Back to You (Don't Forget Me Book 2)

by Sia Wales

  We both stare out the window, and I hope the rainy night will distract me. But then a thought crosses my mind, and I turn to Tyler.

  “The other night, you said that Scott had asked you to come here to talk to me.”

  His face lights up, revealing his row of shiny, white teeth. “Yes,” he replies, clearing his throat. “Scott told me that if I managed to convince you about something, he’ll find a new replacement for Bryan here, one that is more qualified than me.”

  “You don’t like Massachusetts much, do you?”

  “It’s just that I don’t feel as free here as I do in Wyoming,” his voice a sad whisper.

  “Then spit it out! When I come down to visit you in Jackson, I wanna’ see a free man,” I joke, winking at him.

  “You’d better come!” he exclaims, and tears his gaze away with difficulty. “It’s just that … sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” I reassure him. “Tell me, I won’t be mad at Scott.”

  “He doesn’t want you to see that smartly-dressed guy from the party the other night … or Vuk. He begged me to ask you. But I guess it’s up to you who you see.”

  “Thanks,” I sigh, the sincerity in my voice reassuring him.

  “Yeah, when you had that accident on the highway near the New Hampshire border…” He breaks off. “He doesn’t believe that …”

  “He doesn’t believe it was an accident.”

  “He thinks Vuk is to blame for what happened to you that night. To be honest, I do too,” adds Tyler, searching my eyes.

  “Listen, Myco, I know that Scott will find this hard to believe, but I’m telling you now. Donn saved my life that night! If it wasn’t for him, I would be dead right now!” I cry. Maybe he would be able to convince Scott of this fact. He looks relieved, my words seem to have comforted him.

  “Tyler, look, I’m sorry that you had to come all this way just to ask me that. At the very least, let me buy you your ticket back to Jackson as soon as possible, ok?” I smile tenderly at him.

  “Ok,” he replies, and stares off uneasily into the distance again.

  I keep gazing at him until his eyes meet mine again.

  “Is there something else?”

  “Forget it,” he replies.

  “Spit it out, Tyler.”

  “Alright.” he says, shaking his head. “He asked me to keep an eye on you. Those were his very words.”

  “Look, Myco, I really am sorry that he asked you to do this,” I say.

  “I’m not bothered, that’s why I agreed to do it,” he smiles.

  “Thanks. I know you were only thinking of what’s best for me.”

  “Right, I’ll go and make myself useful, rearrange the boxes in the storeroom or something. Otherwise I won’t get paid. Otherwise how will I pay for my ticket out of here?” He winks at me, as if he didn’t already have the money. “I apologize again.”

  “You’re forgiven,” I say to his departing back.

  “Thanks for that, Ella May. Just don’t make me worry about you,” he urges me as he turns the corner.

  I throw him a wide smile and, enchanted by his eyes, look away; best not to look at him for too long!

  As soon as I get back behind the counter, the game ends in a victory for the Patriots. I smile at the customers perched on the stools that, minutes earlier, had their eyes fixed to the screen. They chitchat about the players and argue about the game. I don’t even attempt to follow their idle chatter, lost as I am in thoughts about what happened in the library tower and the conversation I just had with Tyler.

  And at that moment, as I stand behind the counter, inevitably feigning joy at the victory with the locals, I see them for the first time.

  In the middle of the bar, they have an attentive, self-assured air about them. The shortest one seems to be the most spontaneous, the cheeriest of them, I think, as they take their place at the table in front of the door to the storeroom in the most isolated corner of the bar. They seem to be expecting someone.

  There are four of them. They talk to each other in hushed tones and ignore the presence of the other customers. They order nothing to eat or drink.

  I can’t help but peek every now and then at the strange looking group that just sat down, through the lock of hair falling over my face. I try not to stare, unlike most of the other customers in the bar, so as to observe them without actually meeting their eyes. I can’t make out what it is that captures my attention. The fact is that they don’t look alike, and yet there is something about them that makes them look the same.

