***
That night, I curl up with Chloe’s diary while waiting for Gage in the butterfly room.
October 11th,
It kills me to see Gage in the quad, Gage on the field, Gage in my biology class, and have to pretend that I’m in love with Logan. I thought by now he’d go insane. I thought maybe because he knows I’m going to die he’d have pity on me and maybe spare one heartfelt kiss. I can’t stand to see his face in the halls at school.
Maybe that’s what’s going to do me in? Maybe I’ll die of a broken heart.
October 13th,
I let Logan in through the butterfly room and lured him into my bed. I know for a fact that he and Gage talk about me because Logan mentioned he doesn’t keep anything from Gage. He said he’s his brother in every way. So, brilliant me, attacked him. Logan was defenseless to my womanly wiles. He was easier to take down than I could have ever imagined.
Invisible idiot visited again. Hi you!
Idiot? Gee thanks.
My stomach turns at the thought of Chloe with Logan—using him like that. Although a selfish part of me feels relieved she didn’t love him. I wish she didn’t love Gage so damn much either.
***
Gage shows up in the butterfly room near midnight. I’m beyond exhausted, so when he snatches a butterfly off the wall, and it takes flight in a quiet blue spiral up to the ceiling I don’t have the energy to try to change it. Instead, I find a strange comfort in the very secure nature of not being able to alter the future.
“We were destined to kill those men,” I speak it softy to him. I think the two of us are going to need Dr. Booth’s services for years, psychotherapy, and at least a dozen shock treatments to get over the trauma of ending near a dozen lives. Not to mention we don’t know what the fallout will be, but we do know it’s coming—consequences that will strike like lightning. This is the storm of our own making. It’s going to touch down in our lives and inevitably burn something to the ground—we just have no idea what that might be.
“Come here.” He pulls me over. I wrap myself around him completely with my arms and legs around his person as though he were a tree trunk.
I start in with slow measured kisses, then, something inside me gives. It submerges me in the knowledge that Gage will marry me one day. It’s a slow build up that pushes me forward in a lust filled haste—Gage, who waited for me, who took me to the Counts to avenge Celestra blood, who ultimately killed for me.
His breathing becomes erratic as he gently lays me down on the floor. I shred the buttons off my blouse in an effort to tear it open—lift his shirt up over his head to feel his bare flesh against mine. It feels magical like this with Gage. Like it was always meant to be.
The overhead latch to the butterfly room bursts open and the hard thump of tennis shoes lands just shy of our heads.
“Whoa!” A voice shouts from above.
Freaking Ellis.
I pluck Gage’s t-shirt from off the floor and hold it over my bra. For a dreadful second, I thought it might be Logan—believed it with all of my heart. I think I wanted it to be.
“What?” I hiss perturbed.
“Counts had an emergency faction meeting tonight.”
“Are they coming after me?” Everything in me loosens with fear.
“They’re coming after all of you.”
***
The next morning before school, I sneak in a few more entries from Chloe’s diary.
October 15th,
Went to Emerson’s grave. I bought a dozen white roses with the money I took from Mom’s purse and placed them in a vase buried in the ground. I like it out there in the cemetery. It’s peaceful, so quiet.
I tried to imagine how I might look in one of those long wooden boxes Dr. Oliver has on display. Logan gave me the grand tour today. He kept making jokes about how the bodies are laid in that steel bathtub and that if people knew what they did to you in one of those, they’d rethink this whole dying thing, but I didn’t laugh. It took everything in me not to run out of there screaming.
I ran my fingers across Emerson’s name carved into the cold black granite until my fingers went numb. If I wasn’t so chicken shit I’d go back in time and tell her I was sorry, but I’m not sure I really am.
October 16th,
Holden was a total asshole on the phone today. What else is new?
Anyway, at school, Gage didn’t even look remotely pissed during fourth period, so I invited Logan over for a repeat performance. When we were done, I asked Logan if he talked to Gage about us. He got all weird on me and started asking questions, wondering if I was with him just to make Gage jealous or something. I never did say Logan was stupid. Of course, I denied it. Besides, who wouldn’t want to be with the second hottest guy at West? Plus, it pisses Lexy and Michelle off. Just watching them squirm makes it all worthwhile.
***
A storm rages outside the hallowed halls of West Paragon High. The electricity flutters in rhythm, as the thunder rattles throughout the science building like a thousand angry skeletons. Logan sent me a text asking me to meet him under the stairwell at 1:20.
I get a hall pass and leave without telling Gage where I’m headed. After our heated hormonal exchange last night, I know it would break his heart even if it were a purely platonic meeting, which I’m almost sure it will be. But a small aching part of me is hoping for something more—I’m beginning to hate that part of me.
I don’t see Logan. He’s a no show again, just like the other night.
The door to the janitorial supply closet is open, and I hear a whisper. I lean in to check it out.
I’m yanked in violently and shoved to the back, knocking over a shelf of cleaning supplies in the process.
I turn around in time to see the back of a man in a dull green jumpsuit securing a metal chain between the doorknob and a nail pegged to the wall.
He turns and looks down at me with a strange blank expression.
