To Have and to Harm

by Debra Doxer

  Noticing the question in my eyes, he explains. “For some of us, as we mature, our powers grow stronger. Since you’ve hidden your ability for so much of your life, you really have no idea what you can do. But it’s like exercising any muscle. Once you start using it more, it will become stronger. Already, your power is greater than most of the healers I have working with me now. With some practice and training, you could help a great many people. I would like you to work with me, if that’s something you want to do.”

  His expression is both gentle and encouraging. I want to believe in him. It feels like he’s throwing me a lifeline. Healing is what I’ve always needed to do. Even when I was suppressing it, it made me physically sick when I didn’t use it, like it was telling me how wrong it was for me to ignore it. But I don’t know enough about my abilities to use them without fear and without screwing it up. I need what he’s offering me. It’s something I can’t get anywhere else. This is my chance to finally learn about my power, to have all my questions answered. But if I’m going to accept, there is one thing I can’t do. “I want to work with you, but couldn’t kill one person to save another,” I say.

  He looks at me for a long time before saying, “You think it’s wrong. You would refuse the life Peter is offering and let someone else die? What if it was a young girl, and you could save her using Peter? Would that be less wrong?”

  I glance away from his intense gaze because I know what he’s doing. This is the same dilemma Alec presented to me, and I did agree to it, but I was wrong. I let my mother’s murder cloud my judgment. It’s not something I would ever do again. But I can see how he justifies it, and I’m sure there are people who would agree with him.

  “Perhaps you could do other things,” he concedes when I don’t respond to his question.

  I turn back to him, wanting to ask the question that’s been waiting on my tongue the whole time I’ve been here. “Tell me about the person who died for me.”

  His mouth curves downward. He seems disappointed. “I can’t do that. We promise them anonymity.”

  I swallow against my frustration. “You could make an exception. It might help me move past this if I knew the circumstances.” As the words leave my mouth, I know they’re not true. In fact, knowing may make things worse, but that doesn’t change the fact that I need to know.

  He shakes his head, and his eyes grow cold and flat. “There’s nothing to move past. No one has done anything wrong. Everyone has benefitted. Especially you. Don’t ask me this question again, Raielle. I won’t make an exception for you.”

  A chill runs through me at the sound of his clipped words. He killed someone, and he has no emotion about it whatsoever. He believes the dead person somehow benefitted. He should at least believe it was a necessary evil, or even a terrible shame that a life was extinguished, but he doesn’t. There is no remorse. There are no feelings involved for him. I begin to wonder why he agreed to save my life. He got nothing from it. Nothing that I can see.

  “HEY, DIESEL, there’s someone here for you!”

  I toss the rest of my clothes into the bag as my shoulders tense. Most likely, it’s the brunette from history class who’s there every time I turn around, or Cal’s new girl, who thinks she’s going to get some on the side from me. These California girls are seriously aggressive.

  “Diesel!”

  “Yeah, I’ll be right there.” I zip my bag closed and heave it over my shoulder. I’ve got an eleven o’clock flight back to New York.

  My head is so messed up right now that I can’t think straight anymore. I need a break, just for a little while. I have to go home for a few days to explain myself to my family and get my dad off my back. I have to make sure Liam is okay, since Mom isn’t doing so great again.

  “There’s a scary-looking tall dude out there waiting for you,” Cal says, interrupting my thoughts. He gestures toward the door, his eyes wide, indicating there’s something off about the guy.

  Curious now, I step outside, and I can see why Cal looked a little freaked. He’s tall. I’d put him at six foot six or so, and there isn’t an ounce of fat on him. He’s all tendons and leathery skin. Dressed in black, his dark eyes are filled with attitude as they take me in. He couldn’t look more out of place on this bright palm-tree-lined street if he tried.

  He takes a step toward me. “Raielle needs you.”

  I stare at up him. My heart stops. Then it starts pounding in my ears. “What did you say?”

  He grins. “You heard me.” Then he looks at the bag in my hand. “You going somewhere?”

  My pulse races even faster because I did hear him, and if he’d shown up five minutes later, he would have missed me.

