"What if we were to die tomorrow?" I'm lying on my back in a grassy field staring up at the night sky with my hand out to the side of me. "Would you be happy?"
"I could die right now and I'd be happy." Alex rolls on his side and props himself up on his elbow.
"That's such a line," I say, but my insides flutter. "You seriously can't come up with anything better than that?"
He laughs gently as he eyes my lips. "Oh yeah, is that so?"
"Completely so." I wet my lips in anticipation.
Grinning, he positions his body closer to me. Pivoting onto his hip, he flips on top of me and covers his body over mine. The hardness of his chest presses against me. With each inhale and exhale, I grow more anxious at what's about to happen. Because I know that something amazing is about to happen.
"Gemma, I'm happier right now than I've ever been," he whispers. "Even if we're being hunted."
The moonlight mirrors in his eyes and a pale light rings around the pupils. I want him, more than I've ever wanted anything. So I let myself have him. Grabbing onto the front of his shirt, I crush his lips onto mine and seal us together.
I pull away to whisper, "Me too." Then I fasten my legs around him firmly and he presses down in response. With each breath, my nipples stroke against his chest, and trigger warmth between my legs. My fingers drift down the front of his chest and underneath his shirt. He follows my lead, his palm gliding down the front of me, and then his fingers sneak up the front of my shirt. While his one hand tangles in my hair, his other hand cups my breast and his thumb grazes across my nipple. A fire ignites through my body, but it isn't satisfying the hunger inside. I need to be closer to him. Desperately.
Moving my body back, I sit up, forcing him to give me room. Grabbing the bottom of my shirt, I yank it over my head and chuck it over into the grass. I shake my hair out and my bare chest heaves as he deliberately takes me in.
"What are you doing?" His eyes are glossed over like he's high. "You know we're not supposed to be doing this."
I kneel up in front of him, vulnerable, knowing he can shoot me down. "I don't care. I don't care about any of it anymore. Let me die, but let me die happy."
His eyes scroll up my stomach, to my chest, and conclusively reside on my eyes. He reaches behind his head and tugs his own shirt off. His chest is solid and his stomach is lined with muscles. I want to touch him, more than anything. We move for each other like magnets and, as our bare chests collide, passion crazes every single part of me. I'm happy. Blissfully, mind-numbingly happy.
And in the end, that is all that matters.
A light flashes and is echoed by an explosion inside my head. My vision resurfaces and my face is inches away from the floor. My nose smacks against the hard wood and my bones pop. I moan as pain erupts through my nose and jaw.
"God dammit." I roll over to my back, clutching my nose and staring up at a red ceiling. "Where am I?"
Flipping onto my stomach, I push up to my feet. The room is small, the walls are red, and there's a leather sectional sofa in the corner. Bookshelves line the room, along with windows, but curtains block the view outside. "Am I dreaming?"
"No, you're very much awake." A hand comes down on my shoulder and a surge of electricity spirals down my arm. I reel around, swinging my hand and slap the hand from my shoulder.
"Relax." Alex stands only a foot away from me. There are cuts on his face and on his arm. The front of his shirt is torn and there is glass in his hair.
"Are you okay?" Aislin is behind him, observing me from over his shoulder. Her face is streaked with lines of mascara like she's been crying and some of the ends of her hair have been singed.
"Gemma," Alex says when I don't respond. He exchanges a look with Aislin and then moves toward me. "Tell me what you're thinking?"
I'm conquered with the compulsion to throw my arms around him and I step toward him, but the feeling dissipates. The memories of what happened rematerialize—the madness, the mirage, the monsters—and I back up with my hands out in front of me. "I'm thinking you need to get the hell away from me." A sharp pain throbs to the surface of my left rib and I hunch over moaning. "Something hurts." Alex moves for me and my hand shoots up. "Stay away from me. I mean it."
"I'm not going to hurt you." He pauses, waiting for me to settle down. I take a deep breath and keep my eyes targeted on him as he makes the rest of the journey toward me. "You need to hold still. You're bleeding."
I'm suddenly aware that blood is dripping down the back of my hand. I lift up the edge of my coat and see a small piece of glass sticking out of my ribs. "That's disgusting."
He chuckles under his breath. "Yeah, but I think you're going to be okay. In fact, you seem subdued."
"I feel subdued." Like if my emotions are malfunctioning. I straighten my shoulders, even though the pain is crippling, and compel what little irritation is left inside me to show itself. "You think I'm going to be okay? Seriously. Because my mind is racing so fast, I can't even grasp what just happened." I throw one of my hands in the air. "I mean, what was all that?"
"Just relax," Alex insists and then turns to Aislin. "You better go find Laylen and see if he has a first aid kit or something... Although, I'm still trying to figure out why you transported us here at all. Seriously, out of all the places to go, you brought us here?"
