Sure, it was weird, but her research said items with a connection to Ethan could help her zero in on him, so she'd snuck across the street to the frat house, knowing that the back door was usually left unlocked. Nobody had moved into Ethan's room yet, although most of his stuff had been taken by his parents. It was only by a stroke of luck that she'd found the hair and the pencil under the bed and slipped them into a plastic bag.
Chloe tried not to think about the depths she'd sunk to lately. She had a feeling if she looked too closely, she'd realize she'd crossed some kind of line.
But she couldn't be bothered with that at the moment.
She blinked, her eyes dry and stinging as she stared at the flame, her thumb stroking over the crystal around her neck as she thought of Ethan, reached out to him, focused on his face . . . his voice.
Nothing.
With a frustrated groan, she fell back on the bed, crumpling the pages of one of the books. She lay there for a moment, before discomfort drove her to pull it out from under her and drop it on the floor.
Nothing was working. She'd tried using the crystal to scry for Ethan, dangling it over a map and willing it to show her his location . . . asking it yes or no questions and waiting for it to tell her something. Anything.
She'd held Ethan's things, rubbing her thumb over them compulsively, as if she could wear his essence into her skin. She mumbled to herself, focused on her link to him, unaware when tears started and stopped, only able to try again and again . . .
“Chlo?”
She jerked and sat up, staring at the door for a moment as she came back to the here and now. Miranda was at the door. Chloe looked around the room, at the disheveled bed and pieces of Ethan scattered everywhere. Quickly, she blew out the candle, took off Ethan's jacket, and went to the door, cracking it open.
“Yeah?” she said, her voice catching. She cleared her throat and forced a small smile. “What's up?”
Miranda, sleepy-eyed and rumpled, craned her neck in an obvious attempt to see past Chloe. “It's three in the morning. What are you doing?”
Chloe stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind her. “Nothing. Just studying.”
Her friend's eyes narrowed. “You're studying. At three in the morning.”
Chloe faked a yawn. “Not anymore. I was about to go to sleep.”
“Right.”
Chloe held her suspicious gaze, forcing herself not to flinch. “I'm really tired, so if there's nothing else . . .”
Miranda pursed her lips. “Are you sure you're okay?”
She rolled her eyes. “I'm fine. But I really need to get some sleep.” When Miranda didn't move, she huffed. “Seriously, I'm exhausted and I have class in like five hours, so . . .”
Miranda threw up her hands. “Fine, fine. I'll see you tomorrow,” she said, turning to head toward her room. Chloe went to do the same, when Miranda called out again.
“Chlo, if you need anything—”
“I don't,” she said, smiling back at her friend. “Seriously, I'm good. See you in the morning.”
“Good night,” Miranda said, but Chloe had already gone back into her room and closed the door. She climbed back onto her bed, wrapped herself in Ethan's jacket, and closed her eyes, yawning for real this time.
“Where are you?” she murmured, rubbing the crystal between her thumb and forefinger as she finally fell asleep.
The darkness was suffocating, pressing in from every direction as panic and desperation made Chloe’s heart race, her palms sweat. The sensation had become sickly familiar, yet still terrifying. Chloe fought to keep focus, to pay attention to every detail, instead of giving in to claustrophobic hysteria.
But there were no details to memorize. No sensations to note. Only the silent blackness surrounding her. Permeating her.
Consuming her.
She tried to scream, but no sound broke the stillness. Tried to move, but her body could not respond.
Finally, she forced herself to relax. To stop fighting against the bonds holding her captive.
Then . . .
Then, she heard it. No, not really heard it. She felt it. Deep inside, so quiet she almost missed it.
A heartbeat. But not her own.
Slow—so impossibly slow—it pulsed steadily in her chest.
No, not her chest. His.
Ethan's.
Chloe's own heart all but stopped. He was there. She was with him.
She was him.
Where are you? Ethan?
The dream was fading, and she knew it would be seconds before she was drawn out of the vision into reality.
