Orion's Kiss

by Claire Luana

  The day is overcast and cloudy, with a chill in the air.

  As I’m riding over, I call Zoe, cradling my phone awkwardly between my cheek and shoulder.

  She picks up quickly. It’s still half an hour before school starts.

  “Hey. Why are you calling?” She sounds nonplussed.

  “Riding my bike. Can’t text.”

  “Ah. Did you get the wrath of Mom yesterday?” she asks.

  “You can’t imagine.”

  “I got so many deets on Brandon from Ryan last night,” she says, her voice breathless.

  I recoil slightly. “How long were you over there?”

  “Well, I went back to feed him dinner,” she says, “and we talked for, like, an hour maybe? They’ve been best friends since they were kids. Ryan practically lives over there. He works at their farm. They’re as close as brothers.” I digest this information. Zoe is clearly beyond excited to get the inside scoop on Brandon Cook. But it doesn’t change what I have to do.

  I feel a stab of guilt that I’ll be killing Zoe’s crush’s bestie. Maybe she can comfort him in his grief or something.

  “Ryan’s actually pretty cool—” Zoe says, and I have to stop her before I hear anymore.

  “Zoe,” I say, interrupting her. “I had another vision last night.”

  There’s silence on the other end of the line.

  “Another one of my sisters is going to die.”

  “Are you sure?” Her voice is small.

  “I don’t know when, but if I don’t do something, it’s going to happen. It always happens how the visions show.”

  “Was it bad?” Zoe asks.

  “She drowned.” I pause. “I can’t let that happen. Not when I can stop it.”

  “Yeah. I get it.” She sounds like the light has been drained from her. “What’re you going to?”

  “I’m riding over there right now. I’m going to do what I should’ve done the night Electra died.”

  “I’m coming,” Zoe says. “I’ll ditch French. You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

  “No!” I practically shout at her. I take a breath. “I don’t want you anywhere near us. If someone hears the shot or finds out what I did… I won’t do that to you, Zoe. Your parents would, like, die.”

  “I can see the Christmas card now. Jason’s in his third year at MIT, majoring in biomechanical engineering. We have no other child.”

  I manage a halfhearted laugh. “I’ll text you when it’s done.” I hang up before she can protest any further.

  It’s not just that I want her safely far away, though that’s part of it. But that’s not all. My friendship with her grounds me in this life. This body, this lifetime. S’mores and track meets and texting under the covers when I should be asleep. With Zoe, I’m Meriah. And today I need to be who I once was. I need to step back into that world of ruthless gods and drama and punishment and tragedy. I need Merope. Daughter of a Titan.

  My mouth is dry as I arrive at the cabin. I get off my bike and lean it against the front porch. I take a deep breath and make a desperate attempt to center myself. Quick and painless. I can give him that much. I’ll walk into the kitchen, grab the pistol, and end it.

  I push through the front door, striding halfway into the living room before I realize what’s wrong.

  A single word escapes my lips. “Fuck.”

  The chair is empty, the ropes discarded on the floor.

  Ryan is gone.

  Chapter 14

  I’m stunned.

  The whole ride here I was psyching myself up to do what needs to be done, and now Ryan is gone. I scream my frustration into the empty room and spin around, pushing back onto the porch.

  His truck is still here—he must not have found where we hid the keys. Which means he’s on foot. I don’t know how long he’s been gone, but I have to try to find him. Maybe he only broke free a few minutes ago.

  I run into the kitchen and reach under the sink where we hid his keys and his phone. I grab both. At least I know he hasn’t called anyone—the cabin doesn’t have a landline. Then I open the drawer and retrieve my dad’s pistol.

  My hands shake as I run out into the yard and get up into his truck.

  My mind is racing. If I were Ryan, where I would go? One of the other houses? No. Most of these cabins are summer homes, so they’ll be empty. If I were him, I’d go up to the road and try to flag down a car. I squeal out of the driveway and up the dirt road back to the main road.

  I drum my fingers on the steering wheel in agitation. My back is as straight as a board as I peer forwards, looking through the trees lining the shoulder of the road. Where is he?

