“All right, but Stephan’s going to be pissed,” I hear Aislin say and then footsteps head toward the door.
“Are you sleeping?” Alex’s voice drifts over me and I crack open my eyelids. He stands above me with the first-aid kit tucked under his arm. There are worry lines around his eyes and across his forehead.
“Who’s Stephan?”
He sets the first-aid kit on the table, flips the latches open and lifts up the lid. “My father.”
“Your father.” That isn’t what I expected. I sit up and scoot to the edge of the sofa. “Really?”
“Really.” He nods, then snatches a throw pillow from the recliner nearby and places it on the sofa beside me. “Lay down so I can get that piece of glass out of you and I’ll try to explain what I know while I do.”
“Like why the Death Walkers haunt my dreams? And why you think I’m so important? And also, why I saw another one of you more than once?”
He freezes. “You saw the mirage more than once?”
I nod. “But I thought I blacked out or something and it was just a dream. Now, though, I’m second guessing that thought. I’m second guessing all my original thoughts.”
“That’s probably a wise idea.” He rummages around in the kit and takes out square pieces of gauze and some Band-Aids. “It might help you believe what I’m going to tell you.” His hand stills as his eyes wander up to me. “Are you scared yet?”
I analyze my emotions; confusion, inquisitiveness and eagerness are flowing inside me, causing chaos. Fear is absent, though. “I think I’m good. Although, I’m confused.”
He scratches his head like it’s the weirdest response he’s ever heard. “Alright then, lie down and I’ll do my best to eliminate some of the confusion.”
I lie down on the sofa and situate my head on the pillow with my arms resting at my sides. “Is a mirage like a doppelganger?”
He gapes at me with a needle in his hand. “How do you know what a doppelganger is?”
I shrug. “I read a lot.”
His hand falls to the side and he almost stabs himself with the needle. “Again, you surprise me.” He pauses with a look of contemplation. “Gemma, were you always like this? Growing up, I mean? Or were you… different?”
I’m not ready to answer that question yet, but the simple fact that he’s asked it leads me to believe he knows things about me and my past. “You go first.”
Sighing with frustration, he bends over so he’s hovering over me. “Okay, try to hold as still as possible while I do this.”
I fix my eyes on the ceiling, trying to think of something else besides the glass lodged in my side and the fact that he’s about to tug it out. All that I can think of, though, is that the red ceiling reminds me of blood and I’m very aware of every jerking movement. I flop my arm over my face, seal my eyes shut, and inhale through the pain. It’s easier than I expected, but, for some reason, I have a hunch that what lies ahead is going to be more painful.
“Are you doing okay?” he whispers. “You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?”
I shake my head from side to side, but my ribs are on fire. “I’m good.”
“Okay, it’s all over.” He sounds choked so I open my eyes. In his palm is a long, but thin piece of glass. “This little thing right here is what was in you.”
“That’s it?” I pick it up and turn it over in my hand. “It’s so small.”
“Yeah, I know, but it was in pretty deep.” He takes the glass from me and tosses it into the first aid kit. Then he grabs a cotton ball, unscrews the lid of the rubbing alcohol bottle and douses the cotton ball with it. “Gemma, I’m really sorry.”
“For what?”
“For this.” He presses the cotton ball onto the open wound on my rib. It feels like someone has dumped gasoline on my skin and lit a match. My skin is blazing with a fire that’s invisible to the naked eye. I squeeze my eyes shut, bite down on my lip, and try not to scream bloody murder.
“Sorry about that.” He removes the cotton ball from my skin, which is soaked with my blood, and discards it into the kit. “I just thought it would be better if I caught you off-guard. That way, you wouldn’t anticipate it.”
“I don’t… God that hurt.” I complain and my voice cracks.
“Now, I just have to stitch it up.” He pauses and I open my eyes to see what he’s doing. His gaze is aimed at my side, but not the one that is split open; the opposite one that is free of gaping holes.
I start to sit up. “Is there another one?”
He flattens his palm against my stomach and settles his gaze on my face. “Don’t move until I get it fixed up.” He shifts his body, then jerks his hand away and flexes his fingers as if my touch has burned him. “Anyway, the cut isn’t very big, so it shouldn’t take me that long.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” I ask, lying back down. “You seem out of it.”
“I’ll be fine.” His voice comes out sharp and he quickly clears his throat. He takes out a spool of string and begins unwinding it around his hand.
The atmosphere between us has been killed by awkwardness and discomfort, which doesn’t make sense. Moments ago, I felt fine with him.
“So… are you going to explain to me why you think I’m so important?” I ask.
“Yeah, give me a second.” He refuses to look at me and snips the end of the string with a pair of scissors. “But you have to promise me two things first… The first is that you have to promise that you’ll try to keep an open mind about what I say.”
“Okay, that seems easy enough,” I assure him with confidence. “What’s the second thing?”
He drops the scissors into the kit. “That you’ll let me finish talking before you start freaking out.”
A chill slithers up my spine and I shiver. “How do you know I’ll freak out?”
