by Amy Miles
I dove through the air, onto the couch, and grabbed for his palm. He fell back under my weight, and we twisted and turned. My knee pushed into his thigh, giving me leverage to grab hold of his wrist as we thrashed from side to side.
“Just calm down!” Dad’s rational voice was history as he fought me with all his geeky hundred and fifty-five pounds.
“Give it to me,” I demanded, panting from more exertion than I’d ever bothered to show in P.E. He pulled his arm back and I jumped forward, managing to pin it down on the sofa cushion. “Aha!”
Gripping his wrist with my right hand, I slammed my left one onto his palm. “Yes! Now I’ll see what you’ve been hiding.”
With Dad still wriggling, I closed my eyes and squeezed my fingers around his so he couldn’t break the connection before I’d learned what I needed to know. Finally, my palm was securely against his. Concentrating hard, I racked my brain and waited.
Nothing.
Zip.
Nada.
Dad pushed at me but I managed to hold him in place. “Kylie Michelle, you stop reading my mind right now or you’re grounded!”
I squeezed an eye open. Still nothing.
“Do you hear me, young lady?” Dad knocked me off the couch and I hit the floor hard. He rose to a sitting position with me still holding onto his palm for dear life.
“What did you do?” I shouted, angrily. “I can’t see squat. Did you slip some kind of anti-mind reading potion in my spaghetti or something?”
Dad stopped struggling and stared at me, finally realizing I hadn’t gotten into his thoughts. He looked down at my left hand, which was still gripping his. “This behavior is out of line.” He wriggled his hand free. “You are on restriction until further notice. Except for school, you will not leave this apartment.”
“Whaaat?” It came out as a whine and I sat up, breathing hard. This bit, big time. I’d never been in trouble in my life. Not much point grounding a straight A student who never partied, never tried drugs, and never had a boyfriend. Well, not unless she tried to read your mind without permission. “This is so not fair.”
The phone rang, interrupting us.
Dad stood up, straightened his white-collared shirt and adjusted his glasses. He picked up the cordless off the sofa table. “Hello? Yes, just a minute please.”
He set the phone down. “It’s for you.”
Then, he did what I couldn’t believe my open and honest father would ever do. He turned his back on me and walked away. My stomach sank. It wasn’t my dad and me anymore.
It was just me.
****
I stood, speechless for a minute, knowing my dad wasn’t the person he used to be. Slowly, I turned my head and noticed the phone off its charging cradle, and then remembered someone was on the phone for me—knowing it had to be Julie. “Hello?”
“Hey, Kylie.” Trip’s voice came across the line, causing tingles up my spine.
Definitely not Julie.
It struck me that a guy hadn’t called me since the ninth grade when Brett Mayner stuck his tongue down my throat and apparently felt that warranted a week’s worth of phone calls in which he talked about himself nonstop.
But, this wasn’t ninth grade and Trip hadn’t so much as attempted a kiss—unfortunately. And then I remembered his call to Mark Hernandez. Another person who’d betrayed me. This list was starting to add up. “What do you want, Trip?”
“You’re still upset.”
Well, duh.
He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
That threw me off guard. “What?”
“I shouldn’t have called that Mark guy without talking to you about it first.” His voice was monotone.
What kind of crap apology was that? The right words, but with no feeling behind them to confirm he meant what he said. I snorted. “Am I supposed to think you’re sincere? Sounds like you got lectured by your mom and were told to phone me and apologize. Was that word for word?”
“My mom’s dead, Kylie.”
He had to be kidding me, but I didn’t get the joke. “What are you talking about?”
“She died two years ago in a car crash.” His voice was rushed, bitter, filled with emotion. “Hit head-on by some idiot on his cell phone. They say she never saw it coming.”
Tears filled my eyes. “I didn’t know.”
I didn’t know? What a stupid thing to say. Could I be any more insensitive? “I mean—”
“I’m trying to solve a case here.” His voice was all business again. “But, it was your card, your contact, and you were right anyway. The guy probably has nothing to do with the kidnapping.”
