Spring Tide (24 page)

Motion ceased and a door slammed three times.
I’m in my car.
The rear door opened as an unintelligible word slurred from my mouth. I grappled to get a handle on what had happened, was happening, and why I couldn’t speak. I heard the crackling noise again. The sound fired into my side and my body was disordered. My back and head were suddenly on gravel and I was hauled up three steps by my feet, my skull rebounding on each tread. There was a creak, low to high to low in pitch. I knew that sound, had heard it a hundred times. It was the side door. The smell of acetone or ammonia reached my nose and the pain in my head tripled.

There was a stiff tug to my feet and then I felt the flooring smooth. I was being taken through the kitchen into Nick’s room. Struggling to move, I realized then that I was restrained at the ankles and across my arms and chest, my hands bound in front of me.

“He. Will. Butcher. Your. Soul.” Jericho’s voice whispered my memory.

Joel.
First Sylvia, then me. Every time I’d seen him he’d looked at me with a stare so intense it had frozen me in place. Then came the split second of recognition that I was in trouble and that something very awful was going to happen. My soul petitioned salvation from my guardian angel while my imagination reached its furthest limits: images of rape, torture, Joel’s control over me. My mind began withdrawal, reeling everything that made me Kris deep inside, hiding it from him.

I was heaved to standing and my back hit the wall. A blow to my legs dropped me to my knees, the cords around my body cutting deeper into my skin. My eyes opened for two seconds, my vision bright and sharp. He held a stun gun.

“Aaron?” I said softly.

“Bitch?”

I hadn’t heard his voice for months, but it was deep—opposite his appearance, making him sound older than he looked.

“Why?” I asked.

“That’s the right question. Why do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“I needed to get you alone so we could talk. It’s so hard to get you alone. You’re always with someone or running from place to place, but tonight, tonight I got lucky.”

The room went quiet, a tormenting silence that stretched seconds to minutes, marked by my heart beating in concert with the pounding in my head.
What’s he doing? Did he leave? Don’t move. Slower breaths.
When he finally spoke, the words he said roared in my ears despite his low volume.

“I hate you. I hate everything about you. You thought you were so superior, with all of your friends and clubs and awards. You might’ve been picked as most friendly by our class, but I sure as hell didn’t vote for you. You were nice to everyone but me. I didn’t want to be your squeeze, just one of your hundreds of buds, but you couldn’t ever take two minutes to talk to me.”

I opened my eyes and they teared up. The fumes were too strong, the beach house buttoned up tight. “I told Nick and those guys to lay off you, told them—”

My head fell sideways. He’d stunned me, but not for as long as before.

“That was being nice?”

I kept my mouth shut.

“Was it? Ever ask if I was okay?” He waited for an answer, stunned me again, and then waited for me recover. “Everyone ignored me or beat up on me, but you pitied me. Do you know how shitty it feels to be pitied? You wouldn’t. It’s the same thing as saying I was inferior, that I didn’t belong anywhere or deserve anyone. I’d rather get my ass kicked.”

My voice wavered. “I never thought that, I swear.”

“You never did anything about it. You could have, but you didn’t. If you would’ve been nice to me, other people would’ve been nice to me. If you would’ve talked to me, your nine bazillion friends would have talked to me and school wouldn’t have been week after week after week of hell. It’s your fault.”

“Maybe I could’ve—”

His voice boomed. “Could have nothing! You should have!”

“I was afraid of you.”

“Oh come on! The only thing you felt for me was pity. You were the worst of all of them with your big dumb eyes, small consoling smile. What a load of crap. Go ahead, say what you need to say. You can’t even look at me, I’m so unacceptable.”

I can’t open my eyes!
“I’m very sorry, Aaron. I am so—”

“Too little too late.”

Footsteps clumped across the room, his voice imitating mine. “Poor Aaron doesn’t have any friends. Poor Aaron is so weak and small.” His tone became normal. “Who’s weak now, Kris? Seeing you on your knees like that, drooling, makes you look so pathetic.”

I bit my lip hard, a wave of nausea passing through me.

