The Everlast Series Boxed Set

by Juliana Haygert

  “No.”

  “Then I have no right to be mad at you.” He placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hand. “But I confess, none of this makes sense. Your visions and my pains. You see, I had a checkup three months ago when the pains intensified. I’m as healthy as a person can be.”

  “I know. I feel like I’m losing my mind. In fact, there are days I’m certain I’m going to end up in a psychiatric hospital for the rest of my life.”

  His eyes met mine, and the air was sucked out of me.

  “Well,” he said, “losing your mind or not, I’m grateful for you. The pain had grown so bad, I’m sure I would be dead by now if it weren’t for you.”

  I froze. That struck a chord within me, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I had heard that before.

  As if pulled by a string, my head turned toward the TV near the ceiling on the opposite corner of the cafe. The reporters delivered news: in Australia, hundreds of dolphins had been found dead on the beach; in Argentina, sick people robbed drugstores at gunpoint; in a public park in the Netherlands, a terrorist blew himself and a bunch of families apart; and in Russia, a pack of giant bats attacked and killed a group of teenagers.

  What blew my mind away was what came next. The reporters showed aerial images of a small town in Switzerland, totally destroyed. Everything was either black or still on fire. There were no survivors because, as the reporter at the site said, it had happened too fast. And, while hovering over the town, they showed the images of the mountains around it and the precipice with the lake, now polluted. It was the precipice where I had stood in my vision.

  My stomach lurched. I shot up and ran to the bathroom in the back, where I threw up what little food I had eaten today. My body went limp, and I fell on the floor shuddering.

  After a few minutes, a knock startled me. My mind didn’t connect the dots, and I couldn’t find my voice to answer.

  “Nadine, are you okay?” Victor asked.

  What was he doing here? I tried sitting up and speaking to him, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. I wanted to tell him the door was unlocked, but he’d figured that out because a second later he knelt beside me.

  “What happened? Nadine?” His strong hands gripped my shoulders, and he helped me sit up against the wall. “Talk to me.”

  I was dizzy, wasn’t I, seeing his eyes shining with worry?

  A few violent tremors ran up my body, and I felt like crying. I gathered all the strength I had left and said, “I saw that.” My voice was clogged with emotion. “I saw what was happening on TV in a vision right before I came to work.” I didn’t realize I had been crying until the tears blurred my vision. Victor wiped my cheeks, his touch sending a warm, relaxing jolt to my skin. “I never thought it would be true. It was just a vision.”

  “I wasn’t just a vision.”

  “You were.” I wanted to shout, though I could only whisper. “Until two months ago, you were just a vision. I never thought you could be real.” The walls were closing in on me. “Oh God, I can’t take this.”

  My backbone lost its strength, but he held me in place. “Come on, I’ll get you home.” He caught me in his arms as if I were a weightless, ragged doll.

  His sweet scent wrapped around me and, for a few moments, I forgot everything else. Why was he carrying me? Where was he taking me?

  When he deposited me in my bed, I wondered how we had gotten here and why I didn’t remember any of it. He sat beside me.

  “I think we should call a doctor.” I heard Raisa’s frantic voice, though my sight was still hazy and I couldn’t pinpoint her location.

  “She just needs some rest,” he said. Then, he passed a cool glass to me. “Drink this. It’ll calm you.”

  All I wanted was to calm down. I gulped the sour contents of the glass and lay back on my pillow, the whirling wind in my mind gradually slowing.

  “She doesn’t seem well,” Raisa protested.

  “Let’s give her some peace and quiet,” Victor said. His weight left my mattress.

  I wanted to pull him back, but I didn’t think I could move my arms. I heard Raisa make some further comments, but then the voices went away and I was left alone in the dark.

  16

  I woke up with a throbbing headache.

  I got out of my bed and saw I was wearing only my tee and undies. Why wasn’t I wearing my pajamas, or even my jeans? I couldn’t think through the headache. In my bathroom, I found some ibuprofen. While there, I decided to brush my teeth and take a shower.

