Luka swivels my chair around and places his hands on the arm rests. “Tess.”
“This is crazy. This is so freaking crazy.”
“Tess.”
“I did not save those children. Because if I saved them, then that means …” I picture the mother, sitting behind the wheel, unblinking. I think about those children growing up without her. I think about the guy who shot himself and the two people who died at the fetal modification clinic. Tears spring to my eyes. Could I have saved them too? Are their deaths on my hands?
“Tess, look at me.”
His voice cuts through my rising hysteria. I swallow and look up into his eyes, as if he has the power to save me from a truth that is determined to suck me into darkness. “This isn’t your fault. Do you understand me? You had nothing to do with that woman’s death.”
“Then how do you explain the dream?”
He looks at me, long and searching and worried. He has no answer.
*
I have no desire to go to school the next day. I don’t want to face Summer or Jennalee or anybody else who’s talking about whatever Pete said about my freak-out at the séance in Jude. As soon as I reach my locker, Leela is there. She looks to have rebounded from Saturday night’s party. If only I were as resilient, but then I doubt Leela is being haunted by prophetic dreams or awful headaches or unexplainable white-eyed men.
“I called you twice yesterday, but your mom said you weren’t feeling well.”
I enter the combination for my locker and shove my books inside. Three girls stand not too far away, whispering and laughing. One of them keeps looking at me. “I had a really awful headache.”
“You get a lot of those, don’t you?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Okay, so,” Leela grabs my arm, “Did you hear the rumor circulating about your brother and Jennalee?”
I shut my locker and come face-to-face with her excitement. Her cheeks are rosy and her eyes are bright. “No.”
“He rejected her.”
“Jennalee?”
Leela bobs her head. “She must not be his type.”
“It’s Monday morning. Isn’t that a little fast for anybody to know anything?” Even for small-town high school?
“I guess somebody saw Jennalee waiting at his locker this morning and he totally blew her off. She walked away looking really upset.”
“Good. Pete can do a lot better than Jennalee.” At least the old Pete. I’m not so sure about this new Pete. Someone like Jennalee might be this new Pete’s perfect match.
Leela’s eyes dim.
More laughter from the three girls. More stares. I force my attention away from them and onto my friend. “Leela, you are a lot better than Jennalee.”
The brightness floods back and her ears turn pink. I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment or pleasure. She fiddles with the edge of one of the folders tucked beneath her arm. “There’s something else that’s going around and I want you to know, I don’t care. I understand.”
Dread taps me on the shoulder. “What?”
“Jennalee told a bunch of people that your brother said you freaked out about some séance Ouija board stuff in Florida.”
I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry.
“That stuff gives me the creeps too. It always has.”
“Yeah. The creeps.” If only that’s all it was. If only I was a little creeped out over the thought of the supernatural instead of actually seeing the supernatural.
“And you know what? Who cares if Jennalee thinks it’s funny? Her sense of humor has never been kind. You aren’t her first target. If you ignore it, people will forget by tomorrow.”
I wonder if by people, she means the three girls off to the side who aren’t even trying to hide the fact that they’re talking about me. Sighing, I grab a folder from my locker as a gust of frigid air blows at my back. The hair on my neck prickles. I whirl around and the man from my dream is standing right behind Leela. I gasp and rear back into the locker, but as quickly as he appeared, he vanishes.
“Oh my gosh! What?” Leela darts a quick look over her shoulder.
My heart careens, wild and out of control.
Leela sets her hand against her chest. “You gave me a heart attack, Tess. What was that about?”
“I-I’m not sure.” My attention zips around the locker bay. Kids mill around in clumps. The three girls have gone from staring to gawking because they witnessed my freak-out along with Leela. And beyond them, Luka walks toward us, the epitome of perfection with his dark gray V-neck and mussed hair.
Leela spots him too, and understanding erases the concern on her face. “Wow. You sure have a strong reaction to him, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“I don’t blame you. So, are we sitting by each other at lunch?”
“Yes. For sure.”
“Are you positive? You’re not going to sit with—?”
“We’ll sit together Leela, I promise.”
“All right, see you at class then.” She gives me a wink and a smirk, then leaves as Luka arrives. He leans his shoulder casually against the lockers, standing close, almost protectively so. An onlooker would see him and think him relaxed, but I don’t miss the tension in his jaw.
“Please tell me you saw that,” I whisper.
He gives a curt nod, then scans the crowd in the locker bay, as if expecting the man to reappear. When his attention lands on the three girls, they quickly look away, their faces red. “I don’t understand why he goaded you like that.”
“Not exactly a good start to the day,” I mutter.
“That’s three times now.”
“Three times?”
“Three times something …”—he leans closer, so much so that I see each one of his long, dark lashes and the flecks of darker green in his eyes—“supernatural has tried interacting with you. First in Lotsam’s class, then in Ceramics, and now this. It’s like they are purposefully trying to get your attention.” He squints at the floor, as if the answer to this horrid riddle might be found in the fibers of the carpet. “I don’t get it.”