"It was an accident." Aislin's cheeks go pink as she tucks her chin down and lets her hair veil her face. "And you should be grateful I got us out of there before..." She glances at me, then trails off and hurries for the door. "I'll go find Laylen."
"Who's Laylen?" I wince as the fragment of glass shifts.
Alex motions his hand to the sofa as he tears off the corner of his shirt. "Go sit down so I can look at it."
I disregard the pain and the blood running down the back of my hand. "Not until you tell me where we are and how the hell we got here. What was all that back there? Because right now, I'm thinking that I've got to be dreaming, yet it all seems so real."
"I really don't think that's the most important thing right now," Alex interrupts with a disapproving shake of his head. "Considering you have a piece of glass sticking out of your rib."
"And you have a giant cut on your arm." I point my finger at his sliced open forearm. "Yet, all you seem to be concerned with is me."
"Yeah, and my concern for you is what caused all this," he mutters. As my eyebrows furrow, he sighs. "Look, go sit down and I'll try to explain everything."
"How do I know you're you, though? What if you're that mirage thing I saw back there?"
He wraps the torn piece of shirt around the cut on his arm. "You really think I am?"
I swallow hard and glance around the room, at the bookcases, the old books that look ancient and the window that is concealed by a curtain. What's out there? "I really don't know what to think. Seconds ago I was in the forest and Aislin was doing all that weird witchy stuff with that crystal and candle. Now I'm in some person's house I just—I just don't get it."
He studies me as he presses his lips together and pops his bruised knuckles. "You know, you're nothing like what I thought you'd be."
"What does that mean exactly?" I ask quizzically. "You always say things like that. They make no sense to me, just like a lot of the stuff you say."
My response seems to entertain him. He smiles softly as his fingers drift toward my cheek. I flinch as his thumb grazes across my cheekbone and my tender skin is kissed by an eruption of sparks. He draws his hand back, which has some blood on it, and he wipes it off on the side of his jeans.
He inhales and then his sturdy chest puffs out as he lets out a slow breath. "You feel that right?"
I nod my head, knowing exactly what he means, even though he didn't say it—the sparks. "Yeah... I think so."
"Then that's how you know I'm real. You won't feel that with the mirage."
He's right. While I was holding the counterfeit's hand, I felt nothing but hollowness and that's why I sensed something was off.
He knows things, about me—I know he does—and I need the answers more than I need air. "You know things about me?" I ask. "Don't you?"
He rubs his tense jaw and shuts his eyes. "I do."
I force the lump in my throat down. "How?"
His eyes open and it's like staring into my own, the amount of pain is infinite. "Sit down and I'll try to explain. Even though, it's going to be nearly fucking impossible."
Desperate to understand what secrets he has locked away inside, I settle on the couch, and let my questions pour out of me. "Okay, so how did we get here? And what were those things back there? Those... Death Walkers? And how do you know about them..." I trail off.
Alex is staring at me with eyes as big as golf balls. "Are you going to give me a chance to talk? Or do you want to just keep going with the questions?"
"Sorry, but they've been piling up at a very rapid rate," I say and he stifles a smile. "But, I'll try to calm down and get them out one by one."
He stares off into empty space, lost in thought. "Take off your coat."
"Huh... Why?"
Desire burns in his eyes. "You have to take your coat off if you want me to get the glass out of your side.
My thoughts coast back to when I had the orgasm while we were on the bed. It was the most incredible feeling I've experienced yet and I wonder how much better it would be if we were closer, touching, bare skin to bare...
"Gemma." Alex's voice jerks me out of my thoughts.
I blink at him and then carefully slip my arms out of my sleeves, easing my coat off. "God, it hurts."
Alex chucks his coat off, rolls up the sleeves of his black thermal shirt, and stretches his arm toward me, his fingers moving for my side.
"What are you doing?" My muscles tense as his hand nears me.
His hand freezes as I lean away from him and then he shakes his head. "Would you relax? I have to actually get close to you in order to look at that." He points a finger at my wounded side.
"Oh, sorry, I'm just nervous, considering..." Where do I start with that?
He understands, nodding. "I get it, but I promise I won't hurt you."
I nod, put my hands on my lap, and kink my elbow out of the way so he can get a full view of my rib and the glass wedged in the skin like a splinter. He gradually lifts the bottom of my shirt and there's a notable shake to his fingers as he inspects the area.
I suppress the gasp wanting to flee my lips as his fingers search each bump of my ribs and every spot of my skin. After what seems like an eternity, he pulls his hand back.
His eyes are amplified and his breathing speeds up. "Shit, I don't know what to do."
"Why? How bad is it?" I crane my neck and peel my shirt away from my skin to get a look at the injury myself. It doesn't look that bad; narrow and not that long. There's some blood dripping out, but not a significant amount.
