House of Guardians

by Beatrice Sand

  I feel the pressure of Olivia’s hand on my arm. “Don’t do it, Laurel,” she says in a whisper. “Don’t go up there.”

  Olivia’s voice is not commanding, but her eyes are pleading and I catch a glimpse of Sam in her golden-brown eyes that always seem to know exactly how I feel or what I am thinking. I shake off her hand and walk away. I have to know why Sam’s not here. Why he’s avoiding me.

  Almost desperately, I cling to Andreas and Don. “What is your room number?”

  Their conversation stops and they both look at me. Then they exchange glances.

  “Laurel…” Don starts.

  “Just the room number, Don.”

  “What are you up to? Sam…”

  “203,” Andreas interrupts him.

  I would never have expected Andreas to help me out. “Thank you.” I start walking away, but Andreas grabs hold of my arm. He scowls.

  “If you go up to his room, you better listen carefully to what he has to say to you, and then you are going to leave him alone. You got that?”

  I swallow and Andreas loosens his grip. “Yes,” I say hoarsely.

  Andreas gives me a brief nod and I jerk my arm away.

  I fly up the stairs and run through the narrow corridor. In front of room 203, I linger. I want to slam my fists on the door and kick the door open, but my knuckles land weakly on the wood instead. I can feel the blood rushing through my veins, and with bated breath I wait.

  After five seconds, five minutes or five hours—I’ve completely lost track—the door opens. Before I can even make eye contact, Sam has already turned his back on me. He doesn’t invite me in, but neither does he slam the door in my face, so I nervously step into the domain of the guys.

  I walk a bit further. Sam is standing in front of the open window, looking outside. He is wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. His hands are on his hips and he is staring motionless at the forested mountains, as if he sees something out there that he would rather pay attention too. The fresh air flowing into the room is so cold that I can see my own breath.

  It is literally a cold reception. He has opened the door for me and should therefore be aware of my presence, but right now I’m not so sure. “Are we going to talk at all?” I ask, as I try to keep the emotion out of my voice.

  He shuts the window and turns around. He sits down on the low heater and places his right ankle over his left thigh. His left hand encloses the ankle.

  “You tell me, what do you want to talk about?” He sounds agitated and his voice holds a commanding undertone.

  “About this morning, maybe?”

  “Perfect, let me make this quick for you. You had bad luck, we saved you. End of story.”

  I clear my throat. “Do you want to tell me how you were able to lift that…”

  “No,” Sam cuts me off.

  “I’m sorry I hit you. If you had fallen then… then…” I have no clue how to finish my sentence.

  “What do you want from me, Laurel?” he asks more hoarse than normal. His foot stops wiggling.

  “I want to know what I saw.”

  “And what do you think you saw exactly?”

  “Why do you make this so difficult?”

  Sam lowers his eyelids and stares at the carpet. There’s a lengthy pause.

  I wring my hands. “I want to know what you did to that cable. It’s impossible for someone to be that strong. Only when you possess some kind of superhuman strength then…”

  Sam’s head jerks up. “Forget what you saw.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “Why was the chair incident your fault?”

  “Laurel, just turn around and walk away. Forget about me.”

  “Does it have anything to do with Maude?”

  He makes a snorting sound, his nostrils flaring. “So first it was Philene, now Maude. Anyone else you want to add to that list?”

  I remain silent while Sam stares me down.

  “Look, if I ever gave the impression that there is more between us—that it could be more—then I apologize for that.”

  That remark causes a knot in my stomach. How can he suddenly be so cold when only a few hours ago he has saved from an untimely death? Could I really be that far off? Am I really the only one who feels something?

  “I don’t do relationships—girlfriends,” he then says. “Besides making music, I’m an obsessive sportsperson. I train at the most bizarre times and whether it’s freezing or there’s a heat wave, I don’t care—the more extreme, the better. I make it as difficult as possible for myself and I spend all my time on it. My body needs movement as much as it needs oxygen, it’s an addiction. I don’t do relationships because…” He pauses mid-sentence. “… I wouldn’t be able to meet the expectations. I think you’re a nice girl, but that’s all for me.”

