by G. A. Rael
Darren reluctantly walked back towards the exam room without taking his eyes off of her. "Don't go anywhere," he ordered.
"I won't," she promised, smiling a little. His gruffness was starting to grow on her.
Hell, it already had.
Once he had gone back into the room, she let out the breath she’d been holding and trudged up the stairs. Guilt had been a staple in Jordan's upbringing, but she had never felt quite as low as she had the moment she had made the mistake of meeting Darren's worried gaze.
When she unlocked the door, his apartment was in more than its usual state of disarray. She began picking the dirty laundry up off the floor to keep herself occupied while she used the few moments she had to come up with an adequate apology. Words didn't seem to suffice, not after she had seen how deeply her absence had affected him. Somehow, despite his words of love and affirmation, it hadn't sunk in until that moment that he meant them.
He really loved her. Why, Jordan couldn't even begin to imagine, but the truth had been as plain as the concern on his face.
Jordan carried the laundry into Darren's bedroom and loaded it into the empty hamper he seemed to have forgotten existed. She was about to leave the room when something on his bed caught her eye. Nestled in the midst of the tousled blankets was an envelope. Her name was written in all too familiar font on the front.
With a trembling hand, Jordan reached out for the envelope. She broke the red seal marked with the initial B. It wasn't the way her father usually sealed his letters, but she wouldn't have put it past him to use an element of dramatic flair.
Sure enough, the letter inside was in his handwriting. It was short and to the point, but no less chilling for its brevity.
Dearest Alyssa,
I hear your boyfriend thinks he can take me, but how do you think he'll fare against my friend?
Love,
Daddy
Jordan's head spun until the words were nothing but a blur. She crumpled the paper and ripped it until it was nothing but confetti, tossing the pieces in the trash. She turned and stalked straight for the front door just as Darren opened it.
"Jordan?" His expression fell. "Where were you going? Wait, are you crying? I know my place is kind of a mess, but --"
"Coming here was a mistake," she said, her voice hoarse with dread of the words she was about to speak. "I just didn't want to do this over the phone."
Darren frowned and she could see the realization wash over him. "Jordan, please. I said I was sorry. I know I was a jerk --"
"It's not that," she snapped, knowing that at this point, the only way to keep him safe was to push him away like she should have from the beginning. "You were right, Darren. That's why I was upset, not because you hurt my feelings. This whole time we've both been thinking we could get past the differences between us, but we can't. It was one thing when we were just experimenting, but now that things are getting serious, I just don't see how this is going to work."
"Is this because I said I wanted to marry you?" he asked, taking a step forward. "Because if things are moving too fast, we can slow down. I never would have brought that up if I hadn't thought we were on the same page."
"It's not just that," she said, folding her arms to hide the fact that her hands were still shaking from the letter. "No matter how slowly we move, the only place this thing between us can go is off a cliff."
He looked like she had punched him in the stomach and Jordan had to look away. "I'm sorry, Darren, but you know it's the truth. I'm a runaway preacher's kid who dabbles in witchcraft and you're practically the poster boy for normalcy. I can't stay in one town for a year and we both know you'll never leave."
He winced and for a moment, anger overtook the confusion on his face. Jordan latched onto it and went in for the kill. Anger was easier to deal with than pain. Anger she was used to. Anger would make sure he didn't pursue her. It would keep him safe.
"Ouch," he muttered.
"You know I'm right, Darren," she said, managing to overcome the tremor in her voice. "I've spent most of my life locked up like a caged bird. You're never going to leave this town, and I would never ask you to. If I stay here, I'm just going to end up resenting you."
He worked his jaw like he was struggling to speak. Finally, he rasped, "I'm sorry. I had no idea I bored you so much."
Jordan found that it took as much effort to keep her knees from buckling as it took to keep herself from recanting every hurtful word she had said and begging for his forgiveness. The only thing that gave her strength was the knowledge that if she did take it back, she was condemning him and very likely the entire town he loved so much to the same fate that had befallen her mother and Ezekiel.
