Evan: Book Two of the Destine Series

by Laurie D'Ghent

  “Where?” she asked, even as she moved toward the door. He didn't answer, but turned to the right. Curious, and slightly confused, she followed him, nervous. He turned down the hallway, away from the main room where she assumed Evan and, possibly, Bowman were. When Paul disappeared around a corner, she blushed. How big of an idiot are you? You didn't even look long enough to know that there was a corner and another hallway down here. She hurried to keep up with Paul, turned the shadowy corner, and almost bumped into him. He laughed, not unkindly. He opened a nearby door, snapped on the light switch, and gestured for her to precede him inside the room. She did so, half expecting someone to spring at her. Instead she gazed around at an austere room filled with various pieces of exercise equipment. Paul walked to the center of the room, put his hands on his hips, and turned in a slow circle. Seeming to make a decision, he moved toward a bench and a set of weights. Integrity hesitated for a moment, then decided that she had nothing to gain by defying him, and followed. Trying to appear unconcerned, she moved to the bench and sat on it, swinging one leg to the opposite side. She heard Paul move to the head of the bench, so she lay back underneath the barbell that rested on the supports.

  Both placed their hands on the barbell, and it lifted off the metal braces, moved over the girl's chest. Unexpectedly, the bar came rushing toward her, and Integrity knew she was helpless to stop it. Picturing the bar caving in her chest, she wondered for a moment if Paul was trying to kill her. A split second later, the barbell stopped its descent, then began to rise once more. She watched as it settled back on the supports, then raised her eyes to look at Paul. He laughed lightly. “I'd say less weight, jah?”

  Giddy from her near-death experience, she laughed a little wildly and said, “Yes, definitely less weight. In fact, how about we try no weight?”

  She watched as Paul easily removed each of the weights, then resumed his position as spotter. “Ready to try again?”

  She nodded, steeling herself for the weight she knew would be released on her in mere moments. She experienced a moment of panic as Paul slowly settled the weight on her arms, then relaxed when she realized she could support the weight. She slowly lowered it toward her chest, the bar wobbling from side to side. Paul's hands hovered.

  Returning the bar to it's previous height was more difficult than she expected, but she managed it. Eager to not let on how much she was struggling, she let the bar rest at its apex for a moment while she asked, “So why does Evan live in the 'electric' wing? I thought you guys thought electricity was dirty.” While she waited for his response, she lowered the bar slowly once more.

  “Most of the hierarchy avoid the wired rooms, preferring the light of natural gas or candles. Personally, I think it's because they don't have to deal with the hassle of cleaning the lamps, or refilling them with oil. Then again, I wasn't born before electricity, so maybe I just don't get it.” The bar began its ascent again. “Evan knows living here will give him more privacy than if he lived in the more antiquated wings. Besides, he's always been a little defiant.”

  Integrity locked her elbows and breathed shallowly a few times. “Defiant of what? Don't tell me he's part of the resistance or rebellion or whatever you call them.” She began to lower the bar again, her muscles comfortably warm from the exertion.

  “No, he's not part of the resistance.”

  Integrity couldn't speak again until the bar was locked into place. She wanted to lower it again, but didn't know if she could do so without bashing in her face. Swallowing her pride, she moved it back toward the supports, and Paul settled it into place. She sat up. “So what's he rebelling against, then?” She turned to look at Paul.

  He nodded at the bar. “Is that all you can do?” She knew he was only teasing, but his words still made her mad. She turned her back to him and locked her legs into place, beginning to lift the leg weights at the base of the bench. She was glad that she could lift the weights that were on it, though her knees were protesting loudly already. She chose not to respond to his question, not having a good answer. After a moment, Paul resumed their previous conversation. “Evan seems to be rebelling against what others expect him to be.”

