Sam

by Francine Pascal

  BAD CHOICE

  SAM LAY ON THE CONCRETE FLOOR, feeling the thumping ache in his shoulder and ribs, dully considering the pale shaft of light that crept into the far side of an otherwise black space. Where was he? Where was the light coming from? Why had he come here, and who wanted to imprison him?

  He hadn’t caught up to Gaia. He had no idea where she’d gone. But the insidious suspicion had taken root in his mind that she had led him here just to be beaten up and held captive by two large men in ski masks. Blind, lovesick moron that he was, he’d chased her right into a trap.

  Why, though? What had he done? Who were these people, and what could they possibly want from him?

  He heard the wail of sirens coming close and wished without much real hope that maybe they were coming for him.

  This was a truly depressing twist. It was so awful that a part of Sam — not a part relating to his shoulder or ribs — almost wanted to laugh.

  He’d had a choice between a safe, loving girlfriend and a seamy, mysterious troublemaker, and whom had he chosen? He had abandoned the culmination of a long-desired sexual encounter for a mad dash through city streets and the privilege of getting beaten up and locked up in a deserted building on the far West Side.

  He had a choice, and he’d chosen wrong.

  BEING BRAVE

  GAIA’S LIFE FELT BLEAKER AND more desolate than the trash-strewn street where she walked. In one night the few joys she’d had or hoped for were obliterated. Her father — the idea of her father — was irretrievable. She had no choice but to accept now that Sam would never be hers. In her misery she allowed herself to imagine the scene between him and Heather after she’d run off. Sure, they were embarrassed, but once they got over it, they probably had a good laugh at her expense and got back to business — Sam more passionately than before in his joy and relief to have Heather in his bed and not a psychotic miscreant like Gaia.

  She walked slowly down the forsaken street, wondering in the back of her mind where CJ was with his gun. She was ready for him now. Plans 1 and 2 had crashed and burned with equal horror. Not a single hope had survived the collisions. She officially had nothing to live for.

  Chill winds blew off the Hudson. She was probably cold, she realized, but she was too numb to register it.

  She looked around. Wasn’t it just her luck that even CJ disappointed her when she wanted him?

  Well, she reasoned, she could always load up her pockets with rocks and wade into the Hudson. She could always walk into the screaming traffic of the West Side Highway. She could find her way to the roof of any one of these buildings and leap off. It’s not like her demise was dependent on CJ. Suicide is the most cowardly act, a voice inside Gaia’s head reminded her. Where had she heard that?

  For some reason, the smell in the air reminded her of the smell off the lake at her parents’ old cabin in the Berkshires. Who knew why. This was gritty urban water, and that was pure mountain runoff.

  For some reason, the smell reminded her of her mom, and the memory of her mom magically brought an image into her mind. It was her mom’s face, clear and sharp — shaded by Gaia’s raw feelings, maybe, but otherwise accurate. It was the way her mom looked dangling her bare feet off the dock, watching Gaia’s attempts to fish for dinner, although she knew perfectly well that Gaia would end up throwing every single fish back into the lake.

  It made Gaia’s heart come back to life a little because this was something approaching a miracle. Gaia could never remember her mother’s face clearly. It drove her crazy that she couldn’t. And yet here, in the midst of Hell’s Kitchen, was Katia’s beautiful and beloved face.

  And for some reason, seeing her mother clearly right now reminded Gaia of something else.

  Although she had lost the two things she longed for, it somehow opened up the opportunity for something she wanted even more. She had the chance to keep on living, even though she didn’t think she could.

  At the moment it felt to Gaia like a chance to be brave.

  Here is a sneak peek of Fearless™ #3: RUN

  GAIA

  The dream is thick in my eyes, and I want to wake up but I can’t. The dream holds me in, grasping me with its sweaty hands.

  I am alone, walking through darkness on a sidewalk that wavers in and out of being. When it is solid beneath my feet, I can walk quickly, and I am elated and excited to reach my destination. But then the darkness swirls, eating the sidewalk, and I drop, spiraling downward, until the ground returns. Objects begin to appear in my peripheral vision — street signs, mailboxes, a flight of stairs. I know them. They remind me that I am on my way to Sam.