"I'm just being honest, Darren," she said, swallowing hard. "You deserve that. You deserve a nice, sane, normal woman who can live beside you in this town and give you the life you've always wanted. The marriage, the family, the stability. You deserve someone who sees this town and the life you can give her as a gift, not a prison."
"Prison?" he asked hoarsely. He moved forward and Jordan flinched. When he realized the reason for her reaction, he froze and the last trace of his anger vanished. "You really think I would hurt you, after everything we've been through together?"
Jordan couldn't find the voice to answer or the strength to meet his gaze. "You're a man, Darren," she said quietly. "At the end of the day, no matter what you do or don’t believe in, you're all the same."
His silence was so loud she wished he would scream at her, curse her or say something, anything to break it. Instead, he opened the door and stepped aside.
"Go, then," he said gruffly.
Jordan took a step forward but Darren caught her arm. When she turned to face him, his usually cold gray eyes were filled with more pain than she had thought possible. "Unlike your father, I'm not going to stop you from leaving. You can tell yourself I'm like him if it makes you feel better, but I love you enough not to stand in your way. Remember that."
Before Jordan could reply, Darren took a step back and she found herself on the other side of the threshold. Tears slipped down her cheek and she forced herself to move away from him even though it felt like a magnet was drawing her back. "Goodbye, Darren."
His eyes narrowed. "Goodbye, Jordan," he said stiffly before closing the door.
Jordan wandered out of Darren's building and made it to the front steps before she broke down. To her relief, it was dark and no one was around to see her crumble.
Twenty
The remaining week until the festival flew by. At first, Jordan had made herself a recluse in fear of running into Darren, but her plants would need more food sooner or later and Mrs. Herrin had asked her to make a run to the store. To her relief, no one in town seemed to know about the breakup. If they did, at least they were being respectful by not bringing it up.
Jordan realized that she had been holding out hope for the very encounter she had sought to avoid when she made it through the grocery store checkout line without catching sight of Darren. The lights in his clinic were off when she allowed herself a stray glance. Maybe he wasn't feeling well.
She quickly chided herself for the impulse to run over and see if he needed anything. Making soup and fluffing pillows was girlfriend territory and she wasn't that. Not anymore. If she did allow herself to get close to Darren again, Jordan knew that a worse fate than the common cold would befall him.
In fact, she had made all but the final preparations to leave town that night after the festival. The short but pointed letter's warning may have been shredded into a thousand pieces, but it was still whole and legible in her mind.
Jordan wandered back in the direction of Mrs. Herrin's house to deliver the groceries and change into her costume for the festival. She didn't want to leave Cindy in the lurch, but if she was being honest with herself, staying for the festival was just a half-assed excuse to put off leaving Cold Creek for as long as possible. After that night, she could no longer justify her presence in the small
town or anywhere near Darren. Hopefully the silver lining would be that she managed to avoid Hermes and his last-ditch sales pitch by making a surprise exit.
"Jordan!" A familiar voice called to her from behind. Jordan turned to see Chase Wilde jogging to meet her. She gave him a tired smile and didn't have the energy to make it convincing. "I thought it was you. You've been a scarce commodity lately--you and Daren both."
"We've both been busy," she said, shifting the groceries to her other arm. Before she could protest, he took them from her.
"I'll help you with that," he offered, setting off down the path without waiting for her to accept.
"Thanks, but you don’t have to keep being my grocery delivery service.”
"I'd hardly be able to call myself a gentleman if I let a beautiful young lady carry a heavy parcel," he said with a wink.
Jordan stared at him for a moment. How could someone so plastic have such convincing moments of warmth? If the night of Cindy's welcome party hadn't been burned into her mind, she might not have believed he was the same person.
"So," he said, breaking into her thoughts, "how is Darren?"
