Gifted (Awakening Book 2)

by Jacqueline Brown

  “What is it?” Luca asked as he knelt cautiously beside me.

  The emotion of a moment ago was gone. Now I felt only cold. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself—my hands so cold, they felt numb.

  My voice trembling, I asked, “Did you see that?”

  “What?” he asked, placing a comforting hand on my back.

  “The arm. Did you see the arm?”

  “No,” he said.

  But his tone held meaning. He was worried about me, his hand heavy on my back like he was trying to keep me near him.

  “There was an arm … and a fire. It was hot. I felt the heat.”

  “There’s no fire,” Luca said, eyes narrow with concern.

  He was right, of course. There was no fire, no arm. “How did I see something that wasn’t here?” I said, my voice quivering.

  His thumb moved against my back. The simple movement grounded me, returning me more fully to the present.

  “You’ve been through a lot,” he said. “And this place holds too many memories.” His hand fell from my back as he swirled around.

  The sudden change startled me. “What is it?”

  “It’s not quite as safe as I thought,” he said, pulling me to my feet. “We need to go.”

  He took my hand as I stumbled after him, tripping at the edge of the inn’s boundary. His grip was tight—he didn’t let me fall.

  The tide was coming in, forcing us to remain among the trees. He was walking fast, so I had to run every few steps to keep up with him. Once we reached the trail, his pace slowed a little.

  “I don’t feel it anymore,” he said, breathing heavily.

  “What was it?” I asked.

  Luca moved a branch out of the way for me. “An edge of evil, only for a second.”

  “Evil? From the inn?”

  “It must’ve been,” he said. “I thought it was gone. So did Aunt Sam, but it must … there must be a remnant. But no, that wasn’t a remnant,” he reasoned aloud, trying to understand what he’d felt.

  “Could it have been passing through, sort of a coincidence?” I asked, doubting my own speculation.

  Luca hesitated before speaking. “I felt a connection. A tie between the inn and the evil, so I don’t think it was passing through. Besides, I’m not sure it works that way. Everywhere I’ve felt evil, I’ve felt it connected to something or someone.”

  “Could it have been hiding?” I asked. “I mean, since you didn’t feel it before?”

  “I—I don—I’m not sure,” he answered, with no more understanding than I had.

  His lack of certainty concerned me. This edge of evil, as he called it, was not what he was used to feeling or experiencing. Something about it was different.

  Even with the moon lighting our way, the trail was dark—much darker than the beach had been. Though it was probably no later than six or seven, it felt like the middle of the night.

  Into the darkness, Luca said, “You said you saw an arm?”

  “I imagined it, like you said. That place creeps me out,” I said quickly, dismissing any possibility of having seen a thin arm dripping blood onto the hearth of a forgotten fireplace.

  “Are you sure?” he asked cautiously.

  “Yes, of course. That place is not exactly a neutral location for me. It would be almost impossible for me not to imagine some bizarre scene at every corner of the ruins,” I said, certain that was exactly what had happened.

  “You’re probably right,” he said, his teeth chattering.

  The night had gone from cool to cold in what felt like seconds. I walked faster, imagining the warmth we would soon experience as the lights of my house came into view.

  “It’s about time you two showed up,” Jason said from the shadows of the house.

  Jackson ran up to us, happy we were home.

  “Gemma and Sam were about to send us all out to search for you, and tonight is too cold to go searching for anybody,” Jason said, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat.

  “Sorry,” Luca said, “time got away from us.”

  “Uh-huh,” Jason uttered, unconvinced. “Do me a favor. The next time it gets away from you, make it during the summer, or at least during the day. Come on, Jackson.”

  We plodded toward the kitchen door while Jackson ran from one of us to another, with chunks of frozen snow clinging to his fur.

  Thirteen

  When I crawled into bed, my knees reminded me I’d slammed them against a mountainside. They’d feel better in the morning, but tonight they were grateful my day was done.