  Integrity didn't have the energy to continue that train of thought, her legs protesting too loudly for her to care what the “others” though Evan should be. Heck, they probably want him to not be such a jerk, she grumbled to herself, forcing herself to continue with the leg lifts until she physically couldn't do it anymore. When the weights lifted only a few inches, then slammed back into place, she sat there and took deep breaths. When she turned to look behind her, she couldn't locate Paul. Looking around the rest of the room, she decided that he must have left while she saw swirling colors and heard nothing but the pounding of her blood in her ears. Not trusting her legs to support her weight, she grabbed a nearby dumbbell and began doing curls, staring at the treadmill across the room.

  At least I'll be tired enough to sleep tonight. That should be a nice change, she thought wryly, swinging the weight toward her shoulder once more. Unanswered questions make for long nights.

  Є

  Although Integrity purposely pushed herself in her workout, and stayed up until it felt as though her eyes would crack and bleed, she still could not succumb to sleep. The time she spent with Paul in the gym had reminded her all too clearly of the time they had spent together before she had left Westmarch, and the friendship they had built. Her emotions and loyalties were so strained and conflicting that she felt a physical pain in her chest. Ben had saved her from Glegnar, from Westmarch, more than once. He was the only one she could fully trust. Yet, she'd always been taught to distinguish good from evil by the fruit that something bears, and she had seen no bad fruit from Paul or Bowman. Sure, she'd had spats with both of them, but the same could be said for Ben. Everyone fights once in a while. It doesn't mean someone's out to get you.

  She was determined to look at the situation logically and keep her emotions out of it. Ben had protected and sheltered her, had brought her happiness. But so had Paul and Bowman. The difference lay in who they were protecting her from—each other. If she forced herself to remain unbiased, she had to admit that all, except for Evan, seemed to have her best interests at heart, or what they thought was best, at least. So who was right and who was wrong?

  She rolled over, punching in frustration at one of her pillows before throwing her head down on it again. This sucks. None of the three men had given her any reason to distrust them, yet they'd all hurt her in their own way, too. Okay, focus, back to the fruits of their labors.

  Paul. Let's see, we did fight once, but I can't even remember what it was about. And it must have gone away quickly; it doesn't really bug me. She forced herself to grudgingly admit, And he has made me laugh. He helped me keep my sanity when I was locked up, and he was always willing to take me on “walkabouts” whenever I wanted to go. She lay there for a moment, trying to think of some sign that Paul was evil, and could only come up with his participation in her parents' deaths. To be fair, she had to admit that he hadn't actually killed either of them, and he had appeared uncomfortable with the whole situation. She frowned, unhappy with her conclusions, or lack thereof.

  Fine, move on. Bowman. She felt her stomach clench, the familiar guilt pouncing on her, but pushed it away. Okay, let's see. He's never made me laugh. Okay, that's not fair, he has made me laugh. Not that he meant to. But he never seemed to hold it against me. She sighed, pressed forward. And he did always make me feel safe. He attacked that guy in the hallway for calling me a poser. Inwardly, Integrity shuddered at the memory of Bowman pinning the stranger to the wall by his neck, raw power so evident that she knew he could break the man in half. For someone to defend her honor at all, let alone so passionately, was something that had never happened before. Not wanting to give Bowman any more brownie points than she had to, she forced herself to focus. All of those other people could have jumped him when he choked the guy, and three against six or seven isn't very good odds. She swallo
wed hard. And he did get decapitated as a direct result of “protecting” me. And he doesn't seem to blame me for it. Careful to keep her emotions at bay, she continued. As for my parents'...he didn't kill them, either, but he didn't seem to be upset by it. So either he didn't care, which is likely, or he's really good at hiding his emotions.

  Ben. Almost instantly, she felt better, like some of the weight had been lifted from her shoulders. What hasn't Ben done for me? He's always put me first, at great risk to himself. He broke me out of jail, provided a place for me to hide, brought me food and stuff, then took me out of Westmarch completely. Even when he was imprisoned because of me, he didn't blame me and he risked further danger by escaping to visit me.

  She shifted uncomfortably. But how did he escape so often? And climbing the side of Westmarch is no small feat. Sure, it's entirely possible for someone to do that, but how probable is it, really? She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. That's neither here nor there. We're not debating Ben's mortalness. She smiled wryly. Freak, I sound like Elmo. No more third person, please.

