The Gifting (34 page)

An ominous feeling clamps onto my muscles. “Protect you from what?”

“That was the same question I asked my dad. He never gave me a straight answer.”

“What was the deal?”

“They knew my father was in the mental health field. They wanted him to do some screening. Look for crazy people.
Dangerous
people. Specifically, people who claimed to have prophetic dreams. Then report them to the proper authorities. If he agreed to do that, they’d forget about me. But my dad didn’t do it. At least not everyone. He went out of his way to hide as many as he could. Even more so when my symptoms began. That’s when he bought the Brooks facility. But then you moved to town and the rumors started circling and I was hanging out with you so much. My parents, they freaked out, and well …” His eyes narrow. “They made a really stupid decision.”

None of it makes sense. How could the government use a failed pregnancy screening as blackmail? And why did they want Mr. Williams to weed out people who were having prophetic dreams?

“You have to tell me everything you know. What’s been going on while I’ve been locked up? I don’t even know whose room this is. What happened after they took me from school?”

“I’m not sure; I left too.” He drags his hand down his face. “I watched them drive you away.”

A burst of clarity hits me like a sudden, bright flash of light. “One of the men. He called me Little Rabbit.”

Luka’s brow furrows.

“That’s what that man in my dream calls me. The one with the scar. The one you fought off in the hospital.”

He squints at the floor, as if trying to piece it together. I finish my bagel and the last of the tea, trying to put some pieces together myself. Only nothing fits. The man who called me Little Rabbit looked nothing like the man from my dream.

“Where are we?”

“Dr. Roth’s apartment.”

“Does anybody know we’re here?”

Luka shakes his head. “My dad warned me he’d take drastic measures if I didn’t obey him. He didn’t know I’d take drastic measures right back.”

“You mean like soliciting the help of a psychiatrist to break me out of a mental facility?”

“I knew your parents were getting the runaround by the police. The authorities were no help. They wouldn’t let them see you, even when your dad wielded his influence. I didn’t know where else to go. So I went to Dr. Roth. Something in my gut was telling me I could trust him.” Luka leans closer. “Tess, he knows everything. When I showed up, he had me come into his office, almost as if he’d been waiting for me, and he locked the door and turned up some music and he told me to meet him back here with a bag for you and one for me. He’d already been planning on breaking you out.”

“Dr. Roth?”

Luka nods. “So I went to your house and I told your mom.”

“My mom?” My voice pinches over the word. I want to hug her, but I’m not sure when I’ll see her again. I’m not sure
if
I’ll see her again.

“I told her everything. About you and me and your grandma.”

“Did she believe you?”

“I think she believed that you were in serious danger. She made me promise that I’d take care of you. That I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.” He takes my hand, his own hot. “It’s a promise I won’t break. Your safety means everything to me.”

His words and the way he says them makes my stomach quiver. But beneath the fluttering warmth, my fear grows. “What are we going to do? What if they find us?”

Before Luka can answer my questions, Dr. Roth flings open the door and steps inside. “We don’t have much time.” He hurries over to my bedside, listens to my heart with a stethoscope, sticks a thermometer in my mouth, flashes a light into my eyes. “I’m afraid you have to leave.”

“Already?” Luka asks, standing.

“It’s not safe. For either of you.”

I stand up too and notice for the first time that I am wearing a hospital robe. Luka hands me a bag. I pull out a pair of jeans and pull them up under the robe. He and Dr. Roth turn around, giving me privacy while I pull a t-shirt over my head and a sweatshirt too. “How did you get this stuff?”

“Your mom packed it for you.”

They turn back around as I get to work pulling my hair into a ponytail, shoving my feet into tennis shoes. The energy from the bagel works its way into my blood. “Why are you helping us?” I ask Dr. Roth. I can’t quite figure out where his piece fits in the puzzle. “Aren’t you supposed to be one of them?”

“I will never be one of them,” he says.

“Who are you, then?”

“I’m a Believer.”

“A believer in what?” Luka asks.

Dr. Roth goes to the window, peeks outside. To my surprise, it’s dark out. I’m not sure if I slept through another day, or if this is the same night of our escape. “I’ve been doing research for years. Taking notes. Keeping journals. Once I had sufficient proof, my plan was to find more of you. After this, I believe I have all the proof I need.”

“
More
of us?”

“Proof of what?”

Luka and I ask our questions at the same time.

Dr. Roth looks through the blinds again, and addresses Luka’s question first. “Proof that you’re all in danger.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I bend over and tie my laces, my gaze never leaving Dr. Roth.

“What do you mean
all
?” Luka asks.

“There are other people out there. People like you.”

I stand. “Who are we?”

“You are The Gifting.”

There’s a loud pounding at the door, followed by a deep shout. “Thornsdale police!”

My heart jumps into my throat.

Dr. Roth shoves Luka’s bag against his chest. I strap mine over my shoulders.

“Quick, come with me.” Dr. Roth leads us to the back door of his apartment. “Come back tomorrow morning. I promise to tell you everything I know.”

