“Do what?” he asks, pretending innocence.
He pulls the car out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of Main Street. The suspension of the car is so smooth that I can barely feel any jarring when we hit patches of uneven pavement in the street.
“You know what I’m talking about, Reed,” I say through my tight jaw. “You used your persuasive voice on him. It’s not going to fry his brain or anything, is it?” I ask with concern for Russell.
“No,” Reed replies grudgingly, “it’s not going to fry his brain. In fact, it doesn’t work on him as well as it should.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, but Reed doesn’t elaborate, so I am forced to draw my own conclusions. “Oh, you mean it doesn’t work well on him because he still knows who I am, is that it?” I ask wryly.
Reed studies me briefly, and then he turns his attention back to the road and says, “Yes, that is exactly what I mean, Genevieve.”
“That wasn’t a very kind thing to do, you know? It took me a while to convince Russell that we had, indeed, met before.” I say, looking over at Reed to see him smirk.
Annoyed with him, I add, “How does your voice work? Is there a special technology that you employ, or is it a technique, like hypnosis?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the pain I’m in.
“I have always been able to do it. It’s an ability, not a technology,” Reed says, not elaborating further on it.
I roll my eyes. “Oh come on, even when you were a baby you could persuade people with your voice? That must have been really inconvenient for your mother,” I reply stiffly, trying not to move my leg at all from its position. It doesn’t help because my entire body is beginning to shake from trauma.
“My mother…yes that would be inconvenient for her, wouldn’t it?” he asks me with a ghost of a smile. He glances at me and the smile fades. “How are you feeling? Is it getting any better?” he asks with concern in his eyes.
“You mean does my knee feel any better?” I retort derisively. “No, it hurts like someone smashed it into a million pieces. It’s more than just bruised, isn’t it?” I inquire, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, that girl kneecapped you. I don’t think she eased up at all when she hit you with her stick. It looked very intentional to me. What did you do to her?” he asks, like it must be my fault that she attacked me.
My eyebrows lift incredulously. “Me! I didn’t do anything to her. Why do you think it’s my fault she smashed my knee into hamburger?” I ask, taking offense at his implication of blame.
He ignores my outrage and says, “I’m glad you went along with me when I said it was just bruised. It will be really difficult tomorrow explaining why you don’t even have a bruise on your knee, let alone why you can walk just fine on it. Make sure you wear some pants or jeans. Do you have anything like that?” he asks me. I must be looking at him like he’s crazy because he adds, “I’m only asking because all I have seen you in are short skirts. I might have a bandage we can use to wrap your knee. You should wear it for at least a couple of days.”
“What are you talking about, Reed? I’m going to be in a cast for at least a month because of that…that pathetic wannabe, Tamera!” I say with venom. “I hope I don’t have to miss class tomorrow. If I get behind because of this…”
“Genevieve, you are going to be as good as new by morning,” Reed says confidently.
I’m distracted by the way his perfect mouth wants to turn up in the corners as he holds back his smile. I wonder if all lunatics are this beautiful. “And, how is that possible, Reed?” I ask sarcastically. “Am I just going to grow some new bone overnight? You just said yourself that I was ‘kneecapped.’”
“Yes,” he replies calmly.
“Okay…I wasn’t aware that I’d boarded a bus to Crazy Town. If you’d be so kind as to drop me off at the nearest hospital, I’ll take it from there. I’m sure I can get someone to pick me up when I’m done. It’s chill of you to help but…” I stop talking when I notice him smiling at me like I’m making a joke.
“Genevieve, you will heal just fine on your own. Trust me,” he says as we drive through town.
“Trust you! Wasn’t it just this morning that you were trying to run me out of town?” I say primly, crossing my arms in front of me and frowning at him.
Reed laughs at my sarcasm. Watching him, I want to reach out and touch him, to give in to the urge I’ve had since getting in the car, to rest my head against his shoulder once again. I have to stay angry so I won’t embarrass myself because I’m beginning to trust him, which is absolutely absurd given our previous set of circumstances.