  “She’s okay?” I ask. My voice sounds strained. The chaos going on inside me makes it hard to stand still.

  He hesitates, watching me, and then he nods. “Physically, yes, she’s okay.”

  She’s okay. His words sink in, and I take the first deep breath I’ve managed since I listened to her voice-mail message.

  “Psychologically, though, she’s not so good. She’s in a bad place, and I haven’t been able to get through to her. I’m hoping you can.”

  I drop my bag to the ground, wondering what the hell that means and who this guy is to her. “I’ve been here for months,” I say accusingly.

  He nods carelessly. “Yeah, I know that, but she doesn’t. She thinks you’re at Columbia. She asks me how you are every day. Those are her first words in the morning.”

  The fact that he hears her first words in the morning freezes me in place.

  His hands go into his pockets and he chuckles, noting my reaction. “You got me wrong. I’m only there in the morning, not at night. I work for her father. It’s my job to keep tabs on everyone who knows about her. To keep her secret safe. That’s why she asks me how you are. She knows I’ll have the answer.”

  That means he’s been outright lying to her. “So when you’re telling her about me, you leave out the part about my not being at Columbia?”

  He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Look, this isn’t anyone’s fault. Her father’s only lasted this long doing what he does because he insists on secrecy. The conditions were that she leave with me immediately and that she tell no one. When she insisted that she wouldn’t go without you, I let her know that wasn’t an option. She was willing to stay and risk her life for you, but I convinced her that you wouldn’t want that. I made her believe that she’d be putting the guilt of her death on you if she did that. That’s the only thing that finally convinced her to go with me.”

  I glare at him. It is his fault. He took her away. He convinced her to go, and he’s kept her from me all this time.

  He glances down at my bag on the sidewalk. “Were you finally giving up and going home?”

  My jaw clenches. “I want to see her now.”

  “And we’re back to why I’m here,” he says, oblivious to the darts my eyes are shooting at him. “Let’s go then.” He starts down the sidewalk. “My name’s Apollo, by the way,” he throws over his shoulder.

  “Wait a minute. I’ll drive myself. I’ll follow you.” Because if I see anything I don’t like, I’m leaving, and I’m taking her with me. Actually, I’m probably doing that anyway. Then this guy can go fuck himself.

  “Fine with me.” He shrugs. “I ain’t no chauffeur.”

  We leave my apartment, and I stay close to his BMW convertible, which are a dime a dozen out here. Every asshole seems to have one. He’s got the top down and at his height, I have no idea how he crammed his legs into that thing. I crank up the air-conditioner in the truck because my temperature is skyrocketing at the thought of seeing her again after all this time. I’m afraid to really believe it yet.

  Within minutes, we’re on the other side of the neighborhood, parking in front of a squat brick building. I get out of my truck and stare up at it. Has she been here the whole time, less than a mile away?

  “She doesn’t live here,” Apollo says, seeming to r
ead my thoughts. “She likes to stay here, though.” He walks past me, holding a box of doughnuts.

  “Does she go to school?” I ask, since mostly UCLA students live around here.

  When he nods, I can hardly believe it. How have we never run into each other? It’s a big school, but still, I wonder how close we may have come at times without ever connecting.

  I follow him toward the entrance and watch as he shakes his head at an illegally parked Porsche. Reaching inside, he yanks the keys from the ignition and pockets them. “Treats this baby like shit,” he mutters.

  “Is that yours?” I ask, wondering if he’s stealing those keys.

  He shakes his head. “Not exactly.”

  He keeps walking, and I follow him inside the run-down apartment building in the student slum section of campus. As we head up the stairs, my hands are clenching open and closed. None of my fears were true. She’s not dead, and she’s not staying away because she doesn’t care. She thinks I got on with things after she left. That I went about my business like we never happened. How could she possibly believe that? I haven’t even seen her yet, and the hurt over how easily she gave up on me is nearly as stifling as the steamy air in the staircase we’re climbing.

  At the top, Apollo exits into the hallway and pauses by the first door on his left. He barely knocks before walking right in.