  Refocusing, she gathered her thoughts. Not only did he rescue me from the jail and Westmarch, he broke out of prison and found me in stupid Nevada and got me away then, too. Although, Bowman said Ben decapitated him. She grimaced. Regardless, he got me away from Evan, definitely a good thing. She rubbed a hand across her arm, feeling the scars there. She sighed. What about the stories? Would Paul have ever told me, knowing how it would frighten me? Would Bowman?

  She lay there for a moment, unmoving. She flopped over onto her back, tried to see the ceiling in the darkness. So, if I put my preferences aside, they're all pretty much on a level playing field. They've all done good and they've all done bad. So who's right?

  She felt such turmoil and angst that, after a short battle, she broke down and began to pray. She laid out all of her concerns and confusion, then steeled herself. No matter what, I will accept what Thou dost tell me, she finally prayed, silently. Taking a deep breath, she asked, Should I trust Paul? She didn't feel any different, so she asked, Should I trust Bowman? She felt a slight warmth, but she couldn't be sure she wasn't making it up in her head in an effort to be totally obedient by accepting what she didn't want. Trying to remain impartial and only feel what the Holy Ghost was trying to tell her, she took a moment. Should I trust Ben?

  Almost instantly, all of the quiet peace she'd felt fled. She felt empty, hollow, and a little lost, as though she didn't know whether to go left or right. Before her gut could clench, she shoved her emotions away, determined to take advantage of her Father's willingness to communicate with her, despite her long estrangement from Him. Does Ben have my best interest at heart?

  Although she knew the answer was negative, she felt something buoying her up, giving her the strength to press on. Though she knew this information was devastating and could easily overwhelm her, she felt that it wouldn't until she allowed it to, and she refused to be that weak.

  Wanting to be absolutely clear, she forced herself to query, Is Ben the bad guy in all of this? She didn't feel much, one way or the other, and decided to rephrase her question. Has Ben been lying to me? The warmth she felt, an affirmation of her question, seemed to press down on her chest, not threateningly, but with the weight of the truth. Feeling her resolve slipping, she asked, slowly, Did Ben try to maliciously hurt me? Again the warmth spread through her torso, but there was something more. She didn't physically see anything, yet memories began playing through her mind.

  The first was the anger Ben had shown when he'd sneaked into her quarters once. She struggled to remember what the fight had been about, but that made the memory fade, so she left it alone. At the time, she'd been shocked at such emotion coming from happy-go-lucky Ben, but it appeared even more out of character in hindsight. He'd completely lost control, screaming at her until cords stood out in his neck. He'd never acted like that before, or since. But didn't it mean something for him to show such inconsistency?

  Feeling the tears rushing to her eyes, she forced out, in something not quite a whisper, “Is Ben everything Evan said he is?” Once again the truth of it all weighed on her, spreading until there was no room for her to restrain her emotions any longer. She could remember, as though through a haze, the night that Evan had spoken of, when Ben urged her to step in front of an oncoming car. His speech was blurred, as though talking through water, but she remembered feeling no fear as she'd done his bidding. She even remembered her world skidding into a blur as Evan jerked her out of the way, but she only had eyes for Ben. He was walking away from where she sat crumpled on the wet, muddy ground, laughing.

  A sickness welled inside her, and she curled into a ball on her bed, then succumbed to the despair.

  Є

  Outside her doorway, a shadow paused, listening to her muffled sobs. It hesitated, then Evan crossed the hallway and entered his own room, closing the door softly behind him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Each time she woke, the truth about Ben hit her instantly. She felt such a deep sense of betrayal that it consumed her, overriding everything else. She found herself going over every moment she had spent with Ben, every word he had spoken, analyzing it. Had everything been a lie? Had he ever liked her? Even a little bit?

  She'd never felt quite like this before. Yes, she'd been depressed and violently angry when Evan had slaughtered her parents in cold blood, but she hadn't trusted him; he couldn't hurt her as much as someone close to her could. Integrity had given every ounce of her trust into Ben's care, and he had taken advantage of it. She'd trusted him more than anyone else, and with blind faith. Even Galia had not held Integrity's trust to the extent that Ben had.