  His words leave me feeling like I was just slapped in the face. “Why did you risk your life for me today?” I push a bit more.

  “Don’t push it, Laurel,” he says fiercely. His eyes turn dark.

  “I died a thousand deaths up there, Sam!” I choke on my tears. “Not for myself… for you.”

  Tears dwell up in my eyes and I turn and walk toward the door, wishing that I had followed Olivia’s advice. I was a fool to think I could just march in here and claim his love because he saved me from an accident and every now and then happens to look at me—I was a fool to allow myself to have feelings for him. He told me himself that he was no good for me. Don’t I have any sense of self-protection at all? It’s obvious he doesn’t want a common girl. Period. End of story.

  I turn around one last time and see Sam’s head hanging down between his shoulders. A hand is buried in his beautiful hair. I’m not going to break down in front of him.

  “I’ll do as you said,” I say, surprisingly calm. “I will forget about the accident.” Not breaking down. “I will forget about you.”

  I flee from the room.

  15

  laurel

  I can hardly believe school will be over in a couple of weeks. With each step I take across the lawn, I am reminded of that. I stumble over groups of excited students who talk about nothing but prom. As for me, I find myself in the twilight zone of ancient family trees and secret societies. With all the fuss around the accident in the ski lift, I totally forgot about the mysterious Sander. And the guy the whole thing revolves around is nowhere to be found after our pathetic farewell in his room at the inn—not in the hallways, not in the cafeteria, and not even on the wrestling mat.

  “Laurel!”

  I glance over my shoulder to see Ava running my way. Panting, she stops when she reaches me.

  “Please, for once, be on time tonight, okay? Then you can still get a front row seat.”

  I am taken aback for a moment.

  “Oh, don’t tell me you forgot!”

  “No, absolutely not!” Meanwhile, I rack my brain. Ava deserves a better friend.

  We are being distracted by a group of guys coming our way at a high speed. Don, Bastian, and Andreas. In passing, they nod silently. Their usual reserved manner is back. Even Don—who has abandoned my stepsister, but has saved my life—makes no effort to start a conversation or to explain the absence of his friend. Why would he? He probably has heard by now how I made a fool out of myself in their hotel room. I cringe in misery.

  “Good luck tonight, Helena,” Bastian says suddenly.

  Helena? Surprised, I look up and see Bastian giving Ava such a mischievous wink that even I feel a slight flutter in my belly. And while Ava’s face blooms like the rosehips in the bushes next to her, I yearn for Sam.

  “Would you like a little preview?” Ava asks.

  “Sorry?”

  “An exclusive preview of what to expect this evening?”

  “Well, please,” I say gratefully
. It still isn’t entirely clear to me what we are supposed to be doing tonight.

  Ava pulls a sad face as she stares into the distance. “‘The more I love, the more he hateth me…?’ What do you think of that, huh?”

  Of course! Shakespeare’s final play. “It’s pretty dramatic. But I guess that’s the whole idea.”

  Bastian whistles on his fingers and Ava lets out a giggle and then puts her hand over her mouth. “He heard me.”

  “Yep.” I glance in the direction of the guys, who are at least fifty yards away. “Nothing wrong with their hearing.”

  “Laurel, I have to go to dress rehearsal. Make sure you’re there at eight!”

  It is hard to focus my attention on all the magic taking place between the thick leaves of rhododendron. The actors are not easy to understand with their old English, but it’s my duty as a devoted friend to do my very best to concentrate on the silly characters reviving A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Around me, people are howling with laughter at the hilarious misunderstandings around the jealous Helena and beautiful Hermia, who is married off and runs off to the woods with her lover, but I am too restless to completely follow the romantic comedy.

