Since none of those events had occurred, I agreed that it was impossible. “I was wearing a peach nighty. It was silky. You kissed me, and then my stomach… and I touched your hair.” I added the last detail hurriedly, just in case it had any significance.
He smirked. “You did?”
I ignored his grin. “I saw my numbers. They were moving around… swirling.”
His eyebrows snapped together. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“And… you kissed my arm, over the numbers… and they were kind of twirling around on your mouth. I can’t explain it right. It was weird. Like they were animated.”
He listened intently. “This is important.” He moved to his laptop, typing something while standing at the desk.
“What does it mean?” I asked, pushing my sleeve up to check the numbers on my arm again. They were the same. Motionless.
“Lower your sleeve.”
I jumped at his order. He stood right next to me, tugging on my sleeve.
“I… was just looking…”
“I want you to start wearing a bandage on your arm. We’ll make up an injury.”
“But what does this mean?” I asked again, ignoring his overprotectiveness. He looked at the doorway, smiling and offering a little wave. The custodian returned his gesture. I rolled my eyes, guessing that Mr. Perry was the subject of her dreams as well.
“It means that you found what we’re looking for. The swirling, the movement. It’s a break in your subconscious. An indicator.”
Chapter Ten
“The numbers? That’s what we’re looking for?” I leaned against an empty desk, crossing my legs. He narrowed his eyes.
“Stand up,” he commanded. I obliged, looking up at him in confusion. “Now, put your arms flat at your sides.”
I narrowed my eyes and did as he instructed, my fingertips touching just below the hem of my skirt. “Why?”
“You always ask why,” he murmured, and I caught a slight undertone of irritation. Focused on my legs, he shook his head. “Your skirt is too short. Don’t wear it again.”
I clenched my jaw, beyond infuriated. With a quick tug, I adjusted my skirt to come down just past my fingertips. “Better, Mr. Perry?” I snipped, my voice thick with sarcasm.
“Knock it off,” he retorted, turning back to his computer. “Like I said, I have to protect you. Two men are searching for you, and they are strong. Since I can’t be with you twenty-four hours a day, I need you to be able to protect yourself. For starters, don’t dress like bait. Don’t stand out.”
His fervent words quickened my heartbeat. I nodded, fear gripping my chest. “I understand. I’m sorry,” I added softly.
He ignored my apology. “Tomorrow, I will start teaching you to fight. Not just self-defense, that’s not enough. We’re not talking about an over-zealous boyfriend. The Alters want to kill you, Roam.”
I trembled, balling the ends of my sleeves into my hands. “Kill me,” I repeated in a whisper. Memories of the pain in my arm, like the repeated sting of the yellow jacket, filled my mind. Horrible images of torture forced me to break into a sweat. “And my family? Logan?”’
“Breathe,” he ordered, staring at the dry-erase board without looking my way. I counted again, focusing on my inhalation. “They already have the upper hand if you can’t breathe, Roam.” He walked to the board, erasing a panel and opening a black marker.
“Okay,” I managed, fighting off the impending fainting spell.
He glanced my way, and his expression moved from frustration to compassion. “The numbers are the answer. Based on what I’ve learned, I believe that a door opens up the moment you’re born.” He began writing numbers on the board and then stood back to look at them. Running his fingers through his dark blond hair, he sighed and then removed his tie.
“I want to know the locations to go with the years,” I remembered. “Please text them to me, okay?”
He ignored me again. “The numbers are a location, but we know what they represent. Could they have a double meaning?”
I wanted to snap at him for continually ignoring my questions, but an idea suddenly occurred to me. “Do you think maybe the numbers are swirling because… the answer is in the order?”
He dropped his tie to his desk, his hand stopping in midair. Turning to me, his eyes widened. “Roam, you are brilliant.”
“I think so.”
Both West and I turned abruptly to the doorway. Logan’s voice startled us both.
“Logan,” I managed, glancing quickly at West.
