by Anna Rezes
Tuesday my life is back to normal. After class I go to The Wizard of Oz with Ben and not only do I not fall asleep, I enjoy myself. But that night, my dreams get worse.
We’re in the field again, but this time there is nowhere to run as the ground drops out all around us, leaving Ben and me standing at the edge of a cliff. I cling to Ben, and he howls in pain. When I look up at him, I see undiluted terror directed at me. He’s begging for his life. As soon as it registers that I’m hurting him, I let go. When I try to comfort him, he shrieks as if my words are causing him pain. I look down at myself wondering what I’m doing wrong and see I’m wearing one of the dark hooded cloaks.
Wednesday morning Ashley is sitting on the counter painting her fingernails as I walk in to work. She beams at me but doesn’t move.
“Emily, my whole body has been like, so sore after that game. Totally worth it!” she chimes, finishing her last two nails.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I have a bruise on my hip the size of a grapefruit,” I complain.
“Yowza! It took me forever to get all the dirt from under my fingernails.”
“We’ll have to do it again sometime,” I say, as I clock in.
“Totally!”
It’s a hot day, and the air conditioning loses its fight to the afternoon sun shining in through the wall of windows. Ashley and I roll up our sleeves, but she takes it a step further by turning hers into a belly shirt.
“So, Gavin’s the one you broke up with, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Alec’s cute. Did you ever date him?”
I shake my head. “He’s cool, but he’s a man-whore. I think he sees me more like a sister than a woman, which is why our friendship works.”
“Does Morgan know he’s a player?”
“He’s different around her, but yeah, she knows how he is.”
“Different?” Ashley curses. “He’s gaga over her.”
“Maybe, but he doesn’t know how to be serious,” I voice. “Morgan’s smart enough to keep to harmless flirting.”
“You’re wrong. She’s crazy about him,” Ashley says, surprising me. “If you think he’s bad news, you need to tell her because something’s going on. After you left on Sunday, he walked her to her car and the way he was acting like totally freaked me out.”
“What do you mean? What was he doing?”
“He was flirting with her, and she was totally like eating it up.”
Ashley can be blind when it comes to hot guys, so I’m taken aback not only by her observations but by her need to protect Morgan, a girl she just met. She’s cautious of Alec instead of assuming he would be perfect for Morgan just because he’s hot.
“Morgan is smart,” I say. “She knows Alec almost as well as I do.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t treat you the way he treats her. I’m telling you; she’s completely gone over him, and logic won’t keep her grounded.”
“When did you get so wise?” I question.
“Hey, I notice things. Like you, Miss Pessimistic Patty, always focusing on the negative and not trusting anything at face value. That’s why I’m always reminding you of the good in people. Morgan sees all the positives in people—which is why people like her by the way—but she might need to be reminded of the bad in people sometimes.”
“Point taken. I’ll talk to Morgan.”
I’m walking down the street of an abandoned city with six hooded figures walking next to me. The empty streets reek of troubling times. Merchandise bleeds out through shattered windows of ransacked stores. Broken doors swing on their hinges, and car doors stand open on the side of the road. Old pieces of newspaper drift in the wind. Even the animals have fled this place, leaving it void of any life except for the overgrown vegetation.
I push the hood off my head and almost don’t recognize myself. Pristine blond waves fold around my shoulders framing the sinister expression on my face. One by one the figures walking with me let their hoods drop revealing blond hair, blue-eyed men with unnerving expressions.
As we approach an abandoned car, the men with me stop as I move forward. With a flick of my finger, the car splits down the middle. Patrick falls out of his hiding place and onto the street. His shoulders slump as he gets to his knees.
“It’s too late,” he says in a broken voice. He shakes his head as his bloodshot eyes lift to mine. “You’ve already killed them all.”
“They were weak!” I shout.
The force of my anger knocks him back, and he lies helpless in the street. His face is pale and strained as he looks up at me. His bright eyes fade to pale blue as I drain the life from his body.
I wake in a cold sweat. I turn the lights on in my room to keep away the dark thoughts. There is no way I’m going back to sleep tonight. I’m tempted to call Patrick to make sure he’s okay, but I talk myself out of it. It was just a dream. It didn’t mean anything.
twenty-five
It’s another hot afternoon. The sun reflects off the dark pavement baking the cars in the parking lot. I don’t spot Patrick’s car, but that’s not unusual. I head into the lecture hall early; afraid Patrick won’t be here again.
The room has only a few students, so my eyes find Patrick right away despite him not sitting in our usual spot. Either he’s attempting to give me space, or he’s avoiding me, but I go to him anyway.
“Hey,” I say, as I draw near.
“Hello, love.” With a sigh and a bored expression, he looks up. “I’ve done exactly as you’ve instructed and left you alone. Now, what else can I do for you?”
I take a deep breath and sit in the open seat next to him. His eyes crease, staring with suspicion, and I remember how his sapphire gaze can break even the strongest women.
“I want to apologize,” I say before I change my mind.
He snorts. “Why?”