“Why is it that you think I can heal on my own and in an amazingly short time? Am I a mutant or something?” I ask, no longer so certain that Reed is crazy. Covertly, I glance at my fingertip and am unable to find the mark where I had sliced it open—twice.
Reed doesn’t answer me but pulls onto a long, manicured driveway. A house comes into view—well, I don’t know if house is an accurate enough description of the dwelling. It’s more like an old manor that had been perfectly restored. It has refined elegance and allure, making me think that should a pet lion greet us at the door, I wouldn’t be overly surprised.
“This is your house?” I ask him in awe.
“Yes,” he nods, pulling his car around in front of the cobbled, circular drive; he parks it just in front of the magnificent wooden double doors. I also notice that he hadn’t said that the house belongs to his parents but acknowledged it as his own.
So I ask, “Do you live here alone?” It is such a large estate; maybe he has some roommates from school that live with him.
“I have a cook named Andre and a housekeeper named Greta who live in the guest quarters on the south side of the property, but other than them, I live here alone,” he replies.
He turns off the engine and gets out of the car, walking around to my door. Wordlessly, he reaches in, unbuckling my seatbelt for me. The fluttering in my stomach is out of control, making me almost grateful for the pain in my knee to distract me from it.
“I’m going to have to slip my arm under your thighs so I don’t put pressure on your knee when I pick you up,” Reed says. I nod, feeling my face redden almost immediately. “Put your arm around my shoulder,” he instructs as he leans into the car and lifts me out.
I wince as the movement of my knee sends a shooting pain up my leg. I drop my head on his shoulder like I’d wanted to do the entire car ride. He doesn’t even like you, I scold myself. Angry… you have to stay angry.
My eyes alight on his sports car as he carries me up to his home. “What kind of car is that?” I ask waspishly.
“It’s an Audi R-Eight. Why, don’t you like it?” he counters with humor in his voice.
“I was just wondering why someone who lives in Michigan wouldn’t be driving a car made in Detroit,” I say as if I’m a rep from the UAW.
“Genevieve, that is not a car, that is a work of art that moves. If it makes you feel any better, I own several automobiles that were partially made in Detroit. I can show them to you later, if you would like,” he replies.
“Oh,” I sniff, unable to think of a better reply. “I guess, if there is time later.”
The front door is unlocked, and I take a deep breath as we enter the house. I see immediately that Reed isn’t your typical bachelor with an old sofa taken from his mom and dad’s house and a coffee table with faded rings on it from not using a coaster. Quite the opposite, it looks as if Reed had a designer with an architectural background decorate his home. Everything is modern and high tech, but it lacks the coldness that one often associates with that style.
A formal reception area on the left mirrors a formal dining room on the right. In front of us, the grand, sweeping staircase draws my eyes up to the landing on the second floor. We bypass the stairs, however, taking a long hallway that leads further into his home. Swiftly passing what I think is a bathroom and maybe a billiard room, we turn left and are in a
room that cannot be mistaken for anything other than a library.
Reed places me on a leather sofa in the middle of the room, and I shamelessly memorize his profile as he sits on the couch by my knee, examining it again. I try not to cringe as he runs his fingers over it gently. It has swollen to at least twice its normal size and is now an awful looking purplish-blue color.
“It’s healing,” Reed assures me. “It’s much harder than it was before. I want you to straighten your leg but keep it slightly bent, like this.” He positions my leg for me on the couch. “We should elevate it slightly,” he says and pushes one of the soft pillows that adorns the sofa under my foot. “I’ll get some ice to bring down the swelling, but first, you should have something for the pain.”
“Oh great, do you have some morphine or something, because that would be lovely?” I ask kiddingly.
Reed goes over to the back of the room to a bar and selects a glass decanter with a dark liquid in it. He pours some of the liquid into two glasses and moves back to the couch.
“No morphine, but this should take the edge off the pain in your knee,” Reed says.
