Freak

by Francine Pascal

  “Sam,” Oliver said, stopping next to the bench. He wore a new-looking black trench coat over gray pants and a white shirt. His expression was unreadable, his eyes soft.

  God, I hope he doesn’t try to squeeze out a few tears, Sam thought, fighting against the sickness in his throat. Why did I ever say I would do this?

  “Gaia and I are both grateful that you agreed to meet me.”

  Right. Because of Gaia.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Sam told him, gratefully spotting a uniformed police officer at the far end of the winding path their bench fronted. “Say what you’ve got to say.”

  Oliver tucked his coat under himself and sat down next to Sam. If there were any way to move farther away from the psycho, Sam would have. But as it was, he was trapped. All he could do was hope that the apology, or whatever this was, would be short and sweet.

  Unfortunately, the silence started to drag. Oliver reached into his pocket and pulled out a large coin—one of those old, rare, fifty-cent pieces—and started to roll it over, end over end, on top of his fingers. Sam stared at the movement of the coin, mesmerized by the agility it took to control it. Then the man’s leg started to bounce up and down and Sam snapped out of his momentary trance.

  “Look, if you’ve got nothing to say,” he said, starting to get up.

  “Sit down!” Oliver snapped, his voice harsh.

  A cold, blasting chill shot through Sam. Against his better judgment he fell back onto the bench—mostly because his leg muscles ceased to work the moment the man exploded. That was not the voice of a repentant man. It wasn’t even the voice of a man who wanted to fake repentance.

  Sam swallowed hard. He watched the coin spin faster and faster. Watched the leg twitch spasmodically. From the corner of his eye, he kept a close watch on the cop’s position.

  “Oliver,” he said quietly. “I’ve . . . never seen anyone do that with a coin before.”

  Instantly, the coin stopped. It fell flat on top of Oliver’s fingers. The man looked down at it as if he’d never seen it before. The leg stopped moving. Oliver’s brows knit together. He pocketed the coin and looked up at Sam.

  “I hadn’t even realized I was doing that,” he said apologetically. “Nervous habit, I suppose.”

  Sam nodded, attempting to keep the shivers that were coursing through him like waves at bay. There was something frightening going on here. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but this man did not seem to be the person Gaia thought he was.

  “I’ve asked you here today to tell you that I am deeply sorry for everything I’ve done,” Oliver said, looking Sam in the eye. “To you, to Gaia, to everyone who had the misfortune of coming into contact with—”

  Don’t say it. Don’t say it, Sam told himself. But he had to. He had to find out if he was right.

  “With Loki,” he finished.

  Immediately, the coin came out again. The flipping resumed. The leg began to twitch. Oliver, Loki, whoever the hell he was, stared out across the park toward the nearby woods, his eyes narrowing into slits.

  It’s him, Sam thought, the fear like knives to his skull and heart. He’s back. He’s coming back.

  “I’ve got to go,” Sam said, standing quickly this time.

  “Where, Sam?” the man asked, his voice entirely different than it had been moments before. He sounded amused—venomously amused. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  But this time, Sam wasn’t stupid enough to pause. He took off in the direction of the police officer even though his apartment was on the opposite end of the park. His instinct was to be as close to as much protection as humanly possible, just in case.

  Nothing happened, however. Loki didn’t chase him. He didn’t try to gun him down. He just let Sam go, his pulse racing the whole way. As soon as Sam reached the edge of the park and acknowledged his good fortune in still being alive, he turned his steps toward the subway, checking over his shoulder every few seconds until he could have given himself whiplash.

  I have to warn Gaia, he thought, his pace quickening. I have to warn her that Loki is back.

  Possibilities

  “OLIVER KICKS ASS. I MEAN, literally. That man is the Terminator,” Jake said, putting his feet up on the just-delivered wooden coffee table at Gaia’s apartment. “You should have seen how quick he took down those two guys at Yuri’s. I hope I’m still that good when I’m old.”

  “Jake?” Gaia said.