  Of the two boys, one is tall and slim, but muscular, his hair a honey blond. The second is slender, not as well built, with golden brown, messed up hair. He looks a lot younger than the first, who could be a big brother or even his father, uncle, or something like that. The girls are sitting opposite them. The tallest one has short, golden hair. She is statuesque and has a pixie-like face with soft, delicate features. The shorter one is skinny, but still has the sort of curves that most women would kill for. She has long, light chestnut shoulder-length hair, gently curling up at the ends. They all have bright eyes and light-colored hair, and their features are perfect, somewhat angular. They are all as pallid as chalk, far paler than anyone else in the bar. Paler than me, but not as pale as vampires. Now that I think about it, they all have more or less the same slightly rosy complexion as Tyler, almost bleached skin but reddish cheeks. But that is not the reason why I can’t tear my eyes from them. I stare at them because their eyes are all the same shade of topaz flecked with amber, lending them a feline air. The same color I saw this evening in Tyler’s eyes, and that I noticed for the first time ever in Bryan’s eyes the night of my party.

  Their faces are so different yet so alike, are all of a devastating beauty, transcendently so. They look proud and wild. It is tough deciding who is the most beautiful of them all. Perhaps the flawless blonde pixie, perhaps the young kid with the reddish hair and kind face.

  They have their heads in close, deep in conversation, far removed from the others in the bar, far from me, far from everything, for what I can see. Tyler suddenly appears, making me jump.

  “I forgot the rag,” he says, smiling. “The bottles in the storeroom are covered in dust.” He keeps his head lowered, but my eyes seek his.

  “Who are they?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

  He doesn’t even need to look up to understand what I’m asking, he can tell from my tone of voice.

  “Fergus and Amelia Bradford, with Dora and Locke Holden,” he says, a flourish of his arm in their direction.

  As Tyler looks over at the table, the older man’s serene but aloof eyes meet his as if he had heard his name.

  He looks at Myco for no longer than a fraction of a second before he turns his clear topaz eyes onto me. I wonder how he could have heard over the ruckus in the bar. In this lightning quick skirmish of the eyes, Tyler stays glued to my side, his expression neutral.

  “The forest rangers Scott was talking about?” I hazard a guess.

  Tyler turns to look at me. His golden eyes are glowing an even deeper shade of amber in the presence of those strange people sat at the table.

  “Exactly,” he murmurs. “They are my family,” he points out. That’s why he introduced himself with both those surnames when we met at my party, that’s why he looked at Scott that way earlier before turning to me, only relaxing when he went into the storeroom. I had guessed he had a second family, and here was my proof.

  “They’re staying in Cape Cod at the moment, with Scott,” he continues. “And as you know…” He clears his throat. “They have already met Ronald.

  I turn to examine his family. The muscular guy’s mouth moves at the speed of machine gun fire, his perfect lips barely opening to pronounce the words. The gazes of the other three start to wander in my direction, even though he stills seems to be talking to them.

  “So you and family are Rocky Mountain forest rangers in Wyoming? Is that all you ha
ve in common?”

  “We’re Siberian,” he replies proudly. “We have the same homeland, the same background,” he explains, his voice firm, crystalline.

  I look at the boy out of the corner of my eyes; he’s watching Dora and tearing tomorrow’s show program into shreds. He manages to avoid getting a paper cut though! He’s the most human of them all, though not nearly as goofy as me. A deeper look in his eyes reveals that they are hazel, not the same golden amber shade as those of the others. But his complexion, from the harshest Asian climes, doesn’t look out of place amongst the paler ones. Locke’s eyes meet mine. He turns away quick as a flash, quicker than I manage to. Blushing from having been discovered spying on them, I lower my head.

  “They’re all really cute.” To say the least! “You have a beautiful family,” I add, not sounding too credible.

  “I agree,” Tyler laughs.

  “And you love them.” That wasn’t a question but a statement of fact, gathered from the way he talks about them.

  “Yep, I couldn’t imagine better people.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  “I know,” he agrees.

