Evermore ti-1

by Alyson Noel

  He follows me into my bathroom. I drop my damp towel on the floor, then he comes up behind me, pulls me to him, and holds me so close our bodies meld right together. And when his lips brush across the nape of my neck, I know I better lay down some ground rules while my brain is still working.

  "Um, you're welcome to stay," I mumble, pulling away, my cheeks burning with embarrassment when I meet his amused, gaze. "I mean, what I meant to say was, I want you to stay. I do. But, well, I'm not sure that we should-you know-"

  Oh god, what am I saying? Um, hello, like he doesn't know what I mean; Like he wasn't the one getting pushed away in the cave and just about everywhere else. What is with you? What are you doing? Any girl would kill for a moment like this, a long, lazy weekend with no parents or chaperones-and yet, here I am, enforcing some stupid set of rules-for no good reason he places his finger under my chin and lifts my face until it's level with his. "Ever, please, we've been over this," he whispers, tucking my hair behind my ear and bringing his lips to my neck. "I know how to wait, really. I've already waited this long to find you-I can wait even more."

  With Damen's warm body curled around mine, and his reassuring breath in my ear, I fall right to sleep. And even though I was worried I'd be way too freaked by his presence to get any rest, it's the warm secure feeling of having him right there beside me that helps me drift off.

  But when I wake at 3:45 A.M., only to discover he's no longer there, I throw the covers aside and rush to the window, reliving that moment in the cave all over again as I search the drive for his car, surprised to find it's still there.

  "Looking for me?" he asks.

  I turn to find him standing in the doorway, my heart beating wildly, my face gone crimson.

  "Oh, I–I rolled over and you weren't there, and-" I press my lips, feeling ridiculous, small, embarrassingly needy.

  "I went downstairs for some water." He smiles, taking my hand and leading me back to the bed.

  But as I lay down beside him, my hand drifts to his side, brushing across sheets so cold and abandoned, it seems he's been gone for a much longer time.

  The second time I wake, I'm alone again. But when I hear Damen banging around in the kitchen, I pull on my robe and head downstairs to investigate.

  "How long have you been up?" I ask, gazing at a spotless kitchen, the previous night's mess having vanished, replaced by a lineup of donuts, bagels, and cereals that didn't originate in my cupboard.

  "I'm an early riser." He shrugs. "So I thought I'd clean up a bit before running to the store. I may have gone a little overboard, but I didn't know what you'd want." He smiles, coming around the counter and kissing me on the cheek.

  I sip from the glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice he sets belore me and ask, "Want some? Or are you still fasting?"

  "Fasting?" He lifts his brow and gazes at me.

  I roll my eyes. "Please. You eat less than anyone I know: You just sip your… medicine and push your food all around. I feel like a complete pig next to you."

  "Is this better?" He smiles, picking up a donut and biting it in half, his jaw working overtime to break down the glazed, doughy mass.

  I shrug and gaze out the window; still unused to this California weather, a seemingly endless succession of warm sunny days, even though soon it will officially be winter. "So, what should we do today?" I ask, turning to look at him.

  He gazes' at his watch and then back at me. "I need to take off soon."

  "But Sabine won't be back until late," I say; hating how my voice sounds so whiny and needy; and the way my stomach curls when he jangles his keys.

  "I need to get home and take care of a few things. Especially if you want to see me at school tomorrow;" he says, his lips grazing my cheek, my ear, the nape of my neck.

  "Oh, school. Do we still go there?" I laugh, having successfully avoided thinking about my recent bout of truancy; and the repercussions to follow.

  "You're the one who thinks it's important." He shrugs. "If it was up to me, every day would be Saturday."

  "But then Saturday wouldn't be special. It'd all be the same," I say; picking off a piece of glazed donut. "A never-ending flow of long lazy days, nothing to work toward, nothing to look forward to, just one hedonistic moment after another. After a while, it wouldn't be so great."

  "Don't be so sure." He smiles.

  "So what exactly are these mysterious chores of yours, anyway?" I ask, hoping to get a glimpse into his life, of the more mundane things that occupy his time when he's not with me.