  “Yeah?” he asked, crooking his arms behind his head as he leaned back.

  “You’re doing it again. The rambling thing,” Gaia told him.

  “Sorry. Won’t happen again,” Jake joked.

  As Gaia scooched down into the couch until she was almost at eye level with her feet up next to Jake’s, he leaned over and planted a kiss right on her mouth. Gaia’s heart did a few million somersaults. Jake slumped back next to her, smiling. If Gaia wasn’t so happy she knew the both of them would have been making her sick right now.

  “Are we going to watch this movie or what?” Jake asked.

  Gaia grabbed the remote and started the DVD player. She’d only agreed to watch Jake’s favorite movie, The Fast and the Furious, when he’d told her she could crack as many jokes as she wished during the viewing. But even though the choice of film was less than optimal, Gaia couldn’t help smiling as the credits started to roll.

  This was so normal, vegging on the couch watching a movie on a Tuesday afternoon after school. When, exactly, was she going to wake up from this?

  There was a knock on the door and Gaia and Jake exchanged a look.

  “Gaia, it’s Sam.”

  Jake rolled his eyes and Gaia jumped up from the couch. She knew that Sam and Oliver were supposed to meet this afternoon and she’d fully expected a rundown phone call from one or both of them later this evening, but a drop-by was a surprise. Gaia glanced through the open kitchen door as she passed it, checking out the microwave clock. It was only 4:45 and they were supposed to be meeting at four. How had Sam gotten here so fast?

  “Hey,” she said, opening the door. “What’s up?”

  The two-word question was barely out of her mouth when Sam had passed right by her and into the living room. Gaia let the door slam and followed. Jake pushed himself off the couch and faced Sam as he entered the room.

  Great. Just what I needed to puncture the mood, Gaia thought. A little more macho posturing.

  Jake picked up the remote and paused the already noisy movie. For a moment, Gaia stood behind Sam, uncertain of how to proceed, feeling guilty over interrupting a private moment with another guy. But then she reminded herself that however her heart felt at this moment she’d already made a decision to start over. With Jake. And there was no reason to hide that.

  It was her life. Her decision.

  She walked around the L-shaped extension of the couch and joined Jake on the other side, standing next to him.

  “You guys remember each other, right?” she said, the words coming out in a speedy jumble.

  “Sam, right?” Jake said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “And you’re Jake,” Sam said. His gaze only rested on the other guy for a second before flicking to Gaia. “Can I talk to you alone?”

  Gaia could see that Sam was scared. She gave Jake a guilt-filled glance, then led Sam down the hall toward her room. She paused just outside the door and looked Sam in the eye.

  “What happened?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Loki is reemerging,” Sam told her quietly, his eyes darting toward the living room.

  Gaia scoffed. “Not possible.”

  “Gaia, you know I wouldn’t lie to you about this,” Sam implored, sounding desperate. “We were sitting in Prospect Park and he kept zoning out. And whenever he did he started twitching and . . . and he was playing with this coin, all methodical . . . you know? It was scary.”

  Gaia felt as if she’d just swallowed something too hot too fast. But she shook it off. This was not possible. Oliver was Oliver no
w. But Sam’s green eyes were pleading with her, begging her to believe him—maybe even to help him. And why not? He was terrified of being imprisoned again. Or worse.

  Suddenly Gaia knew that she’d done the wrong thing when she’d sent Sam to meet with Oliver. It was all there again—right on the surface—the hopeless hours, the beatings, the agony of being caged up like a worthless animal. Sam looked tortured again. She felt it within her own heart.

  “Sam . . . I . . . I’m so sorry,” Gaia said. “I shouldn’t have made you go.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Sam told her. He reached for her hands and held them both in hers. Gaia resisted the urge to look toward the living room. What would Jake think if he saw this? “It doesn’t matter,” Sam repeated. “I just wanted to warn you. Loki’s back. You have to do something. You have to protect yourself.”

  The sincerity behind his concern touched Gaia, but she knew it was unfounded. She was safe now. They all were. Sam had to get used to it as she had.