  “Have they ever been to Medford before, apart from that trip into the New Hampshire mountains?” I ask tentatively. I would have remembered them if they had come with us on one of our camping trips with Jeff, Scott, and Tyler.

  “No,” he replies, his tone making it clear that it should be obvious even to a dork like me.

  “Which ones are the Bradfords?” I ask, looking over at them. “They don’t look related.”

  “Oh, they’re not,” he replies. “The Holdens are brother and sister, the two blond ones. They could be twins if it weren’t for the age difference. Fergus, Amelia, and I are all adopted.”

  As I watch them, the youngest Bradford’s gaze meets mine, but this time I read curiosity in his eyes. When I turn away, I think that I glimpse surprise, almost disappointment in his face.

  “Who is the one with the reddish gold hair?” I sneak another peek. He is looking at me with a slightly frustrated expression.

  “That’s Locke,” replies Tyler. “Cute face, right?” he adds cheerfully.

  “He looks young to be working.”

  “Not really, he’s 18,” Tyler explains. “Dora just turned 20, but Locke’s maturity bridges the gap.”

  “That’s really sweet, to look after your kid brother.”

  “It sure is,” agrees Tyler without too much enthusiasm. I’m guessing that behind this act of generosity lies a more pressing, secret motive.

  “So you all live together?” My curiosity never wanes.

  “Yep, in the compound in Wyoming,” he says matter-of-factly. “They’re a couple.”

  “Oh,” I sigh. “He looks a lot older than her!” The words come out of my mouth against my will.

  “Fergus is 30, he’s the oldest…” begins Tyler, but I’m not sure to what he’s referring. Surely he can’t be the oldest in the compound. “He and Dora have been living together since she turned 18.” His voice sounds pained, as if this fact caused some kind of controversy in their town.

  To be honest, I must admit that in Medford, even in Boston, this fact would have been the source of some juicy gossip. I instantly feel sorry for them, and relieved too. Sorry, because Dora and Fergus, as great as they look together, must be outcasts, probably not seen kindly by the folks in their small town. Relieved because I’m not the newest person in town, nor, from any point of view, the most interesting. Everybody seems to be looking at them, despite no one actually knowing anything about their background.

  Locke had noticed Fergus looking at me curiously, and now he looks at me too, his eyes friendly. But he looks away when I turn my eyes to the feline face of the tiny girl. She seems to be looking daggers at me. Is that jealousy I see? How can it be? I’m embarrassed even to think it She’s so perfect, how could she be jealous of me? A plain, goofy girl, so many defects, so human. I try to imagine a bizarre parallel universe in which gorgeous girls like Amelia could have a reason to be jealous of little old me.

  Tyler perceives my embarrassment, and he unfurls that favorite smile of mine.

  “Listen, would you mind if I left early, so I can catch a ride with them back to Cape Cod?” he asks, looking at me sidelong, his eyes actually focused on Fergus. So that’s why his family are sitting there near the storeroom door. They were waiting for him.

  “Sure, Tyler, go ahead.”

  “You sure?”

  I look over at them again; I don’t know why but they make me feel uncomfortable. Fergus isn’t looking at me anymore; Locke and Dora are gazing at me nonplussed. Is Amelia purposely averting her eyes?

  “Yeah, seriously. As soon as the last fans leave, I’m closing up,”

  “I’ll introduce you to them some other time then.”

  I gasp, my face pales.

  “Cool down, they don’t bite,” he says softly, planting a kiss on my cheek before striding toward the door, waving over at his family to join him. “See you tomorrow, Ella May,” he calls as he walks off.

  As I watch them from the counter, the slim kid, who still shoots me the occasional glance, gets up and bounds towards Tyler with an athletic pace. I marvel at the dancer-like grace of the tiny girl until she disappears out the door of the bar. A few second later, Fergus and Dora get up to leave together. They all move with such poise, except for Locke, who seems naturally athletic, but not inhuman. When they exit, Tyler, on their tail, waves goodbye to me enthusiastically.