I slid into a chair and rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand. He’d blurted out he’d lost his mom and now he was changing the subject back to the case? I suppose he didn’t want things to get personal, but then why’d he tell me at all?
“There is the small possibility though, you know?” Trip said it slowly. “He’s the first guy you were able to read and your mind reading’s what saved Amanda’s life. It’s smart to follow every lead.”
I knew I should tell him about Amanda, our shared figure eight birthmarks, not to mention my mom’s psychic abilities. It was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t make the confession come out. “Cassandra Walker.”
There was silence.
“That’s my mom’s name—her maiden name, which is how Mark Hernandez asked for her. He specifically asked for Sandy Walker so someone must’ve told him that’s what she went by.” I sat back onto the sofa. “Call him and find out what he wanted. Maybe it will have something to do with the case. Who knows?”
Still silence.
“I just gave you permission to follow up on your lead.” My voice was irritated. “Doesn’t that make you happy?”
“Yes, but. . . ” His voice was strangely quiet. “I’m still processing what you said before. Your mom’s name.”
He lost me. “Sandy Walker. Why?”
“You might want to sit down for this one.” He cleared his throat. “The little girl you found . . .”
His voice trailed off and I huffed out a breath. “Yes, the girl who was kidnapped, the girl who I found in the middle of the Sierras, go on. What about her?”
He took an audible breath. “Her name is Amanda Lynn Walker.”
Chills went up my spine and crept around my neck as if choking me. “Amanda. Lynn. Walker? You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice sounded as incredulous as I felt.
Amanda Walker.
Sandy Walker.
I turned my head slowly and stared down the hall in the direction of my dad’s room and narrowed my eyes, unable to comprehend how he could keep this from me.
“Kylie?”
I’d forgotten Trip was still on the line. “I have to go.”
I could hear his voice, but not his words, and I removed the phone from my ear and pressed the OFF button.
What did this mean? There was no way Amanda could be my sister. She was ten years old at the most and my mom had died twelve years ago. But, she had to be linked to me somehow with the last name Walker.
I trudged numbly down the hall, dropping the phone somewhere in the middle of the hallway, burrowed myself under my covers headfirst and sobbed.
Chapter Seven
“Amanda!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
Bishop had gotten to her. I saw his tattooed arm rise high in the air, about to drive a shiny metal dagger into her chest. No. Wait. It was the other guy. The one with the long hair. He’s the one with the tattoo and he was about to kill Amanda.
As the blade wavered above her terrified face, the blonde curls faded, turning to flat brown locks. Her eyes opened. Green irises with brown flecks. It wasn’t Amanda . . . it was me.
The tattooed arm suspended in the air, the dagger glistening with drops of red, and then it thrust down into me. Pain seared my chest, stabbing again and again. I opened my mouth, tried to scream for help. No sound escaped.
<
br /> I couldn’t speak. My body froze, paralyzed.
Help! Help!
I sprang awake with a gasp, my brow wet, my breathing ragged. Where was I? Was Bishop here? He’d stab me. Kill me. “Noooo!”
The sound echoed in the small room. It was dark, cold. My arms clasped tightly around me, holding on for dear life as I tried to quiet my jerky breaths, hoping I wasn’t alone, hoping I was alone.
Wherever I was.
Terrified, I stared up into the blackness. Slowly a green quarter moon sticker appeared above me. Glow-in-the-dark Stars sprinkled near the moon. My ceiling. My bedroom. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I lay stiff, scared, scanning the room for Bishop or his accomplice.
Empty. It’d been a nightmare, but I still panted. Nothing had every felt so real.
“Amanda.” Amanda Lynn Walker. I closed my eyes, and swallowed even though my throat was dry. What if my dream was a sign? Maybe Bishop was with her now. She needed help. I felt it in my bones. I had to get to her, fast.
Or we both were dead.
Throwing back the covers, I dropped my feet onto the shaggy carpet, half-afraid an arm would reach out from under my bed and clasp my ankle. “There is no bogeyman,” I told myself.
