Roam (Roam Series, Book One)

by Kimberly Adams

  Why is he closing the window instead of getting me help?

  The burning and stinging intensified. My head swam with pain. I was going to faint, I knew it. The tunnel in my eyes and ringing in my ears had already started.

  I welcomed the escape and slipped into nothingness.

  “…Roam.”

  Jolted, I opened my eyes, realizing that I was propped against something on the floor. I blinked, focusing.

  Arms surrounded me, comforting… soothing.

  My name again, spoken against my hair. “Roam, hang in there, I’ll explain everything, just hang in there, please don’t scream…”

  He was whispering. Realization struck. I am sitting on his lap like a child!

  I tried to climb to my feet, but weakness kept me slouched against him. “Shh… don’t try to move yet. Trust me, just trust me.”

  I whimpered… I couldn’t help it. I had no idea what was happening other than my arm felt like it had been a prop in one of the Saw movies. I began to cry, and then really sobbed, mortified and unable to control myself. The pain, the confusion, everything was too overwhelming. My good senses pummeled my mind with tiny fists.

  Move away from him…

  Ignoring my rational mind, I curled more fully into his arms. Something was so familiar about him holding me, comforting me. Was it the fabric softener smell of my mother? I gave up the fight with my principles, gripping the base of his un-tucked shirt and balling the material into my left fist again and again. The effect was like pulling the leaves off the tree in Logan’s backyard… blissfully relieving.

  Slowly, my sobbing became an occasional, rapid gasp. His fingers traced my hairline, pressing softly at my temple before moving again.

  Finally, I found my voice. “What is… happening?” I whispered, unable to relay the full onslaught of confusion that filled my head. “Mr. Perry, this is really… inappropriate,” I murmured, trying again to move out of his consoling arms.

  He tightened his grip, shaking his head against my hair. “Before I tell you, I need you to call me West. We’re going to have to leave the teacher-student relationship in the classroom. This happened fast… I didn’t plan it like this,” he murmured, and the feeling of his lips against my hair sent a surge of both fear and wanting simultaneously coursing through my body. Disgusted with myself, I moved my head away and turned to face him.

  “I don’t… I don’t understand,” I managed, eyes narrowed, finally remembering to look down at my arm. The pain was completely gone, but something marked the base of my wrist. I tried to wipe at the spot with my left hand, but it remained. I moved my wrist closer to my face, eyes widening.

  A series of numbers tattooed the inside of my arm.

  Another scream boiled in fear ripped from my throat. Before I had time to get louder, his hand clamped over my mouth.

  “You have to stop screaming. I can’t stand to hear you scream. Like I said, I will explain, but I can’t from jail, which is where I will be if you keep screaming and draw someone in here.”

  The feeling of his hand over my mouth increased my panic as I tried to process his words. Am I being kidnapped? I nodded slightly against his palm. He let go of my mouth, and I jumped to my feet before he could catch me.

  “What did you do to me?” I demanded, eyes scanning the stifling hot room for a weapon. He was a giant compared to my height and weight, but with the right weapon I could defend myself. I spotted a fire extinguisher on the wall to my right and dashed for it. He barely moved, catching me around the waist and lifting me into the air, pinning me against him.

  “Well, this is new. A fighter?” He chuckled softly, and his words sent shivers to my core. I’m going to die. I can’t let him take me. I’m going to be in a well somewhere, having my food lowered to me in a basket. I bucked backwards, slamming my head into his sternum. The effect was disappointedly minimal. “You’re going to knock yourself out. Jesus Christ. I can’t believe no one has taught you self-defense. You’re a beautiful, seventeen-year-old girl.”

  He sounded genuinely angry, and I stopped struggling. “What just happened? Please tell me what is going on. Please let me go… Mr. Perry, please-”

  He spun me around quickly. I would have lost my footing had he not been supporting my weight. “West. Not Mr. Perry. I’ll tell you why if you calm down and listen.”