  I keep the bar open for the night owls far longer than I would have done if I had been on my own. When the last customer has left the building, I skip out the door to go home.

  The air is still cold and damp, but the clouds are moving faster now, at times revealing streaks of naked sky. It seems to be an almost unnatural, disquieting spectacle, as if it were choreographed. I quiver, even though I know it’s just a storm brewing. I make my way over to my car, feeling like I’m walking on a tight-rope, that a mere breath of wind would cause me to tumble over. I climb in and fall back against the seat rest. I stare up to the angry sky above, brooding as I wait for the first drops to break the stillness that tonight would, without a doubt, be as bad as the previous ones.

  Once home, I felt the anxiety begin to creep back up on me. I know that it is partly because of my earlier dream when I was at the foot of the sofa. When I’m awake, that void I felt in my sleep torments my nerves. There was something to find. Out of reach, unapproachable… but I was faraway––Who knows where––while Donn advanced through the empty coldness by my side. And yet I believed, and would never have stopped searching for him. I don’t want to go up those stairs. It’s a sure-fire thing that I can’t have two serene nights in a row.

  So as to avoid going to sleep, I study my class notes and solve some economics problems, far more than necessary. Before hitting my bedroom, I check email and find a long one from Monica, which I read attentively. She was thrilled to have received such detailed news, so I send her another exhaustive note, packed with everything I had done over the last few days––except, of course, the stuff that I can’t breathe a word about to any other human. That would send even someone as intrepid and laid back as Monica into a free fall.

  It’s weird. I no longer feel enveloped by the fog, but neither insomnia nor the time I spent with Tyler, which brought me a sliver of happiness, fragile though it was, will manage to shield me from my nightmare for the second night running. That is, if I manage to fall asleep at all.

  When I finally do go upstairs, I fear that it’s going to be one of those long nights, totally free of relaxation. I slide under the covers and curl up into a ball, waiting for the onslaught.

  It will surely come. If not the pain, at least the fog. I wait, but nothing happens, I’m just overwhelmed by the blind fear of what my life will be from now on. I shut my eyes tightly… and a second later it is morning.

  Terrified, I see the nightmare again, as if the window were a screen upon wh
ich the sequence of images was being projected by my own eyes.

  It was freezing last night, even in my dreams, perhaps because the cold had taken grasp of my bones during the underground excursion.

  I dream about being in the chimney chute, with the wind blowing through the enormous round grate. It whips my hair into my face, and I close my eyes to protect them from the lashes.

  I begin to run toward the only opening along the cavernous wall and take shelter from the torment. Something sparkles down there. A weak glimmer, white as snow. But I can’t make out what it is. I stop on the threshold to the stone and brick library, trying to recognize the shapes darting about inside, half-hidden by the shadows.

  At first, there are black sparks flying, just a single glare of white light, all moving toward each other and dancing away again. Then, as if the light was suddenly turned on, I see everything clearly.

  This time there’s no need to search; I just glance at my side and find exactly what I am looking for. Jason, standing silently next to me, perfectly concentrated on something in front of us. I try to follow his gaze, preparing myself to encounter the monsters, but there’s only a dense fog, dark at its heart, which curves down to the floor and rises slowly, undulating, toward the bookshelves.

  And that is when I spot something in the haze. The dark figures approach, they step out of the miasma and become solid. Graham is at the head of them, his cloak even darker, blacker than black. I recognize the celestial outlines through one of the other capes––the minute figure, a foot shorter than the others. Standing to Graham’s right, she is dressed in red and looks at me with an intrusive gaze. The other four figures dressed in black, which appear behind him, are also familiar. One is tall and slender. The more I look at him, the more Ares’ features become apparent. The other two are so alike, they must be twins––Nicolai and Yuri. I am sure I recognize the fattest one too, and I squint hard to confirm my suspicions. Gideon’s eyes meet mine. He lowers his hood slightly to reveal his identity, as he scrutinizes Jason and me, his face glowing with victory.