Beautiful Dreamer

Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

My arm throbbed, pulsing white hot pain through every nerve ending. The boy shook his head at me, pursing his lips delicately in an expression that managed both pity and spite.

“I'd have thought that by now, you'd know not to cross me,” he breathed. “It seems as if your spirit will be harder to break that your dear sister's was. She was so easy.”

At the mention of Rosemary, wings shuddered through my mind once again, and for a moment, I felt as if I was surveying the scene through another person's eyes; smaller, younger eyes that were even more frightened than I was. The pain in my arm subsided, and as the boy smiled at me, the whimper of fear that escaped my lips was not in my voice. I realized suddenly that this was a memory—a memory that wasn't mine, but that I was reliving with so much clarity that it was as if I had been there there...or as if someone who was there was inside my head.

And with all that had happened to me, that notion was far from surprising.

I came back to the present with a jolt, blinking rain out of my eyes. The lake water was lapping up against my muddy ankles, warning me with every icy slap that its consuming waves were only inches away. The boy was still staring at me, his eyes expectant, so I straightened my shoulders and forced myself to meet his gaze head on.

“You don't scare me,” I said, and the words were both the biggest and best lie I had ever told.

He saw right through it, of course, and laughed. “Yes I do. We all do. Look at you: you're terrified. It's pathetic.”

“It's human,” I countered. “In other words, everything you can never be, no matter how hard you try.”

Anger flashed in his eyes, and I sensed that finally, I had struck a chord. “We're not trying,” he hissed. “The last thing we want to do is be like you.”

I clenched my fists, ignoring the pain in my arm, as if I kept them tight enough I would be able to hold onto the small sliver of confidence that had crept up within me. Before I could grind out another response, however, the boy spoke again, murmuring, “There is far too much talking going on right now. This needs to be finished before you are missed.”

As the boy placed a chilly hand on each of my arms, I couldn't help but worry about just what he meant by “finished.” By the sinister gleam in his eyes as he leaned closer, and the way the surrounding shadows seemed to cluster in, I didn't think that it could be anything good.

“This won't hurt,” lied the cruel boy, his lips curled into a perpetual sneer.

“Yes it will,” I replied. My voice was stronger than it felt. I wondered briefly how, at this moment, seconds from having the very center of my being vacuumed into the soulless pit of a monster, I was finding a sense of tranquility.

It was the calm before the storm.

“Yes,” he agreed, a moment too late. “It will.”

I shuddered as a breaking wind snapped over us, bending the boughs of a low-hanging willow to brush the surface of the lake. As if in response, the water splashed into the air.

“What are you going to do?” I asked softly, staring into the trees.

The boy was silent for a moment. I wasn't looking at him, but my gaze was forced in his direction as he placed two fingers beneath my chin and turned my head with a surprisingly gentle touch. He studied me with his eyes, and thought I couldn't read the look in them, I quickly realized what was about to happen.