Run to You Part Six: Sixth Sense

by Clara Kensie

  Tristan slid his hand behind my head, caressed my cheek with his thumb and leaned in.

  But just before he kissed me, I pulled away. “Stop. There’s one thing you need to do before you can do that.”

  “Anything.”

  I held out my hand, palm down, and wiggled my fingers. “I’d like my promise ring back, please.”

  He laughed, then hopped out of bed and strode to my bookcase. He took Marmalade from her top-shelf perch and brought her over. She was wearing a rhinestone-studded periwinkle collar now, and dangling from the collar was my band of pearls.

  “She’s been holding it for us,” Tristan said as he untied it. Then he took my hand and slid the ring onto the fourth finger of my left hand. Where it belonged.

  “Now you can kiss me,” I said, giggling.

  Grinning hungrily, he dove back under the covers, slid his hand back behind my head, but didn’t pause long enough to caress my cheek. He just pressed his lips to mine, and I pressed my body to his, and we didn’t part until the sun came up in the morning.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  When Marmalade’s meows woke me up again later that morning, Tristan was still next to me in bed, as I knew he would be. Waiting patiently for me to wake up, as he knew I would.

  While I was asleep, I’d had no dreams. There were no more Nightmare Eyes.

  I scratched Marmalade’s chin, then snuggled back into Tristan. He slipped out of the bed just before everyone came in. Dennis, Deirdre, Ember, Jillian and Logan.

  My family.

  I didn’t know whom to hug first.

  Jillian, clearly back to her old self, solved that dilemma for me by pushing past everyone and tackling me. Her hair was still blond, and she was no longer gaunt. I noticed that she still wore the gold bracelet with the heart charm from Gavin.

  Logan came next, dressed in pressed Dockers and a button-down shirt. His dark hair was short again, and combed conservatively.

  Ember, her hair turquoise with purple tips, carried a little gray ball of fur. A bunny rabbit. “This,” she said, “is Harmony. Tristan bought her for me.”

  “To thank her for helping me find you,” Tristan said.

  “And also,” Ember said, “Lyre got back together. We won Battle of the Bands.” She glanced at my brother. With a slight blush, she added, “Logan composed the song for us.”

  My brother shrugged. “I started with the notes on the sheet music you found in Twelve Lakes.” Behind him, the sheet music floated in the air. “I decided to call it Long Journey’s End.”

  I gasped, my lungs filling up with hope. “Does that mean...”

  “We’re staying,” Jillian said. She smoothed a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Do you know Tristan stayed here with you this whole time?”

  “He’s never left me,” I said, thinking about our time in the Underground together. I brought his hand to my lips and kissed it. “Not even once.”

  “We can’t take you away from him.” She gave a shy glance to Dennis and Deirdre. “Or from Dennis and Deirdre. They love you as much as we do.”

  “You were willing to leave for us,” Logan said. “We want to stay for you.”

  Jillian and Logan were staying. Here, in Lilybrook, in this house, with me.

  Deirdre came forward and squeezed me against her chest, smothering me. But in a good way. In the best way. She was Tristan’s mother, my substitute mother, and the best mother in the world.

  Dennis, looking vibrant and healthier than ever, patted my knee and kissed the top of my head. “Welcome back, honey.”

  I was more than back. I was home.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Though Dennis had kept Jillian and Logan updated on our father’s condition while I was lost in the fog for fifteen days, they still weren’t ready to visit him. I didn’t blame them, but now that I had conquered my Nightmare Eyes, I wanted to see him again. As soon as Deirdre declared me healthy enough to leave the house, my dad’s Underground hospital cell was the first place I went. Tristan came with me, of course. Now we stood at his bedside.

  Still unconscious, still withered, still pale. He hadn’t moved from the last time I was here over six weeks ago. He remained tethered to machines, which beeped evenly. Beep... beep... beep... My presence in his cell was no longer disturbing him, because Cole was no longer able to project his hatred into him.