  “I’m listening,” I exhaled shakily, my eyes wide with panic. He stared down at me, searching my gaze, firmly gripping my upper arms.

  “You are so young. And your eyes are still… that green,” he murmured, intently examining my face.

  I concluded that the insane person in the situation was not me. “Okay… West,” I tried, placating, easing out of his grasp.

  “So ignorant, so young,” he repeated, as if considering how to begin. He ran his hand through his hair, something I’d seen him do several times in frustration.

  I raised my eyebrows haughtily. “I know nothing except the fact of my ignorance,” I replied.

  Obviously taken aback, he regarded me with amusement.

  “Socrates?” he asked. I nodded once and stepped back, lowering to sit against the box on the ground. I felt my book bag behind me, fishing inside the open front pocket to feel for my phone.

  “Yes. Nice job.” I slid the phone to unlock without looking, touching the dial option from memory. “Now, please begin, before I hit call.” I dialed nine-one-one without looking, and then flashed him my phone from behind my back.

  He shook his head. “Banter and witty chitchat…” he edged, moving too quickly for me to dart away as he grabbed my phone, “only give your enemy time to get ahead of you. And Roam…” he chided, holding the power button down, “I am not your enemy.”

  Bested, I finally glowered at him. “Then who… are you?”

  He took a step forward, and I stayed bravely where I was. “I’m someone you’ve known throughout six lifetimes. I’ve found you each time you were born again and explained this to you six times in the past. This time marks the seventh.”

  I stared at him blankly.

  He sighed, edging toward me carefully. “In the past, you’ve dealt better with me just being factual and giving you the whole story bluntly. I found you earlier this time and planned to ease you into the information. But, after today, that’s out of the question.”

  I tried to take in his words. “Are you trying to tell me that we are… reincarnated? And that we have been together throughout time?”

  He is certifiable. It was time to search for another weapon.

  “Your dream last night was a memory. The year was 1977. And you smelled marijuana. You’re going to start dreaming about our lives together… it’s a natural effect of us meeting.”

  My heartbeat quickened. It was marijuana.

  How can he know that?

  “I need to see the numbers on your arm. Please,” he added, cajoling, holding his arm out to me.

  I considered him for a moment before finally holding out my arm. I’d read too many books and seen too many movies to not comply with my abductor’s simple requests. I still wasn’t sure that I was being abducted.

  He looked at my arm. Through his touch, I could feel his entire body tense as he read the numbers. Cursing under his breath, he dropped my arm and pushed the right sleeve of his blue shirt up to his elbow.

  The exact same numbers were tattooed on his own arm.

  “What? What is that? Why do you have the same numbers on your arm?” I felt the self-control abandoning my voice.

  I could see the panic in his expression. In the distance, the bell rang from the school, indicating that third period was over. “Shit,” he growled, shoving his sleeve back down. He bent over and reached for my sweatshirt. “Baby, put this back on. You can’t let anyone see those numbers.”

  “Please don’t… call me that,” I tried, my entire body tensing as I grabbed the sweatshirt. Hastily, I pulled it over my head and freed my braid, overheated immediately.

  “We’re going to
go through the motions for the rest of this day. After school, meet me in my classroom. I know a place we can discuss everything safely.”

  I narrowed my eyes, a surge of terror taking over my vocal cords. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, of all people… but I’m really, really scared right now. Of everything that is happening. Of you.” My voice broke, and I took a deep breath to calm myself. “I don’t think that I want to meet you alone.”

  He bent and snatched the key from the floor. On his way up, his hand slid around my back, shoving between my t-shirt and sweatshirt.

  His fingers pressed firmly against my right shoulder blade as he tugged me up and against him.

  I gasped, his touch sending an unexpected sense of wanting coursing through me.

  Need. Requirement.

  I was overheated, and the blood was still rushing in my ears.

  He gazed down at me. “You have a reddish-brown birthmark right here, shaped like a cross. Right?”