More shouting from the front. “Open up or we’ll let ourselves in!”

Luka grabs my hand and pulls me out of the apartment, down the fire escape. We sneak into the dark of night, Dr. Roth’s words reverberating inside my mind.

You are The Gifting.

And there are more of us.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

*

K.E. Ganshert was born and raised in the exciting state of Iowa, where she currently resides with her family and their goofy black lab, Bubba. She likes to write things and consume large quantities of coffee and chocolate while she writes all the things. She’s won some awards. For the writing, not the consuming. Although the latter would be fun. You can learn more about K.E. Ganshert and these things she writes at her website
www.katieganshert.com
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Dead Man Hanging

D
arkness has never been a friendly thing. Not to me. But now, huddled behind a dumpster in the alleyway behind Dr. Roth’s apartment building, I burrow into its protective arms, pulling it around myself until I’m wrapped up as tightly as a swaddled infant.

Perhaps we should make a run for it. Sprint as far away from here as possible. But fear paralyzes me. I’m pretty sure it has the same effect on Luka, too, because we crouch there—me and him, this boy who has come to mean so much—holding our breath as if the police might hear the sound of breathing five stories up.

Raindrops begin falling from the sky—fat, cold globs of moisture that plop against the dumpster’s top and soak into the cotton of my sweatshirt. Luka wraps his arm around my hunched form and pulls me so closely to him I am unsure where he ends and I begin. It’s not enough. I want more. I want the things he makes me feel to carry me off into oblivion, some place where this reality we’re facing now no longer exists.

The clank of footsteps on the fire escape forces us to duck further back. A beam of light slices through the darkness, searching. My heart hammers against my chest. I’m sure Luka can hear it, maybe even feel it. They are looking for me, those people upstairs. They want to take me away and lock me up in Shady Wood with my grandmother, where I will never see my family or Luka again. I don’t breathe until the light finally goes away and the footsteps retreat.

The police are not coming down here, at least not right now. Dr. Roth is a smart guy. Surely he will find a way to throw them off our scent. Even so, we stay where we are, as still as statues, afraid to blink, afraid to think, until my legs cramp and the chill in the air turns my fingers numb. Northern California in January is not an ideal time for a night spent outdoors. For the first time since moving to Thornsdale in September, I find myself wishing for the balmy Florida heat I’d taken for granted back in Jude. But as cold as it might be out here, what other choice do we have?

We can’t go home. I’m sure mine is under surveillance and Luka’s isn’t safe. His father would hand me over the second we arrived. The two of us can’t be seen at all. I’m sure by now, my escape from the Edward Brooks Facility has been splashed on the news, along with my face. Nowhere is safe. Which means we will have to wait out the night behind this dumpster. Dr. Roth gave us specific directions to come back in the morning. He promised to explain everything.

The raindrops thin out into a misty drizzle. Luka loosens his grip around my waist and we stare at one another through the dark. He straightens his legs, as if his muscles are cramped too. I want to tell him to stop moving, but I’m doing the same thing.

“Are you okay?” he whispers so softly I have to strain to hear.

It’s a silly question. Of course I’m not. He knows it. I know it. Over the course of six days, my brother almost died, we broke into a high-security psyche ward and discovered rows upon rows of patients in medically-induced comas, my deranged grandmother said I was “the key”, I was dragged out of school against my will by government officials, locked up and drugged in the Edward Brooks Facility, then rescued by Luka Williams and my psychiatrist, who turns out, isn’t who he claimed to be. All I can manage is an almost-silent, “I can’t feel my fingers.”

Luka takes my hands between his own and rubs until they are slightly warmer than frozen.

“Do you think they’re still up there?” I whisper.

“I don’t know.”

A shudder takes hold of my body and convulses through my limbs. Even in the thick of night, I can see the concern pooling in his green eyes. “I have so many questions.”

“Me too,” he says.

“What do you think he meant about there being ‘more of us’?”

“I’m more concerned about the part where we’re all in danger.”

A shudder ripples through my arms.

Luka sits against the brick wall of the apartment building. He pulls me beside him and wraps his arms around me. “Is this all right?”

I nod against his chest, too frightened and cold to be self-conscious.

“It’s going to be okay, Tess.” My body rises and falls with his breath. “We’ll get answers from Dr. Roth tomorrow. You can go to sleep. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Despite the chilly nighttime air outside and the cold fear inside, something about his nearness warms me. I am not alone. Luka is here—brave, handsome, confident Luka. I can almost believe it’s true—that he has the power to keep me safe. That I might really be able to go to sleep.

I curl up against him and wrestle my fear into submission. I don’t let myself think about my family or how much I miss my mom. I don’t let myself think about what my life will be now. I take deep, even breaths. I borrow Luka’s warmth. And I force all my attention onto one thing.

I’m not suffering from psychosis. Neither is Luka.

Dr. Roth gave us a name. We are The Gifting.

*