by Clara Kensie
To keep up appearances, Tristan and I went to school, and Deirdre went to work. Every day after school, though, Tristan and I camped out at Hawthorne’s in a booth at the front window until the diner closed at midnight. Main Street’s wooden Welcome to Lilybrook—a Friendly Place to Live sign was visible from where we sat. If—when—Jillian and Logan came to Lilybrook, they would drive past that sign.
Though visions, I had gotten to know the previous inhabitants of this booth very well. Bernie Jessup and Mandy Klein shared a sundae here in 1973. A kindergarten soccer team in yellow uniforms celebrated a victory here in 1995. Two weeks ago, while Tristan and I were driving back to Lilybrook from Lady Elke’s, Nathan Gallagher and Winter Milbourne had occupied this booth after leaving the APR. Nathan had just been put on probation for blocking Tristan’s premonitions. Then they’d heard what had happened in Lady Elke’s shed that day, and they were furious that we’d dragged Melanie along.
I smothered that last vision with fog and stared outside, willing Jillian and Logan to drive past the wooden sign.
So far, two psychics—one in Wyoming and one in Minnesota—had contacted Tristan. They had both been visited by Jillian and Logan, and they both had directed them to Lilybrook.
Every day, we waited. Every day, they didn’t come.
But they would come. Brinda Lakhani had predicted it. I carried her drawing of a pink lily over a blue brook with me, wherever I went, along with Jillian’s ballet shoe and Logan’s sheet music.
They will come. I repeated that to myself with every step I took, with every breath, every heartbeat. They will come.
My reflection shone in the window at Hawthorne’s that Saturday evening. Tristan and I had been here since seven that morning, eleven hours straight, trying to study, but mostly watching for Jillian and Logan. His criminal justice textbook was open on the table, but he hadn’t turned the page in over an hour. My geometry homework had turned into doodles of starbursts and wavy lines, replicas of Brinda’s drawings. His pork chops had gone cold, and I couldn’t take yet another bite of blueberry pie.
As I stared outside, Nathan Gallagher appeared in the window. Faint, ghostly. I blinked, then realized the image was just a reflection in the glass, and he was here, inside the diner, walking past our table.
He paused in his steps, looking down his narrow nose at us.
Tristan went rigid, his hands curling into fists. “Get out of here, Gallagher,” he rumbled. “You know you’ll get fired if you bother her. And it looks to me like you’re bothering her.”
Nathan gave him an innocent shrug and held up a to-go bag. “Just picking up some food,” he said, and rushed away.
With a shaky chuckle, Tristan put his arm around me. “I never thought he and I would end up like this.”
“I’m sorry you lost your best friend because of me,” I said.
“His loss.” He brushed my hair aside to kiss my neck. I leaned against him. “Tired?” he asked.
I nodded. “Tired of waiting. Tired of wondering. Tired of worrying.”
“You won’t have to wait much longer,” he said, his breath warm on my neck. I closed my eyes and sank into him, bending my neck to give him more access. “Jillian and Logan are on their way to Lilybrook...” he dotted kisses under my ear. “...and Kellan is hundreds of miles away where he can’t hurt—”
He cut himself off, and I opened my eyes. Had Nathan come back?
No. Beverly Jacobs was standing by our booth. The executive director of the APR. Aaron’s mother. Her clothes were ironed, her hair was smooth. But her brows were lowered and pulled together, making deep wrinkles across her forehead. Her lips were pressed tight together, forming deep lines around her mouth.
Mrs. Jacobs was furious.
And she was staring straight at us.
Chapter Forty-One
Tristan and I swiped everything into our bags and fled from the restaurant. “Did she hear us?” I cried. “What if she figured out what we’re doing?”
“I’m calling my dad,” Tristan whipped his phone from his pocket and dialed as we dashed to his car. “He’ll have to intercept any message she tries to get to Kellan.”