  “I found Jillian and Logan,” I told his unconscious form. “They’re fine. We’re all living together. Us and the Connellys.”

  No response, as I’d expected. But I hoped that some small part of him heard, and understood.

  I opened my bag and pulled out a small canvas, painted in sweeping shades of deep blues, and propped it on the table across from his bed. I’d painted it the night before, and even though I’d had a tube of black, I didn’t paint the Nightmare Eyes.

  “I painted this for you, Dad,” I said. “It’s the ocean. We used to go to the ocean all the time when Jillian, Logan and I were little. Do you remember that? You were so happy. So peaceful.”

  No response, except for the rhythmic beeping of the machines. He continued to breathe evenly. In, out. In, out.

  But if he was ever lucid again, then he could look upon my painting, and remember our family in happier times.

  I placed my hand over his, and Tristan stiffened, just the tiniest bit. Then he shook his head—nothing bad was going to happen—and chuckled at himself. He was just being Tristan, always on guard, ready to save the day if anything bad did happen.

  I took my dad’s hand and closed my eyes. I wanted share my peace and happiness with him. I wasn’t a projector, but I tried to project my contentment and serenity into him, as if they were drugs that would heal him.

  He didn’t respond, or even move. He just breathed. In, out. In, out.

  I suppressed a sigh, then leaned over to kiss his cheek.

  His hand shot up and grasped my arm.

  He squeezed.

  Gently.

  Then he let go.

  Continued to breathe. In, out. In, out.

  He knows I’m here, I told Tristan. He’s at peace.

  * * *

  The next person I wanted to visit was Lady Elke, but Mr. Milbourne informed us that she was no longer incarcerated. The moment the APR learned that Cole had provoked her attack on Tristan, Melanie and me, they’d released her. They’d sent her back home to North Dakota with no memory of the Underground or the attack—and, sadly, without her psionic powers. But, Mr. Milbourne assured me, the APR had given her a new robotic eye, and they will provide for her for the rest of her life. She will be much better off than she had ever been before.

  I was relieved for Lady Elke, but I wasn’t ready to leave the Underground just yet. There was one more stop to make before we could leave.

  Tristan and I rounded the corner of the dim Underground hallway, into the high-security area that housed my mother. And now, Cole Gallagher as well. Tristan tightened his arm around me when we passed his cell, but I walked by without looking at it. I wasn’t going to waste any of my time being afraid of that man.

  Mr. Milbourne, chomping his gum, informed us that my name was still on my mother’s refusal list, and she’d added Jillian and Logan’s names as well.

  I’d expected as much, and I understood. She’d sent us away to live happy lives. And we were going to do just that.

  “I didn’t come to visit,” I told the warden. “I have something I’d like you to give to her.”

  From my bag I withdrew a canvas I’d painted of five flowers—one for each member of our family—and a letter written on a page torn from a spiral notebook:

  Tristan and I went home for dinner, and as we walked up our driveway, a short figure in black stood at the door, about to ring the bell. Melanie Brunswick
.

  I hadn’t seen her since Lady Elke’s, huddling in the backseat of her uncle Kellan’s rental car.

  “Hey, Mel,” Tristan called. There was affection in his tone, but it was more like he was saying hi to a good friend, not someone he had once been in love with. “I didn’t realize Lyre had practice today. You can go on in. I’m sure Ember’s waiting for you.”

  “We don’t have practice until tomorrow,” she said. “I came to talk to you.”

  “I’ll go inside,” I said. “Leave you two alone.”

  “No,” Melanie said, “I came to talk to you, Tessa.”

  “Oh. I’ll go inside then,” Tristan said. Melanie gave him a sad smile as he passed her and went in the house.

  She and I stood in silence, each of us looking at our shoes.

  Then at the same time, we each blurted, “I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for?” she asked.

  “For dragging you into the whole Lady Elke thing,” I said.

