“I know you're there. I can smell you.”
I look around again. He can't be talking to me. He doesn't even know I'm here. No one can see their guardian. And I smell? What the—? How rude. I pretend I didn't hear him say anything.
Other students pour from the doors, hurrying to the buses parked at the curb. Some walk down the sidewalk in front of the school. The rich ones climb into their own cars. Curious, I wait to see what Brecken will do. He just stands there, leaning against the cool, brick building, his eyes closed.
Not knowing why, and not really thinking about it, I reach up and place my hand on his arm. Mostly to comfort him since it looks like he needs it, but also to figure out... something.
He radiates light—not like Raphael or other spirits I've met—but a brighter light than most living people. What makes him different?
As soon as my fingers touch his skin, a tidal wave of pressure washes over me. Not physically painful, but agonizing in its loneliness and despair. My mind grows dark and dizziness overwhelms me. I crumple in on myself, letting go of him and stumbling to the rough cement. I back away, weakened, and look up at him, holding my fingers, which still burn with the memory of contact.
“You shouldn't have done that,” he says with an I told you so tone of voice. “I don't know who you are, or what you're doing here, but there's no way you can help me, or change who I am. You might as well leave... like all the rest.”
He knows I'm here. He felt me touch him. That isn't possible. How can I guard a guy who knows I'm here? It won't work. And there have been others? Who failed? Am I doomed to fail too? A momentary panic seizes me. Closing my eyes, I take a moment to re-focus. Just because others failed doesn't mean I will.
“I mean it,” he says again, slouching against the brick wall. “Go.”
Just then, a girl rounds the corner. She sidles up next to him. “I thought I might find you here.” She slips her arms through his, and then leans in close, her straight, platinum hair flowing like a veil over Brecken's face. As she presses forward, brushing his lips with hers, her short mini-skirt lifts. She moves against him, and I can actually see her hot pink satin underwear. He wraps an arm around her and brings her closer.
Entranced, but disgusted, I keep right on staring. What will they do next? Right here in broad daylight?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
~First Day on the Job~
Alisa
Watching Brecken kiss the sleaze-bucket actually makes me nauseous, and I don't have to wait long to find out what they do next. The girl slides her hands up the inside of his sweatshirt, and snuggles against his bare, muscled chest. For a split second, I want to rip her arms off. I have no idea where the emotion comes from.
Brecken looks around, and then pulls her arms gently from his shirt. “Not now, Jilly.”
“What?” She looks around with a sly smile. “There's no one here and it's always more fun when you might get caught.”
“Ugh,” I say, turning away so I don't have to watch.
Brecken straightens and gently pushes Jill back. She stumbles over her combat boots, and I laugh out loud.
“What?” she asks, confused, her eyebrows creasing.
He takes her hand and leads her down the sidewalk toward the street. “Don't follow me,” he says over his shoulder.
I guess he's talking to me.
“Why not?” Jill asks. “I thought we were going out tonight.” She gives him a cute little pout that I'm sure she has practiced in front of a mirror.
“Not you.” He grits his teeth and pulls her along.
Jill's lips pucker and her eyes close to slits. “Well, who else, Breck? There's no one around.” She turns in a circle and motions with her hands out. “You're being weird again.”
With a sigh of resignation, he shakes his head. “Whatever. Come on.” He doesn't say anything more, and I float along behind them reluctantly. At least they are somewhat entertaining. I'm beginning to think this job of being a guardian is not what it's cracked up to be. So far, it's not what I expected, nor am I having any fun. My mood darkens the longer I follow them. If this kid can hear me, maybe I should tell him what I think of this whole situation. In my opinion, he deserves to be taken down a notch.
“Your first and biggest mistake is your taste in girls,” I state, walking behind them, my hands clasped behind my back. It makes me feel very therapist-like.
“It's none of your business!” He storms down the sidewalk, Jill's hand gripped in his fist.
