by L. J. Smith
(Gillian, we had to stop her from destroying David. It was necessary.)
(No! No! You knew I didn’t really want to hurt her. What are you talking about? How can you even say that?) Gillian was in hysteria again, a strange hysteria of the mind. She was vaguely aware that she was still driving, that fences and trees were flying by. Her body was sitting in the car, breathing quickly, speeding, but her real self seemed to be in another place.
(You lied to me. You told me she was all right. Why did you do that?)
(Calm down, dragonfly—)
(Don’t call me that! How can you just—just sit there… and not care? What kind of person are you?)
And then—Angel’s voice changed. He didn’t get hysterical or agitated; it was much worse. His voice became calmer. More melodious. Pleasant.
(I’m just dispensing justice. It’s what angels do, you know.)
Icy horror swept over Gillian.
He sounded insane.
“Oh, God,” she said, and she said it out loud. David looked at her.
“Hey—are you okay?”
She scarcely heard him. She was thinking with fevered intensity: (I don’t know what you are, but you are not an angel.)
(Gillian, listen to me. We don’t have to fight. I love you—)
(Then tell me how to fix Tanya!)
Silence.
(I’ll find out myself. I’ll go back to Melusine—)
(No!)
(Then tell me! Or heal Tanya yourself if you’re a real angel!)
A pause. Then: (Gillian, I’ve got an idea. A way to make David love you more.)
(What are you talking about?)
(We need to give him a near-death experience. Then he’ll be able to truly understand you. We need to make him die.)
Everything blurred. Gillian knew they were nearing Somerset, they were on familiar streets. But for a moment her vision went completely gray and sparkling.
“Gillian!” A hand was on hers, a real hand, steadying the wheel. “Are you all right? Do you want me to drive?”
“I’m okay.” Her vision had cleared. She just wanted to get home. She had to get to that shoe box and fix the spell on Tanya somehow. She had to get home… to safety….
But nowhere was safe.
(Don’t you understand?) The voice was soft and insidious in her ear. (David can never really be like you until he’s died the way you have. We have to make him die—)
“No!” She realized she was speaking aloud again. “Stop talking to me! Go away!”
David was staring at her. “Gillian—”
(I don’t want to hurt you, Gillian. Only him. And he’ll come back, I promise. He might be a little different. But he’ll still love you.)
Different… David’s body. Angel wanted David’s body. As David left, Angel would take possession….
They were almost home. But she couldn’t get away from the voice. How do you get away from something that’s in your own mind? She couldn’t shut it out….
(Just let go, Gillian. Let me take over. I’ll drive for you. I love you, Gillian.)
“No!” She was panting, her hands gripping the steering wheel so hard it hurt. The word came out jerkily. “David! You have to drive. I can’t—”
(Relax, Gillian. You won’t be harmed. I promise.)
And she couldn’t let go of the steering wheel. The voice seemed to be inside her body, diffusing through her muscles. She couldn’t take her foot off the accelerator.
“Gillian, slow down!” David was yelling now. “Look out!”
(It will only take a second…)
Gillian’s world had been switched into an old-time movie. The flickering black-and-white kind. With each frame, the telephone pole in front of her got bigger and bigger. It was happening very slowly, but at the same time with utter inevitability. They were rushing oh-so-slowly toward that pole, and they were going to hit. On the right side of the car, where David was sitting.
(No! I’ll hate you forever…)
She screamed it in her mind and the last word seemed to echo endlessly. There was time for that.
And then there was a loud sound and darkness.
“Can I see him?”
“Not yet, honey.” Her mother scooted the plastic chair closer to the emergency room bed. “Probably not tonight.”
“But I have to.”
“Gillian, he’s unconscious. He wouldn’t even know you were there.”
“But I have to see him.” Gillian felt the hysteria swelling again, and she clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t want a shot, which is what the nurses had said they were going to give her when she started screaming earlier.
She had been here for hours. Ever since the cars with the flashing lights came and pried the station wagon door open and pulled her out. They’d pulled David out, too. But while she had been completely unhurt—“A miracle! Not even a scratch!” the paramedic had said to her mother—David had been unconscious. And had stayed that way ever since.
The emergency room was cold and it didn’t seem to matter how many heated blankets they wrapped around her. Gillian kept shivering. Her hands were blue-white and pinched-looking.
“Daddy’s coming home,” her mother said, stroking her arm. “He’s taking the first plane he could get. You’ll see him tomorrow morning.”
Gillian shivered. “Is this the same hospital—where Tanya Jun is? No, don’t answer. I don’t really want to know.” She stuck her hands under her armpits. “I’m so cold….”
And alone. There was no soft voice in her head. And that was good, because, God, the last thing she wanted was Angel—or rather that thing, whatever it was, that monster that had called itself an angel. But it was strange after so long. To be all alone… and not know where he might be lurking. He could be listening to her thoughts right now….
“I’ll get another blanket.” The nurse had shown her mother the heated closet. “If you could just lie down, honey, maybe you’d feel like sleeping a little.”
