Aberrate

by Wendi Wilson

  A sigh of relief flows out of me as they both slip a hand into each of mine, tangling our fingers together. We should be coming up with a plan to protect Grace, to make sure she’s safe. But the thought skitters out of my head as quickly as it came.

  Sleep is coming to claim me, and I let it sweep me away into its swirling mass of darkness.

  21

  When I wake up again, I’m alone. I turn my head toward the clock to check the time, and the movement send a fresh wave of pain rocketing through my skull. I squeeze my eyes shut, grinding my teeth together against the pain. When the worst of it passes, I lift my eyelids a fraction and focus on the glowing digital numbers. It’s almost nine.

  My eyes drift to a glass of water, and I realize I’ve never been so thirsty in my life. Keeping my movements slow and measured, I reach for the glass and see two white pills resting beside it. Oh, thank God. The boys left me some pain meds.

  I open my mouth to pop them in and pain tears across my face. I soft mewl escapes my lips at the shock of it. With the pain in my head basically incapacitating me, I’d forgotten about Jimmy’s fist slamming into my cheekbone. I probably have one hell of a shiner.

  As I press the glass to my lips and swallow down the pills, I hear what sounds like a herd of cattle stomping up the stairs. The bedroom door swings open and Silas rushes in, followed by Slade, Savanna and the others.

  “We heard you cry out,” Slade says, moving close to the bed. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I respond, whispering to keep the pain at a minimum. “I’m fine. My face just hurts when I open my mouth.” I try to smile, but I can tell by his face my attempt is a total failure. “Thanks for the pain pills.”

  “Hey, you,” Savanna says in a soft voice, moving around Silas and Slade to get to my bedside. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I got punched in the face,” I quip, but the joke falls flat.

  She presses her lips together, so tight all the color leeches from them. I can feel the anger radiating from her, that famous southern temper threatening to come out in full force. I’m glad it’s not directed at me. I’ve seen the destruction this girl can wreak when she’s pissed.

  “Uh, can you guys give me and Savanna some time alone?” I ask.

  A tight pressure in my lower abdomen reminds me I haven’t peed in like thirteen hours. And I am so not asking the boys to help me to the toilet. The Patton triplets nod and offer a few words of support as they file from the room. Silas and Slade look torn, like they might refuse to leave me, but Savanna shoos them from the room, closing the door softly behind them.

  When the last of the footsteps fades down the staircase, Savanna looks at me with one blonde brow arched. “You know they’re listening, right?” she asks, one corner of her mouth turned up.

  “Yeah,” I say, “I know. But I’m going to pretend they can’t hear and beg you to help me to the bathroom.”

  “Oh, of course,” she replies.

  She steps closer, holding her hands out in front of her. I reach up and lock my hands with hers, and she pulls gently, letting me set the pace until I’m sitting up, my legs dangling off the edge of the bed. Pain flows through my skull and I take a few deep breaths through my nose until it ebbs.

  With a slight nod, I lean forward as she pulls me upright. Her arm snakes around my waist, holding my close to her side as she pulls my arm over her shoulder. Once she’s certain she has a good grip on me, we shuffle slowly toward the door.

  Out in the hallway, the guys’ voices drift up to me.

  “We should just go help,” one of them says.

  “It’ll just embarrass her, Slade,” the other says.

  “Savanna better not drop her.”

  Savanna breathes out an indignant huff before softly saying, “I heard that, jackwagon.”

  The voices fall silent as we continue our trek across the hall to the bathroom. Once inside, Savanna closes the door behind us and leads me to the toilet. I lean my shoulder against the wall and swat her hands away as she starts to unbutton my jeans.

  “I got it,” I say.

  She holds up her hands in surrender and turns her back, giving me some modicum of privacy. “Let me know if you need any help.”

  I manage to get my pants undone and pulled down, but a fresh wave of pain roars through my head. I wish those damn pain pills would kick in. I sit down on the toilet, but a thought occurs to me, making me tense and unable to pee.

