Pawn (Nightmares Trilogy #1)

by Davis, Sophie

  By the time I located Devon, my anger with Kevin had worn thin, replaced by worry for my friend. She was sprawled on the Chevy’s hood. Mascara stained her puffy cheeks, and her thin body quaked with silent sobs.

  “Devon?” I called, tentatively placing my hand on her shaking shoulder.

  “Can you drive?” she hiccupped, not bothering to look up since she would’ve known my voice anywhere.

  The sip of alcohol I had consumed hadn’t impaired my abilities in the least. “Sure, sweetie,” I answered, taking the keys from her now-outstretched hand.

  Devon stumbled onto the lawn, regained her balance, and collapsed into the passenger seat.

  “Your house or mine?” I asked, turning the key in the ignition.

  “Yours,” she mumbled thickly.

  An hour later, the two of us had swapped our party clothes for pajamas and were settled on my bed. The playlist coming through my computer’s speakers was one I reserved for times like tonight. All the artists were female, all the lyrics angry. The selections read like a Lilith Fair set list.

  One gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream later, Devon was actually smiling again. She vowed that this time she was done with Rick Hanes. No necklace from Tiffany’s or any designer handbag would make up for this latest indiscretion. Since she was my best friend, I didn’t point out that she made the same declaration every time Rick cheated. Instead, I nodded and loyally declared him the leader-of-clan-prick. We bashed everything from Rick’s hair to the size of his manhood while we passed the ice cream back and forth and lounged against the decorative pillows on my bed. Not that I had carnal knowledge of Rick, but my proclamation that he hadn’t been favored by the endowment gods made Devon laugh hysterically.

  “Thanks for leaving, Eel,” she said, once the sticky carton was empty.

  “I wasn’t having a good time anyway.” I waved off her gratitude.

  Devon beamed at me through red-rimmed eyes and then rested her head on one of my fluffy pillows. “What happened with Kannon? What did he want to talk to you about?” she asked, switching gears from her personal problems to mine.

  The mention of his name sent a shiver through my body that had nothing to do with the ice cream. Then I remembered the possessive way Jamieson kept touching him and how she’d insinuated that they were more than friends. Despite all the Wentworth family’s wealth and prestige, I’d always felt sorry for Jamieson. All the material possessions in the world couldn’t make up for the death of her mother when she was eight, or for the fact that her newest stepmother wasn’t alive during the Reagan administration. But seeing her with Kannon had sparked a jealousy that I’d never known.

  Instead of actually answering Devon’s questions, I asked one of my own. “Do you ever get déjà vu?” I wanted to know. Earlier, I had done a little Google research on my dreams. Déjà vu was the closest match to my new ability.

  Devon wrinkled her nose and gave a short laugh. “Sure, doesn’t everyone?”

  “So you sometimes know what someone is going to say before the words are out of their mouth? Or what is going to happen the split second before it does?” I pressed urgently. Maybe this whole phenomenon wasn’t that strange after all. Maybe I’d just come late to the party.

  “That’s not really déjà vu,” Devon said slowly. “Déjà vu is the feeling that you’ve already experienced something; it’s French for ‘already seen.’” Devon sounded like the Wikipedia article I had read. Come to think of it, that was probably exactly where her definition came from. Devon was inquisitive by nature. If she didn’t understand something, or didn’t know something, she looked it up.

  “Why do you ask?” Devon’s tone was laced with suspicion.

  “No reason,” I mumbled, regretting that I’d brought up the topic.

  Devon laughed. “No way. Spill.”

  I sighed. “When Kannon pulled me from the water, he called me by my name. Like, before I told him. He called me Endora.”

  My best friend remained silent for several long beats. I glanced sideways, not daring to actually look her in the eye for fear of what I might see in her expression.

  “Oh my god.” Devon bolted upright, comprehension dawning. “Don’t tell me Kannon blamed déjà vu?!” She erupted into a fit of laughter.

