“I thought I was dreaming. But he’s been here, in my room.”
“Shit, Erin. You should have told me.” He was on his feet again, vigilantly pacing.
“How was I supposed to know it could be real? I thought I was crazy.”
“I’m sorry.” He ran his hands back over his head, pulling his hair away from his face. “Caris warned me.”
“She knew too?” I asked as I sat up. Figured. I was too tired and emotionally depleted to care.
“Don’t be mad at her. She kept quiet because I asked her to. We were going to tell you last night, but when you showed up with…"
"Michael." Saying his name made my chest hurt.
"I know," he sighed guiltily and crouched in front of me, gathering my hands in his. “I really am sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. God, if he'd hurt you…”
"He didn't and he won't. But he did hurt Michael."
"I know. I messed up. I thought I could handle it." He still had hold of my hand, and I was content to keep it there. "Where did you go? Where did he take you?"
"Fort Pickens. I blacked out at some point and woke up in the dark. I thought I was in a cave at first."
Noah huffed. "I know the place. We used to go there when we were kids when we played hide and seek. Weird that he would go there of all places."
"But that's good right? It means…” I paused, remembering the way Jamie stuttered over the simplest words, the bewildered look in his eyes. "I don't know what it means. Don’t tell my dad he’s been here. Please.”
“I won’t.” He gave my hands a final squeeze before releasing them.“But I’ll hang around in case.”
Noah out in the bay keeping guard wasn’t going to matter. Noah couldn’t do anything to stop Jamie last night, and I didn’t see how today was any different. Still, knowing he’d be out in the bay as buffer made me feel better. I lay down on the coach, deciding I was too tired to go to my room, not wanting to admit a part of me was afraid, knowing Jamie had been there. Noah pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and covered me with it, the gesture reminiscent of those days after my dad had told me Jamie wasn't coming back, the way Noah had taken care of me.
"I'm sorry," he said again after kissing me on the cheek.
I’d almost drifted to sleep before he reached the door. He mumbled something to my dad that I couldn’t hear through the glass. My mom walked back through the living room and tucked the blanket under my chin. I couldn’t get my eyes to open to tell her goodbye. My lips said the words but no sound came out. Not even haunting thoughts of Jamie could keep me from drifting off to sleep.
* * *
When I woke up, the living room was mostly dark. Only a small table lamp glowed. Outside the windows, the sky was a black velvet curtain. The smell of kung pao chicken spiced the kitchen and living room. My mom had kept her promise, thank goodness, because the half cinnamon roll from this morning was long gone. My dad already sat at the counter, his plate piled high with chunks of chicken and steaming rice.
“That was nice of Mom to bring dinner. Is she still around?” I rubbed my eyes as I joined my dad.
“No. You were out cold. Said she’d come by in the morning.” He watched me over another forkful of chicken. “You want to tell me about it?”
“Not much to tell.” I scooted onto one of the stools, grabbed a plate and fork and picked through the boxes. Once my plate held the perfect ratio of chicken to chili peppers, I looked up. “Is this my dad asking or Jamie’s commander asking?”
“I only care about how this affects you as your dad. That’s how it’s always been. Jamie being alive doesn’t change that.”
“Well, then, honestly it was pretty scary.” I took a bite, watching him across the counter as his expression solidified and it was like watching water freeze. This was my dad trying to appear like he had no feelings when they were probably going haywire. “Noah’s right. Jamie wouldn’t hurt me. He didn’t hurt me. In fact, I think all he wanted was to make sure I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because he told me.” In that voice and with those eyes, and with words that weren’t really words, but I understood anyway.
“And as Jamie’s commander, you should know whatever he was before has been magnified about ten times. Faster, stronger. Way stronger. And on the beach it was almost like…” I still wasn't sure what I’d felt, what I’d seen, if I’d seen anything.
“What?”