  I fear that he left hours ago, and I have no chance of catching him. He could be back to town by now; he could be talking to the police. Giving them my description. Zoe’s description.

  But they haven’t been out to the cabin yet. And he’d have to explain the hit-and-run, so maybe that’s not where he’s headed. I pray that he thinks it through and decides against involving the authorities. After all, he has to wonder if they’ll believe him when he says he didn’t leave the scene of the accident on purpose, that he was kidnapped by two high school girls.

  I’m peering into the woods on either side of the road, my gaze so intent that I don’t see when a figure jumps out into the road a few hundred yards ahead.

  He’s waving his hands, trying to flag me down. It’s Ryan.

  I slam on the brakes and skid to a stop. I see his face change from relief to horror when he recognizes the truck and then who’s behind the wheel.

  Before he has a chance to run, I raise the pistol and point it at him.

  His eyes go even wider and he raises his hands.

  I throw the truck in park and shoulder open the door, still holding the gun pointed right at him.

  “Easy, Louise,” he says, his hands still up. “You don’t want to do this.”

  I keep holding the pistol up, gripping it with both hands to keep from shaking.

  I jerk my head towards the trees lining the road. “Move.”

  “I don’t want to do that,” he says.

  “Move!” I scream at him. I can feel myself coming unhinged. Any moment someone could come by.

  He flinches, but he starts into the trees.

  My relief is overwhelming. We walk deeper into the underbrush off the road until I can barely see the truck through the trees. “Stop,” I say.

  He’s shaking his head at me as he turns to face me. “You’re going to kill me?” he asks, disbelieving. “You’re seriously going to kill me. What the hell is wrong with you? Who are you? What the hell did I ever do to you?”

  My chest tightens as I see their faces flash before my eyes. I shove the memories down, trying to hold back tears. Oh, god, I think. I will do this without crying.

  “At least tell me why. If I’m going to die, at least do me the favor of being honest with me. You owe me that much,” he says. I know he’s stalling, and I know I should kill him, but part of me wants to tell him. Part of me is desperately curious how much he knows. His notes in the book, my name on his lips as his body convulsed. I have to know. I’m a movie villain falling into the oldest trap in the book. But I can’t help myself.

  “You want to know?” I say.

  “Yes.” His answer is angry.

  I don’t blame him. “My name isn’t Louise.”

  “Yeah, I figured that,” he says sarcastically.

  I huff. “Do you want to hear or not?”

  He gives me a single nod.

  “My name is Meriah,” I tell him. “But that’s only my name in this lifetime. My real name is—”

  “Merope,” he finishes. His eyes go wide, his face white. He goes to reach in his pocket and I stiffen. “Hey! Stop!”

  “Easy,” he says. “I have your bracelet.” He pulls it out, letting it dangle from his fingers. “The Pleiades. I know this constellation. You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

  Zeus’s balls. He actually kno
ws me. I nod. “I’m the reincarnated version of Merope—a nymph from Ancient Greece. And you are the reincarnated version of—”

  “Orion. I’m the reincarnated version of Orion. I know you,” he says. “I mean… I-I did.”

  I lick my lips. “How do you know? You’ve never known before. Have you?”

  “I don’t think so. But when I have a seizure, I see things. I thought I was going crazy at first when I was young…but they were so real. Like past lifetimes. Different faces, different forms. I didn’t understand how my brain could be that creative.”

  I realize the gun is lowered and I raise it back up.

  “If you know who you are, then you know why you have to die. You’ve killed my sisters hundreds of times. You’re a murder, and it’s starting again. You killed Electra two nights ago.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Ryan says, pleading with me. “It was an accident.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “The fact is they’re innocent and you’re not. You have to die.”

  I’m shaking now—unwelcome tears stinging my eyes. I’ve never in all my lifetimes been able to talk to someone about this. Someone who was there, who understands the disjointed feeling of having a hundred lifetimes in your head. I’ve never been able to talk to anyone, and now I have to kill the only person who understands. The injustice of it takes my breath away. I told you the Fates are bitches.