We're coming for you. Her thoughts were desperate as she clung to the connection—fought to hold onto him.
Where are you?
Then, snapped back like a rubber band, Chloe was ripped from the vision and sat up in her bed, wide awake. She gasped for breath, tears blurring her eyes. She'd felt him. She'd been part of him. For that brief moment, she'd been with him. She knew it in her deepest heart. It wasn't a dream. Not even really a vision—not like any vision she'd had in the past, at least.
She'd been there. Wherever Ethan was, she'd been there.
Chloe forced herself to breathe deeply, until her racing heart finally slowed. Then, she got up and walked over to her desk. She opened the top drawer, and reached for a small plastic bag hidden under a pile of notebooks and pencils.
She pondered the meager assortment of pills and capsules, chewing her lip nervously. This was not something she'd purchased at Scents & Sensibility, but via an Internet contact who didn't ask questions. She hadn't opened the bag yet. Hadn't gotten up the nerve.
But now . . .
She needed more. The talismans and meditation weren't working, not enough anyway. The brief visions they brought didn't give her enough information to find Ethan, and Chloe was beyond desperate.
She’d felt what Ethan was going through and knew with each day that passed, he was losing more of himself to the darkness. If he was conscious at all in that hell, how long could he maintain his sanity?
And she had to believe he was in there somewhere.
So there was only one solution.
Chloe opened the bag and pulled out one of the capsules, clear and filled with a powdery brown substance—one that was touted to boost psychic power and open the third eye to other dimensions.
Did it really work? She had no idea. As for side effects, she couldn’t have cared less.
Chloe took a deep breath, and lifted the pill to her lips, jumping at the sudden screech of her alarm clock. She fumbled and dropped the capsule, swearing to herself as she realized it was time to get ready for class. She got down on her knees to look for the capsule, which had bounced under her bed, but a knock at the door stopped her short.
“Chlo? You up?” Miranda called.
“Yeah!” She zipped up the plastic bag and stashed it in her drawer, quickly covering it back up, and grabbed her towel. She walked into the hall before Miranda could ask to come in.
“Just going to jump in the shower,” she said with a smile, hiding her trembling hands under the towel.
“Okay,” her friend said. “I started the coffee. You want to walk together?”
“Sure!” Chloe replied a little too cheerfully. “I'll be ready in a bit.”
“You okay?” Miranda asked, tilting her head with concern. “You seem a bit . . . freaked out. Did you have a vision?”
Chloe wasn't sure why, but she shook her head. “No, nothing yet.”
“It'll happen,” she said, reaching for Chloe's arm, but Chloe headed down the hall like she hadn't noticed.
“I'll be out in a minute,” she said as she closed the bathroom door. She let out a shaky breath and slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor. Her whole body shook, and she fought back the guilt over lying to her friend.
Miranda wouldn't understand. She was Chloe's best friend, but this was something she couldn't share with even her.
It didn't
matter. Tonight she'd take the pill, and she'd get a better vision. One that gave her a clue as to where Ethan was, and how to save him.
It would work.
It had to.
We're coming for you.
Ethan didn't know where the voice came from. Who it was. Only that it wasn't him.
Or It.
Where are you?
The question confused him. He's here. Right here. In his safe place—hidden, protected from the Chaos living with him. He could hear It. Feel It.
The anger. The frustration. The desperation.
But deep down in a little corner of the darkness, Ethan had carved out a tiny room with four walls. No door. No way for It to get to him.
No way for him to get out.
Hello? he called out.
But nobody answered.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Miranda wasn't sure exactly what it was. She didn't have Chloe's insight, but she also didn't have to be psychic to know that her friend was in trouble. She had lost weight, and Miranda was pretty sure she hadn't been sleeping much, if at all.
Chloe had become secretive and jumpy over the past few weeks—ever since the vision in the clearing. And she was hiding something.
