“Besides, if you’re that nervous, we can bring Chloe along. She can wear a trenchcoat and some sunglasses and stand behind us menacingly.”
“I don’t think that would go over too well with the parents,” Chloe mused.
“Assuming they are the parents.”
“I’ll keep my eyes, ears, and nose open more carefully this time, I swear.” Mel grabbed a fried wonton out of one of the boxes, shook it at me twice. “And if you yell my name in a terrified voice again, I’ll actually listen.”
***
My dreams were a jumbled mess. More so than usual, that is.
I was in the dark. I couldn’t see anything, but I felt limbs and hands bumping me, shoving me, tugging me. I felt fear and glee and an immense hunger. My insides were empty, carved out until the edges of my flesh were ragged. The only thing that hadn’t been taken was my heart. I ached with a despair that only comes from missing someone you love with all your soul but whom you know you’ll never see again.
The floor of the kitchen was hard beneath my legs and my left hand was frozen. Sonny was squawking from the top of his cage to my right and I could feel tears on my skin. The front of my shirt was wet and the ice cream in my mouth tasted like snot.
I blinked twice before I realized I was awake, staring at the front of my fridge, blindly looking at the magnetic messages left for me by my mysterious visitor. A pint of ice cream was clutched tightly in my numb hand and I had eaten half of it. I was also covered in tears and my nose had been running for long enough that my shirt was already too soaked to clean it properly.
Sonny stopped talking; when I looked at him, he stared back, curiously silent. We watched each other for a minute before I realized that I really needed to get up and get moving. Despite how much I had enjoyed the idea of the gummy, chocolaty mess when I’d bought it, I didn’t even want to look at the ice cream now. I knew I would never be able to eat it without also tasting my own runny nose.
“Gross,” I mumbled, dumping the entire container in the garbage. Tearing off several handfuls of paper towels, I mopped at my face and neck, leaning against the counter for support. My knees hurt and the backs of my legs had gone numb from sitting splayed and hunched over for what must have been quite awhile.
“Gwen?” I spun around to find Mel standing just inside the kitchen. Chloe had gone home after we’d eaten, but Mel had stayed in the guest room again. I’d completely forgotten he was around. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t think so. Jesus, I’m a mess.”
“What happened? What are you doing?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember. I was dreaming and then I woke up… It’s fine. Go back to sleep.”
“You look terrible,” he said, straightening minutely. “But if you’re having trouble sleeping, I can offer my services. I’m great at the art of wearing women out.”
“You are exhausting,” I said with a sigh. Mel just watched me quietly. I couldn't really decide what the expression on his face was without feeling his emotions to back it up, but I was leaning toward pity. “I’m going to take a shower and go back to bed. Did I wake you?”
“I heard the fridge opening and figured you were trying to sneak in some sugar this late because you figured I wouldn’t notice and tattle on you to Chloe. I thought about letting you think you were getting away with it, but something didn’t sound right, so I came out to check on you.”
“I was sleepwalking. If you hear me again, wake me up. Or at least herd me back to my room and shut me in, Lassie.”
“You sure you don’t want me to join you? I’ll make sure you stay put. I can tie you up if that’s what you’re into.”
My eye twitched and, for once, it didn’t have anything to do with his being a werewolf. “I will hit you with another bat.”
***
Chloe called the next morning to say she’d meet us at the Carlyles' house after she picked some things up. I wondered if she was going to bring more guns, but then put it firmly out of my mind. Once everything else was solved, I could sit down and ask her a hundred questions. For now, I just had to trust my best friend.
We drove in silence but I was grateful for the quiet. There wasn’t much I wanted to discuss and I still felt sore, sick, and tired, like my brain had hosted a series of bum fights in my skull.
Mel started whistling about fifteen minutes in. I tried to place what it was he had stuck in his head and decided it was a sad song. One from my youth, maybe. I thought about that car crash song, where the singer watches his lover die, and wondered if it was that tune.
