PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  I broke through the line of trees and fled towards the cliffs. Looking over my shoulder, I screamed in helpless rage. Their laughter washed over me and I stumbled. And still I ran.

  Fingers trailed along my arms and blood welled up from the shallow cuts left by the razor-sharp fingernails that ripped my tender flesh open.

  God, no, please no.

  Terror gave my feet wings and I pushed on, trying to escape. It was hopeless, but I forced myself run.

  Fingers caught my hair, pulling me backwards. They stroked the exposed skin of my throat. A nose buried itself into my hair. Icy breath tickled my ear. His breath so sweet, so intoxicating.

  No.

  Panic overwhelmed me.

  I ripped myself free, crying out in pain as my hair was torn from my scalp. Ignoring the pain, I veered left, closer to the edge of the cliffs.

  I’d never had a chance. I knew this.

  Still, I screamed in fury when they overtook me. There were just too many of them. They threw me to the ground and I struggled, using my hands and feet to hit at bodies hard as marble. I scratched, bucked the hands holding me down. I fought them as they tore into me, their teeth ripping and tearing into my flesh. Blood gushed out of the wounds. I heard them laugh softly and then the sounds of their suckling as they fed from me. Pain cracked like a whip through my body with each new bite. I grew weaker, my life slipping away with every drop of blood spilled.

  No, I would not die like this.

  Saying a prayer for strength, I twisted to the right and managed to break free one last time. I forced myself to roll and stand up, evading the hands that reached for me.

  Then I jumped.

  Chapter 12

  The next few days fly by and I settle into a routine. Connor has become a permanent fixture in our little group of me, Morgan, Saidie and Devon. I’m not sure how that happened really, because he had a huge group of friends to begin with, but he waves to them and continues to sit with us in classes, at lunch, and outside of school. Not that I mind, I like my new friends very much.

  Even as happy as I’ve been, I’m exhausted. The nightmares are back. Not your average, ordinary ones, but ones where I wake up terrified. I woke up screaming a few times and that has my family really worried. I’m no longer taking the meds to keep me from dreaming, and the nightmares are coming back full force. I actually dread going to sleep. I couldn’t remember my dreams before, but now they are vivid memories. The one where I was attacked is a recurring one and I can’t shake it even when I’m awake. I die in that dream, over and over, almost every night. No way am I telling Dad about that. Morgan knows though. It’s helping just a bit to talk to him about it. He’s the only one who knows about my mental challenges. I even told him about the voices, which I haven’t heard since. He tells me I worry too much and that is part of my problem. Maybe he’s right. I don’t know.

  Laura Webb catches my eye as I look around. She’s staring dreamily into space. No scratch that, she’s staring all doe-eyed at Devon. He, of course, is either unaware of her attention or simply ignores her. I’m betting on the latter. Devon pretty much ignores everyone. He can get away with it though. His arrogant attitude just makes the girls all the more determined to catch him. I’d even seem some of the seniors salivating at the mouth when they looked at him, Janna included. I can’t blame them really. I can stare at him for hours myself. He is gorgeous. But for me it’s more than that.

  To say I have a crush on him is sorta putting it mildly. I’m aware of him the minute he steps into a room. My heart speeds up and my stomach knots. He can make me blush with just a look. It’s so embarrassing to have my face fairly glowing scarlet all the time. And his voice. Dear Lord, the smallest whisper has me shivering. I’ve never reacted to someone’s voice like this. He knows how his voice affects me too. His insolent smile taunts me with that little fact. Stupid boy.

  Devon confuses me too. I can’t quite figure him out no matter how much I try. Normally, he keeps a careful mask of cold arrogance in place. He hardly deigns to talk to anyone. While he is a part of our group, I have a feeling he doesn’t care one way or the other if he ever speaks to any us. He’s always polite, but very aloof. I snort. Aloof isn’t the word I’d use to describe him. No, Devon Cameron is the most arrogant person I’ve ever met. Plus he’s bossy. I hate people trying to tell me what to do.