But knowing that was easier than knowing what to do about it. Chloe wasn't talking, and it worried Miranda. A lot.
So after class on Wednesday, Miranda stood in the hallway staring at Chloe's bedroom door, afraid of what she'd find behind it . . . and guilty that she was thinking about violating her friend's privacy. She had at least another hour before Chloe would be home, longer if she stopped at the library, or wherever she’d been going lately when she said she was at the library.
Of course, Chloe could skip class and show up unannounced, as well. If she thought Miranda hadn't noticed that had been happening more often lately, she’d have been sadly mistaken.
Miranda flipped a book around in her hand, one she'd borrowed from Chloe years ago. It was her excuse—what she'd claim to be returning if Chloe caught her doing what she was thinking about doing.
What she knew she was going to do.
“Crap,” she muttered, taking a deep breath and glancing guiltily over her shoulder before opening the door.
Miranda gasped at the mess she found inside.
Chloe had always been tidy—not fanatically so, but the disarray in her room was definitely out of character. Dirty clothes lay strewn across the floor, draped over the furniture, and kicked under the bed. Books were scattered about in a similar fashion, spines cracked and pages marked and dog-eared. Candles had melted down on the bedside table; black wax dribbled over the edge and pooled on the carpet.
Miranda tentatively approached the rumpled bed, before reaching out to pull back the covers over a lump in the center. It took her a moment to identify the mass of blue wool and white leather.
A letterman's jacket.
She held it up by the shoulders, knowing what she was going to find, but unable to keep herself from looking. There it was, embroidered in gold script across the left chest.
Ethan.
A chill ran down her spine, and Miranda shoved the coat back under the stale covers. She wondered how long it had been since Chloe'd done the laundry. She took a deep, steadying breath, and began to methodically search the room. She was convinced now that Chloe was in some kind of trouble. Obsession. Depression. She didn't know what name to give it, but her friend needed help, and privacy be damned, she was going to figure out how to give it to her.
She examined the books—a variety of titles all focused on the same thing: accessing and enhancing psychic ability. A scattered deck of playing cards printed with odd shapes confused her for a moment until she spotted the empty box that identified them as Zener cards—again, a tool to boost psychic power.
Miranda sighed. She was sensing a theme.
She'd known that Chloe was desperate to find Ethan, but this? This was something more.
This was frightening.
Miranda dropped the “borrowed” book on the bed, concern for her friend overshadowing any guilt she felt at snooping. She opened the bedside table drawers, revealing more books, some scribbled notes, a broken pencil. Frantic, she crossed to the desk, fumbling through the pens and notebooks until her fingers came to rest on a plastic bag. Trembling, she pulled it out, her stomach sinking as she saw what it contained.
Pills. And Miranda had a sneaking suspicion they weren't vitamins.
“What are you doing?”
Miranda whirled around, the bag clutched in her hand as her heart pounded. Chloe glared at her from the open doorway.
“I—” she stammered.
“You what?” Chloe strode toward her and reached for the bag. On reflex, Miranda ripped it away and took a few steps back.
“You've been going through my room?” Chloe shouted. “Through my stuff? What the hell?”
Miranda finally found her voice. “I’m worried about you.”
“So that gives you a right to go through my things?” Chloe was almost screeching now, her face blotchy, and tears shimmering in her eyes.
But Miranda could see that it wasn't just anger feeding the frenzy. It was panic.
She held up the wrinkled bag. “What is this, Chlo?”
“It's mine, is what it is!” she shouted, reaching for it again. “Give it back!”
“No!”
Chloe pushed against her, trying to reach the bag, but Miranda held it back and away.
“Give it to me!”
Miranda turned in a slow circle to keep the drugs out of Chloe's reach. Her pulse raced at the confrontation, but she fought to remain calm.
“No. I won't.”
“You have no right!”
“I'm your friend.” Miranda's frustration started to poke through, her voice rising. “I have every right!”
“No!” With that, Chloe shoved her friend. Hard.