  The warm water running over my skin helped with the pain and I relaxed, enjoying the clean water.

  Clean water. Darkness. Pointy teeth. Large wings. Crumbling walls. Red bolts. Fire. Smoke. Burnt smell.

  The events rushed back into my mind, making me dizzy. Gasping, I almost fell on the slippery floor, but managed to steady myself. I left the shower, wrapped in a towel, and searched my room for my cell phone or wristwatch. I settled for my alarm clock and was shocked to find it was eleven at night.

  Wait. Had I dreamed it? About Victor being at the café, the news, being carried home?

  I shoved on a pair of jeans, a black sweater, and flat black boots and went to the living room, hoping to see him there. The apartment was empty and dark. Not even Raisa was home. Her bedroom door was open and the lights were off.

  On the kitchen countertop, I found a note in Raisa’s handwriting:

  Went out with Olivia.

  Victor has your keys. He said he will be back soon.

  Call if you need anything.

  My mind was in hyper mode. I needed something to do. I couldn’t even go out since my keys were with Victor.

  I sat on the sofa and tuned the TV to a cable news channel. I had to know more about what had happened to that small town.

  More bad news: the potable water crisis, the energy crisis, the agriculture crisis, the everything crisis! I wondered how long it would take for the world to end.

  Then, updated news about the burnt town in Switzerland. The people working the case had no explanations or clues as to how the firestorm had happened and how it—whatever it was—had been able to devastate an entire town in a couple of minutes. The images were shocking. The fire had been extinguished, leaving everything black. The camera zoomed out, and there it was, the precipice where I had been.

  My stomach turned and nausea surged up. Oh God. How could it be?

  I ran to the kitchen. I gulped down a large glass of water, trying to push the nausea back down. It helped a little.

  Back in my room, I picked up my cell phone and called Cheryl. To hell with the hour. I hadn’t talked to her in more than three weeks and I needed her right now, even if it was almost midnight. I needed her to listen to me, to calm me down, to tell me I was not insane and that therapy would be sufficient to treat my visions and hallucinations. The call went directly to her voicemail.

  A noise from the living room made me forget about Cheryl. My heart fluttered. “Victor?” I called, rushing to the other room.

  I made it to the doorway before I bumped into a solid figure that loomed over me. I stumbled and would have fallen back if strong hands hadn’t steadied me by my elbows. Micah’s sandalwood scent hit me before I could see him.

  His sly smile played with my soul. “Hello there.”

  “What are you doing here?” I pulled my arms from his hold. “When did you get back? Wait, how did you get in?”

  “Darling, I would love to answer all your questions, but we don’t have time.” His eyes expressed urgency even if his debonair tone didn’t. “We have to go.”

  I stepped back. “Why?”

  “All right,” he said, coming closer. “If you’re gonna play hard to get, then at least give me some of your goodness before the game.”

  He extended his jarring hand.

  Oh God. I held his hand in mine. The cold shock startled me, both from the contrast with the warmth that came with Victor’s touch and from the strength of Micah’s grip. With c
losed eyes, Micah moaned, as if my touch were the essence of his life.

  “How long have you been in pain?”

  “A few days.” He pulled his hand back. “Thanks.” He walked into my room and headed toward my closet.

  Frowning, I followed him and found him pulling out a suitcase. He opened it. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Micah.” I pulled his arm, trying in vain to make him look at me. “Stop with the freakiness. And stop messing with my stuff. Tell me what the hell you’re doing?”

  He turned to me. “We gotta leave. Now.”

  I laughed. “Okay, okay. If you’re trying to scare me, I’ll pretend I’m scared, then you can stop the sh—” His hand shot out to my throat, and he pinned me to the wall. I gagged. The enraged shine of his deep black eyes sent shivers up my spine.

  “If you want to live, do as I say,” he snarled. His cool breath against my skin made my insides melt from pure terror. “You have five minutes to pack, and then we are out of here.” He released me and marched out of the closet.

