Shattered Secrets

by Krystal Wade

  “That’s…”—embarrassing. Was our sex life—or lack thereof—a conversation Mr. and Mrs. Crawford spoke about over dinner?— “She doesn’t think we’ve… you know?”

  “Had sex?” His chest rumbled with laughter. “No. She knows we haven’t had sex.”

  “How?” I turned onto my back and gazed up into Derick’s eyes. He propped up his head with his palm, using his other hand to trace small circles on my face, trailing from my forehead to my lips.

  My soul cried out for him to kiss me.

  “We talk about these things on occasion. Not the most comfortable conversation to have, but it clearly earns me freedom.” He pointed at the closed door, but I wanted his finger back on my skin.

  Derick didn’t make me wait long.

  “What was the rest of your story?” My eyes burned with exhaustion, barely staying open wide enough to see a blurry outline of his face. I was comfortable and safe in his full-size bed, under his navy-blue blanket I helped him pick out a couple years ago.

  Our lives were woven together by more than a few random teenage moments. Those relationships were common in high school, but we had something more. Something we could trace back to times spent in department stores, picking out bedspreads, clothes, or whatever else.

  Breaking in and taking me away from him would require more than a kidnapping. Memories would have to be stolen, as well. But Derick had already saved me once; I doubted anyone could touch me again while I was secure in his arms.

  Lightning struck nearby; bright white flashed in the room. Hard, heavy drops of water landed on the roof. Then, as though the sky opened up and dropped all the rain at once, it pounded the house.

  “Not tonight—you’ve been through enough—but I promise to tell you.” Derick kissed my cheek, making me burn on the inside.

  I wanted so much more.

  “Where is she?”

  Jolting awake to my dad’s angry voice was not exactly the best greeting to a new day. The sun slipped through the white mini-blinds, casting bright orange rays along the bedspread. Last night’s storm had passed, but a new one brewed; I was in trouble.

  Big trouble.

  Yet I couldn’t seem to move.

  I closed my eyes, frozen with panic, and pretended my time with Derick would never end. Because I knew it was about to—for a very long time—and I was surprised Dad hadn’t barged over here earlier, demanding Derick be burned on some sort of stake for keeping his baby girl all night long.

  “She and Derick fell asleep. After everything your daughter has been through, Joseph, I figured I’d just let them rest.” Derick’s mother sounded calm, gentle.

  “Together?” Footsteps pounded the stairs, eliciting the same fast pace from my heart. “If your boy did anything inappropriate—”

  “Enough,” Mr. Crawford boomed. “I am tired of your relentless insinuations about my boy, Joseph. He and your daughter have something very innocent, pure, and you always taint that with accusations.”

  Wow. Just wow.

  Derick took a deep breath and tightened his hold on me. “Sounds like we fell asleep,” he whispered.

  “Sounds like I’m about to be grounded.” The only question was, how long?

  “I will barrel through you if you don’t allow me to pass,” my dad practically growled. “Why didn’t you answer the phone, or the door, when we tried earlier? Why didn’t you send her home like responsible parents should do?”

  “Maybe we should get up,” I said, tossing the blankets with my good arm. I needed to find my cell and clear the million missed calls and text messages I knew would be there. Yep, I was definitely dead.

  Derick grabbed the comforter and tugged it back over us, flashing a devious smile. “If you’re going to be grounded for something we didn’t do, maybe we should at least enjoy ourselves a little first.”

  “That’s terrible.” But oh so exciting to think about.

  Closing his eyes, he lowered his head and brushed his lips across mine. “May I kiss you?”

  A slight tip of my head and he wouldn’t need to ask, our mouths would meet, and—

  The door burst open. “Get away from her.”

  I bolted upright.

  Dad rushed over and pulled Derick away from me, but Mr. Crawford followed right behind, stepping between my father and the boy I so desperately wanted to kiss.

  Derick’s father had never so much as raised his voice while I was around, but now he positively seethed with anger, hatred. He narrowed his brilliant blue eyes, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You know what will happen if you take her, if you walk out this door and create an enemy out of an ally.”

