Officer Gonzalez questioned me about the abuse, and I told the skeleton truth. Yes, Dean had been abusing us for years, starting with Anna and then me. Yes, the police had been notified by neighbors and hospital staff. No, charges had never been filed. Anna always lied to protect him, and I’d lied right along with her, afraid I’d be sent away. Each word that came out of my mouth seemed to cut Ben, so I kept the details to a bare minimum. I didn’t tell the police everything, but said enough to give them the picture while a nurse cleaned my split lip and the dozen cuts on my arms and back.
The officers had heard stories like mine before. They nodded and asked more questions whenever I paused. The emergency room doctor told the men to step out so he could inspect my hip and side where I’d slammed into the entry table. Officer Kazinski—a policewoman whose face was locked in a permanent grimace—stayed behind to document my injuries. She took loads of pictures, and I resigned myself to another set of injuries I wouldn’t be able to heal for fear of discovery.
The men stepped back in, and Officer Gonzalez continued questioning me while making notes in a small notepad. At last, they left to question Dean, who’d been admitted to another area of the ER. According to Kazinski, he would be transferred to jail when the doctors finished checking him out and a temporary restraining order would be put in place. Ben could file for a more permanent restraining order when we returned to Maine. For my part, I felt confident they would diagnose Dean as crazy if he tried to tell them what he knew about my ability to heal. No sane person would profess to believe in the abilities I had.
Ben said nothing while I spoke to the officers. His tension grew as the doctor tallied my injuries. X-rays showed no new broken bones, but I’d sliced my palm with the glass I’d used to threaten Dean. Also, aside from the cuts and split lip, I had a deep bruise the size of a football spreading from my left hip to my back in a brilliant, livid blue and a dislocated shoulder. They assumed the pale bruises on my face from healing Anna were also from Dean.
Even Kazinski had gasped when the doctor uncovered the deep, circular scar on the tender flesh on the underside of my upper arm. When I was fourteen Dean had noticed I healed more rapidly than normal, and he’d tested his theory by putting out his cigarette in the same spot night after night. That was when I realized he fed off my tears, and I’d refused to ever cry another drop for him, even if I had to bite my lip bloody to do it. Eventually, I’d stopped healing the burn so he’d leave me alone, and the grotesque scar served as an ugly reminder of what could happen if I wasn’t careful about who discovered my ability.
Ben’s face turned a frightening shade of gray when the doctor reset my dislocated shoulder. My scream was stifled as I worried my father would snap. My vision blackened, but I managed to stay conscious by focusing on the smear of blood drying on Ben’s shirt where I’d brushed my hand or lip. I couldn’t remember which.
The doctor slipped my arm into a sling and stepped back with a look of admiration for his handiwork. “That should do it, kid. You’ll be wearing this a few days, but you’ll be good as new before you know it.”
I rose to my feet with as much haste as my abused body allowed. “Can I leave now? We have a flight to catch to Maine.”
Ben finally spoke. “No, Remy. We’ll stay in New York tonight. You’re not in any shape to fly.”
“I’m perfectly fine to fly.” When he would have argued, I added, “Look, I’m going to be in a lot of pain tomorrow, and I’d rather be at home. Please. I don’t feel safe here.”
Guilt surfaced in his eyes. He blamed himself for not protecting me again, and I’d used it to manipulate him. I couldn’t be sorry because I didn’t want to stay in New York one more minute than was necessary. This place had become my waking nightmare.
His jaw tightened, and he nodded with grim acceptance.
It was decided. We were going home.
C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN
L
aura met us at the airport, her pretty face tensed with worry. She started to cry when she saw my face and embraced me. It felt like a homecoming, and I hugged her a little harder than I’d intended.
In the car, I fell asleep from the painkillers Ben had compelled me to take, and my lids didn’t flutter open until he lifted me from the backseat. Lucy’s concerned whisper mixed with his husky reassurance in the icy darkness. He carried me up the stairs and tucked me between my familiar lavender-scented sheets like a child. Lips brushed my forehead, cool fingers skimmed my hair from my face, and I surrendered to nothingness.
When I opened my eyes to morning light, I experienced a vague sense of
déjà vu
to discover Lucy sitting cross-legged on the bed staring at me. Her red-rimmed eyes swept over my face and caught on my split lip.
“Think you have enough makeup to cover my lip for school?”
With a shaky laugh, she said, “I don’t think the cosmetics counter at Macy’s has enough makeup for that miracle.”
I laughed, too, and then grimaced when my entire body rebelled. “Oh, frick.”
That made us snicker harder until I shuddered and shifted my stiff arm, held immobile in the sling. “Oh, man, that hurts. Why are we laughing?”
She sobered. “I’m so relieved you’re okay. Dad told me what happened. Feel like talking?”
Trying to soften my rejection, I shook my head. “Not now. Maybe sometime, okay?” I wouldn’t have known where to begin since I didn’t want to lie to Lucy any more than I already had.