“I’m so curious—who’s the one for you? Derek or that other guy? You’ve spent a lot of time with Derek over the years, his house, your house—you pretending you don’t want him, him pretending he isn’t interested in you. It’s funny. But then there’s your surfer boy. I watched you with him through the back window here a time or two. Gee whiz, they’re both so fantastic that it must be hard to decide which one you like more. What a terrible problem, such a pity.”

He’s been stalking me?
Sarah and I were together a lot. Jericho had said he’d seen Aaron at Crazy Jim’s, a place Sarah didn’t frequent. Aaron had always sat two seats away from me in class.
But Sarah’s the pretty one. I’m the friendly one
… The nausea returned and I started to dry heave.

Jericho. If he hears it, will he understand?
All my concentration went into the song that I had used to wake him at midnight weeks ago. I made it louder and louder in my mind. I felt pressure on my thighs, a sting on my arm. The music stopped.

He put his mouth to my ear. “What’s next?”

What answer won’t be wrong?

He spoke slowly. “I’m gonna cut you open, the way I got cut open every day. You were in a position to make it stop but you didn’t, so now you’re gonna find out how I felt. And somehow, I’m gonna make you open your eyes, so you can watch me slit my throat and be done with all of this.”

Ice transfused my arteries, my heart stopped its rhythm, and my brain turned to paste. I heard the fabric of my shirt rip. From my right collarbone to my left breast there was no pain, only a warm, slow drip of blood that trickled onto my hands.
Concentrate on the music. Louder. Louder! Jericho!
I blared the most violent part of the song.

Aaron gripped my hands. “I bet when they find us, they’ll pity you, pity your brother, your poor mother, and all your stupid, stuck-up friends. And they’ll forget me like everybody always has. And since I’m not a self-absorbed piece of shit like you are, I’m gonna let you choose. Which fingers do you want me to take? Two oughta do it. We’ll start with that. Bleeding out’s a humane way to go, a good example of how people should treat each other.”

My fingers curled, blood oozing between them as my lips began to tremble.
Don’t cry. Do not cry.

“Remember Mrs. Hansen’s art class sophomore year, the finger-painting assignment? I asked you to be my partner, but then someone else asked you, and you didn’t have the decency to say no to me. And when there was no one left to pair with me, you looked at me so sadly. That was the day I started thinking about this.”

Sophomore year?
He hadn’t asked me. He’d sat across from me, but he hadn’t asked me.
Did he? No.
My mind scrambled to remember the project but I could only vaguely recall a big white sheet with amorphous blobs of green and yellow paint.

“What did you title it? I gave you a reminder, a little heads up.” He waited thirty seconds. “It’s not hard to get into your building, you know. Security’s pretty lax around the service elevator.” He gave a long, exasperated sigh. “You called it ‘Brussels Sprouts.’”

Oh. My. God.
I’d assumed the stalk was from Jericho, but Jericho had only said I wasn’t a flowers kind of girl. How could Aaron have possibly expected me to connect a vegetable with an art assignment that I’d done almost three years prior?

His finger touched my chest and then painted a smiley face on my cheek. “Left hand or right or one from each? Thumbs or pinkies? Make a choice.”

Don’t listen to him. You only hear the song.

“Hurry up now. If you don’t pick I’ll pick for you.” He laughed too loudly while tugging at my deadened fingers. “Pity you can’t decide.”

Adrenaline was accumulating too fast, a fever rising in my gut. It came up my spine and arms, melting the ice in my veins and turning my blood to fire. My fingers spread out and straightened. Rage scorched my neck, the song jumped in volume, and my thoughts became coated in black.

My eyes opened as a million volts of energy coursed my body and shot from my fingertips. Green shattered the windows and blew them from their frames, green light from my hands. Exhaustion fogged my mind and my chin fell to my chest. I focused on the song, but couldn’t hold it.
Can’t feel my fingers.
My brain sent the signal to my hands, but there was nothing.

It was only a few minutes later that the scent of the ocean mingled with chemicals.
He came.
My brain turned off—no movement, no speech, nothing.

The cords were removed from my wrists, arms, and legs, his hands scalding my face and body. My eyes opened and I saw a bare bulb in the corner making dim halos on the oak paneling. My head dropped and I counted all ten fingers. The cut on my chest was a thin, pink scar. I wanted to run away but couldn’t make my legs work. His arms came under mine and he pulled me up. With my head on his shoulder, he carried me to his house.