“It is my business,” Jill says, whipping her hand away. “You scare me when you act like this. All paranoid.” She folds her arms and cocks her hip. “Look, Breck, I've stayed by you through thick and thin, but if you're going to go all nuts on me again... ”
“Jilly, I'm not nuts.”
“Let me help you,” she begs. “You know I can.” Her arms snake around him as she presses her body up against his again.
I can't help but laugh, shaking my head. “What a winner.”
Pursing his lips, he gently shoves her back. “I can't do this right now. I need to get home. I won't be able to go out tonight either, but I'll call you. Please don't be mad.” He pulls her close and kisses her quickly, then jogs away, leaving Jill and me staring after him.
That's it? He's going to run away and hide? What happened to Mr. Tough guy? I glance at Jill whose mouth gapes open.
“I don't think you should go after him,” I say, since it looks like she might.
With an angry shrug of her shoulders, she turns and heads the other way, a scowl on her face.
And it hits me. She listened to me! Was that all it took? A little suggestion? A tiny whisper in her ear and she changed her mind? Maybe this assignment won't be so hard after all. Then I remember I can't whisper in Brecken's ear. I don't need to whisper at all. He can hear me loud and clear.
I stand there thinking I should probably go after him. It's what a good guardian would do, and if I want to succeed at this stupid mission, it will be better to get it over with quickly. I can get out of here and be with Gram, and then I'll never have to see Bad Boy Brecken again.
With a sigh, I blink my eyes, feeling that tug and pull in my belly that is now familiar with spirit travel, and poof, I'm at Brecken's side. Oh, happy day.
He pounds down the sidewalk, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his frown deepening as soon as I appear. “Can't you go away?”
“Go away? I just got here. I have to be here, and believe me, you're no picnic.” I look the other way, truly wishing I were anywhere else.
He turns toward the sound of my voice. “Excuse me? How did you get this job? They have to recruit from snobville now?” he says with a derogatory laugh.
That's a little below the belt because it's certainly not true.
“You can hear me. Unbelievable.” I can't believe Raphael would send me to someone like this. I shake my head, itching to smack Brecken upside the head. I try to think of a comment that will get under his skin to get even for the “recruiting from snobville” comment. “Can't you drive home? Did the cops impound your mexi-car?”
“You're an idiot.”
“Shut up,” I answer, trying not to sound offended.
“Shut up.” He mimics my voice.
“You're so mature. You argue like a two-year-old,” I say, even though I sound the same way.
A sneer twists his face as he goes in for the kill. “How old are you? You sound like you're twelve. Did they send a snot-nosed, elementary school kid to guard me? Really?”
I stick my tongue out, tempted to add another gesture even though I'm pretty sure he can't see me, but then decide it won't look good on video at the library... just in case anyone is watching.
With a resigned shake of his head, and his mouth twisting in irritation, he walks toward a neighborhood where all the houses look exactly alike. Small, brick—varying in color—tiny front porches, and peeling paint on the gables over each front door.
I don't say another word until we t
urn up the walkway to a red brick house. The neatly trimmed lawn has browned, and a couple of little bushes grow on either side of the cracked cement porch. It's obvious right off the bat that the people who lived here don't have a lot of money, but at least the house is neat.
“This your place?” I ask, stepping into the living room behind him.
“No, it's the neighbor's. I'm here to rob them.” He throws his backpack in the corner and goes straight to the fridge. He grabs a beer and pops the lid, collapsing onto the couch.
“I wouldn't be surprised,” I say, mumbling and looking around.
He closes his eyes and chuckles like he doesn't care.
“Do your parents know you drink?” Maybe this is the obstacle he needs to overcome. Maybe he's an alcoholic. I can deal with that. Get him to sign up for AA. Get him to go to meetings. Get him a sponsor. Easy peasy.
He throws an icy stare, then, and with a snort, he takes another swig, not bothering to answer.
