Inescapable (The Premonition Series)

by Bartol, Amy A

  On my way back to my room, I stop dead in my tracks because there are butterflies taking flight in my abdomen the closer I get to my room. Backing up from my door slowly, I consider my options. I’m in my pajamas with no shoes and no keys to get very far. Rabbiting doesn’t really appeal to me anyway, since this is my room. Mine. I square my shoulders, walking the remaining steps to my door.

  When I open it, I scan my room for Reed, but he isn’t inside. Leaning back against the door to close it, I sigh in relief until I think to look in the closet. Creeping to the folding door, I peek inside, but he isn’t in there either. I exhale the breath I’ve been holding, before I brush my hair and pull it back into a ponytail, preparing to go to bed soon.

  Then I prowl my room nervously. My Reed radar is still going off. He has to be here, at Yeats Hall, somewhere. But why? I wonder anxiously. Maybe he’s visiting someone downstairs or something, I think and instantly feel a twinge of jealousy shoot through me, shocking me with its intensity. What do I care whom Reed sees? I think rationally, trying to shrug off the feeling that I’ve just had. I don’t even like him, and the less he thinks about me, the better, right?

  Turning on my computer, I read an email from Uncle Jim that outlines some technologies that are being developed to insert subliminal messaging into advertising. Realizing that none of the software that he is talking about resembles anything like what Reed can do, I decide I might have to accept Reed’s explanation.

  I think for a second about telling Uncle Jim about the scary light and having my nightmare in the 7-Eleven this evening, but my hands shake with fear. I can’t tell him, I think, wringing my hands together so they won’t tremble. He’ll be really freaked out, and he’ll want me to come home. He’s safer if I stay away.

  I type a quick reply message to him, giving him a bubblegum version of college life. Then I ask him to check out Russell’s computer, providing him the IP address. I send the email and shut down my computer. Finding my phone on my nightstand, I send a text to Russell explaining that I am sorry, too, about our argument and that I’ll see him at breakfast in the morning.

  I pull back the blanket on my bed before I walk over to shut off the desk lamp. On my way back to the bed, I happen to look out the window, and I see Reed standing outside of it. I nearly scream but I am able to stifle it. I do, however, shy back from the window in a knee jerk reaction while my heart just about pounds out of my chest.

  I hadn’t been able to see him out there because the light from the lamp had made the window almost opaque. With the lamp off, I can easily see Reed leaning back against the fire escape railing with his arms crossed in front of him. He has been watching me since I came back from the bathroom, I think in irritation. I try to remember if I’ve done anything embarrassing, but I can’t think of anything, so I march to the window and wrench the curtains closed. Then I get into bed and lie there fuming.

  Hearing the window latch release and the two panes of glass fan open, I realize that Reed is letting himself in, so I roll over and pull the blanket over my head. “Just go away, Reed!” I whisper-hiss to him in the darkness.

  “Genevieve,” Reed’s voice carries from outside on the fire escape, “Meet me in the parking lot in five minutes.” His voice sounds strange—strained.

  “Whyyyy?” I whine, hoping to put him off.

  “You have five minutes!” he says sternly before the windows slam shut.

  I sit in my bed for about two and a half minutes. What is the worst he can do if I don’t come out? I think angrily. When the third minute ticks on the clock, I kick my blanket off my legs and bound out of bed. “Fine!” I say through my teeth with my hands in fists.

  I slip on a pair of running shoes and put on my hooded sweatshirt. I exit the dorm via the back door and I am in the parking lot with about thirty seconds to spare. Locating Reed’s car parked in the back of the lot, I trudge over to it. Reed gets out of the driver’s side and walks around to open the door for me. He isn’t wearing a shirt and I realize that he hadn’t had one on when he was on the fire escape either.

  My eyebrows draw together as I think, He shouldn’t just walk around like that; it’s obscene to have to look at someone so perfect. He should do the world a favor and eat a donut or two, sheesh. Sitting sullenly in the seat with my arms crossed in front of me, I refuse to look at him.

  He watches me before he sighs heavily, saying, “What happened tonight?”

