Roam (Roam Series, Book One)

by Stedronsky, Kimberly

  I watched West, thoroughly intent on engaging Logan. He is so charming- when he isn’t bossy, I thought. With the two of them so close, I couldn’t help but compare them. Logan was boyishly handsome, his dark hair and brown eyes always playful.

  Looking at West, I realized there was nothing boyish about him- until he smiled. He stood at least four inches over Logan. His chest and arms were broad and muscular, obvious even through his shirt. Those eyes, always stealing reassuring glances my way, were bottomless blue and told me what he was thinking long before he formed a sentence. I remembered the feel of his hair, threading it between my fingers to it curled just slightly at the ends. Taking a deep breath, I turned and looked out the window. They shook hands before we left the classroom.

  I glanced back at West, but he was in front of his laptop. I decided I would just call him later. Logan led me toward the doors to the parking lot in silence. Once we were in the car, I buckled my seatbelt and turned to him.

  “You waited for me?”

  “I texted you back, but I didn’t hear from you.”

  I pulled my phone out of my book bag. Sure enough, a text from Logan.

  I’m sorry. I love you too. I’m waiting for you at my car.

  “Oh,” I tentatively rested my head on his shoulder. He turned, kissing the crown of my head.

  “I know you’re afraid. You lost your mom, and you have always felt like you could have stopped it from happening. You’re trying to do that now. I get that.”

  I listened to his psychoanalysis with my eyes closed. Comforted by the smell of the cologne I bought for him for Christmas, I wondered how he knew me so well, yet I sometimes felt like I couldn’t read him. He knows more about my thought process than I do.

  “I’m sorry for asking you to marry me. I do want you to be my wife someday, though- just to clarify.”

  Warmed from head to toe, I kissed his cheek. “My answer- someday- will be ‘yes.’”

  He grinned. “So, do you need any help with your homework?”

  I gave him a dubious look. “Seriously?”

  He laughed, and I shook my head, exasperated. “No, but you can help me with mine if you want,” he teased.

  We spent the evening working on homework in my kitchen. My dad and Morgan returned from a day of car shopping, and Morgan was the proud owner of a new Chevrolet Malibu.

  “I’m in debt forever, but oh well,” Morgan giggled, opening the pizza box they’d brought home with them. “What do you think of the color? I really liked the red,” she gestured to the driveway where the new car was parked. “And so did my… boyfriend!” She squealed and I joined in excitedly.

  “Tell me about him!” I was truly happy for her. She’d broken up with her high school boyfriend two years ago when they both went their separate ways for college- classic tale. She’d been devastated, vowing to focus on school and nothing else (for Morgan that was very intense.) Now, her caramel eyes, so like my mother’s had been, lit with happiness.

  Morgan compared Reed to a “Greek God.” She had the tendency to be melodramatic, but this time she was absolutely gushing. “I have pictures! Hold on,” she flipped through her phone for a second, and then handed it to me. Reed certainly was attractive; dark hair, light eyes, square jaw, dazzling smile… Nothing compared to West, I thought, and then immediately felt guilty as Logan glanced over my shoulder.

  “Mr. Camden, have we done a background on this guy yet?”

  “Lo-gan!” Morgan whined, giggling. She elbowed him playfully.

  The kitchen was alive with laughter, and I was surrounded by the people I loved the most. The events of the last few days moved to the back of my mind, and I snuggled closer to Logan, kissing his cheek. “I needed today.”

  He raised his brows, the golden flecks in his brown eyes catching in pendant lighting over the kitchen counter. His fingers weaved through mine.

  That night, I lay in bed, staring at the designs in the paint on the drywall ceiling. I wished Logan was next to me. Afraid to fall asleep, I checked my phone.

  No messages from West.

  Maybe he knew I needed a break. I slipped my glasses off, placing them on the nightstand with my phone. I thought about the two dreams I had. In both of the dreams, I was blonde. Is this the first time I have dark hair? I needed to ask West. In the first dream, in 1977, he seemed different. The drugs, the motel room- everything about the dream was seedy, the opposite of my dream from 1955. In that dream, I was warm, and loved…

  My phone lit up and chimed. I reached for it, noticing it was almost eleven o’clock.