No, that didn’t seem gloomy enough. This song was about despair, tragedy, loss in the worst sense. The lyrics had to be about death or about being trapped. Why couldn’t I place it? Why didn’t I know what song this was? I wanted to be frustrated but I didn’t have the energy. I didn’t have anything. I couldn’t even pay attention to the humming anymore. Were my eyes closed? Why was it so dark? Why was I so tired?
I forced my leaden eyes to open and rolled my head to the side. Mel was still humming and the tune was slow, tedious, depressing. My arms felt heavy. How long had we been driving?
“You asleep?” Mel reached over and grabbed my knee, giving it a squeeze. I tried to pull away but couldn’t. When I didn’t react, Mel turned, his brows knitted. As he switched his gaze between me and the road, I watched tension pull through him, his jaw going tight. I focused my eyes on the road outside and realized we were almost far enough north to be out of Seattle.
“Gwen, are you awake? You look like you’re melting.”
I blinked at him and that was all I could do. Where were we and what was I doing in this car?
Brow still furrowed, Mel checked the passenger’s side blind spot and veered out of his lane. I watched the world move around me, feeling slow and tired and empty. I lost track of time, but when we stopped, I could see trees, houses, mailboxes. We were in a neighborhood and I felt something spark inside me.
Had I been here before?
“Come on, this isn’t as fun as when you’re berating me. I can take the abuse, but you look like you went ten rounds with Dalí. Gwen?”
Mel unbuckled his seatbelt and launched out of the car. I couldn’t turn my head fast enough to watch him hustle around the hood but I felt his hand on my shoulder after he opened my door. His blue eyes met mine, his fingers moved to my chin, and warmth flooded through my skin.
We were on our way to a meeting regarding some missing children. I was an empath mistakenly hired by a pair of unpleasant fairies to locate said children. I’d been attacked twice by things that looked human but could sling around magic, and I definitely needed to get moving.
I grunted, shoving at Mel in the hopes he’d get the message that my mouth couldn’t deliver. When he didn’t move, I licked my lips, forcing a word out through them: “Move.”
“Can you?” Mel asked, unbuckling my seatbelt. I shoved at him again and this time he let me move him. I tumbled out of the SUV onto the sidewalk, taking a huge gulp of air. My head was spinning, my stomach dropping into my feet. I took a few more deep breaths before I realized I was sucking in air faster than I should be. I felt Mel’s hand on my belly and the other at the back of my neck, before he bent me double and crouched down to look into my eyes. “Slow down. If you pass out, Chloe’s gonna blame me. Watch me, breathe like me.”
Mel stayed close, sucking in air deliberately, slowly, leaning low to stay in my field of view. I watched him, tried to match him. As my panic subsided and the tightness in my chest eased, I wheezed out a laugh.
“Are you—” I took a deep breath, found I was calm enough to speak, and continued. “Are you doing Lamaze?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Mel looked seriously into my eyes. “Are you still dying?”
“I… I think I’m okay.”
“Well, even if you’re not, pretend. Chloe’s pulling up and I don’t want her yelling at me for letting you indulge in cheap dramatics.”
I glowered up at him, b
ut decided to save my breath for the meeting with the parents.
Chapter Fifteen
Both Mel and I managed to be appropriately composed and somber by the time we approached the front door of the house. Mel looked me over as we took the single step onto the porch, but whatever he might have said was interrupted when the door opened before he could even knock.
A giant pair of eyes took us in and I felt confusion edged with a tinge of hope. The eyes were a watery blue behind Coke-bottle glasses above a narrow rounded nose and thin-lipped mouth. We each got the once-over twice before the man in the sweater-vest and slacks reached out a hand. I wanted to grab it instantly, but didn't.
“You must be Mr. Somerset.” The man shook Mel’s hand. “And Ms. Arthur.” Reaching for my hand, he cocked his head at me, confusion overtaking his birdlike features once again. As I touched his skin, I felt a rush of emotions. Joy, sadness, frustration, and anxiety all mixed inside me, turning my guts into a churning mess. Swallowing hard, I fought off the stinging sensation at the back of my throat. I realized that Mr. Carlyle and I weren’t shaking hands, but holding them.