“He’s not like a waterbreather as we know it anymore, not like Noah and Caris. I don’t think he could stay on land very long. It’s like he belongs in the water now.” Or belonged to it.
We continued to eat in relative silence, and I continued to have that under-a-microsocpe tingle running the length of my spine.
“Aside from all these clinical observations, how are you?”
I dropped my fork to my plate, lifting my gaze to his, knowing I would tear up the minute our eyes met.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked, my lip trembling. I’d suffered terrible loss and extreme grief. Those were familiar feelings. But this? How did I handle Jamie’s return?
“I wish I had an answer, but I don’t. I do know your mother and I love you and we’ll do everything we can to help you figure it out.”
I wiped my face. I’d only eaten half of what I put on my plate, but I was suddenly not hungry anymore.
My dad insisted on cleaning up while I took a long overdue shower. I swiped my phone from the couch before heading up the stairs. It had died sometime during the day. Once I got to my room, I plugged my phone in to let it charge. I needed a shower in a bad way, but I waited until the phone powered up and my messages appeared—a dozen or so text messages and three missed calls from Ally. Most of the texts were from Michael, all pretty much saying the same thing with slightly different words.
Where the hell was I and would I call him already?
I was about to reply when a message popped up from someone not in my contacts, the thumbnail image on the screen horrifying. It was picture of Michael. His face battered almost beyond recognition.
I let the phone slip from my hand onto my desk, craving a hot shower. Before I pulled off my shirt, I walked over to the window and parted the curtains enough to look outside. The sky was moonless and seemed especially dark. I imagined Jamie lurking out there under the surface of the bay, hiding in the shadows of the dock or under the trees. It was on the tip of my tongue to call my dad and get him to sit here while I took a shower. I shook my head because that made absolutely no sense. I’d never been scared of Jamie, and I wasn’t going to start now.
My intention was to take a quick shower, but the water felt too good, and I ended up standing under the spray with my eyes closed, reliving those few short moments with Jamie over again. My body felt wrecked. My heart felt wrecked. I wished Noah were here. He’d understand even when I wasn’t sure I did. I should be happy, right? Jamie was alive. So why did I feel this overwhelming sense of devastation?
I stood under the shower until the cold water ran me out. I threw on a t-shirt and a pair of boxers then picked up my phone. As offensive as it was, I kept the picture of Michael. I had a feeling that if I could find out who’d sent the picture, I’d also find out who’d been delivering the fish to my locker with such annoying persistence. Not that it seemed like such a big deal now.
I typed a message to Michael, telling him I was okay. His response was immediate.
Michael: meet me tomorrow.
The words on the screen made my heart thump. It might not be a good idea to meet Michael, but I wanted to, and that didn’t feel okay anymore.
Me: where?
Michael: our place
My pulse quickened. And not only because he called it our place, but because I knew exactly where he was talking about.
I liked a boy. We had a place. Jamie was alive.
Me: okay. what time?
Michael: 4?
Me: see you then.
My arms and legs weighed me down and even though I'd slept all day it was all I felt like doing. I turned over on my stomach and fished under my mattress finding my gun. My hand curled around the grip, my finger close to the safety.
Jamie wouldn’t hurt me, not the Jamie I knew. But then the Jamie I knew was gone and he'd been replaced by a monster.
12
He’d done something wrong.
All he'd wanted to do was watch. He’d known it was too soon for more. His mind wasn't ready. He’d only scare her. Scare them all. One day he'd be ready, when his mind was his own again.
He'd only wanted to watch. Until he’d watched her touch someone else. Kiss someone else.
Something had snapped inside him and he’d been overcome by a surge of feelings. He'd acted on instinct, his body charged with one goal—to protect. She was his to protect, and his body was the weapon he’d used. His hands, the pummeling strength in his arms.
It had been wrong. Some part of his old self had known it, but his instinct wouldn't listen to reason. He was animal. He was beast. His mind had screamed at him to stop, and at the same time it had screamed mine.
