To Whatever End

by Frydman, Lindsey

  “Arizona.”

  “Why would you pick Ohio? I would give anything to live in a different state.” Especially one like Arizona, where the weather isn’t humid or erratic. I’ve had to use the air conditioning and the heater within the same twenty-four hours before. Plus, the mountains out west? That so beats the plain rolling hills of nothingness here.

  Griffin clears his throat, tips his head like he needs to think about the answer before he tells me. “I needed to move somewhere different. Somewhere far away.”

  I laugh a little, unsure why he’s hesitant to explain. “Why far away?”

  “For a new start.”

  What is he running from? “But Ohio? You could’ve picked North Carolina or Florida. Hell, even Washington. Why here?”

  He shrugs. “Would you believe me if I told you I put all fifty states in a hat and picked one out?”

  I furrow my brows. “Why would you do that?”

  “It’s a long story,” Griffin says. “The moving thing.”

  I bite my lip and nod, then offer a small smile.

  I’m about to ask for the story anyway when he says, “It’s late. I should probably head back inside.”

  “Of course.” I plaster my hands against my sides and smile, despite my internal anguish.

  He twists his lips, cocks his head, and opens his mouth to say something.

  I cut him off because I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my calm. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon. Especially if you come visit me at the library.”

  “Sure,” he says after I turn my back to him. “Seeing how we’re neighbors, another impromptu meeting can’t be avoided.”

  He’s right. It is fate, even if it is a horrifying fate. Most people believe in free will. That our futures aren’t predetermined. That we aren’t puppets.

  But my…curse proves that theory wrong time and time again. I’ve been able to stop the future from happening to me, but never altogether.

  I’ll see Griffin again. And again. And again. Until time runs out and my devastating vision comes true. Unless I manage to save him. No matter what Grandma Ruth thinks, there’s no way in hell I’m letting the vision go down without a fight.

  Chapter Four

  Instead of working like I’m supposed to, I’m searching the internet for anything major that happened in Arizona over the past year. Lots of things happened, but I can’t link any of them to Griffin. Frustrated, I set my phone down. Grandma Ruth’s warning repeats in my head. You cannot change the future. The sooner you can accept that, the better off you will be.

  Sorry Grandma, I refuse to accept that.

  On an average day, this library isn’t a ghost town. Today is a weird exception. This gives me little to do other than think and worry. Even despite the unwanted downtime, I love everything about my job. Sure, it’s an underpaid position, and it probably won’t look great on any future résumé, but it’s quiet. People don’t flow through the doors in hordes like they do at coffee shops or malls.

  Most people don’t like to read—or rather, they’re more inclined to buy and rent e-books online. It’s simpler, so I guess I can’t entirely blame them. But me? I love to feel the books within my fingers, feel the pages as I turn them. Yeah, it sounds like a cheesy quote someone stamped over a stock photo, but it’s true.

  I blame my book addiction on Grandma Ruth. She’s always been a librarian. Sometimes when I was younger, she’d bring me to work with her and I’d search the shelves high and low, looking for my next fix. But it’s a better addiction than others, so I’m more than okay with it. Grandma works here at the Centerville Public Library only a few days a week, so I rarely see her when I’m working. We have opposite shifts.

  An older man comes up to the desk with a few books to check out. As I take the last book from his hand, his fingers graze mine. I see a momentary flash of our ending, which is him leaving out the front door. Someone I’ll never see again. But I notice in the vision that his shoe is untied. Blinking away the image, an idea forms.

  Maybe I should practice changing the future. Why start with such a big thing like saving a life? If I tell the man to tie his shoe and he does, the vision I saw won’t exactly become reality. Right? That detail will change. “Your left shoelace is untied,” I say too loudly.

  “What? Oh.” He looks down, grumbling. “I’ll fix it when I get to my car.”

  Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. “Sir, I insist. It’s a fire hazard. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for a serious injury, would you?”

  The man snorts, waving a hand dismissively. “Looks like the only person I’m endangering is myself. If I get that close to the floor, I’ll be lyin’ on it. So, if ya don’t mind.”

  Before I can say more than, “Sir,” he’s already on his way out.

  Crap. Awful psychic visions: one. Me: zero.

  Looks like I’m going to need a lot of practice experimenting with small visions. The doorbell chimes as I’m working out the details of my plan. I glance left, and when I do, my heart stutters.

  The sunlight streaming through the windows highlights Griffin’s dark golden hair like a halo. For a second, he looks like a freaking angel—a hot angel—his hair a mess in just the right way. Subtle biceps aren’t completely hidden beneath his teal shirt-sleeves.

  I blink. The door shuts behind him and the halo fades, but boy, does he look good. It’s not fair.

  I didn’t expect him to take me up on my offer to visit the library so soon. But there’s no denying my happiness, not with my heart drumming an excited beat. He hasn’t noticed me yet, so his gaze wanders to the left, where the library opens wider. Slowly, he steps sideways then turns so I get a perfect view of his profile, which is just as stunning as his front. Seeing this guitar-playing, museum-visiting, songwriting, hot guy walking into a library has my heart melting. Just a little.

