That’s when I break down.
I can’t help it. I hyperventilate, and then I fall onto my hands and knees, and I can’t breathe, and they have to call the nurse.
The other girls snicker and laugh and stare at me, and it doesn’t matter because I have bigger problems than them.
I’m insane, and getting crazier by the day.
My mom picks me up, and I try to tell her that I’d had a dream that Mr. Elliott was dead, but she doesn’t believe me. She makes a call, and my medicine is changed, and the pills taste worse than before.
Finn holds my hand because he’ll never leave me, and I know that, and I’m grateful. I’m also grateful that I’m the one afflicted with whatever this is.
My brother is too kind, too good, too sweet.
I’m the one who deserves it.
I kill gym teachers in my mind.
I’m clearly a monster.
Then I dream them back to life, so I’m clearly crazy.
Chapter Nine
I drink the tea.
I have to. My mother makes me, because I’m so upset. Every day I grow more upset, because every day, I feel more unstable.
One night, my parents are on the lawn beneath my window, long after they think I fell asleep and I peer at them through my open window. My mom tells dad that we’re going to Whitley. I want to run down and argue, because I want to stay here, but at the same time, Dare is at Whitley. I’m not disappointed when my father finally caves in.
“Fine. But use care, Laura. You know I can’t come with you. Not yet.”
“I will,” my mom says tiredly. “Richard won’t touch me again. Not anymore. They got what they wanted.”
“You know it was necessary,” my father says, and he sounds just as tired.
“I’m so tired of what is necessary,” my mother snaps, and her voice is so venomous that it takes me aback. “I have free will. We all do. That’s why we’re here.”
“Free will is an illusion,” my father answers and his words his words his words are so dark.
“I hate to say that I’m starting to think you’re right,” mom replies. “My mother always gets what she wants. She and Sabine…”
Sabine?
I’m clouded by confusion, and I’m paying so much attention to them that I don’t pay attention to what I’m doing, and my hand slips from the window, and my head thumps the sill.
My dad’s head snaps up, quicker than lightning, and for a minute for just a minute for just a minute, his eyes flash black in the moonlight.
I gasp, and I shirk away, because my dad is supposed to have blue eyes, blue like Finn’s.
But for a long second right now, they gleam and glimmer black, like a pool, like onyx, like the demons that I’ve been seeing for my whole life.
They’re as black as sin.
I scream and I faint, and when I come to, I’m back in my bed, and the hooded boy is next to me. He holds my hand and his fingers are pale.
“There’s a ring,” he tells me. “And if you give it to me, your brother will always be safe.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, and I’m paralyzed with fear, at the mere thought that Finn might someday be in danger.
“You aren’t crazy,” the boy says. “What you dream is real. What you see is real. There is more to your family then you know.”
But the moonlight, the moonlight, it shines into my room and it illuminates his eyes and they’re black black black as night, and I scream so loud my room shakes and my parents come running.
When they burst through the door, the boy is gone.
“There was a demon here,” I cry, but there isn’t anything here now, and they can see that. “His eyes were black,” I insist, and I swear I swear I swear my father looks away, almost like he feels guilty.
I swallow hard, I swallow my fear and it tastes almost like poison.
“I saw you outside,” I tell them. “I heard what you said. Why does grandmother always get her way? And Sabine?”
But my mother looks at me blankly and my father kisses my forehead.
“Honey, that didn’t happen,” she says, and my father nods in agreement.
“You must’ve been dreaming,” my father adds, and while that should comfort me, it doesn’t.
Because the hooded boy, the boy with the black eyes, told me that my dreams are real, and if they are, if that is true, then my parents are lying and the world is a scary scary place.
Chapter Ten
The conifers, the ferns, the never-ending moss…all of it is wet, all of it is suffocating. I run down the path toward the cliffs, and I feel like I can’t breathe, like my chest is constricted, like there’s a rock on my ribs, crushing my bones.