He squints his eyes as he raises the needle and loops the piece of clear string through the end. “Because any sane person would freak out at what I’m about to tell them; even someone like you who seems to welcome the crazy.”
“I don’t welcome it,” I state. “I just don’t know how to react sometimes.”
He stations the needle just above my ribcage. “I know, but this might push you over the edge, so I need you to try your hardest to keep it together. It’s important.”
I nod, but deep down, I know that it can end up out of my hands if the prickle makes a grand appearance. “I’ll do my best.” His hand dips toward my exposed stomach and I recoil because I absolutely hate needles.
“I’m not even sure where to begin.” He rubs his hand across his face and his concentration sidetracks to stitching me up. “Hold still,” he instructs and I hold my breath as he guides the needle through my skin.
Somebody kill me and put me out of my misery. It hurts like hell, but I know if I move, it’ll only increase the pain. “Jesus, that hurts.” I breathe through gritted teeth as I stab my fingernails into the leather fabric of the sofa. Tears fill my eyes and one slips down my cheek as I pant violently. “So bad.”
“Sorry,” he apologizes before making another stitch. He kneels back and gives me a moment to catch my breath. “You gonna make it?”
I bob my head up and down and look at him through my watery vision. “Yeah, go on. And start talking to me. It’ll distract me.”
He sketches his finger down my cheek and wipes away a tear. He rubs his finger and thumb together as he stares at the teardrop, then his face twists with bewilderment.
“It’s just a tear,” I remark, equally as bewildered.
He nods and wipes his hand on his jeans. “I know.” He applies another stitch, weaving through my skin and it shoots the pain through all of my limbs. “Do you remember that fallen star story Professor Sterling told, the day I finally decided to sit by you in class.”
“The one where you teased me about going on a road trip?” I attempt to smile, but it’s too much work.
He doesn’t seem amused as he twines the n
eedle through my skin again and the he positions his other hand on my stomach. All of my attentiveness channels to his fingers. On my skin. My eyelids flutter as my body bows up. The warmth. The hum. It even numbs out the pain a little. I want him to move them across my body, touch me in places I’ve never been touched before.
“Gemma?” His hoarse voice brings me back to reality.
I blink dazedly at him and realize I’ve bowed my body up against his hand. “Huh?”
He stares down at me with his forehead creased, then his neck twitches and he clears his throat. “Did you hear what I said?”
I lower my body, shake my head, and admit, “Umm… no.”
He presses on my stomach and directs my untamed body back down. “I asked if you remembered the secret group that hid the star.”
My brain is hazy and I can’t form intelligible thoughts. “Yeah… I remember the story vaguely, but I have no idea why you’re bringing up something we talked about in Astronomy class. It was just a story.”
He shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t. It was based on fact, although, Professor Sterling didn’t know that. In fact, he didn’t know a lot about what he was talking about that day.”
“You make it sound like he was possessed.”
“Because he was.”
I can’t take it anymore. I prop up on my elbows, causing us to smack heads. “By what, a ghost?” I press the heel of my hand to my throbbing head.
He rubs the spot on his forehead where mine smacked. “Not a ghost… a mirage.”
“You mean, there’s another Professor Sterling?” I gape at him unfathomably. “Like there’s another you?”
“Neither one is actually us.” He places his hand on my shoulder and gives me a gentle push back to lie down. “Now lie back down so I can finish the stitch. You’re already going to have a wicked scar. Let’s not make it worse.”
I lie back on the couch, rest my head on the pillow and put my arms to the side of me. “If they aren’t you, then what are they?”
He pauses. “Foreseers.”
I fold my shirt up a little more because blood is starting to seep out of the wound again. “Like psychics?”
He frowns. “You know what Foreseers are?”
My shoulders rise and fall as I shrug. “I read about it once. They can see into the future or something.”
“That definition is really vague,” he says. “There’s a lot more to them than seeing the future. They can create images that aren’t real—make people see things that aren’t real. It’s kind of like a game to some of them.”
I gulp, taking it all in. “You think one’s been messing with me?”
He nods. “I do, ever since Professor Sterling showed up and wasn’t quite himself.”
I rewind through everything that’s happened and remember how that day Alex had been particularly nice to me. “Is that why you did it? Why you were being nice and asked me to go on a road trip with you.”
He twists the lid onto the rubbing alcohol. “No, that’s not why. I’m not even supposed to be nice to you.” He makes an oh-shit face as he says it.
I pierce him with a stern look. “Why?”
“I’m getting to that.” He moves closer to me. “You remember how he mentioned there was a power hungry group that might have hid the star.”
“He didn’t say group,” I clarify. “He said person.”
“Well he should have said group.” He quickly makes another stitch. It happens so fast, my body barely registers the pain. “The secret group is called Custodis de Vita.”
“The Custodis what?” I begin to sit up again out of instinct and he puts his hand on my waist to restrain me.
“The Custodis de Vita,” he repeats as his fingers enfold around my skin. I want him to move them lower and see how it feels. I seriously have a screwed up head. “It’s a secret group that’s not necessarily power hungry, but doesn’t want power to fall into the wrong hands.”