  Despite our arriving late, everyone had waited to eat with Luca and me. Everyone except my dad, who hadn’t eaten dinner or left his office all evening. Even now I wondered if he’d come up to bed or remain locked in his dungeon. That wasn’t my concern. I couldn’t fix him or force him to act more like a parent, a role he’d clearly abdicated to Gigi.

  My body was exhausted, but my mind was alert. I doubted I’d fall asleep. The memory of last night’s nightmare suddenly returning, I shuddered and removed my hand from the bedside lamp I was about to turn off. My head leaned against the whitewashed wood of the headboard.

  I was being childish, like a little kid afraid of the dark. I reached for the light and defiantly turned it off, then instantly wished I hadn’t. Instead of lying down, I sat, head propped upright on the headboard.

  Outside, a squirrel screeched, fallen prey to an owl. It was not a comforting sound—an innocent creature’s last cries. I shuddered, pulling the blankets up to my shoulders. The house was silent. Aside from my dad, I’d been the last to go to bed. I had schoolwork I needed to finish, and I wanted to take a bath instead of a shower to soak my knees. The room next to mine contained a clawfoot tub that I used from time to time. When I emerged from the bath, all the other lights were out.

  The memory of demons continued to play in my mind, made worse by the dark. I sat up and pulled open the drawer of my nightstand. I fumbled around until my fingers felt the soothing beads. I removed a rosary, one of the many I owned. I lovingly held the crucifix, then carefully wrapped the beads around my hand. I clutched the crucifix tight in my right hand … the memory of demons faded into the past. They became nothing more than the dream they’d been. I scrunched down into a lying position, my head resting gently on the down pillow. Peace came over me. Sleep followed.

  In the stillness of the night, I heard my name spoken loud and clear, as if the speaker was standing beside me. My eyes opened abruptly, my body jerking awake. My room was dark, but my eyes, already adjusted to the darkness, told me I was alone. No one spoke my name. I lay back down. It must have been a dream—a vivid one, but still a dream. I closed my eyes and was soon asleep.

  Again my name was called, but this time I did not wake. There was no way I woke up because beside me stood Thomas. Not the boy I saw jump from the cliff, but the boy I’d known all my life. A moment later he was gone. I opened my eyes. He was not there. He had not been … that was impossible.

  ***

  Today would be better.

  This was the first conscious thought I had on Friday morning. My dreams of the last two nights had been strange, but why wouldn’t they be? My life was strange; that’s how it went. Today would go fast; I had plenty to keep me busy and then tonight I would go to dinner with Luca. I slid the cuffs of the flannel pajama pants I was wearing up past my knees. My right knee was bright purple. The left was a tad sore when I touched it. My right knee hit the ground first, taking the brunt of my weight. I swung my legs to the side of the bed, wincing a little as I stood. The pain didn’t bother me. In some ways it was an escape from memories and dreams.

  I’d heard my name so clearly, it had woken me from sleep. Yet, it was impossible. Thomas calling out to me was impossible. It was a dream, nothing more. But my name … my name was so clear. It didn’t sound like it was coming from inside my head. It sounded like it was coming from outside, like Thomas was there, not imagined. His image was not clear—it was hazy at
best—but his voice … there was no mistaking his voice.

  “It was a dream, nothing more than a dream,” I mumbled to myself on my way to the bathroom.

  I squinted at my reflection in the mirror, the light so bright. I touched my hair. It was knotted and matted. “How did that happen?” I asked my reflection.

  I took a brush from the drawer and began the tedious process of brushing out the knots. After a few minutes, my hair was back to normal and I was dressed.

  I went downstairs, my right knee reminding me to think of it, not of dreams.

  “You’re just in time,” Gigi said. “I was about to put everything away. Would you like some bacon and eggs?”

  “You don’t need to cook for me,” I said, opening the refrigerator for some orange juice.

  “I would like to. Luca ate almost a whole pack of bacon by himself, so I opened a second pack and I’d rather not save an open pack.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said.

