Mortal Danger

by Ann Aguirre

  Davina was making a joke when Brittany wheezed and then there was a wet sound, a splatter, and I leapt to my feet. No time to think about whether she’d want me to—I yanked open the curtain and even in the gloom, I saw so much blood, blood everywhere, staining her gown, her sheets, pouring from her mouth in a river of red. Jen came to my shoulder and screamed while Davina fumbled for the call button.

  I wheeled and ran to the door, banged it open and yelled, “Nurse! Doctor! Somebody, we need help in here. Oh my God, hurry!”

  The machines attached to Brittany were going crazy, and pretty soon, there was a team with a crash cart shoving us out the door. Jen was shaking and Davina was so pale she looked green under the fluorescents. My skin felt like it was too small; I couldn’t sit still, so I paced while they worked.

  Eventually, a nurse shooed us down to a waiting area. “You can’t loiter here, you’ll bother the other patients.”

  “I had no idea she was so sick,” Davina kept saying.

  Jen was silent, a look of horror locked in her eyes. What was left of Brittany’s face … dear God. I’d seen pictures on the Internet that horrible, but … no more, I can’t. With shaking fingers, I texted Kian some directions, along with, Come up. Please. I need you.

  Five minutes later, he found me. He dropped into the chair next to me and wrapped his arm about my shoulders in a move so natural, I could believe we’d dated all summer. I could get lost in his lies every bit as easily as his eyes. And that scared the shit out of me.

  “What happened?”

  “Brit’s really bad. She started hemorrhaging right in front of us,” Jen answered.

  Without thinking, I reached for Jen. She held on like she was full of helium and in danger of floating away into an empty sky. On her other side, Davina looked like she needed comfort, too, so Jen put her hand out. We sat like that, not talking, just holding hands, while hospital staff came and went. Nobody would tell us anything.

  Around half past five, Mrs. King stumbled into the lounge. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, and I could tell she hadn’t been sleeping. I had seen her from a distance at school functions, but the coiffed society matron bore little resemblance to the distraught, disheveled mess who collapsed in the chair next to Davina. Mrs. King scrubbed trembling fingers through her tangled hair and repressed a sob.

  “I went home to shower,” she whispered. “And to try calling her dad again. He’s in Singapore this week.”

  Davina reached out and took the older woman’s hand, looking like she had no idea what to say. None of us did. Finally Kian murmured, “Are they treating her?”

  Mrs. King nodded. “They wouldn’t let me stay. The nurse called and I got back as a fast as I could. It was rush hour.”

  She started crying then and Davina patted her on the back. The only sound in the waiting area came from Mrs. King’s soft, choking sobs and my own breathing. Kian didn’t do this. He’d have to be an utter monster to sit here with Brittany’s mom if he had anything to do with her condition. Still, a knot formed in my stomach until I wanted to scream.

  Belatedly, I texted my parents. It was a school night, yeah, but if they thought schoolwork was more important than somebody’s life, then their priorities were seriously screwed up. At six thirty, I went down to get coffee and sandwiches, mostly because it was something to do. Passing out food and drinks and pretending to eat carried us past seven. I wasn’t sure when she started, but Mrs. King prayed, though I wouldn’t have taken her for a religious woman. Prior encounters had made me think she was cold and controlling, but maybe she was one of those mothers who pushed because their standards were set high, not from lack of love.

  Around eight, I was sitting on the floor, propped up against Kian’s knees when the doctor—at least I think he was a doctor—came into the lounge, along with the nurse who had gossiped with me the first time I visited. They both wore such grave expressions that I was worried. Tension tightened my shoulders until my skin felt wrapped in razor wire.

  Then the doctor said, “Mrs. King, let’s talk privately.”

  Jen squeezed my hand hard as Brittany’s mom left. She followed the trio with her gaze, then took a deep, shivery breath. “What should we do?”

  I had no idea.

  Davina said, “Let’s wait until she comes back. Maybe Brittany’s stable now or they need her to sign a form for more tests or something.”