“Shannon?” I heard a voice from inside the house and my churning guts leapt into my throat. I wanted to run to that voice and… I wasn’t sure, but it was a desperate feeling.
“Shall we go inside?” Mel asked. Mr. Carlyle and I turned in unison to blink at Mel as if we didn’t understand him.
“Oh, of course. I’m…” Mr. Carlyle glanced very briefly at me as he spoke. “I’m sorry.”
Mel put a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder and guided him inside, toward the garish living room. Tossing an annoyed glance my way, he made sure to enter the house before me, following on Mr. Carlyle’s heels.
“It’s okay, Christina, they’re the ones here about Devon.”
“Oh.” A woman opposite her husband in every way stood just outside a hallway to our right. Her hair was jet black, falling in waves to her waist. Deep brown eyes, steady and free of tears, watched us over a sharp nose and full lips. Her skin was dark, her clothes bright and bold. She smiled at us and it was a good mask, but I could feel the worry inside her.
I knew how strong she could be when it was necessary and it made me feel better.
I met Mel’s concerned gaze again and started to wonder whose feelings I was actually channeling.
Taking a deep breath, I concentrated on my own thoughts, my own feelings, carefully separating my psyche from those around me. My first instinct was to sit in the chair closest to the TV, but when the Carlyles moved to the couch and Mel sat in one of the chairs directly across from them, I considered how rude I would appear by not sitting with everyone else. I sat next to Mel and clasped my hands in my lap, fidgety and unsure of myself.
“Let me begin by saying I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances,” Mel began, his tone practiced and caring. “I know a few of the police officers working to bring your son home and I wanted to do my best to help them out. This whole situation is tragic and I just can’t imagine what you must be going through.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Carlyle said, glancing over at me. I gave him what was undoubtedly a weak smile and swallowed thickly. I felt like I was in trouble, out of place in this big chair.
“Can you start by telling me how Devon went missing, maybe show me around so I can get a sense of the place?”
“Well,” Mrs. Carlyle started, putting a hand over her husband’s knee, as if steadying him. “He was home from school because he hadn’t been feeling well. I stayed home with him and he was just there, watching TV.” She gestured to the chair I’d considered taking.
“I’d gone upstairs to put away the laundry. I didn’t think anything was wrong.” She took a breath and I saw her fight back tears. Her jaw set for a moment and she glanced at the staircase to my left. “The TV was on but I didn’t hear anything. Nothing suspicious, I mean. He was watching cartoons and I was thinking I should make him some soup, that it might make him feel better.”
Mr. Carlyle turned his head to me sharply and I met his eyes as my mouth opened.
“Vegetable soup is the best,” I announced, unaware until I’d spoken that I had any intention of doing so.
Silence fell over the room, as Mel, Shannon, and Christina all looked my way.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” I apologized, feeling myself shrink back into the chair. “I just… like soup.”
Suddenly embarrassed, I pushed out of the chair and stepped away from the parents. Mel urged Christina to continue.
“I came back down after the laundry was all put away and I couldn’t find him. The door was locked—I checked as soon as I thought something might be wrong—but he wasn’t in the house. I checked the garage and the bathroom, I even went upstairs and checked—” She swallowed. “Checked my closet. I didn’t think he was—I mean, maybe he was playing.”
“She called me as soon as she thought something was wrong and I came right home,” Shannon said quietly.
The mantle held a picture of the Carlyle family in front of their Christmas tree. Devon was little, barely a toddler, and he was holding a toy truck up in the air like it had been the prize for fighting a dangerous and deadly battle. Something in me clenched but I couldn’t tell if the sight of the truck made me happy or sad.
I reached for the picture and, as I pulled it forward, two odd things happened.
Shannon appeared next to me, annoyance slicing at my skin as he reached out toward the mid-point between the mantle and the fireplace. The corner of the picture I was grabbing hit the corner of another frame, knocking it forward.