  “You were incredible at Lady Elke’s,” she said. “You left Lilybrook on your own, flew all by yourself to another state. I would be way too scared to do that. And then, in the shed, you stayed at the door. You found a weapon. You were going to fight. I just hid in the back and cried. I could never do what you did, Tessa.”

  “A few months ago, I would have hidden too,” I said. “My whole life, all I did was run and hide. But I’m different now.”

  She cleared her throat. “You know how I knew it was truly over between Tristan and me?”

  “How?”

  “When we found you behind that laundromat in North Dakota, when he saw you standing there, alone. He just...melted. He has never looked at me the way he looks at you. Never. That’s a big part of the reason it took me so long to recover from what happened at Lady Elke’s. It wasn’t all trauma. It was heartbreak.” She shuffled her boots, then wiped some invisible dust from her skirt. “Tristan was only with me because I needed him. But he’s with you because he wants to be.”

  That was true. I didn’t need Tristan. I wanted him. He wanted me.

  “Anyway. I just came by to tell you that I’m sorry I held onto him for so long,” she said. “He’s yours, and I’m okay with that now. I want someone who wants me, not someone who’s only with me because I need him.”

  “Thanks, Melanie.” I gestured to the door. “Do you want to come in? It’s cold out here.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m going to Winter’s house. She’s the one who’s heartbroken now, since Nathan died.”

  Sweet, sweet Melanie. “Does Winter know that you came here first?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I told her that I’m going to be friends with both of you.” She looked up from her boots and smiled.

  Good for Melanie for standing up for herself. And good for me, because Melanie had just called me her friend.

  * * *

  The next day, Tristan and I returned to the APR, and this time I insisted Jillian and Logan accompany us. There were a couple people I wanted them to meet.

  Kellan wasn’t one of them, but we ran into him by the elevator, his red investigator badge hanging from around his neck. Perhaps fearing he would try to arrest them again, my siblings backed up nervously, and Tristan stepped in front of them like a bodyguard. But I straightened my posture and thrust out my chin, ready for a confrontation. Eager for a confrontation.

  But Kellan just lowered his head and ducked around the corner.

  “Huh,” Tristan said, watching him rush away. “That’s not like him. Beverly Jacobs must have warned him to stay away from us.”

  “She did more than that,” I said. “Did you guys notice his badge?”

  “No, why?”

  “It says ‘Investigator’ now. Not ‘Lead Investigator.’”

  Tristan and I grinned at each other. Another dragon: slain.

  I led my brother and sister up to the second floor, and when we arrived at the sticker-covered door, I held my finger to my lips. “Shh.”

  “She doesn’t like noise,” Tristan explained.

  I brushed my hand on the door instead of knocking. It creaked open, and Brinda’s olive-brown eye peeked out.

  I grinned and wiggled my fingers at her. She swung the door open, then welcomed Tristan and me with a hug. She studied my siblings for a moment. Her face lit up, and she pirouetted around the room: she was miming Jillian, the ballerina. For Logan, she mimed playing a sax. She knew who they were.

  She gave them hugs too, which they returned with enthusiasm. Brinda had provided most of the clues that led to their rescue.

  I waved to Mr. Lakhani as Brinda ushered us to her table for some of her delicious, invisible tea. She tapped my shoulder, then pointed to the wall. She made sweeping vertical arcs with her arm, like she was painting.

  I think she’s asking you to paint a mural in here, Tristan flashed to me.

  I clapped silently and nodded yes. I would love to paint a mural for her. I would do it right after I finished the mural in Deirdre’s classroom.

  We drank our invisible tea, but before Brinda took her first sip, her gaze grew unfocused. Slowly, she lowered her cup to the table and gestured for her crayons.

  We hadn’t come for a reading; I’d only wanted to introduce her to my brother and sister. What did she see? Was a town besides Lilybrook in our futures?

  Her father lifted her pail, and she reached inside. Her fingers landed on a silver crayon. I held my breath, then released it when she nudged it aside, pulling out pink and blue crayons instead.