“Anyone who gets to choose between Princeton and Yale is pretty smart.” His words were flattering, but I detected suspicion in his tone. “What are we researching here?”
West didn’t miss a beat. “Quantum mechanics. I suggested that history could be changed with time travel, but Roam feels that the lasting effects would alter the present too much.”
“Like Stephen King’s book,” Logan added, nodding my way with a grin. “Roam read that book in two days. Eight hundred and fifty pages,” he teased, walking to me and tucking his arm around my waist.
“Eight hundred and forty-nine,” I corrected, reaching for my backpack. “We were just finishing up here, anyway. I have homework,” I reminded West, sending him a pointed look.
“Have a nice night, Roam. Logan, right? I hear you’re quite the star on the varsity baseball team,” West commented. “I played baseball in high school. What’s your average?”
“Two ninety-eight,” Logan admitted proudly. They began discussing baseball, and within minutes Logan was relaxed and laughing.
West was thoroughly intent on engaging Logan, and I watched my teacher from the corner of my eye. He is so charming… when he isn’t bossy, I thought. With the two of them so close, I couldn’t help but compare. Logan was boyishly handsome, his dark hair and brown eyes always playful.
Looking at West, I realized there was nothing boyish about him… until he smiled. He stood at least four inches over Logan. His chest and arms were broad and muscular, his physical strength obvious even through his shirt. Those eyes, always stealing glances my way, were bottomless blue and told me what he was thinking long before he formed a sentence. I remembered the texture of his hair from my dream.
Taking a deep breath, I turned and stared purposefully out the window.
Stop. Thinking.
West and Logan shook hands before we headed for the door.
I glanced back at West, but he was already in front of his laptop. I decided that I would just call him later. Logan led me toward the doors to the parking lot in silence. Once we were in the car, I buckled my seatbelt and turned to him.
“You waited for me?” I asked, softening my tone.
“I texted you back, but I didn’t hear from you.” He was guarded, and I pulled my phone out of my backpack, realizing that he was right.
Rush: I’m sorry. I love you too. I’m waiting for you at my car.
“Oh,” I murmured, resting my head on his shoulder. He turned, kissing the crown of my head.
“I know you’re afraid. You lost your mom, and you have always felt like you could have stopped her from dying. You’re trying to do that for me, now. I get that.”
I listened to his psychoanalysis with my eyes closed. Comforted by the smell of the cologne that I had bought for him for Christmas, I wondered how he knew me so well, yet I sometimes felt like I couldn’t read him at all.
“I’m sorry for asking you to marry me. I do want you to be my wife someday, though… just to clarify.”
Warmed from head to toe, I kissed his cheek. “My answer… someday… will be yes.”
He grinned. “So, do you need any help with your homework?”
I gave him a dubious look, and he smirked. “Seriously?”
He laughed, and I rolled my eyes. “No, but you can help me with mine if you want,” he teased.
We spent the evening working on homework in my kitchen. My dad and Morgan returned from a day of car shopping, and M
organ was the proud owner of a new Malibu.
“I’m in debt forever, but oh well,” Morgan sighed, opening the pizza box they’d brought home with them. “What do you think of the color? I really liked the red,” she added, gesturing to the driveway where her new car was parked. “And so did my… boyfriend!” she squealed, and I turned to her excitedly.
“Tell me about him,” I ordered, hugging her to me. I was truly happy for her. She’d broken up with her high school boyfriend two years before when they both went their separate ways for college. She’d been devastated, vowing to focus on school and nothing else which, for Morgan, was very intense. Her caramel eyes, so like my mother’s, lit with happiness.
Morgan compared her new boyfriend Reed to a Greek god. She had the tendency to be melodramatic, but this time she was absolutely gushing. “I have pictures! Hold on,” she cried, flipping through her photos on her phone for a second before handing it to me.
The man smiling in the photo forced my hands together, and I twisted them anxiously at my waist.