  “Are they listening to me pee, right now?”

  Savanna laughs and moves to the sink. She turns it on full force to mask any sounds I might make. I relax, silently thanking her.

  “You know,” she says, “we can’t just turn off our Alt hearing whenever we want. We all hear each other use the bathroom. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  “Please, stop,” I groan. “I really don’t want to think about you all hearing me poop.”

  She laughs again, then changes the subject. “Do you need any help?”

  “I can manage,” I huff out, somehow managing to get my pants up and buttoned.

  I flush the toilet and she turns to offer support, but I wave her off and manage to shuffle over to the sink. I wash my hands and dry them, turning off the faucet before holding out an arm to her. She ducks under so I can lean on her and leads me back to the bedroom.

  Before I can get settled back on the bed, Silas and Slade are back with a ham and cheese sandwich and a glass of milk on a wooden tray. Slade places the tray on my lap and I give him a soft smile. Silas hands me a napkin, his fingers lingering on mine for an extra second.

  Love and gratitude flow through me. I’m so glad I have these boys in my life. I don’t know what I’d do without them.

  “We have some news,” Jett says as he, Wyatt and Beckett breeze into the room. “Emily Sang returned my call.”

  “Already?” I ask, my sandwich pausing halfway to my mouth.

  “She’s very interested in working with us on a vaccination,” he says. “She wants to meet next week.”

  “Do you think we can trust her?” Savanna asks, voicing my own concerns.

  “We could persuade her to be honest with us when we meet her,” Wyatt offers.

  “Yeah, but that won’t ensure that her motives don’t change later on,” Beckett says.

  “I think we’ve learned that having this kind of power can go straight to a person’s head,” Silas says.

  “Yeah,” Savanna responds, “but Dr. Patton and President Worth had selfish intentions from the start. From what I’ve read, Dr. Sang is a pioneer in the medical field, creating new medications and fighting against the big pharmaceutical companies who take advantage of the sick and poor.”

  “What if we persuade her to…I don’t know…always remain honest and trustworthy?” Slade asks.

  “That won’t work,” Beckett says. “Once she gives herself the vaccine, any previous persuasion will be broken. She can do whatever she wants.”

  A beat of silence follows, then Jett says, “We’ll just have to trust her.”

  I finish my sandwich as Jett’s words hang in the air. Despite only opening my mouth the barest necessity and chewing slowly, the pain in my face has returned in full force from the movement. I lean back against the pillows with a grimace and Silas lifts the wooden tray from my lap and sets it on the floor.

  “I called Earl Patton’s church,” Savanna says, changing the subject. “I pretended to be a newly indoctrinated Purist and asked to speak to Jimmy O’Connor to see if their branch of the church would be a good fit for me.”

  My eyes flare wide at her statement. “Who answered? What did they say?”

  “I didn’t catch the receptionist’s name, but she informed me that Brother Jimmy is out of town on church business and transferred my call to his personal assistant.” She pauses for a moment, her eyes filled with something that looks like pity, then blurts out, “It was your mom.”

  “What?” My mouth forms the word, but no sound actually comes ou
t.

  Her head bobs up and down as she says, “She informed me she is Brother Jimmy’s right hand, and could answer all my questions. And Lizzie, I think they’re up to something. Your mom directed me to several social media sites, particularly one frequented by young teens. The church has a profile set up for each one and the posts seem to be geared toward younger people.”

  “So now that I’m gone, this is how they’re recruiting kids,” I say on a sigh.

  “Girls,” she whispers.

  “What?”

  Slade sits on the edge of the bed and takes my hand in his, saying, “We looked at the sites after Savanna told us. Most of the posts seem to target young girls. The posts read like a fucking cult, talking about belonging, being accepted for who you are, and finding love and affection.”

  “And the pictures are always of girls. Sometimes with other girls, smiling and laughing. Sometimes with guys, holding hands and looking happy. All of them seem to be trying to attract girls.”