  I grabbed a pillow from behind my head and hit her. The way she said it made me feel like a pathetic fool. I wasn’t the kind of girl who fell for stupid lines or crushed on some boy that I’d only met once. Yet when Kannon had said that he’d dreamt of our meeting, I’d bought it hook, line, and sinker.

  Devon held up her hands and tried to catch the pillow even though I wasn’t swinging it with enough force to do any real damage. When she finally managed to wrestle it from my grip, she wiped tears from under her eyes.

  “It’s not funny, Dev,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, thoroughly embarrassed.

  “Come on, Eel. You can’t honestly tell me that you of all people fell for that. You’re the girl who thinks soul mates are as mythical as unicorns and that romantic gestures only exist in the movies. Who are you? Elizabeth?”

  I cracked a smile at that. Elizabeth was on a never-ending quest to find “the one.” She ate up lines like, “If I received a nickel for every time I saw someone as beautiful as you, I'd have five cents,” and “Do you have a Band-Aid? I just scraped my knee falling for you.” She wasn’t naïve so much as she loved the idea of one perfect person out there for everyone. One of her greatest fears was that she would miss the chance to find true love if she didn’t explore every opportunity that presented itself. Needless to say, at seventeen she’d done more exploring of the opposite sex than most girls in the senior class.

  “Oh, Endora, I have envisioned meeting you my entire life. It’s fate that we met at Caswell Lake. Have my babies,” Devon crowed in what I assumed was supposed to be an imitation of Kannon.

  I shoved her, and she nearly toppled over the side of the bed. “Are you done?” I demanded, scowling; her words had hit way too close to home.

  Devon righted herself and then sobered when she noticed I wasn’t laughing with her. “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding about as serious as I did on Thanksgiving when I told my mother the turkey wasn’t dry at all even though it crumbled like sawdust in my mouth. “Look, the kid is hot. I am not disagreeing with that fact. But he is super weird. There is something not right with him. Telling you he knew your name because he experienced déjà vu just proves that. And it bothers me that he just so happened to be at Caswell Lake alone. As it turns out, it’s nowhere near his house at all.”

  Part of me knew she was right. If we had been having this conversation even the week before, I would have agreed with her. Now that I’d started experiencing déjà vu, or whatever it was, I couldn’t discount that Kannon might actually be telling the truth. Of course, I couldn’t tell Devon about my dreams now. The way she reacted to what Kannon had said only proved that if I did tell her, she would start Googling the nearest psych ward.

  “My question is: How did you know his name at the game today?”

  “He called me last weekend,” I admitted.

  “How did he get your number?” She paused for dramatic effect. “Oh, wait. Let me guess. He told you the numbers came to him in a dream?”

  “You’re quite the comedian tonight.” I rolled my eyes. Being honest with Devon had opened me up for this type of teasing. I couldn’t really blame her for taking the bait. “And no. He got the number from Jamieson.” Saying her name left a bitter taste in my mouth. “I think they’re dating,” I added miserably.

  Devon made a disgusted noise before saying, “Great, you’ve caught the attention of the devil’s concubine.”

  After that, we commenced with a round of Jamieson bashing. I knew it was wrong to talk about people behind their backs, which was why I normally refrained from saying anything that I wouldn’t be willing to say to their faces. I made an exception in Jamieson’s case, though. Mostly because, while I am not gorgeous by any stre
tch of the imagination, I liked my face just the way it was.

  Gossip, ice cream, and Alanis Morissette were an exhausting combination. Before long, the conversation became decidedly one-sided. When Devon failed to weigh in on who should be cast in the Magic Mike sequel, I realized I was talking to empty air.

  Devon’s soft snores filled my bedroom moments later. I tried to get comfortable but couldn’t. I tossed and turned for nearly an hour before I gave up on my pursuit of sleep. I was only slightly ashamed to admit that my inability to fall asleep was really due to fear. Fear for what I might dream. The dreams that had come to fruition thus far had been benign. I didn’t even remember having dreamt the situation until just moments before it became reality. Still, the newfound ability made me uneasy.