His lack of emotion irritates me, and I feel no desire to keep my mouth shut. He reminds me too much of my older brother, Derek, when he's in one of his moods.
“What a moron,” I say. “I don't have to stick around and watch this. Why should I waste my time with you?”
His expression falls and pain fills his eyes for a split second, even though he tries unsuccessfully to hide it.
A pang of guilt pricks my conscience, because I'm being rude and I know it, but how could my comment hurt a guy like him? Why would he care what I say? He doesn't want me here, and guys like him... well, I just don't know how to deal with this situation other than how I'd do it with my brother, which will end in a big argument. I obviously don't know how to influence Brecken without saying something mean. I already regret the comments I've made so far.
I'm not normally such brat and I don't know what is wrong with me now. I should apologize, but can't bring myself to do it, and I don't want to sit around and watch him get drunk or hear any more of his asinine comments.
I want only one thing.
The comfortable, familiarity of home.
The memory of my mother's face and her robust laughter calls to me. Maybe smelling the yeasty aroma of baking bread, or seeing my dad sitting at the computer going through Craig's list will make me feel better. My little brother's good-humored teasing could pull me out of this funk easy.
All I have to do is close my eyes. The tug and pull begins in my belly and when I open my eyes, there I am in our bright, airy kitchen. I don't know if I've traveled a hundred miles or a thousand. I'm in the one place I love most.
I take a moment to soak it in—the quiet, the familiarity of each piece of furniture, each picture on the wall, and relish the feel of just being here, of being home.
Normally at this time of day, my mom would be standing against the counter, reading mail or making some treat for us to eat once we gotten home from school, but silence fills the kitchen and my mother's absence makes everything seem sad and too quiet.
I float upstairs to her room, stopping at mine on the way. The closed door doesn't block me, and I move through it. The unopened blinds and sheer curtains encase the room in shadow. My perfectly made bed—not like I left it—stands under the window, and not one poster I put up has been removed from the walls. Not even bare-chested Jacob Black. My mom hates that one.
I quickly grow uncomfortable in my empty shrine, where only crumbling memories remain instead of girl things like ponytail holders, makeup, and rumpled clothes. I'll never sleep in that bed again. I'll never wear my favorite Big Star jeans, or brush my hair with the silver brush and comb set my Gram bought for me before she died. Ache fills me as I look around, heavy, cold, and filled with regret.
Not wanting to deal with it right now I head toward my parent’s bedroom and stop in front of their door. I don't hear anything, but I have the eerie sense that something is happening inside. Uneasiness, like the overpowering stench of rotten potatoes hidden in a dark cupboard—overcomes me.
Taking a breath, I push through the door. Only a sliver of light pierces the room through a crack in the heavy brocade curtains. The familiar cherry-wood king-size bed stands against the far wall, and a stale odor permeates the room.
A form lies on the bed, unmoving. I know who it is immediately and step closer. Familiar dark hair covers half of her sleeping face. A white, dry trail of tears ends in a wet spot on the pillow. She hasn't been asleep long.
I kneel beside her and run my fingers along her cheek. Why is my mom sleeping in the middle of the day? She never used to. She was always the first one up, running on her treadmill, working with the PTA, doing volunteer work at the children's hospital downtown. She would have considered a nap in the middle of the day a complete waste of her time.
I stay by her side and watch her breathe. It's not long before I hear the downstairs door open quietly, and then slowly click shut. I never realized I could hear so well, and I wonder who is sneaking into my house. Glancing down at my mother, I realize she hasn't stirred at all, but lies on her bed completely comatose.
I go to the top of the stairs and see my little brother Tyler. He throws his backpack next to the wall and slumps onto the couch, grabbing the remote and flipping on one of those stupid Japanese cartoons I hate. A tug of nostalgia fills me. What I wouldn't give to sit next to him and watch TV.
Normally, he gets a snack. He's never been overweight, but he was always a bit on the chunky side—perfect for playing little league football. Now his clothes hang from his shoulders, his pants baggy. He has barely hit puberty and can’t have burned off all his baby fat yet.