  I’m behind him when a short redhead strolls by, not at all surprised to see him. “She’s sacked out on the couch, as usual,” the redhead says. “Good luck dragging her ass to class today, I think she only came in an hour ago.” Then she spots me in the doorway, and her eyes widen. She glances at Apollo. “Who is…?” But Apollo places a finger to his lips and shakes his head, stopping her in midsentence.

  With the girl’s curious eyes on me, I follow him farther inside the cramped apartment and pause at the entrance to the living area. Apollo walks around a couch that’s facing away from me and positions himself in front of it. By the expression on his face, I know she’s lying there, just out of sight.

  I pull in a slow breath as my heart hammers against my ribs. Now that we’re finally in the same room, I realize I’m not just anxious, but I’m nervous, too. What if she isn’t happy to see me? What if I exaggerated what we had, and she thinks I’m crazy for even coming here? When Apollo leans down, my hands are still by my side and my eyes stay pinned to the couch.

  “Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Apollo says with fake cheer before turning to pull open the curtains, flooding the room with light.

  I hold my breath as the back of her head gradually appears, and she pushes herself up. Then I smile at her bed head and at the achingly familiar dark blonde waves that cascade over her shoulders. Her hand reaches up to push the hair off her face, and I catch the delicate lines of her long fingers.

  “How is he?” she asks, her voice soft and scratchy from sleep. Based on what Apollo said, she’s asking about me. The fact that she cut herself off from me, yet still thinks of me when she first opens her eyes each morning, makes my chest grow tight.

  Apollo looks my way, and I move into the room. “He’s here,” Apollo says.

  “What?” she asks quietly, not turning to follow his gaze.

  “Behind you, kid,” he says gently. “He’s standing right behind you.”

  When she slowly starts to turn her head, I stop, waiting to see those pale blue eyes again. As I watch, her profile comes into view. Then slowly her eyes come up and find me.

  Our gazes lock, and it feels like I’ve been jolted with electricity. I can see her mentally shaking herself, wondering if I’m real. When her eyes begin to shimmer, I break out of my stupor, rounding the couch quickly and stopping directly in front of her.

  Looking at her now, something inside me shifts, and I recognize the pull between us, the palpable attraction that sparks when we’re together. When she licks her lips, I know she feels it, too. Bending down before her, I reach out my hand to brush her cheek, and when she leans her face into my palm, I gather her in my arms, burying my nose in her hair, drawing in her sweet fragrance. “Ray,” I whisper, and I feel her arms come around my neck.

  “You’re here,” she says, sounding as though she doesn’t believe it even as she’s pressing herself against me. Her soft voice stirs something deep within me. My memories did not do this justice. Nothing feels as perfect as this. My arms tighten around her, and I can hardly process the fact that I’m holding her again. I was starting to think this would never happen.

  “Lucas.” She says my name, and the caress of her warm breath on my skin combined with the husky tone of her words has me pulling back just enough to look at her, needing to take in every detail. My hands cup her cheeks, and I realize she’s trembling. Her translucent blue eyes, the ones that I’ve pictured every day since she left, are wide with shock and uncertainty. I swallow back a curse. Whatever happened to her this summer has taken its toll. Her cheekbones are too sharp, and her skin is too pale. She’s covered by an oversized sweater, and it’s hot as hell in here.

  “How are you here?” she asks with a wariness I don’t like.

  “Where else would I be?” I ask simply.

  Her bewildered reaction isn’t lost on me. She didn’t think I’d come. “Are you okay?” I ask, thinking of her health, because in every other way, she’s drowning. Anyone can see that. This is what Apollo meant when he said she was in a bad place.

  She nods at me.

  “No, you’re not,” I say, watching as her eyes widen even further.

  She takes a deep breath, shifting away from me and running a shaky hand through her hair. The relief I felt when I first saw her begins a slow retreat.

  “Why aren’t you at Columbia?” she asks. It’s a harsh whisper, like she’s afraid of what my answer will be, and she doesn’t want to hear it.

  I glance back at Apollo. “Could we have some privacy?”

  He nods and walks out into the hallway, taking the redhead with him, ignoring the questions she fires at him about who I am.