He hands me a brandy snifter filled with what I assume must be brandy, although I cannot claim to know what brandy looks like, so I have to ask, “Is this brandy?”
“It’s cognac,” he says, watching me.
“Oh, is there a difference?” I ask him curiously.
“Yes,” he says, smiling a little before he says, “just drink it.”
“Do you realize that you’re contributing to the delinquency of a minor by giving me this?” I ask, watching the liquid rain like tears down the insides of the glass.
“Well, I will take my chances with the authorities since I don’t have that morphine handy,” Reed replies with a grin. “Drink it, Genevieve. It will make you feel better.”
“Reed, you made a joke! I really must be dying if you’re humoring me,” I say before I sniff the glass. It smells spicy and sweet at the same time. I take a tentative sip, feeling it burn a path down the back of my throat. I cough a little, but otherwise survive my first taste of cognac.
“Mmm…cognac…my favorite,” I say with a little wheeze in my voice.
Reed shakes his head at me. “I will get some ice for your knee and be right back.”
Without Reed hovering around me, I have a chance to take in my surroundings. This room is something I would dream about designing if I ever had the opportunity. Everywhere I look, there are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves intermittently interrupted by floor-to-ceiling windows. Above me, a second story gallery is gracefully fitted with a wrought-iron railing that spirals elegantly down a staircase in the corner of the room. I want to get off the couch and rifle through every shelf to see what amazing books they contain.
Along one wall, there is a large fireplace with a wide mantle. Several comfortable seating areas are set up around the room to give different vantage points of the space. There is also a refined writing desk. Impeccable artwork is dispersed liberally throughout the room so that, wherever my eye falls, I am treated to rare beauty.
As I gaze around at the lovely rugs and the delicate statuary adorning the tabletops, something becomes clear to me. There aren’t any personal effects in the room—no pictures on the tables that say: “Here’s my family, I’m so proud of them,” or, “Here I am at the Eiffel Tower; isn’t this sweet?” or, “Can you believe I climbed Mt. Everest with only the assistance of twenty Sherpas?” or, “Here is a picture of my girlfriend. She’s so hot.”
I sip my drink, thinking it is odd because in my small dorm room I have several pictures of Uncle Jim and me, one with my best friend Molly and her brothers, and some of my classmates from high school, with whom I’d been close.
Feeling the fluttering in my stomach increasing, I know that Reed is returning. Calling out to him teasingly, I say, “Ah…my ice has arrived; it’s about time! It’s so hard to find good help these days.”
“Your wish is my command,” Reed says, entering the room and walking to the sofa.
He places a small ice pack gently on my knee. Then, he goes to a chair where a lap blanket is draped over the arm. Picking it up, he brings it to me, spreading it over my legs and lap.
“Thank you,” I say in surprise at his thoughtfulness. “I love this room.”
My eyes follow him as he sits in one of the armchairs near the sofa. He is still dressed in his lacrosse practice uniform. His attire is at odds with the room and also with the fact that he is sipping a cognac out of a delicate glass. The dichotomy distracts me, so it takes me a moment to continue.
“I was just thinking that if I could create a perfect space for myself, it would be something like this. I’m dying to see what you have on your bookshelves; I’ve been wondering if you’re a non-fiction reader, a classical fiction type of person, or maybe you’re sci-fi reader…or poetry?”
“Have you?” Reed asks in an amused tone, his eyebrow arching beautifully on his perfect face. “Well, you’ll be able to find out in just a little while when your knee is better and you can walk over there and see for yourself. I will not spoil the anticipation now by blurting it out.”
I ignore his confidence in the fact that my knee is going to all but fix itself shortly. “Wouldn’t that be off the hook?” I mutter, and take another sip of cognac.
“I was surprised to see you tonight at the field house,” Reed says. “I didn’t know you played field hockey.”
