Run to You Part Three: Third Charm

by Clara Kensie

  She peeks over the edge of her mattress, watching him until he stops breathing and his eyes stare up at nothing. His mouth hangs open. She gulps, and imagines her pink flowered blanket floating off the bed to cover his face, to cover his body.

  And it does.

  Wow.

  “No touching,” Mr. Milbourne rumbled from the corner, and the vision disappeared.

  I gave Mom’s hand a squeeze before I let it go. “I didn’t know you had a stepfather.”

  She sipped in a sharp breath. “How did you...”

  “I had a vision. I saw what he did to you. What you did to him.”

  She froze for a moment, then she slumped in the chair. “You really are psychic.”

  We should have been celebrating my new ability. She should’ve been beaming with pride. But now she was only threatened. Disappointed.

  “You told me your mother choked to death on a dried apricot,” I said. “Did you do that too?”

  “I met a boy at the food pantry, and he asked me to his prom. I saved and saved for a dress, but she got laid off and asked me for the money to pay the rent.” Her voice was small, almost childlike, and she started rocking back and forth. “I got mad and pictured her throat closing around the apricot. I didn’t mean do it.”

  She sobbed, and I slid my hands into the sleeves of Tristan’s sweatshirt to keep myself from running around the table to throw my arms around her. I reminded myself that she had stolen money, stolen lives, stolen my childhood.

  “Jillian piggybacked on Dad’s mobile eye while you were driving up here,” I said. “She saw everything, right up until Dad was shot. Now he doesn’t have his mobile eye. Jillian and Logan probably think we’re all dead.”

  She said nothing, just rocked back and forth.

  “I’m telling them the truth about you when I find them,” I said. “The APR is still looking for leads, but I think they went to Nebraska, to look for her old boyfriend, Gavin.”

  But when she stiffened, I knew the only place Jillian and Logan would find Gavin was in a cemetery.

  I collapsed back against the chair. “Why would you kill him?”

  “Jillian was in love with him,” she said. “She’s so rebellious. We knew she’d tell him something sooner or later. Or she’d find a way to contact him one day. I gave him an aneurysm when he brought her home after a date. We left town that night.”

  My mother killed Gavin, a high school boy, simply because my sister was in love with him.

  Oh God. Oh no.

  With a garbled shriek I bounded across the table. Grabbed her shoulders. Lifted the fog. Frantically filtered through the visions. Prayed I wouldn’t see it.

  But I did.

  She waits in the dark. 1:55am. Everything’s ready to go. Andy and the kids are waiting in the car. Their bags are packed. They’ve destroyed all the other personal items.

  Only one thing left to do.

  She hates to do it. Really. Tessa is in love with that boy. She’s never seen a love so strong between two people; it rivals the love she shares with Andy. But that’s exactly why she has to do it. Nothing in the world, except death, would keep her from Andy. And nothing in the world, except death, would keep Tessa from Tristan.

  So Tristan has to die.

  When he brings Tessa home in five minutes, she will plant an aneurysm in his brain.

  By the time the sun rises, her family will be halfway to their new hideout, and Tristan will be dead.

  The vision disappeared when Mr. Milbourne peeled me off my mother. He returned with a grunt to his place in the corner as I, weary and crushed, sank back to the chair. “You were going to kill Tristan.” I listened to myself say the words, but they still didn’t seem real.

  She spoke to her wringing hands. “I should have done it when I invited him in to talk about Winterball. But I didn’t. I kept him alive for you, Babydoll. I wanted you to go to just one dance with him.”

  Dark and thick, the fog rumbled in the distance. I allowed it to creep in a bit closer. “How long were you going to keep it up?” I asked. “Were you going to kill everyone we loved for the rest of our lives?”

  She rocked back and forth, back and forth. “We always knew it would end one day. But not like this. We thought Jillian would do something to get us caught, or Logan would figure it out.”

  She stopped rocking, stopped wringing her hands, and became statue-still, eyes closed, not even breathing. Then her hands clenched into tight fists, and she slowly raised her head. Her gray eyes, blazing with silver fury, and her next words, growled from behind clenched teeth, chilled and burned me at the same time. “We never thought it would be you.”

  Externally I was frozen, but internally all I felt was a draining—the draining of blood from my face, the draining of air from my lungs, the draining of hope from my soul. My mother blamed me for luring her here, for taking my father and her PK away from her, for destroying our family.

  She blamed me for everything. To my mother, this was all my fault.

  Mr. Milbourne crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud.

  Before I could blink, before my next heartbeat, the door flung open and Tristan burst in, shouting for me. My mother pounced with a frantic screech, shaking off her chains like they were made of smoke. With a small flick of her hand, she sent Tristan and me tumbling backwards over the warden.

  Trembling, panting with raspy sobs, she stood over us. “But I can forgive you, Babydoll. You’re usually such a good girl. I know Tristan tricked you.” She reached a shaky hand out to me. “Now let’s go. No one can stop us. Let’s get your father and leave.”

  Her gaze darted between the doorway and me. Her desperation hung in the air like a black cloud.

  It was that desperation that had turned her into a killer.

  If guilt was my father’s greatest weakness, then desperation was my mother’s.

