by Cole Gibsen
The young man fell back and scrambled away from me like a crab. Once he’d put some distance between us he cautiously stood up, rubbing the elbow I’d bent at a gross angle. He released his breath in a hiss. “What are you? Some sort of martial arts expert?”
Good question. If only I knew the answer. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!”
He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll remember that. And maybe you should take a couple of these.” He tossed a pill bottle at me, which I caught in one hand. “They’ll help you relax … so you don’t break someone’s arm or something.”
A wave of nausea rolled through me. I’d almost snapped his wrist, just like I’d done to Weasel last night. Only this guy had done nothing wrong. What was going on with me? Was I becoming dangerous to be around?
“Get some rest,” the orderly said, his eyes still wide. He walked backward into the hospital, staring at me the whole way.
“Impressive,” a new voice announced.
I whirled around in my chair to find the Asian guy who’d visited my room earlier standing next to me with his arms folded.
I glared at him. “What do you want now?”
His chocolate eyes bore into my own. “It appears I was wrong about you.”
After studying him for a moment, I realized it was a good thing Debbie wasn’t here. She would have signed him on as a model in a second. The brooding types always sold the most underwear. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I can help you.” His English was clipped and tight, as if each word he spoke might be the end of his sentence. He pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to me: Black’s School of Martial Arts. The name Kim Gimhae was neatly written across the bottom in pencil.
I turned the card over in my hand. “What’s this for?”
“So you can call me and we can discuss this.”
I frowned. “Discuss what?”
Kim leaned toward me, and I detected the scent of sandalwood—warm and earthy. He kept his eyes focused on the parking lot and lowered his voice to a whisper. “The doctors told you that you went into shock, right? The police probably said that adrenaline helped you fend off your attackers.” His eyes flicked to mine and he shrugged. “You can believe them if you want.” He lowered his voice further, so it was little more than a hiss. “Did you hear whispers in your head last night, Rileigh?”
My chest convulsed as fear squeezed my heart into pulp. Impossible. How could he know about the voice? Who was this guy?
Before I could ask, Kim straightened. “Now that it has begun, people will be looking for you—dangerous people.” He eyes swept over the parked cars and I couldn’t help but follow his gaze, half expecting someone to come charging at us as we spoke. Instead, a woman got out of her car gathering a balloon bouquet behind her.
“If she charges us,” I whispered, “just dive behind that rose bush over there. The balloons won’t stand a chance.”
Kim frowned at me. “You should take your safety a little more seriously.”
“So everyone keeps telling me,” I mumbled.
He went back to scanning the parked cars. “It is only a matter of time before they find you. I can help. Call me when you’re ready.”
I shoved the card in my pocket, making a mental note to toss it into the nearest trash can the moment he was out of sight. “And how will I know when I know when I’m ready?” I made air quotes with my fingers.
He looked at me, the intensity in his eyes melting the sarcastic grin from my face. “You’ll be ready when you realize just how much trouble you are in.”
7
My nerves were frayed worse than my favorite pair of American Eagle destroyed-wash jeans. It was bad enough that I was attacked at the mall and spent the night in the hospital, but now I had some freaky Asian guy telling me that he knew the truth about the voice inside my head?
I was quiet when I’d climbed into Quentin’s Mini Cooper. I’d even turned on the radio ear-bleedingly loud to discourage talking. But when he pulled out of the hospital parking lot a knot in my chest loosened. And the farther away we drove the more it unwound until, for the first time since before the attack, I could breathe. In fact, once we’d turned onto the interstate I felt a teensy bit embarrassed I’d allowed that Kim guy to get to me. After all, I had met him in a hospital. He could have been a patient himself. Maybe he had a head injury, or more likely, escaped from the mental ward. Both possibilities were more realistic than a group of dangerous people coming after me just because I had a rush of adrenaline.
We arrived at my house in South City at ten in the morning, which was nothing short of a miracle. The trip that should have taken forty-five minutes took twenty. The day Quentin got his driver’s license I learned he could bend the laws of space and time with his driving. I’m not sure how, exactly, because I usually kept my eyes hidden behind my fingers. Today was no different, and when I heard the familiar sound of my chipped driveway crunching beneath the tires, I dropped my hands.
Quentin casually flipped the sun visor back into place. Warp speed was nothing new to him.
After my pulse slowed from a gallop to a trot I asked, “Wanna hang for a bit?” When Quentin had sent Debbie a text to let her know we were leaving, she texted him back to say she’d pick up my car at the mall and then had to make a quick stop at the office before coming home. Debbie’s and my version of quick were very different and I didn’t really feel like being alone at the moment.
He turned to me and smiled. “Sure thing.”
“Can you grab the toaster?”
Quentin turned to the beaten box in the backseat. “What is it with you and this thing? You don’t really want to give it to your cousin, do you? It’s probably broken.”
Just like me. I knew last night had done something to me, something that wasn’t as obvious as the dents in the toaster. I could feel the strangeness of my own change
fluttering inside of me with each breath. “Just bring it inside,” I snapped.
Quentin held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry I said anything.”