  I eye the library card application forms before watching Griffin as he moseys toward the aisles. Pulse thrumming, I continue to take in the sight of him. Even from yards away and with his back turned, he’s still a stunning piece of art.

  I lick my lips, break my stare. Too bad no book on earth contains info on curses and how to break them. Actually, I bet a few have curses mentioned in them, but no one has ever been cursed like me. Lots of people would literally kill to see the future. But they don’t know how wrong they are to want such a painful existence. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.

  Pressing my fingers down on the gray counter, I take in a deep breath, shut my eyes for a moment, and then open them again. No amount of deep breathing will help me change fate, though. And despite all the signs pointing to fat chance in hell, I have to do whatever I can for as long as I can. Holding on to such a desperate hope of saving Griffin is like wearing thousand-pound shackles. But I’ll continue wearing them. All the way to the end.

  My heart pulses when I leave my post at the front desk and cautiously walk toward him.

  “You don’t look like the kinda person to wander into a library on a Friday afternoon,” I say, placing one hand on my hip in the hope that it makes me appear cool, calm, and confident. I’m not calm. Not in the slightest. Haven’t been since a few days ago when Griffin touched me.

  His amber-golden eyes widen. Then a slow grin spreads across his stunning face. “Quinn.”

  The way he says my name sends a fluttering through my veins. I hate him for it. “Griffin.”

  He steps toward me. “I think you’re stealing my lines.”

  I shrug. “Sure am. I’m surprised you came.”

  Griffin laughs deeply. “You did invite me. Unless you were saying that only to be nice?”

  “Of course not. I meant it.”

  His grin cracks even wider, and oh, how I wish I had my camera so I could keep this memory forever. “I guess it’s true what they say.”

  I raise a b
row. “True what who says?”

  “Whoever… About fate. Kismet. Whatever you want to call it.”

  I’m not sure that’s a thing, but I don’t exactly want to discuss fate right now. “Ah, I guess so,” I say, twisting to see if there’s anyone standing at the checkout. “I didn’t take you for a reader.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  He grins and inches closer. “Thanks to some good advice this gorgeous stranger gave me, I’m giving new things a try. Looking for inspiration.”

  My cheeks flush, and I tap my fingers against my jeans. We walk toward the rows of books on the left. “It’s the art section over here. And the music section is down there.” I nod to where he’d been standing. “This section of the library isn’t an unlikely place. Art and music aren’t new to you.”

  A moment later, he’s holding a book in his hands, twisting it around with his fingers. One beautiful brow rises high on his forehead, which crinkles in the cutest way. “Baby steps.”

  I roll my eyes, letting out a hoarse laugh. “No one I know actually comes to the library.”

  He smirks. “Obviously not no one.”

  I wish he wasn’t so smug with the way his lips curve. “So, you never told me your hobbies. I shared mine.”

  “My hobbies? Okay. I like skiing. And snowboarding. I’m one of those crazy people who loves the snow.”

  Those sound dangerous, but neither is going to cause his death. “What do you do the rest of the year? You don’t hibernate, do you?”

  “No,” he says on a laugh. “I enjoy movies. Cards—I’ve got a stellar poker face. Camping is fun, too. Oh, and I’ve been dying to go skydiving.”

  I nearly cringe at his word choice. But none of those hobbies is going to lead to him to getting shot and bleeding out in the rain. Shuffling from foot to foot, I chide myself for thinking the solution would be so easy to find. What did I expect? For him to say I like playing with guns or something?

  “You okay?” he says.

  “Yes, I…sorry.”

  “Another dizzy spell?”

  “Wha—oh. No. I was just thinking about how terrifying skydiving would be.”

  He nods, buying my explanation.

  Real smooth, Quinn. “So, what’s the last book you read?”

  He frowns and doesn’t answer right away, his gaze skittering around the mostly empty library. “Ah, I haven’t read anything in a while. It’s been years since I’ve stepped inside a place like this.”

  I peek at the book he’s holding. “I understand the baby steps, but I don’t think a book titled The Guitar: Essential Elements qualifies as expanding your horizons. You’re already a musician.” I motion toward the well-loved and tattered book, smirking.

  “You can find inspiration anywhere. In the most unlikely places and in the most obvious places.”

  I let out a slow, measured sigh, then scan the books on the shelf to our right. “Maybe you’re looking too hard.”

  “You might be right.”

  And I’m definitely trying way too hard to pull information out of him. Knowing his reading habits isn’t going to help save him. But I also can’t give him the third degree right here and now.

  “All right”—Griffin extends both arms—“what do you think a guy like me should be doing on a Friday afternoon?”

  I look up at him, spot a wayward strand of hair artfully out of place against his forehead. “Preparing to go out with friends? Maybe planning a fancy date for later in the evening? And if you’re the type to buy flowers, you might be making dinner reservations before a trip to the florist. But I’m not sure you’re a flower-buying type of guy.” I shrug, feeling naïve, my cheeks burning like I’ve stuck my head inside an oven.

  “Aren’t you judgy.” He grins, though. “I don’t seem like the type to buy flowers? I think I’m offended.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who started the judgment game here.” When he looks at me like he doesn’t understand, I continue with, “At the museum… Remember the first words you said to me? You don’t strike me as the kind of person who comes to a museum on a Tuesday afternoon. Yeah, so you’re the one who started making assumptions.”