  Once they’re gone, I erase the small distance she put between us, purposely crowding her, wanting her to get used to my being near her again. “Did you really think I would write you off and go on my merry way to college?” I ask, unable to contain the bitter resentment in my voice.

  Tears begin to spill onto her cheeks. “That’s what you should have done,” she says as her hands cover her face, hiding herself from me. “You shouldn’t be here, Lucas.”

  I take her hands down. “Do you honestly want me to leave?” I ask, daring her to lie to me.

  Her eyes show fear now, wondering if I’ll really go, and I can see the wheels turning in her head.

  “Stop thinking. Just tell me the truth.”

  She blinks her eyes and more teardrops fall. “No. I don’t want you to leave, but you shouldn’t stay.”

  Despite her words, she’s not pushing me away. She’s drifting closer. “Yes, I should,” I whisper, my lips nearly touching hers. She shifts her face up toward mine, and I move in, gently pressing my mouth to hers. Anticipation holds me in place, waiting for her to kiss me back and take what I’m offering.

  Then I feel her fingers slowly inch their way into my hair, and she applies soft pressure to my mouth. My whole body seems to sigh at the contact. Taking her cue, I kiss her gently, loving the way her hands feel on me, indulging the craving that’s gone unsatisfied for so long. I pull her in close and open my mouth to her, needing more, but she turns her head away.

  I lean back to look at her. She’s crying even harder now. My hands automatically reach up to smooth away the wetness on her cheeks. “What is it?” I ask.

  She gives me a wobbly half smile. “I’m so happy you’re here.” Then she wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes me tightly. The pressure in my chest eases as I hold her against me. I run a soothing hand up and down her back, slipping under her curtain of hair to rub the nape of her neck. A sliver of worry slices through me as my fingers move down again to skim over her too-promin
ent ribs, and I begin to wonder if she’s not completely cured, if there’s something she isn’t telling me.

  We hold each other for a long time, until her trembling begins to subside. I wait for her to break our embrace because I can’t seem to let go first. When she finally unwinds her arms and we’re face-to-face, I ask, “Did your father heal you? Is the disease completely gone?”

  She nods.

  “Your hand,” I add, reaching for her right hand, uncurling her fingers and wrapping my own around them. “Can you feel this?”

  “Yes.” Her fingers grip mine, pulling my hand toward her, grasping it tightly. She’s so brittle and defeated, not at all the strong, opinionated girl who knocked me on my ass when we first met, and I know there’s something else, something more going on with her. “How did your father heal you?” I ask.

  She tenses as her gaze shifts downward, away from mine. My heart sinks, knowing this must be the root of things. This is why she’s such a mess.

  “Can you tell me about it?” I ask carefully.

  She withdraws into herself and pulls her hand from my grasp. “No.”

  I reach for her. “Look, I know how you felt. But—”

  She drives her fingers through her hair, and her eyes won’t meet mine. “But nothing. I can’t…” Her lips twist as she shakes her head.

  Gripping her shoulders, I try to get her to look at me. I need to know what happened if I’m going to help her. I need to know everything. “Ray…”

  “You haven’t changed.” She laughs harshly. “Always pushing. Never letting anything go.”

  She’s the opposite, I’m thinking, wanting to ignore anything that’s too hard to deal with, keeping it all to herself, suffering in miserable silence. “Please,” I say, hearing the plea in my voice.

  “What?” she snaps.

  My hand smoothes over her hair, trying to calm her down.

  She’s silent as her chest rises and falls. I decide to table this for now, thinking she isn’t going to talk to me, but then she straightens. Her head comes up, and she gives me a defiant look. “On the way here it got worse, a lot worse.” Her eyes move away from mine. “Everything hurt. My head was pounding. I was burning up, and then finally I went numb. It was such a relief until my body started to quit on me. I fought, though,” she continues softly. “I fought for hours. I don’t know how many. By then I couldn’t breathe anymore. I couldn’t move. I’d black out and Apollo would bring me back.” Her face crumples, but she fights off the tears. “I should have died so many times that day. But he kept bringing me back…again and again.”