I knew I should apologize, but I was afraid that if I opened my mouth the sob building in the back of my throat would break free. Instead, I bit my trembling lip and climbed out of the car, crossing the small yard to the front door of my house. I was home. The nightmare was over.
Be vigilant. We are being watched.
I fisted my hand inches away from the storm door handle as spiders with ice-crusted legs crawled down my spine. I wanted so badly to believe the voice sweeping through my head during the attack was the result of stress. But now, inches away from my home, it called to me again. What did it mean? Who was watching?
Reflexively, I turned on the porch stoop to see if I could spot a threat. The street was empty. Several months ago I helped Quentin research a paper on paranoid schizophrenia and I ran through the symptoms in my head. Hearing voices? Check. Obsessively anxious? Check. Unreasonably suspicious? Check.
The bones in my legs melted to mush one by one. I couldn’t go crazy. The damage to my reputation would be horrible and just forget about scoring a date to senior prom. I clung to the door handle to keep from melting into a quivering puddle.
Quentin frowned as he walked up beside me. “Are you feeling okay?”
I chose my words carefully. “I’m so tired I could pass out right here.” Which wasn’t technically lying, but that didn’t stop a wave of guilt from washing over me.
“Totally understandable.” He whipped out the key that Debbie had given him last year after I’d locked myself out of the house three times in a row. He pushed the door open. “Let’s get you in the house, then. Nothing takes the welcome out of a welcome mat like an unconscious girl on the porch.”
I allowed him to usher me inside and collapsed onto the couch with a blanket. Quentin brought me Shawnee, my stuffed black Labrador, and continued to scuttle around my house straightening things, as he always did when he came over. I tried to sleep, but my racing
mind refused to shut down. Frustrated, I turned on the TV in the hopes that it would distract me, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the voice whispering in my head. What did it mean? Was I losing my mind or was it something else altogether? And more importantly, was there a way to get rid of it?
I tried to come up with answers, but found none. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more my head ached. Exhausted, and with a promise to figure it all out later, I wandered into the bathroom and popped two of the pills from the bottle the orderly had given me at the hospital.
Next, I pulled my favorite sweatpants from the hamper—the ones with a star printed on the hip—and after a quick change, made my way back to the couch. I wasn’t sure if it was the stress of the previous night, the medication, or a combination of both, but sleep did not come easily.
As I dreamed, I found myself in a place I almost remembered, slipping from the arms of a man with a face I could not see. I gripped him tighter as our entwined fingers, slick with sweat, slid apart, leaving me completely alone in a black room.
Out of the darkness I heard him scream.
8
It’s not too late, you know.”
Against my better judgment, I cracked my eyelids open.
Debbie stood before me in a form-fitting strapless pink dress. A wide fuchsia belt cinched her thin waist.
“You can’t be serious.” I groaned as I pulled myself up into a sitting position. My body ached from spending the morning sprawled on our extremely expensive yet extremely uncomfortable couch. When the pills began taking effect, Quentin had offered to lead me to my room, but I’d been too lazy to venture off. And, boy, was I feeling the consequences.
Debbie frowned, jutting her bottom lip out in what I knew to be a well-practiced pout from her modeling days. “I don’t like the idea of you staying here alone. Besides, it’s family. They’re going to want to see you.”
I shook my head. “Forget it, Mom. There’s no way I’m going to a wedding today. I feel awful.”
Her face softened. “Are you alright?”
“I’m kind of achy, but I’ll live. I think I need to spend the day in bed. Where’s Q?”
“He said something about needing to check in at home, but said he’d be back around dinnertime.” Debbie looked thoughtful for a moment before she opened her sequined clutch and pulled out a small pink cell phone. “I better call Jason, just to make sure you’ll be okay on your own.”
I pulled the afghan over my shoulders. “Who’s Jason?”
She flushed crimson. “Oh, um, I mean Dr. Wendell.”
All traces of grogginess were gone. “You have his home phone number?”
“Cell phone, actually.” Debbie avoided my gaze as she dialed the number and walked out of the room.
I remained frozen. Just what had happened between Debbie and the doctor during coffee that they were now so close? From my spot on the couch, I couldn’t make out more than a word of two of her conversation. But then she laughed, the noise setting off a chord of unease that rippled across my shoulders.
Moments later I heard the snap of a cell phone shutting and Debbie was back in the living room. “He says you should stay in bed and rest.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s the expert medical advice? Good thing you called him. I was just about to go run a marathon.”
Debbie gasped. “Rileigh Hope Martin! I understand you don’t feel well, but that is no reason for you to take on such a nasty attitude. I’m just trying to look out for you.”
I sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
She nodded, satisfied. “Apology accepted. Now, I have my cell phone on me so if you need anything, you know to call me, right?”
“Got it.” She didn’t need to know that she was number two on my speed dial behind Quentin.
“Good. I want you to get plenty of rest today, and don’t wait up for me. I’ll probably be out late.”
No surprise there. After she left, I settled in as best I could into the stiff-as-a-board cushion and flipped the TV on to a Degrassi marathon. Exhaustion crept over me like a heavy blanket, and slowly I gave in to my drooping eyelids.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep, but it felt like only minutes when the doorbell chime woke me.