  My eyebrows pull together. “Let me think… what didn’t you see when you were spying on me outside my window? How did you get up there, anyway? The ladder has to be pushed off the fire escape, and it’s at least twenty feet off the ground. There is no way you could reach it you…you… total perv!” I rant at him.

  His eyes narrow, mirroring mine. “JT said you fainted at the Seven-Eleven tonight. He said you were as white as a ghost, and he said you were mumbling in Latin before you went completely unconscious. Pete said he thought you were dead for a second. Now explain what happened before I lose my temper,” he grits out through his teeth.

  Oh, just wait until I get my hands on that Delt composite! I think angrily. JT and Pete are each getting a big fat rating of one.

  I look away from him, replying sarcastically, “Well, you can tell JT and Pete for me that the next time they hold a knitting bee and gossip circle, I could use a new sweater!”

  “Genevieve,” Reed says quietly, but it has the same effect on me as if he’d shouted.

  “Fine! I went to the Seven-Eleven to get snacks, I got my butt kicked by the florescent light, I woke up on the ground, and then I went home. The end. Goodnight,” I say and try to open the car door, but Reed locks it before I can pull the handle. “Ahh, Reed!” I complain when I couldn’t find the unlock button again.

  “Let’s start from the beginning,” Reed says slowly, obviously deciding to treat me like an errant child. “You entered the Seven-Eleven…” he trails off so that I could fill in the blank.

  Exhaling the word, “Fine,” I tell him what happened: from the déjà vu, to the gore, to the loud noise, to the KO by the flickering light, to waking up and being told that I had been speaking in tongues…well, in backward Black Sabbath anyway. I give him as much detail as I can think of; I even explain about the putrid smell.

  Reed’s jaw grows more taut as my story goes on. “What were you saying…mumbling before you went unconscious, do you know?” he asks urgently when I’m done.

  “No, they told me that I was saying something, but I don’t remember that part,” I reply.

  “If you heard the language again, do you think you would recognize it?” he asks speculatively.

  Frowning and giving him a small shrug, I answer honestly, “I don’t know.”

  And then the most amazing thing happens: Reed begins to speak to me in a language that is at once so familiar and yet so foreign that the dichotomy of it makes me dizzy. It’s lithe and musical, and though I can’t understand a word of it, it calls to me in a hypnotic way. I feel compelled to get closer to the source of it, and when he stops speaking, I realize to my horror that I’m clinging to his chest with my ear all but pressed to his lips.

  “What was that?” I ask him in awe.

  “Did you like it?” he asks with humor in his tone; my reaction is funny to him.

  “What were you saying?” I ask breathlessly.

  “I was telling you what a frustrating creature I find you,” he replies.

  I feel the heat of embarrassment flush my cheeks. “Oh, so it’s not the content that makes it sound so lovely,” I say, releasing my grip on him and straightening in my seat. “What language is that? It sounds Celtic, but not…” I trail off, searching my mind for any indication of what it could’ve been. “I feel like I should know what you were saying, but I don’t,” I say in disappointment. “Can you teach me it?”

  “You will know it soon enough. Was that the language you were speaking?” he asks.

  “I don’t know, you should ask JT and Pete. I was being introdu
ced to the floor of the convenience store at that point,” I reply absently, still enthralled by what I’ve just heard.

  Reed’s eyes narrow again as he asks me arrogantly, “Why did you try to conceal this from me? You should have come to me right away after it happened.”

  My eyes connect with his beautiful green ones as I scoff, “Are you serious? I’ve got news for you, pal: you’re the last person I’d go to with this information.”

  “That is absurd. I’m the only one who could interpret for you what you experienced,” he says, speaking slowly as if I lack the wit to comprehend him.

  “Oh, right, because you’ve been such a bevy of information for me in the past,” I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, Reed, you’re a virtual Rosetta stone!”

  “Genevieve,” Reed sighs my name in frustration.

  “Reed,” I reply mirroring his tone, before pointing out, “you have to admit you haven’t exactly inspired trust.”