  “Sam, it’s going to be okay,” Gaia said. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

  Sam took a deep breath and looked at the floor. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “I . . . can’t,” Gaia said.

  “Fine,” Sam said, nodding. He pressed his lips together and lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Just be careful.”

  Then he reached out and touched her cheek, his palm cupping her face. Gaia’s skin tingled with warmth. Seconds later he was gone, walking off down the hall. She waited until she heard the front door close before rejoining Jake in the living room.

  “What was that all about?” Jake asked flatly.

  “Nothing,” Gaia told him. “He just wanted to make sure I was okay.”

  “Isn’t that my job now?” Jake asked, point-blank. No double-talk. No games.

  “It’s always kind of been my job,” Gaia told him.

  Jake cracked a smile, reached out, and grabbed her hand. He pulled her down onto the couch and into his side.

  “Well, now you have an assistant,” he said, laying his arm on top of hers.

  Jake’s attitude toward Sam was comforting. He wasn’t going to walk out on her for having a past that kept rearing its dramatic head. Jake Montone could take it.

  “So, are we going to watch this movie or what? I hate late fees.” He picked up the remote again. Gaia sighed and allowed her cheek to lean into his chest. As ridiculously tricked-out cars screeched across the screen, she told herself to forget about Sam. He’d readjust. He’d be okay. And so would she. They would all be just fine.

  It was time to stop dwelling on other people’s feelings. It was time to stop thinking about what might happen tomorrow or next week or next month. For the first time she could remember, life and all its possibilities were open to her.

  Gaia Moore was ready to start living.

  GAIA

  Things I have:

  A father

  An uncle

  A maybe boyfriend

  A home

  A future

  Things I don’t have:

  Fear

  A grandfather (at least not one I will ever acknowledge)

  Psychos tracking my every move

  Uncertainty

  For once the scales have tipped in my favor. And life is good.

  Life

  Is

  Good.

  1

  The flames surrounded us.

  I shivered inside my coat and watched as my house—well, the house I’d been living in for the past month or so—spat and hissed in a mountain of fire and smoke. Fire engines rushed to the scene. Eight men tumbled out of the truck and started rolling the hose toward a fire hydrant.

  “Everyone get back!” one of them yelled.

  Hiro pulled on my arm. “We have to move back, Heaven,” he said.

  I felt cemented to the ground. Cheryl, my housemate, was trapped inside.

  Who set this fire?

  Marcus?

  I had left him back at the subway station. Cheryl had come home by herself in a cab. The driver had promised to walk her to the door. Hiro and I were only minutes behind her in another cab.

  Meaning . . . if I hadn’t gone back to the club to get my bag . . . I would’ve been inside the house, too. The heat started to affect my skin. The smoke began to burn my eyes. I felt light-headed and woozy. My whole body ached.

  “Come on,” Hiro said again. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  I stared up at my bedroom window and thought, fleetingly, of my sad assortment of personal belongings trapped inside. The jeans and sneakers I bought when I first got to L.A. My crumpled-up photograph of my brother, Ohiko, which I carried with me in my shiro-maku wedding kimono. Various clothes belonging to Hiro. I didn’t have much—I hadn’t saved enough money yet to really have many material possessions. But still, everything that was mine since I’d come to L.A. was turning to ash and fluttering away.

  My eyes filled with tears.

  “Heaven, we’ve got to move,” Hiro said, tugging on my arm. “Come on.”

  A large piece of the roof cracked and fell mere inches from us. Hiro jumped back, but I stood and stared. The flames leapt and danced.

  “You’re acting foolish!” Hiro said, pulling on my sleeve.

  “Wait,” I said softly. I saw my little bedroom window, behind the branches of the big cedar tree. Flames danced around the window frame. Was it possible that maybe Cheryl hadn’t come home? Perhaps she’d gone somewhere else . . . like to the diner or maybe to the hospital to get her ankle looked at. . . .