Reed was attractive; there was no denying that his dark hair, light blue eyes, square jaw, or dazzling smile were anything less than striking. Something about him made me uncomfortable, and I finally raised my eyes to Morgan. “He’s cute… a little old for you, though?” I suggested.
She shrugged. “Whatever. He’s older, and I like it,” she admitted wickedly. Logan made a gagging sound, and she stuck her tongue out at him.
He’s nothing compared to West, I thought.
I had no idea where that thought had come from. I immediately felt guilty as Logan glanced over my shoulder.
“He looks shady. Mr. Camden, have we done a background on this guy yet?”
“Lo-gan!” Morgan whined, elbowing him playfully.
The kitchen was alive with laughter, and I was surrounded by the people that I loved the most. The events of the last few days moved to the back of my mind, and I snuggled closer to Logan, kissing his cheek.
“Thank you for this. Tonight. I needed this. I needed… you.”
He raised his brows, the golden flecks in his brown eyes catching in the pendant lighting over the kitchen counter. His fingers threaded through mine.
That night, I lay in bed, staring at the designs in the paint on my drywall ceiling. I wished Logan was next to me. Afraid to fall asleep, I checked my phone.
No messages from West.
Maybe he knew I needed a break. I slipped my glasses off, placing them on the nightstand with my phone. I thought about the two dreams that I’d had. In both dreams, I was blond. Is this the first time… the first life… that I have dark hair?
I needed to ask West.
In the first dream, in 1977, he seemed different. The drugs, the motel room, everything about the dream was seedy, the opposite of my dream from 1955. In that dream, I was warm, and comfortable…
And loved.
My phone lit up and chimed. I reached for the device, noticing that it was almost eleven o’clock.
It was him.
West: 1412… France
1533… England
1790… Spain
1912… Algeria
1955… Romania
1977… Nigeria.
Locations. I read them, struggling to swallow. Another text came through.
West: These were the places that I met you. 1412 and 1533 I don’t know where you were born, only where I found you. Try to sleep tonight, Roam. We’ll start training tomorrow.
Training? I envisioned myself kickboxing, doing standing back flips over my enemies only to deliver a slow-motion head kick.
I turned over, praying for a dreamless sleep.
“Hold her.”
I arrive at consciousness, struggling with my hands behind my back. Someone holds me fiercely, and the pain in my twisted arms is excruciating.
Panic seizes me. I am in a dream, and it is bad. It is all bad. I take in my surroundings; a wooded area, surrounded on four sides by trees. Confused, I look past the man standing in front of me. Directly behind him there is a mirror, a giant mirrored wall just sitting in the middle of the forest. Again, the surface is wavy, as if it’s made of water, not glass. I struggle to see myself.
I wear some type of brown shift. My auburn hair is long and very dirty. I feel damp, as though I have been submerged in water. In the mirror, my stomach is protruding forward, and I look down, unable to see my feet.
I am very pregnant.
The man before me speaks. “Where is he now, mademoiselle?” His voice is clear. He speaks English, but I detect a French accent.
“Who?” I breathe. The man in front of me laughs. He is tall, at least as tall as West. He has shoulder-length, brown hair, pulled in greasy, ragged strands over his bearded face. He wears some type of smock with tights. I am frantic to identify the time period. 1412 France, I remember, my eyes darting to the mirror again. I cannot see who is holding me from behind.
In my reflection, I see something that I think is smoke rising from behind me. Am I on fire? After a moment I realize that is not the case; the smoke separates and I see that it is not smoke at all, but rather… the numbers. The numbers have floated off my pinned arm behind me and into the air.
“Votre héros?” he sneers. I squeeze my eyes closed, remembering my French.
Your hero.
The numbers have risen above our heads. It appears that I am the only one who can see them. They swirl about again before disappearing all together.
“Are you Troy?” I ask. My voice is thick with a French accent, but I speak English. He appears amused.