  “Dad.” Derick glanced at me, concern written in his wide-eyed expression—as well as his tone.

  “Let my son go, Joseph. Then walk out of my house without another word. Don’t return until you’ve calmed down, so we can explain this to her properly—or there won’t be a chance for goodbyes.”

  This must have been more post-traumatic stress. Whatever happened between them made no sense. Enemies? Allies? Leave me here? Adoptive parents or not, Mr. Crawford had no right to tell my dad to leave me alone here.

  “Now is the time?” Dad sighed, slumping his shoulders. “We’re losing her?”

  Mr. Crawford nodded.

  Tears pooled in the corner of my father’s eyes. “You said we’d have more time with her. You said this wouldn’t happen until…” He tightened his hold on Derick’s arms, glaring. “You. This is your fault.”

  “Joseph, this couldn’t be prevented.” Mr. Crawford peeled my Dad’s hands from Derick. “Not unless you locked her away the rest of her life.”

  “I know. You’re right.” Dad walked to the bed, pink highlighting his cheeks. “We tried to protect you. We did everything they told us, yet we’ve failed. Don’t forget us, and when whatever all this is passes, promise to visit your mother.”

  Dad kissed my forehead and gave me a long, trembling hug, cocooning me with his warmth and protection, with his unwavering love.

  I shook my head, crying. I would have preferred screaming, fighting, even Dad cussing and forcing me to go to my room and then throwing away the key. Why did he tell me goodbye? Where was I going? Losing me? “I… I don’t… What’s going on?”

  “They’ll explain everything.” He pointed at Derick and then Mr. Crawford with his thumb. “I’ll go get your mother and have her bring some things for you. She’ll want to see you off.”

  Dad headed for the door.

  “See me off? Dad?” I looked to Derick, but his face was pale and he stared at the ground. He knew something, something he felt guilty about, but something he wasn’t about to share. Not here. Not now.

  “I love you, kiddo.” Dad thudded down the stairs, leaving me leaning against Derick’s bed, blanket in a pool at my feet, heart shattering into a million pieces.

  Crazy. I’d gone crazy. That was the only explanation for any of this. Maybe it was a dream. I was still asleep, or maybe Derick and Mark hadn’t rescued me from the kidnappers. Maybe I was drugged for talking back so much. That was it. Psycho Number Two drugged me.

  Being in the hands of murderers made more sense than my dad saying goodbye. He wouldn’t give up on me. Dad wouldn’t abandon me.

  I smacked my face. “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. None of this is real.”

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” Mr. Crawford said, turning and walking from the room.

  My feet were too numb for standing, for chasing after my father or Derick’s to demand an explanation for their weirdness. Dad left me with Derick, in his bedroom. What the hell? I shook my head and looked at Derick, and he met my eyes, taking slow, careful steps toward me.

  “Derick, why am I not waking up? Why do I keep seeing all these insane things? Why did my dad walk out the door? Why did your dad—?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for my hand. “The second half of my story. I need to tell you now.”

  hat could the second half of the
story you started telling me last night have to do with anything? My dad didn’t want you around me. What more is there to know?” I paced the carpet, ready to turn and run if Derick said the wrong thing. Dad left me. He left me. Thought he was losing me.

  Derick sat on his bed, taking too much time to respond. Way more than I was willing to give with Dad acting… “I have to—”

  “The night we kissed, something happened to me. After I dropped you off and your dad took off, I felt… weird.”

  I growled. Could this day get any worse?

  A smile lit Derick’s eyes. “Not that kind of weird. I felt alive, warm; I could have taken on the world.”

  “So that’s why you didn’t call me—or look at me—because I made you feel good?”

  He sighed and scooted back. Resting against the headboard, Derick opened his arms for me. “Will you promise not to freak out, not to think you need to call Dr. Pavarti, or go running and screaming away from me?”

  The invitation to lay on him tempted me beyond belief, but his words had the opposite effect. I shook my head. “Why would I run from you?”