“They’ve never tried to interact with you?”
“Never. I see them, but they don’t seem to notice me. With you though …” He shakes his head, the tension in his jaw growing more pronounced. “Maybe it’s because you have such a strong reaction. Maybe the answer is learning how to ignore them.”
“I’m not sure I know how.”
“I can help.”
“What about the dreams? Can you help with those?”
“I think you need to figure out a way to ignore those too. Shut them out.”
A thread of doubt winds itself around my heart. “What if they’re real?”
He shakes his head, resolute. “Even if they are, there’s nothing you can do about them.”
The thread pulls tight. I’m not sure Luka understands. He hasn’t had the dreams I’ve had. He doesn’t know what it’s like to lunge at that man on the bridge and the next day, discover the girl survived. He doesn’t know what it’s like to grab those babies from the back seat of a car and find out they survived too. What if the decisions I make in my dreams have a real, profound impact on what happens in real life? How can I possibly shut them out if lives are at stake?
“All this stuff? It’s like it’s purposefully trying to make you go insane.”
I think about Leela’s reaction to my mini freak-out moments before. I think about the three girls’ reactions too. “Or look that way.”
“Neither of those options is safe.”
The bell rings. Luka scans the crowd again, then he walks us to class. In first period, I sit in between him and Leela. Across the classroom, Summer is not at all discreet about her staring. Or maybe studying is the better word. She looks at me like she’s trying to figure something out. I keep replaying the things she said in our dream and the more I do, the more I second-guess Luka.
Leela bumps her knee against mine beneath t
he table. “Stop,” she mutters.
I blink several times, as if coming out of a trance. “She was staring first.”
“Yeah, well, you’re both making me nervous. And by the looks of it, Mr. Lotsam too.”
I glance at our teacher, up at the board, and a foreboding drop in temperature settles over my skin. The greasy-haired man is back, standing so close to Mr. Lotsam I jerk in my chair. Luka clamps his hand over my knee, steadying me in place. I close my eyes. I take deep, steadying breaths and tell myself this is not real. When I’m brave enough to look, nothing is behind Mr. Lotsam but a chalkboard. The man is gone.
But the coldness remains.
After Ceramics, Luka walks me to third period and waits with me until the bell rings. As soon as third period ends, he’s already out in the hallway. Part of me wonders if he ever left. By the time lunch rolls around, I am exhausted. Turns out, ignoring something takes a lot more effort than a person might think, even if that something is just a coldness only I can feel. Leela waves from our table as I come out of the line with my tray.
“I told Leela I’d sit by her,” I tell Luka.
“Mind if I join you?” he asks.
I look at his table of friends, most of whom stare along with Summer. “Are you sure they won’t mind?”
“I don’t care if they mind.” He sweeps his hand toward Leela, an invitation for me to lead the way. So I do. Leela fidgets the closer we get. Like me, she is unused to all the eyes. But they come with Luka. The entire student body seems to be constantly aware of his location. It’s like he’s the moon—a physical force of gravity—and people can’t help but shift toward him. I don’t blame them. I’m just as guilty. In fact, I feel like his brand of gravity affects me more than it affects anyone else.
He pulls out my chair and sits beside me. Pete, who I’ve barely given any thought to over the course of the morning, walks past Leela with his tray and flicks her ponytail. He winks at her over his shoulder as he walks off to find a seat, and even though it’s with Wren and Jess, a flicker of hope breaks through the oppression that is today. The action was so reminiscent of the Pete I used to know that for the briefest of moments, my heart warms. If only the warmth would stay.
Thankfully, Leela does most of the talking with Luka filling in the gaps. I keep my eyes on my tray and pick at my food, trying hard not to shiver. Luka laughs at something Leela says and takes a swig of his water and I don’t understand how he can be that good at acting normal. An intrusive thought bullies its way into my head. What if this coldness I can’t shake is coming from him? I push the idea aside, angry that it came at all, desperate to forget it altogether. But the question lingers, dredging up another that is equally unwelcome.
If he’s this good at acting, how do I know what’s real and what’s not?
The question fans my doubt into flame.
After the three of us put our trays away, the track coach corners Luka, trying to cajole him into trying out for the team. Luka watches helplessly as I walk myself to my next class. The coldness doesn’t follow me. By study hall, it’s nothing more than a residual chill. I put my head down on my desk. I don’t want to doubt Luka. I hate that Summer, of all people, is the one who placed the doubt there to begin with.
Somebody walks past and shoves my desk. Hard. So hard, in fact, that all my books topple onto the floor.
“Whoops. Didn’t see you there.”
The class erupts in giggles.
I look up to find the smug face of one of Summer’s groupies, her expression filled with such abhorrence, I’m too flustered to respond. Is my association with Luka really cause for such hatred? She steps on my pencil. It snaps in two. The class giggles again while I clean up the mess.