  With the pink, she drew a multi-pointed star at the top of her paper. With the blue, she drew a long wavy symbol. Underneath that, she drew two pairs of stick figures; each pair a boy and a girl. Then she slid the paper over to us with a nod.

  Tristan and me, and Jillian and Logan. In Lilybrook.

  We were here to stay.

  * * *

  There was one more person I wanted Jillian and Logan to meet, but first I had to make sure it was okay with him. Tristan and I had my siblings wait outside his office. They agreed, Jillian already starting to cry.

  Aaron Jacobs sat at the back of the narrow Technokinetics office, facing the wall. The overhead light was off; the six computer monitors stacked on his desk emitted a faint glow. He was using only one keyboard this time, and his typing rate was slower now. Passionless. I could only see his profile in the dim room, but he could not completely conceal the rough, grooved skin that covered his face behind his oversized glasses. Burn scars.

  I gripped Tristan’s hand. This was going to be hard. It would be even harder for Aaron. Hardest of all for my brother and sister.

  I cleared my throat. “Hi, Aaron.”

  He flinched, then hunched over, hiding his face behind his hand. The scars covered his hand and arm, too.

  “My brother and sister are here,” I said. “Can I bring them in?”

  “Please don’t.”

  Tristan stepped forward. “They feel really bad about what happened. They want to say sorry, and thanks.”

  Aaron didn’t move.

  “I told Jillian about you,” I said. “Not only how you found them, but how smart you are. How talented. How nice you are. She wants to meet you.”

  He turned so I could only see the back of his head. “No, she doesn’t. She just feels sorry for me. I don’t want to meet her anyway.”

  “Aaron?” The plea came from my sister, standing in the doorway. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. “It’s Jillian. Can I talk to you?”

  He practically dove into the darkest corner of the office. “Get out. Get out!”

  “Please,” she begged. “Please let me talk to you.”

  He kept his head turned away. “Just leave. All of you.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder,
just for a moment. “Sorry, Aaron.” We slowly shuffled away.

  “We’ll try again another time,” Logan said.

  Jillian sniffled and looked at her sneakers. “I’ll come back tomorrow,” she whispered, mostly to herself. “I won’t give up.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  The menu for Sunday brunch: crepes with strawberries and bananas, fluffy egg-white omelets with broccoli, spinach, mushrooms and onions, and blueberry muffins with extra blueberries.

  I rubbed my hands together and set to work. The cooking supplies Dennis and Deirdre had given me for my birthday were laid out on the counter, and I wanted to use all of them. I separated the eggs with my egg-separator. I mixed the batter with my mixing spoon. I heated the crepes to perfection on my pans. Tristan offered to help, but I wanted to do it all myself.

  I’d missed cooking.

  “Smells great.” Tristan came up behind me, rubbing my hip with one hand and popping a mushroom in his mouth with the other. “You sure I can’t help with anything?”

  “Nope, I got it.” I grabbed a knife and started dicing the fruits and veggies.

  “We’re not eating on paper plates for this meal,” Deirdre said. “Kids, help Tessa out and set the table.”

  Logan waved his hand at the cabinets, and seven plates floated to the table.

  “That’s cheating,” Ember pouted as she made three trips to bring seven glasses.

  Jillian didn’t even glance at the utensil drawer. It opened on its own, and seven forks and spoons glided through the air. Dennis ducked as a spoon zipped past him. “Sorry,” Jillian mumbled. “Forgot that you’re not used to things like that.”

  While we ate, Tristan teased Ember by pulling on her hair, and she stuck out her tongue at him, then grabbed the blueberry muffin from his hand. The animals scampered through the kitchen, except for Harmony the bunny, who ignored all of us. Dennis and Logan discussed internships at the APR. Tristan and I discussed the blood drive we were starting next week in memory of Nathan Gallagher. Ember, her cheeks pink, asked Logan if he’d please write another song for the band. Deirdre asked Jillian if she’d like to sign up for dance classes, and Jillian shyly replied yes.