The problem was, Bishop was all too real.
I was wearing the same jeans and t-shirt I’d worn to school. My dad must’ve checked on me after I’d fallen asleep though, because my door was closed. I wasn’t supposed to go out since he’d grounded me, but I didn’t care. Not like he’d kept his word, so why should I respect his rules?
I snagged a hooded sweatshirt from my closet and pulled it over my head. On my way out the door, I glanced at the clock on my nightstand.
Bright red numbers displayed, 11:15 p.m.
I tiptoed down the hall and glared toward my dad’s closed door. Screw being grounded. Screw him. He was the reason I was in this mess.
I’d been the good daughter—straight A’s, no partying, always obeyed him. And the thanks I get? Secrets and lies.
I slammed the front door on my way out, not caring if I got caught. Bishop was much more terrifying than my dad.
Once out the door, I slipped my key in the lock, turned it, and headed across the street to where I’d parked my little red compact. It was dark except for the minor amount of light shining from the street lamp.
Putting my nose against the cold rear window, I checked the backseat terrified I’d see a long-haired man with a knife. Nobody there.
After letting out a relieved sigh, I got in the driver’s seat, pulled away from the curb, and headed for Marmaduke Medical Center.
****
Finding parking at Marmaduke this time of night was a cinch and I hurried out of my car. The misty night air chilled me as I ran across the hospital parking lot to the front doors and nearly smacked into the glass when the doors didn’t slide open. “It can’t be locked!”
I pounded on the thick glass, but the lobby was empty. What if Bishop was with Amanda right now? I had to get to her.
A siren sounded in the distance and I thought of the emergency room entrance. That had to be open all hours, right? I ran around to the back of the building.
Luckily, the emergency room was open and fully lit. Must be a slow night because it was empty, except for a girl sitting in the corner. Her bright blonde hair had black tips, she wore all black, and she had caked on make-up with bright red lipstick.
She slumped down in the chair, adjusted her iPod’s headphones, and bounced her knees to the beat as she flipped the page of her magazine. She didn’t appear sick so I figured she must be waiting for someone. Although if her boyfriend was getting his spleen removed she didn’t seem too upset about it.
I rapped my knuckles on the window at the front counter and had my fist balled to knock again when the glass slid open. The girl behind the counter didn’t look much older than me. She wore purple scrubs, her dark hair up in a messy twist. She gave me a bored look that told me she’d rather be home sleeping right about now. “May I help you?”
I nodded, hoping I didn’t look as desperate as I felt. Confidence was everything. “I’m here to see a patient. Amanda Lynn Walker.”
The girl fingered a loose strand of hair and sighed. “Visiting hours are eight a.m. to ten p.m. daily. Come back tomorrow.”
The window started to slide closed and I put a hand out to stop it. “Sorry if those are usually the hours,” I said, in my best I-don’t-apply-to-those-rules voice. “But, Amanda’s my little sister and I have to see her.” Could’ve been true. Not like I knew how she and my mom happened to share the same last name.
The girl threw me a comatose look and I resisted the urge to shake her until she unlocked the door. “Look, my mom called earlier and told me what happened to Amanda. That she’d been beaten, by two men, then left for dead in the Sierras.”
The girl’s eyes widened. Apparently she hadn’t heard the details about my potential sister. “What’s your name?”
“Kylie Bates,” I said quickly, wondering if I’d have to sign something or show ID to gain entry. What a waste of time.
The girl gave me an odd look. “Bates?”
“B-A-T-E-S.” Geez, couldn’t the girl spell? Not like it was a hard name. One syllable. Come on, chickie. Hurry up!
The girl narrowed her eyes at me.
That’s when it clicked. Walker. Bates. Not the same last name. Duh. “Amanda and I have different fathers,” I said, quickly. So sly. “You see, Mom caught Dad with another woman when I was like five. So, she divorced his butt. I totally respect her for that. More power to the woman, you know? She was a single mom, raising me, until she met . . . Johnny. Amanda’s dad. He’s rock solid. Never strayed. I’m really happy to have a little sister, too.”