  Galia. Integrity sat up, leaned against the headboard of her bed. Talk about knowing someone by their fruits. She's never produced anything the slightest degree away from good. Why didn't I choose her to trust? She knew why she'd chosen Ben, and she quickly averted her thoughts so she wouldn't have to admit she was shallow enough to judge character based on the attention a hot guy paid her. Pathetic.

  She spent her day alternating between crying and feeling what she deemed to be righteous anger. She felt absolutely no desire to eat, and hadn't left her quarters. She was sitting quietly on her bed, tears seeping from her eyes of their own accord, when a soft knock came at her door. Quickly wiping the tears from her face, she straightened. After a moment, the door opened slowly and Paul stuck his head through the opening. She hoped he couldn't tell she'd been crying. He moved further into the room and placed a tray on the nightstand to her right. “I thought you might be hungry.” He straightened and looked at her.

  “I'm not,” she said blandly, then turned her gaze toward the far wall lethargically.

  After a pause, Paul said, “Hey, do you want to go workout? I'll spot you.”

  The girl didn't move for a moment, then she slowly slid off the far side of the bed and walked toward the door. Ben had suffered so much for her sake that she felt the least she could do was to heed his counsel; the time she had spent with him had ingrained a need to obey that she couldn't easily shake.

  She moved mechanically to the weight bench and lay beneath the barbell, placing her hands in position and waiting silently for Paul to stand at her head and spot her. He removed several weights from each side, then took his stance and they lifted the bar off of the rests.

  Neither spoke as the girl slowly raised and lowered the bar. She suspected that Paul was uncomfortable, but she didn't feel like making small talk. As she continued, the tears returned and ran down the side of her face into her ears. Her breathing remained steady and she felt no increase of anxiety or hopelessness, but the tears persisted. She chose to ignore them and hoped that Paul would do the same. He did, for a time.

  As she felt her muscles weakening, Paul spoke. “So, do you want to tell me what's wrong?” Though his tone was light, conversational, she lost control and dropped the bar. Paul caught it and returned it to the supports when she moved to sit u
p. Her breathing was no longer quiet and regular, but uneven and staccato. Paul hesitated, then moved to her side and crouched down. She turned her head so that he couldn't see her face directly. She struggled to regain control, holding her breath to try to regulate it once again. “Integrity?” He reached forward, tentatively, and touched her forearm.

  It felt as though everything she had been holding behind a wall was rushing forward as reality broke the barrier down. Suddenly, the full weight of Ben's treachery rushed over her, threatening to smother her. She crumpled forward and sobbed. Fearing that his touch had upset her, Paul rocked backward and sat, waiting.

  After a time, Integrity felt as though her emotions had been shut down. Her breathing slowed, but she remained flopped over her lap, her head turned away from Paul. Eventually, Paul asked quietly, “Do you want me to leave?”

  Still not looking at him or sitting up, she sighed, “No.” She sat in silence for a few breaths, then said, “It's not your fault. You didn't do anything. It's never been your fault.”

  “Here, sit up.” Paul gently raised her shoulders so she was sitting straight. She pushed her hair out of her face, but wouldn't meet his gaze. “There's that's better.” He sank back to the floor. “So, tell me, if it's not my fault, then whose is it?”

  “Ben's.” The mention of his name stirred a small flame of anger, deep inside her, but she lacked the energy to uncover it.

  “And what did Ben do? Besides the obvious.” She could hear the slight smile in his voice, and knew that he was trying to console her. She felt the flame of anger squashed out by the weight of her own despair and guilt. She tried to move away from it, back to neutral territory.

  “He lied to me.” She thought she would have to force herself to speak, but she found the words fell from her with little prompting. “He lied about everything.”

  She heard Paul sigh softly. She thought she heard him mutter, “Finally,” but she couldn't be sure. “And how did you discover this?” His voice was gentle, prodding her to go on without crowding or pressuring her.