  It was him.

  1412… France

  1533… England

  1790…Algeria

  1912… Spain

  1955… Romania

  1977… Nigeria.

  Locations. I read them, struggling to swallow. Another text came through.

  These were the places that I met you. 1412 and 1533 I don’t know where you were born, only where I found you. Try to sleep well tonight, Roam. We’ll start training tomorrow.

  Training? I envisioned myself kickboxing, doing standing-back-flips over my enemies only to deliver a slow-motion head-kick.

  I turned over, praying for a dreamless sleep.

  “Hold her.”

  I arrive at consciousness, struggling with my hands behind my back. Someone holds me, fierce, and the pain in my twisted arms is excruciating.

  Panic seizes me; I am in a dream, and it is bad. It is all bad. I take in my surroundings; a wooded area, surrounded on four sides by trees. Confused, I look past the man standing in front of me. Directly behind him there is a mirror, a giant mirrored wall just sitting in the middle of the forest. Again, the surface is wavy, as if it’s made of water, not glass. I struggle to see myself.

  I wear some type of brown shift. My auburn hair is long, and very dirty. I feel damp, as though I have been submerged in water. In the mirror, my stomach is protruding forward, and I look down, unable to see my feet.

  I am very pregnant.

  The man before me speaks. “Where is he now, mademoiselle?” His voice is clear. He speaks English, but I detect a French accent.

  “Who?” I breathe. The man in front of me laughs. He is tall, at least as tall as West. He has shoulder-length, brown hair, pulled in greasy, ragged wave over his bearded face. He wears some type of smock with tights. I am frantic to identify the time period. 1412 France, I remember, my eyes darting to the mirror again. I cannot see who is holding me from behind.

  In my reflection, I see something that I think is smoke rising from behind me. Oh my God! I am on fire! After a moment I realize that is not the case; the smoke separates and I see that it is not smoke at all, but rather the numbers. The numbers have floated off of my arm that is still pinned behind me, and into the air.

  “Votre héros?” He sneers. I squeeze my eyes closed, remembering my French.

  Your hero.

  The numbers have risen above our heads. It appears that I am the only one who can see them. They swirl about again before disappearing all together.

  “Are you Troy?” I ask. My voice is thick with a French accent, but I speak English. He looks stunned.

  “Your hero has taught you well.”

  I shiver; he frightens me on a level I have never known. He is familiar- though I cannot see his face clearly through his hair; I know that I have seen him before. Terror grips me. “Who is holding me?” I demand.

  “Ah, yes. Who is holding you, Roam?”

  He says my name as we walks closer to me. My name can’t be Roam here, I think, panicking. Why won’t I wake up?

  I begin to cry. He laughs again, and it is then I see the giant knife in hand. “Please don’t,” I beg. “Wake up! West,” I cry, struggling against my captor from behind. “West!”I am screaming now as he lifts the knife to my chest.

  “I will cut you now, throat to navel. This is the end, mademoiselle.”

  I am screaming. The knife pierces my throat; the pain is real. I gasp, choki
ng on what can only be blood, as I struggle to breathe. The knife continues downward.

  “Jesus, Roam! Roam!”

  The entire bed was shaking. Morgan was at my side, hands gripping my shoulders. I sobbed, unable to form words as I reached for her, clinging to her. “Morgan! Help me,” I screamed, nearly crawling into her arms.

  “You’re bleeding,” she said softly, stroking my hair. “You need to go clean up, sis. Come on, I’ll help you.”

  Massive cramps doubled me over, and I moaned.

  “I’ll get you some Advil and water. Are you okay?” She asked gently, reaching for the bedside lamp. I nodded, controlling my sobs. My phone clock flashed three AM.

  “Nightmare,” I whispered, and she nodded lovingly.

  “I’ll help you to the bathroom first. Then I’ll change your sheets. Just take it easy.” She took my hand, and I squeezed hers gratefully, wobbly on my feet as I stood. Suddenly, I felt her turning my arm over. “What the hell is this? Did you get a tattoo?” she demanded, her voice turning playful. “Well, Roam Camden, there is a rebel in there somewhere. What do these numbers mean?”