Her solemn gaze scanned my face. “You okay, Sis?”
Clearly, she wasn’t asking about my injuries. No, I wasn’t okay. I felt guilty, angry, and sad. The release that tears offered sat out of reach when I yearned to howl with grief, but I’d turned off that spigot at thirteen, causing it to rust shut with disuse. My sister worried about me, though, so I lied.
“Yeah, Luce. I will be now that I’m home.” I switched to a lighter tone. “Except for my desperate need for a bathroom.”
Every muscle in my body revolted in pain when I tried to rise. Apparently, I wasn’t going anywhere without help. I grimaced with distaste. “Lucy, you better call Ben.”
She ran to the doorway and shouted, “Dad!”
He appeared immediately, while I scowled at Lucy. “Way to go, slick. You scared him.”
With a careless shrug, she responded. “You said you were desperate.”
Later, Ben put me back in bed with a pillow to prop my sling, and I realized with disgust that the activity had exhausted me. Ben told me to rest, Lucy handed me my iPod from my duffel at my request, and they both left.
Alone, I thought of my mother. I’d known that Dean would attack her more often if I wasn’t there to step in, and there’d always been a chance he would kill her if things went too far. I’d been so angry at her for protecting him, I’d left anyway. Now, remembering her lying in the hospital bed, I felt sick.
Wanting to forget, I put the earbuds in and turned the iPod on, curious about what my mother had been listening to. There wasn’t much on the player, just one playlist that contained a few untitled tracks, and I picked one at random expecting to hear my mother’s favorite type of country song about a man who’d gone and done his woman wrong.
Shock had my mouth dropping open when I heard my mother’s voice.
What was I saying? Oh, yes. My mother, your grandmother. She was a Healer like y—
Her throaty voice—earned from smoking too many cigarettes—washed over me, and I missed the rest of what she’d said. My attention caught on one detail: My mother had called me a Healer in her most casual tone. She’d known all along what I could do. I’d wanted nothing more than her acceptance while she lived, and she hadn’t given me even this small acknowledgment. Instead of talking to me, she’d recorded a one-way conversation on my iPod. What possible reason could she have had for doing this?
I scrolled through the menu back to the first track. The menu showed the playlist had been added the week before. I hit play again, and she spoke, sounding like her usual, tentative self.
Remy. Hi, baby. You probably wondered why you got an iPod for your birthday. No computer, and you got a gift we couldn’t afford and you couldn’t use.
That was precisely what I’d thought. I’d have considered selling it myself for more getaway money if it wouldn’t have hurt her. She’d acted so excited when I opened it.
I had my reasons. The day was coming when I’d have to tell you the truth about us. About who you are and what you can do. You and I . . . We don’t talk, and it’s my fault. I don’t know how to fix things, baby. I don’t—
She broke off. I could hear her breathing, so I waited. It sounded like she moved around the apartment from the way her voice echoed when she laughed with a trace of her signature bitterness.
Enough. This isn’t an apology. I’ve made mistakes. You know it. I know it. That’s not why I’m keeping this journal. On to the important stuff. There are things you need to know if you’re going out on your own. Remy, you’re a Healer.
I snorted. Like I didn’t know that already. This was her idea of a journal?
I know what you’re thinking. Hold the phone, right? Let me see if I can get this right. You noticed you were different when you were about twelve. Your cuts and scrapes healed faster than those on other kids your age, and you stopped getting sick. Better yet, you knew when others were injured and sensed you could fix them when you touched them. Am I right?
She nailed it. I’d been so frightened by what was happening to my body, and I’d wanted my mother to comfort me. Except when I healed her by accident that first time, she’d shrunk away in fear.
Anna’s cheap high heels tapped on the kitchen linoleum, and I imagined her pacing through the room as she talked, the plastic cherries on her favorite shoes swinging with each step. Where had Dean been when she’d recorded this?
Of course, I’m right. My mother told me the story of how it happened for her, so I could tell my own children one day. See, the power you have . . . it’s in our blood. The women in our bloodline have been Healers as far back as we can trace our lineage.
I have to confess I didn’t listen to my mother as well as I should have. The power skipped me. I was disappointingly normal, while your grandmother had this amazing talent.
My grandmother had been like me. Dozens—maybe hundreds—of women had been like me. I wasn’t the only one. Asher had told me so, but I hadn’t truly believed him until now. Turning my face against my pillow, I muffled a scream of pure rage. For five years my mother had let me think myself a freak, and she’d held the answers to my questions all along.
I hated what she could do because it took her away from me. When she was murdered because of what she was, I swore I’d never have children. I didn’t want to chance having a daughter who’d live in constant danger.
A chair scraped across the floor, followed by the snick of a lighter and her deep inhalation. She would be sitting at the kitchen table with smoke swirling around her head and her crossword puzzle book half done in front of her. I pulled the covers over my head.