  His dorm is in sight now — tall, much taller than any other building anywhere ever, and all the windows are dark but his. His glows with the faintest pearl-pink light. I don’t know how I know it’s his room, but I do. So I jump.

  And I’m rising, up, up into the night sky. A huge wind meets me, carries me toward the building. I am being placed down gently inside the dorm, at Sam’s door. In the dream, I step away from myself, just to get a look at my face, to see what real happiness looks like when I’m wearing it.

  Then I hear the noises. Noises coming from behind the door — sounds like soft growling, and deep sighs, sounds which seem to caress each other. I open the door and whisper, “Sam?” and the whisper echoes like an explosion, and there they are.

  They. Them. Him. Her. (Not me. I’m just looking.)

  The wind returns, fiercely, pummeling me. Funny, it only flutters Heather’s hair a little, making her look like some supermodel in a fashion photo.

  And Sam, he’s all tangled up under her, or around her, or . . . well, they are entwined. And even though I don’t have a whole hell of a lot of experience in this area, I know what they’ve been doing to get into that position, and believe me, it wasn’t a game of Twister.

  So I scream. It’s a gargley noise, a deep, disgusting bellow. I look down at the floor, and scattered around my feet are all these broken shards of something brilliant red, glassy, shiny. Looking at them makes me feel strangely empty. It takes me a moment to realize that these are the pieces of my broken heart. (One corny, cliché image per dream is allowed.)

  Then I look back up at Heather; needless to say, I really want to kick her ass. But suddenly, she’s no longer the willowy supermodel she was a moment ago. She’s changing before my eyes, morphing into a hideous creature, some kind of huge, mutant insect, with a bulging skull and spiney legs, and curved fangs, which are about to puncture Sam’s throat.

  My first thought: Serves him right.

  My second thought: You can’t lose your virginity to the guy if the Heather Bug eats him whole. So I reach out to take his hand . . .

  And he reaches out for mine . . .

  And our eyes meet. It’s like heat lightning, I swear. Things are looking up.

  So I tell the Heather Bug to disappear, and since it’s my dream, she does.

  And I make my way across the room to Sam. He’s telling me I’m beautiful, and I’m a killer chess player, and that he wants me.

  Wants me. I close my eyes, and I’m thinking, the feeling’s mutual. And then it’s me, tangled up with Sam, and we’re kissing, and somewhere in the dream, my nerve center registers a feeling it doesn’t recognize in real life.

  Fear.

  Fear that he might be disappointed. Fear that when all is said and done, he’ll choose Heather anyway, even if she is a bug.

  But the fear melts away, because in the dream, Sam whispers, “I love you, Gaia.”

  Then–BAM–back to nightmare mode. Because I’ve just opened my eyes, and I’m back out in the dark on the sidewalk and I’m running.

  Running after someone who looks just a little too damn familiar.

  My father.

  And since it’s me in my dream, I do the one thing in this world I know I’m really good at.

  I throw a punch that knocks the breath out of him, and sends him stumbling backward for miles, and miles, and miles . . .
>
  And I wake up.

  Crying.

  SAVE SAM

  One of his eyes was black-and-blue, swollen shut, and he looked frighteningly pale. Weak.

  YOU’VE GOT MAIL

  GAIA HAD JUST STEPPED OUT OF the shower, when she heard his voice floating up the stairs to greet her. She wrapped a towel around herself, went to the landing, and leaned into the stairwell.

  “Ed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She heard him chuckle. “Fine, thanks, and you?”

  Gaia smiled in spite of herself. “Sorry. I had sort of a rough night.”

  “What else is new?”

  She imagined him shaking his head at her.

  “You can tell me all about it over breakfast,” he called. “I brought bagels.”

  “Really?” Her stomach grumbled loudly. One thing this city had going for it — the authentic, fresh-out-of-the-oven bagels. They almost made up for the high price of Apple Jacks.

  “Yeah. So c’mon down.”

