Unhinged

by Shelley R. Pickens

  Outside, I hear the sound of my tree rustling. It would seem that someone has started to climb up. I grip the bat firmer in my hands, ready to pounce when the intruder reaches my window. It isn’t long before a pair of hands grip the window and push it up all the way. Red Nike shoes come through the window first, followed shortly by black designer jeans, and a muscular torso hidden beneath a black shirt. Finally, I see short brown hair, so I bring down the bat as hard as I can and hit the person square on the head.

  He goes down, but not nearly like I had envisioned. My hope was to knock him out, but all I seemed to do was stun him with the blow. He shakes his head, takes a deep breath to clear it, and stands up to face me. I immediately lock onto his blue eyes—eyes that are very much aware and extremely pissed.

  “Ouch, Aimee!” Brett yells at me as he grabs the back of his head. “What the hell did you do that for? I thought you were cool with me coming up when you opened the window! Damn,” he finishes for emphasis.

  “Brett?” I ask incredulously. “What in the world are you doing sneaking around my house? I thought you were with Dejana. Hey, wait, how do you even know where I live?” I ask, still holding the bat high over my head, ready to strike.

  Brett goes to sit down on my bed, still rubbing his sore head. I can tell his pride hurts as much as his head, but at this moment, I can’t bring myself to care.

  “Dejana, of course. I’ve dropped her off here before, when her car was in the shop. Don’t you remember? It was sometime last year. I’ve always known where you lived. And since I have a knack for remembering where things are located, I’m not likely to forget.”

  “Okay, that explains how you know where to find me, but it still doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”

  I can hear Brett’s sigh practically shake the floor. “Dejana’s parents took her to the hospital. I saw you two leaving quickly in Logan’s car, so I decided to check on him. When he wasn’t at his house, I figured he was here. So where is he? In the bathroom or something? Hiding under the bed?” He snickers at his own joke.

  Hiding under the bed? Ha! I wish. We haven’t even gotten past kissing and clothes never come off, so yeah, I wish he were hiding under the bed. My body practically hums thinking about it. But now isn’t the time for happy thoughts, especially since the only one I can be happy with is currently unconscious at the hospital and fighting a crazy girl who sees ninety two ghost.

  Brett clears his throat, bringing me back to the issue at hand. “Earth to Aimee. I asked where Logan is. He’s here right?”

  Great, now what do I tell him? I know he’s one of Logan’s friends, but that doesn’t mean Logan has told him anything about my curse. I know I need to tread lightly, and hope for the best.

  “I’m sorry, but he’s at the hospital, too. He started not feeling well at Dejana’s, which is why we left in such a hurry. He wanted to go home to his parents.” Okay, not a complete lie, but still leaves out the part where I ventured into his brain. So far, so good.

  “Huh,” responds Brett seemingly unruffled by his friend’s predicament. “So he’s unconscious too?”

  “He was when I left him. His parents were calling an ambulance and there wasn’t anything I could do to help, so I left,” I finish, hoping that’s all the questions Brett has. Of course, I am never that lucky.

  “So, why aren’t you at the hospital with him then?” he asks skeptically.

  Damn, I don’t have a good answer for that one. My best move now is shifting the focus of the conversation back onto him. And if there is one thing I am good at, it’s evading. “Why aren’t you at the hospital with Dejana? Or Logan for that matter? Why come here, Brett?”

  The blank look on his face tells me that he too is caught off guard, with no apparent answer. All of the sudden, he decides his head hurts again. “Can you get me some ice for my head? It’s the least you can do since it’s your fault it hurts in the first place.”

  I concede only in the hopes that it gets him gone faster. I need to figure out how to help my friends and I can’t do that if he’s here distracting me. “Okay, but after you’re numb and all better, you have to leave.”

  “Deal,” he says with a crooked smile. What’s adorable on Logan just appears sinister on Brett.

