Everafter (Kissed by an Angel) (15 page)

Tristan remained silent.

“And you know what I did to you?”

Having no idea, Tristan repeated Max’s earlier words: “The night I almost drowned.”

“I tried to kill you.”

Tristan sat up straight—this was nonsense. But he decided to play along to see where it led. “Why’d you do it?” he asked aloud.

“I don’t know!” The words were spoken close to a wail. “I have no clue why I’d fight you or anyone else. I’ve never been a fighter. I guess drinking turned me into some kind of crazy person.”

More likely, Tristan thought, his good friend Bryan had taken advantage of an alcoholic blackout, concocting this story and convincing Max, in case the police ever caught up with him.

Without blaming Bryan and endangering Max, Tristan had to set things straight. “Max, do you remember the day after?”

“How could I forget? My parents were pissed. The police and insurance people were swarming.”

“I bet they were. It’s a wonder they didn’t ask you where you got all those bruises and cuts.”

“What do you mean?” Max replied. “I didn’t have any.”

“You didn’t?” Tristan rose to his feet. “Stand up.”

Max faced him a bit reluctantly.

“Do you know what I looked like when they found me?” Tristan asked. “I had bruises on every part of my body—arms, legs, gut, jaw—deep bruises that took weeks to fade. Oh, and a nice slit across my throat.”

Max flinched.

“And I’m what—about eight inches taller than you?” Tristan continued. “Are you saying you got away from our epic fight without a scratch?”

Max stared at Tristan. He clasped his head with both hands then sat down. “So it really was just a dream.”

“Which,” Tristan guessed, “is what you meant when you said there was something you remembered when you were asleep.”

“The details were so real. I didn’t see how my mind could make it all up. My memory of driving Ivy’s car off the road is kind of jumbled in my head, me trying to turn the wheel, being afraid, thinking I was going to die—everything going too fast, then slow, unbelievably slow. But the dream wasn’t like that memory. It was more real than everyday life.”

“Because it was just a dream,” Tristan said. “I know who tried to kill me. That part of my memory has come back.”

“Who?” Max asked quickly.

Tristan shook his head, declining to respond. Even if he
could convince Max, even if Max’s heart and soul could be trusted—and Tristan thought they probably could—Max’s ability to keep a poker face could not.

“Why don’t you go to the police?” Max asked.

“When the time is right,” Tristan said. “Max, if you tell the police where I am before then, it will be very dangerous for me. You can’t tell anyone, not even Ivy’s roommates or Bryan. Until the real murderer is in police custody, anyone with knowledge about me will be at risk.”

It was the best persuasion Tristan could muster to keep the situation quiet; Max seemed to care enough about others to be guided by this kind of warning.

Tristan rose to walk his visitor to the door. “If there’s something else you want me to know, it’s best to tell Ivy rather than come here again. She’ll make sure I get the message.” He opened the door and saw that the driveway was empty. “Where’s your car?”

“A few streets over.”

“Watch your back, Max. Trust no one but Ivy.”

Max gazed at Tristan for a long moment, then nodded and left.

Tristan dropped down in a crouch and leaned back against the front door, taking deep breaths. How could this have happened? He doubted it was a random dream. But neither his soul nor Gregory’s could leave the bodies in which they were trapped. Somehow Gregory had learned
how to extend his mental powers beyond his body and invade Max’s dreams.

In the silent house, Tristan heard the ominous murmuring.
Which way? Which way?

The voices!
Tristan thought. It was the voices that had taught Gregory. And they would teach him, too, if he dared to listen.

“TRISTAN, WHERE WERE YOU LAST NIGHT?” IVY ASKED,
greeting him with a hug.

As soon as she had arrived home Friday, she’d called him but hadn’t been able to reach him until after midnight. Over the phone, she had quickly told him about Dhanya’s dream, and they had agreed to meet the next evening and ask for Lacey’s advice.

Holding her close, Tristan didn’t answer for a moment. Outside the Steadmans’ house the sky was a pale mauve; inside, the twilight was deeper.

“I was walking . . . and thinking.”

When he let her go, Ivy took a step back, studying his face, trying to read his mood.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I left my phone in the house.”

Which meant, Ivy suspected, he had left the house upset about something.

“Well, that was foolish.” Lacey’s voice preceded her shimmer.

Tristan swung toward the angel. “This isn’t a jail! I’m not letting Gregory or Bryan turn me into a prisoner.”