Alex stares at me with a serious expression, then his mouth curves into a grin and laughter escapes his lips. "No, it's not that bad at all. The piece of glass is small, and you're barely bleeding. I should be able to get it out and stitch it up without any problems." He glances at the door. "Just as soon as Aislin gets in here with the first-aid kit."
I tug down my shirt and swat his arm with my hand. "That wasn't funny. You had me worried I was seriously hurt."
He glances at where I touched him and then back at my face. "Actually, it was funny."
"Do you even know how to do stitches?" I ask. "Or is that something else you're making up?"
He cocks an eyebrow. "What else am I making up?"
I motion my arm at the room with flourish. "Um, the fact that we're here says how much you've made up."
He props his foot up on his knee and leans back on the couch. "Actually, I never made anything up. I just didn't tell you things."
"Omission of the truth is just as bad as making shit up."
"Says who?"
"Says me!"
We stare at each other with defiance; each of us refusing to look away and let the other win.
"Besides." I adjust back on the sofa, moving carefully and cradling my side with my arm. "How do I know you haven't been lying? I've known you for like a few weeks. For all I know your name isn't even Alex." I reach over and pinch his leg. His knee jerks and his foot falls to the floor. "And, are you even real? I saw another one of you for hell sakes." I take a deep breath, staring forward as I shake my head. "I don't even know what's true and what isn't anymore... what's real and what's not."
He slants forward, catches my gaze and it nearly penetrates me. "Back at the cabin, when everything was happening, you said you knew the Death Walkers were going to kill you... how?"
"If I told you, you'd think I was insane," I say and let my head flop onto the back of the sofa. "I even think it's insane."
I feel him move and then he's above me, one of his elbows propped on each side of my head. He edges his face close and the fervor of his breath dampens my skin.
"I can completely and utterly assure you that nothing you say is going to make me question your sanity," he says softly. "I promise you, I've seen and heard it all."
I carefully consider what he says and then surrender to my doubts, knowing it can't get much worse than it is. "I dreamt about them."
"You dreamt about them?" he questions.
I nod my head and our foreheads clip. "A lot actually. For the last few months or so."
He shifts his weight and puts a gap between our faces, but not our bodies. "And what happened in these dreams?"
Heat rushes to my cheeks as I blush. "Stuff... I don't know. It went a little different each time, but it always ended the same."
He scans my face with a curious expression. "Why do you look embarrassed?"
I shake my head and force my gaze to remain on his eyes and not his lips. "I'm just hot."
He presses his lips together and then adjusts back in his seat, giving me some room.
I release a breath that was imprisoned inside my lungs, tuck my hair behind my ears, and stare at my hands. "It's weird, you know, because this all seems real, but my mind's screaming at me that it's not possible. That there's no way I could be sitting here when moments ago I was in your frozen car surrounded by..." I peer up at him as I lower my hands to my lap. "What did you call them? Death Walkers?"
He nods and grabs hold of one of my hands. "Why did you look at your hands just now?"
I push myself to look past the surging current his touch brings. "Because, in my dreams, they always turn blue, like I have frostbite or something."
He frees my hand and I return it to my lap. "That's because it is frostbite. Those things you saw, the Death Walkers, control the temperature of the air and since they favor the cold, they drop it rapidly wherever they are."
My eyes sting with impending tears. "This is all so much."
He opens his mouth to say something, but a loud thump from inside the house startles us both. We jump closer to each other as if we can't help it. Before I can work up a wince from the static, he has his pocketknife out and the blade flipped open.
"Whose house are we at?" I whisper, not taking my eyes off the knife. It's miniature and caked with dry flakes of blood.
He shakes his head, breaks his attention from the door, and sets the knife on a small square table next to the couch. "Laylen's. He's a friend of Aislin's... and mine." He reaches behind him and pulls back the curtain. "He lives in Vegas."
Outside the window, dusk is advancing and casts a pinkish glow across the bronze sand that stretches for miles. I kneel up toward the window to get a closer look. "This can't be real. None of this can."
He lets the curtain fall closed. "Well it is. Trust me." He places a hand on top of my chest. At first, I think he is trying to feel me up which seems inappropriate, considering the circumstances. "All of it is. You. Me. Everything."
I inhale through my nose to maintain steady breathing. "Like monsters that freeze everything, or are you talking about other stuff?"
He moves his hand away and blows out a stressed breath. "I'm talking about a lot of things. Monsters are just the beginning of it and the rest is even more confusing."
"More confusing? I can't even fathom how that can be possible."
"But, it is," he mutters. "Way, way fucking confusing... and complicated."
"I get complicated," I say, thinking about my emotions and wondering if it has anything to do with what is going on. Although, I can't connect it, it seems plausible. "But, what I don't get is how we got here."