Did that sound too Jerry Springer to buy? Who knows, with the way my life was going it could all be fact.
The chick gave me a bored look, then swiveled in her chair and typed something into her computer. “Only immediate family can see this patient.”
I nodded. “That’s right. I’m her sister. You don’t get much more immediate than that.”
“Well, there’s no listing for Kylie Bates under family.” She threw me a look, like she knew I was a liar but wasn’t going to say it. What customer service. “Incidentally, there’s no father listed, let alone one named Johnny. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to ask you to leave now.”
“Are you serious? I just flew all the way from . . . Upland, Indiana.” It’s a real place. I once knew someone from there. “Are you trying to tell me that I can’t see my little sister, because some moron forgot to type my info on the chart?”
The girl glared at me. “I’m the moron who typed this chart.”
Oh. Crap. Calling her a moron probably hurt my chances for speedy entry. Bad move. Shake it off. Time to start fresh. “Let’s just forget that whole chart thing.” I waved a hand in the air. “I’m sure you’re an excellent typist and that’s not the issue. I’ve flown a long way to see my little sister, okay? I’m worried about her, and I really need to go in now.”
“If you truly want to see your sister,” she gave another I-know-you’re-a-liar-look, “then you’ll come back tomorrow during regular visiting hours.” The girl slammed the window closed.
I put my hand out to block it and got my fingers smashed. “Hey! That hurt. Do you want me to sue you? I’ll sue the hospital and you. Don’t think I won’t!”
The glass slid open, and the chick stood there with her hands on her hips.
My ears buzzed suddenly, filling with heavy vibrations. You catch more flies with honey.
This was true. Good point. I wondered about the tingling in my ears, but willed myself to focus on Amanda.
I changed my tune, smiling at the girl sweetly. “I’m not going to sue you.”
She raised one brow. “Ma’am, am I going to have to call security?”
Ma’am? Sheesh. I was the same freaking age as her. I hated when people talked down to me. Or up, in this case.
Whatever. The point is that it sets me off. I grunted in frustration. “Why won’t you just let me in? I’m Amanda’s sister. I swear. You are so going to be in trouble when I file a complaint with administration.”
No, the chick did not break out into a sweat. She simply raised a hand in the air, bent her fingers, and checked her nails with a bored look.
“Man, you suck.” I’d had it. She was impossible. I threw my hands in the air, whirled in a circle, and grunted again.
The blonde with the black tips walked past me then, punching numbers into her cell phone, and didn’t bother to hide her smirk. Did she find my misery amusing?
I gave her a dirty look as the exit doors slid open and she walked outside. Sure, I could admit I was making a scene. But, Amanda was hurt and vulnerable. She couldn’t protect herself against the likes of Bishop. I hadn’t snuck out in the middle of the night for nothing. I had to help her. Now.
My nightmare flooded my brain. The tattooed man stabbing Amanda, stabbing me. My heart pounded as I panicked. What if it was a sign? What if in addition to mind reading I now received warnings through nightmares or something? Without my willing it, the slideshow from when I first found Amanda replayed. Amanda lying in the dirt. Eyes closed, fluttering. Red blood crusted on those bright blonde curls.
My eyes flared and I slammed my hands onto the counter. “I have to see Amanda and make sure she’s okay. She needs me. Just let me in for one freaking minute!”
“For the last time, visiting hours are—” The phone rang at her desk. She turned from me, picked up the receiver, and said in a cheerful voice, “Marmaduke Medical Center. Emergency room. How may I help you?”
Sure, put on the sweet voice for some random caller. But for your patient’s fake half-sister . . .
“Oh, yes. Yes. Uh-huh.” She rotated her body sideways. “Well, she did say she was her sister but the chart indicates . . . certainly ma’am. Absolutely.” She hung up the phone, and looked up at me apologetically. “I’m so sorry about your sister. I’ll buzz you in immediately, Ms. Bates.”
“Huh?” I scratched my temple. What happened to ma’am? Different last names? Proper visiting hours?