“That’s what Dare feels like,” a voice calls from behind me. I turn, and it’s the boy, and he’s whispering, but in my ears it echoes like a scream. “His heart hurts, Calla, and it’s your fault.”
I spin around and face him, and my hair whips in the wind, my pink Converses slip slip slipping in the rain.
“What do you mean?” I ask, and I’m panicked, because when he speaks to me, it always feels true. “What’s wrong with Dare?”
“His heart is weak,” the boy says and his eyes penetrate me, seeing into my soul, reaching in and twisting it, twisting it, twisting it. “You gave him your heart condition. It was supposed to be yours, but you gave it to him. Iniquum, Calla.”
Unfair.
I’m confused because that’s not right. I would never. I would never. I would never hurt Dare.
The hooded boy nods. “No, you didn’t do it on purpose, but Fate is Fate, Calla. It must be paid. But you can change it.”
I stop, and the rain runs down my face, soaking my shirt and I shiver in the cold.
“How?” and my voice comes out like a whimper.
“You just can,” the boy says, and for one minute, I see his cheek and it is silver in the moonlight. “By night you are free.”
“By night I am free.” The words the words the words seem familiar and I don’t know why. “I’ve heard that before.”
“Yes, you have,” the boy nods. “Think about it, dream about it, because your dreams are real.”
My dreams are real.
I’m dreaming now.
I thrash in my bed and Finn wakes me up and his pale blue eyes are so worried.
“Cal, are you ok?”
His skinny hands grip my arms, and I’m shaking in the sheets. Finn curls up with me and holds me, his cheek against my hair. “I’ve got you. It’s fine, Cal. It’s fine.”
His breath is warm and familiar, and his heart beats against mine, in perfect rhythm, because we are the same, he is mine and I am his, and we’re twins. We’re closer than closer than close.
“I had a bad dream,” I whisper, and my face sinks into the pillow. I can’t stop thinking about it, and the words swirl in my mind.
By night I am free.
By night I am free.
Finn eventually falls asleep in my bed, holding on to me for dear life, so afraid that I’ll slip away into something bad, into something panicky or manic. I won’t. Because I’m restless and I feel I feel I feel like the answer is here, it’s here somewhere, it’s close.
I cautiously crawl from the bed, careful not to wake my brother. I drift through the house, moving from room to room, and I feel like I’m pulled to something to something to something .
I float through the visitation rooms, past the caskets and the corpses and the flowers. I drift through the chapel by the piano past the altar. I stroll into the Salon, and I stop in front of the window seat and Finn’s journal is there, on the cushions.
The Journal of Finn Price. It’s embossed on the leather and it was a gift from my parents. He hasn’t had time to write much yet, but it’s his and it pulls me and I open it.
It’s blank, the pages are white, but something something something makes me run my fingers over the linen pages, and there are indentions, like someone pressed hard into the paper.
/>
I turn on the lamp and I hold the paper under the light and there are words there, words scratched into the pages, like someone pressed hard on a pen and the pressure bled through.
Nocte Liber Sum.
Nocte Liber Sum.
By night I am free.
I am stunned, and I drop the journal because the words the words the words are the same. I curl up on the seat and I soak in the moonlight and I’m overwhelmed.
What is happening to me?
What is real?
I don’t know anymore.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I fall asleep, curled up into a ball, and when I sleep I dream.
I dream of Dare, and I dream of Whitley. I dream that Dare is not at the whim of my uncle. I dream that he is free, he is free
He is free.
Chapter Eleven
The plane ride seems ridiculously long this year and my gawky adolescent legs are cramping when we finally de-plane. I walk stiffly through the cluttered halls of Heathrow.
I immediately find Jones waiting for us and we pile into the dark car that will take us to Whitley. The entire drive, through all of the rolling English hills, there’s only one person I can think of.
Dare.