  Twenty minutes later, Mrs. King stepped into the waiting room, looking absolutely ravaged. “Thank you three so much for coming and for … being with Brit. If you hadn’t been here…” Her voice broke, so she tried again. “It’s … over. You can go home now.”

  “She’s … gone?” Jen choked out.

  Numb, I eased to my feet. Kian herded us to the car and offered to drive the other two girls home, even though they lived in different parts of the city. It was late enough that traffic wasn’t horrendous. I got out when we dropped Jen off and hugged her. She held on for a long time. When we got to Davina’s house, I did the same. Her mom was standing in the doorway in a golden wash of light, and Davina ran to her outstretched arms like I could never do. My mom wouldn’t think to open them.

  “Is this because of me?” I asked as he put the car in drive.

  Kian should’ve answered right away with a firm denial. He didn’t. “I don’t know.”

  “Did I do this somehow?” A shriek bubbled in the back of my throat as I saw that crimson splatter over and over, out from the raw hole that was Brit’s mouth, cheeks eaten away, so much pain, so much. Her eyes were wild with it and swimming in fear.

  “Of course not. You’d never hurt anyone, Edie.”

  You wanted them all to suffer, a little voice whispered in my ear. So it begins.

  Whipping my head around wildly, I caught a glimpse of red eyes in the side mirror. On a smothered cry, I checked the backseat but there was nobody. Just a reflection of some taillights. Monsters don’t live in reflections.

  Or maybe they do.

  It was too much. I fought the tears for a full minute according to the clock on the dash, but in the end, I lost. Kian eyed me but he didn’t pull over until we got close to the brownstone. Then he parked up the street from my apartment and reached for me.

  “I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but I’ll look into it. I’ll keep you safe.”

  His hands roved my back, gentle and soothing, and I cried for the life Brittany had lost, the one he’d signed away, and the future that might not even be mine anymore. My eyes felt sore and swollen when I finally calmed down. I couldn’t remember losing it like that in front of anyone, ever, and that made it impossible to look at him.

  “This sucks,” I muttered.

  “Remember what I said? I meant it. I’ll never let you down when you need me.”

  “Why? I was kind of an asshole to you the other night.”

  “We’ll talk about that later. Right now, I’m walking you upstairs. Under the circumstances, I’m sure I can convince your parents to let me stay a while.”

  “But it’s a school night.”

  “Trust me,” he said.

  If only I could.

  I should’ve told him that night about the bag man and the spooky children. But I didn’t; I forgot about them in the deluge of other problems.

  That was a mistake.

  A GRIEF LIKE FEAR

  Tuesday, word had already spread. The minute I stepped into school, other students surrounded me, some of them sporting black armbands. Farther down the hall, Davina and Jen were mobbed. Jen looked horrified while Davina couldn’t seem to decide if the attention was good or bad. An onslaught of questions bombarded me.

  “I heard you were there when she died.”

  “Was there a lot of blood?”

  “Someone told me Brit was possessed or something, and—”

  “What is wrong with you?” I demanded.

  Before I could bitch at the vultures, an announcement came over the PA system. “Morning classes will be canceled. Inste
ad there will be an assembly in the auditorium and then grief counselors will be available to those who need them. If you were close to Brittany King and need a mental health day, you will be free to contact your parents.”

  At lunch I sat by myself for the first time this year; the rest of the Teflon crew had gone home. At least, I thought that was the case, until Cameron plopped down across from me. His tray had beef and noodles on it but he showed no sign that he meant to eat anything; instead he dropped his head in his hands. He looked like shit. The circles beneath his eyes were so dark, it looked like he’d been punched in both eyes, and there were scrapes and bruises on his knuckles. I didn’t ask if he’d been fighting or hitting inanimate objects. For all his assholery the week before, it was clear he was taking Brittany’s death hard.

  I raised a brow. “What’re you still doing here?”

  When he raised his head to meet my gaze, his eyes were red and bloodshot. “My parents are in Europe. There’s nobody to sign me out.”