  Uncomfortably, I shift back and forth in my chair. Sam doesn’t do relationships. That phrase has kept me busy ever since our return. Does he really not do relationships or doesn’t he do relationships with common girls? That mystery remains unsolved. With a faint sigh, I shift my attention back to the clumsy elf king sidekick, who lets a young Athenian fall in love with the wrong woman—confusion everywhere, in the enchanting park and in my head.

  “What’s the deal between you and Sam now?”

  I turn my head sideways. Maude is sitting on the folding chair next to me. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you seeing each other or what?”

  Apparently Sam is not only haunting me. “No, we’re not. Shall we watch Ava?”

  Maude studies me for a while longer and then looks back at the podium.

  When the play is finished, Maude and I walk up to our acting friend to congratulate her. We chat for a while and then say our goodbyes. Next time we will see each other, it will be in the gym for the dreaded finals. From now on, it’s studying, studying, and more studying. And my focus is gone now more than ever.

  In the pitch-dark, I walk back to the parking lot and search for my car key. I’m glad I took the van and will be home soon. I’m going straight to my room to study. When I suddenly hear a faint cry, I stop walking. Still absentminded, I look around me, but hear nothing else. I walk on.

  “Laurel…”

  I instantly stiffen. Is that my name? I turn around and walk toward the bushes cautiously. “Bastian!” I cry out in terror. I kneel down and immediately see that he is not doing well. I grab my phone from my back pocket to call the emergency number.

  “Please… d-don’t.”

  “Are you hurt? Can you get up?” I grab him by the arm and try to lift him up. Despite his predicament, I hear a soft chuckle. “You have to work with me, Bastian,” I say.

  Bastian tilts his head and then I notice an almost transparent substance sticking to his hair and on his forehead. “What happened?”

  He mumbles something I can’t understand.

  “Where is your car parked?” I ask.

  “At home.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Come, I’ll take you to my car.” When Bastian is finally on his feet, he leans heavily on my shoulder, and with a lot of hassle, I manage to get him into the passenger seat. He reeks of alcohol.

  Quickly, I grab a first aid kit from the trunk and look for bandages, while I try to decipher his gibberish. He must be really far gone, because he starts talking about immortality. I wonder if I should take him home or to the hospital.

  I trot back to Bastian with an antiseptic compress. When I try to locate his wound, his eyes grow wild and then he grabs me by the wrist. The compress drops to the ground.

  “Don’t touch me!” he growls.

  Frightened, I step away from him. “I am calling an ambulance. You have a head injury and I don’t know how serious it is.”

  “No ambulance!”

  “You’re bleeding, Bastian. Someone should examine you.”

  He roars with laughter and then looks serious again. He suddenly lowers his head as if it is too heavy for his torso. “No hospital!”

  Right in front of my eyes, he is slowly drifting away, and I want to hold him because I fear he will fall out of the car.

  “Do not touch me, Lau…” he says, emphasizing the second word, and passes out.

  Helplessly, I look at the guy now sitting unconscious in my car. I haven’t even had the chance to ask him where to take him. Very carefully, I reach over to buckle his seatbelt and then hurry to the other side. I know exactly where to take him.

  Fortunately, Bastian gains consciousness again while we are driving, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Did you touch me?” is the first thing he asks.

  For a short moment, I take my eyes off the road. “No, Bastian. I did not secretly touch you, don’t worry.”

  I see his face relax in a streetlight, but then he jerks his head sideways. “You will keep this a secret, won’t you? I mean, I can trust you, right, just like Sam?”

  “Why should Sam trust me?”

  “Because of who we are.”

  “Who you are? The notorious members of Chaos? I will tell no one about the secretive drinking habits of the pianist,” I whisper.

  Bastian tries to laugh. “Too bad Sam can’t hang out with you. You are way cooler than Philene. She is so full of herself, she would even sleep with a mirror in her hand.”