  I covered them with my other hand, filled with dread. “Please don’t tell Dad- or Logan or anyone,” I begged.

  “Of course I won’t. But, I would have suggested a place a little more discreet,” she said, walking me to the bathroom. “Banking on a lot of long sleeves?”

  “I guess,” I managed, gratefully accepting her help in the bathroom. Within twenty minutes, she had me showered and in clean clothes, the sheets fresh on my bed. I swallowed two Advil and took long gulps of bottled water. I remembered back to after my mother died, and Morgan took over, caring for me in every way. I hugged her tightly.

  “Scoot, Socrates. I’ll sleep with you tonight,” she lay next to me in the full-sized bed, and I hugged her, tucking my head against her chest.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, trying not to think.

  “Shhh.” She hushed, already drifting into sleep.

  I fell into an exhausted sleep, thankful the dreams left me alone for the rest of the night.

  Chapter ElevenI woke up to my cell phone ringing. Morgan was gone; I knew she had to leave for campus early. I reached for my phone. “Hello?”

  “You were asleep,” he said, his words demanding. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it. You’ve been crying. Are you okay?”

  Gripping the phone, I realized my hands were shaking. “No I’m not okay. I died last night. In the woods. In France,” I struggled to even out my trembling voice. “And when he put the knife in me, there was real pain! And I screamed for you, but…,” I broke down.

  “I’m coming to your house. Tell Logan that you’re sick and you’re not going to school.”

  “West…,”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  He disconnected. I sat up, texting Logan quickly. It wasn’t like me to miss school for cramps, but I had no intention of dragging myself any further than the bathroom. I had carried a perfect attendance record since the first day of freshman year… until now.

  Terrible cramps. No school today. Call me later. ILY.

  His text slid through in seconds.

  Wow- must be bad. Sorry Cam. See you tonight. ILY2.

  I stumbled to the bathroom, flashes of my nightmare playing in my mind. I will cut you now, throat to navel. I rushed to the toilet just in time, vomiting my dinner from the night before. I curled on the bathroom floor, racked with sobs.

  He found me in the bathroom. My bloody sheets were piled in the mesh hamper, and I cringed with embarrassment. He took one look at me, and the sheets, and then crossed the bathroom in one stride to scoop me into his arms. “Goddamnit,” he cursed under his breath, gathering me securely. I let me head fall against his chest, weak.

  “I’m so afraid,” I murmured. He laid me in the bed, tucking the blankets around me securely.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “What about school?” I asked, looking up at him. He knelt by my bed, hands flat on the bedspread. He smoothed the wrinkles from the cover, again and again.

  “I called in for a sub.”

  “What are you doing?” I asked, watching his hands.

  “Trying not to touch you.” He admitted.

  I met his eyes; they were filled with pain.

  “Just hold me,” I whispered, tears clouding my vision. In one swift movement, he was beside me, on top of the bedspread. He gathered me into his arms. I curled against him as I had Morgan, but this time felt more comforted than I ever could remember. He combed his fingers through my hair, smoothing the knots from my post-nightmare shower.

  “To find yourself, think for yourself.” He read the framed plaque on the wall next to my dresser. “Socrates. You really do like that guy, huh?” I managed a small smile. “You have a lot of swimming trophies and medals,” he looked around my bedroom, touching a medal that hung from the bedside lamp. “You’re fast- I’ve seen your records.”

  “I can hold my breath for a really long time.”

  He kicked off his shoes. He wore khakis and a white, button-down shirt, and I realized he had every intention of teaching today- until he called me. “Clever use of your talent,” he grinned, admiring the medal.

  Pressing my face to his chest, I breathed deeply. He is warm… and smells so good. I struggled to resist the arousing cocoon that he created for me with his arms. “It’s not nice to tease, Mr. Perry.”

  “West.” He said quietly, lowering his lips to my head. He kissed my hair, exactly where Logan had yesterday in the car.