  “I’m totally naked, and I’m dripping wet!” Gaia yelled, wishing Ella hadn’t left ridiculously early this morning so she could be shocked by this exchange. At least she’d taken George with her. The last thing Gaia would want to do was give her sweet old guardian a heart attack.

  “I repeat,” said Ed, chuckling again, “c’mon down!”

  Gaia rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the flirtatious undertones of the remark. Five minutes later, she’d slipped into her most worn cargo pants and a gray T-shirt and was on her way downstairs, her hair spraying drops of water all over her shoulders. On the landing, she paused to study the familiar snapshot that hung in a frame there on the wall — the shot George had taken so long ago of Gaia and her parents. Gaia had tried to get rid of it, but Ella had insisted it remain. Gaia squinted at the photo, looking hard at her father.

  Her father. She’d seen him two nights ago. Two nights.

  And he’d disappeared — again.

  Her stomach churned, both with confusion and sadness. Why had he run from her? Why had he shown up in the first place?

  Was it some paternal sixth sense that dragged him back into her life? Did he somehow know she’d been on the verge of losing her virginity, and he’d crawled out from whatever rock he’d been hiding under all these years to give her a good, old-fashioned, heart-to-heart talk on morality, safe-sex, and self-control?

  Or was it just one more whacked-out coincidence in her life?

  She leaned closer to the photo and stared into his eyes.

  They were soft, kind, intelligent eyes — and the smile was genuine. The man she’d met on Saturday night had not seemed genuine at all. The warmth and gentleness she saw in the picture had been missing from the man who’d approached her that night. He was different, somehow. Lesser.

  “I guess abandoning your kid and living on the run takes a lot out of you,” she muttered, heading down the hall.

  In the kitchen, Gaia was met by the heavenly aroma of fresh bagels and hot coffee. Ed, who had positioned his chair close to the table, looked up from spreading cream cheese on a poppy seed bagel. “You didn’t have to get dressed on my account.”

  She was annoyed at the blush his grin brought to her face. “Shut up.”

  “Do you think it’s kismet that this place is handicap accessible?”

  Gaia raised an eyebrow. “It’s either kismet . . . or the building code.”

  “I’m serious,” said Ed. “Do you have any idea how many places in this damn city aren’t?”

  She felt a pang of pity, but squashed it fast. “So what’s kismet got to do with it?”

  “You happen to live in wheelchair-friendly digs. I happen to be in a wheelchair.” Ed shrugged. “It’s like the universe is arranging it so that we can hang out.”

  “The universe clearly has too much time on its hands.” She sat down and pulled her knees up, leaning them against the edge of the table.

  “Like lox?”

  “Not especially.”

  “Then I’m glad I didn’t buy any.” Ed pushed a steaming cup of coffee across the table toward her. “Three sugars, no cream, right?”

  Gaia nodded, refusing to be charmed by the fact that he remembered, and took a careful sip. She could feel him staring at her.

  “You look like hell,” he said, shaking a lock of brown hair back off his forehead. “I mean, in a gorgeous, sexy, fresh-out-of-bed sort of way. But still, pretty hellish.”

  “Thank you, I try.” She took another, bolder sip of the hot coffee. “I told you, I had a rough night.” Gaia paused, letting the steamy liquid warm her from the inside. “Make that a rough weekend.”

  “Now we’re getting to it,” Ed said, rubbing his hands together. “You were unsurprisingly unfindable yesterday, Gaia. So let’s hear it.” He broke off a piece of bagel and popped it into his mouth. “Who was the lucky guy and how did the ceremonial shedding of the chastity belt go?”

  Gaia ignored the bile rising in her throat, picked up a marble bagel, and took a gigantic bite. There was a reason she’d avoided Ed all day yesterday — the need to avoid forced emotional spillage. “Subtlety isn’t exactly a talent of yours, is it, Ed?” she said with her mouth full.

  “Look who’s talking.”