  “Let me see,” I say holding out my hand.

  Slade pulls his phone from his pocket and releases my hand to tap at the screen. He pulls up a social media site a lot of young people use to post pictures. He passes the phone to me and I scroll through the feed before tapping on a picture of a young couple.

  The girl is smiling at the camera, her puffy cheeks pink with rosacea. She’s wearing braces and her dark hair is straight and limp. My eyes drift to the guy and widen with surprise. He’s hot. Like, really hot, with sandy blonde hair that’s gelled to perfection. His sky-blue eyes are trained on the girl, and he’s looking at her like he couldn’t possibly love anything more.

  It’s the caption, though, that gets me.

  “Come visit us at the Divine Church of Purity in Savanna, where you will be accepted and loved for who you are,” I read.

  My eyes dart around the room, then I look back down at the picture.

  “So, they’re appealing to girls with low self-esteem. They see this picture of this girl, who has braces and skin problems and oily hair…someone they can relate to. She’s with this gorgeous guy who looks like a model, and he’s looking at her like she’s everything to him.”

  I click back to the church’s main page and scroll through the rest of the pictures and they’re more of the same. I drop Slade’s phone to the bed and close my eyes. Why is the church targeting girls? It doesn’t make any sense.

  Then I remember Jimmy’s hands on me. His fingers cruelly twisting my flesh while he whispered horrible things into my ear. His erection pressing into my backside.

  You like this, don’t you, slut?

  My heart starts to pound, so hard I can hear the blood roaring through my ears. I start to shiver, and my breath catches in my throat. I can’t breathe, then I’m breathing too much. Air puffs in and out of my lungs too fast and I start to feel light-headed.

  I’ll show you what a real man feels like.

  “Lizzie.”

  My wild eyes stop rolling around and all I can see is Silas. He’s in my face, his palms pressed against my cheeks. His gaze catches mine and I stare, my body paralyzed with fear.

  “Breathe,” he says softly. “Slow it down. In for four, out for four.”

  He takes a deep breath, nodding four times as he breathes in, then nods another four times as he slowly lets it out. I try to match his rhythm, my breath hitching a few times before I manage to evenly inhale and exhale with him.

  My heart slows its frantic beating and slowly, I start to regain control of my limbs. Silas seems to sense I’m out of the woods and slowly backs out of my personal space. I glance around the room at the others, finding similar looks of concern on each of their faces.

  “I-I’m sorry,” I stutter out.

  A great, heaving sob works its way up from my chest, and tears pour from eyes. As my guys stretch out on the bed, cocooning me between them, I barely notice as the others quietly slip from the room.

  I cry myself to sleep, my tears soaking Slade’s shirt while the heat from Silas’s chest warms my back.

  22

  “How are you feeling today?”

  I’m feeling like this is dumb and I don’t need to be here. But I promised my friends I’d give it a chance, so I answer her question.

  “I’m good. I haven’t cried in two days.”

  Dr. Levinson nods and writes something down on her notepad. This is my second session with the on-campus therapist, and I don’t feel any more comfortable than I did at the first appointment three days ago.

  I rub my face, feeling a twinge of pain in my bruised cheek. The swelling is gone and the bruise has faded to a gross yellowish splotch. The pain from my concussion is almost gone, as well.

  “Have you attended any classes?”

  I press my lips together and give a slight shake of the head. I tried. Really, I did. After resting at home for three days, I got up Friday morning with every intention of going to class. I showered, dressed, ate breakfast with my housemates…everything was fine.

  That is, until I stepped out of the car and headed toward my first class. My heart started to race, beating quicker and quicker with each step I took. By the time I reached the business building, my breathing was fast and shallow and I felt like I was going to pass out.

  I turned and ran back to the car, Silas and Slade following behind me. We crowded into the backseat with me squished in between them, and they held me until the tears ran dry. Then Slade climbed over into the driver’s seat and drove us home while Silas rubbed gentle circles on my back.