I didn’t bother to open my eyes. “Mom, I already told you I’m not going!”
Debbie didn’t answer.
I opened my eyes and glanced at the clock on the DVD player; it was almost five. I’d been asleep for two hours.
There were several sharp raps against the front door.
Heaving a sigh, I lifted myself off the couch. As I drew closer to the door, I heard a muffled voice from the other side.
“One sec,” I called out, pulling my afghan tighter around my shoulders. I flipped the deadbolt, but stopped myself before I turned the knob. Hadn’t last night taught me anything? I dropped my hand and backed away from the door. “Who’s there?”
A male voice answered. “Whitley Noble.”
My heart did a backflip against my ribs. Whitley Noble? The Whitley Noble? The new student I’d spent the last semester lusting after was at my door? I reached for the knob, but stopped short when I caught a glance at myself in the hallway mirror. My hair had matted itself in a clump where I lay against the couch, sticking out at odd angles. I squealed in horror.
“Are you okay?” Whitley called from the other side of the door. The doorknob twisted under my fingers.
Panicked, I rammed the opening door shut with my shoulder and latched the deadbolt. “I’ll be right with you!” I called. Whitley Noble was on my porch and I looked like I’d stuck my hand in a light socket! I ran into my bedroom and frantically pulled a brush through my hair, not caring that I felt like I was ripping half of it out. Once I had it tied back into a sleek ponytail, I started to leave my room when I remembered that my sweatpants were wearing thin in the back seam. Since I didn’t want Whitley to know the color of my underwear, I ran to my closet and pulled out a clean pair of jeans, purple tank top, and black flip-flops. After I dressed, I grabbed my shiniest lip gloss from my vanity and slathered it on as I ran back to the door. I did a final check in the mirror before taking a deep breath and opening the door.
Whitley raised his eyebrows in amusement. He was strikingly handsome, with an angled chin and razor-edged cheeks, like an Abercrombie ad brought to life. Which was weird, because the guys I typically went for were the grungy skater types. Whitley had more of that “I play polo and go yachting on the weekends” look. But, and I don’t know how he did it, he made it work without coming off as a jerk.
My heart spun in my chest, as if it were the wheel of a gerbil hopped up on Pixy Stix. What was Whitley doing here? It wasn’t like we’d ever talked before. But that didn’t matter. He was here now and this was my moment to make an impression. To show him what a smart and savvy girl I was. I opened my mouth but, apparently, the smart and savvy was out of the office. “Huh-eye.” I winced internally. Good thing awkward and stupid were more than happy to fill in. Why didn’t I just tell him, “Colors are pretty.” Or, “I like cake.” It was all I could do to keep from bashing my head against the wall.
Luckily, Whitley didn’t seem to notice my lack of socialization skills. He answered me with a boyish grin. “Hi.”
The dimples! I swallowed hard and barely managed to suppress a shudder of appreciation. I’d studied the dimples from afar during what Quentin called my “Whitley Watching Safaris” and often wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such a smile. I now knew the effect was knee-weakening.
“So—” Whitley swept a hand through his shoulder-length blond hair and shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“So?” I stared into his eyes. From this close, I could see that they were two shades of blue. Just like the ocean grew darker the deeper you waded, I knew if I wasn’t careful, I could fall in and sink.
“Um, can I come in?”
I snapped out of my trance. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. Yeah, co
me in.” I moved out of his way and fought the urge to smack my own forehead as he stepped inside. After I closed the door, I motioned him to the couch and positioned myself across from him on the loveseat. Putting some distance between us seemed like a good idea. I hoped it would lessen the effect he had on me so I wouldn’t embarrass myself further.
He cleared his throat and fidgeted with his green T-shirt. “I felt really bad when I heard what happened to you.”
My heart sank. The attack wasn’t a topic I wanted to discuss.
He seemed to sense my hesitation. “You don’t have to talk about it or anything. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
I was at a loss for words. Whitley Noble not only knew who I was, but he cared about my well-being? It seemed too good to be true. Subtly, I reached down and pinched my thigh. The sharp pain assured me I was awake.
“I almost forgot!” Whitley’s face brightened as he reached for his back pocket. “I brought you something.” His smile faltered when he withdrew a wilted arrangement of daisies and carnations. Several yellow petals drifted lazily to his lap. His face reddened as he brushed them away with his hand. “They looked better earlier this morning. I tried to bring them to the hospital, but you’d already left.”
I took the pathetic arrangement, ignoring the petals that continued to fall. “I think they’re beautiful.”
Whitley smiled and relaxed back against the couch.
“It’s also very sweet of you to check on me.”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing. Before I found out what happened to you, I was really disappointed when you didn’t show up at the party last night.”
I swayed slightly, woozy from the extra heat burning up my neck and into my cheeks. “Really?”
“Yeah. You see, I was going to ask you something.”
I leaned forward. “What?”
He opened his mouth just as my phone on the coffee table lit up and played my favorite dance mix. I groaned inwardly and scooped it up.