  I head downstairs to the kitchen, push open the door, and turn on the light. The normally pristine kitchen is still in a mess from what happened with Mary just a short while ago. I look at the clock on the stove and see it is just a few minutes past 1 a.m. I found Mary about this same time twelve hours ago. Just twelve short hours and my whole world turned nuts. I stand immobile in the middle of the kitchen, wondering if my world will ever be put back right, if it's possible for someone like me to ever be truly happy. I don’t even try to stop the tears falling down my face. For a girl who never cries, I sure have done a lot of it lately.

  “Are you alright?” I hear Brett ask from behind me.

  Strange, I didn’t hear the kitchen door swing open and it is usually very loud and creaky. I quickly wipe the tears away from my eyes, hoping he doesn’t notice. “Yep, just looking at the mess Mary left behind. I guess I should clean it up sometime soon,” I say, trying to sound normal despite the fact that my life has completely fallen apart. In my head, I totally nailed it. From Brett’s point of view, who knows? I hear him move closer to me; practically feel his breath on the back of my neck. He moves so quietly, it almost scares me. But I’ve seen way too many evil things to be scared by much of anything.

  “It’s going to be okay, Aimee,” I hear him whisper in my ear. “I can help you if you’ll let me.”

  I don’t know if it’s the exhaustion or the absurdity of what Brett said to me, but I begin to laugh. I don’t have to look at Brett’s face to know that he’s giving me the ‘you’re nuts’ look. I can practically feel it scorching my skin. My laughter continues until I have a stitch in my side. I fall to the floor of the disheveled kitchen and laugh a deep laugh born from the irony of what Brett just said. I finally calm down enough to answer him.

  “My world has completely fallen apart and you say that it’s all going to be okay?” I say still chuckling.

  “Um, yeah?” he ventures, kneeling down beside me on the kitchen floor.

  I look up at his perfect male face, confusion etched in every feature. His blondish brown hair, longer in the front than in the back, falls haphazardly on his face, accenting his rugged sexy look. Even if they aren’t thinking about sex, some guys still just exude sexiness. It just isn’t fair. His deep blue eyes are probing, looking me up and down, certain he’s talking to a certifiable head case. For some reason, his confusion just makes me laugh even more.

  “Tell me what’s so funny, because I just don’t see it,” he says, completely nonplussed with an annoyed edge to his voice.

  How can I tell him that his words of comfort are hollow and without any meaning in my world? That he should know better than to tell me everything will be okay? And that it should be Logan here telling me that, not him. Or, maybe I really am just going crazy. I know that nothing in my world can ever be normal. The sooner I learn that, the better.

  I finally calm down enough to answer him. And about time too since Brett has taken out his cell phone to call someone, probably to take me to the nut house. Too late, I’ve already been there today. I know he’s thinking I’m going crazy just like all the others. Hell, maybe I am.

  “Please enlighten me on exactly how this will all be fine? Logan and Dejana, the only people that have ever loved me, have been taken from me. My adopted mother, Mary, is so lost within her mind she doesn’t even know who I am anymore. They all are, or will be, locked in a hospital for who knows how long. And worse yet, I can’t find a way to help them. So no, Brett, it won’t be all right because nothing can ever be all right again. Not until I get them back. And I damn well intend to get them back,” I state angrily as if the world can hear my determination. “I just don’t know how yet.”

  “I get it. You’re lost and pissed about it,
but you’re wrong. They aren’t the only ones that have ever loved you and you don’t have to do any of this alone. I’m here. Logan and Dejana are my friends, too, and I want to help. So whether you like it or not, I’m going to help you figure this out.”

  Huh. So, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome has some honor and bravery in him after all. Who would have thought? And what did he mean by ‘they aren’t the only ones who have ever loved you’? How would he know? But none of that matters anyway since I can’t accept his help, no matter how much I may need it. He can’t know about my curse.

  “Thanks Brett, but no thanks. I can figure this out on my own.”

  “Uh, huh,” he answers, offering nothing more, nor making any move to leave.

  The seconds tick by in silence. I rack my brain, trying to figure out a way to make him leave, short of just shoving him out the back door, though I would enjoy that immensely. I stand up and walk to the cabinet beside the sink. I take out a glass, intending to fill it with water since I haven’t had a drop since who knows when, but all thoughts are stopped cold with Brett’s next words.