It’s the boy from the party—Holden.
“You’re not real,” I breathe out the words in a panic.
“I’m very real.” He knocks over a row of paint cans and flips over a tray of tools as the room explodes in a wild cacophony of bangs and whimpers. “I’m so fucking real!” He screams, pulling at his arm right below the shoulder and twisting violently until a circle of liquid darkens the fabric. He yanks off his arm and starts wielding it around like a baseball bat, forcing me to whittle myself in the corner.
I’m so frightened I can’t breathe. My muscles do their best rendition of rigor mortis, and my brain is completely unable to come up with a plan. Fems die then disappear. How do I get rid of a ghost?
“What do you want?” I shout over his disruptive, one-armed tantrum.
“What do I want?” He thrashes his bludgeoned limb to the floor and charges at me. “I want my life back!” He explodes the words over me in one hot putrid breath.
I couldn’t save my father no matter how hard I tried. Maybe it was somehow ordained for me to kill Holden that night? I can’t do this, and everything in me knows it as fact. So I do the only thing I can do. Lie.
“I’ll do it. I know a Sector.” My breathing quickens. “I can time travel…”
“I know a Sector, I can time travel,” he mimics, making me sound like a whiny toddler.
“Make shit happen!” His voice booms louder than any human voice possible. He reaches up and grips his face until the flesh rips right off in a slow viscous pull. All that remains, is a wash of blood over muscle—his eyes stare back at me bulging and round as the tissue around his lips pull into a clown-like grimace.
I retch at the sight. The stench sends a fresh rise of vomit shooting up the back of my throat.
The room starts in on a violent rattle, causing a few stray cans to fall from the shelving unit behind us.
A loud pop explodes overhead and the lights go out.
Shit!
My skin starts to pulsate as though one hundred hands have clamped over me a
t once.
“Having fun yet?” Holden emits a deep guttural laugh as a hand crawls up the back of my shirt.
I want to die. I’ve never been sure of anything, like I am of this. I’d rather have Pierce with his neatly covered flesh sucking the lifeblood out of me than have anything to do with his brother the bloody ghost.
A scream gets locked in my throat.
I can’t think straight. His fingers cinch up my hair. I scream for real this time until it feels like the world could shatter from the sound of it.
A wild panic seizes me as I snatch at the counter. I grab a hold of a small metal cylinder and start thrashing him with it as he struggles to fully seize me.
The door thumps in jags. It opens in one energized burst. I look up at a figure lost in the shadows.
A wild spasm takes place beneath me as Holden bucks and writhes. His fingers claw at me—run right through my chest as he begins to evaporate, slow as smoke.
It’s Logan.
He lifts me into his arms and takes me underneath the stairwell.
“It was Holden,” I say out of breath.
“Are you OK?” He pants.
“I think so.”
I take in his clean scent—try to memorize the flex of his muscle as I run my hand over it, solid, like skin over steel.
“I didn’t get your text last night,” he says. “Left my phone in the car. I’m sorry. Gage told me what happened.” He studies me a moment with intense anguish.
“Gage was there.” I try to shrug it off like it’s no big deal.
“I’ll be there next time and every other time after that.”
“Why?” Really, I want an answer.
He brushes the stray hair away from my eyes.
“Because I’m the one who will always love you, even if I can never have you.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Rebel, Rebel
Friday morning, I head downstairs overwhelmed by the fact I’m the root of pain for dozens of people in the world. Those Counts we killed had families, and just knowing Brielle, Nat and Ellis—I can tell that not all Counts are out to get me. The fact that some or all of those Counts might have had children makes me seriously question my actions. Logan was right I should have thought things through. Logan is always right and somehow this more than slightly pisses me off.
“Ready for the field trip?” My mother swipes a dishtowel into a glass, then holds it up to the light.
“Oh right.” The away game is tonight. After fifth, we’re all getting shuttled to the ferry and heading to the mainland.
Drake comes in and sits at the bar looking rather morose over the fact he won’t be joining me.
Tad rattles his paper. It’s become his way of getting our attention just before something moronic flies from his mouth. Normal people would clear their throats, but then again Tad is not normal so it makes perfect sense. Also, he apparently never got the memo that newspapers have gone the way of the VCR. I’m sure the news he’s reading is as stale as his breath.
“The football team going?” He peppers his voice with concern as though the football team going to a football game is cause for alarm.
“It’s a football game, so it sort of makes sense.” I pull the milk from the fridge and set it on the counter.
Drake’s back vibrates as he gives a silent laugh.
“Skyla,” my mother groans. “Does everything that comes from your lips have to be drenched with such sarcasm? We’re starting to feel attacked.” She locks her fists high on her hips.
She’s feeling attacked? I’m feeling attacked. Of course, I can’t voice that, or I’ll get shipped away to an all girls prison, or the psych ward, or the graveyard—all of the above in quick succession.
“I’m concerned, Skyla.” Tad ambles over next to Mom with his arms crossed tight. They both wear the same irrevocably pissed expressions.
“What’s there to be concerned about? We’ll be back Saturday.”
