Fated (19 page)

There was nothing she could do but ride it out until her body stopped heaving - and then she lay there quietly, staring at the wall opposite, boxing up all her memories of the past: Anna's raucous laugh; Tom's lips, their first tentative kiss; her mother brushing her hair into pigtails as a kid, her dad raking leaves in the yard and then burying her under them; her real parents smiling at an unknown photographer and, finally, the memory of Lucas, his hands holding hers, his grey eyes holding her tighter. And then the phantoms from her future: the children and ghosts of kisses that would never happen.

She boxed them up, every last one of them, and put them away, locking them somewhere deep inside where she knew she would struggle to find them again. Where she could leave them to rot and crumble to dust.

Lucas had said that she needed to stay angry, to keep fighting, but there was no fight left in her. Not even anger. The numbness had returned and even as she lay there with the warmth of the comforter beneath her, she could feel bony fingers gripping her, pulling her down. Once, in the heart of winter, Tom had dared her to jump naked into the swimming pond and she had, because back then she'd been impetuous and free and that had seemed like the craziest thing they could ever imagine doing. She thought of it now, how the icy tentacles of weeds had wrapped around her feet and legs, tugging her down, and though she had kicked and struggled with frozen limbs to haul herself to the surface there had been a tiny part of her that had wondered what it would feel like to give in to them. That was how she felt now, poised between kicking her way to an overcast sky above and sinking into the quiet dark. It was so much better, so much quieter, down there in the dark.

But she couldn't put her mother through any more pain or suffering. If she only managed to do one more thing it would be to protect the only person she still loved from any more hurt. So, she guessed she'd better start kicking.

She sat up straight. Smoothed back her hair. Stood. Straightened the cover on the bed and walked down the hallway to her room.

It seemed like a stranger lived here, as though she was surveying the remnants of a dead girl's room. She hurried to the desk and pulled the book out of the drawer. Then she sat on the bed and opened it.

The page fell open onto the prophecy about the White Light. She read it.

Of two who remain a child will be born,

A pure-bred warrior, the fated White Light

Standing alone in the eventual fight

Severing the realms and closing the way

She read it several times, frowning at the page. She still couldn't see how she was the White Light. It could be talking about anyone. It could be talking about Lobo. Of two who remain? How was that definitely her parents? If it was a real prophecy why hadn't they given a name and made it easier? There wasn't even a date for when this so-called White Light would be born. It was ridiculous. Why did everyone put such stock in it?

She flicked impatiently to the back of the book, to the family tree, and for a long time stared at the barely-readable names written there. Her own, with that little dash after it.

Everyone else had a death date filled in. There was just her, still alive. For the moment. She wondered what date would eventually be recorded there, and by whom? Victor?

She stared at the dates next to the other names. Jocelyn had been right. She was the only direct descendant left. By the 1900s the branches were thinning. A thousand years ago they had been spitting out children. But her parents had just had her. And mortality rates hadn't decreased. She realised that most of her ancestors hadn't made it past thirty-five. Maybe that was another reason for the shrinking birth rates.

Then she saw the name at the edge of the page with a line through it. She peered closer.

Margaret Hunter b. 1974 d.

She realised she was gripping the book tighter. Why was this person scored out? And why was there no death date? Was she still alive?

She jumped up at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Lobo's howl brought her to the window. It was Tom's car. She let the curtain fall back and stood there with her eyes shut, wondering what to do. She couldn't face a conversation with anyone right now, couldn't stomach even seeing another person, least of all Tom.

He rang the doorbell and she held her breath. Maybe he would just leave. What was he doing here this late anyway? There was a pause and then she heard footsteps crossing the porch, going down the steps. She waited for the sound of his car engine revving, but instead she heard the squeak of the screen door on the back porch. He'd circled around the house, hoping to find the back door open like it usually was.

'Ev?' she heard Tom call. 'Mrs Tremain?'

She headed for the stairs. She would have to face him at some point. Best get it over with. She threw the back door open, startling him.