  “You said your friends talked you into coming here?” she asks, pulling me from the memory.

  “Yes,” I answer. “They thought if I had someone to talk to, an unbiased professional, I might be able to work through this better.”

  “But you don’t agree.”

  It was a statement, not a question, but I answer her anyway.

  “It’s not that,” I say, a bit on the defensive side. “I just think I need some time to get over it. I’ll be fine.”

  She nods and changes the subject again. “Tell me about your parents.”

  I’m a little taken aback, and I open my mouth to argue that this has nothing to do with them. Remembering my promise, I swallow my denials and start to talk.

  I tell her about my upbringing in the Purist church, the pressure my parents put on me to become a protégé to Brother Earl in order to raise their status within the ranks. I tell her some of the terrible things I did to please them all. I explain how they disowned me when I turned against the church.

  As I talk, I start to understand how it all connects. My parents, Earl Patton, the church, Jimmy O’Connor. Every piece forms a puzzle that’s led to me sitting right here, right now.

  I talk about Savanna and the Patton triplets. Me and the Madsen twins. How we’re all living together, my trio and their quartet.

  As the story spills out of me, I realize just how fucked up this must sound to an outsider, someone who hasn’t lived it. She probably thinks I’m damaged goods, too far gone to be helped. Hell, I’m not sure I’d disagree with her at this point.

  Without saying a word, she rises from her chair and strides across the room to her desk. Grabbing a silver frame from the corner, she walks back and hands it to me.

  “I have a better understanding of this than you realize,” she says as she retakes her seat.

  I look down at the photo behind the glass. Centered in the shot are two teenaged girls. My eyes flit back and forth between them, taking in their features. Identical wavy red hair, just like their mom’s. Identical white skin splattered with cinnamon-colored freckles. Identical Cupid’s bow mouths, turned up into identical sassy grins.

  Identical gray eyes, the irises rimmed in bright silver.

  “My daughters, Harlow and Evie,” she says. “They are good girls, always doing the right thing. They would never hurt a soul and they never use persuasion.”

  I hold the frame out to her as she speaks and she takes it, smiling at the
photo before setting it on the small table beside her. Then she shoots me a self-deprecating smile.

  “I’m not supposed to talk about myself during our sessions. It’s unprofessional, I know. But I thought it might help. Knowing about my daughters, knowing about the tears I’ve had to dry because they were picked on at school, about the fear I’ve lived with that something bad will happen to them at the hands of that church and its awful parishioners—well, I just thought it would help you trust me a little more. I do get it, Lizzie.”

  I stare at her silently for a few beats, then ask, “Do they go to school here?”

  She laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

  “No. They wanted to take a year off after graduation. They’re actually in D.C.”

  My blood freezes in my veins as I suck in a sharp breath. With wide I eyes, I swallow several times.

  “Lizzie? Are you okay?”

  I clear my throat, but my voice still cracks on the question, “What are they doing there?”

  “Oh,” she says, and I can practically see her preening, “they were invited to join the president’s youth outreach program. They’re working directly for him. It’s such a great opportunity, and not bad for their resumes, either.”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” I chant, jumping from my seat.

  “Lizzie, take a breath,” she says, her voice calm.

  “No!” I shout, moving to stand over her. “Call them. Tell them to come home. They can’t stay there.”

  Her cool composure slips a little, just a slight flare of the eyes.

  “Why don’t you sit down and tell me why you’re so upset?” she suggests.

  I walk backwards to my chair and perch on the edge of the seat. I haven’t told her anything about our dealings with the president, and I hadn’t planned to. Even if she did believe me, and that’s doubtful, knowledge can be dangerous. If she tells the wrong person…

  “Everything I say here is confidential, right?” I ask. “You can’t tell anyone, ever. Right?”

  I can hear the manic edge in my voice, but I can’t reign it in. Dr. Levinson is a nice person. Her daughters are good girls. She said so. President Worth will ruin them.