  “I came home that night, feeling weird, and when I walked through the door, my parents didn’t see me.” Spinning his thumbs around each other, Derick didn’t meet my eyes.

  My patience wore thin. I needed answers from him. Fast. Or I was going to find them myself. “O-kay. What’s so weird about that?”

  He looked up, expression void of color, of humor. “I was invisible. I tried talking to them, but it took hours for whatever effect your kiss had on me to wear off.”

  I snatched up my bag, then marched toward the door. “Seriously. You’re going to try to tell me my kiss made you invisible?”

  “Please, don’t leave.”

  “Why should I stay, Derick?” I grabbed the doorknob. “To think I so easily forgave you, and you can’t even give me an honest explanation.”

  “I wasn’t lying about your dad. Why would I lie about this?” How stupid! How insanely and utterly stupid. I walked out of the room, leaving him on his bed to think about how cruel he was, but ran right into Mr. Crawford.

  “Derick isn’t lying, Abby.”

  I laughed, an odd, high-pitched thing, one that would surely get me locked in an asylum if my psychologist heard me.

  “Come with me.”

  He put his arm around my shoulders, taking care not to hurt me, then led me downstairs and into the study. Shelves lined the walls, crowded by hundreds of books with their thick, leather-bound spines and gold foil writing. The golden drapes were tied open with cranberry-red ropes that matched the walls, allowing bright light to flow into the room through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  Derick and I loved this room. My parents weren’t into reading, not like me. Our study paled in comparison.

  “Have a seat.” Mr. Crawford pointed at the dark leather chair against the only empty wall.

  I obeyed—he bullied my father into leaving me here; I wanted to listen to what Mr. Crawford had to say. Had to be better than what his son said.

  “Your kiss freed Derick from his human constraints.”

  Or not. “Human constraints?” I played along, glancing toward the foyer.

  The door was unlocked.

  I should run, find my dad, then call Dr. Pavarti. Maybe someone could come in here and check the Crawfords’ mental stability. Although, given everything that happened recently, I probably imagined all this.

  Derick’s dad pulled a book from one of the shelves. The novel was thicker than any others around it, bound by faded black leather that looked aged and ready to fall apart. “No. You are not imaging things, and calling Dr. Pavarti would be bad for you and us.”

  My muscles tensed, but strangely, my arm didn’t hurt. I reached out my hand. Nothing. No pain. No stabbing sensations or weakness of any sort.

  “When our kind stay close together, we heal faster, our powers grow stronger.”

  Mr. Crawford stared into his book. How did he know what I was thinking? What did he mean by we?

  “But a brighter core is also one of the side-effects of spending time together. We are more easily recognized by our enemies.” He thumbed through the thin pages. “While on the human plane, Kalóan children’s true natures are hidden until something major, some strong emotion, pulls the power from us. Once born, it cannot be stopped. Your light, your power, your knowledge—all these things will only increase.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Walking toward me, Mr. Crawford held out the book. On top of the page were the words ‘Powers of Kalóans’. A woman stood underneath with a red shawl wrapped around her, delicate pale chest and shoulders revealed, fiery red hair billowing in an unseen breeze. Light radiated all around her, indicated by thin black lines stretching out from her core. She looked beautiful, angelic, something someone from the time of Rembrandt might have painted.

  “This book, History of Kalós, explains what we are, how our souls are made up of magic and emotions, positive abilities meant to influence humans to do good, since they cannot seem to achieve that on their own. In normal times, we use our powers to befriend those who need us most to help them overcome pain, grief, sorrow, or whatever ails them—we are the emotions they need. In desperate times, when those who need us are presidents, military officials, politicians and the like, helping takes teams of our kind with various abilities to reach that person—and right now, we live in very desperate times. Look at all the war, the hate.”

  Powers of Kalóans. Derick invisible. Power and knowledge and light. Enemies—

  “You don’t mean to tell me… you’re not saying we’re not hu…?” I hurried to my feet then ran for the door, but Mr. Crawford was right there, standing between me and freedom.