  He shrugs. "You know; stuff" And even though he laughs when he says it, it's pretty obvious he's ready to leave.

  "Well, maybe I can-" But before I can even finish the sentence he's already shaking his head.

  "Forget it. You are not doing my laundry." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, as though warming up for a race.

  "But I want to see where you live. I've never been in the home of someone who's emancipated, and I'm curious." And even though I tried to sound lighthearted, it came out more whiny and desperate. He shakes his head and gazes at the door as though it's a potential lover he can't wait to meet.

  And even though it's obviously time to wave my white flag and cry uncle, I can't keep from giving it one last go when I say; "But why?" Then I peer at him, waiting for a reason.

  He looks at me, his jaw tense when he says, "Because it's a mess. A horrible filthy mess. And I don't want you to see it like that and get the wrong idea about me. Besides, I'll never be able to straighten it up with you around; you'll only distract me." He smiles, but his lips are stretched tight and his eyes are impatient, and it's clear they're just words meant to fill up the space between now and when he finally gets to leave. "I'll call you tonight," he says, showing me his back as he heads for the door.

  "And what if I decide to follow you? What will you do then?" I ask, my nervous laughter halting the second he turns back to me.

  "Don't follow me, Ever."

  And the way he says it makes me wonder if he said, Don't follow me ever, or Don't follow me, Ever. But either way, it means the same thing.

  When Damen leaves, I pick up the phone and try to call Haven, but when it goes straight into voice mail, I don't bother with leaving another message. Because the truth is, I've left several already, and now it's up to her to call me. So after I head upstairs and shower, I sit at my desk, determined to get through my homework, but not getting very far before my thoughts return to Damen, and all of his weird, mysterious quirks that I can no longer ignore.

  Stuff like: How does he always seem to know just what I'm thinking when I can't get the slightest read on him? And how, in just seventeen short years, did he find time to live in all of those exotic places, mastering art, soccer, surfing, cooking, literature, world history, and just about every other subject I can think of? And what's up with the way he moves so fast he actually blurs? And what about the rosebuds and tulips and magical pen? Not to mention how one minute he's talking like a normal guy, and the next he sounds like Heathcliff, or Darcy, or some other character from a Bronte sister's book. Add to that the time he acted like he saw Riley, the fact that he has no aura, the fact that Drina has no aura, the fact that I know he's hiding something about how he really knows her-and now he doesn't want me to know where he lives?

  After we slept together?

  Okay, maybe all we did was sleep, but still, I think I deserve answers to at least some (if not all) of my questions. And even though I'm not really up for breaking into the school and searching for his record, I know someone who is.

  Only I'm not sure I should involve Riley in this. Not to mention how I don't even know how to summon her since I've never had to before. I mean, do I call out her name? Light a candle? Close my eyes and make a wish?

  Since lighting a candle seems a little hokey, I settle for just standing in the middle of my room, eyes shut tight, as I say, "Riley? Riley, if you can hear me I really need to talk to you.

  Well, actually I kind of need a fa
vor. But if you don't want to do it, then I totally understand, and there will be no hard feelings, since I know it's a little weird, and um, I feel kind of dumb right now, standing here talking to myself, so if you can hear me, could you maybe give me some kind of sign?"

  And when my stereo suddenly blasts the Kelly Clarkson song she always used to sing, I open my eyes and see her standing before me, laughing hysterically.

  "Omigod-you looked like your were two seconds away from closing the blinds, lighting a candle, and pulling the Ouija board out from under the bed!" She shakes her head and looks at me.

  "Oh jeez, I feel like an idiot," I say, my face turning red.

  "You kind of looked like an idiot." She laughs. "Okay, so let me get this straight, you want to corrupt your little sister by making her spy on your boyfriend?"

  "How'd you know?" I stare at her, amazed.

  "Please." She rolls her eyes and plops down on my bed. "You think you're the only one around here who can read minds?"

  "And how'd you know that?" I ask, wondering what else she might know.

  "Ava told me. But please don't be mad, because it really does explain some of your more recent fashion blunders."

  "And what about your more recent fashion blunders?" I say, motioning to her Star Wars getup.