I’m fidgety and my brother notices. He puts one pale hand out to still my bouncing knee.
“What is your problem, Cal?” he asks, his thin eyebrow raised. There’s concern in his eyes though. I see it before he hides it.
Like always, the concern I see there is for me.
He’s afraid I’m fidgety because I’m manic. He thinks I’m flying high, unable to come down. There’d only been one episode like that this year, and it was months ago, after Mr. Elliott died. I’m better now, so there’s no reason to worry today. Sometimes, I resent their concern. I resent seeing it in their eyes. I resent that their concern is necessary.
I shake my head, though, pushing my annoyance down. It’s not their fault I’m crazy. “I’m fine. Just tired of traveling.”
He nods and he’s not convinced, but he never is. He always, always errs on the side of caution when it comes to me.
He reaches over and grabs my hand and holds it for the rest of the drive.
I can hear his thoughts in the silent car.
If I hold her down, she can’t fly away.
I want to laugh at that.
But I don’t. It makes them nervous when I laugh at unspoken things.
Sabine waits for us as we climb from the car, and she doesn’t look a bit different from last year. She’s still small, still wiry, still has her hair twisted into a scarf. And she still has a thousand lifetimes in her old eyes.
She wraps me into a hug and I inhale her, the smell of cinnamon and sage and unidentifiable herbs from her garden.
“You’ve grown, girl,” her dark eyes appraise me. I have. Several inches.
“You haven’t,” I answer seriously, and she laughs.
“Come. We’ll get you some tea.”
I don’t want her ‘tea’. It’s infused with herbs, and she ships it to my mother for me to drink throughout the year. It’s gypsy treatment, and it makes me sleepy.
“I don’t need it yet,” I protest as she pulls me to the big kitchen.
She doesn’t bother to answer. She simply pushes me into a chair at the kitchen table and she sets about boiling a kettle.
She sits across from me while we wait.
Her fingers drum on the table, twisted and old.
I don’t want to be here.
I want to find Dare.
He’s sixteen now and I bet he’s grown this year. I can’t wait to see how he’s changed. He’s only written me a couple of letters, and he never included any pictures. But then again, he never does.
“Tell me about the demons,” Sabine murmurs. Her fingers stop moving and the only sound is the steam escaping the kettle as it heats. It screams a bit, an eerie sound that hangs in ears.
I imagine that I’m the steam. I’m screaming and I’m twirling up and around, dancing on the ceiling upside down. My long red hair dangles against the marble countertops.
“They’re gone,” I lie.
“They’re not,” Sabine shakes her head. Because she can see into my head with her old eyes. She can see into my soul, and she can reach amid the lies and pull out the tiny kernels of truth. She knows what is true even when I don’t.
“I want them gone,” I amend. She shakes her head now.
“I know you do, child,” she says sympathetically. “Tell me about them.”
She prepares the cups and I tell her about my monsters. Because she’s right. They’re with me always.
“They have black eyes,” I tell her. “They follow me. At school, at home, when I’m walking, when I’m sleeping. Sometimes, they chase me. There’s one boy in particular. He follows me, he wears a hood.”
“This happens even with your medication?” Sabine asks, her voice very level. “Even with the tea?”
I hesitate to answer. But she’ll know if I lie.
I nod.
She nods too, and she stirs her tea and looks out the window.
“Can you tell them apart?” she asks. “From real people?”
I nod again. “Yes.” Because their eyes are black.
“It’ll be ok, Calla,” she finally says.
Will it?
“Are you sleeping?” she asks, her wrinkled hands twisted into her small lap.
I shrug. “Sometimes.” Sometimes there are too many nightmares.
She stares at me. “You know you’re worse when you don’t get enough rest.”
I know.
I push away from the table after only taking two sips of tea. “I’m gonna go find Dare,” I announce.
Sabine startles.
“No one told you?” she asks in surprise, her tiny body stiff.
I freeze.
“Told me what?”