  “Scrambled eggs?” she asked.

  “Yes, please.” I took my orange juice to the table where my sisters sat, finishing their meals.

  “Has Luca gone to work?” I asked, sipping the orange juice.

  “Of course he has,” Lisieux said. “It’s almost nine.”

  “Is Dad gone too?” I ignored my sister’s unspoken complaint at my sleeping later than her.

  “Everyone who leaves, has left,” Lisieux said, rising from the table with her empty plate.

  “Luca told Dad he asked you out,” Avi said, nibbling her eggs.

  I paused mid-drink of orange juice. It obviously wasn’t a secret, plus there would be no way to keep it a secret even if we tried, but I hadn’t thought of him as having asked me out, just that we were going to dinner.

  “What did he say?” I asked, curious how he’d worded it.

  Gigi spoke first. “He was a true old-fashioned gentleman. He very respectfully asked your father if it was okay if he took you to dinner tonight, and apologized for not asking his permission first.”

  “What did Dad say?” I asked.

  “He choked on his coffee,” Avi said with a giggle.

  “He gave it some thought and his blessing,” Gigi added. She handed me a plate with a few pieces of bacon and some scrambled eggs.

  “I guess it’s a date, then,” I said, taking my fork in hand.

  “You guess?” Lisieux said, irritated. “How do you keep not realizing when you’re asked out on dates? Can you please assume, from this point forward, that if a boy asks you to go to dinner or on a picnic or anywhere else, it’s a date! It might save us some trouble.”

  “Lisieux,” Gigi said in an admonishing tone.

  “I’m sick of her not knowing or pretending, or whatever it is, and then boys falling in love with her and then—.” Her voice cut off, her expression glaring. She placed her plate loudly in the sink and stomped upstairs.

  I sat motionless, watching the steam rise from the eggs. “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like I was going to cry. “I didn’t mean to ….”

  “Oh, that girl!” Gigi said in exasperation. “You did nothing wrong. Eat your food and ignore your sister.”

  “She’s jealous,” Avi said. “She wishes Luca asked her out instead of you.”

  I forced a forkful of scrambled eggs to my lips. I didn’t believe Avi. Lisieux was not that way. She was not jealous of others. She liked her life as it was, or how it had been.

  “She’s not wrong,” I said, staring at the stairs my sister had taken to flee from my presence.

  “This is what evil wants,” Gigi said. “It wants to divide us, to turn us against each other. Thomas’s death is a tragedy, but it’s not your fault and neither are the repercussions.”

  Staring blankly, I said, “I heard him call out to me—in my dream last night, I heard him calling my name.”

  Gigi took a towel from the side of the sink and dried her hands. I could feel Avi watching us, but she didn’t speak.

  “If he came to you in a dream, you must pray for him,” Gigi said decisively.

  “I do pray for him,” I said.

  “Pray harder.”

  “That’s all?” Avi said. “A dead boy comes to her, and you tell her to pray for him.”

  “What more should I say?” Gigi asked. “If it was actually Thomas, with some request or message, that means he’s not eternally damned, and so prayers will assist him. If it was a dream, prayers will certainly not hurt him. So yes, she must pray. What else could she possibly do for him?”

  I said, “You make it sound so ordinary.”

  “It was, once,” Gigi said. “Only in our modern world is there such a separation between the living and the dead. It used to be common for the deceased to appear to their loved ones, and everyone knew that meant they were asking for prayers or forgiveness or something similar. But now, in our world where so few pray, few appear—what good would it do? If Thomas came to you, pray for him. If he did not … pray for him.”

  “I will keep praying,” I said, recognizing the truth in her words.

  “Then you’ve helped him,” she stated. “Avila, let’s go upstairs and work in your room. My back is hurting this morning. I’d like to sit in the chair in your room.”