The human boy had touched her.
He'd smelled the blood. Blood meant death. The hot stickiness had coated his hands. Bone had crunched under his fists and he'd felt a wave of satisfaction, and just as fast, it had been chased away by the deluge of shame. The feeling had stalled his mind. They wouldn't have been able to pull him away otherwise.
The scent of his tribe had surrounded him, the feel of their restraining hands like hot manacles. He'd killed before. He was sure he would again. But not like that. He didn't prey on those weaker than him. And the body underneath his had been weak.
Jamie.
He'd heard his name once again in his brother's voice. It had repeated itself over and over in his mind and each time his name sounded different, sparking another memory. His name spoken in jest. His name spoken in anger. In grief. Each memory brought with it a flood of emotion. He'd let the hands hold him down as the memories flooded his mind, the sand unpleasantly gritty on his back as a part of him had accepted the cage of their hands and bodies.
He needed a cage.
It had been his body that had rebelled, still in conflict with what his will told it to do. It wouldn't listen and his arms, his legs, had spurred into action. His body refused to be held by anything but the Deep.
Eyes, so many pairs of eyes, had fallen on him. He'd smelled their fear. Shock had a smell. Adulation had a smell. He'd breathed them all in, and one by one searched each face. Noah's and the others of his kind, faces with names he couldn't recall.
And then she'd said his name. His name.
"Jamie?" she'd said in that voice his memory refused to forget.
Yes, I'm here, his mind had screamed.
He hadn't known what to do. He couldn't leave her and he couldn't stay so he'd taken her into the Deep even as his mind rang with warning. He hadn't known why until she'd fallen lax in his arm.
She wasn't like him. She needed air. She'd die without it.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He'd stopped and put his mouth on hers, breathing into her, giving her his life, his essence. As his lips had touched hers, more memories cascaded into his mind. Flashes of her face turned up to his, the sun that was her smile, lighting his darkest thoughts. He knew then she couldn't go with him. As much as he wanted her, it was impossible for her to go with him.
So he'd taken her to a place his mind had shown him along with snippets of what must have been his life before. When he was different. When he was normal. He’d stayed with her until she woke up even as his chest burned and his body fought against the air weighing him down, suffocating him. She might need air to live, but he needed water. To him water was life. And then he'd touched her lips with his and he'd known she was life too.
He had to find her and make her understand he was sorry. He had to find a way to get back to her. He'd thought of nothing else as he swam in the Deep, a place that no longer satisfied him. No longer sustained him.
He knew what he had to do.
He hoped they wouldn't kill him.
13
I arrived early to meet Michael, hoping to get a glimpse of Luna, but she was a no-show. I was beginning to think Michael was too when I heard a car pull up.
At first, I was relieved. Michael looked normal dressed in a pair of gray gym shorts and a plain white t-shirt. He ambled down the boardwalk, the keys to his car dangling from his fingers. My hopes soared, thinking maybe his condition wasn’t as bad as the horrific picture on my phone had indicated. When he was halfway down the boardwalk, I realized it was worse. Much worse.
My hands floated of their own accord over my mouth. Michael wore sunglasses and his hair was in shaggy disarray, but neither could hide the train wreck that was his face. Nothing could hide what Jamie had done to him, except maybe a bag over his head. He looked like he had gone nine rounds with a heavyweight. A strip of white tape bisected the bridge of his nose—broken again. It hurt just to look at him. I nearly fainted when he reached up and pulled his sunglasses off, and I wasn’t the squeamish type.
“Adrian!” he mock yelled in a pretty good impression of a beaten and battered Rocky.
They let him leave the hospital looking like this? “You should be at home. In bed.”
“Nah, my mom’s driving me crazy. I swear she would’ve wiped my ass if I’d let her.” He stopped about a foot away, and I couldn’t tell if he swayed or if it was me who was suddenly dizzy.