He assesses me briefly, then turns sideways and slides his leg up on the sofa so his knee is pressing against mine. "Aislin transported us here."
"Yeah, I heard you guys say that a lot, but what I don't get is how. One minute we are all trapped in the car and the next I'm falling on the floor." I omit the dirty dream I had about him for various reasons; one being, I don't want my cheeks to turn red again.
He dithers. "She used a form of Wicca magic."
I snort a laugh, but stop when I notice how solemn he looks. "You're being serious? Because witches and magic aren't supposed to be real."
"They aren't, huh?" he asks with a cock of his eyebrow. "Then, why don't you explain how we got here?"
I shrug. "Maybe it's not real. Maybe it's a delusional world brought on by the trauma of those things—those Death Walker things that are trying to kill me. Or maybe this is just another mirage and this entire house is fake."
"So, let me get this straight," he says, frustrated. "You're saying you believe in something like the Death Walkers, who, by the way, are demons, but you don't believe in magic or witches."
"No, that's not what I'm saying," I correct him. "I said that witches weren't supposed to be real, but it doesn't mean that I think the idea is unrealistic."
"You're extremely confusing, you know that?" he points out. "And calm. How can you be so calm in this kind of situation?"
I'm ridiculously calm and it is very unfitting for the situation. Most people would be running like hell to get away, or balled up in a corner banging their head on the wall; trying to force the madness out of their brains. "I have... issues... with fear... I mean, part of my brain is telling me that this is all just one big crazy delusion I've conjured up, but the other part is noting how very real everything feels. I've had some trouble in the past determining what's real, too."
His eyes scan me from head to toe and my skin electrifies like magic. Like witch magic. "What are you talking about? What kind of trouble? Did something happen that I don't know about."
"How would you know about anything?" I inquire with suspicion. "I haven't told you anything."
He situates a hand on my cheek and I shiver from the sparkling it causes inside me. "I know more than you think."
I freeze as the electricity sings through my veins and crashes into my heart. My lungs swell from the pressure and the position of the glass alters. The pain causes me to moan, but the tingling sensation in my lower abdomen causes me to gasp. It's the strangest noise that has ever passed my lips.
Alex must have thought so, too, because his eyes enlarge. "Are you okay?"
I slant my head back from his hand. "I'm fine. I'm just shocked because you can feel it too."
"Of course I can feel it." He sighs back in the chair. "How can I not?" He trails off, his voice softening. "But, I'm not supposed to... I'm breaking so many Goddamn rules."
"What rules?" I probe. "You know, you speak in riddles sometimes."
He rakes his fingers roughly through his hair and pieces stick up in every direction. I have the urge to put them back in place, but the pained expression on his face warns me that it's best not to touch him. I tuck my hands underneath my legs to keep them restrained. "How the hell am I supposed to explain to you how important you are? It's fucking impossible." He stares at his scraped up hands, turning them over as he examines them.
"How important I am?" I scan the room, even though it's obvious he's talking to me, and aim an incredulous look at him. "I think you're getting me mixed up with someone else because, trust me, there's nothing important about me."
"You have no idea how wrong you are." He sucks in a slow breath and then raises his chin up to look at me. The intensity in his eyes makes me shrink back. "You're the most im—"
"I found one." Aislin races into the room with a proud look on her face. She's carrying a first-aid kit and her hair has been pulled back into a bun. She's also taken off her coat and boots.
Alex instantly springs to his feet like he's guilty of some heinous crime. "It took you long enough. Jesus, what the hell were you doing?" He joins her in the middle of the room, frowning. "You seriously cleaned up? God, Gemma's bleeding out here and you go wash up."
"I'm fine," I say, but they either don't hear me or don't care what I have to say.
"I had glass in my hair." She shoves the first-aid kit at him. "And it took me a second to find Laylen."
"Sure it did." There's insinuation in his tone. "Just like it always does."
"Whatever, Alex. It's not like that between us anymore and you know it." She flips her hair from her shoulder and then puts her hands on her hips. "And, just so you know, Laylen's going to stay away until..." She glances at me, then leans closer to Alex as she lowers her voice.
I can't hear what they are saying. I hunch over, leaning forward to listen, but all I gather is something about "staying away" and "blood." I give up and rest back against the couch with my arm draped over my stomach. I'm tired so I shut my eyes and let the numbness of approaching sleep consume me. It seems like I should be terrified out of my mind and I guess I am, in a sense. If Death Walkers or some other strange creature came running in, I would run, but I also feel empty. Not like how I had before I could feel. It feels like I've emptied all my worries. I'm no longer in this madness alone. Alex is here. And Aislin. And I guess this Laylen guy--whoever he is—is here, too. I'm not just roaming around the world solo, seeing bizarre things and otherworldly creatures. They can see them too. So, whether they are real or not, it's a relief to know that I'm not the only one who's crazy.