  Careful not to disturb Devon, I eased off of my bed and padded the short distance to my computer chair. I wiggled the mouse to bring the monitor to life. When a bright blue light filled the darkened room, I turned to make sure the light didn’t wake Devon. She rubbed her nose in her sleep but seemed otherwise unperturbed. Turning back to my computer, I selected Facebook from my favorites tab. I typed “Kannon Stevens” into the search bar at the top and waited. Several excruciating seconds later, Kannon’s page filled my screen.

  The profile pic showed Kannon and Terrence Wilky in their St. Paul’s lacrosse jerseys, giving cheesy grins for the camera. He had only one other photo: a picture of clear blue water, a white sandy beach, and the caption, “My Salvation.” Okay, I thought, whatever that means.

  He listed Chevy Chase, Maryland, as his hometown. No surprise there. Chevy Chase was where both St. Paul’s and Mt. St. Mary’s were located. Other than that, he had remarkably little personal information. Jamieson, Terrence, and several other names I recognized from my past life commented on his page frequently. Most of the comments were things like, “That party at Jeffery’s rocked!!!!” and “Dude, Sister Mary Theresa should really wear tighter clothes ’cause I bet she has a banging body.” Clearly his friends were intellectuals.

  I wasn’t really sure what I had hoped to find out by stalking Kannon Stevens on Facebook. There was nothing on his page that proved he was telling the truth about the dreams or that confirmed my other working theory – that he was a stalker. Under “likes” he didn’t list peeping in windows, hiding under the bleachers to look up girls’ skirts, binoculars, or anything else that screamed “Creeper.”

  One crucial detail didn’t go unnoticed on my part, though. He had no relationship status listed. Not that this was proof he wasn’t dating Jamieson, but my friends updated their statuses the minute they changed. I didn’t have to click on Devon’s page to know that she now listed herself as single, though I was willing to bet the price of my college tuition that it would change again by the following evening.

  Since I’d already crossed over to the dark side, I decided to go full-on crazy and check Jamieson’s page. Unlike Kannon, Jamieson had thousands of pictures. I clicked on the most recent album labeled “Chillin’ with my crew.” Most of the photos were of Jamieson and her cronies, Caitlyn Linderman and Jessica Rouch, and were taken everywhere from the Wentworths’ Tahoe home to their condo in Cabo San Lucas. Some were at random parties, and a few were taken on her family’s yacht, aptly named the Not Guilty since Mr. Wentworth was a criminal defense attorney. And yes, several were of Kannon. But the most telling bit of information I gleaned from Jamieson Wentworth’s Facebook page: She listed her relationship status as “single.”

  “Oh, you’re home,” my mother’s quiet voice startled me.

  I jumped in my chair. I was so caught up in my late-night stalking I hadn’t even heard the door open. Blood rushed to my cheeks as I quickly closed the browser before my mother could see what I was doing. She didn’t even like me having a Facebook page. She said my generation used the social networking site as an outlet for expressing views and ideas that no one really cared about and to make themselves feel important.

  “Yeah, been home for a while,” I whispered back, putting one finger to my lips and gesturing to where Devon slept on my bed.

  “Well, you should get some sleep; you have practice in the morning,” she replied tapping the face of her watch.

  “No,” I spat back, my voice rising. “I don’t have practice in the morning because we had a game tonight.”

  Understanding dawned on my mother’s face. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry about missing your game,” she replied.

  “Yeah, whatever. Could you close the door, please?” I said turning back to my screen. I could feel my mother’s eyes on my back for several long seconds before she gently eased the door closed behind her.

  I should have been used to disappointment by now since she rarely made it to my games anymore ― or any other important event in my life. Yet every promise she broke hurt just as much as the previous one.

  Dejected by the fact that my mother and I had become little more than strangers who happened to share a roof, I put my computer back in sleep mode and then did the same with myself.

  Chapter Nine

  “Are you gonna go?” Devon asked through a mouthful of the veggie omelet the waitress had delivered just moments before.