I sit on the couch next to him and place my hand over his. A rush of loneliness washes over me, and feelings of despair settle in my chest. Is this what he's feeling right now? Is this heavy weight of torment what little Tyler carries around all day?
“Go get something to eat,” I whisper.
He doesn't move.
I say the words again, more forcefully this time. He throws the remote down and gets up to rummage around in the kitchen cupboards, pulling out graham crackers and milk.
He comes back with a bowl of soggy crackers, plops his feet on the coffee table, and stares at the TV. With a sigh of resignation I stand, thinking I should go back upstairs to my mom, but something tells me it's time to find Brecken.
Dang.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
~Too Much Too Soon~
Alisa
I close my eyes and picture Brecken—his dark, wind-blown hair, his thick, black eyebrows, and his intensely blue eyes. In a blink, I appear in some sort of basement bedroom—dark, dank, and surrounded by cement walls. A lone bulb swings from the unfinished ceiling.
Brecken sits on the edge of an unmade bed, holding a pill bottle. I inch closer to read the label but his fingers close over it. He grits his teeth and opens the bottle. Maybe he's planning to overdose. Maybe my moment to help him is at hand. I'll be finished with my job and back to Idir Shaol in no time! I hurry forward, but instead of swallowing a handful of pills, he takes only one... without water.
Oh gag. Doing that would have burned a hole through my esophagus.
He pitches the bottle onto a small table that holds an old, wooden lamp, and then he lies down and faces the wall.
“Brecken,” I whisper, unsure of what to say. Since visiting my family, the desire to fight has disappeared, and I don't want him mad at me either.
He covers his head with a pillow.
“Brecken, if you can hear me, please talk to me.”
“Go away.”
I sit in a chair across the room and watch his still form. “I don't like this anymore than you do.” I wish he didn't know I was here. I could work so much better incognito, like I had with my little brother, or the girl named Jilly that Brecken kissed. Slowly, he turns and searches the dim room. “Why do they keep sending you people?”
“How should I know?” I shake my head and cross my arms over my chest. Everything he says irks me. Even the way he hold
s his mouth when he speaks. I feel a desire to scream coming on. “What was that pill you took?” I ask finally. “Are you into drugs or something? Are they painkillers? I want to know what I'm dealing with.”
He exhales and turns toward me. “Zyprexa, if you must know. It's a prescription.”
I've heard of Zyprexa but can't remember what it treats. Just my luck to be assigned to some psychic wacko. “What's it for?”
“It's for schizophrenia,” he says, sitting up on his bed. “Everyone thinks I'm nuts. Okay? If someone claims they hear voices, they're usually given medication or are wrapped up in a long white shirt that buttons down the back.”
He has a point there. “Yeah,” I say slowly. “What else can you do? Any other amazing talents I should be aware of?” I have a feeling these weird things he can do are the special gifts Raphael was talking about when I wasn't listening.
With a whoosh, he falls back to his pillow. “None of your business. I wish you'd just leave.”
“I'd like to, but you see, if I don't finish my assignment here, I have to live in hell for the rest of forever, so a little help would be nice.”
A string of obscenities flies from him mouth and he sits up again. He searches for me in the corner.
“What did you just say to me?” I yell back at him. “I don't need to listen to that! Watch your mouth or I won't help you at all!” I want nothing more than to walk out, to leave this doper to his fate, but I know what mine will be if I do. My threat is empty and he probably knows it. He'll do whatever he can to get rid of me.
As soon as that thought enters my mind, I feel strangely relaxed. A calm descends around me like a wooly shroud and I chuckle, which brings a frown to Brecken's face. His ploys won't work. I understand his technique. I can see right through him. Maybe it's a guardian gift.
“Hey,” he says suddenly, leaning forward and squinting his eyes. “Just so you know, I can see you. What do you think of that, little guardian angel?”
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