“I can’t sleep! I have to go see David.”
“Hon, I already told you. You’re not going to see him tonight.”
“You said I might not get to see him. You didn’t say I wouldn’t! You only said probably!” Gillian’s voice was rising, getting more shrill, and there was nothing she could do about it. The tears were coming, too, flooding down uncontrollably. She was choking on them.
A nurse came hurrying in, the white curtains around the bed swirling. “It’s all right; it’s natural,” she said softly to Gillian’s mother. And to Gillian: “Now, just lean over a little—hold still. A little pinch. This is something to help you relax.”
Gillian felt a sting at her hip. A short time later everything got blurry and the tears stopped.
She woke up in her own bed.
It was morning. Pale sunlight was shining full in the window.
Last night… oh, yes. She could vaguely remember her mom and Mrs. Beeler, their next-door neighbor, leading her from the hospital to Mrs. Beeler’s car. She remembered them taking her upstairs and undressing her and putting her to bed. After that she’d had hours of wonderful not-thinking.
And now she was awake and rested and her head was clear. She knew exactly what she had to do even before she swung her legs out from under the covers.
She glanced at the ancient Snoopy clock on her nightstand and got a shock. Twelve thirty-five. No wonder she was rested.
Efficiently, without making a sound, she put on Levis and a gray sweatshirt. No makeup. She ran a comb once through her hair.
She paused, then, to listen. Not just to the house, but to herself. To the world inside her own brain.
Dead quiet. Not a creature stirring. Not that that meant a thing, of course.
Gillian knelt and pulled the shoe box out from under her bed. The wax dolls were garish, red and green, like a hideous parody of Christmas. Her first impulse at the sight of that poisonous green was to get rid of it. Snap off one doll’s hand and the other’s head.
But
what that would do to Tanya and Kim, she didn’t want to think. Instead, she forced herself to get a Q-tip from the bathroom, soak it in water, and dab the iridescent green powder away.
She cried as she did it. She tried to concentrate as she had when she’d done the spell, seeing the real Tanya’s hand, seeing it heal and become whole.
“Now may I be given the power of the words of Hecate,” she whispered. “It is not I who utter them, it is not I who repeat them; it is Hecate who utters them, it is she who repeats them.”
When the powder was off, she put the dolls back in the box. Then she blew her nose and rummaged through the pile on her desk until she found a small pink-flowered address book.
She sat on the floor cross-legged, dragged the phone close, and thumbed through the book.
There.
Daryl Novak’s cellular phone number.
She dialed quickly and shut her eyes. Answer. Answer.
“Hello,” a languid voice said.
Her eyes flew open. “Daryl, this is Gillian. I need you to do me an enormous favor, and I need you to do it now. And I can’t even explain why—”
“Gillian, are you okay? Everybody’s been worried about you.”
“I’m fine, but I can’t talk. I need you to go find Amy Nowick; she’s got”—Gillian thought frantically—“uh, honors chemistry this period. I need you to tell her to drive to the corner of Hazel and Applebutter Street and wait for me there.”
“You want her to leave school?”
“Right now. Tell her I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need this. It’s really important.”
She expected questions. But instead, all Daryl said was, “Leave it to me. I’ll find her.”
“Thanks, Daryl. You’re a lifesaver.”
Gillian hung up and found her ski jacket. Tucking the shoe box under her arm, she walked very quietly downstairs.
She could hear voices from the kitchen. A low voice—her dad’s. Part of her wanted to run to him.
But what would her parents do if they saw her? Keep her safe and bundled up, keep her here. They wouldn’t understand what she had to do.
There was no question of telling them the truth, of course. That would just get her another shot. And, eventually, maybe a visit to the mental hospital where her mother had stayed. Everyone would think delusions ran in the family.
She moved stealthily to the front door, quietly opened it, slipped out.
Sometime during the night it had rained and then frozen. Ice hung like dewdrops from the twigs of the hickory tree in the yard.
Gillian ducked her head and hurried down the street. She hoped no one was watching, but she had the feeling of eyes staring from between bare branches and out of shadows.
At the corner of Hazel and Applebutter she stood with her arms wrapped around the box, hopping a little to keep warm.
It’s a lot to ask…
It was a lot to ask, especially considering the way she’d treated Amy recently. And it was funny, considering all the new friends she’d made, that it was Amy she turned to instinctively when she was in trouble.
But… there was something solid and genuine and good in Amy. And Gillian knew that she would show up.
The Geo swung around the corner and skidded to a stop. Typical Amy-without-glasses driving. Then Amy was jumping out, her face turned anxiously toward Gillian’s. Her blue eyes were huge and seemed luminous with tears.
And then they were hugging and crying. Both of them.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve been so rotten this last week—”
“But I was rotten to you before that—”
“I feel awful. You have every right to be mad at me—”
“Ever since I heard about the accident, I’ve been so worried.”
Gillian pulled back. “I can’t stay. I don’t have time. And I know how this sounds coming from somebody who hit a pole last night… but I need your car. For one thing, I’ve got to go see David.”