  Avi quickly gathered her schoolbooks. “I’m sorry your back is hurting,” she said with sincere concern for our grandmother.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. Nothing a comfortable chair won’t fix.”

  After they left, only Jackson remained, asleep at my feet. I closed my eyes and thought of Thomas, of the boy he’d been. Of my dream. I felt hope: hope that he had not been lost, hope that Gigi was right that he was asking for prayers—that he was not beyond their reach.

  Fourteen

  I sat at my desk, my computer screen bright with the literature report I had mostly completed. Despite how the day began, it had been productive. At my request, Avi kindly brought a sandwich to my room for lunch. I told her I needed to get schoolwork done, which was true. I didn’t tell her I was anxious about my date. She was always happy to have a job to do, especially one that was easy and still came with praise.

  It was a little over four hours ago when Avi had come and taken away my empty plate. Now I was tapping my pen on the notebook as I stared past my computer screen to the window beyond, hoping any minute Luca would appear from the trail. I was already in the green sweaterdress and dark leggings I’d selected to wear tonight.

  I clicked my phone: 4:03. He wouldn’t be here yet. He usually didn’t arrive home until four thirty at the earliest. I tried to convince myself to go back to working on the report, but my attention stayed at the edge of the forest. A second later, at least twenty minutes earlier than he’d ever been home before, he burst through the woods. He slowed to a brisk walking pace when he entered our yard. I bit my lip to keep from smiling too hard and quickly ducked out of the window’s view. He’d been running! He was as excited about tonight as I was. I felt giddy as I went toward my bathroom to finish getting ready.

  There was a knock at my door. I went to it in surprise.

  “Come in,” I said, breathlessly wondering how Luca got up here so quickly.

  “Got a minute?” Dad asked from the doorway.

  My excitement fell. I didn’t want to be around my dad, especially not now, when Luca and I were about to escape this place—even if for a short time.

  “I guess,” I said, instantly feeling bad for how clear it must be that I didn’t want him here.

  He came in and shut the door. As he did, I heard Luca’s heavy steps on the stairs. He would shower and then be ready. As much as I looked forward to being alone with Luca, I was even more excited to be out of the house. Before Thomas’s death, it felt like my choice to be here—it felt safe. Now it felt like a punishment. I wanted a break from this place. I wanted to go on my first real date. I wanted my dad out of my room so all of those things could happen.

  “How are you?” he asked, with seemingly no awareness of what was going on.

&n
bsp; “Fine,” I said.

  “We haven’t talked since yesterday. I wanted to check in.”

  No, he had no idea I was about to go out with Luca. How was that possible? Luca asked him this morning.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? Our conversation yesterday was a lot … a lot to take in.”

  “Completely sure,” I said, tapping my phone to glimpse the time. Luca took fast showers. He’d be knocking on my door any second.

  “You look nice,” Dad said, starting to realize something about tonight was different.

  I straightened my dress. “Luca and I are going to dinner.”

  He stared, puzzled.

  “He asked you this morning,” I said.

  His expression shifted slightly. “Yes, of course,” he said, though he appeared no less confused.

  “Don’t you remember?” How could he forget something like that? The first time a boy asked his permission to take his daughter out. That was one of those moments a dad should remember. At least for a few hours.

  He rocked on his toes. “Of course I remember. It was a long day. I forgot for a second, that’s all.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed him, but it didn’t matter. I needed to freshen my makeup and brush my hair. I wasn’t going to be late, not tonight. To my frustration, Dad didn’t leave. Instead, he sat on my desk chair and watched as I applied another layer of mascara to my otherwise invisible lashes.

  “Luca will be here in a minute,” I said. “You don’t need to watch me.”

  He turned the swivel chair and pretended, as I’d done earlier, to look at the schoolwork sprawled across my desk.

  “How’s school going?” he asked.

  He rarely asked about school. It was Gigi I went to if I had a question. She was oddly well-versed in most subjects. Only in chemistry did I have to ask for help from the online teachers.