  I froze.

  “I’m feeling a little calmer. I need to go take a shower.” I patted his arm. “I’ll see you downstairs in a few minutes.”

  Hurrying to the bathroom, I locked the door behind me.

  After a half an hour, I was completely cleaned and in black yoga pants and a gray, V-neck tee-shirt. My hair fell in wet strands over my shoulders and down my back. I slipped my glasses on and then gathered my hamper. The washer and dryer were in the basement; I’d stain-treat the sheets and wash them later.

  He was waiting in the living room, bent over the coffee table with a stack of books. I dropped the hamper just inside the basement door. “Do you want something to drink?” I asked, hoping my nervousness wasn’t evident in my voice.

  “No, I want you to come and rest on the couch, or back in bed,” he said, without lifting his eyes from the books.

  “What are you reading?” I asked, ignoring his order as he often ignored my questions. He lifted his eyes to me, sitting back on the couch. I grabbed a throw pillow, sitting next to him and hugging the pillow self-consciously. “Sorry, I didn’t think you’d care if I wore sweats.”

  “It’s not that. You look about twelve years old in your glasses and pajamas.” He pushed on his temple again. “Roam, I’m so sorry. I found you too early. I should have waited.”

  Confused, I crossed my legs and gathered my hair to one shoulder. “You couldn’t have waited. He’s already here.” I gestured to my arm, to the numbers.

  “You are so young to have to deal with all of this. The dreams- they are terrifying. They have the potential to drive you insane. That’s not an expression,” he clarified. “Your burden is the dream. Mine is failure; watching you die.”

  “You weren’t watching me last night,” I said, my voice thin. “I screamed for you. You weren’t there.”

  “I wasn’t there in France. You’re right.” He leaned forward, burying his head in his hands. “I found you- and the baby- later. They had imprisoned me, letting me free only after it was too late.” When he sat back up, his blue eyes were dark and watery. “The baby was nearly full term. Your name was Lysbette.”

  Lysbette… “Troy was there. He called me by my name- Roam,” I cringed at the recollection. “I didn’t understand.”

  “Are you ready to tell me about it?” He asked. I nodded, sliding closer to him.

  “Will you please hold me while I do?” I knew this violated the no-to
uching rule, but I had no idea how I would get through the recap of the dream without his comfort.

  West sighed. Reluctantly, he opened his arms. I crawled into them, resting my head on his shoulder. I felt him stiffen at first, so I inched a little further away. “Stop if it gets too difficult.” He reminded me.

  I nodded. I told him about the woods, and Troy. I didn’t know who was holding my arms, and Troy wouldn’t tell me.

  “His name was August. The Immortal Soul Alter.”

  I considered this. Someone, born again and again like I was, with a single purpose- to kill me. Turning, I looked up at him. “Does Troy have to convince the Immortal Soul Alter to want to destroy me, just as you have to convince me to help save the world?”

  West nodded against my hair. “Yes. If the Soul Alter resists, he and his family are threatened with death.”

  “How awful.” I twisted my hands in my lap, and West reached for them, covering them softly. I continued. “I had on a brown shift, and I was damp, like I had been in water. My pregnant belly was so big, I couldn’t see my feet. He walked to me with the knife.” I gripped his hands, white knuckled.

  “Stop there. Tell me more about your surroundings. If your hands were behind your back, could you see the numbers?”

  I remembered the floating numbers and described them to him.

  “There was a giant mirror in the woods behind Troy. Just- there.”

  He seemed undisturbed. “That is normal. There is always a mirror in your dreams, no matter where you are. You’ve told me this for centuries.” He drummed his fingers over my hand. “And the numbers ‘floated’ up in the air?”

  “Yeah,” I sighed, watching his fingers move.

  “I played with the numbers last night. I tried moving them around, in different orders, but the combinations are infinite.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. Not infinite, but now is not the time to get into a debate about math.

  “We don’t have time- or means- to travel to every destination and look for some kind of door. We may have to give up on this option,” he said, staring out the window. “Wait until you’re older, and try again keep you- and the child- alive.”