  Without our Saturday practice, we’d been free to make it to the Plum Crazy Diner in time for the breakfast that I owed Devon. The night before, I had neglected to tell her about Kannon asking me to meet him that evening. I hadn’t planned on telling her at breakfast either, but she kept droning on and on about Rick, and I just blurted it out.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not. Should I?” I said, biting the end off of a piece of extra-crispy bacon.

  “Yes,” Devon replied, nodding decisively.

  Her answer shocked me, and I let the bacon drop to my plate. The previous night she had been reluctant to leave us alone in the middle of a party. Now she thought meeting him in a deserted school parking lot was a good idea?

  As if sensing my confusion, Devon continued: “Look, I still think he’s strange and super cheesy with the whole déjà vu thing, but I don’t know….there is something sort of romantic about him saving your life. Maybe his being at the lake was fate or something.”

  “Who’s channeling Elizabeth now?” I joked.

  Devon flicked her straw wrapper at me. “And he is the first boy you’ve been interested in since, like, sophomore year.”

  “I’ve been interested in people,” I protested.

  “Going to second base with Wesley Banks after one wine cooler too many doesn’t count,” Devon shot back.

  I groaned. “Not fair bringing that up.” Wesley Banks, with his sweaty hands and beer breath, was the reason I refrained from drinking more than a couple of sips at parties.

  “So you admit it then? You are interested in Kannon?” Devon pressed, getting that devilish gleam in her eyes that meant trouble was on the horizon.

  I sipped my coffee to give myself some time to collect my thoughts. Was I interested in Kannon? I was interested in hearing more about this whole dream déjà vu thing. I was interested in knowing why electricity passed between us when we touched ― and not the kind romance novels always talk about. I did want to know whether he saw something in the water the night he saved me. I needed to know whether he too dreamed of the future. But did I actually like him? I didn’t even know him.

  Every time I thought about his chestnut hair and beautiful green eyes, the butterflies started flapping their wings in my stomach, and no amount of water could cure my dry mouth. I had spent the better part of the witching hours stalking him online. And recalling the image of him and Jamieson together provoked the urge to shave off her gorgeous black hair. Maybe I was the tiniest bit interested.

  “It’s okay to like him, Eel. You’re eighteen. You’re supposed to go out with boys and have youthful indiscretions.” Devon paused. “And not every relationship turns out like your parents’ did. Or like mine and Rick’s,” she added softly.

  My parents had been high school sweethearts.
They fell in love at sixteen, or so the story went. Somewhere along the way they not only fell out of love, they fell into hate. As long as I live, I don’t think I will ever understand how two people who were once so happy together could make each other so miserable.

  “Yeah, I know,” I replied, turning to stare out the window so I wouldn’t have to look at Devon and see her pitying expression.

  My mother was gone by the time I returned home. There was a note on the kitchen counter asking me to call her when I got home. I fished my cell from the bottom of my purse and realized I had three new text messages. The first was from my mother. I groaned and regretted the day she learned how to text. She, of course, wanted me to call her ASAP. The second was from Kannon, asking if we were still on for that evening. And the third was from Jamieson Wentworth. It had been years since I’d called Jamieson, but I still knew her number by heart. Her message simply said: Stay away from K.

  I deleted all three texts and called Mom at her office. After promising my overprotective mother that I would call and let her know if I planned on leaving the house again that day, I retreated to my bedroom.

  At 3:45 p.m., I made the firm decision not to go to the high school to meet Kannon. As much as I wanted answers, I wasn’t sure I wanted the truth. Maybe Kannon was just crazy after all. Maybe I was crazy for giving any credence to his claims. I still didn’t know what to think.

  At 4:02 p.m. my doorbell chimed, sound bouncing off every wall in my house. I was in my bedroom listening to music on my computer and pretending to do my calculus homework. I froze with my pencil mid-scrawl, immediately seized with the notion that Kannon would be standing on my front stoop.

  An image of a tall boy with messy chestnut hair, clad in a white long-sleeved tee and dark jeans, clouded my vision. I imagined him giving me a sheepish grin as I demanded to know how he’d known my address.

  The doorbell rang once more, prompting me into action.