Other (22 page)

I leap from my bed, grab my cell phone, and dial Zack's number. One ring. Two. Three.

On the fourth ring, he picks up. “Hello?” He sounds startled.

“Zack.” My voice shakes. “Why is Justin really here?”

He says nothing. I can hear him breathing.

“I saw Justin buying weird things at the hardware store a while ago,” I say. “Stuff I don't think an exterminator would need. Also, does he own a pair of night-vision goggles? I thought I saw him wearing some.”

“Yes,” Zack says. “Justin owns night-vision goggles.”

“Really?”

“He bought them from a friend in the Army. He uses them for hunting deer at night.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“Yes.”

I need to know if I can trust Zack. If he's just pretending to be clueless …

“What haven't you told me?” I say.

“Gwen.” Zack sighs. “Can we meet at Wilding Park, tomorrow morning?”

My fear and curiosity battle with each other. “Okay.”

Zack and I arrive at opposite ends of Wilding Park, the overcast sky a low gray blanket above us. We're the only ones here today. I squint, trying to see his face. Worries burrow into my heart like worms in an acorn.

He crosses the gap between us. “Gwen.”

I lick my dry lips, then find I can't talk. Unsaid words clog my throat.

“Let's find somewhere to sit,” he says, so stiffly polite.

I nod and follow him to a bench, but I don't sit or speak. My throat's still too tight. I'm afraid my voice will betray me.

“I have to think how to say this.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Wait.”

I breathe slowly through my nose until the ache in my throat doesn't hurt so bad. “Zack.” I say it as fast as possible. “Things are totally screwed up between us, but I just want to say that I'm sorry and I need your help.”

He fixes me with a glacial stare. “You don't want my help.”

“Why not? And why did you want to meet here?”

He touches his hand to his temple, his fingers shaking a little. “You have no idea how bad this could be.”

“I would if you told me.”

“I'm not sure I should. Stay out of this, for your own good. Don't try to be a hero.”

“You think I'm
trying
to be a hero?” I glare at him, my eyes blazing, as if I can melt away his cold. “You think I'm chasing after a serial killer?”

He grimaces at my words, but I plow on.

“I can't just stop being Other as soon as somebody starts killing them. Don't you think sometimes I wish I wasn't? That I was normal?”

His hard exterior starts to crack. “So you're thinking about … treatment?”

“It's not a disease!”

“You just said you wanted to be normal. God, I'll never understand you.”

“Don't you care about me anymore?” My voice shakes.

“Of course I do.”

I grit my teeth as a tear slides down my cheek. “Why do you keep saying you still care about me, but you don't love me?”

“Because I can't!” The words explode from him. “I can't love you anymore.”

I try very hard not to scream. “Why not?”

The muscles in Zack's jaw tighten. “Are you sure you want to know?”

I'm not sure, but I nod and dry my face with a flick of my hand.

“Promise you won't hate me?” he says.

“How bad is it?”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise. Just tell me!”

twenty-two

Z
ack lowers his voice to barely above a whisper. “The Arringtons have a long history of involvement with the White Knights. I don't know what's still going on—I've never asked. That's why we can't be together.”

I stare into his frosty eyes. “The White Knights … still exist?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

Oh, damn. Chloe was right. “Justin …” I say. “Is he?”

Zack could have been chiseled from granite if it weren't for his glittering eyes.

“Is Justin a White Knight?” I repeat, slower.

“I can't say,” Zack says. “I don't know.”

I suck in my breath. “Are
you
?”

“No!”

“Justin bought extra-strong chain from the hardware store,” I say. “I know that chain ended up on a wolf trap. And I saw Justin hunting werewolves one night, but I didn't realize it was him until just now. He had night-vision goggles, camouflage, a rifle. And yesterday somebody with a hunting rifle nearly killed Tavian.”

Zack recoils. “That guy you were with? He got shot?”

I nod, my throat burning again. “He's Other.”

“You shouldn't be seen with Others,” he says. “For your own safety.”

“Zack!” I cry. “It won't make any difference whether I hide in a closet or wear a big sign that says
Shoot Me, I'm Other
.”

His nostrils flare. “I wasn't joking.”

“You have no idea what's going on, do you?”

“Of course I do. We both saw those drowned people. They were Others, weren't they?”

“Yes!” I nearly break into a smile—crazy, I know—at his agreement. “Justin must—”

“No,” Zack says. “There's no proof it's him.”

“Is he a White Knight?”

“Stop saying that! I don't know, Gwen. You think he told me?”

I'm silent for a moment. “What did you tell him about me?”

“Nothing, I swear.” Zack hesitates. “He wasn't around when I told my parents …”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you?” he says, forcefully. “Do you have proof?”

“No, but if you—”

“Gwen.” Zack grabs my hand, and his touch surprises me into silence. “Stop.”