The ceiling light in his bathroom was too bright. He mopped my body and face with a damp towel. The blood-soaked rag that was my shirt was on the floor, the jeans at my feet shredded. He turned my back to him, unhooked my blue bra that had become dark brown, and gently put a clean shirt over my head. I still wanted to run.

I held the wall and inched my way to the deck so I could hear the water. But Aaron’s voice crowded my mind, making my ears worthless. Aaron hadn’t asked me to be his partner. He’d never made an effort to speak to me and if he caught my eye he’d look away. But what he’d said was true—I’d rarely spoken to him and should have. And I very well understood pity. Mom, Brad, and I were all pitied after my father died.
Stop. I want the sound of the waves
…

He softly put his hands on my shoulders. “Kris, can you look at me. Kris? Sweetheart, come with me. Let’s go inside where it’s warmer.”

He took my hand and brought me to the couch, where he sat against the arm. He put me between his legs, my back to his chest. His calm was a leaf floating in the breeze. As it gained gravity my head fell back against him but then sprang forward again from pain. He parted my hair, his fingers grazing the area of my scalp that had hit the ground and steps. He sucked in a breath and with one arm held fast across my shoulders, his other grilled the wound. Everything went dark.

Jericho’s chest was rising and falling behind me. I felt warm and safe. Then memory returned. Aaron’s hatred, his words, and the Brussels sprouts wouldn’t leave me alone. My fists rose to my head. My fingers straightened and a flash of bright green shattered every window. Jericho jumped and held my hands to my sides, his breaths beating the air. As the length of his exhales increased, his arms loosened their hold on me.

The sun came up and I remained the same motionless bag of bones, staring at the cracks in the glass, thinking nothing and jerking at every sound. Food and water sat on the table, untouched. He pleaded with me to talk to him, his tears falling into my hair, but I couldn’t speak.

“Julia, I need you. Now. This can’t wait! It’s Kris! Help me!” He closed his phone.

Silver lightning, Donovan. Brown lightning, Julia.

Jericho rose, went out to the deck where they’d materialized, and they spoke for a few minutes before coming in. Julia sat on the couch and held me.

“She is green, just like you said.” Donovan stared at me. “I can’t believe it. We need to tell Collin right away.”

“He knows.” Julia’s thick hair fell across my face and she turned my head on her shoulder, putting Jericho in my sight. His face was taut, cheekbones prominent.

“She’s been like this since early last night, won’t speak, eat, or drink. Take the memory, Julia. Please, for me. It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s not supposed to start like this.” He dragged his forearm across his mouth. “I’d sensed the guy before. It was like there was nothing in his soul. I couldn’t gauge the depth of his problem but knew something was very wrong with him. You have to take it.”

“It’s her time.” Donovan said. “The situation is what it is. You adjusted.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now? Adjusting?” Jericho struck Donovan’s chest with his palm. “I can’t let it start this way. I won’t let it start this way!”

“Jason! Donovan’s not the enemy.” Julia’s body momentarily tensed. “But you’re right. Her awareness shouldn’t be forced on her by violence or fear. You listen up: if I take the memory it’ll set her back, maybe for a day, maybe a year. And in time, she will remember what happened to her. And Donovan, you keep in mind that if I don’t take it, even the slightest rage could be devastating for her.”

“I don’t understand any of this.” Donovan held out his hand to Jericho. “You’ve been waiting years for her, and then several months more for her to become aware. It’s all you’ve talked about. She’s aware
now
. Let her work through this as she normally would. It will be painful, but she’s strong and she’s not alone. We’re here for her. And when she encounters human evil again like she did last night, she’ll be prepared for it. Why so quick to take the memory, to take her awareness from her?”

“I want her to be aware, but not like this. Not! Like! This! And I’ll wait another two years if I have to!” Jericho stormed to the other side of the room.

Donovan pulled at his beard. “I understand why you feel this way, but her situation is different than—”

“Just by saying that, it’s clear to me that you don’t understand anything. No way in hell am I letting this happen to her.” He lowered his voice. “It’d be so easy for Devon to take her from me now. I love her too much to leave her this vulnerable.”