“Michael, I’m so sorry.” I shook my head, the inadequate apology muffled behind my fingers.
He ignored it and his mouth quirked ruefully. That had to hurt. “So that’s the old ball and chain, huh? Big guy isn’t he?”
How could he even crack jokes at me? I couldn’t quit staring. I failed to even make myself blink.
I wanted to hug him. I wanted to beg for forgiveness. I wanted to smack Jamie upside his monstrous head for doing this to him.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.” He lowered himself slowly as though the bench were made of nails and not wood softened by years of weather. He grimaced as he settled against the backrest. “Hell. Yeah, it is. He beat the shit out of me.” He blew out a long breath and it took a good thirty seconds for his body to fully relax. Freshly bright bruises—a kaleidoscope of colors—covered his swollen face, purple and garish blue, the edges of which were beginning to fade to an algae green.
What could I possibly say to make up for this? One wrist was encased in a black brace all the way up to his elbow.
“Is that your shooting hand?” My hands drifted to my lap.
“It’s just sprained.” He lifted the damaged hand, turned it over palm up and flexed the fingers extending from the brace. They resembled thick sausages. “Doc says I gotta lay off a week then I should be good as new.”
Small comfort that was with the melting pot of colors sponging across both cheekbones. The hem of his shirt caught on the bench and hiked up in back, revealing the speckled and raw flesh underneath. Holding my breath, I lifted his shirt and surveyed the damage. It reminded me of the time in grade school I’d left my crayons out on the dock. I’d come back later to find they had all melted together under the afternoon heat. I'd thought the result was cool and pretty, but there was nothing pretty about these bruises, especially since I'd stood by in stupefied shock, watching it happen. Doing nothing.
“I don’t even know what to say,” I whispered, appalled I was the cause of this. He turned his head to look at me, like the slow rotation of a sprinkler head. His eyes were soft and kind, if hidden behind the swollen lids.
“You can tell me you’re okay. The details are still fuzzy, but I know he took you.”
“You don’t get to be nice to me. You must hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. And you didn’t answer my question. Are you okay?” It was the same irritating question I’d heard from everyone else, but for some reason coming fro
m Michael it didn’t have the same grating edge to it.
“Yeah.” I would have hugged him if I weren't afraid of adding to his discomfort.
“What happened?”
“Nothing really.” I shrugged and found my hands suddenly fascinating. “He let me go.”
“But he didn’t hurt you?”
“No. He wouldn’t…” I wanted to insist Jamie would never hurt me, but looking at Michael, I didn’t think he would believe me. And seeing Michael, I could understand my dad’s wariness regarding my safety. “No, he didn’t.”
“Good. Where is he?” His eyes scanned the opposite side of the lake and my heart stopped cold. Now that I had seen firsthand what Jamie had done to him, agreeing to meet him here might not have been the best idea.
“I don’t know,” I said, laying my hand over his arm right above the brace. His skin under my fingers was warm, his springy hairs soft. I forced myself to pull my hand away, the light touch too intimate.
“Do you want to talk about it?” His hand chased mine, trying to pull it back, but everything had changed. He must know that everything had changed.
“Not really. I’m kind of talked out. Can we sit? Is that okay?”
“Yeah, sitting sounds good. If that’s what you need.”
“Well, if you’re not going to be mad at me then I guess I need you to be my friend.” It was all I could ask of him now, and still it might be asking too much.
“I’m mad. Just not at you.” He expelled a frustrated breath. “I guess the whole resurrection from the dead catapulted me into the friend zone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” For the first time since his arrival, his happy-go-lucky demeanor slipped. Clearly, his umbrage went beyond physical pain. “It was worth it though.”
“What?”
“Our one date.” His eyes dropped to my mouth. “That kiss.”
The mention of our shared kiss caused my pulse to race. I’d banned that kiss from my mind the second I’d realized Jamie was alive. Guilt forbade me to remember how good it was, how sweet it was.
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