Amy nodded, blotting her eyes. “Say no more.”
“I can drop you off at home—”
“It’s the wrong way. It won’t hurt me to walk. I want to walk.”
Gillian almost laughed. The sight of Amy dabbing her face with her muffler and stamping her foot on the icy sidewalk, determined to walk, warmed her heart.
She hugged her again, fast. “Thank you. I’ll never forget it. And I’ll never be the terrible person I’ve been to you again, at least—”
She broke off and got in the car. She’d been about to finish the sentence “—at least, if I live through this.”
Because she wasn’t at all sure that she would.
But the first thing was to get to David.
She had to see him with her own eyes. To make sure he was all right… and that he was himself.
She gunned the motor and set out for Houghton.
CHAPTER 14
She got David’s room number from a receptionist at the front desk. She didn’t ask if she was allowed to visit.
All Gillian could think as she walked down the hall was, Please. Please, if David was only all right, there was a chance that everything could work out.
At the door she stopped and held her breath.
Her mind was showing her all sorts of pictures. David in a coma, hooked up to so many tubes and wires that he was unrecognizable. Worse, David alive and awake and smiling… and looking at her with violet eyes.
She knew what Angel’s plan had been. At least, she thought she knew. The only question was, had he succeeded?
Still holding her breath, she looked around the door.
David was sitting up in bed. The only thing he was hooked up to was an IV of clear fluid. There was another bed in the room, empty.
He looked toward the door and saw her.
Gillian walked toward him slowly. She kept her face absolutely expressionless, her eyes on him.
Dark hair. A lean face that still had traces of a summer tan. Cheekbones to die for and eyes to drown in….
But no half-quizzical, half-friendly smile. He was looking back at her as soberly as she was looking at him, a book slipping unnoticed from his lap.
Gillian reached the foot of the hospital bed. They stared at each other.
What do I say? David, is it really you? I can’t. It’s too stupid, and what’s he going to say back? No, dragonfly, it’s not him, it’s me?
The silence stretched on. At last, very quietly, the guy on the bed said, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” The word came out clipped and dispassionate. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, pretty much. I was lucky.” He was watching her. “You look—kind of different.”
“And you’re kind of quiet.”
Something like puzzlement flashed in his eyes. Then something like hurt. “I was… well, you walked in here looking so deadpan, and you sound so… cold…” He shook his head slightly, his eyes fixed on hers. “Gillian—did I do something to make you want to hit that pole?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose!” She found herself lunging forward, reaching for his hands.
He looked startled. “Okay…”
“David, I didn’t. I was doing everything I could not to. I would never want to hurt you. Don’t you know that?”
His face cleared. His eyes were very dark but very calm. “Yes, I do,” he said simply. “I believe you.”
Strangely, she knew he did. In spite of all the evidence to the contrary, he believed her.
Gillian’s hands tightened on his. Their eyes were locked together. It was as if they were getting closer, although neither of them moved physically.
And then it was all happening, what had started to happen at least twice before. Feelings so sweet and strong she could hardly bear it. Strange recognition, unexpected belonging… impossible knowing…
Gillian’s eyes seemed to shut of their own accord. And then somehow they were kissing. She felt the warmth of David’s lips. And everything was warm and wonderful… but there was more.
I
t was as if the normal veil that separated two people had melted.
Gillian felt a shock of revelation. This was what it meant, what Angel had spoken to her about. She knew it intuitively even though she’d never spoken the word before.
Soulmates.
She’d found hers. The one love for her on this earth. The person she was meant to be with, that no one could keep her from. And it wasn’t Angel. It was David.
That was the other thing she knew, and knew with a bedrock certainty that nothing could touch. This was David, the true David. He was holding her in his arms, kissing her. Her, the ordinary Gillian, who was wearing an old gray sweatshirt and no makeup.
It was absurd that she’d ever believed things like makeup mattered.
David was alive, that was what mattered. Gillian didn’t have his death on her conscience. And if they could somehow live through the rest of what had to be done, they just might be happier than she had ever imagined.
How weird that she could still think. But they didn’t seem to be kissing anymore; they were just holding each other now. And that was almost as good, just feeling his body against hers.
Gillian pulled away.
“David—”
His eyes were full of wonder. “You know what? I love you.”
“I know.” Gillian realized she was being less than romantic. She couldn’t help it. This was the time for action. “David, I have to tell you some things, and I don’t know if you can believe me. But you’ve got to try.”
“Gillian, I said I love you. I mean that. We—” Then he stopped and searched her face. He seemed to see something that changed his mind. “I love you,” he said in a different tone. “So I’ll believe you.”
“The first thing is that I’m not anything like what you think. I’m not brave, or noble, or witty in the face of danger or—or anything like that. It’s all been—a sort of set-up. And here’s how it happened.”
And then she told him.
Everything. From the beginning, from the afternoon when she’d heard the crying in the woods and followed it and died and found an angel.
She told him the whole story, about how Angel had appeared in her room that night and how he’d changed her whole life. About the whispering that had guided her ever since.