"All right, but Stephan's going to be pissed," I hear Aislin say and then footsteps head toward the door.
"Are you sleeping?" Alex's voice drifts over me and I crack open my eyelids. He stands above me with the first-aid kit tucked under his arm. There are worry lines around his eyes and across his forehead.
"Who's Stephan?"
He sets the first-aid kit on the table, flips the latches open and lifts up the lid. "My father."
"Your father." That isn't what I expected. I sit up and scoot to the edge of the sofa. "Really?"
"Really." He nods, then snatches a throw pillow from the recliner nearby and places it on the sofa beside me. "Lay down so I can get that piece of glass out of you and I'll try to explain what I know while I do."
"Like why the Death Walkers haunt my dreams? And why you think I'm so important? And also, why I saw another one of you more than once?"
He freezes. "You saw the mirage more than once?"
I nod. "But I thought I blacked out or something and it was just a dream. Now, though, I'm second guessing that thought. I'm second guessing all my original thoughts."
"That's probably a wise idea." He rummages around in the kit and takes out square pieces of gauze and some Band-Aids. "It might help you believe what I'm going to tell you." His hand stills as his eyes wander up to me. "Are you scared yet?"
I analyze my emotions; confusion, inquisitiveness and eagerness are flowing inside me, causing chaos. Fear is absent, though. "I think I'm good. Although, I'm confused."
He scratches his head like it's the weirdest response he's ever heard. "Alright then, lie down and I'll do my best to eliminate some of the confusion."
I lie down on the sofa and situate my head on the pillow with my arms resting at my sides. "Is a mirage like a doppelganger?"
He gapes at me with a needle in his hand. "How do you know what a doppelganger is?"
I shrug. "I read a lot."
His hand falls to the side and he almost stabs himself with the needle. "Again, you surprise me." He pauses with a look of contemplation. "Gemma, were you always like this? Growing up, I mean? Or were you... different?"
I'm not ready to answer that question yet, but the simple fact that he's asked it leads me to believe he knows things about me and my past. "You go first."
Sighing with frustration, he bends over so he's hovering over me. "Okay, try to hold as still as possible while I do this."
I fix my eyes on the ceiling, trying to think of something else besides the glass lodged in my side and the fact that he's about to tug it out. All that I can think of, though, is that the red ceiling reminds me of blood and I'm very aware of every jerking movement. I flop my arm over my face, seal my eyes shut, and inhale through the pain. It's easier than I expected, but, for some reason, I have a hunch that what lies ahead is going to be more painful.
"Are you doing okay?" he whispers. "You're not going to pass out on me, are you?"
I shake my head from side to side, but my ribs are on fire. "I'm good."
"Okay, it's all over." He sounds choked so I open my eyes. In his palm is a long, but thin piece of glass. "This little thing right here is what was in you."
"That's it?" I pick it up and turn it over in my hand. "It's so small."
"Yeah, I know, but it was in pretty deep." He takes the glass from me and tosses it into the first aid kit. Then he grabs a cotton ball, unscrews the lid of the rubbing alcohol bottle and douses the cotton ball with it. "Gemma, I'm really sorry."
"For what?"
"For this." He presses the cotton ball onto the open wound on my rib. It feels like someone has dumped gasoline on my skin and lit a match. My skin is blazing with a fire that's invisible to the naked eye. I squeeze my eyes shut, bite down on my lip, and try not to scream bloody murder.
"Sorry about that." He removes the cotton ball from my skin, which is soaked with my blood, and discards it into the kit. "I just thought it would be better if I caught you off-guard. That way, you wouldn't anticipate it."
"I don't... God that hurt." I complain and my voice cracks.
"Now, I just have to stitch it up." He pauses and I open my eyes to see what he's doing. His gaze is aimed at my side, but not the one that is split open; the opposite one that is free of gaping holes.
I start to sit up. "Is there another one?"
He flattens his palm against my stomach and settles his gaze on my face. "Don't move until I get it fixed up." He shifts his body, then jerks his hand away and flexes his fingers as if my touch has burned him. "Anyway, the cut isn't very big, so it shouldn't take me that long."
"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" I ask, lying back down. "You seem out of it."
"I'll be fine." His voice comes out sharp and he quickly clears his throat. He takes out a spool of string and begins unwinding it around his hand.
The atmosphere between us has been killed by awkwardness and discomfort, which doesn't make sense. Moments ago, I felt fine with him.
"So... are you going to explain to me why you think I'm so important?" I ask.
"Yeah, give me a second." He refuses to look at me and snips the end of the string with a pair of scissors. "But you have to promise me two things first... The first is that you have to promise that you'll try to keep an open mind about what I say."