  “Ah.” I couldn’t bring myself to be more sympathetic, so I picked at my lunch. When I’d pictured Cameron getting what he deserved, I never imagined anything like this.

  “They’re gone, like, all the time. The housekeeper works five days, but I’m pretty much on my own, nights and weekends.”

  I didn’t want to talk to him when he was acting like a decent person. Before, he was just a one-note jerkwad who seemed to get off on making my life a living hell.

  “At least you have a lot of freedom.” That was a stupid thing to say.

  “And I spent most of that time over at Brit’s. She has an actual family, you know? Her mom is kind of crazy and her dad’s a dick, but they’ll miss her. It should’ve been me.”

  For a few seconds, I stared, unable to believe such a thing had come out of Cameron’s mouth. “Don’t say that.”

  “I thought she’d get better, so I didn’t go see her. She died thinking I didn’t care.” He bit out a curse.

  “You loved her?” Kind of astonishing, I’d suspected those two were together because they were both hot and nobody else at Blackbriar met their exacting standards.

  “Yeah,” he said in a dull voice.

  Against my better judgment, I spoke some consoling words and counted the minutes until the bell rang. I wasn’t subtle when I hurried away from Cameron, but for the first time, it wasn’t because his presence made me sick with shame. Pity swelled inside me instead but I didn’t think he’d want it.

  In my afternoon classes, the teachers crafted impromptu lessons about death and loss; the lectures were more like group therapy. And in my last class, an actual grief specialist came in, introducing himself as Greg Jessup. He had apparently been making the rounds. The counselor had us move our desks into a circle, and he asked us lots of questions about our feelings. At first, people were reluctant to speak, and then it got deep. Since there were so few of us still in school, I guessed it made it easier to be brave.

  “It makes you think,” a guy named Stuart said. “I mean, I wasn’t friends with Brittany or anything, but it’s sad. She was so young.”

  Another dude nodded. “Yeah, man. It could happen to anyone.”

  Could it?

  My heart pounded nearly up into my throat while fear and horror battled inside me. As if he could sense it, Greg turned toward me. “Do you want to share with the group?”

  “Not right now, thanks.”

  Like everyone else, I admitted to being sad, but I didn’t say how scared I was or how much nascent guilt was churning in my gut. That period seemed endless. Consequently I was glad as hell to get out of Blackbriar at quarter to three. The few students left trickled out of the front gate, and I was among the stragglers. Kian had been amazing the night before, though things were a mess between us. I felt bad about letting him stick around while I cried on his shoulder as my parents hovered, made tea, and said ridiculous things that were supposed to cheer me up.

  I was used to looking for him as I came out of school, and it was an incredible relief to find him waiting. His reaction when he spotted me was a beautiful combination of pleasure and yearning, quickly dimmed to a more neutral expression, as if he didn’t want me to know how happy he was. Yet he still crossed to me and enfolded me in his arms, not a perfunctory hug but a real one, and I held on tight, heedless of people trickling by.

  “Bad day?”

  “You could say that.” And it was about to get worse.

  I can’t do this to him anymore. In my head, there was a messy jumble of wariness, longing, and suspicion. It wasn’t fair to Kian and I couldn’t handle additional weight on my conscience. Already, my body felt like it was made of glass; the next blow would break me.

  In a rush, I blurted my doubts in a single breath. There was no way I could meet his eyes after that. I expected him to stiffen up and shove me away, but he waited until I finished. Then he lifted my chin gently.

  “I get it,” he said. “You have no way to be sure of me.”

  “Of whether you’re really Kian Riley, one of Wedderburn’s monsters in disguise, or if you’re really loyal—”

  He kissed me, quick as a blink. To Wedderburn. Too late, I understood why he couldn’t let me say that out loud.

  “Does that answer your question?”

  I pretended his kiss had assuaged most of my doubts, beaming up at him.

  He went on, “If you want to meet my aunt and uncle, we can do that this weekend. They still live in Pennsylvania, near Scranton. It’d be a long day trip, but doable. And I do have some things that will prove I’m Kian Riley, if that will help.”