Tom took a step back, tripping over Lobo who was busy trying to thrust the ball hanging in his mouth into Tom's hands. 'Hey,' Tom said, 'I wasn't sure if you were in or at the diner.'

Evie didn't answer. She caught the stupid dog's collar and dragged him inside the house.

Tom frowned. 'Can I, er, come in?'

Evie looked up. She didn't want him in the house. She stepped outside, letting the screen door swing shut behind her. Lobo howled. She saw the confusion cross Tom's face at her abruptness.

'What is it?' she snapped.

He looked at her carefully. Then he surprised her completely. 'Do you remember Junior Prom?'

Her mouth fell open. She'd just spent the last hour packing away her memories, and he'd just gone and levered open one of the boxes. With a rush she was back standing in the same spot three years before, dazed by excitement as a fourteen-year-old Tom attached a corsage to her wrist. That had been their first official date. Why'd he have to go and pick that memory out of them all? She suddenly remembered the way he'd looked back then - taller than the other boys his age, with a football scholarship in his future and stitches in his eyebrow from a tackle the week before.

She looked at him now and her eyes found the faint scar over his right eye, the shallow crease in his cheek which deepened when he smiled, the soft curve of his lips. She remembered with a start the way they tasted. How tentative they had been when he had leant down for that first kiss, right here on this porch. And how gentle, and how surprised she'd been that that's how a kiss could feel.

He took a step towards her. 'I love you, Ev. I never stopped loving you.'

She blinked in astonishment. Hurled straight out of the past and back into the now.

It took her a second to gather herself. 'And Kaitlin - does she know this?' she fired back.

He winced. 'That's nothing. She's just--'

She shook her head. 'It's too late, Tom.'

'Why?' he demanded, stepping closer, so close that she would only have to hold her hands up and they'd be flat against his chest. 'It doesn't have to be.'

She couldn't look up at him. There was no way she could meet his eyes. 'Yes. It does,' she mumbled to her feet.

She heard him take a breath and she broke in, knowing if she didn't then every single word he uttered would tear the lids off the rest of her memories.

'I don't feel the same way.' There she had said it. She dared to look up at him, made her face as blank and indifferent as possible. She wrapped her arms across her chest and watched her words as they hit home.

He took a step back as if she'd pushed him. 'What happened to you?' he said finally, shaking his head slowly at her.

'You have to ask?' she demanded.

'No,' Tom said. 'It's more than the accident - than me and Anna. It's more recent than that. You were angry, yes, but in the last week you've gone from hating me to wanting to make up with me to hating me again. But now it's worse. Last night you looked at me like you might still feel something, but now it's like you can't bear the sight of me. What's going on with you?'

She turned her head away. The thing about Tom, the thing about having been so close to him once, was that he knew her inside and out and he knew exactly when she was lying. 'Nothing,' she said. 'I'm just tired.'

'Is it him?' Tom asked.

She knew immediately who he was talking about.

'Who?' she asked, as if she didn't.

'Him. The guy you brought the other night. Lucas - is that his name?'

At the sound of his name Evie felt her heart trip up. She swallowed. 'What are you talking about?'

'Is it him?'

The jealousy in his voice was enough to rile her. As if Tom had any right to be acting hurt or jealous after what he'd done to her. She laughed under her breath.

'Do you love him?' he asked.

Evie stared at him, speechless. She'd been about to bawl him out about his right to act like the victim but his question stopped her in her tracks.

'Don't be ridiculous,' she snapped, pulling herself together. 'I barely know him. He's renting a room from my mum.'

Tom shook his head. 'I saw the way he looked at you, Evie. I'm not blind?'

'What way? When?' She felt panicked all of a sudden, as though the porch were suddenly too small, as if the sky was falling and crushing her beneath it - her breathing was too fast.

'When we walked off together he looked like he couldn't bear to let you out of his sight.'

He had? She hadn't even noticed. 'Don't be ridiculous,' she said in a whisper.

'Well, why was he right there then, when you fell? He was so fast. Like he'd been watching you the whole time you were with me. And you should have seen his face. It was like he thought you were dying or something.'