  I nodded furiously. He was so close, and I could feel his breath on my face. I was losing control and failing to keep it together. Too much was happening, too fast.

  “You received this scar in 1533, Roam. You were being tortured.”

  I tried to remember to breathe. Visions of the awful means of torture that I’d studied during that period in England ran through my mind.

  “What?”

  He pressed harder against my shoulder blade, exactly where I knew the birthmark was. “I couldn’t save you. That is why I can’t bear… to hear you scream.”

  I was locked in his eyes.

  Could this be possible? The tattoo on my arm physically appeared out of thin air. There has to be some explanation, either supernatural or otherwise. He knew the smell in my dream. He knows about my birthmark…

  Shaped like a cross.

  “I’ll meet you after school,” I whispered.

  He nodded firmly, agreeing. “Thank you. Don’t leave the school without me, Roam. Promise me.”

  “I promise,” I hushed, defeated. “And… I want my phone.”

  He let my words register for a moment before he nodded and retrieved the device from his pocket.

  I snatched my phone from him, swept my backpack over my shoulder, and ran back to the school as fast as I could.

  Chapter Five

  I was a mess. Thankfully, I hadn’t had enough time to apply makeup that morning. After all the crying that I had done, my mascara would have been dripping down to my ankles.

  People stared as I walked through the hallway. Slipping into the bathroom, a glance in the mirror told me that they had every right to be entertained by my appearance. My eyes were red, and my lips were swollen to twice their normal size from crying, a ridiculous curse that I’d been born with.

  Lunch period was just beginning, and Logan was waiting for me. I bent over the sink, turning the cold water on blast to cup my hands and splash my face. The water felt good; I broke my cardinal rule of filtered or bottled water only and gulped. My throat was on fire from screaming.

  I can’t bear to hear you scream.

  Shuddering, I shut the faucet off and reached for a paper towel. Water ran down my wrist and under my sweatshirt. Hesitantly, I pulled the right cuff of my sweatshirt aside.

  The numbers were still there.

  41.7724 -81.049576

  “So, then Ms. Gardener was like, ‘Mr. Perry, my doorknob is just stuck,’ and Mr. Perry goes across the hallway to work on her doorknob!” Giggling erupted and echoed in the bathroom. Two girls that I recognized as juniors entered the bathroom, stopping abruptly when they saw me.

  I grabbed my backpack and ignored them, running to the door. Heading for Logan’s locker, I could see from across the hall that he wasn’t there. He probably walked to the cafeteria without me. I had no intention of going to the crowded cafeteria looking like I did. Instead, I wandered the halls for a while, waiting for my face to look relatively normal again.

  My mind was racing. Mr. Perry… West… had suggested he’d been alive for over six hundred years.

  So then that makes him… immortal?

  What?

  Immortal? What is immortal other than a vampire? The question was not something I’d ever bothered to Google. I stopped roving through the halls and headed for the computer lab in the English wing. A freshman teacher was facilitating the lab, and I found an empty station and sat down.

  With less than twenty minutes of lunch left, I jumped right to Google and typed “Immortality.” Wikipedia was the first result. I scanned the page, my eyes pausing over phrases like “immunity to death” and “promise from God.” The JPEG on the right of the page drew my attention.

  The Fountain of Life in Cleveland, Ohio.

  Logan and I had stopped next to that fountain on our way from the Indian’s game. I had never really looked at the statue or read any information about it. The caption stated that the fountain symbolized “Man rising above death, reaching upward to God and toward Peace.”

  Was “naked guy on fire” supposedly immortal? I followed the Wikipedia link into another browser window, reading the entry. The centerpiece is a bronze figure representing man escaping from the flames of war and reaching skyward for eternal peace.

  Sighing, I closed the window. I was getting distracted, which was not unusual when I conducted any type of research. I opened Google again. Sliding the sleeve of my sweatshirt up to my elbow, I copied the numbers into the search field carefully.

  As I did, I noticed the dash before the number 8, and cold realization washed over me.

