“So how do you like living in Patterson so far? Sarah tells me you’re from Yonkers.” The last statement reaches me as more of a question.
“Yes, that’s true. I grew up in Yonkers. Lived there my whole life.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” She cocks her head to one side and nods. “Living here must be a welcome change.” The corners of her mouth tilt upward, her smile a bit wooden and failing to reach her eyes, and her tone bordering on apologetic.
I hold her gaze for an extra beat, wondering what exactly her odd demeanor means. “Yeah, it’s nice here,” I say, my voice flat.
“Danny,” Sarah says. I turn toward the sound of her voice and my breath catches in my chest. Flaxen hair spills over her shoulders, styled in loose waves and her pale blue eyes are rimmed in dark makeup, making her gaze all the more bewitching.
“Hi,” I manage breathlessly as I take her in. Dressed in skinny jeans and mid-calf riding boots with a fitted long sleeve T shirt, Sarah is a vison. Stunning. “You look amazing.”
She blushes and a small smile curves her full, pink lips. “Thanks. You look nice too.”
Jamming my hands in my pockets, I lower my head, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume and wonder whether I died a second time and am in some alternate realm. “Thanks.”
Ellen looks between the two of us and sighs quietly.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask Sarah.
Bobbing her head, she grabs her purse and slips it onto her shoulder. Together, we walk to the front door.
“Have fun, kids,” Ellen says in a rueful tone.
“Bye, Mom,” Sarah says without looking at her mother.
I pause and turn. “Thank you. It was nice meeting you.”
Ellen dips her chin, her smile brightening a bit. She closes the door behind us and we walk to my SUV. I open the passenger side door and let Sarah in first then we drive to the theater.
“So I picked a movie. It starts at seven forty-five so we should be good.” Sarah checks the time on her phone. “We have a half hour to get there and buy our tickets.”
“Awesome. What movie are we seeing?” I couldn’t care less what movie will be playing. It’ll only be background noise to thoughts of Sarah that will undoubtedly caper through my mind.
“Oh it’s a good one. It’s called Haven and it’s by that author Nicky Larks who writes all those books that become epic love movies.”
The name is vaguely familiar. I think I may have seen him interviewed on a morning show over the summer. “Yeah, I know the one. That sounds good.”
Sarah recites the movie trailer and chats excitedly about the plot as we pull into the theater lot and park. I buy our tickets as well as popcorn, candy and sodas, and we make our way to the theater.
The movie starts and immediately a narrator begins speaking, his deep voice melancholy and ripe with wisdom. Seagulls fly over a beach in North Carolina and immediately, the groundwork for a gut-wrenching love story begins. Romantic movies are typically not my first choice of movie to watch. They aren’t my second, third or fourth choice either. But this was Sarah’s first choice. She even bounced a little when she saw that this particular book, penned by an author famous for tear-inducing movie renditions of his work, was playing. Now, as each scene unfolds, she is riveted, clutching the bucket of popcorn as it is balanced on her lap. But I’m barely watching the movie. My attention continually reverts to her. Smiling broadly as the male lead proclaims his love for the slightly emotionally damaged female lead, I see unshed tears shining in her eyes and the intense passion she possesses is apparent. Filled with heat that spirals and coils in a helix formation through my core, I force myself to return my attention to the screen, though it hurts to do so. I want nothing more than to look at her.
An hour passes, and the drama of the movie intensifies. I’m hardly affected by it, though I can hardly pay attention to it save for staring at the screen while focusing on the feel of Sarah’s arm brushing mine as she shifts her position on the armrest. The contact sends a wave of tingles sweeping up my arm and my heart rate speeds. I glance at her in my periphery and see that a thin stream of tears trickles down her cheek. Instinctively, I reach out a hand and take hers in mine. Heart firmly lodged in my throat, I pray she doesn’t stiffen up or yank her hand away, or both. She doesn’t and I’m about as thankful as I’ve ever been.
Interlacing her fingers with mine, she gives a gentle squeeze that sends my pulse skyrocketing. I look to our joined hands then follow the line of her arm to her shoulder and neck, ending at her face. She blinks back tears, touched by the fictitious tragedy that has developed, and I’m spellbound by her sensitivity, by her beauty.