  “Oh, I see, and who does inspire your trust, your soul mate? Is that who you can tell?” Reed asks, sounding suspiciously like he is jealous.

  I shake my head slowly. You’re insane, I think, Reed’s not jealous; he doesn’t even like you.

  I wrinkle my nose. “My soul mate? What are you talking about…you mean Russell?” I ask incredulously.

  “Yes, Russell,” Reed replies sullenly.

  A flutter of fear edges through me. “I haven’t told Russell a thing about what happened tonight, and if you do, I swear I’ll never speak to you again. He’s not a part of this! And I didn’t tell you either simply because I didn’t want to tip the scales,” I say defensively, trying to explain my position.

  “What do you mean by ‘tip the scales?’” Reed asks me in confusion.

  My chin lifts as my throat grows tight. I twist my fingers together in my lap, before I say, “I didn’t want to add any more items to the con side of the ‘Genevieve’s Continued Survival’ list. What if this is the thing that makes you decide that I’m now dangerous enough to eliminate?” I ask, not looking at him but instead focusing on the dashboard in front of me so that I can’t assess if it is, indeed, the proverbial straw.

  “You are afraid of me?” Reed asks me, sounding unpleasantly surprised.

  “Of course I’m afraid of you. You’re menacing, you’re overbearing, you’re arrogant, and if you don’t see that, then you can just add high to the list,” I say, using my fingers to tick off his shortcomings.

  “You are saying you don’t want my help?” he asks me angrily.

  “Now you want to help me?” I laugh humorlessly, scrubbing my face in disbelief. “You’ve been treating me like I’m the scourge of the earth, and now, all of a sudden, I get knocked out by a bright light and you want to help me? Well, sorry, but I’m having a difficult time believing you. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest before I get struck by lightning, or something equally as bizarre.”

  “I’m sorry I frightened you,” Reed says softly. I steal a glance at him, seeing him grip the stirring wheel with both hands and the tension translates to his forearms. His perfect lips thin as he adds, “I regret much of my behavior where you’re concerned. I haven’t handled myself, or our situation, well.”

  My eyes widen in surprise. “Our situation? You mean the fact that you’re a predator and I’m prey, that situation?” I ask him softly. Reed’s frown darkens, like he doesn’t enjoy the obvious description of what we are to each other. “I regret that situation too, trust me,” I reply and tense, waiting for him to respond angrily like he did before, but he surprises me when he remains quiet. He almost appears lost, like he doesn’t know how to respond to what I’ve just said. “Reed,” I sigh. “What am I going to do with you?” I ask, peering at him. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “I think you had a premonition tonight,” he says bluntly.

  I don’t know what I had expected him to say, but that isn’t it. Frowning and looking away from him so that I can concentrate, I ask, “Like a hallucination?”

  “No, more akin to a prophecy, or an omen,” he explains.

  I don’t realize that my left hand has a death grip on the car’s stick shift until Reed put his hand on mine in a comforting way. “So now I’m the Oracle of Delphi? Is that what you’re saying?” I ask him contemptuously, thinking of all the stories I’ve read involving omens. They never have happy endings. That’s why they’re called tragedies. It’s that, and the fact that someone ahuays ends up with his eyes gouged out or becoming food for the crows, I think cynically.

  “No, of course not,” he says. “You are speaking of mythology. This is real.”

  “Okay, so an omen. So now I’m forecasting the future?” I ask as he laces his fingers with mine, distracting me momentarily from my line of thought.

  “I’m not certain if it was you forecasting it or if…” he trails off thoughtfully.

  “Or if something provided me with the information in the form of a high-powered light.” I pick up his line of thought, remembering just how it felt to get hit by the light that had no heat, but that had felt like a whiplash when it hit me.

  “Yes,” he says simply, gazing at our intertwined fingers as if he hasn’t held someone’s hand in a long time, or like it is a new experience for him.

  My mind races, trying to make the puzzle pieces fit together. They don’t seem to match up. “Okay, so when is the mother ship coming to pick us up?” I ask worriedly.

  “The what?” Reed asks with confusion clouding his eyes.