  Griffin nods slowly, eyes cast downward, before he shoves one hand into his jeans pocket. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  I lick my lips, unsure whether I’m impressed or confused by his apology.

  But he’s going to tell me he loves me…

  I turn around again to keep him from seeing the hopelessness and heartache written clearly across my face. The damn vision doesn’t fade out of my head. Every painful, heart-wrenching moment of our end on replay.

  “What’re you doing later tonight?” he asks.

  Composing myself, I turn and tip my head. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Do you want to have dinner with me?”

  My lips part, and my heart betrays me by exploding into a fit of happiness. No, you stupid heart, you’re just confused. “What?”

  He laughs—he really needs to stop doing that. “Dinner.”

  “Uhh…” Geez, I need to say something more than uhh. “I don’t date,” I say, my mouth dry, palms slick.

  “Is that your nice way of turning me down?” Griffin isn’t smiling, though he doesn’t look dejected. As if the question was genuine.

  “No. I meant—” I scratch beneath my ear. I don’t know how to date anymore. “I’m just…a terrible date.”

  “How do you know?” he asks, moving closer.

  “I just do.” The words rush out, and my pulse stutters when I catch a whiff of his faint cologne. Whatever it is, it smells heavenly.

  I need to dig my brain out of the gutter. Stop thinking about how Griffin smells, how he laughs, how he has perfect hair for running my fingers through, and how his muscular form shows off his obvious gym usage. It doesn’t matter how he looks, how he acts, or anything. All that matters is getting to know him, which will hopefully result in saving his life. Which means I shouldn’t say no to a date.

  “How about you prove it?” he says. “If it’s true, and you are a terrible date, I’ll never ask you out again.”

  I gaze at the books because they’re easier to face than him. The stories between the book covers are fiction. My vision of him dying isn’t. “I would hope not. That would make you some kind of masochist.”

  “Do you always make guys work so hard to pay for your dinner?”

  A lump forms in my throat and I wish—not for the first time—to be a normal girl who doesn’t see only endings. “Are you always so insistent?”

  “No,” he says simply.

  I rub my hands down the goose bumps on my arms, staring at the book he’s still holding and tapping with one finger. Tap, tap, tap.

  Agreeing to a meal shouldn’t be such a big deal. “Okay,” I say, trying to appear and sound normal. “Dinner. Let’s do dinner. On one condition. You have to sign up for a library card.”

  His lips twitch. “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” I wave my hand toward the front desk. “Come on. It’ll take only a couple minutes.”

  He agrees, and five minutes later, I finally have a piece of information that might help me. His full name: Griffin Howell.

  Chapter Five

  On my way home from work, I stopped at a coffee shop to try an experiment or two, further ignoring Grandma’s advice. The first couple people I touched gave me visions with nothing notable to change. After my coffee was cold enough, I bumped into some unsuspecting lady, hoping the vision would change with coffee on her shirt. But after a trip to the bathroom, her shirt looked just as clean as it had originally.

  Ugh. There must be something I’m missing, something I’m not considering. Do my powers of precognition not work exactly the way I thought? Is there truly no way to change the outcome, like Grandma Ruth says? A
re these powers in my control at all, or is it all an outside force? Is the universe trying to right itself every time I try to make it wrong? If so…the universe must have a will. And that would imply things like fate are real. And if fate is a sentient thing…then coincidences are the way the world is run.

  My phone beeps, interrupting my haphazard thoughts, and I lean over to swipe it from my bed.

  Olivia: We’re going out again tonight! What should I wear?

  She attaches three photos to our chat, all options for her date with Jack. Despite everything else, best-friend duties are still necessary.

  Me: Wear the skirt with the peach top. It’s classy and sexy at the same time. It’ll go well with your glasses.

  Olivia: I’m not wearing my glasses!

  I flop onto the bed, roll onto my stomach, and then focus on the screen.

  Me: You should. Guys like glasses.

  Olivia: How do you know?

  Me: I do know some things.

  The conversation continues like this until I convince her that she should, in fact, wear her gold-framed glasses. Who knows if she’s saying that only to appease me, though, or if she’s actually going to wear them? They’re adorable on her. She claims glasses are too nerdy, but I disagree.

  I rest my head against my crossed arms and sigh. A slight pang of nervousness churns, thinking about my own date that I should be getting ready for. What makes me more nervous is telling Olivia; I wish she didn’t need to be involved in any of this. If she knows about Griffin, then she might like him, and if she likes him, then she might get attached, and if she gets attached, then his death will hurt her, too. But I can’t hide him from her for long.

  I nearly scream into my pillow. My brain, heart, and gut are in total disagreement about everything. It’s torture. So I decide to hold off on mentioning the guy I’m supposedly going to fall in love with. For as long as possible.

  After a few minutes of wallowing, I roll off the bed, grab my camera, and head outside. It’s about five o’clock, and the low sun gives stunning light for capturing the perfect image. But it’s only a thinly veiled excuse for trying to spot Griffin.