I continue watching her, focusing on her profile from the corner of my eye more than the movie itself. When the credits finally roll and the lights brighten slightly, Sarah releases my hand and turns to me. Wiping her nose with a tissue she’s pulled from her purse, she huffs a lock of hair off her forehead and smiles. “Hmm, I’m probably a mess right about now.” She digs for a mirror, careful to keep her head low and seeming self-conscious. It’s hard to imagine someone as lovely as she is feeling anything less that stunningly gorgeous.
“You’re beautiful,” I blurt the words ahead of my brain and feel my cheeks heat.
The small compact Sarah stares into slips from her hand and ribbons of pink kiss her cheeks. She smiles and touches a hand to her chest. “Thank you.” Her words are heartfelt, so much so I’d think she never received that compliment before.
I smile nervously then ask. “Are you hungry?”
She glances at her mirror a final time and mumbles something about her eyes being puffy then answers. Licking her lips, she leans in as if conspiring. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not one of those girls who eats yogurt and salad. I eat like a linebacker.” She crinkles her nose cutely.
“Your secret is safe with me. I promise,” I assure her.
“Good.” She drawls out the word and bobs her head. “Despite eating most of that bucket of popcorn, I’m starving. If word of that got out, I’m sure there’d be a rumor tomorrow that I binge and purge.” She rolls her eyes. “You know how some people are: always looking to bring you down to make themselves look better. Not that that ever works, not to anyone with half a brain, that is.”
Fire glitters in the depths of her ice-blue eyes, a fire I admire. “I hear you.”
Gnawing her lower lip, I glimpse that self-consciousness I witnessed before. “I know I’m rambling. Small schools are great and all, until you become a target, then that’s who you are until you graduate. There isn’t room for redemption and there isn’t chance for change.” Sadness touches her tone.
“I didn’t grow up going to small schools but I get it.” I nod.
“You’re lucky. Small schools are overrated.” Sarah stands and slings her purse over her shoulder.
I stand as well. “How so?” I ask and usher her forward.
She walks until she reaches the aisle. Many of the moviegoers have already left. We’re able to stroll and take our time. “Well, for starters, if you don’t want to be part of a group or be labeled, you don’t have to be.”
I arch a brow at her. “Umm not to be a jerk here but no one has to be part of a group or labeled if you think about it.”
She stops and looks at me, and for a minute, I’m sure she’ll scold me. When a half-smile tilts one side of her mouth and I realize she isn’t offended, I breathe a sigh of relief. “I guess I never really thought of it that way.” She chews her lower lip contemplatively. “Being here, growing up and going to school with kids I’ve known since preschool, things just become what they are, you know? The jocks stay jocks and only hang out with each other. The smart kids stick with each other and don’t venture into sports.” She splays a hand out to her side. “You get what I’m saying, right?”
“I do, and it was sort of the same way in my old school, just on a larger scale. And because there were so many kids, it was easy to get lost.” The admission spri
ngs from me unexpectedly.
Thoughtful eyes glance my way. “Did you ever feel lost there, Danny?”
Shoving my hands into the front pockets of my jeans, I shrug. “Yeah, I guess I did.” I surprise myself with my divulgence. I’ve never shared how I felt in school back then save for with my mother, and even then, I held back somewhat. I never articulated precisely that I felt like a face lost in a vast crowd.
She lowers her voice, her tone suddenly intimate. “That sounds awful. I’m so sorry.” She holds my gaze for several beats and I narrowly avoid walking into a blonde planet carrying a jug of cola and the largest barrel of popcorn I’ve ever seen.
“Watch where you’re going,” the large blonde woman snaps. She narrows eyes circled in electric blue eyeliner and eye shadow at me.
“Sorry, my bad.” I hold up my hands in mock surrender.
“Yeah right,” the woman snarls and huffs angrily.
As soon as she passes, Sarah begins laughing. “Oh my gosh! What’d you do, back over her cat on your way here? Jeez!”