  And that confuses me even more. He doesn’t treat me like he does everyone else. I don’t know why. There are times when he looks at me and I see the frost in eyes melt just a little. His eyes grow warm with some emotion I don’t have a name for. When I see it, my stomach does little flip flops. Then it’s gone quick as it came and the bored expression he usually wears slips back in place. Sometimes I wonder if it’s my own imagination showing me what I want to see. Who knows?

  I’ve taken to watching Devon as closely as he watches me. Fair is fair right? Why shouldn’t I watch him? That’s why I’ve noticed he’s started acting a might strange of late. Wherever we are, he hunts the area with his eyes like he’s searching for something or someone. I even mentioned his behavior to Saidie and she just brushed it aside. She hasn’t noticed anything weird. Maybe I’m over-analyzing. I tend to do that from time to time, but I don’t think so. In a way, I know him as well as I do Morgan. Something is definitely up with him. I just have to figure out what.

  Devon turns around in his seat just then and catches me staring. He always catches me staring. I, of course, blush and turn my attention back to my books. I peek at him from underneath lowered lashes. Well, crap, he’s getting up from the other table and coming over. He takes the empty seat Morgan vacated a few minutes ago. He had to leave early to take his grandfather somewhere.

  “You look horrible, Cara,” he tells me matter-of-factly.

  All of my nervousness disappears with that statement. He came over her just to insult me? Horrible? Sometimes I really have to wander why I like him.

  “A gentleman isn’t supposed to point things like that out,” I tell him shortly.

  “Did I ever say I was a gentleman?” His voice is low and rough.

  I look up, compelled to do so. His eyes are glowing again with that emotion I have no name for. I swallow. What’s he up to?

  “Was that all you wanted, Devon?” I ask. “To insult me?”

  “Perhaps,” he nods.

  Oh-h-h no, he did not. The urge to strangle him nearly overwhelms me. “Well, then you can just march yourself back over to your seat,” I say instead.

  He laughs and it flows over my skin like warm velvet. I grit my teeth, refusing to let him see how much he affects me.

  “You need a nap,” he decides. “Go to bed when you get home.”

  “I do not need to sleep,” I lie. Truth is I did need sleep, but know I won’t get any. Too many nightmares.

  “Why are you always so argumentative?” he asks, exasperated.

  “Why are you always so bossy?” I counter.

  “Bossy?” he looks startled. Does he not realize how bossy he is?

  “Yes, bossy,” I tell him. “You are forever trying to tell me what to do and I don’t like it one bit.”

  His smile turns devilish. “But I like telling you what to do.”

  “Well, you can’t,” I tell him and lock eyes with him. His are open and warm, a rare occurrence.

  “Oh, but I can, Alexandria.”

  A shudder goes through me at the softness in his tone.

  The bell rings and saves me from answering. I am up and out the door before he can say anything. He catches me three steps out the door. When his fingers wrap around my hand, it feels like a flash fire burns across my skin, heating the blood underneath. He looks shocked when he touches me, but doesn’t let go.

  “I am sorry if I insulted you, Cara.”

  “Its fine,” I mumble, trying to pull my hand away. He refuses to let go.

  “Do you forgive me?” he asks, his voice almost a purr.

  Why does he do things like this to me? I want to shout
the question at him and demand an answer. Most of the time he leaves me with little doubt he doesn’t return my feelings, but at moments like this when he looks at me with his eyes all warm and gooey, I wonder. Could it be possible?

  “Sure,” I whisper. He smiles, letting my hand go and then walks away.

  “What was that all about?” Saidie demands the minute he was out of sight. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Alex?”

  “God help me if I know,” I mutter darkly. “And you know I’d definitely spill if there was something to tell. I’ll call you tonight, okay?” I just want to get home. I really am tired and grumpy. Lack of sleep is doing me in.

  The ride home is short and I spend it trying to figure out if Devon likes me or not. Whenever I pay any attention to Tom, Devon gets a bit more attentive, but there are days like today, when he gets flirty for no reason. The boy is giving me serious whiplash with his mixed signals. Add to the fact that I am horrible at the whole boy/girl relationship thing and it just stresses me out more.