  “And how do you plan to absorb their memories when they are all unconscious, Aimee? Or have you tried that already and that’s why you are so pissed about not being able to help?”

  Okay, now it’s my turn to give him the ‘you’re crazy’ look. “How the hell do you know I can do that?” I ask, so shocked by his words that I admit it.

  “It’s not exactly a secret, Aimee. After Tyler was killed, a rumor started that you knew he was the killer because you touched him and took all of his memories. I didn’t actually believe it until I saw your face just now. So, it’s true then? You can absorb people’s memories?”

  Damn, he was fishing and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I debated briefly as to exactly what I should divulge to Brett. Maybe I do need help. Perhaps Brett is the missing piece of the puzzle that can aid in finally bringing back the people I love. I’m at a standstill and could use the help, even if it’s from an egotistical guy like Brett. I decide I don’t have many options, so I’m forced to trust a person I normally wouldn’t trust at all, and actually still don’t.

  “Yes, it’s true. I can absorb memories by touching someone. That’s why I wear gloves all the time.”

  “Cool,” replies Brett. Strangely, he doesn’t seem freaked out at all by my curse. “So, how does it work exactly?” he inquires.

  How does it work? None of his damn business. “This isn’t a circus, and I’m not a freak that puts on a show,” I say angrily.

  “Whoa,” he says, putting his hands up in surrender. “I was just curious. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He doesn’t give me time to decide whether or not to accept his apology, he just moves on. “So, I assume you’ve somehow tried to help Logan or Dejana, but you’re frustrated because it didn’t work. Am I warm?”

  Actually, he’s burning hot, but I wasn’t about to tell his vain ass that. “Something like that, yes,” I reply.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to stand here with you all night and guess?”

  Scared to death, I bite my tongue. The thought of trusting a virtual stranger so completely with the knowledge of my curse, paralyzes me. As much as I need the help, I just can’t bring myself to trust Brett. For so many reasons, I can’t tell him the truth. But the most significant reason I hold back is actually fear for his safety. The only other people in the world who know everything there is to know about my curse, are cursed themselves now. How can I let someone else in knowing that he may suffer the same fate? Brett senses my hesitation.

  “I get that you’re scared, so keep your secrets for now. But we still need to help our friends, and I think I know someone who can help us. That is, if you think you can trust me enough to take you to him.”

  “Trust isn’t really a factor. I don’t trust you, that’s for sure, but that doesn’t really matter anymore,” I say as I push my way past him and leave the kitchen, heading for the front door.

  “Then why did you agree to go with me?” he asks following me out.

  “Easy. I don’t have any other choice.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  ~ I Really Hate Surprises ~

  We climb into Brett’s pristine silver truck, and I’m caught off guard by the cool leather seats and the presence of every possible gadget a car can have, shining at me from the dashboard.

  “I think all that’s missing from your car is an automatic driver. Or did that come standard as well?”

  Brett’s lip goes up in a snicker, but he doesn’t respond to my sarcastic comment. Since his attention is mostly on the road, I get a chance to really look at Brett. He’s similar to Logan in so many ways, yet different. I can see the defined muscles of his arms flex under his blue shirt as he turns the wheel. I don’t know much about Brett, but I don’t remember him playing any sports, so he must get fit some other way. He sits relaxed in his seat, like he’s in no hurry, has no care in the world. I envy him. Abruptly he turns and catches me staring at him. I turn away quickly, hoping he didn’t notice.

  “We’re almost there,” states Brett, making me realize something.

  “Wait. It’s late. Will this friend of yours even be up?”

  “He doesn’t ever sleep,” Brett says cryptically.

  A few minutes later, we’re driving down a small dirt road surrounded by woods. It’s very eerie, and once more, I second guess myself about letting Brett help me. For all I know, he’s taking me to this remote area to kill me. What was I thinking?