“Please don’t touch our things,” Shannon said calmly as the fallen picture dropped right into his palm.
“Oh my god,” I mumbled, meeting his eyes. “You saw that coming.”
Shock and panic hit me at full force, like walking into a static forcefield. Just beyond it, barely hidden by the electric distress, lay a cold, hard wall of defensive anger. I took a step back, though I would have needed to leave the house entirely to avoid the sledgehammer of his emotions.
“I don’t know what you’re—” he began.
I interrupted, unable to stop myself. “Can Devon see the future, too? Did he inherit that?”
I felt Christina from across the room and before she could lash out, I turned to her.
“I’m not—I’m different, too!” Still holding the Christmas picture, I eased toward Devon’s mother, stretching a hand out. “Right now, you’re worried and angry, but you don’t need to be. I’m not going to tell anyone about your husband or your son.”
“I don’t…” Christina trailed off, staring at me. Her gaze moved past and I turned to watch her husband stare at me, slack-jawed.
“You can see the future?” he asked. I shook my head but he didn’t seem to notice. “I thought it was just Devon and me.”
“No, I can’t—I do other things. I can sense emotions.”
Mel had turned in his chair and was watching me intently, looking less concerned than he had with Marian and Duane.
Shannon stepped up next to me, reaching for the frame I still held. When his skin touched mine, I felt that same storm light up my stomach. I wanted to hug him, to sit on his lap and have him read me a story. My adult self felt confused and vaguely uncomfortable at the almost fetishistic desire but my inner child was on the verge of desperate tears.
“I’m… I'm sorry, you can read emotions?” Christina asked, finally breaking the silence. Mel got to his feet, glancing between us.
“She’s been rather ill lately, so her empathy is—well, out of whack. Like I said, I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but Gwen has no choice but to feel what you’re feeling. I think it’s knocked her off her game somewhat.”
“Yeah,” I said, watching Shannon carefully place the picture back on the mantle where it’d been. “I think I’m feeling echoes of what Devon felt, as well. It’s like I know this place and I can’t stop feeling…” I trailed off. What was I feeling? Gui
lty?
I blinked and realized I’d lifted my head so I was staring at the staircase.
“You can feel my son?” Christina’s voice broke as she mentioned Devon and I gave a small nod. I needed to go upstairs.
“I’ll be right back,” I murmured, heading toward the staircase. I felt my arm get tugged and I pulled against it, anxiety starting to brew in my belly. Upstairs, I needed to go upstairs!
“Please,” Shannon insisted. “I can’t let you just—”
“Shan, please.” Christina stepped forward and I glanced over at her. The grip on my wrist disappeared and I tore up the stairs like a wild animal. If I could just get to my room, if I could just hide under the covers, I’d be safe. The man with the big eyes wouldn’t be able to grab me. I just had—
I stopped just inside the door to a little boy’s room, looking around as if I’d just woken from another nightmare. What was I doing? I wasn’t going to climb into the bed of a missing child and hide under his blankets. Shannon grabbed my arm, yanked me back a step.
“You need to leave, you can’t be in here!” he insisted. I could feel his panic and it nearly matched the lightning firing through my chest and zapping my heart. His eyes darted to Devon’s bed and despair thundered through us both.
“I’m sorry,” I cried, shocked at my own behavior. “I’m—I don’t do this. I don’t feel echoes. This isn’t how I work. I’m—”
“Gwen, come down.”
I snapped my head around and saw Mel through the slats of the staircase. Just seeing him, hearing his calm voice, helped me concentrate. I wasn’t Devon and I wasn’t missing. I hadn’t been kidnapped. I was an adult, babbling at terrified parents about their lost son.
I was making an ass of myself.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” I said again, pulling back into myself. “I am so, so sorry. I don’t understand why I’m acting like this.”
“Please!’” Shannon begged, slimy desperation hemorrhaging from him as his gaze pulled toward his son’s room again. “You need to get out of here. This is unacceptable.”
Mixed Feelings (Empathy in the PPNW Book 1) Page 16