Secrets and Skin

Chapter 18

I could easily take a bus to Hunter's, but I want fresh air and time to organize my thoughts. I call the bookstore as I pass through the lobby. My manager, Mike, answers.

"Hey Mike, I'm really sick today. I'm so sorry – I can't make it in."

"Seriously? There's only like an hour before... whatever. Just feel better and try to call me sooner next time."

I cringe, feeling guilty for lying. Again. "Thanks, Mike. I'm really sorry."

I hang up, pausing outside the lobby doors. It's surprisingly warm given that it's already the beginning of September. The sun beats down comfortably on my pale skin. I close my eyes for a moment and just enjoy the feeling of it, like a warm embrace. I inhale, deeply, and start walking. I'm less paranoid than I was a couple of weeks ago, but my eyes still flit over shadows and linger on anyone with long blonde hair. My suspicion is instinctual now, and so leaves my focus unbroken as I review everything I know about the man named Hunter Elliott.

At first, I'm furious with him – even more so than Yagher. Both men have kept secrets from me, but Hunter also touched me. Kissed me. I remember the terror as his lips touched mine, the dread of not being able to move. I realize now that my paralysis must have been a product of his powers. That he stripped away my free will so he could do what he wanted. I shudder.

Not to mention that all of this happened because he tried kill Yagher in the first place.

If I trust Grant and admit that I don't completely understand Hunter's motive for attacking Yagher, I can move past this detail... for now. What happened in the past has already happened, and dwelling on an event from over three years ago isn't going to help me.

As for Brie's party... if he had tried to tell me the truth, I almost definitely would have thought he was crazy and dismissed him. He could have proven it to me, but then I would be involved – something Grant said he had been determined to avoid. By trying to revive my memories, he was quietly returning what was stolen from me and, in a sense, he was giving me a choice. I could either dismiss the memories as crazy, or, I could choose to believe them and seek out the truth.

The angry part of me hated to admit it, but his words and his demeanour on the night of the party made it clear that he found the physical contact uncomfortable. He showed no sign of taking any sort of advantage or pleasure in it. And certainly, if he had asked me, I would have said no. It doesn't justify his actions, but at least I can understand where he might have been coming from.

What does still bother me is why he has he been so adamant to avoid me since the night of our escape?

I'm beginning to tire now, my legs aching and my head swimming with possibilities. Anger and frustration fade into nervousness. Fear. What if Grant is wrong about him? What if this is a trap? What if he's just like Mirena?

I turn onto Everest, the street written on the paper from Grant, and shift my attention the numbers on the houses. I reach number 32 about three blocks later and find the letter B attached to a door on the side of the red-brick house. It clearly leads down into a basement apartment and has a peephole installed just above the gold letter.

I hesitate, my resolve melting into a puddle of uncertainty. Amidst all of these doubts is a part of me that actually wants to see him again, this mysterious man who helped derail my life and who is supposedly trying to help put it back together again. This man who saved my life and whose life I helped save. This man who could read my mind with a single touch.

I knock at the door and wait, the sound of my heart shamefully loud in my ears. I count the beats to pass the time it takes for him to open the door. One... two... three... Grant told him I was coming, didn't he? ... four... five... six... seven... maybe I should leave.... eight... nine...