“I know, right? She was mean.” I toss my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the woman.
“Mean.” Sarah repeats what I’ve said, my word choice inducing another fit of laughter. “Yeah. She was,” she barely manages through giggles. “Hope she doesn’t come back here and kick your butt.”
Widening my eyes, I turn and look behind me. “Yeah, you and me both.” Then I add, “She isn’t coming is she?”
Sarah tosses her head back and laughs, the sound rich and pleasant. “Nope. I think we’re safe for now, as long as you watch where you’re going that is.”
I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “I will. I swear.”
We continue our banter until we reach the car. I open the door and let her in then slide behind the driver’s seat. “So what are you in the mood for? There’s an Italian place Tom told me about. He says the food is great.”
“Hmm, I was thinking we could just go to the diner on Route 22 and have burgers.” Sarah smiles mischievously.
“Only on one condition,” I say flatly.
Sarah’s eyes widen as if she’s taken aback. “What? What is it?”
“We have to wash those burgers down with chocolate shakes.” I look her dead in the eyes.
A large grin rounds her cheeks. “Deal.”
I nod. “All right then.”
I drive less than a mile and park outside the diner. We walk in together and are greeted by a plump woman with blue-black hair and more eye makeup than I’ve ever seen any woman wear. “Two?” she asks and slips two menus from a stack.
“Yup,” I nod.
“Follow me.” She leads us to a booth. “I’ll be back when you’re ready.”
“We’re ready.” Sarah surprises me by speaking up. “I’ll have a hamburger and fries, medium well and a chocolate milkshake, extra thick, please.”
The woman smiles and looks to me.
“I’ll have what she’s having, just throw some bacon and American cheese on that burger and I’m good.” I look between the waitress and Sarah.
“Ok, doll. I’ll go put your order in.” She disappears like a wraith, seemingly absorbed by the clink and tinkle of silverware against ceramic plates.
While we wait for our food, Sarah asks, “Do you come from a big family? How many brothers and sisters do you have if any?”
The waitress returns with a glass of water each for us. Sipping it, I say, “I have one sister, Kiera.”
“Oh, wow. Kiera is your sister?” she tilts her head to one side and asks.
“Yeah, lucky me, she is.” I roll my eyes and remember some of the awful things she’s said to me in recent days.
“You are lucky. I just met her and think she’s so sweet.” Sarah seems genuine, a point that shocks me.
Kiera? Sweet? I wonder whether Sarah has the right person in mind. “Is there more than one Kiera at the school?”
Sarah shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Huh. Weird.” I jerk my head back slightly, unable to imagine my sister ever being sweet save for the day I died.
“What’s weird about that? You live with her. You know how awesome she is.” Sarah shrugs and fiddles with the glass of water.
“Yeah,” I drawl the word. “I do live with her. And because she’s my sister, I won’t talk bad about her. All I’ll say is that she’s neither sweet nor awesome at home.”
Sarah scrunches her features and looks even more adorable if that’s possible. “Really? That’s so hard to believe.”
“Believe it. Trust me.” I raise my brow to punctuate my point.
“Oh, wow. Huh. I guess you learn something new every day.” Sarah relaxes against the back of the booth seat just as our food arrives. We eat and drink and chat and I wish the night would never end. But when the check arrives and I glance at my phone to check the time, I realize our date is quickly coming to a close.
After paying the check, Sarah and I leave the diner. On the way to the SUV, she slips her hand into mine, interlacing our fingers and stealing the air from my lungs in one swift motion. I reluctantly release her hand to open her door for her then slide behind the steering wheel. I drive her home, feeling heavyhearted and exhilarated simultaneously. I pull into her driveway and that feeling multiplies exponentially. I park and leave the car running. Turning to her I say, “I had a nice time.”
“Me too.” She smiles and adds, “I hope we can do it again soon.”
My heart swells so that it feels too large to be contained by my ribs. “I’d like that. Let’s do it soon.” Tomorrow night would be great, I think.
She brightens. “Okay. I’d love that.”