  “Don’t do this,” Ryan says quietly. “It’s not my fault. Zeus—he did this.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say again, trying to convince myself as much as him. “It doesn’t matter if he wields the weapon—you are the blade. And I’m not going to let you cut down any more of my sisters.” I cock the gun.

  “What the fuck is going on?” a new voice says.

  Chapter 15

  What is going on indeed?

  My heart painfully squeezes in my chest as I recognize the owner of the new voice. It’s Brandon Cook. Why is Brandon Cook standing in the middle of the forest, ruining the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do?

  Brandon doesn’t seem to realize what he’s done. He’s wearing jeans, old school Pumas, and his green and black letter jacket. “Why is Meriah Carmichael pointing a gun at you?” Brandon asks. He’s looking back and forth between us like he cannot make heads or tails of what’s going on.

  “It’s complicated,” Ryan says weakly.

  I lower the gun, fighting a wave of tears that threatens to overwhelm me. I can’t kill Ryan in front of Brandon. Not without getting rid of the witness. And that’s out of the question. Brandon is innocent in all this. There’s no way I’d kill him too. Not to mention Zoe would never forgive me.

  “Meriah,” Ryan says slowly and carefully, like I’m a wild animal that might lash out at any moment. He raises a hand slowly. His fingers shake. “Give me the gun.”

  “Not a chance,” I retort. A little thrill goes through me at hearing my name on his lips and I hate myself for it.

  Brandon steps forwards, bold but calm. “Will you give me the gun?” I see why Zoe likes him. Even if he wasn’t so distractingly cute with those easy curls and bright blue eyes, he has a way about him that’s magnetic. It makes you want to trust him. It makes you want him to trust you. To like you. “Whatever the hell is going on between you two,” Brandon continues, “we can all agree that I’m not going to kill anyone.”

  I heave a sigh and uncock the weapon, resigned. I hand it to him, handle first.

  Ryan hisses out a breath of relief as the weapon passes from my fingers, sinking down into a crouch, his head in his hands.

  “Now who’s going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “It’s complicated,” I say, echoing Ryan. I don’t know what happens now. I should be worried about convincing Ryan not to press charges against me for kidnapping and attempted murder, but all I can see is my sister’s pale face floating beneath the water. I guess I failed in this lifetime, too. I shouldn’t be so surprised.

  Ryan surges back to his feet, his hands in his hair, turning it wild. “Can we just talk?” Ryan asks. “Please. I feel like we need to talk.”

  I shake my head. “Fine.”

  The three of us trudge back to the road and I see Brandon’s maroon Pathfinder behind Ryan’s truck. “How did you find us?” I ask.

  “I hadn’t heard from Ryan in a few days, so I used the find-my-iPhone function,” he replies.

  “How? I thought you could only do that with your own phone.”

  “Ryan’s on my family’s phone plan,” Brandon says, shooting a look towards Ryan that seems almost apologetic.

  “But we turned it off,” I say lamely. Silently, I curse myself. Betrayed by the phone. Frickin’ technology. I might as well have posted a pic with a tied-up Ryan on my Instagram feed. #Kidnappersofinstagram!

  “It registers the last place the phone was,” Brandon explains.

  “I’m riding with Brandon,” I say. The thought of being alone with an untied Ryan in the cab of his truck sets my nerves on edge. “Let’s go back to the cabin. We can talk there.”

  Ryan nods. “Don’t really ever want to see the place again. But okay.”

  “What cabin?” Brandon asked, but I’m already headed towards the car.

  I get into Brandon’s Pathfinder. It has a black leather interior and smells clean—like someone just detailed it. A little baseball hangs from the rearview mirror. It’s a far cry from Ryan’s truck. Zoe told me about them being friends, as close as brothers. I ponder the revelation that Ryan is on Brandon’s family’s phone plan. I guess he’s really become a part of their family.

  “So,” Brandon says, chewing on his plush bottom lip as he throws the car into reverse. “Finish your history essay yet?”

  I let out a strangled laugh. “You must think I’m a complete psychopath.” I groan, dropping my head into my hands.

  “I mean, it’s not looking great for you,” he says, “but I’m willing to be convinced.”