“No need to,” Lacey replied as she materialized in the foyer. “You’ve put yourself in your own prison—it just looks like a body.” She turned to Ivy. “So what’s up? You sounded worried last night.”

Ivy led the way to the family room, waited for Tristan to sit down, then sat close to him on the sofa. Lacey dropped down in a chair with a footstool and listened to Ivy’s account of the scene at the movie theater.

“Do you remember my nightmares after Gregory tried to kill me?”

“The dreams where you were driving through a storm, looking for a house? You climbed the steps to the front door,” Tristan recalled. “And there was . . . a large window, but you couldn’t see through it. Then you took a step closer”—his back stiffened as he remembered Ivy’s terror—“and the glass exploded.”

“You’d wake up screaming,” Lacey added. “And good old Gregory was always there by your side.”

“When Dhanya awoke, it was like that,” Ivy told them, “the way he leaned over her, probing for details. He looks like Bryan, but sometimes—the way he speaks and uses his hands—I see Gregory as if he was alive in his own flesh.”

Lacey wriggled her shoulders.

“Dhanya isn’t Gregory’s only target,” Tristan told them. He recounted Max’s visit.

“What’s Gregory trying to do?” Ivy asked Lacey.

“
How
is he doing it—that’s what we need to know,” Tristan said.

“One thing’s for sure, he’s putting on a good show—one he wants you to watch, Ivy,” Lacey added, “or he wouldn’t have tried it in front of you.” The angel tapped her fingernails on the table next to her. “Where does Gregory—Bryan—live?”

“With Max, ever since the boat accident,” Ivy replied.

“So, first Gregory seeds a dream in a guy who is sound asleep, a guy he can stand right next to in the middle of the night. Then he tries it again, with a girl who was probably awake at first, a victim who’s one seat away from him. Each time, Gregory is able to do a little more.”

Ivy shivered.

“Gregory could try this on any victim,” Lacey continued,
“but he’s practicing on people you know, Ivy, enjoying his ability to make you squirm. I’m betting Kelsey’s next.”

“Just like before, picking off my friends one by one.”

Lacey nodded. “Isolating you, scaring you—he’s pretty good at it.”

“What about Beth and Will?”

“They may be too strong for him now. Even if he is able to seed a dream in them, they will remain loyal and fight to the death for you.”

“I don’t want them to fight to the death!” Ivy cried. “My friends have been through enough.”

“We can stop him,” Tristan said. “When I had angel powers, I could travel in people’s dreams.”

Lacey shook her head. “This is different. Gregory didn’t slip inside dreams that Max and Dhanya were having on their own. He seeded false images in their minds. It’s like he’s projecting his own movies.”

“Can you figure out the process? Can you teach me how to do it?”

“It’s forbidden, Tristan—one of the Big Ten:
Thou shalt not bear false witness
. It doesn’t matter if it’s images or words: No lying allowed.”

“But not all lies are evil,” he argued. “A lie can protect others.”

“I’m telling you, Tristan—”

“I’m telling
you
!” he interrupted Lacey. “When Gregory
was alive in his own body, he drugged Ivy, then dressed in clothes like mine, trying to get her to cross the track as a train was coming. Later he tied Philip’s jacket to the train bridge, to make her think Philip was on the bridge and in danger. He was creating false images to lure Ivy. He’s doing it again. Only this time the images are inside his victims’ minds.”

Lacey nodded solemnly and turned to Ivy. “He’s rehearsing for his big show, whatever that may be.”

Tristan paced. “I could stop him, if I had the same powers. You can figure it out, Lacey, and if you can’t—”

“No!” Lacey tried to catch Tristan by the arm. He freed himself easily from her materialized fingers. “Don’t try it, Tristan.”

He stopped and turned his head slightly, as if he heard something.

“What is it?” Ivy asked, glancing toward the patio doors, then over her shoulder toward the front hall.

Tristan looked away. “Nothing.”

“Tristan?”

He wouldn’t meet Ivy’s eyes.

At last she said to Lacey, “I’ll keep watch over Kelsey.”

Lacey nodded. “Kelsey’s next, but keep in mind, Ivy: These are just walk-throughs with bit-part actors. You’re going to be the star of Gregory’s little horror flick.”

WHEN IVY RETURNED FROM TRISTAN’S, SHE FOUND
Beth at Will’s place, the two of them working on Corinne’s flash drive. She quickly filled them in on Gregory’s ability to seed dreams.