"Okay, that seems easy enough," I assure him with confidence. "What's the second thing?"
He drops the scissors into the kit. "That you'll let me finish talking before you start freaking out."
A chill slithers up my spine and I shiver. "How do you know I'll freak out?"
He squints his eyes as he raises the needle and loops the piece of clear string through the end. "Because any sane person would freak out at what I'm about to tell them; even someone like you who seems to welcome the crazy."
"I don't welcome it," I state. "I just don't know how to react sometimes."
He stations the needle just above my ribcage. "I know, but this might push you over the edge, so I need you to try your hardest to keep it together. It's important."
I nod, but deep down, I know that it can end up out of my hands if the prickle makes a grand appearance. "I'll do my best." His hand dips toward my exposed stomach and I recoil because I absolutely hate needles.
"I'm not even sure where to begin." He rubs his hand across his face and his concentration sidetracks to stitching me up. "Hold still," he instructs and I hold my breath as he guides the needle through my skin.
Somebody kill me and put me out of my misery. It hurts like hell, but I know if I move, it'll only increase the pain. "Jesus, that hurts." I breathe through gritted teeth as I stab my fingernails into the leather fabric of the sofa. Tears fill my eyes and one slips down my cheek as I pant violently. "So bad."
"Sorry," he apologizes before making another stitch. He kneels back and gives me a moment to catch my breath. "You gonna make it?"
I bob my head up and down and look at him through my watery vision. "Yeah, go on. And start talking to me. It'll distract me."
He sketches his finger down my cheek and wipes away a tear. He rubs his finger and thumb together as he stares at the teardrop, then his face twists with bewilderment.
"It's just a tear," I remark, equally as bewildered.
He nods and wipes his hand on his jeans. "I know." He applies another stitch, weaving through my skin and it shoots the pain through all of my limbs. "Do you remember that fallen star story Professor Sterling told, the day I finally decided to sit by you in class."
"The one where you teased me about going on a road trip?" I attempt to smile, but it's too much work.
He doesn't seem amused as he twines the needle through my skin again and the he positions his other hand on my stomach. All of my attentiveness channels to his fingers. On my skin. My eyelids flutter as my body bows up. The warmth. The hum. It even numbs out the pain a little. I want him to move them across my body, touch me in places I've never been touched before.
"Gemma?" His hoarse voice brings me back to reality.
I blink dazedly at him and realize I've bowed my body up against his hand. "Huh?"
He stares down at me with his forehead creased, then his neck twitches and he clears his throat. "Did you hear what I said?"
I lower my body, shake my head, and admit, "Umm... no."
He presses on my stomach and directs my untamed body back down. "I asked if you remembered the secret group that hid the star."
My brain is hazy and I can't form intelligible thoughts. "Yeah... I remember the story vaguely, but I have no idea why you're bringing up something we talked about in Astronomy class. It was just a story."
He shakes his head. "No, it wasn't. It was based on fact, although, Professor Sterling didn't know that. In fact, he didn't know a lot about what he was talking about that day."
"You make it sound like he was possessed."
"Because he was."
I can't take it anymore. I prop up on my elbows, causing us to smack heads. "By what, a ghost?" I press the heel of my hand to my throbbing head.
He rubs the spot on his forehead where mine smacked. "Not a ghost... a mirage."
"You mean, there's another Professor Sterling?" I gape at him unfathomably. "Like there's another you?"
"Neither one is actually us." He places his hand on my shoulder and gives me a gentle push back to lie down. "Now lie back down so I can finish the stitch. You're already going to have a wicked scar. Let's not make it worse."
I lie back on the couch, rest my head on the pillow and put my arms to the side of me. "If they aren't you, then what are they?"
He pauses. "Foreseers."
I fold my shirt up a little more because blood is starting to seep out of the wound again. "Like psychics?"
He frowns. "You know what Foreseers are?"
My shoulders rise and fall as I shrug. "I read about it once. They can see into the future or something."
"That definition is really vague," he says. "There's a lot more to them than seeing the future. They can create images that aren't real—make people see things that aren't real. It's kind of like a game to some of them."
I gulp, taking it all in. "You think one's been messing with me?"
He nods. "I do, ever since Professor Sterling showed up and wasn't quite himself."
I rewind through everything that's happened and remember how that day Alex had been particularly nice to me. "Is that why you did it? Why you were being nice and asked me to go on a road trip with you."
He twists the lid onto the rubbing alcohol. "No, that's not why. I'm not even supposed to be nice to you." He makes an oh-shit face as he says it.
I pierce him with a stern look. "Why?"
"I'm getting to that." He moves closer to me. "You remember how he mentioned there was a power hungry group that might have hid the star."
"He didn't say group," I clarify. "He said person."