  But it wasn’t me. I was never their greatest weakness.

  “Get up, Tessa. Now,” she rumbled. I felt a strong tug, like an invisible rope, urging me up toward her and the open doorway. I wasn’t sure if the tug was the force of her PK or my own compulsion to run, to escape, to mask the truth with fog and hide forever in denial.

  The only thing keeping me from running was Tristan. Straining with effort, he anchored me against his chest. His muscular arms and broad shoulders, however, were no match against my mother’s power, or her fury.

  But he was holding me with something stronger than any of that.

  I followed my mother’s gaze to the open doorway. And then I betrayed her one more time. “Mom, I’m not going with you. I’m not running anymore.”

  She howled, her outstretched hand curling into a claw. She raised it in the air, and I braced myself, already feeling my stomach slicing open.

  When her sight slid from me to Tristan, I realized her vengeance wasn’t directed solely at me. “Tristan watch out!” I shrieked, but he pushed me away with one arm.

  With the other, he drew the gun from the warden’s holster. Aimed.

  Fired.

  As the tranquilizer pierced my mother’s neck, her eyes glinted with remorse for the tiniest of moments before she collapsed to the floor.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Tristan stuffed the last of his clothes into his duffle bag while I leaned against the open doorway to our cell. I didn’t need a bag. Everything I owned in the world, I was already wearing: the blue tennis hoodie from Tristan, the butterfly jeans from his sister and a pair of laceless sneakers. My black cell phone, useless yet indispensable, was hooked to my waistband.

  Weasel Face—no, Warren Fontanini—waited down the hall to escort us upstairs. He’d been among the guards who’d rushed in moments after Tristan had shot my mother. Half of them had taken her away. The other half had whisked Mr. Milbourne, Trist
an and me to the clinic. Tristan and I had been thoroughly examined and declared unharmed. The healers repaired Mr. Milbourne’s heart, but they were keeping him in the clinic until he returned to full strength. He hoped to be back on duty next week.

  Dr. Sheldon wanted to keep me under observation for a few more days, but I convinced her I was ready to leave.

  My mother, still unconscious, was being neutralized again.

  Tristan zipped his bag shut and stood to leave. “Ready to go? You can stay in our guest room, and you can borrow clothes from Ember for now. We can pick up everything else you need later.”

  I blinked at him. “Just like that? I’ve accepted that my parents are guilty, so you expect that I’ll go home with you now?”

  His duffle bag dropped to the floor. “I...you’re not?”

  “Tristan, you lied to me. You betrayed me. You made promises that you didn’t keep,” I said. “I can’t just pretend that never happened.”

  He deflated, sinking to the cot with a slow exhale. “You’re not coming home with me,” he whispered, like he needed to say it himself to believe it.

  “No.” I raised the fog as high as I dared. My head was clear, my mind made up. “I’m not.”

  “Where are you going to go?” he asked, scraping his hands through his hair.

  “To stay with my aunt,” I said. “At least until they find Jillian and Logan. After that, I don’t know. The three of us will decide together.”

  “But your aunt lives in Delaware,” Tristan said. “My house is just a mile down the road from the APR. You can keep up with the investigation better if you’re close.” He strode over and took both my hands. “And what if I get a warning premonition about you? I can’t keep you safe if you’re so far away.”

  “You couldn’t keep me safe in Twelve Lakes,” I said, “and you were right next to me.”

  He pressed my hands to his chest, right over his heart. “I will never forgive myself for failing you in Twelve Lakes. And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” he said. “But I can’t do it if you’re half a country away.”

  “You want me to come home with you because it’s close to the APR. Because you want to make amends for your broken promises,” I said, pulling my hands from his. “Neither of those are good enough reasons for me to go home with you.”

  “That’s not why,” Tristan said. “I want you to come home with me because I love you.”

  Unable to meet his pleading blue eyes, I lowered my gaze. Stared at my shoes. Shuffled my feet. “That’s not good enough either.”

  “I deceived you. I betrayed you. I didn’t keep you safe,” he said. “But Tessa, I love you. If you never believe anything else I say, please believe that.” He reached into his pocket and held something out. “I found this under the cot while I was packing up.”

  The band of pearls. My promise ring.

  “Take it,” he said. “Lift the fog and read it. Like you did with your parents’ wedding rings.”

  Ah. He wanted me to have a vision about his past to prove his love for me was genuine. But I shook my head. “I’m not going to read that ring, Tristan.”

  As if I’d shot him with words made from bullets, he staggered backwards. “So that’s it,” he said, sitting down hard on the cot. “We’re over. Us. You and me.”

  “There is no us,” I said. “There is no you and me.”

  He stared at the pearl ring in his fingertips, looking like I’d just wrung all the hope from his heart like water from a sponge.

  I opened my mouth to say goodbye, but nothing came out. So after one last glance at him, I turned away.

  And left.

  * * *

  Fog raised, head clear, I walked up the dim hallway of the Underground. Warren Fontanini escorted me without a word, past the locked, windowless cell doors. When we reached the elevator, I pressed the button. I was leaving this place behind. Forever. The Underground, my parents, Tristan.