  All my muscles tense. My brain is immediately focused. “Why can’t Sam hang out with me?”

  “Because of his marriage. He and Philene are getting so much prestige together, it’s almost eerie. Would you mind pulling over for a second?”

  With squealing brakes I stop at the roadside and while Bastian hangs out of the car puking, I can already feel the knot in my stomach. I have to do my best not to join the sick boy next to me. His marriage?

  When Bastian is done vomiting and has closed the door, I drive off again. “Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much next time?”

  “There probably isn’t going to be a next time.”

  I glance sideways and see Bastian passing out again. I let the car window down in hopes that a cool breeze will bring him back to his senses. I reach for the headlight switch and turn the high beams on. In the bright light, I search for the big tree stump. There is only one road leading to Sam’s log cabin by the lake, but in the dark, the stump is much harder to make out. When I see it, I turn left, and continue for a while on the unpaved road. Because of the bumping Bastian wakes up again and looks out the window.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Relax, to Sam.”

  His eyes widen. “Relax? Take me to Andreas!”

  “Andreas? I don’t even know where he lives and you keep passing out. I’m not really in the mood to get lost now. You don’t want to go to the hospital and you need help.”

  “Oiphō!”

  “Sorry?”

  “Nothing. Just don’t tell him that I’ve been drinking. Sam hates alcohol. He is merciless.”

  I make a face. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sam’s your friend.” So he can fix this. I will dump Bastian on Sam’s doorstep and leave.

  “Yeah, well, that’s a misconception,” Bastian mutters.

  I choose to ignore his comment and with excessive focus, I search my way down the dirt road and finally arrive at Sam’s driveway. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see the mud-smeared all-terrain vehicle. Completely against my will, my blood begins to flow faster.

  “Stay here, I’ll go get him.”

&nbs
p; I’m barely out of the van before Storm comes trotting my way—with a leap from the roof of the house! I jerk back, but he comes closer and pushes his blunt muzzle into my hand. In need of comfort, I bury my fingers into the thick fur of his heavily muscled neck and realize that this is the first time I have ever petted a big dog without hesitation.

  “Hey, handsome. Where is your master?”

  Storm growls softly. As if the animal understands my question, he guides me vigilantly and swiftly to the back of the log cabin. As I hear extremely loud music coming out of the house, my blood starts to rush even faster. I round the corner of the log cabin just in time to see Sam drive his knee up into a punching bag. The long, black bag is attached to the half-roof by a chain and swings back and forth.

  “Can I talk to you for a moment?” I raise my voice to be heard over the loud music, but he just keeps kicking the bag. I cough. “It’s urgent,” I yell.

  Sam raises his hands as if he’s guarding his chin. Then he leans over to one side and kicks the upper half of the bag as if he is aiming for someone’s head. The heavy-looking punching bag almost goes through the roof of the deck. With one hand, he holds it still and walks over to the table where he turns off the whining and screeching guitar riff.

  “No need to yell,” he says panting heavily.

  He snatches a towel from the chair and glances my way. Somehow I manage to keep my mouth closed at the sight of his ripped body, flat stomach and rock-hard abs. His chest is glistening with sweat. I’m relieved that he boxes in sweats. For a brief moment I forget that I have a sick boy in my car, who needs attention.

  Then my eyes are drawn to his hands. Leather straps are wrapped crosswise from the knuckles of his fingers around his hands and wrists. Only his thumbs are still free. It looks awfully impressive. Sam tosses the towel aside and begins to unwind the strap numerous times.

  “What do you want?” he asks curtly.

  The coldness in his voice feels like I’m being dragged by my braid back into his room at the inn. He can’t even greet me normally.

  “I have one of your friends sitting in my car. Would you be so kind as to take him out, since he won’t allow me to touch him. Believe me when I say that I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here,” I say with the same coldness and I mean it, feelings or not. I turn on my heels and walk back to the car.