“Because. I’ve just been kind of unfair to you. I think . . . I mean . . . I’ve been a little harsh, you know, about everything.”
He’s looking more self-assured by the second. “Go on,” he encourages.
I narrow my eyes. “That’s all.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s not all my fault, you know. You’ve been weird and irritating, and I’m not okay with you showing up in my bedroom unannounced and watching me take off my clothes. You,” I poke a finger at him, “should know that’s not okay.”
“I’m confused, I thought you were apologizing, but this sounds as if you’re berating me.”
“I’m sorry, but I think maybe you deserve it.”
“I’m afraid you’ve made this terribly unclear. Which is it? You’re sorry, or I deserve it?”
“Both!”
A Cheshire grin stretches across his face. “So essentially, you’re sorry it’s my fault.”
“Forget it,” I sigh, turning in my seat in an attempt to ignore his mocking.
“I can’t possibly forget it when you’re trying to make amends here.”
“Fine, I take it back!” I cross my arms in frustration.
“It’s too late to take it back. You already apologized.”
“Well, then I guess I’m un-apologizing right now.”
He nudges my shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”
I frown his way, but with his warm smile and quirked brow, I can no longer hold back my grin.
He nudges me again. “I think you missed me too,” he whispers. “No worries, your secret’s safe with me.”
I don’t want to admit it, but he might be right. He has been on my mind.
“And while we’re telling secrets,” he continues. “I thoroughly enjoyed watching you undress, but I will admit I went too far.”
“Ya think!”
He holds his hands up in defense. “I had a good reason for being there.”
“You mean aside from being a pervert with boundary issues?” I challenge.
“I had only honorable intentions.”
“Oh, this ought to be good. Honorable intentions? I doubt i
t.”
“I was showing you how easy it is to sneak up on you. You need to be vigilant.”
“Oh, Patrick.” I shake my head. “Not this again. I really don’t need to be reminded.”
He drags his hand through his hair. “I think you do.”
“Trust me,” I glare, hoping to get my point across, “I don’t!”
“I know it’s offensive to be told you’re not taking this seriously enough, but it’s worse to watch your family die knowing it’s your fault.” There’s sadness in his eyes as he speaks. “Truly, I know all too well what you’re going through.”
“You know what it’s like to be afraid of what’s inside of you? Afraid to close your eyes because of what you’ll see? Worried that at any moment a stranger could abduct or murder you? You think you know what that’s like?”
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation, and I get a glimpse of the pain he’s hiding. “I’m trying to save you and your family from a fate I’ve already suffered.”
My irritation and mistrust of him begin to melt away, replaced with a deeper acceptance. He blames himself for what happened to his family, and he knows I’ll blame myself if anything happens to the people I love.
“I’m going to protect you whether you want me to or not,” he vows.
My voice drops to a whisper. “Anyone who helps Valla blood dies, remember?”
“That’s right because you’re the biggest, baddest wolf around. They’re afraid of you because you’re the only one strong enough to stop them.”
“But I’m not strong enough to stop them. I’m not even strong enough to stop you. And what if they’re right about us? What if my mom was . . .” I can’t say it. “I mean . . .” I lower my voice to a whisper, feeling vulnerable to verbalize fears I’ve been trying to deny. “She killed people. What if it’s just part of who we are? What if it’s just what we become? I don’t want to kill people, Patrick.” I avoid his eyes, looking around the room, knowing it’s not safe to talk about this in such a public place.
Patrick’s voice pulls my attention back to him. “In a few minutes, the staff are going to announce that class is canceled. Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”
“Why is class canceled?” I ask, wondering what he’s done. “How do you know?”
“Always the skeptic. Professor Fickle had a heart attack this morning, and they haven’t found anyone to cover the lecture. I know because the staff has been thinking about it for the last half-hour.”
“Oh my god, is he okay?” I breathe, feeling my heart tighten with worry over the charming old man.
“They don’t know. Come on, let’s go.”
We stand and, on our way, out I spot Jeremy sitting a few rows back talking to a group of girls. I smile and wave as our eyes meet. He blows me a kiss, or maybe he’s blowing it to Patrick, either way, I smile bigger and feel a glimpse of Patrick’s internal frown.
“I see you’ve been busy making friends,” Patrick says, as I push open the door. “This way.” He touches my back to guide me. It sends a volt of electricity through me which I’m sure he felt, but I pretend not to notice. Instead, I walk quickly in the direction he sends me.
The brick pathway leads to a shaded area surrounded by mature trees heavy with leaves. Patrick halts, gripping my arm, so I don’t continue forward. Looking satisfied with the secluded area free of any spectators, Patrick sits down on a bench.
Dropping my bag next to Patrick, I hoist myself onto the brick wall behind the bench. Patrick gives me an exhausted look, sighs, and then joins me on the wall.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t stop thinking about you.” I continue to talk through his pleased smile. “It’s just that sometimes I don’t know how to pretend everything’s okay. Now I’m having these dreams, and I’m lying to all of my friends and my sister. How do you do it?”
His gentle laugh takes me by surprise. “You were pretending to be normal long before we met.”