"Well he should have said group." He quickly makes another stitch. It happens so fast, my body barely registers the pain. "The secret group is called Custodis de Vita."
"The Custodis what?" I begin to sit up again out of instinct and he puts his hand on my waist to restrain me.
"The Custodis de Vita," he repeats as his fingers enfold around my skin. I want him to move them lower and see how it feels. I seriously have a screwed up head. "It's a secret group that's not necessarily power hungry, but doesn't want power to fall into the wrong hands."
It's too hard to focus on what he's saying while he touches me. I lift his hand off my stomach and breathe freely. "So much better."
He glances at his hand inquisitively and returns his line of gaze back to me. "Care to share what that was about?"
"What is that word? Like Latin or something?" I evade the question.
He stares at me intensely with his head slanted down. It blocks out the light and his pupils are massive, taking over his eyes. "Yeah, it means Keepers of Life, but for short, we call ourselves The Keepers."
"Keepers of Life." The words feel foul leaving my lips. "It sounds like a cult."
A chuckle flees his mouth. "It's not, though. We actually protect the world from dangerous things."
"We?" I study his expression; unyielding and full of truth. "So you belong to this Keepers group?"
"And Aislin. And..." He covers his mouth with his hand and coughs into it. "Marco and Sophia."
I lay inert, letting his words sink into my body, like a disease. The dots are starting to connect and images of things I've never remembered before stab unruly at the back of my mind; Sophia sharpening a sword, Marco talking on the phone about a battle.
"So, what you're telling me is that Marco and Sophia, the people who've raised me since I was one, belong to some secret group that protects the world from evil?" It sounds unbelievable, just like every other damn aspect of my life. Saving the world from evil and demons and vampires... God, what if there really are vampires? "And that you know them?"
He doesn't answer, but through his silence, I have my answer. It's like a piece of the puzzle has been jammed into place. "Holy shit, you were there that day, weren't you? That day I went to get my boxes." I start to sit up, but I feel pain from the stitches and I immediately fall back. "You were that guy in those sunglasses, the one who wouldn't talk to me."
The quietness stretches on forever. I can't believe this—I shouldn't believe it. Yet, I do, which only makes the situation more of a maze.
"What are you thinking about?" He applies another stitch through the cut and cocks his head to the side, measuring me up with a powerful gaze that melts at my thoughts.
"That you're lying," I say quietly. "That you're full of shit and messing with my head."
"That's completely understandable," he admits. "I get it. I really do. But, it's the truth, despite the fact that it sounds absurd." The needle snags my skin and my hand instinctively flies toward the pain. Alex grabs my hand before I get ahold of the stitches. "Whatever you do, don't touch it," he cautions and I can feel his pulse hammering through his fingertips. He's nervous. Or scared. And I'm ... I don't know, because there isn't anything there yet. Confused, yes, but, other than that, I haven't linked to an emotion yet.
I pull my hand away from his as distrust claims my body. "Why hasn't anyone mentioned this to me before? All those years I lived with Marco and Sophia—those weeks I knew you—why not just say something?"
"You think we could just come up to you and say 'Hey, I work for this secret group that fights evil?' Yeah, that goes over really well with people."
"You could have said something... less intense, but something like 'Hey, I have a secret life you might not want to know about.'"
His eyes are heated. "Would you have wanted to know about it though? If I'd said something like that to you."
"Yes," I say without contemplation, which more or less means it's the truth. "I don't like being in the dark about stuff."
"Easier said than done," he mumbles and then lets out a discouraged sigh as the needle snakes through my skin. "But back to the story because it really will explain a lot more for you." He pauses and I wait, pondering where the hell he's going with this. He takes a deep breath and concentrates on his hand as he makes yet another stitch. "That star I was telling you about had a lot of power. That's why we... the Keepers, went and got it in the first place. If it fell into the wrong hands, then..." He trails off.
"Then what?" I press. I feel it coming, the calm before the storm. Whatever he is going to say will break me apart and I'll be left stitching myself back together.
He shakes his head. "Nothing. Let me try this again. Those Foreseers I was talking about, well one of them made a prediction that a fallen star was going to prevent the end of the world from happening." He picks up the scissors and trims the end of the string off.
The stab at the back of my neck is dull, but detectable. "The end of the world."
He chucks the scissors back into the kit, takes out a roll of tape and some gauze. "When I say 'end of the world,' what I mean is there's this portal that's supposed to open sometime... although, no one knows exactly when."
I stare expressionlessly at him. "A portal? Like a deep hole will open up and swallow up the world? Or, all hell will rain down? Or, zombies will walk out and take over the world?"
"You don't believe me." He arranges the gauze over the stitches and secures it with tape. Then he puts everything back in the kit and shuts the lid. "I'm all done with the stitches, so you can sit up if you want. Just be careful, though. If you move too fast, you might rip them open."