  These are coordinates.

  I clicked on Google Maps, retyping the numbers with the dash and decimal points, breaking into a sweat.

  Madison, Ohio.

  “Please find a good place to stop your research, students. The bell will be ringing in five minutes,” the lab monitor announced, her eyes never leaving the computer screen in front of her. I glanced around; the only research that the other two people in the lab were conducting was on Facebook.

  Shuddering, I stared at my arm. Coordinates? Of my own city? I felt the familiar ringing in my ears, and immediately bent over in my chair and put my head between my knees. Logan was right; I was worse than those fainting goats.

  How was I going to explain a tattoo? Geographical coordinates… maybe I could pass it off as a meaningful but trendy fashion statement, like Angelina Jolie. Teenage girls did crazy stuff, right? Dad may go with this theory.

  After I felt more centered, I gathered my backpack as the bell rang. Suddenly remembering that Mr. Perry had shut my phone down, I dug for it and powered it back to life. When it turned back on, I had four text messages waiting. Three were from Logan, and one was from a number that I didn’t know. I read through Logan’s first.

  Rush: At my locker- where are you?

  Rush: Going to cafeteria to look for you

  Rush: Worried- where are you??

  I touched the other number that I didn’t recognize. As I read the text, I realized who it’d come from.

  Roam, do not show Logan the numbers. See you at 2:45.

  I widened my eyes, my stomach churning with anxiety. Now he had my phone number, and he knew who Logan was? I ground my teeth and hastily texted Logan back.

  Me: I’m fine. Needed the computer lab. Sorry my phone was off. See you soon.

  His reply was almost instant.

  Rush: I have to leave early for the recruiter appointment. See you about 6? ILY

  I typed with one thumb as I rushed to Physics class.

  Me: Yes ILY2

  My final three classes of the day were all advanced placement. I might as well have slept through Physics, Literature, and French; my mind was so far from the topic that I was surprised the teachers didn’t call on me at least once, trying to catch me off guard. Maybe they took one look at me and decided I’m having a terrible day?

  When French ended, I ambled through the halls, knowing there was no need to rush for the school bus. I stopped at my locker t
o decide what books I’d need for homework. Finally, I piled all the books and folders on the shelves and slammed the door, leaving my bag empty. I had no intention of doing any of it that night.

  When the halls cleared, I walked up the stairs to the second floor. The custodian was already mopping. She’s probably eager to end the day and go enjoy the summer weather. When I entered the history classroom, I saw him right away. He was sitting at his desk and staring intently at his laptop. The air was cool and refreshing.

  Sixty-eight degrees, I thought sarcastically.

  He looked up. When he saw me, he slapped his laptop shut, sliding his chair back and standing all at the same time. “Roam, come in, I just need to pack this up and I’ll be ready to go,” he said, already jamming his laptop into a brown, leather bag. “Do you feel okay? How’s your arm?”

  I stared at him. He was right; all day I had been ‘going through the motions’ until then, and suddenly, I began to comprehend the extraordinary situation that found me standing in his classroom.

  “No, I don’t feel okay. I feel like I’m going crazy. Which is pretty much how I’ve felt since I met you.”

  He slung his bag over his shoulder, walking to me. I lifted my eyes, wondering if he could see how helpless I felt. “You’re doing fine, and you’re not crazy,” he promised, brushing past me and turning off the light switch.

  His voice was hypnotic. I nodded, strangely grateful.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, following him.

  “You’re going to the library across the parking lot. I’m going to pick you up there. I have no intention of destroying your ‘unscathed reputation.’”

  I smirked and looked down, disappointed in myself for being amused. “Thanks for that,” I murmured.

  He turned back to me. “Five minutes.”

  I nodded, heading for the back stairway. The public library was located next to the high school, so a walk across the hazy parking lot took less than five minutes. I waited near a parked car in the back of the library, watching vehicles circle the lot. A black Honda Pilot pulled in, and I knew instinctively it was him.