It’s too hard to focus on what he’s saying while he touches me. I lift his hand off my stomach and breathe freely. “So much better.”
He glances at his hand inquisitively and returns his line of gaze back to me. “Care to share what that was about?”
“What is that word? Like Latin or something?” I evade the question.
He stares at me intensely with his head slanted down. It blocks out the light and his pupils are massive, taking over his eyes. “Yeah, it means Keepers of Life, but for short, we call ourselves The Keepers.”
“Keepers of Life.” The words feel foul leaving my lips. “It sounds like a cult.”
A chuckle flees his mouth. “It’s not, though. We actually protect the world from dangerous things.”
“We?” I study his expression; unyielding and full of truth. “So you belong to this Keepers group?”
“And Aislin. And…” He covers his mouth with his hand and coughs into it. “Marco and Sophia.”
I lay inert, letting his words sink into my body, like a disease. The dots are starting to connect and images of things I’ve never remembered before stab unruly at the back of my mind; Sophia sharpening a sword, Marco talking on the phone about a battle.
“So, what you’re telling me is that Marco and Sophia, the people who’ve raised me since I was one, belong to some secret group that protects the world from evil?” It sounds unbelievable, just like every other damn aspect of my life. Saving the world from evil and demons and vampires… God, what if there really are vampires? “And that you know them?”
He doesn’t answer, but through his silence, I have my answer. It’s like a piece of the puzzle has been jammed into place. “Holy shit, you were there that day, weren’t you? That day I went to get my boxes.” I start to sit up, but I feel pain from the stitches and I immediately fall back. “You were that guy in those sunglasses, the one who wouldn’t talk to me.”
The quietness stretches on forever. I can’t believe this—I shouldn’t believe it. Yet, I do, which only makes the situation more of a maze.
“What are you thinking about?” He applies another stitch through the cut and cocks his head to the side, measuring me up with a powerful gaze that melts at my thoughts.
“That you’re lying,” I say quietly. “That you’re full of shit and messing with my head.”
“That’s completely understandable,” he admits. “I get it. I really do. But, it’s the truth, despite the fact that it sounds absurd.” The needle snags my skin and my hand instinctively flies toward the pain. Alex grabs my hand before I get ahold of the stitches. “Whatever you do, don’t touch it,” he cautions and I can feel his pulse hammering through his fingertips. He’s nervous. Or scared. And I’m … I don’t know, because there isn’t anything there yet. Confused, yes, but, other than that, I haven’t linked to an emotion yet.
I pull my hand away from his as distrust claims my body. “Why hasn’t anyone mentioned this to me before? All those years I lived with Marco and Sophia—those weeks I knew you—why not just say something?"
“You think we could just come up to you and say ‘Hey, I work for this secret group that fights evil?’ Yeah, that goes over really well with people.”
“You could have said something… less intense, but something like ‘Hey, I have a secret life you might not want to know about.’”
His eyes are heated. “Would you have wanted to know about it though? If I’d said something like that to you."
“Yes,” I say without contemplation, which more or less means it’s the truth. “I don’t like being in the dark about stuff.”
“Easier said than done,” he mumbles and then lets out a discouraged sigh as the needle snakes through my skin. “But back to the story because it really will explain a lot more for you.” He pauses and I wait, pondering where the hell he’s going with this. He takes a deep breath and concentrates on his hand as he makes yet another stitch. “That star I was telling you about had a lot of power. That’s why we… the Keepers, went and got it in the first place. If it fell
into the wrong hands, then…” He trails off.
"Then what?” I press. I feel it coming, the calm before the storm. Whatever he is going to say will break me apart and I’ll be left stitching myself back together.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Let me try this again. Those Foreseers I was talking about, well one of them made a prediction that a fallen star was going to prevent the end of the world from happening.” He picks up the scissors and trims the end of the string off.
The stab at the back of my neck is dull, but detectable. “The end of the world.”
He chucks the scissors back into the kit, takes out a roll of tape and some gauze. “When I say ‘end of the world,’ what I mean is there’s this portal that’s supposed to open sometime… although, no one knows exactly when.”
I stare expressionlessly at him. “A portal? Like a deep hole will open up and swallow up the world? Or, all hell will rain down? Or, zombies will walk out and take over the world?”
“You don’t believe me.” He arranges the gauze over the stitches and secures it with tape. Then he puts everything back in the kit and shuts the lid. “I’m all done with the stitches, so you can sit up if you want. Just be careful, though. If you move too fast, you might rip them open.”
I tug my shirt down and gradually sit up. My side feels strangely tight and my head is full of thoughtless nonsense.
Alex sits down on the sofa next to me, drapes an arm behind my head and relaxes his knee against mine. A spasm of heat coils up my inner thigh and my knee jerks upward.
“What is that?” I ask as I stared down at our knees. “That electricity I feel whenever I’m around you? What is it? Does it have anything to do with this?”
He plays with my hair, twisting a strand around his finger. “I have no idea what causes it. I really don’t.”
I shoot him a look. “You have no idea what it is? At all. Or, are you just omitting the truth, as you so nicely put it.”
Shattered Promises (Shattered Promises, #1) Page 11