"He's good," she said quickly, hoping he wouldn't notice the way her voice strained whenever she spoke of him. "Like I said, he's just been busy. Lots of dogs to, um, shave."
She cringed. Shave, Jordan?
He cocked his head. "I suppose it is shedding season."
"Do you have any pets?" she asked, hoping to move him away from the topic of Darren. "You seem like the golden retriever type."
"No," he said slowly, "I'm allergic to dogs and just a tad OCD. My mother has one, though.”
"What about cats? They're pretty clean," she murmured, thinking she knew one who would probably be all too eager to spend an evening in Chase’s lap. Her cheeks grew warm at the thought that was a bit too intriguing.
Chase wrinkled his nose. "Let's just say I've had some bad experiences with cats."
Jordan's mind drifted back to Darren's warning about the lawyer's past and she tried not to wonder whether it had been a bad experience for him or for the cat. Maybe it was because she was surrounded by dangers of a supernatural nature, or simply the fact that she already had more confirmed bodies on her conscience than the rumors could pin on Chase, but avoiding him because of something that might not be true seemed like a moot point. Maybe she was just as naive as Hermes seemed to think.
Maybe Chase sensed it and that was why he followed her around like a lost puppy every chance he got. He was destined to be disappointed come morning, when she skipped town, but she was sure he'd get over his inexplicable infatuation as quickly as it had developed.
"What about you?" he asked. "Other than Darren, do you have any pets?"
She smiled a little as the house came into view. "There's a stray cat who shows up from time to time, but I try not to encourage him. I think he considers me the pet, though."
"Ah," he said knowingly, coming to a stop in front of the door. He glanced up warily at the house. "I'd carry these in for you, but Mrs. Herrin isn't really a fan of mine. She’d probably set the dogs on me.”
"The police?" Jordan asked, frowning.
Chase gave her a placid smile. "You're kind to pretend you haven't heard the rumors about me, but there's no need for pretense. Not when our time is so limited."
"Limited?" Her heart lurched. Did he know?
"It's only a matter of time before Darren comes to his senses and whisks you away from this town, I mean," he said smoothly, passing her the groceries. "He's never been the brightest star in the sky, but if he has half a brain in that over-inflated head of his you'll have a ring on your finger by Thanksgiving."
Jordan's face warmed again and her relief that he hadn't seen through her plans to leave in secret was dampened by the sadness in his voice. For a moment, Chase Wilde had transformed from a mannequin to a man again. "That's very sweet, but I don't think Darren is going anywhere and I don't think there's going to be a ring anytime soon. We broke up.“
“Oh?” He asked in half-hearted disappointment. “I suppose I gave my high school rival too much credit.”
"Wait," said Jordan, emboldened by her impending getaway. "There's something I need to ask you."
Chase watched her patiently and she couldn't escape the feeling that he knew exactly what it was. "For you, Jordan, I'm an open book.”
She hesitated. Well, what did it matter? She was never going to see him again anyway. "Are the rumors true?"
“That depends,” he said calmly. “Are you referring to the rumors about my sexuality or the ones about how I killed my high school girlfriend in cold blood and made the body disappear?”
She jolted, not expecting him to put it so bluntly. Before she could answer, he gave her a tired smile and added, “Only in small-town America can you simultaneously be gay and a lady killer.”
“I’m sorry people are so…presumptuous,” she mumbled, already feeling awful for adding to the scrutiny.
“Don’t be. I’m not gay, but there’s no reason to take it as an insult. As for the other rumor, no, I didn’t kill Jessica, but I was hardly a model teenager and I can’t say I blame anyone for thinking it. To say I was a different person back then would be putting it mildly.”
“I can’t imagine what it’s like, knowing everyone thinks that,” she said, feeling even worse.
"What do you think, Jordan?" he asked softly, his eyes searching hers with great intent as he leaned in so close she could feel the friction between their auras. Jordan forced herself to hold his gaze. Sometimes he was so intimidating, and it was obvious he wasn’t even aware of it, or of the quiet, restless energy that emanated from him. She wondered if that was half the reason everyone was so wary around him, even if they weren’t quite aware of it, either.