As he held the phone to his ear, a white sedan rumbled past us as we hurried to Tristan’s car. Out of habit, even in our rush, I looked at it. Thousands of vehicles had driven down Main Street over the past week, the majority of them Lilybrook residents. By this point, I was used to disappointment, and expected it.
The sedan pulled into a parking spot near the Welcome to Lilybrook sign. The setting sun reflected on its windshield, obscuring my view, but I could see that there were two people inside. Young. A boy and a girl.
Hope flooded my chest, a flash flood of hope, and I stopped short. “Tristan.”
“Is it them?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, barely able to speak. Oh please, oh please, oh please.
Both car doors opened, and they climbed out. Still shadowed, just silhouettes.
Jillian and Logan? No. I couldn’t let myself believe it was them. I couldn’t believe it until I actually saw them as more than shadows.
Tristan shoved his phone back in his pocket, and we crept a little closer.
Oh please, oh please, oh please...
They stepped into the fading sunlight. Both weary, disheveled, and much too thin.
The girl’s hair was a stringy dull brown, cut to the length of her chin.
Jillian.
The boy’s dark hair brushed past the collar of his jacket.
Logan.
The flood of hope turned into a tidal wave of joy. “It’s them,” I cried. “They’re here. In Lilybrook. They came.” They were here, really here, not visions of the past, not premonitions of the future. They were now. Here. In Lilybrook. Safe. Jillian and Logan. Jillian and Logan!
I pulled Tristan down by his collar. Kissed him, hard. This is it, I said. We found them. Us. You and me.
He kissed me back, just as hard. Now go get them, Clockwise. Go get your brother and sister.
I pushed the door open and stepped outside into the crisp March air. Run. Run. I wanted to run to them. I wanted to fly to them. But if I scared them, they would flee again. I forced myself to walk, slowly, in the shadows. Surely they could hear my steps as I approached. Surely they could hear my heart pounding.
Finally, I was close enough to hear what they were saying.
“This is it, Logan,” Jillian said. “Lilybrook, Wisconsin. A Friendly Place to Live.”
“It’s got to be a trap.” Logan, speaking in his low voice. So different, so clear, from how it sounded in my visions.
“It’s not a trap. Two different psychics told us to come here.” Jillian’s voice was higher, hopeful. “They said we’d be safe here. There are people here who can help us. We just have to find them.”
I took one more step, out of the shadows. “One of the people who can help you is standing right here,” I said.
Our gazes locked. Jillian’s gray eyes, Logan’s brown eyes.
“T-Tessa?” Jillian stammered.
Logan went rigid.
“Don’t be scared,” I said, palms up. “Please don’t be scared. I’ve been trying to find you. What those psychics told you was true. You’re safe here.”
Jillian squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. “But we thought—but I saw them kill—”
“They didn’t kill me. Mom and Dad are alive too.”
“B-but how?” Chin trembling, she glanced at Logan.
On guard, he looked at me, then scanned the street. Finally his gaze landed on me again. Just as I was about to raise my hoodie and expose the scars on my stomach, he exhaled, “It’s really you. Tessa.”
That’s when I lost it. Nodding and sobbing, I ran to them, stumbling in my rush,
and threw my arms around both of them at once. I squeezed. Breathed them in. They were solid. Real. Now.
Relief and elation filled me up and I couldn’t contain it; I was bursting with it, overflowing with it, and I wanted to share this incredible feeling with Tristan, the person I loved most in the world. He was still in the doorway of the diner, out of sight, and I shot him a message: I wish I could share this with you.
You are, Clockwise.
Finally, when our joyful sobs lessened to happy tears, I released my siblings and stepped back to look at them. I’d seen them in visions a few times, but seeing them in person was like switching from standard to high def. Each strand of hair. Each eyelash. Logan had stubble on his chin now. Jillian had flecks of blue in her gray eyes that I’d never noticed before. Awed, I reached out to touch them again, as they did to me.