  I would never see Tristan again.

  Silently, the elevator doors slid open.

  I would never see Tristan again.

  I tried to step inside, but my feet wouldn’t move.

  The doors started sliding closed, and Warren stuck out his hand to stop them. “You getting in?”

  I nodded and commanded myself to get into that elevator. To leave.

  But I didn’t move.

  I would never see Tristan again.

  Why couldn’t I get on that elevator? Why couldn’t I tell him goodbye?

  Because if I got on that elevator, I would never see him again.

  And I didn’t want to say goodbye.

  I spun around and ran.

  I ran. Dashed. Sprinted. Flew. Faster and faster with each step.

  I ran back down the hall, back to our cell.

  I ran to him. I ran to Tristan.

  He was sitting on the cot, elbows on knees, pearl ring in his hand. “Tristan!” I cried.

  He shot up, eyes widening with cautious hope as I plucked the ring from his fingers.

  “You came back to read the ring?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “I don’t need a vision to prove that you love me. You didn’t have to stay down here with me, but you did. You never left me. Not for one second. That’s how you proved you love me.”

  “Then why did you come back?”

  “I came back because when Kellan shot you, I thought you were dead,” I said. “Because that last night in Twelve Lakes, my mother was going to plant an aneurysm in your brain. Because just a few hours ago in the visiting room, she almost sliced you open.” I reached up and brushed his cheek, rough with stubble. “I almost lost you. So many times. I don’t want to lose you. I love you, Tristan.”

  I slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of my left hand, back where it belonged. Then I said the same words he’d said to me countless times: “I’m not leaving you.”

  He lit up from the inside out, first his eyes, then his smile. He picked me up, and I slid my arms back around his neck, tight, tighter. “Us,” he said. “You and me.”

  And my heart echoed in rhythm: Thump. Thump-th-thump.

  He kissed me hard, harder, and I kissed him back, until we both melted into it, into each other.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The soft wind blew fluffy snowflakes onto my cheeks as we stood on the front porch of Tristan’s house. He squeezed my hand. “Ready, Clockwise?”

  No, I wasn’t.

  I nodded anyway.

  He opened the door. “We’re home!”

  We stepped into a large foyer. A mammoth ball of gold fur bounded over with an excited bark. “Mac!” Tristan knelt to give the dog a vigorous rub as he panted and whipped his tail side to side. His head came up past my waist. “You’re not afraid of dogs, are you?” Tristan asked me.

  My first instinct was to say yes; I was afraid of everything.

  But that didn’t have to be true anymore. To prove it, I gave Mac a few pats. His fur was soft, and he licked my cheek.

  Spilling into the foyer on all four walls were dozens of cheery family photos, mostly candids. I lifted the fog, just a little, to witness visions of a home filled with laughter and friends.

  A flash of purple whirled into the room: Ember, looking exactly as she had in my vision, with shiny purple hair and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose. Another dog, as tiny as Mac was large, wagged its tail from the crook of her arm. A fluffy white cat rubbed at her heels.

  “This,” Tristan said, “is Ember, my annoying little sister.” He messed her hair with the same vigorous rub he’d given Mac, then picked her up and swung her around. “Missed ya, sis.”

  “Glad you’re home,” she mumbled into his shoulder, then ended the tender reunion by shoving him away. She smoothed he
r hair and turned to me. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I said back, and we exchanged a smile. Ember could be my sister until I reunited with Jillian and Logan.

  “Tristan?” A pale, plump, copper-haired woman with the same freckles as Ember rushed over to him. She hugged him tightly, crying a little and patting him to make sure he was really home safe, the way a mother would greet her soldier son returning from war.

  “Tessa, this is my mom, Deirdre,” Tristan said when she finally released him.

  She wiped her tears, then took my chin in her hand and tilted my head up. “Let’s see those wildflower eyes.”

  I opened my eyes as wide as possible while blinking back my own tears.

  “Beautiful,” she sighed, then enveloped me in another hug. “Welcome to the family.” I was unable to speak as she crushed me in her arms. “Oh!” She gave a tinkling laugh. “That was it! That was my dream!”

  Tristan took me from his mom and put his own arm around me. He kissed me, as if to say We made it, Tessa.

  Dennis Connelly stood in the entrance of the foyer, watching us from behind his round glasses, smelling nothing at all like cherry cigars.

  I was standing in the home of the man I’d feared for eight years. And all along, I’d been in more danger with my own parents. I remembered my vision of him trembling on the ground under my mother’s murderous glare, clutching his chest, begging for his life. My parents had tried to kill him, and now he was welcoming me into his home, into his family.

  I stumbled over to him. There was something I needed to say.

  So I closed my eyes. Took a breath.

  Licked my lips, swallowed.

  And when I said it, the words came easily, loud and clear. “Thank you, Dennis Connelly.”

  * * *

  The guest room felt cavernous, the queen-size bed colossal, after sleeping on a narrow cot in a tiny cell for the past three weeks. Where were Jillian and Logan sleeping tonight? In a dirty motel, most likely, on beds with thin mattresses that smelled like cigarettes. Certainly not in cozy bedrooms in a safe, love-filled home.