“I’m glad Suzanne’s on the other side of the ocean,” Beth said as she and Ivy walked back to the cottage. “Who knows what Gregory might have done to her!”

Ivy had been thinking the same thing. “Have you heard from her in the last week?”

“A text here and there. I’ve been sending her poems.”

“You’ve been writing a lot.” Ivy linked her arm through Beth’s. “How come you haven’t sent
me
any?”

“I—uh—just didn’t think to. I’ll . . . send you one.”

“One?”

“Two.”

“I want three!” She had been teasing Beth, but now as they passed in front of the lighted windows of the cottage, she saw that Beth was blushing. “I’m kidding you.”

“I know you are. And I—I’ve always shown you everything.” Beth drifted into silence.

Ivy wondered why Beth would suddenly feel reluctant. Was the poetry about Will? Maybe Beth thought that because Will and Ivy were once a couple . . . “Are they love poems?” she asked, following Beth into the cottage.

“Sort of. I mean, yeah.” Beth laughed self-consciously. “That’s the kind of stuff I write—nature and love poems.”

Dusty had trotted in behind them, and he leaped up on Ivy’s lap. Beth sat on the sofa next to her. “Ivy, do you ever think about September?”

“Yeah, I do.” Ivy buried her fingers in the thick ruff around the cat’s neck. “It’s strange, isn’t it? So many things are going to be different than we had thought when we got our college acceptance letters.”

“I can’t imagine being that far away from you. Trinity is two and a half hours from Manhattan!”

“It’s going to be hard,” Ivy acknowledged. “But you’ll be just a subway ride from Will. I’m really glad you and he will be in the same city,” Ivy added, trying to let Beth know she was happy for her and Will. “It can be a very romantic city.”

Beth bit her lip and was quiet for a moment. “I don’t want to lose our friendship, Ivy!” she blurted out. “Do you understand? You’re too important to me. I don’t want to do anything to risk our friendship.”

Ivy stopped petting Dusty. “Beth, you and I’ve been to hell and back together. We’re not going to lose our friendship.”

“Not even if—” She hesitated.

“
If
 . . . ,” Ivy repeated, then finished the question for her friend, “you and Will have fallen in love?”

Beth nodded almost imperceptibly. Her eyes were wide and blue, making Ivy think of the endless possibilities glimpsed in a sky. There was an openness in her friend’s
face, not naïveté or innocence, but wonder. It was one of the traits that Ivy loved the most about her.

“I would be so happy if you have.”

“Not that I have any reason to believe he—”

“Oh, I don’t know about that!” Ivy said.

“But, Ivy, sometimes—more and more—he won’t even look at me. Especially when we’re sitting close. And he doesn’t touch me, not the way he used to.”

Ivy laughed. “You mean that old slap on the back like you’re army buds?”

Beth made a face.

“So ask him why. He’s changed the way he looks at you and touches you. There must be a reason why.”

“Maybe.” Beth reached for Dusty, but the cat leaped down from the sofa, alerting them to the conversation outside. The screen door was pulled open, Dusty ran out, and Bryan, Kelsey, and Dhanya came in.

“Hey, roomies,” Kelsey said. “I’ve come home before the clock strikes twelve and my coachman turns into a rat.”

A rat would be an upgrade
, Ivy thought, eyeing Gregory.

“You feeling okay?” Beth asked after Kelsey flopped in a chair.

“No. My head hurts and I’m kind of dizzy.”

“Like you were at the party?” Ivy couldn’t hide her concern.

Bryan squeezed in next to her on the sofa and laid his
arm across the back of it, letting his fingers rest on her shoulder. “What do you think it could be, Ivy?”

She forced her shoulders to relax. If Gregory was working on Kelsey’s mind, trying to seed a dream, he wanted Ivy to know it and be afraid. “Haven’t a clue,” she told him.

“She’s been like this for the last hour,” Dhanya said. “We were playing miniature golf and she sat out the last round. When we stopped for ice cream, she almost fainted.”

“Did not,” Kelsey insisted. “I told you—you guys were boring me to death. I was falling asleep.”

Could Gregory induce sleep? Ivy wondered. Was he learning to put someone in a hypnotic trance before seeding a dream?

“Strange, isn’t it, Ivy?” Bryan baited her.

“Not really. Kelsey goes to bed late and gets up early. She needs more sleep.”