"I don’t think you’re capable of murderer,” she answered. “Not by a long shot.”
His searching gaze intensified and he frowned when he obviously didn't find what he was looking for. "How can you say that? You don't know me. All you know are the rumors."
Now she was the one daring him to break eye contact. "Call it intuition."
He chuckled. "That's not a reliable source when it comes to dealing with a potential murderer."
"Maybe not," she agreed, "but you're not a murderer all the same. I can tell."
"How?" he demanded.
Jordan finally pulled away from him, looking down at the ground. "Because I am,” she murmured.
Shock registered on his elegant features for a moment before it faded. Before he could ask any clarifying questions, Jordan shifted her bag to her hip and unlocked the screen door. "Goodnight, Chase. I can’t say I understand why you stick around this place, but I hope you have better luck starting over here than I did.”
For a moment, he didn’t seem to know how to respond. When he finally did, all he said was, “Goodnight, Jordan. And good luck to you.”
Jordan slipped inside without waiting to see if he had left. Mrs. Herrin's apartment was empty when she entered it, so Jordan put the groceries away and took her time before going upstairs to change. To her relief, there was no sign of the white cat and her windows were closed, but she locked them all for good measure. She grabbed the yellow envelope she had taken from the bank along with the apology letter she had written Mrs. Herrin and left them both on the coffee table for her to find in the morning. The letter explained that she was leaving a few months' rent in order to cover for the time it would take to find another tenant.
Jordan was worried that if she stayed long enough to say goodbye the absurdly logical old woman just might be able to talk her out of leaving at all. Mrs. Herrin couldn't have any idea of the trouble that would come down on her and the entire town if Jordan stayed.
The sooner she left, the better, but there was still one thing she had to do before that. Everyone was already going to think she was a flake for leaving, but Cindy had been so kind to her that she just didn’t feel right about leaving her in the lurch.
> Twenty-One
As Jordan pulled into the makeshift parking lot at the fairgrounds there were already dozens of other cars and people milling about outside the large white tents. There was a Ferris wheel, a teacup ride for the children and several game booths set up so teenage boys could blow their allowances on fruitless attempts to impress their girlfriends. The smell of funnel cake filled the air, competing with the greasier fare offered by the other food stands.
Jordan had been to a fair once before, one even larger than the Autumn Equinox Festival. Her father had set up a booth to convert the sinners indulging in carnal pursuits and she had been the one handing out pamphlets. This time she would be the one reading palms. The smile that spread across her face as she thought of what her mother would say was short-lived when she spotted a man who looked a bit like Darren from a distance. Of course it wasn't him, but she resented the way her heart surged with hope that it was.
Jordan doubted Darren was the festival going type, but she decided to minimize her chances of running into him again and headed quickly to her tent. Once she found it, she lugged her duffel bag inside and looked around. It was already set up with her own dressing table and another table out front that had been decorated to resemble a fortuneteller's parlor. The cloth had a cheesy spirit board print on it and there were out-of-place Mardi Gras beads everywhere, but the Tibetan incense holders were a nice touch. She lit a couple of sticks, deciding to get into the mood while she was at it. It wouldn't be the first time she had exploited her "gifts" through showmanship, but she had already made a promise to herself that it would be the last and decided to have some fun while she was at it.
Besides, she reasoned, fortunetelling was more about reading someone's mind than their spirit and that was easily enough accomplished without calling upon any supernatural abilities. She had learned at a young age that people gave away more than they ever realized through their voice and their body language.
Jordan pulled a small wooden box from her duffel bag and placed it on the table. She brushed her fingertips over the smooth lines of the tree on the lid, painstakingly carved by hands that had made up for their lack of precision with love. It had been her thirteenth birthday present from Ezekiel, and the last gift she would ever receive from him.