  “The mother ship, you know, aliens?” I ask tensely.

  He gives me an impatient look. “Aliens?” he scoffs.

  “We’re not aliens then?” I reply, not even trying to keep the relief out of my voice.

  “No!” he says emphatically as he searches my face—probably for other signs of mental illness.

  Sighing, I ask, “Then what are we, Reed? Because seriously, if some big alien bug cracks me open from the inside and starts wiggling out, I’m going to be really ticked off that you didn’t warn me.” The exasperation I feel is overflowing.

  “Genevieve, I am not an alien. You are not an alien,” he says clearly, making sure I understand him.

  “Then what am I?” I ask pleadingly, holding his hand in mine now as if I could wring the answer from him.

  “I can’t tell you,” he frowns, focusing on our fingers entwined.

  “I’m getting out of the car now! Open this door!” I say, trying to disengage his hand from mine.

  “I said I couldn’t tell you; I didn’t say that I did not want to tell you. There are laws, rules that I cannot break,” he lets go of my hand reluctantly and continues. “Remember when I said there is a war and I’m a soldier?”

  “Yes,” I reply grudgingly.

  “There are so many things that I cannot reveal to you. I cannot tell you what you are, or what I am. But, trust me, it will not be long before you will know what you are.” He brings his hand to his forehead, rubbing it as if his head aches.

  “I can’t pretend to have read much of the law of war, ‘jus in bello,’ but I seriously doubt that those are the rules of war you’re alluding to, and can I go on record as stating I really don’t care for your rules?” I ask with a pout.

  Reed smiles at my comment, “Genevieve, you are fascinating.”

  I know he must be teasing me, so I ignore him and ask, “What are the consequences if someone should step out of line and break one of your rules?”

  His face darkens, becoming almost pained. “Let us just say that one is rarely given a chance to make amends for it,” he replies.

  I shiver, wondering, Who’s in charge here?

  Then I ask, “What are the consequences for helping someone like me, if it should turn out that we’re not on the same side…if I’m your enemy?”

  “Dire,” he replies, and even the sexy tone of his voice fails to stop the chill that runs through me.

  I allow what he said to sink in. He doe
s have reason to be wary of me. If he is wrong about me, there will be no amnesty for him. What would he gain by helping me? I wonder…nothing. As a soldier, I bet he has learned to reduce his risks, just like Buns had said earlier tonight, a pre-emptive strike. Eliminate the threat and go on with your existence until you detect another threat. What did he say about me? I try to recall…He said that I’m a threat he’s never seen before, something new. But he hasn’t eliminated me, and he’s here tonight because JT and Pete told him about what happened to me. He’s going to try to help me at his own peril.

  “Okay, Reed, you’re out,” I say, fumbling with the door handle.

  One of Reed’s eyebrows rises in question. “Excuse me?” he asks as if he hasn’t heard me.

  “I said you’re out. You can’t help me. Now I can see the risks in this for you. I’m sorry, I couldn’t see the bigger picture before now, but I think I grasp your position. There is no winning position for you where I’m concerned. If I’m your enemy and you help me, then you’re a traitor and you’re toast. If I’m not your enemy and you help me by giving me some information I’m not supposed to know, then you’ve violated some law, so you’re toast. And if I’m a pawn for both sides, then the wisest thing you can do is walk away. So you’re out, you’re not in this with me anymore.” I finally locate the unlock button, but my triumph at unlocking the door is short lived.

  Reed growls, “Genevieve, do not even think about getting out of this car until you explain what you meant by saying that I am out. If you’re calling me a coward, I can assure you that—”

  I interrupt Reed before he can finish, saying, “The last thing I would call you is a coward. The fact that you’re here with me now shows how little regard you have for your self-preservation. The fact that I’m still alive, even though it’s obvious to me now that you’d be much safer if I were not, proves you’re not a coward. But, I didn’t know that I was endangering you like this. I may be guileless, but I’m not ignorant, and I can see that there is no other way to protect you than to cut you out.”

  “Protect me? No one would dare try to protect me!” Reed sputters, taking offense.