years too late for that. It’s time to give yourselves up. I’m taking your daughter as insurance that you do. I’ll send instructions soon.” He took me from the guards and dragged me to the front door.
“Kellan! Wait!” Tristan shouted, chasing after us. “I’m going with you.”
“Get rid of him,” Kellan said to the guards, holding me easily as I tried to pull free. “Now, before he does something else to ruin this.”
Snarling, they fell upon Tristan like hungry lions.
Punching and pushing, Tristan fought them, ducking before each attempted hit. But as the blows came faster and from all directions, it became clear that his warning premonitions were only confusing him. Unable to distinguish premonition from present, he darted away from nothing, only to slam his face directly into a guard’s fist. He whirled around, stumbling backwards as the other guard punched him in the gut.
A high-pitched whistle pierced through the shouts and grunts. Tristan froze mid-punch, lips bloody, eyes wide. “No—don’t—”
His head snapped back and his body crumpled to the tile floor with a dull thud. Heaving, the guards backed away, leaving Tristan lying motionless, eyes open, but empty.
Gripping my arm tightly with one hand, Kellan used the other to calmly slide a gun back into his jacket.
“Is he...” I whimpered. “You killed him?”
“Kid got what he deserved.” Twisting my arm up high behind my back, Kellan clamped his hand over my mouth, then half dragged, half carried me outside.
The bitter cold air stung my bare shoulders and legs. All the streetlights, shining brightly when we’d come back after the dance, were dark now, and the yard was black. I tripped on my silver heels, and they fell off my feet. Kellan kicked them aside into a pile of old snow.
Tristan was dead.
Sobbing behind the bald man’s hand, I didn’t resist as he propelled me, barefoot, to a black SUV in the driveway. The vehicle was identical to the car Dennis Connelly had thrown me in eight years ago. “Ladies first,” Kellan said, and pushed me into the back seat.
Logan would fight. Jillian would fight. They had their psychokinesis. I had nothing.
But I could run.
So with my last ounce of sanity, I shifted and kicked Kellan as hard as I could with both feet, right in the chest. As he staggered back, I scrambled out of the car, then slipped past him and raced down the driveway.
Two blocks home. I could do it.
I shot myself forward, slicing through the wind like a knife. I imagined myself a racehorse, a cheetah.
A falcon. A jet.
But I was used to running in daylight, breathing deep with easy rhythm, not in blackness, each breath constricted by panicked sobs. In weather-resistant jogging clothes, not a strapless silver cocktail dress. In running shoes on a clear paved path, not barefoot on a sidewalk covered with snow and puddles of icy water. With my boyfriend keeping pace at my side, smiling gently down at me, not a killer’s hired hand and his guards pounding right behind me.
I was at least three steps ahead of them when I felt a tug around my middle and was jerked back, then hurled to the ground, my chin splicing open on the sidewalk.
It was the silver ribbon around my waist. They’d grabbed the ends and used it to rein me in.
I’d made it all the way to the end of the block. Halfway home.
* * *
A knee between my shoulder blades held me on my stomach, moaning and sobbing, cheek pressed in a puddle. Kellan pulled my hands behind my back, then snapped something cold and metal around my wrists. Handcuffs.
He hauled me up, and his hand went back over my mouth. “Connelly calls you tiny little Tessa, and he’s right. You are tiny.” He hoisted me under his arm, back to Tristan’s house, where he shoved me back into the SUV. His hand was smeared with blood from my chin.
He jumped into the passenger seat, and the two guards sat on either side of me. I sobbed quietly, damp and shivering, as we drove away. I couldn’t watch Tristan’s house as it disappeared behind us. I watched the blood drip from my chin onto my dress instead.
We drove past my street. Why didn’t we go to my house? Did another one of Dennis Connelly’s colleagues already have my family?
Or was Dennis Connelly there himself, slicing them open?
“Does she have a cell phone on her?” Kellan asked the guards. I thought about my black cell phone, hidden in the secret pocket of my dress. My blue cell phone, the one that Tristan—my heart stabbed in confused pain at the memory of his lifeless body on the floor—had given me, was still in my silver handbag at his house.
Why hadn’t I thought to use either of those phones while Tristan was dragging me down the stairs? I could have warned my family. This was all my fault. Dennis Connelly was killing them right now, and it was all my fault.