  Hiro dragged me under a tree. “You’re pale,” he said, moving his face close to mine. “Come on. We have to get a cab and get out of this neighborhood.” He pulled at me. “Heaven . . . you’ve been so strong so far.”

  It was true—I had been completely strong up until this moment. I had just defended Cheryl from Marcus, who was more terrifying than I’d ever imagined. I’d narrowly avoided death, meeting a subway car head-on. Marcus had dragged Cheryl away from the club knowing I’d follow them. He knew that I’d been suspicious of him from the get-go. And he knew I’d defend Cheryl. He’d lured me down to that subway station. It had all been a plot to corner me.

  And the fire. It was most likely for me as well.

  I breathed in and out, trying to get a grip. The firemen worked on, spraying parts of the house to stop the flames. I stepped out from under the tree and moved toward the burning piece of roof again.

  “Who wants me dead so badly?” I said aloud. Could it be the Yukemuras?

  But it didn’t make sense. The Yukemuras, dangerous as they were, didn’t want me dead. Yoji, the head of the Yukemura clan, needed me to marry Teddy for the agreed-upon “booty.” They had to have me alive. At least for a little while longer.

  “Surround and drown!” one of the firemen bellowed. “The inside’s collapsing!”

  No. It had to be someone else.

  I crept up a little closer. My mind circled back to one person. Mieko.

  Mieko, my stepmother. I’d called her a couple of days ago. I needed to see how my father was doing—he’d been in a coma for almost a month. And when I heard her familiar voice come on the line, she sounded friendly—loving, almost.

  And believe me, Mieko isn’t the friendly type.

  We didn’t talk about our family. Instead Mieko grilled me about what I was doing. What was my address? she asked again and again.

  “It looks like we’ve got a class B here,” one of the firemen shouted into his radio. “Send us some backup.”

  Marcus had mentioned Mieko. In the subway station he’d said, “Your mother says hello.”

  How did Mieko know Marcus?

  More voices rang out. “Check the window! Is anyone still in there?”

  Bricks crashed to the ground.

  But I hadn’t given her my address. I’d gotten off the phone before I gave away any important information.

  But if she knew Marcus . . . who was kind of dating Cheryl .
. . who lived with me . . .

  My head spun. Why did Mieko know Marcus?

  I stared up at the burning house and my hands curled into fists. The heat made my eyes water. The photo of Ohiko up there was burning up, right now, possibly because of Mieko or Marcus. Its sides were at that very moment curling and blackening. The fire would eat away Ohiko’s face.

  All at once, before I knew what I was doing, I ran to the house. The firemen had hosed down the front yard, and the grass squished under my feet. One of the men grabbed my arm with his thick glove as I rushed past.

  “What are you doing!” he asked.

  I shook free of his grip. I heard Hiro’s screams from behind me. The smoke was overpowering, but I pushed my way in.

  The inside of the house was like nothing I’d ever seen. Orange flames shot from the mantel, the couch, the floor. All of Cheryl’s little knickknacks—and she had a lot of random stuff—were charred and blurred into a huge ball of fire.

  I heard noises from upstairs.

  “Cheryl?” I screamed. I ran to the stairway, but the whole thing was lit up in flames. All of a sudden a rush of air shot toward me, and I saw fingers of fire dance down the banister.

  My God. If Cheryl was up there, she was definitely dead.

  I looked around me. I’d never realized how loud fire was. The sound of the crackling and the growing flames was deafening. And it was surrounding me.

  Ohiko’s photo was up there. That was the only thing I had left of him. What if I forgot what he looked like? I windmilled my arms right and left, lifting my feet, trying to avoid the flames. A loud crash behind me made me flinch. I wheeled around; the chimney had fallen off the far wall. The flames were devouring it.

  Screw it. I had to get out of here. The smoke stung my eyes. I looked down at Cheryl’s end table. Her grandmother’s necklace, a gold chain with a large antique amethyst stone, was draped over the edge of a small bowl. Nothing was on fire yet.