Jillian finally pulled away. “Where are Mom and Dad?”
I sniffled one more time, my heart shattering at what I had to tell them. “There’s so much you need to know. But it’s getting dark. Come with me, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Chapter Forty-Two
I brought them to the Connellys’.
Dennis was still in Star River, keeping up the charade. We didn’t know if Mrs. Jacobs had overheard us at Hawthorne’s, and we didn’t want Kellan to return to Lilybrook until we were sure Jillian and Logan would be safe.
Deirdre, Ember and the animals stayed upstairs, as we’d predetermined as part of the plan. And as much as I wanted Tristan to help me tell my siblings the truth, I thought it’d be better if he stayed hidden until they had a chance to digest the information. Now he hovered at the top of the stairs, out of sight, but close by.
It was just the three of us. Jillian, Logan and me. I sat between them on the couch and held their hands in mine, unwilling to let go. They sat stiffly, on guard, like their bodies didn’t remember how to relax. Their gazes darted to the exits, to the clutter, to the family photos on the walls, and to the exits again.
“Is that Tristan Walker in those pictures?” Jillian said, her voice trembling.
“That’s Tristan, yes,” I said. I couldn’t tell them about the Connelly part. Not yet.
“But how—”
“I live here with Tristan and his family.”
Logan sat up even straighter. “Where are Mom and Dad.” A demand, not a question. “Tell us what’s happening, T—” He cut himself off and glanced at the doorway again.
“Tessa,” I finished for him. “You can use my real name. Everyone knows who I am.”
“Tessa,” he said, softly this time, like he was testing it. He glanced at the doorway, and when no one burst through to attack, he added, “Please.”
I squeezed their hands. Closed my eyes. Took a breath.
Licked my lips, swallowed.
But I couldn’t say it.
Our parents murdered people. Our parents had lied to us, they ruined our childhoods, they made us Killers’ Spawn. How could I tell them that? How could I give them that burden to carry for the rest of their lives?
But we were together now. I was no longer alone. As much as Tristan sympathized, he would never understand. Even if he was an empath like Cole, he would never fully understand. No one would understand, except for Jillian and Logan.
So maybe, by telling them the truth, all of that grief and despair and shame would be divided up three ways, and it would be lessened for each of us.
You can do this, Tessa. Tristan told me from his place at the top of the stairs. I had to tell you the truth, and it was hard for me too. But I did it, and you can too.
Tristan understood more than I thought he did.
God, I love you. I told him.
I love you too, Clockwise. I’ll be right here the whole time.
Us, I said.
You and me.
Knowing Tristan was supporting me, I closed my eyes. Took a breath.
Licked my lips, swallowed.
Then I said it. “Dennis Connelly isn’t the killer,” I began. “Our parents are.”
* * *
The sun rose long before I finished telling my siblings about our parents, and Tristan, and Dennis Connelly, and the APR, and the Underground, and Kellan, and Aaron Jacobs, and my new psionic abilities.
I held their hands the whole time, except when I wiped away tears. Their tears, and mine.
Now, his muscles tight and his jaw set, Logan had the green evidence binder open on his lap, absorbing the information with his hypercognition—swiping his palm over the pages. With each turn of the page, his face became grayer. I couldn’t watch as he stared at the photos of our parents’ victims. Would he dream about them now? Would his dreams be invaded by Nightmare Eyes now, too?
“No. No,” Jillian said. The entire room buzzed and vibrated. On the mantle, the mosaic vase I’d made in art class toppled over. “I don’t believe it. None of what you’re saying is true.”
“I wish it wasn’t,” I said. “But it is.” I was repeating the arguments I’d had with Tristan when we were in the Underground, only this time, I was reciting his words, and Jillian and Logan were the ones stuck in denial.
“They’re tricking you, Tessa,” she said. “You said this town is full of—what did you call them—psionic people? Maybe they’re controlling your mind. Projecting ideas into your head and making you believe them.”