Miranda stumbled over the chair and fell to the floor, catching herself with her free arm and barely avoiding hitting her head on the desk.
“Chloe, what the—”
“Give it to me!” she shrieked, prying the bag out of Miranda's fingers. The plastic gave under the pressure and the drugs went flying.
“No!” Chloe scrabbled away on her hands and knees, trying to gather the capsules and pills. She reached under the bed, dragging her fingers desperately through the carpet, and Miranda fought her own tears as she crawled over to her friend.
“Chlo—”
“How could you?” Chloe clutched two of the capsules to her chest and looked at her through teary eyes. “How could you do this to me?”
Miranda choked on a sob. “Chloe, you have to stop.”
“Don't tell me what to do!”
Miranda could hardly recognize her best friend. Chloe's eyes darted around frantically, her fingers twitching as she scanned the room for the missing drugs.
“Chloe,” she said quietly, forcing a soothing calm into her voice. “Chloe, please.”
“Please what?” she spat.
“Please calm down.” Miranda felt like she was trying to pacify a wild horse. “Have you taken any of that?”
Chloe didn't answer for a moment. She looked away, her throat working. “No,” she said finally. “Not yet.”
Yet.
“But you're planning to.”
Chloe glanced at her nervously, then focused on the floor. “I’ve tried,” she muttered, the fight going out of her. “But I’ve been too scared. I’m a coward.”
Miranda sighed in relief. “You are not a coward.”
“You don’t understand.” She blinked rapidly, fighting tears.
“No, I don't,” Miranda replied quietly. “So help me.”
Chloe swallowed and wiped at her eyes. “I've tried everything.” Her voice was almost a whisper. “I've tried everything and I'm not any closer to finding Ethan. I keep seeing the same thing, over and over—” she beat her fists on her folded knees. “I feel the darkness. I f
eel what he's feeling. But I don't know where he is. I don't know how to help him. I can't—” She broke off, and Miranda for the first time could see the toll that all of this was taking on her friend. Her skin was ashen, she seemed small, thin . . . almost collapsed in on herself.
“And you—” Miranda cleared her choked throat. “You think drugs will help?”
If it was possible, Chloe hunched in on herself even more. “No. No, not really, I guess. I just thought I had to try everything, you know?”
Miranda couldn't hold back any longer. She reached out and pulled her friend into a tight hug. “I know,” she said through her own tears.
“I don't know what to do,” Chloe finally admitted through her sobs. “Nothing's working. I can't focus. I can't—”
“Shh . . .” Miranda stroked her back. “It’s going to be okay.”
“How?” Chloe pulled back abruptly, swiping at her cheeks. “How is it going to be okay? If I can't find him, how will it ever be okay?” Her eyes darted to the bag in Miranda's hand, and on reflex, she swept it behind her back.
Chloe huffed out an unamused laugh.
“Chloe, listen to me,” Miranda said, waiting patiently until her friend looked at her with weary eyes.
“I know you want to find Ethan,” she said, taking Chloe's hand. “But Chloe, this isn't right. You're . . . well, you're a mess, honestly.”
This time Chloe's laugh wasn't quite so forced. “I know.”
Miranda pulled out the big guns. “Ethan would hate this.” Chloe stiffened and tried to jerk her hand away, but Miranda held fast.
“You know he would, Chlo,” she said, gently but firmly. “You're wasting away. You're not sleeping. And drugs, Chlo? That would kill him.”
Chloe looked away, ashamed.
“I didn't know what else to do,” she admitted after a long while.
“I know.” Miranda squeezed her hand. “We'll figure it out, but you can't go on like this, Chlo. You can't.”
Chloe didn't say anything, but she nodded.
That was something.
The next week passed in kind of a haze for Chloe. Miranda had helped to clean her room, do her laundry, stack the books, and scrub the melted wax off the carpet.
Super Heroes (The New Super Humans #4) Page 4