Silence dances between us. She has to go inside and I have to go home. But both of us seem to want to stay. I know I do. Leaning toward her ever so slightly, my gaze drifts to her lips. I wonder what they would feel like pressed against mine. The thought sends my pulse through the roof. I look to her eyes once again and see that hers flicker between my face and my mouth. Heart on the verge of exploding, I move in closer. She matches my move and we continue gravitating toward each other until I feel her minty breath caressing my face. Closing my eyes, I force fear to the back of my mind and close the distance between us, pressing my lips to hers and savoring the softness, the feel of her mouth on mine. Neither of us moves for a good twenty seconds. And it is the best twenty seconds of my life. When finally we part, Sarah says goodnight to me. I resist the overwhelming urge to tell her I love her because at this precise moment, I do.
“Goodnight,” I reply. This was the best night of my life, I think. I watch her unlock the front door and step inside.
I don’t remember the ride home and I don’t remember showering and getting undressed. All I remember is the feel of her mouth against mine. I touch my fingertips to my lips, and her face is the last vision I see before I drift off to sleep.
Chapter 8
Walking into school on Monday morning, I feel as if my feet do not touch the ground. After a weekend spent chatting on the phone with Sarah for hours at a time, I’m as happy as I’ve ever been in recent memory. The hallway is lined with kids, many with their backs turned, huddled and deep in discussion. I’m hardly aware of them though. There’s only one face I’m searching for, one person I seek: Sarah.
Making my way to my locker purposefully, I notice that the faces I scan all wear the same general expression. Each seems troubled. Each bears sadness, confusion, and fear.
Seeing Tom in my periphery, I turn to face him as he fumbles with the combination on his lock. “What the heck is going on? What’s with all the long faces?” I ask.
Tom’s eyes narrow and confusion knits his brow. “You didn’t hear?”
“Hear what?” I ask, perplexed and intrigued.
Tom sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. I notice his eyes are bloodshot and puffy. “Jenny Sanders, you know, Sarah’s best friend, she committed suicide last night. They found her in the basement with her wrists slit just li
ke the other girls.”
My stomach plummets to my feet and a wash of icy numbness prickles my skin. “No.” The word comes out as a breathy whisper. Guilt collides with anger as I realize Jenny’s death is my fault. I was sent here to prevent such occurrences, though I haven’t the vaguest clue how I’m supposed to accomplish such a feat. Regardless, I’ve become distracted. I’ve become preoccupied with Sarah. Her face fills my thoughts. Her voice echoes in my mind. And the ache in her heart becomes my own.
Sensing her proximity, I look up and see her. She walks toward me, her hurt palpable. “Sarah,” is all I can say.
“Danny,” she barely manages. I hear the tightness in her throat, see the rivulet of tears streaming from her eyes. She reaches out and touches my arm, her fingertips feathers on my forearm.
Immediately, I envelop her, drawing her close to my body and wrapping both arms around her. “I’m so sorry,” I say into her hair, the sweet scent of strawberries and vanilla wafting from her golden locks.
She allows me to hold her as sobs rack her body. Her shoulders shudder and I hold her tighter, begging every deity I can conceive of to allow me to take her hurt and make it my own. “This can’t be happening.” Her words come between sniffles. She steps back and her eyes, now the brightest, palest sky blue I’ve ever seen, meet mine. “She didn’t do it. She didn’t kill herself. She wasn’t like that.” Her arms fall from my waist and wrap around her own. She clutches her midsection as if attempting to literally hold herself together. “Jenny loved herself. A little too much at times.” A small, pained laugh passes from her lips. “This is like the others, the other girls who allegedly committed suicide, isn’t it? Only she wasn’t found at the mansion, she was found at the house.” I reach out and pull her closer so that her head rests atop my heart. “Danny, what’s happening?” Her voice is a wisp burdened by raw grief and confusion.
“I don’t know.” My answer is feeble in every sense of the word. “I wish I had a concrete answer, some sort of explanation for which I had a solution. But I don’t. All I know is that I was drawn to this small town, and that the vision I had when we visited the Hanson Mansion did not include suicide.
The Dark One Page 8