I tug my shirt down and gradually sit up. My side feels strangely tight and my head is full of thoughtless nonsense.
Alex sits down on the sofa next to me, drapes an arm behind my head and relaxes his knee against mine. A spasm of heat coils up my inner thigh and my knee jerks upward.
"What is that?" I ask as I stared down at our knees. "That electricity I feel whenever I'm around you? What is it? Does it have anything to do with this?"
He plays with my hair, twisting a strand around his finger. "I have no idea what causes it. I really don't."
I shoot him a look. "You have no idea what it is? At all. Or, are you just omitting the truth, as you so nicely put it."
He rolls his tongue to keep from smiling at me as he releases my hair. "Nope. I've never felt anything like it until you came along."
"Yeah, me neither," I mutter, combing my fingers through my hair to smooth it back into place. "Until the first time I met you at the school... that day you let the door slam in my face... but even when I ran into you at Marco and Sophia's house, I felt something."
He pulls a guilty face, but then he seems surprised. "Really? That was the first time you felt it? Ever?"
"Yes, why do you look so surprised?" I ask. "You just said the same thing."
"Because you're different," he says and I frown. He kicks his boots up on the table and crosses his legs. "I'll get to why, but give me a minute. I have to finish explaining the portal story, because it's kind of like background information."
"To what?"
"To you... but back to the portal because you need to kind of understand that part before I go anywhere else with it." He pauses and I'm pretty sure he's holding his breath. "If it opens up, it'll let millions of Death Walkers out and you've seen what they can do, so I'm sure you can guess how that would end the world."
I place my hand on the arm of the sofa and bring my knee up onto the couch as colorful images flash through my mind, little pieces of memories clipping together, forming a story.
The ground is an ice-rink, the buildings are tall statues, and the sky ripples with clouds that shower down a heavy snowstorm. In the distance, there is light—fire—and when it mixes with the snow, there is nothing but chaos.
"By ice," I whisper as the images shatter into pieces and dissolve.
His phone beeps and he glances at the screen. "Exactly." He scrolls through his screen and hammers his fingers against a few buttons, seeming preoccupied, yet he continues on with his story. "There's this guy named Demetrius, who's the leader of all the Death Walkers, and he wants this portal to open. Basically, the fallen star is the only thing that has enough power to keep the portal from opening."
"Do you still have the star?" I wonder and then raise my hands in front of me. "And, I'm only asking that question out of curiosity. I'm still not sure if I one-hundred percent believe what you're telling me."
His gaze rises from his phone and there is a look in his eyes that I don't like. "Yeah, we still have it. We kept it hidden so Demetrius couldn't find it. For the first few years after the Keepers found it, we had a Shifter transfer the star's energy into different objects to keep its location a constant secret." He stops. "Do I need to slow down? You look lost."
I shake my head. "Kind of lost. Kind of overwhelmed. But you can go on."
"Okay, but a warning, the next part is going to be very hard for you to hear." He glances down at his hands, and then turns them over, so his palms are facing the floor, and he looks vexed. "Just try to stay calm, okay?"
It feels like thorns have veined their way through my stomach and are poking at my insides. "I'll try."
He sucks in a deep breath and takes my hand in his. He traces his finger along the scar on my palm gently and it makes me feel a little bit better at the moment. "An accident happened a few years after we found the star. Theron, the Shifter I told you about, was attacked by Demetrius while in possession of the object that was holding the star's energy and, during a moment of panic, he accidently placed the power into a... woman."
My heart thumps inside my chest, like a drum, beating louder and louder. "What happened to her?"
"Nothing. The energy didn't end up in her." His hand tightens around mine. "She was pregnant when it happened and it ended up going into her unborn child."
My heart thumps and thumps and I can barely hear the stale calmness in my voice. "Then, what happened to the baby?"
"She lived, but the star's energy is still trapped inside her. For some reason—and no one knows for sure, because no one has ever come across anything like it before—no Shifter could transfer it out of her." He presses his lips together as my heart roars inside my chest. "A few years after it happened, the mother died, but not because of the star." He watches me attentively. "She was a Keeper and her name was Jocelyn."
My heart stops, but I still can't hear a sound.
Jocelyn was my mother.
And suddenly I understand what has been wrong with me for the last twenty-one years. I'm not crazy.
I am the star.
I'm not sure what to do with this information. My brain is in overdrive, racing with different solutions trying to make it so it can't be possible, but it all comes down to a list of things.
The dreams.
The monsters.
The mirages.
The weird images always popping up in my brain.
The detachment from the world.
My lack of emotions.
They all seem unreal and so does a star's energy being inside me. Put them together and they make sense. I come to the conclusion that he's telling the truth and I do what anyone would have done.
I run away from the painful truth because it's just too much to take.