  But she just shrugs. "So you wanna know where to find your boyfriend or not?"

  I move to the bed and sit down beside her. "Honestly? I'm not sure. I mean, yeah I want to know; but I don't feel right about involving you."

  "But what if I already did it? What if I already know?" she says, wiggling her brows.

  "You broke into the school?" I ask, wondering what else she's been up to since we last talked.

  But she just laughs. "Even better, I followed him home," I gape at her. "But when? And how?"

  She shakes her head. "Come on, Ever, it's not like I need wheels to get where I want to go.

  Besides, I know how you're all in love with him, and it's not like I blame you, he is pretty dreamy. But remember that day when he acted like he saw me?"

  I nod. I mean, how could I forget?

  "Well, it freaked me out. So, I decided to do a little investigation."

  I lean toward her. "And?"

  "And, well, I'm not sure how to say this, and I hope'you won't take it the wrong way, but-he's a little odd." She shrugs. "I mean, he lives in this big house over in Newport Coast, which is strange enough considering his age and all. I mean where does he get the money? Because it's not like he works."

  I remember that day at the track. But decide not to mention it.

  "But that's not even the strangest part," she continues. "Because what's really weird is that the house is completely empty. Like, no furniture whatsoever."

  "Well, he is a guy," I say, wondering why I feel the need to defend him.

  She shakes her head. "Yeah, but I'm talking seriously weird. I mean, the only things in there are one of those iPod wall docks and a flat-screen TV. Seriously. That's it. And believe me, I checked the whole house. Well, other than this one room that was locked.".

  "Since when do locked rooms stop you?" I say, having seen her walk through plenty of walls this past year.

  "Believe me, it wasn't the door that stopped me. It was me that stopped me. I mean, jeez, just because I'm dead doesn't mean I can't get scared," She shakes her head and scowls at me.

  "But, he hasn't really lived here all that long," I say, rushing to make more excuses, like the worst kind of codependent fool. "So maybe he just hasn't gotten around to furnishing it yet. I mean, that's probably why he doesn't want me to come over; he doesn't want me to see it like that." And when I replay my words in my head, I can't help but think: Oh, God, I'm even worse than I thought.

  Riley shakes her head and looks at me like she's about to let me in on the truth behind the tooth fairy, the Easter bunny, and Santa, all in one sitting. But then she just shrugs and says, "Maybe you should see for yourself."

  "What do you mean?" I ask, knowing she's holding something back.

  But she gets up from the bed and goes over to the mirror, gazing at her reflection and adjusting her costume.

  "Riley?" I say, wondering why she's acting so mysterious. "Listen," she says, finally turning toward me. "Maybe I'm wrong. I mean, what do I know; I'm just a kid." She shrugs. "And it's probably nothing, but…»

  She takes a deep breath. "But I think you should see for yourself"

  "So how do we get there?" I ask, already up and reaching for the keys.

  She shakes her head. "No way. Forget it. I'm convinced he can see me."

  "Well we know he can see me," I remind her.

  But she stands firm. "So not happening. But I'll draw you a map."

  Since Riley's not so great at drawing maps, she settles for making a list of street names instead, indicating their left and right turns, since north, south, east, and west always confuse me.

  "Sure you don't want to come?" I offer, grabbing my bag and heading out of my room.

  She nods and follows me downstairs. "Hey; Ever?" I turn.

  "You could've told me about all the psychic stuff. I feel bad about making fun of your clothes."

  I open the front door and shrug. "Can you really read my mind?"

  She shakes her head and smiles. "Only when you're trying to communicate with me. I figured it was just a matter of time before you'd want me to spy on him." She laughs. "But, Ever?"

  I turn to look at her again.

  "If I don't come around for a while, it's not because I'm mad at you or trying to punish you or anything like that, okay? I promise I'll still look in and make sure you're all right and stuff, but, well, I might be gone for a while. I might be kind of busy."

  I freeze, the first hint of panic beginning to stir. "You are coming back though, right?"

  She nods. "It's just, well… " She shrugs. "I promise I'll be back, I just don't know when." And even though she smiles, it's obviously forced.