  “My son reacted the same way. The only difference was he knew something changed. You, on the other hand, clearly haven’t experienced a change yet.” He tipped his head. “Would you like to eat something? We can discuss this further, with everyone present.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Your parents, Derick, Mark and his family—”

  “Mark?” I reached into my purse. Full-blown hallucinations were not part of Dr. Pavarti’s warnings, but they should have been.

  Derick’s father sighed. “What can we do to help you believe?”

  “Show me something magical,” I blurted. Like that would help. PTSD included delusions. This situation could be a mirage. All of it.

  “Your head. You were punched in the back of the head. When Derick and Mark brought you to the hospital, you had a severe concussion, but it healed. Overnight. Why do you think that is?”

  I shrugged, without pain. “Luck?”

  “One of our enemies slapped your face, bruised you. When is the last time you looked in the mirror?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Look again.” He led me to the powder room in the hallway, then opened the door and ushered me in.

  Glancing at the oval mirror, I realized he was right. My cheeks were both pink, normal. “Maybe it wasn’t that bad to begin with.”

  “Stubborn child.” Mr. Crawford laughed. “And your arm? Twelve weeks is the typical healing time for a dislocated shoulder.”

  Explaining that? Difficult. I took off the brace and then lifted my arm above my head. Pain free.

  “I’ll give you that. It’s odd.” Although, I still wanted to bolt for the door. I wanted Mom and Dad, normalcy, calm.

  “Breakfast?”

  Food was normal. “Sure.”

  I followed Mr. Crawford into the kitchen. Derick sat on a barstool, his hair a serious mess of bed-head, eyes focused on a bowl of cereal. I wasn’t sure what to say to him. If I believed anything going on around me, that would mean I should forgive Derick. But his father tried to convince me we’re human emotions. Or Kalóans. Difference? Not sure. Did it matter?

  Derick made himself invisible. Mr. Crawford read minds. I was… normal. A tinge of jealousy rippled through me. Everyone else claimed po
wers but me. Hardly seemed fair.

  But my kidnappers wanted me for my powers. Laughing, I took a seat at the kitchen table. Derick’s and Mark’s rescue made a lot more sense now: the late call to the police, the fire. I laughed harder, and Mrs. Crawford put her hand on my shoulder.

  “Are you okay, Abby?”

  Derick, on my porch on the night of my date with Mark. God. Derick could have been invisible, waiting for me, stalking me? Tears streamed down my face. I needed my doctor. I needed a reality check. Only loony people cracked up like this. “I’m fine.”

  I turned around and stared at Derick, who mindlessly stared into what looked like oblivion. “Tell me something—no, tell me a bunch of somethings. Start with when Mark dropped me off the other night. Were you invisible on my porch?”

  He stabbed his spoon into his bowl. I don’t think he took a single bite of food. His face paled, and Derick appeared as though he wanted to puke. “No. I came over to tal—”

  Holding up my hand, I said, “Save it. How long were you and Mark there before you rescued me?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Crawford exchanged worried glances, their eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but I tried not to pay attention. This breakdown belonged to me.

  Alone.

  “Abby, I—”

  “Derick, please. I was kidnapped, told I hold some mysterious powers, rescued by one of the only people I cared about, thought life was getting somewhat back to normal, and now you and your family are telling me I’m a mythological creature—or something. So, save it.” I stood. “Tell me, how long were you there?”

  “Cared, Abby?” Derick dropped his spoon then fled the kitchen, running up the back entrance to the stairwell.

  “Why is he upset?” I glared at his parents.

  “You are the only person in this world he cares about. He avoided you for three months because he was scared of us. He thought we were crazy.” Mrs. Crawford stepped around the kitchen island, then placed both hands on my shoulders. “Once we proved our story to him, and he experienced the power for himself, he grew comfortable with it, but he was afraid to tell you because he didn’t think you would understand—or believe him.” She bent her knees, bringing her gaze level with mine. “I convinced him you would understand. Because you love him. That kiss woke up him but not you. Think about it, Abby.”