  “Like what?” Maybe this couldn’t assure me that he wasn’t manipulating me for his boss, but it would help to know he wasn’t some immortal creature in handsome human skin.

  Definitely a step in the right direction.

  “Old yearbooks for one.”

  “They survived the fire at your place?”

  “I have a bunch of stuff from my old life in storage. I’m not sure if you noticed, but the cabin wasn’t very—”

  “Lived in?”

  “Exactly.” He continued, “I can’t prove everything to your satisfaction. Some things you have to take on faith. But … be with me, Edie, or cut me loose. I can’t take not knowing how you’ll treat me from day to day, especially when I’m so far out on the ledge.”

  “That’s fair,” I said softly. “Then can we swing by your storage unit? You know everything about me and I only get glimpses of the real you.”

  “We’ll go now, if you have time.”

  “Thanks.”

  I stretched up on my tiptoes and he met me halfway, kissing me with a heat and tenderness that stole my breath along with another chunk of my heart. Maybe it didn’t matter how smart I tried to be, how cautious; in the end, I couldn’t resist him. I wanted so bad for Kian to be the real deal; I didn’t know if it was the fact that he’d saved my life or changed it, and then there was that kiss … I’m afraid I’m falling in love with you. Though I didn’t say it aloud, something must’ve shown in my face because his gaze softened and he smoothed a hand through my hair.

  Nothing but shivers.

  “Come on, it looks like rain.”

  He drove to a storage place on Massachusetts Avenue, built of pale corrugated metal and accented in red. His stuff was upstairs in a long corridor outfitted with identical units. Kian unlocked one halfway down the hall and raised the blue door. Though it was small, no more than five by five, it was only half full. A sure stride carried him toward a box set apart from the others and he sat down, cross-legged, and opened it up.

  Unaccountably nervous, I sat down beside him. “What’s this?”

  “My school stuff.” He pulled out four yearbooks first and then a sheaf of certificates, a couple of small, dented trophies.

  I picked one up and read ACADEMIC BOWL CHAMPION. The other was for BEST ACTOR. “Interesting. I didn’t know you were into drama.” It was troubling to learn that he’d won an award in an area that
proved he had the skills to play me. Stop that. You’re here to find reasons to trust him, not doubt more.

  Kian touched the gold statuette, wearing a melancholy expression. “It wasn’t my first choice, but I needed to pad my college application; I can’t sing, and I hate team sports. At the time, I didn’t realize how little control over my future I had left. Wedderburn waited until I graduated to spring the news.”

  I imagined Kian applying to college, not realizing he’d lost his status as a catalyst and how he must’ve felt when he found out. “Is that standard?”

  He nodded. “They have no use for underage agents, too many questions from mortal authorities and irate families.”

  “That makes sense.” So I won’t know if I go off track and fail my purpose until I graduate. “And from their perspectives, a year or so doesn’t seem like long to wait.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Putting aside the trophies, I examined the dates on all the yearbooks and picked up the earliest one. “Freshman year?”

  He winced slightly and put his hand on the cover. “Edie—”

  “I don’t care, okay? I want to see who you were.”

  With a sigh, he pulled back and let me open the book. I flipped through the ninth graders, poring over awkward faces dotted with zits, braces still on, glasses not yet exchanged for contacts. Now and then I spotted the future beautiful people, not because they were already perfect, but they had fewer physical faults to overcome. It made my life easier that the class pictures were alphabetized, so I flipped to the Rs.

  There you are.

  The other Kian wasn’t heavy, as I half expected. Instead, he was thin to the point of gauntness with thick Coke-bottle lenses and terrible skin. The buzz cut didn’t help; neither did the weirdly patterned button-up shirt with the over-large collar. Looking at this picture, I’d never guess he came from money. He was dressed like he’d bought his clothing at a thrift store. But what really got to me was the dead, hopeless expression in his eyes.

  I am alone, that look said. And it will never get better.