  "You're not leaving me, are you?" I hold my breath, exhaling only when she shakes her head.

  "Okay; well, good luck then," I say, wishing I could hug her, hold her, convince her to stay; but knowing that's not possible, I head for my car and start the engine instead.

  Twenty-Three

  Damen lives in a gated community. A detail Riley failed to reveal. I guess since the presence of big iron gates and uniformed guards could never stop someone like her, it didn't seem very important. Though I guess it doesn't really stop someone like me either, since I just smile at the attendant, and say, "Hi, I'm Megan Foster. I'm here to see Jody Howard." Then I watch as she scrolls down her computer screen, searching for the name I just happen to know is listed as entry number three.

  "Leave this in your window, on the driver's side," she says, handing me a piece of yellow paper, the word VISITOR and the date clearly marked on its front. "And no parking on the left side of the street, right side only." She nods, returning to her booth as I drive through the open gate, hoping she won't notice when I pass right by Jody's street as I make my way toward Damen's.

  I've almost reached the top of the hill when I see the next street on my list, and after making a left, quickly followed by another, I stop at the end of his block, kill the engine, and realize I've lost all my nerve. I mean, what kind of psycho girlfriend am I? Who in their right mind would even think of enlisting their dead little sister to help spy on their boyfriend?

  But then again, it's not like anything in my life is remotely normal, so why should my relationships be any different?

  I sit in my car, focusing on my breath, fighting to keep it slow and steady despite the fact that my heart is pounding like crazy and my palms are slick with sweat. And as I gaze around his clean, tidy, affluent neighborhood I realize I couldn't have picked a worse day to do this.

  First of all, it's hot, sunny, and glorious, which means everyone's either riding their bikes, walking their dogs, or working in their gardens, which pretty much makes for some of the worst spying conditio
ns you could ask for. And since I spent the entire drive just concentrating on getting here and not even considering what I'd do once I made it, it's not like I have a plan.

  Though it probably doesn't matter much anyway. I mean, what's the worst that can happen? I get caught and Damen confirms I'm a freak? After my clingy, needy, desperate act this morning, he's probably already there.

  I climb out of my car and head toward his house, the one at the very end of the cul-de-sac with the tropical plants and manicured lawn. But I don't creep, or skulk, or do anything that will draw unwanted attention, I just stroll right along, as though I have every right to be there, until I'm standing before his large double doors wondering what to do next.

  I take a step back and gaze up at the windows, their blinds drawn, drapes closed, and even though I've no idea what I'll say, I bite down on my lip, push the bell, hold my breath, and wait.

  But after a few minutes pass with no answer, I ring again.

  And when he still doesn't answer, I turn the handle, confirm that it's locked, then I head down the walk, making sure none of the neighbors are watching as I slip through the side gate and slink around back.

  I stay close to the house, barely glancing at the pool, the plants, and the amazing white water view; as I go straight for the sliding glass door, which, of course, is locked too.

  Then just as I'm ready to cut my losses and head home, I hear this voice in my head urging-the window, the one by the sink. And sure enough, I find it cracked just enough to slip my fingers under and open the rest of the way.

  I place my hands on the ledge and use all of my strength to hoist myself in. And the second my feet hit the floor I've officially crossed over the line.

  I shouldn't continue. I have no right to do this. I should climb right back out and make a run for my car. Get back to my safe quiet house while I still can. But that little voice in my head is urging me on, and since it got me this far, I figure I may as well see where it leads.

  I explore the large empty kitchen, the bare den, the dinning room devoid of table and chairs, and the bathroom with only a small bar of soap and a Single black towel, thinking how Riley was right-this place is vacant in a way that seems abandoned and creepy, with no personal mementos, no photos, no books. Nothing but dark wood floors, off-white walls, bare cupboards, a fridge stuffed with countless bottles of that weird red liquid, and nothing more. And when I get to the media room, I see the flat-screen TV Riley mentioned, a recliner she didn't mention, and a large pile of foreign-language DVDs whose titles I can't translate. Then I pause at the bottom of the stairs knowing I should leave, that I've seen more than enough, but something I can't quite define urges me on.