  I fell on the floor, my hand on my throat, as I sucked in desperate gulps of fresh air.

  Holy hell. My mind spun. I peeked out of the closet. He wasn’t in my room. Quivering hard and stifling sobs, I crawled out of my room and grabbed my cell phone. My wish was to call Victor, but I didn’t have his number, and I didn’t think he wanted to be my rescuer. Instead, I pressed the speed dial to call Raisa. I hoped she would pick up her phone, wherever she was.

  On the first ring, the phone was snatched from my hand.

  Micah threw it against the wall. “Damn it! Why can’t you listen to me?”

  I tried to keep my distance from him, but the shaking of my body made it hard to walk backward, especially since my mind had shut down. I kept bumping and stumbling over the furniture.

  “What do you want?” I cried, trying to recall where I had left my purse with my pepper spray.

  “I want to get out of here,” he yelled, coming closer. After another puff, he went back to my closet and threw random clothes inside the suitcase. “Behave, or I’ll have to use force again.”

  I was already on tiptoes, reaching for the room’s door. I was halfway through the living room when I heard him behind me. “Damn it, woman!”

  I darted to the door. He ran much faster than I did and got to me as I was turning the knob. Where I would have gone, I have no idea. I just wanted to get away from him.

  More sobs made their way out of me as he dragged me back into my room.

  A stabbing pain took over my chest, warmth dispersed through my body, the tingles crawling over my skin. The room spun into darkness.

  A vision.

  A younger Micah wandered with an older couple in what looked like a marketplace. The air was cool but humid, almost stifling. Improvised stands stretched through the crowded streets, with vendors selling fruits, grains, fabrics, shoes, jewelry, and anything and everything else. Nobody seemed to care about the dark sky and the dangers that came with it.

  Like the older Micah, this younger version was dressed in black, but without the leather jacket. His hair was cut shorter, the same style as the tall man beside him. They had the same pose, the same wide set of shoulders. The man was, without a doubt, Micah’s father. Beside them, with long brown curls and the same deep black eyes, a woman observed and touched colorful veils hanging from one of the stands, then she stepped closer, linked arms with his father, and smiled up at him. Micah’s mother.

  His parents seemed content with each other as they sauntered around and looked at the things that interested them.

  I accompanied them, trying to understand their foreign words, or at least interpret their body language.

  Suddenly, people around them started shouting words that sounded like curses. Micah looked around. He was taller than most, so he gazed over the heads of others, probably seeking the source of the commotion. He stiffened, and I was curious about what he saw.

  Without wasting a second, he grabbed his parents’ arms and pulled them toward a stand to hide, as many others were doing.

  But, out from the path they had chosen, emerged a man wearing a brown robe and a white turban and holding an automatic rifle. The man shouted something. Micah pulled his mother behind him and retreated, hands in the air. His family moved back until they were in the middle of the street, together with other scared people who also held hands up. Six men in robes and turbans surrounded them, pointing their rifles at their heads.

  One of the armed men shouted hurried words. I guessed orders or instructions. Shuddering, the trapped ones—there were at least twenty—took off jewelry and expensive pieces of clothing, then handed them over, along with wallets and money, to the men with the guns.

  Micah’s mother held on to her necklace, trying to hide it, but the man closest to her saw it and advanced toward her, brandishing his gun in her face. I gasped, wishing I could pull her out of there. Micah and his father reacted and tried to reason with the man who shouted at her.

  Chaos erupted. More people saw that as a distraction. With the probable intention of stopping the attackers, men and a few women lunged at the armed males, who started firing random shots. Micah ducked, pulling his mother with him, but she flopped like jelly in his arms, blood spilling from her mouth. With tears brimming in his eyes, he searched for her wound and found not one, but four. He choked out a sob as his father dropped beside him, a bullet in his forehead.

  The color drained from his skin, and Micah stared at his parents, frozen, until one of the armed men pointed his weapon at his head.