Let me back up and tell you about my family. Our family. You wondered why I never talked about them. Your grandparents were good people. They grew up neighbors, and their families always knew they would end up together. They dated through high school, married at twenty, and had me by twenty-two.
My dad knew about my mother’s power almost before she did. He was the first one she healed when they were eleven, and he broke his arm falling out of a tree. He used to say that he fell out of the tree and straight into love with her. Her being a Healer made things difficult for them, but he never cared. We lived quietly, moving around a lot, and they did odd jobs. Mom was a housekeeper, and Dad a handyman. They tried to make things as normal as possible for me, but it was necessary for us to stay “off the grid,” according to Dad. I didn’t mind as a child. We never had much, but it was enough.
My throat ached at the affectionate nostalgia in Anna’s voice. She hadn’t sounded that happy since way before my stepfather.
What happened to you, Mom?
Ice clinked in a glass—I’d guess she was drinking vodka and tonic since Dean wasn’t around to berate her for stealing more than her share—and she sighed.
My parents warned me people existed who would hurt us if they found out what my mother could do, but I didn’t believe them. I grew up feeling so safe and loved I didn’t think anything could hurt us. The truth is I didn’t think beyond my own selfish desires.
I told someone our secret, and that mistake is the second biggest regret of my life.
I shut off the iPod, unsure I wanted to hear any more. If my mother had told someone the secret and my grandmother died because of it, would I want to know that? I hadn’t told Asher what I could do, but he knew. My greatest fear had been that his knowing could drive my family away from me. I hadn’t considered that it could cause them harm. If my mother confirmed that possibility as her second biggest regret, what was her first? Having me? Feeling it and suspecting it was one thing, but it would be something else to hear her say it out loud.
A longing to forget I’d ever heard this recording flowed through me, but I’d been a coward before and ended up abandoning her.
I hit play.
We were living in some tiny town in New Hampshire—the thirteenth town I’d lived in in ten years. At sixteen, I was an awkward loner, trying not to call attention to myself. Different town, same drill.
Except, that town had a clever, handsome boy named Tom. Tom was popular and confident and everything I wasn’t. I thought I would die from loving him, and he never even noticed I was alive.
So when a car accident threatened to ruin his chance at a football scholarship, I grabbed hold of my chance. I told him about my mother, and he broke my heart when he laughed in my face. It never occurred to me he wouldn’t believe me because I’d grown up believing in the impossible. That should’ve been the end of it, but Tom told his friends about everything, and those friends told others. Nothing but a joke, but rumors spread like wildfire in our small town. It was just a matter of time before the Protectors heard them and hunted us.
The only pleasure I can get out of what happened next is that Tom lost that scholarship when his injuries didn’t heal right. Last I heard he still lived in that town working as a used car salesman.
My mother had always had rotten taste in men, aside from my father. She’d made one wrong choice after another, even at sixteen. I tried to imagine her as she’d been, innocent and in love. There’d been no pictures in our home of her parents or her as a young girl. Her mistake had been trusting the wrong boy. What if I was like her?
I was scared to confess what I’d done, sure my parents would move us again. A couple of weeks later, I couldn’t take the guilt any longer. I decided when I got home from school I’d tell my parents everything. I’d come clean, let them ground me, and maybe they’d see my side of things for once.
I never got the chance to tell them the truth.
“Remy?”
I shrieked when a hand touched me through my bedspread. It took me a moment to realize it wasn’t my mother’s ghost. I hit stop and pulled the covers from my head. Laura stood over me with a tray of food in her hands. She saw the iPod and smiled.
“I thought you might be hungry. I brought you lunch and another pain pill.” She set the tray on the nightstand. “You look like hell, sweetheart.”
Laura had never cursed around me, and it took me by surprise. She stepped forward and put a smooth hand on my forehead. The burn in my throat now affected my eyes.
“If you need anything, I’m here. It’s not the same, I know. I’m not your moth—” She lifted one hand. “Well, I’m here.”
I nodded, unable to speak. She left, and I tugged the covers over my head again. The smell of the vegetable soup wafting from the tray made my mouth water, but I couldn’t swallow food now. I started the iPod again. Anna couldn’t quite hide the grief in her voice.
My father came to school and pulled me from class with blood on his shirt. He told me to get in the car and shut up. He was a gentle man—doted on me, even—but that day I thought my father would hit me. I thought he’d found out what I’d done, and we headed home to pack up and leave town. Then, when we neared our neighborhood, I saw the cloud of black smoke. I had one brief glimpse of our sweet house in flames before Dad steered the car past our street and out of town. My mother died because of me.
We drove for three days. We had nothing because our belongings burned in the fire. We slept in the car at rest stops and didn’t speak until the third day when my father told me what’d happened. Two men—Protectors—had come to our home because of rumors they’d heard. They suspected my mother was a Healer and hurt my father to force her to choose between betraying her secret and watching him die. When she healed him, they murdered her and would’ve killed my father, if he hadn’t managed to escape.