“Oh, well, I don’t really…that is, I haven’t played before tonight. A couple of girls from my dorm asked me to come to their practice tonight to see if I’d be interested in joining their team. It sounded kinda fun so I went. I probably should’ve thought to borrow some knee guards along with the uniform, but I didn’t think it was supposed to get NHL out there,” I reply as an explanation.
“Who are your friends, the ones that asked you to join the team?” Reed asks, and then takes a sip of his drink.
“Buns and Brownie. They live on my floor. I think their real names are Christine and Kelly, but no one seems to go by their real names around here,” I smile.
“I’m familiar with Christine and Kelly. I’m just wondering why it is that trouble finds you so quickly,” he says, eyeing me pointedly.
“My knee was a fluke—” I begin, but Reed cuts me off.
“I wasn’t referring to the hockey practice. I’m referring to your friends. They are trouble. I don’t think you could find two more wildly out of control females if you advertised for them,” he states flatly, like he doesn’t approve of my choice of friends at all.
“I know, aren’t they wonderful?” I ask impishly, agreeing with his statement wholeheartedly. “I intend to spend more time with them as soon as possible.”
“Why, didn’t you just hear me tell you they are trouble?” he asks with irritation in his tone.
“Yes, and I got what you meant. But this is ‘set it off’ kind of trouble we’re talking about, not the dangerous kind of trouble. I’m aware of the difference. We’re just going to shake it up a little and see what falls out. I might get a couple of fines, and I say ‘bring it’ because what do I have to lose?” I ask him pointedly, daring him to disagree with me.
“Your scholarship, for one,” he replies calmly. “You could lose that quite easily if you step out of line.”
“Maybe, but you don’t know what I’ve been feeling lately.” I say quietly as I study the liquid in my glass so that I’d have something to look at other than him.
“What do you mean? How have you been feeling?” he asks, leaning forward as if he is truly interested in my answer.
I hesitate. Reed had helped me out tonight at the field, but I’m not sure what that means. Does it mean we have a truce? Could he and I actually have a friendship? Maybe we can begin to understand each other if we have some honesty between us.
With that in mind, I say, “I feel desperate, like I’m running out of time, but it’s even worse than that…it’s more like I’m running out of air
. The girls are a great distraction from that, so I’m keeping them,” I say defiantly. “I feel like I’m on the precipice of something huge…something monumental, but I’ve no clue as to what it is, or what it means to me, or what I’m supposed to do. It’s all just this enigma swirling around and around me, and I’m ensnared in it, and there is no way out.” I drop my eyes from his because I feel hollow and raw.
Swirling the liquid around in my glass, I watch the tempest within it slowly lose its momentum and then come to a stop. Looking back up at Reed, I see that he’s watching me. Feeling like a tool for saying too much to him, I try to down the rest of my drink in one swallow.
When I am finished sputtering and gasping for breath from the fire of the alcohol burning my esophagus, I notice that Reed had taken my glass from my hand and replaced it with a glass of water. Taking a quick sip of the water, I try to breathe evenly again.
“All I’m saying is that you might consider making other friends who actually have an interest in getting an education,” says Reed as he sits back down in his chair.
“I do have other friends,” I sigh. “I have Freddie, and I have Russell; at least I have Russell when you’re not zapping him with your voice. Can you stop doing that to him, please? He’s here to play football and go to school. He doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on between you and me.”
“You think that’s why he is here…to play football?” Reed asks me slowly.
I frown at him while I nod.
“Genevieve, how naive are you? Russell’s here for one reason and one reason only. He’s here because you brought him here,” Reed states emphatically, getting up from his chair and prowling the room agitatedly.
“What are you talking about? I just met Russell on that walk yesterday. He’s been here all summer at football training camp, so how could I have possibly brought him here?” I ask him logically.
“How indeed?” Reed asks sullenly, toying with one of the marble statues that grace a delicate table.
“Reed, what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense. I would have to be an…I don’t know…a magnet for Russell in order for what you’re saying to have any validity…” I begin to reason, but stop when a shattering sound comes from where Reed is standing.
Inescapable (The Premonition Series) Page 9