  Tom, on the other hand, has kept his distance too. I think that has more to do with Jason than Devon, though. My brother is extremely protective and I think he told Tom to stay away. Tom knows about my past and he’s never treated me like I was some kind of lunatic, but then again, he might be keeping his distance because he knows I like him. Maybe he doesn’t want to encourage the attention of the insane asylum reject.

  Why are boys so hard to figure out? Why do they have to do stupid things like giving off mixed signals or ignoring a girl or flirting and then pretending that said girl is invisible? GRRRRRRRRRRR.

  I frown as I pull into the drive. There is a car parked behind Dad’s I don’t recognize. It’s expensive too. I know his agent was supposed to be by the house this week. Could be a rental car. Well, only one way to find out.

  Chapter 13

  I hear voices as soon as I come through the door. My dad’s study is just ahead, right off the entry. The sounds are muffled, but I can make out snatches of conversation. I know that voice but I can’t place it. Deciding to play Nancy Drew, I knock on the door.

  “Come in.”

  The man standing by the fireplace is the first thing I see. He’s darkly handsome with copper tinged black hair that frames a strong face. My own eyes stare back at me. They are the same shade of midnight blue, faintly tinged with another color no one has ever been able to identify.

  There’s no mistaking who this man is.

  “Hello, Alexandria. I’m your uncle . . . ”

  “Sabien,” I finish for him.

  “You remember me?”

  “No, not really. There are pictures of you in the family album though.”

  He smiles sadly. “I wish I were here under happier circumstances.”

  A strangled sound draws my attention. My dad sits hunched over his desk, his face buried in his hands.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, concerned. Dad’s . . . crying.

  “It’s your mother, Alexandria,” Sabien’s voice is quiet, gentle. “She died a few days ago in Paris. There was a car accident.”

  A deep, wrenching sob is torn from my father. I stand staring at him, wanting to go to him, to try and help him, but I can’t.

  Dead? She’s dead? She can’t be dead. Not yet.

  “I’m sorry, John,” Sabien’s voice is soothing. “The hospital assured me she didn’t suffer. They said she died instantly.”

  Dad mutters something, his shoulders heaving.

  Sabien turns to look at me, his eyes full of sadness.

  “Look at you.” His smile is off. “The last time I saw you, Alexandria, you were all of five years old. Alecia told me you and I looked alike, but I just never realized. You do favor our side of the family, the Deveraux’s. Judging by his picture, I have to agree with your mother that Jason is the image of his father. He has our eyes, though. There wasn’t a day that went by she didn’t talk about all of you.”

  “My mom talked to you a lot?” How dare she?

  “Yes, almost every day. Her family was very important to her. You were all she ever talked about.”

  Yeah, right.

  His next question is directed to my father.

  “John, I brought her back with me from Paris. I knew she would want to be put to rest here with her family,” he pauses. “Would you like to me help with the arrangements?”

  “I . . . I . . . I . . . ”

  “Don’t worry, Dad. Jason and I will help Uncle Sabien make the arrangements.”

  Sabien looks at me curiously.

  “Where’s Emma?” I ask.

  “She’s at Marion’s,” Dad whispers, his voice hoarse. He still loves my mom, even after all these years. I know he loves Emma, too, I just never realized how much he still loves my mother. She left us and he still loves her. He needs Emma right now, though. She’ll be able to help him get through this.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go fetch Emma.”

  “Alexandria?” Sabien stops me.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you alright?”

  I can hear the concern in his voice.

  “Sure, I’m fine,” I shrug. “If you’re worried because I’m not crying hysterically, don’t. I decided the day my mom left that crying wasn’t going to change anything. It was true then and it’s true now. I’ve shed all the tears over her I’m going to.”

  “Despite what you may think, Alexandria, she loved you.”

  “Really?” I ask in a mocking tone that could rival Devon’s best. “Doesn’t matter. That won’t bring her back either. Now, I need to get Emma.”

  Closing the study door, I leave the house.