Memories of our father’s eyes turning Nightmare black, and the old man at Union Station, and a knife-wielding Lady Elke floated to the surface, but I shoved them back as Marmalade padded into the room on her tiny paws. She tapped Jillian’s leg and mewed. Jillian blinked her puffy eyes, and the room stopped vibrating.
I had Ember send Marmalade to you, Tristan said from upstairs. Thought it would help if they saw that we’re not torturing you or anything like that.
My heart swelled again. Thank you, Tristan.
“This is Marmalade,” I said, scooping her up and nuzzling her neck. “She’s my little Marma-lady. Tristan’s sister gave her to me for my birthday.”
Jillian sniffled. “You have a kitten?”
I placed Marmalade on her lap. “I also have a bedroom and a painting studio. I painted a mural at school.”
“You go to school?”
“Of course.”
But Jillian’s expression hardened again. “No. No. They did something to you. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but there’s no way what you’re saying can be true.”
Logan tapped the binder. “This entire binder could be false. Made up.”
“I thought the binder was made up too,” I said. “And then I proved that it wasn’t.”
“How?” he asked.
“I’ll show you.” I ran my finger over Jillian’s gold bracelet, the one her boyfriend Gavin had given her. I played with the heart charm and lifted the fog.
“You took this off once,” I said.
“I—”
“Six weeks ago. In the desert. Along a stretch of highway somewhere in...” I raised the fog a little higher. “Arizona.”
“How did you...”
“It was right after you found out Gavin was dead. You and Logan were about to burn my getaway bag. There was no reason to keep lugging it around, and he thought that going through it every day was making things worse. You also took off this bracelet and threw it in the pile. You’d convinced yourself if you weren’t wearing the bracelet, you wouldn’t think about Gavin all the time, and then it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
She raised her hand to her mouth.
“But the moment you took it off, you felt empty without it. Logan was about to light the match. You wanted one thing to remember me by, so you swiped my Anne of Green Gables book from the pile when he wasn’t looking. You also took back the bracelet. While Logan burned e
verything else, you hid my book in your getaway bag and put the bracelet back on.”
“How do you know that?” Logan said. “We were in the middle of the desert. No one was around.”
“Maybe one of those APR people has remote vision, like Dad,” Jillian said. “Someone was watching us.” She craned her neck and looked up over her shoulder, as if she felt the Nightmare Eyes burning into her too.
“If that was true,” I said, “it would have been a lot easier to find you.”
“Then how can you possibly know what I did with Gavin’s bracelet?”
“The same way I proved that Mom and Dad are guilty,” I said. “I’m psionic. I’m retrocognitive. I always have been, but it was suppressed by a mental fog until recently. I had a vision of your past when I touched your bracelet. I had a vision—lots of visions—of Mom and Dad when I touched their wedding rings. I saw it all. They’re guilty. They lied to us about Dennis Connelly. They lied to us about everything.”
“B-but that means...” She sank back and buried her face in her hands. “That means they killed Gavin.” Her voice was very small.
I knew the devastation she was feeling, that all-consuming ache that makes you feel hollow and heavy at the same time. I pulled her in and held her tight, and let her cry.
Tessa, watch out— Tristan shouted in my head.
Jillian sobbed, and with it, the glass on all the picture frames shattered and shot across the room.
Marmalade darted off my lap, and Tristan flew into the room.
Logan jumped up, arms splayed wide. The coffee table tipped over, forming a barrier between Tristan and me. “Get away from us, Tristan.”
Tristan raised his hands innocently. “I just want to make sure everyone’s okay.”
“Logan,” I said. “Tristan is my boyfriend. He loves me. He wouldn’t hurt me. Or you. He almost died trying to find you.”
Logan eyed Tristan up and down. “Doesn’t matter. Tristan Connelly doesn’t come near you until we see Mom and Dad. Take us to them. Now.”