“Do you really think I'm going to do nothing? Are
you
going to do nothing while your cousin murders Others?”

He says nothing, just watches me get up from the bench.

“It's obviously hopeless,” I say. “I'm not going to keep wasting my time on you.”

As I walk away, leaving him there, somehow I feel so relieved. I should have severed ties with him much sooner.

“Wait,” Zack calls.

I don't stop for him. Why should I?

His footsteps pursue me. “Don't do anything reckless. Please.”

“Why do you care?”

“Gwen!” He tugs me to face him. “We can't just go after anyone without proof that they're the murderer. We need evidence.”

“We?”

“If it is Justin—and God, I hope not—then let me look. It'll seem much more suspicious if you suddenly start investigating.”

Hope sparks to life inside me. “So you're going to help me?”

“I never said I wouldn't.”

I exhale in a long sigh. I'm not sure whether I should laugh or cry. Maybe I should hug him—is that off limits now?

“Gwen, I'm sorry.” Zack's eyes have softened into pools of blue. “I can't give you what you deserve, not anymore. Our lives are just so different. Incompatible. Real life isn't some crazy Romeo and Juliet story. They both died, anyway.” He closes his eyes. “I don't think I could live with myself if that happened to you.”

My heart, clenched tight as a fist, starts opening like a flower. “I think I understand.”

We embrace. Not as a couple, but simply as something like friends.

I drive the family car over to the hospital. I go alone, since Mum and Dad are both working, and mull over my thoughts. Rain is pattering on the windshield, and the wipers swish and thump. I pull into the parking garage by the hospital and spiral up to the second level. I park and get onto the elevator, clutching my purse in two hands, staring at the ceiling. I wonder how Tavian's doing. They haven't called today. I hope he's better.

I get lost looking for Tavian's room, but I find it by following the beeping cardiac monitor. He's still sleeping. He looks so peaceful, if I ignore his pallid skin and the dark shadows beneath his eyes. It seems odd to think that he was awake and animated just a day ago. I drag a chair to his bedside and hold his hand.

“Tavian,” I murmur, barely above a whisper. “I know you probably can't hear me, but I'm going to talk anyway.”

I rub the back of his hand with my thumb. The cardiac monitor is slow and steady.

“I know who must have shot you,” I say. “It's all clear to me now.”

I keep talking, drawing the words out like poison from a wound. When I'm done, I squeeze his hand. For a moment I hold my breath and hope he'll respond, but he remains silent, sleeping, his hand lifeless.

No. Not lifeless. He's okay, and he'll get better.

I rest my head on the pillow beside him. “I hope you know I love you,” I whisper.

I watch the glowing green lines on the monitor moving in zigzagging jumps. My own heartbeat slows to match them. I sigh and lean back in my chair. Now that I've sat down, I don't want to get up. I'm so tired.

I rest my chin on my chest and let my eyelids lower.

After a long time—or maybe a little while, I'm not sure—Tavian walks through the door. Another Tavian, since I'm still holding hands with the one on the bed. I'm stunned into silence. Does he have an identical twin?

This duplicate looks at the Tavian on the bed. “Wow. I look awful.”

“Who are you?” I say, my voice shaky.

“It's me, Gwen,” he says. “You're dreaming.”

“Oh!”

I leap from the chair and run to him, but stop short, afraid I'll shatter the dream if I touch him. He hugs me first, and it feels so real.

“Are you okay?” I say.

Tavian shrugs, his gaze on his body on the bed.

“Are you okay?” I repeat.

He still doesn't answer. In the back of my mind, I'm afraid he's come to say goodbye, or else he's dying and too confused to know it.

“Tavian!” I clutch his arm as if I can keep him from leaving me.

“Sorry,” he says. “It's not too often you get to see yourself. Out of body experience.” He wiggles his fingers. “Spooky.”

I laugh—I'm close to tears.

He looks at me. “I heard what you said.”

“You did? Everything?”

He smiles and brushes a curl from my face. “Yes.”

Even the part where I said I loved him? I'm a little—no, a lot—scared to ask. Suddenly I wish I hadn't said it. Now that I did, maybe it jinxed things, or maybe he can die peacefully like in the movies.

“Why are you crying?” he asks.

“I was just so scared,” I say. “I'm so worried about you. I—”

He stops me with a kiss, before I can tell him again that I love him. I melt in his arms. Maybe nothing needs to be said. It's deeper than words.

Then Tavian pulls back, a crease between his eyebrows, and clutches his chest.

“What is it?”

He shakes his head and opens his mouth to speak … and then I jolt awake, to the sound of the cardiac monitor beeping like crazy.