  My mother.

  God, how I hate her.

  It has been eight years since I’d seen her. Eight years since she left us. Pain turned to anger, anger to hate, and hate to rage.

  I’m supposed to cry over the woman who so callously abandoned her family, her children. Not in this lifetime.

  I open the door to Marion’s house without knocking. Marion is seven months pregnant and Emma always goes over and lends a hand with the chores that requires a lot of heavy lifting.

  “Emma?”

  “I’m in the kitchen, Alex!”

  She’s standing on a chair pulling everything out of the kitchen cabinets. The table is covered in a mixture of plates and papers. Marion is nowhere to be seen. She’s probably resting.

  “What are you doing?”

  "Mark didn't have time to deposit his paycheck yesterday. Why he doesn't use direct deposit I'll never understand. He said he tossed it in the cabinet. He failed to tell Marion which cabinet. This is the second time, I've gone through them and I still can't....Aha! The little rascal was hiding behind a bowl." She steps down off the stool and turns to look at me.

  I wonder what my expression looks like as I watch the concern start to grow on her face.

  “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “I’m fine. It’s Dad who needs you.”

  Even I hear how cold and empty my voice sounds.

  “Why would your father need me?”

  “Uncle Sabien’s up at the house. Mom died a couple days ago in Paris. There was a car accident or something.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

  I shrug. I’m not.

  “It’s okay to be upset,” she tells me in a gentle tone.

  “Upset?” I cock my head. “Why would you think I’m upset?”

  “Because your mother just died, sweetheart,” she frowns, staring at my eyes, unsure of what I am thinking.

  I decide to tell her.

  “I really don’t care.”

  “Alexandria Reed!”

  “What?” I ask. “She left us, Emma. She left Us. We didn’t leave her. She made her choice a long time ago. So why should I care now when she didn’t care about what happened to any of us?”

  “That’s not true, Alex. Your mother loved you.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Yes, she did. No m
atter what choices she had to make in her life, she loved you.”

  I sigh. I can see from the look on her face that she will never understand.

  “Don’t worry about me, Emma. I’m okay. I always am. It’s Dad I’m worried about.”

  “Of course I’m worried about you. You’re standing here telling me your mother is dead and acting as if nothing’s wrong. Something is wrong. Don’t you feel anything?”

  Oh yeah, I feel something. My voice burns with the force of my rage. “Yeah, I’m disappointed I’ll never get the chance to tell her how much I hate her.”

  Emma steps back, responding to the anger in my voice and on my face. I don’t think she’s ever realized the full extent of my feelings towards my mother, but she’s seeing it now.

  “You’re wrong,” she says at last. “You don’t hate her. If you did, you wouldn’t be so angry.”

  I turn, seeing my reflection in the shiny silver of the toaster. My face wears a harsh expression and my eyes flare with that strange color. I watch, fascinated, as they almost glow.

  “Alex?”

  Emma distracts me from my reflection. She can’t understand. It’s too hard of a concept for her to grasp because she’s such a good mother. I’m not going to try and explain it to her. No way am I up for that.

  “I just wanted to come and get you. Like I said, Dad needs you. He’s a mess.”

  Emma’s lips thin into a straight line.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she nods. “Alecia probably didn’t love you.”

  I flinch, not expecting that.

  It’s hard to hear someone else say what I’ve always known.

  “But what if you’re wrong, honey? What if she really had no choice? What if leaving broke her as badly as it did you?”

  I frown. What is she getting at?

  Emma forces me to sit down and she takes a seat opposite me.

  “I knew Alecia was leaving even before she told John.”

  Well now, what is this? I’d forgotten Emma and my mother were friends.

  “She asked me to come over to help plan your father’s birthday party. It was supposed to be a surprise. I found her in the kitchen crying hysterically and thought at first something had happened to John or you kids. She wasn’t making much sense. Once I’d gotten her calmed down, she told me she had to leave. I didn’t understand and tried to make her explain. She wouldn’t tell me very much, only that her past caught up with her. She said she had no choice but to leave.”