“Your hero has taught you well.”
I shiver. He frightens me on a level that I have never known. He is familiar, though I cannot see his face clearly through his hair. I know that I have seen him before. Terror grips me. “Who is holding me?” I demand.
“Ah, yes. Who is holding you, Roam?”
He says my name as we walks closer to me. My name can’t be Roam here, I think, panicking. Why won’t I wake up?
I begin to cry. He laughs again, and it is then that I see the giant knife in his hand. “Please don’t,” I beg. “I need to wake up! West,” I cry, struggling against my captor behind me. “West!” I am screaming as he lifts the knife to my chest.
“I will cut you now, throat to navel. This is the end, mademoiselle.”
I cannot stop screaming. The knife pierces my throat. The pain is real. I gasp, choking on what can only be blood as I struggle to breathe. The knife continues downward.
. . .
“Jesus, Roam! Roam!”
The entire bed shook. Morgan was at my side, hands gripping my shoulders. I sobbed, unable to form words as I reached for her, clinging to her. “Morgan! Help me,” I screamed, nearly crawling into her arms.
“You’re bleeding,” she said softly, stroking my hair. “You need to go clean up, sis. Come on, I’ll help you.”
Massive cramps doubled me over, and I moaned.
“I’ll get you some Advil and water. Are you okay?” she asked gently, reaching for the bedside lamp. I nodded, controlling my sobs. My phone clock displayed the time.
Three AM.
“Nightmare,” I whispered, and she nodded lovingly.
“I’ll help you to the bathroom first. Then I’ll change your sheets. Just take it easy.” She took my hand, and I squeezed hers gratefully, wobbly on my feet as I stood. Suddenly, I felt her turning my arm over. “What the hell is this? Did you get a tattoo?” she demanded, her voice turning playful. “Well, Roam Camden, there is a rebel in there somewhere. What do these numbers mean?”
I covered the coordinates with my other hand, filled with dread. “Please don’t tell Dad, or Logan… or anyone,” I begged.
“Of course I won’t. But I would have suggested a place a little more discreet,” she said, walking me to the bathroom. “Do you plan on wearing a lot of long sleeves?”
“I guess,” I managed, gratefully accepting her help in the bathroom. Within twenty minut
es, she had me showered and into clean clothes, the sheets fresh on my bed. I swallowed two Advil and took long gulps of bottled water. I remembered back to after my mother died, when Morgan took over, caring for me in every way. I hugged her to me tightly.
“Scoot, Socrates. I’ll sleep with you tonight,” she said, stretching out next to me on the full-sized bed. I hugged her, tucking my head against her chest.
“Thank you,” I whispered, trying not to think.
“Shh,” she hushed, and I could tell that she was already dozing.
I fell into an exhausted sleep, thankful that the dreams left me alone for the rest of the night.
Chapter Eleven
I woke up to my cell phone ringing. Morgan was gone, and I knew that she had to leave for school early. I reached for my phone, cringing at my burgeoning headache. “Hello?”
“You were asleep,” he said, his words demanding. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it. You’ve been crying. Are you okay?”
It was West. Gripping the phone, I realized that my hands were shaking. “No, I’m not okay… I died last night… in the woods. In France, I think, and I…” I struggled to pace my trembling words. “And when he put… the knife in me… there was real pain! And I screamed for you, West, but…”
I broke down. The onslaught of memories from the horrible nightmare took over my every thought.
His tone forced me to jolt. “I’m coming to your house. Tell Logan that you’re sick and you’re not going to school.”
“West…”
“Fifteen minutes.”
He disconnected. I sat up, texting Logan. It wasn’t like me to miss school for cramps, but I had no intention of dragging myself any further than the bathroom. I had carried a perfect attendance record since the first day of our freshman year.
Me: Terrible cramps. No school today. Call me later. ILY.
His text slid through in seconds.
Roam (Roam Series, Book One) Page 8