“No,” I chant, “no, no, no. Tavian, don't do this to me.” Terror chills my blood. Nurses and doctors come rushing into the room. They swarm over him, saying
he needs to go into surgery, stat
. One of the nurses leads me out. She says not to worry, the doctors will help him.

“Can I stay?” I ask.

“It might be a while.”

“Hours?”

The nurse shrugs.

I can't handle waiting that long, waiting for him to live or die. I'm crying hard now. Tears blur my eyes, and I trail my hand down the wall as I leave. I feel listless, adrift. In the elevator, I force myself to stop crying.

He's going to be okay. They're going to fix whatever's wrong. He's not going to die.

Maybe if I tell myself that enough times, I'll believe it.

It's raining, gloomy outside. I gulp the exhaust-laden air as I walk across the parking garage, then cough and wipe my nose. The screech of distant tires makes me flinch as I rummage in my purse for the key.

I can't find them. I want to give up.

When I grab a handful of tissues, I find the keys beneath them. I know that my laugh makes me sound like a madwoman. Is this what hysteria feels like? I get into the driver's seat and jab the key at the ignition. My hand's shaking. I finally get it in and turn it, again and again, but the engine won't start. What am I doing wrong?

“Need some help?” says a voice I know.

I look up into dark eyes. “Ben.” I exhale. “My car is dead.”

Ben wrinkles his forehead. “Do you need a ride home?”

“Yes, please.”

I let him guide me out of my car and into a forest-green sedan. I buckle up and dab my eyes with a wad of tissues, trying to look a little less weepy. Ben glances at me out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't say anything. A slightly sickening mint-gum-and-rotten-banana smell fills his car. I try not to wrinkle my nose.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

“Don't worry about it,” he says, starting the engine.

Ben backs out of the parking space and drives down the winding spiral ramp of the parking garage. I lean against the cool glass of the window and close my eyes with a shuddering sigh. My tears join the rain trickling down the window. Stop crying, I tell myself. Worrying about Tavian won't change anything. It's up to the doctors now … there's nothing I can do to save him. I swallow another sob.

“Is it Tavian?” Ben says.

I nod, my throat aching. “How did you know?”

“Zack mentioned it.”

Oh. I told him, didn't I …

“Is it bad?” Ben asks.

“Yeah,” I whisper hoarsely.

“Is he … ?”

I shake my head, glaring at the idea of this. I don't know what I would do if it were true.

“He must be in pain,” Ben says, very quietly. He accelerates up a ramp onto a southbound highway. “I'll pray for him.”

I'm not sure Tavian would want to be prayed for, but I don't say this to him.

“Wait …” I say. “We're going the wrong way. We need to be going north.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Klikamuks is the other way.”

“Right.”

“Take that exit.” I point through the windshield. “We can turn around there.”

Ben nods.

“Why were you at the hospital, anyway?” I frown. “And whose car is this?”

“I borrowed the car,” he says. “Wait a minute, I need to watch traffic.”

We take the exit, slow, and stop at an intersection. I try to catch Ben's eye, but he continues to stare straight forward, his face pale and tight. Did something happen to one of the Arringtons? The light goes green.

“What happened?” I say. I don't ask what I'm thinking:
Is someone else in the hospital?

Ben clenches his jaw and accelerates through the intersection. He doesn't say anything as he drives through the suburbs and enters the trees. The rain thickens into a pelting downpour, and he switches the windshield wipers to a higher speed.

“Tell me.” My voice sounds tiny.

Ben turns onto a dirt road and pulls over. Before I can ask what we're doing, he says, “Check the glove compartment for a map.”

My heart clenches—it must be bad news if he won't even tell me. I open the glove compartment with sweaty hands, and Ben grabs a black bag from the back seat. He rummages inside it while I shuffle through the papers in the glove compartment.

“I don't see a map,” I say.

“Gwen.”

I twist in my seat so I can see his face, ready to hear what he says.

Pain stabs my jugular. I gasp and grab my neck, my fingers meeting his and the syringe in his hand. I see hardness in his face, glittering in his eyes.

“Ben?” A scream builds inside me. “What did you do?”

“Shhh.” He empties the syringe and lets it clatter on the floor. “Don't fight it.”

For an eternity of a moment, I stare at Ben.

And then I realize who he is, and what he is trying to do to me.

I scrabble to unlock the door, my fingers numb. He clamps his hand over my mouth and grabs my arm, surprisingly strong. I try to fight, but my muscles feel sluggish. Darkness edges my vision. What was in that syringe?

“Gwen,” he says. “Don't try to move. It will only hurt more.”

I bite his hand. He yanks it back, and I shove the door open, tumbling onto the roadside. Numbness seeps from my neck through my veins. I want to shapeshift, but I can't focus on any one animal. I drag myself to my hands and knees. My limbs buckle and I collapse. A boot nudges me onto my back.