“The school has you all checking into the same hotel,” he says, laced with suspicion, as if suddenly I’m responsible for travel arrangements.
“Yeah, so? Brielle, Nat, and Kate are sharing a room with me. Boys and girls are on different floors.” I get a bowl out of the pantry like it’s no big deal. Oddly, I haven’t given the away game much thought, but now that they mention it, I think it’s going to be pretty damn exciting.
“There’s always the elevator,” Drake says through a mouth full of cereal.
“That’s right.” Tad is quick to agree. “Gage will undoubtedly be there. Are the two of you?” He conjoins his forefingers then separates them.
“I gave her permission to keep seeing Gage.” My mother sighs into her words as though she were knowingly opening a Pandora’s box of grief.
“Oh really?” Tad’s voice hits its upper register. “Well at least we’ll know who to thank when there’s a crib in her room nine months down the road.”
My mouth falls open at the accusation.
“Skyla is not having sex,” Mom says with a reserved sense of calm. “We’ve already had this conversation.”
Mia and Melissa walk in on cue and take seats on either side of Drake.
“And you know this for a fact, because?” He shouts. “Lizbeth, she routinely lies to us. It’s just who she is.”
It’s who she is? He makes it sound like lying is embedded in my genetic code, or its some pathological condition I’ve contracted.
“And what about the rest of the kids on this trip?” He directs the question over to me. “Do they drink or drug?”
A laugh gets caught in my throat. Before I can wrap my head around his stupid phraseology, Mom steps between us.
“Relax,” her voice is tethered to a false sense of calm. “The email said there were going to be three chaperones. It’s all very well supervised.”
I happen to know Marshall is one of them, Ms. Richards and the coach, the other two. Marshall is practically useless, more of a liability than anything else.
“Oh three?” He balks at her. “So three people are going to control fifty or so hormonal teens? They’ll probably tie them up and throw them overboard, soon as they hit open waters. Good luck with the delusion that everything is going to be OK with her.” He storms out of the room leaving a void of silence in his wake.
My mother spins around with an unexpected look of glee in her eyes. “So! Somebody’s birthday is right around the corner.” She sings the last word.
“Are you serious?” I hiss. She’s freaking insane. “You just let him treat me like I’m some sort of juvenile delinquent who drinks and drugs and plans on having sex with Gage tonight.” I pause in reflection. I did get drunk that one time, and I sort of did engorge myself on pot-laced brownies. I’ve tried at least twice to sleep with Gage… hey? Maybe Tad’s a psychic?
I shake my head.
“Forget my birthday.” I abandon the milk on the counter and race upstairs.
***
I try to remember my family, the way it was before my dad died. I don’t ever recall a single argument rooted in my questionable hormonal behavior, for sure no conversations about drugs or alcohol in context with me.
I pull out my duffel bag and throw in a pair of jeans, a sweater for tomorrow, and slide my makeup off my desk and into the bag with a clean sweep of my arm.
There’s a light knock at the door before Mia lets herself in and closes it behind her.
“Hey, Skyla.” She says my name in two equal parts, never a good sign.
“What’s up?” I try not to show any signs of fear as I prepare to be blackmailed into oblivion.
She rolls backwards onto the bed. Her long pale legs almost reach the top of my canopy.
“The bathroom was taken so I had to use yours this morning.”
“Oh, that’s fine. You’re welcome anytime.” I get up and snatch Chloe’s diary off the nightstand and stuff it deep into my bag before she gets any funny ideas.
“I wasn’t really snooping or anything, but
I dropped my phone in your trashcan, and while I was fishing it out,” she pauses to sit up and pluck something from her pocket, “I found this.” She wands a little pink stick over at me like I should know what it is.
I snatch it out of her hands and examine it.
“What’s this?” I think I know. Looks like a pregnancy test. Inside the urine stained window, there’s a red sign that reads positive. “It’s not mine.”
“You play dumb so well.” She rocks off the bed and jumps in front of me. “So whose baby is it? Is it that teacher’s? I guess it could belong to Gage or even that other guy you were seeing when first we got here.” She itemizes the possibilities on her fingertips.
I stare out at the wall. “Get a grip Mia, it’s not mine. It’s obviously Mom’s. She probably wants to surprise Tad or something, so she took it in my bathroom.”
Mom walks in without knocking, and I hide the test behind my back.
“So when were you going to tell us?” Mia whines, as if she’s honestly offended that Mom hasn’t spilled the news of her cloven-hoofed spawn.
“Tell you what?”
“That you’re having a baby.” Mia’s inflection on the word baby makes her sound like one herself.
“Oh, Hon.” Mom lifts her hand up to her chest. “I’m not. Aunt Flow just paid me a visit,” she whispers. “But I promise, you’ll be first to know. I was just stopping in to let you know,” she points over at me, “don’t pack your hair dryer, they’ll have one at the hotel.” She squeezes her hand in a mock wave before leaving the room.
Mia gets right up in my face. “Thought so.” She takes off, slamming the door on the way out.
It’s not mine.
I pause considering the alternatives.
Brielle?
Brielle and Michelle are both going to have babies? Plus that girl in Spanish, that makes three at West!