Right before the end of final period, I text Pete that I’ll meet him at the car. I need to get out of here, away from all these bodies, away from the whispers and taunts. I’m so spent from the inner battle occurring in my mind and the outer battle occurring with my classmates, I can’t imagine going through another day like this one. The bell rings. Mr. Lotsam calls out Luka’s name and asks to speak with him. I take off toward the door, but Luka grabs my arm. His fingers are hot, almost feverish. “Can we talk?”
Students file past us, out the door.
Luka pulls me aside. I want to close my eyes and go to sleep, but I’m worried if I do, I’ll have more dreams.
“Tess, whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong.” Saying the words seems to cause him physical pain. He looks as tortured as I feel. “You can trust me.”
I’ve never wanted to believe someone more, but I don’t even really know him. “I have an appointment with Dr. Roth.”
The last of the stragglers file out of the classroom, but not before I catch one giving me a nasty look. I don’t understand what I did wrong. Mr. Lotsam clears his throat loudly and watches us. Luka rakes his hand through his hair. “What are you going to tell him?”
He’s talking about Dr. Roth. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe he’ll be able help.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Everything’s going to be all right.” He squeezes my hand, bringing warmth to my freezing fingers. “Call me when you’re done, okay?”
I nod glumly, then head to the car. Maybe Luka is right. Maybe hope lies at the Edward Brooks Facility.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Drugs
Dr. Roth hands me a glass of water. I hug it between my palms, thankful for the respite. There is no creepy man here in this office. No black mist or flashing lights or unexplainable temperature changes. I want to stay here for the rest of the evening and shut off my brain.
“You don’t look well,” Dr. Roth says.
I take a long sip. The coolness of the water soothes my throat. Dr. Roth waits, forever patient, never pressing, always waiting for me to reveal something of note. Was it really just last week that he tried hypnosis? It feels like an entire lifetime ago. The clock on the wall ticks away the seconds as I tap my pointer finger against the cup. I count twenty seven of them before I respond. “What do you know about my grandmother?”
He folds his hands over his knee. “Why your grandmother?”
“Because I’d like to know where she is. And I’d like to know what her records say.”
“Do you think knowing those things will change your situation?”
“I don’t know. It could help.” I set the glass of water between us. “I want to talk to her.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“She’s in one of the highest-security mental facilities in the country. There’s no way they would allow you to see her. And even if they did, I don’t think you would like what you saw.”
“Where is this facility?”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you?”
I pause, considering. Surely I have nothing to lose. He’s not going to report me to the government and have me locked up. If that was his goal, he could have had me committed a long time ago. I’m not worried about my safety with Dr. Roth, not anymore.
“Does it have anything to do with your dreams?” he asks.
I don’t respond.
“Did you bring your dream journal?”
I stare at him for an expanded moment, then slowly remove the journal from my bag and set it in front of him.
He raises his eyebrows. “May I?”
I nod.
He puts on his glasses and opens the notebook to the first page. I study his face while he reads, tapping my finger against my wrist while he reads the only dream I’ve recorded. I printed out the news clipping from the internet—a family man who committed suicide, leaving behind his surviving wife and children—and taped it inside. Dr. Roth finishes reading, his face expressionless, then unfolds the printed piece of paper.
“Hmmm …” A simple noise. A common one. It could mean any number of things. Or it could mean nothing at all. “Who do you think the man is? The one with the scar.”
“I don’t know.” I jiggle my leg, pinch my bottom lip, shake my head. I’m a fidgeting mess. “At first I thought he was my grandmother’s doctor.”
“So you believe that woman is your grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Who else would she be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s a reflection of your fear.”
“Meaning?”
“Perhaps she was a projection of who you think you’ll become.”
“Sounds like psychobabble.” I glance around his office, taking in the fancy degrees framed and mounted on his walls. “Is that what you think it was?”
Dr. Roth picks up a pen and taps it against the news article. “You’re sure you wrote your entry before you saw this?”
“Yes, but if I’m suffering from psychosis then I guess that could be one of my delusions.” I stare down at my hands. They are clenched into fists over my knees. “What would you say if a patient told you that she was starting to believe she could alter reality in her dreams? That the choices she made while sleeping had an effect on what happens in real life?”
He scratches his chin. “I’d probably tell the patient that must feel like a very frightening thing.”
Frustration builds. I don’t want to be placated. I want him to tell me what he’s really thinking. I want to know if I’m crazy. “My grandmother thought the same thing, didn’t she? And she was diagnosed with schizophrenia.”
“Have you had any other dreams other than this one?”
I take a drink of water, then rest the cup in my lap and stare into the clear liquid. “Yes.”
“You didn’t write them down?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want to remember.”
“But you do remember?”
I nod and take another drink. “I dreamt that I was in a garage.” I skip the part about Summer and Luka. There’s no need to drag him into this. Not yet. Especially when Dr. Roth no longer thinks Luka is experiencing symptoms of mental instability. “There was a woman and this guy.”
Dr. Roth leans forward. “Go on.”
The Gifting Page 17