Her dark eyes hold mine. “There was an incident. Dare is in the hospital.”
I suck in my breath, but she’s quick to reassure me. “He’s fine, child. He’ll be home in a few days.”
“An incident?” my voice is shaky. “Was the ‘incident’ named Richard?”
Sabine shakes her head. “Calla, calm yourself. You don’t know what happened. You need to…”
But I’m already running out the door and her voice fades to nothing as I sprint through the halls toward the front door. My weariness from travel has been forgotten.
“Jones!” I call as I near the foyer. “I need a ride.”
He appears from nowhere, as he always does. “Miss?”
“I need a ride to the hospital.”
He stares at me. “Does your mother know?”
I nod, a lie.
“Yes.”
He can’t check with her, because he knows full well she’s taking a nap to rest up from the trip. He’s apprehensive, but he can’t say no because I might be a child, but I’m a Savage child.
“Very well. I’ll pull the car around.”
We’re heading toward town within a minute.
The country turns into the city and the streets all lead to one place.
To Dare.
I’m out of the car before the wheels have even stopped turning, racing into the hospital, through the people, only stopping to ask directions to Dare’s room.
Then I’m off again, running through white halls and sterility, and I don’t stop until I burst through the door of a room on the fifth floor, until I see Dare resting in a bed.
He’s alone, and the room is quiet.
I pause, hesitating now.
He’s asleep, his dark lashes inky against his cheek.
I marvel at how big he is, how much he’s grown over the last nine months, at how beautiful he is even in slumber. He’s long, he’s slender, he’s strong. He’s a man. I gulp and the wave of warmth that gushes through me is confusing at the same time that it’s familiar. I’ve always felt it when I looked at him, but
it’s more pronounced now.
It’s unarguable.
Dare opens his eyes.
“Cal?” he asks in confusion, groggily, and he searches the doorway behind me.
“I’m alone,” I tell him quickly, striding into the room and sinking into the chair next to him. “What happened? Why are you here?”
I itch to reach over and grab his hand, to offer him comfort, to touch him.
But I can’t. Because he probably wouldn’t want that. He’d reject me and that would be devastating. I’d never recover.
“I’m fine,” he assures me. “It’s no big deal. Just a minor hiccup.”
“Did my uncle do this?” I ask, the words cold on my lips, the thought even colder in my head.
Dare shakes his head. “No.”
“Where is he?”
“Not here,” his answer is blatantly obvious. “I’m alone.”
“Not anymore,” I tell him stoutly.
You’ll never be alone again. I swear it.
“Why are you here?”
I meet his gaze and in his, I find the thread of rebelliousness that I was so afraid had been smashed by the Savages. He grins.
Dare me.
“I got myself a tattoo for my sixteenth birthday. And I had a reaction to the ink, apparently.”
“A tattoo?” I can’t even keep the joy out of my voice. Because this is so Dare. And this is something Richard and Eleanor will hate. That, in itself, gives me joy. “Is it something cute?”
He stares down his nose at me. “Cute? Like a puppy?”
“Maybe. Or a kitten.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t do cute.”
I snicker. “Well, what is it?”
“Writing. On my back.”
I wait. He sighs.
“It says Live Free.”
My heart picks up because that’s so utterly perfect. I tell him that, and he grins again. “I know. But who knew I’d have a fracking reaction?”
“Can I see it?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Not right now. It’s covered up with bandages and it doesn’t look good. But you can see it after the swelling goes away.”
He’s casual and friendly, but the notion, the mere thought, of looking at Dare’s bare back gives me a thrill. I’ve changed a lot since last summer. He just doesn’t know it yet. I started my period, I have to wear a bra… I’m completely different. On the outside, and on the inside. Unfortunately, they tell me that the monthly spike in hormones will contribute to my craziness, but I’m not going to dwell on that. I’ll just take what they tell me to take, and everything will be fine. It has to be.