  “Believe me when I say I don’t want to kill Ryan,” I say. The truth of it hits me like a slap in the face. I’ve learned a few things in the last forty-eight hours. First, I’m not a killer—the thought of ending anyone is enough to tie me up in knots. But two, the more disturbing realization, is that I would specifically never kill Ryan Kearney. I would miss his stupid perfect face.

  I groan. “What a nightmare,” I mutter to myself. I am a psychopath. Because only a psychopath has a crush on a murderer.

  “It’ll be okay, Meriah,” Brandon says. And when he says it, I almost believe him.

  “You skipped history to come find Ryan?”

  He nods. “Dude doesn’t just not show up for work or not respond to texts for two days. He’s as reliable as clockwork. At first I thought maybe he was mad at me or needed some space for some reason, but then I talked to his Gran and she said she hadn’t seen him either… ”

  I direct Brandon down the lane to Zoe’s cabin and we pull into the driveway and get out. Ryan parks behind us and we all trudge inside.

  Brandon’s eyebrows raise as he sees the chair with the ropes.

  My face heats.

  “Kinky,” is all he says.

  Ryan shakes his head.

  “I’m hungry,” Brandon says. “There anything to eat up in this joint?”

  Teenage boys. They’re like velociraptors when it comes to food. “There might still be some pizza in the fridge,” I say. I couldn’t eat if my life depended on it. My stomach feels like it just got the wrong end of a roller coaster ride.

  Ryan and I stare at each other in silence as Brandon heads to the kitchen and rifles around. Ryan looks exhausted, dark shadows smudging the skin beneath his deep blue eyes. A pang of guilt strikes me as I realize what I put him through. I do my best to squash it, but my effort is weak. I’m too tired to run from my feelings anymore. I pull his phone out of my back pocket and hand to him. “I guess you’ll need this back.”

  “Now that I’m not dead,” he says angrily.

  I look aw
ay. “I guess I deserve that.”

  “You killed me before?” he asks. “In other lifetimes? I don’t remember.”

  I shake my head. “No, I’ve never tried it before. It was a…new theory.”

  “Can’t say I’m fond of it.”

  “I’m sick of doing nothing,” I snap. “Sick of feeling useless. I can’t just let them keep dying.”

  Ryan opens his mouth to reply, but Brandon interrupts, calling from the kitchen. “Dude, there’s hot chocolate in here! And marshmallows! You guys want any?”

  I look at Ryan with a puzzled expression. He shrugs. “Brandon has the rare ability to be comfortable in any situation.”

  I think about it. Hot chocolate suddenly sounds amazing. Something to do with my shaking hands. Something to focus on besides Ryan’s piercing gaze. “Yes, please,” I holler.

  “Bro?” Brandon asks.

  “Sure,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes.

  We’re both still standing awkwardly, facing off against each other. I turn the chair around towards the couch and sit gingerly. The thing isn’t very comfortable.

  “Try sleeping in it,” Ryan says, as if he can read my thoughts.

  I look away, anywhere but at him. When I look at him I can’t stop myself from examining his every feature. Even unshowered, in three-day-old clothes, he is handsome, his mussed hair making him look like he’s just woken up from a nap, like I’ve intruded upon some private scene I have no right to see. I find myself thinking about what the muscles of his chest and arms must look like underneath his flannel. I’m hyperaware of his movements, how he rubs together the calluses on the tips of his fingers, how one of his booted feet taps the ground as he waits.

  Just when I think I might scream to break the silence between us, Brandon emerges from the kitchen bearing two steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

  “Here you go, princess,” Brandon says with mock sweetness as he hands one to Ryan. “Extra marshmallows.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Ryan replies, batting his sweeping eyelashes.

  I take mine. “Thanks.” Their banter reminds me of mine and Zoe’s. A new wave of guilt crashes over me as I think that I almost just robbed Brandon of his closest friend. I don’t admire him the way that Zoe does, but he always seemed like a nice guy. He doesn’t deserve to have his best friend die. But my sisters don’t deserve to die either. The fact is, I don’t want anyone to die. It’s this damn curse.