  He had a point there. She studied Ed for a moment — the just-this-side-of-scruffy hair, the eager-yet-wary brown eyes, the dot of dried blood on his chin where he’d cut himself shaving. Gaia hated that she had to talk about this, but she did. She’d sucked Ed into the whole sorry situation when she’d confessed her virginity. He might as well know the truth.

  Gaia closed her eyes. Shook her head. Sighed.

  “It didn’t happen,” she said.

  Ed dropped a knife onto the floor with a clatter. “It didn’t?”

  “Ed!” She opened her eyes and glared at him. “Think you can sound just a little more amused by that?”

  “Sorry it didn’t work out for you.” Ed cleared his throat and she could swear he was stifling a grin behind his steaming coffee. “So what happened?”

  Gaia took another aggressive bite of bagel. “Let’s just say somebody beat me to it.”

  “Shut up!” Ed’s eyes opened wide. “Gaia, you have to tell me who we’re talking about here. You can’t keep me in this kind of suspense. I have a weak heart.”

  “You do?” Gaia asked, reaching for her coffee.

  “No,” Ed admitted.

  “It was Sam Moon.”

  A sudden shower of chewed bagel bits pelted Gaia’s arms. “God, Ed! Food is to go in the mouth. In,” Gaia said, brushing off her arms.

  “You walked in on Sam and . . . Heather?” Ed choked out while simultaneously attempting to wipe his mouth.

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” Gaia asked, flicking one last bagel wad off her elbow.

  Ed looked as if he were watching his life flash before his eyes — backward and in 3D stereo surround sound. Gaia had never seen skin so pale before in her life. She’d forgotten for the moment that Heather meant something to Ed as well. A big something.

  “Man.” Ed let out a long rush of breath. His eyes were completely unfocused. “That had to suck.”

  “Could’ve been worse,” Gaia said with a halfhearted shrug. It had been worse. The night had been full of mind-bending surprises. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. No need to burden Ed with her highly dysfunctional family matters over breakfast.

  “Worse than walking in on the object of your seduction in bed with your mortal enemy?”

  Gaia nodded, but she was saved from expanding on her comment by the sound of the phone ringing.

  Ed reached behind him, snatched the cordless from the counter, then slid it across the table to Gaia. She hit the button and held the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

  At first, nothing.

  “Hello?”

  “Gaia Moore?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah? Who is this?”

  The voice was distort
ed, like something from a horror movie. “Check your e-mail.” It was a command. Maybe even a threat.

  She felt as if ice were forming in her veins. “Who the hell is this?”

  “Check your e-mail,” the voice growled.

  The line went dead.

  Gaia was on her feet, running for George’s computer, which, luckily, he always left on. When she reached the den, she flung herself into the chair and punched at the keyboard. Ed, maneuvering his chair through the rooms, appeared soon after.

  “What’s going on?”

  Gaia was too morbidly curious to bother answering Ed’s as yet unanswerable question. She clicked the “Read Mail” icon and stared at the screen as it choked out the early cryptic shadows of a video image, tapping her fingers impatiently on the mouse as the picture emerged . . . slowly . . . slowly . . .

  It was someone with his back to her, hunched forward. His surroundings were vague, too much light. Gaia reached for the speaker, in case there was audio. There was. Static, at first. Distant, fuzzy, then clearing.

  “Maybe it’s Heather, playing a joke,” offered Ed. “To get even.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Gaia, her voice tight.

  And then she heard his voice . . .

  “Gaia . . .?”

  Her heart seemed to freeze solid in her chest. No, no, no, no.

  But the voice through the speaker repeated itself.“Gaia.”

  No! “Sam?”

  As if he’d heard her, he turned to the camera, and suddenly there was Sam’s face on the computer screen. One of his eyes was black and blue, swollen shut, and he looked frighteningly pale. Weak.

  Ed angled his chair close to the desk. “Oh, shit.”

  Sam’s face vanished, replaced by a blank screen, and then there was a blast of static from the speakers, as the same distorted voice addressed her. “Gaia Moore. You can see from this footage that we have a mutual friend. Sadly, he’s not feeling well at the moment. Did you know Sam is a diabetic? No, I would imagine you didn’t . . .”