  Yelling like a dying animal, he lunged at the man who, unprepared, tumbled back, cracking his head on the stone floor. He stilled. Micah took the rifle and stood, the evil shine in his eyes startling me. He turned to the other men and started shooting. He immediately took three out with shots. The other two charged him, causing him to lose the rifle and fight hand-to-hand.

  But there was something going on with Micah. His eyes shone, the rage spread through his features, and he didn’t seem in control of himself.

  He punched and kicked the men until they lay on the ground with the others, bleeding and motionless.

  The people watching drew back, now scared of him, but he didn’t notice. He knelt beside his parents’ bodies and, with tenderness, reached under the neckline of his mother’s dress, taking the delicate golden necklace she had been trying to hide. With a sob, he fastened the jewelry around his neck, then the mask of emotion that had covered his face fell and he began to cry.

  “Nadine!”

  I could hear Micah calling my name. I blinked several times, then my gaze focused. We were back in my living room, and he held my arm with too much force, his eyes wary and too close to mine. “What was that?”

  My legs gave out. I wanted to sit on the floor, but he held me in place.

  I reached under the neck of his shirt and found the necklace. I gaped, not believing it was true. “You killed the men who killed your parents,” I whispered, feeling my hands trembling under his grip.

  He frowned and shook his head. “How can you possibly know that?” he asked, venom woven through his words. “You know what, we need to go. We’ll talk later.”

  He dragged me to my room, letting me sit on the floor while he rummaged through my things, putting them into the suitcase. I wasn’t really paying attention. My mind was a big muddled mess—a tangled jungle—and I couldn’t assimilate what was real and what wasn’t.

  Where was my phone? I had to call Cheryl and demand she come pick me up. I wanted to go to the hospital. I needed to be admitted. I needed to be sedated. I needed Cheryl. Oh, that was right. My phone had been smashed against a wall and was in pieces on the floor.

  Micah came out of my bathroom, carrying a few bottles of moisturizer and shampoo and other stuff. He threw the things into the suitcase on my bed and turned to me. “You don’t look okay.”

  “I’m not okay,” I whispered. “Why wo
uld I be okay?” I asked. “Have you seen Raisa? I need to ask her something.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I shrugged, my mind spinning. “I don’t know.”

  Shaking his head, he opened my nightstand drawer and, I guessed looking for more important stuff, rifled through it. He pulled out a piece of paper. “Is this important?”

  My head pounded. My thoughts slowed. Was the card important? I raked my mind, trying to make my brain work. A hint of memory fluttered.

  “Cheryl gave it to me,” I muttered. I watched, mindless, as he threw it, along with other things he took from the drawer, inside my suitcase.

  After what seemed like forever, he closed the suitcase, grabbed it, and pulled me up by my arm.

  “Let’s go.” He tugged me to the living room.

  The front door opened before we reached it. Victor stood in the doorway.

  I extricated myself from Micah and ran to him. “Victor,” I whispered his name like a prayer. “Please, help me.”

  His sea-green eyes set on Micah, his pose defensive, but he let me approach, and even embraced me when I bumped into him.

  “What happened?” he asked, his tone soft and gentle.

  The tears came back to my eyes. I needed to get away from Micah, who’d obviously gone crazy, but I needed to get away from the visions more. I needed to get away from everything. “Take me to the hospital, please. I need a psychiatrist. It’s urgent.”

  “What?” he asked, frowning.

  “God damn it!” Micah cursed, gritting his teeth. “You’re worse than her.” He pointed to Victor. “Two beacons, now three, together.”

  “Excuse me?” Victor asked, putting himself between Micah and me.

  “All right,” Micah said. “You too, then. We gotta go. Now!”

  “What are you talking about?” Victor asked, switching his pose to menacing. “And what are you doing in here?”

  “No time to explain, people.” Micah’s tone rose. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Victor grounded himself. “Neither is Nadine.”