“I wasn’t pretending. I was just trying to live a normal life. That was before I knew what I am, what we are, and what I can do. That was before I knew what happened to my mom.”
“Keeping secrets is something you’ll become used to, and you won’t always have to live your life afraid.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you hate the people who killed your mother?” he asks.
“I try not to think about the pain she went through, let alone the people who caused it all. I don’t want to be ruled by my anger. Why? Do you hate the people who killed your mom?”
“Him,” he corrects. “And yes, I hate him very much.”
“You know him?”
“Yes.” He’s quiet and there are ghosts in his eyes. With a shudder, he pulls himself out of his trance, saying, “Emily, you will learn to hate. You will learn to control the emotions from consuming you. You’ll have to learn, or you’ll die. That is your only option.”
My eyes widen and I lean away from him. “I’m pretty sure hate is not the answer.”
“No, it’s not the answer, but you need to know what it feels like, so you don’t let the feelings consume you.”
Shaking my head, I look to my feet. “Patrick, you’re speaking in riddles again.”
“Let me be very clear.” His words bring my eyes back to him. “You don’t think you’re capable of killing anyone, I presume. That is a problem.”
I want to believe he’s joking, but his chastising glare warns me otherwise. My gaze turns introspective. I disentangle my thoughts and get stuck on a wistful memory, a vision of my mother. This time she’s smiling as she sings happy birthday and presents me with my cake. The idea of my beautiful mother killing anyone is strangling. She’s murdered people! My mind knows the truth, but my heart is reluctant to accept it.
Freeing myself from the memory before it becomes jaded, I question, “Have you ever killed anyone?”
His guilty eyes shift to avoid mine, telling me what he doesn’t want to admit.
I lay a comforting hand on his forearm regaining his attention and say, “I really don’t think I could kill anyone. I wouldn’t know how to live with myself.”
“Sometimes there is no choice,” he says, meeting my eyes once more.
“There’s always a choice,” I counter and watch as he slips into his mask of cool confidence, indicating I must have struck a nerve. Witnessing the change in his demeanor is unnerving. “Every time you do that it makes me trust you less.”
“Years of training, love.” His voice is blithe but chilling. “The real trick is showing the emotion.”
I attempt to hide my shiver by shifting on the wall. He gives me a cocky grin, and I wonder why he believes murder was his only choice.
“Emily, killing is different for an Olvasho. When you take the life of another Olvasho, you gain their strength; rather like what you experienced in the boat with me. That power you felt; it would’ve become yours if you had finished killing me. These men have killed to gain their power, and you must kill them in order to survive.”
For a second, I feel torn, straddling the metaphorical fence between arguing with him and defending his flawed logic. I know he’s strong, but did he gain his strength by killing others? It feels impossible to justify.
“How many have you killed?” I question, wanting to know what made him this way.
His grin fades, his gaze going distant. “One . . . ten, does it make a difference?”
“Of course, it does. They aren’t just numbers, Patrick. They aren’t power bars. They were people! They had names and lives, and they probably have people missing them!”
“Your reaction is exactly why I’ll protect you with my life and train you until you can kill me with a thought.”
That sends a lightning bolt of fear straight to my heart as I remember my dream where I did just that. Fear molds my resolve. “I won’t kill you or anyone. I’m not going to be this thing you want me to be. It might make you feel better if I take a life, but it is not gonna happen.�
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“Make me feel better?” His cynical chuckle starts the nervous churning in my stomach. “Emily, love,” he breathes against my neck, as he moves in seductively close. “If you annihilate the entire world, it would not change the way I feel.”
His breath sends a chill through my body, and I slide off the wall to put much-needed distance between us.
“Guilt,” I whisper. “That’s what you should feel while you sit here relishing in your own power. People are dead because of you!”
“I don’t need a reminder. I have to live with it every second of every day but don’t try to pretend we aren’t the same. You are just as cold and selfish—perhaps worse. While I genuinely don’t give a damn what people think of me—unless I want something from them—you . . . you pretend to be this strong, standalone badass when actually you’re just too scared to let anyone close.”
“How dare you!”
“I’m not finished! You practically run everyone away. It would be a wonder you have any friends at all, except I know the irresistible pull you possess. You attach shackles to the people around you, and while you pull them along, you push them away; but they can’t leave you unless you unlock their chains.” He slips from the wall and takes a step forward. “You make them suffer until there is nothing left.” He steps closer. “And you know! You know what you’re doing, but you pretend to be a victim.”
I clear my throat and push back the tears that will make me look weak. “Who hurt you so badly you have to hurt everyone around you?”
He gives me a wicked grin. “The man who raised me, love. He was a real bastard. You remind me of him sometimes.”
I react without thinking. A thousand needles sting my palm as the heat warms my hand. A red outline is already forming across the white of his cheek, but I refuse to feel guilty. It’s his fault. How dare him!
“Even as cruel as he is, he’s never hit me. How juvenile,” he says with his condescending smile, acting as though he’s been hit by a child rather than an angry woman with Valla blood.