Evie frowned, remembering how he'd appeared from nowhere. One minute she'd felt the world crowding in on her and the next Lucas was crouched in front of her, holding it back. And yes, he had looked concerned, but what was Tom saying? She didn't get it. Lucas hadn't shown any interest in her at all like that - had he? He wouldn't even smile at her. And she'd certainly not shown any outward interest in him. She'd been as rude as possible to him, in fact. She'd practically staved his head in with a baseball bat. It was impossible that he should like her. And he hardly knew her. And anyway,
what did it matter?
She wanted to scream. She felt herself losing her slender grip on togetherness.

'Look, it's fine,' Tom said now, 'if you want to be with him rather than me.'

Evie lost her grip. 'I don't want to be with either of you. I can't be,' she yelled.

He looked at her, confused. 'Why not, Evie? It's not a crime for you to be happy.'

She laughed under her breath - wasn't it?

Tom walked right up to her, his voice so soft that it felt like a caress. He was so close and so familiar. It would be the easiest thing in the world to just lean into him and forget everything. For just five minutes. To just feel warm and safe again.

'I want you to be the way you used to be and I'm sorry that I was the one that did this to you.' His lips brushed the top of her head as he spoke and a spark travelled down her spine.

'No, no it wasn't you,' she said, so tired suddenly of having to push him away. She didn't have the strength for this. 'Please. It wasn't you.'

He stepped back so he could look her in the eye. 'Then who was it?' he said. 'What made you this unhappy? Besides what happened between us?'

Her thoughts flew back to Jocelyn. To her warning. And then she was looking at Tom, into his brown eyes - the first boy she'd ever loved, the first boy she'd ever kissed. And she knew that she could never drag him into the world she now inhabited.

'Nothing,' she said. 'I can't tell you.'

'You used to be able to tell me anything,' he said. His fingers found her face, tipped her chin up so she was looking straight at him. He stroked her cheek softly. 'What happened to you? Where's that Evie gone? You used to smile. You used to laugh.'

Her stomach clenched. 'Tom, don't,' she said, pulling away from his hand.

He paused, letting his hand drop to his side. Then he nodded. 'At least let me do one thing.'

'What?' she sighed up at him.

His lips were suddenly there, against hers, as warm and gentle as they had always been, and it momentarily took her breath away. And then he pulled away and walked off down the porch steps and she realised, as she watched him go, that she had just kissed her past goodbye.

20

It took a while for it to sink in and when it did Lucas had to turn away and lean against a tree and wait for the feeling that was choking him to pass.

But when he turned back to look, Tom was stroking a finger down her cheek and it took every ounce of control in his body to stop from sliding out of the shadows, crossing the short distance between them and pulling him away from her and - he frowned to himself - and doing
what
exactly?

He had stood there frozen, unable to name it at first - this feeling of hate and anger that reared up blackly inside him. And then when he saw Tom lean down and kiss her, saw her head tilt back and her lips part slightly, it felt like a knife had been slipped between his shoulder blades. Then, only then, did he understand that what he was feeling wasn't hatred. It was jealousy and it was so unexpected and so unfamiliar that it hit him like an iron hammer smashing into his chest.

At the same time he recognised the feeling for what it was, he also understood, without a shadow of a doubt, that Grace's prophecy would come true.

What Caleb had said to him back at the Mission had only made him so angry because it was true. And the whole way back in the car he'd been trying to convince himself - no, lie to himself - about why he was coming back here. He'd played out all sorts of reasons and excuses, imagined himself hauled before Tristan having to explain and telling him he felt nothing for Evie except sheer hatred, that he was driven purely by revenge and his loyalty for the Brotherhood - and for a few miles on that darkened road he'd even tried to convince himself that it
was
hatred that he felt for her - it was so intense and all consuming - but even he had seen through that one in seconds. Had started laughing at himself, in fact. If he hated her why hadn't he let Risper finish her in the corn? Why was he so angry at Caleb for stalking her through the woods? Why was he racing back here with his foot flat on the gas to check she was OK?