  I look over at Brett and notice his deathly tight grip on the steering wheel. Maybe I’m right after all; he’s nervous about something. Perhaps he’s just trying to figure out the best way to subdue me without me putting up much of a fight. I wish I had enough confidence to carry a weapon. Tyler ruined any hope of my ever using a knife and I hate guns.

  We near the end of the dirt road and I know I’m out of options. Fleeing is my only alternative. As Brett slows the truck at the end of the dirt road, I grip the door handle, ready to jump out the minute we are slow enough that jumping won’t result in me breaking my neck. I pull the door handle half way in preparation, when suddenly a cabin comes into view. As Brett pulls into the makeshift driveway, I see it more clearly. The small wooden cabin is nestled within the heart of the forest. It looks like God came down and cleared one small circle of trees specifically for this cabin. Nothing else resides within this small clearing, save a water well and a car that I assume belongs to the person we came to see.

  The brown cabin is one story with a wide front porch that spans the entire front of the house. There’s only one rocking chair outside—this person must live alone. There’s a light shining from the front room; Brett was right, the man must not sleep.

  As he parks the car near the house, Brett clearly becomes more agitated. His fingers glow white from gripping the wheel too hard and he keeps tapping his foot in some unconscious tick.

  “Um, why are you so nervous? I thought you said this guy is a friend,” I ask, confused by Brett’s behavior.

  He looks over at me, unrest written all over his face. His eyes dart back and forth from me to the cabin as he struggles with some inner debate. Finally, he finds his voice. “Well, I wasn’t completely truthful with you before.”

  No shit, really? I think. I’m not surprised at all since everyone lies. “About which part exactly?”

  Seeing my distrust, he hurries to explain. “Wait, I didn’t mean it that way. This guy can help. I never lied to you about that. I just didn’t tell you that I’m not his favorite person. My being here may have lost you any possibility of this guy helping.”

  “Well, we’ve come this far, so why don’t we go and find out?”

  Despite his misgivings, Brett nods his head and opens his door. I exit the truck as well and make my way to the front door of the cabin. Though I walk with confidence, inside I’m a nervous wreck. I avoid people for a reason. The idiocy of striking out to meet someone n
ew, solely based on the whims of another guy I barely know, engulfs me. I’m two seconds from turning around and running back to the truck when the front door opens and an older man steps out. The light from the room pierces the darkness, causing him to glow angelically. His body turns toward me first, taking my measure as he looks me up and down. I must have passed some test, because he nods his head before turning his attention to Brett. And then, all hell breaks loose.

  “You!” the old man yells furiously. “How dare you step foot on my land. You are not welcome here young man. You get your butt right back into that truck and drive away before I get my shotgun and make you.”

  Brett wrings his hands in agitation and refuses to meet the old man’s furious gaze. The confident boy I saw in my house, who convinced me to accept his help, is gone. Suddenly, I feel sorry for Brett. Sympathy, brought about from years of being bullied by others, rises within me. I turn and face the old man, anger giving me courage to face a stranger.

  “Stop threatening him, now. Whatever crap is between you two, I need you to put it aside. Awful things are happening in our town, and Brett says you are the only one that can help. He’s only here because I needed his help. So why don’t you stop talking about shotguns and convince me that you can actually be of some use.”

  The old man steps out further onto the porch and his figure clears. I almost wish he hadn’t bothered. His blue eyes are piercing as they meet mine, his annoyance at being interrupted by unsavory teenagers apparent. He’s holding a book in his right hand and his reading glasses in the other. He just stares at me, his anger at Brett diminishing as he contemplates my words. There’s a nagging in my brain, a small voice telling me I know him from somewhere. But where in the world would I have met him? There’s nothing unusual about him. He’s wearing what any older man would wear: khakis and a plaid button down shirt, tucked in with a belt to keep his rather large waist at bay. The loafers he wears on his pudgy feet complete the ensemble that screams of someone that grew up in the 1950’s and just can’t understand why young people would even want to wear something called skinny jeans. As he continues to stare, it finally dawns on me where I’ve seen this man before.