Fragile Darkness (15 page)

It was like receiving a 911 call, but having the voices too garbled to make out what was being said.

One by one, I lit the votives. “Maybe you can let Will know he doesn't need to run,” I murmured. I still didn't understand how everything worked, but I got that I didn't need to understand for it to be true. “Let him know I'm okay, that I just want to—” I broke off, the quick, sudden smile catching me by surprise.

“You probably told him
to
run, didn't you?” That would be so Chase, always trying to drag me away from trouble. “But I can't pretend I don't know something bad's going to happen.” Not until I figured out if I could help.

“I'll be careful,” I promised, lifting my hand to drag a finger along the four words etched beneath the dates.

SHINE BRIGHT. SHINE FOREVER.

“We can do this,”
I said, surprised by how strong that thought made me feel.

I sat there a long while after that, letting the night whisper around me, until slowly the burn of each breath lessened.

Not ready to leave, I picked up my journal to try to capture how I was feeling. Instead I found myself opening to the letter I'd started a few nights before.

Chase,

I'm so sorry.

This isn't the way things were supposed to be.

I felt closer to him here. The words flowed more easily.

I can still see you that first day of school, when I walked into homeroom and you looked up and smiled at me. You were the first person at Enduring Grace to do that, and it was like this whole new world opened to me. It was all so normal. All I wanted was to get to know you better, be with you. I never meant

Regret stabbed at me, my gaze guiltily finding the beautiful old oak across the pathway, where Dylan stood in the shadows, guarding me still, even now, not looking at me, but totally alert. That was what he did.

When I looked back down, the words came.

to hurt you.

But I had. I'd hurt Chase by not being able to share all of me with him, not being able to let him inside. There'd been this invisible wall separating us, and I hadn't known how to tear it down.

Then I'd slipped into my dreams, and cried out for someone else. And Chase had known. He'd known someone else came to me in my dreams.

The tears fell faster as I told him how sorry I was.

I'm so sorry. I would change it all if I could.

I had no memory of falling asleep. No memory of dreaming. No awareness of anything until the chirp of birds broke the quiet, and I opened my eyes to a pale pinkish glow. Still half-asleep, like emerging from a deep coma, I lay there a few moments, not thinking about much other than how warm the blanket felt. Then I blinked a pigeon into focus, and disorientation blasted into panic.

I'd fallen asleep in the cemetery.

Jerking upright I reached for my phone and pulled up the time: 7:07.

Aunt Sara
was my first thought. She had to be freaked.

No texts or voice mails waited, only my journal, open next to the remains of the votives. I reread the letter, my eyes locking onto the last two words.

I wouldnt

The handwriting was not mine.

With a hard slam of my heart, I twisted around, back toward the old oak on the other side of the path.

Dylan no longer stood there. Julian Delacroix did.

Confused, I scrambled to my feet, the blanket finally registering. It hadn't been there before.

“Hey,” Julian said, coming toward me. He was dressed in all black like always, but his hair was loose and falling like dark silk against his shoulders, like I'd seen it that one night at the condo, when he'd held my aunt and chanted.

“Julian,” I said, hurrying toward him. “What are
you
doing here?” Where was—

The memories rushed in before his name did, of those final minutes from the night before, when Dylan and I had sat in front of the condo, and said good-bye.

“Dylan called me,” Julian said, as if that explained everything, and actually,
it did.
But then he went on. “He told me what happened.”

And asked Julian to come take his place.

I hated the quick twist inside me.

Dark eyes glimmering, Julian opened the gate for me. “So about this vision trying to form,” he said. “Would you like to see if we can find it?”

*   *   *

The astral plane. The hypnosis-like technique had worked to access my subconscious and find my aunt. Maybe it would help me find the rest of the X-ray vision.

Sitting in the front seat of Julian's car, I still wasn't sure what to make of the trippy things Will had said the night before, or what I was going to say to my aunt when I got home. But apparently Dylan's father had called her after I appeared at his house, explained that I had fallen asleep there, and that he'd bring me home in the morning.

I didn't like lying, but telling my aunt what
really
happened was even less appealing.

I was scheduled to work from ten until six, when Victoria and I were supposed to head down to the river for fireworks after sunset. Only a few minutes after eight, I had enough time to get cleaned up and slip over to Horizons before heading to Fleurish! With luck, by the time I walked through the doors, I'd have the answers I—or Will, actually—needed.

We were almost to the condo when Victoria's text zipped in.

You went to a party last night?

The dark words burned up from the little white bubble of the phone, communicating her hurt. I hadn't thought about her finding out, but of course there'd been too many mutual friends (and not-so friends) there for it to stay a secret.

Sighing, I did my best to downplay it.

Just kinda happened. I didn't stay long.

Her response flashed up the second I hit send.

You were DRINKING?

Guilt flashed, like a kid caught sneaking cookies at bedtime, but before I could say anything, another text arrived.

If you haven't seen my FB page, you better go look.

I sat there totally still, staring at the words a long moment, no special abilities needed to know I wasn't going to like what I was about to see. I'd closed all my accounts, but that didn't stop the garbage.

I pulled up the app, scrolling past a bunch of quizzes before finding my name.

For Trinity. Next time you might not be so lucky.

It wasn't the first time someone had posted a message for or about me on Victoria's page, but it
was
the first video.

My stomach churned as I put my fingers to the sideways triangle, and ninety seconds of lost time played across the screen.

I barely looked like me. My hair was wild, stringy, my eyes dark and disoriented. Outside the theater, I was running, stumbling. Twice I fell. Once I scrambled back up. The second time a guy came over and offered me his hand, the same guy who'd offered me a drink at the Greenwood party, I realized, and asked me to dance last night.

Through the grainy image I saw him help me to my feet and put his hands to my shoulders. I saw myself look at him, then twist away and run into the woods.

He ran after me.

My heart started to race. Was he the one who'd taken me to Dylan's, or the one who'd slipped something into my drink? He
had
offered me a drink at the Greenwood party …

And, who'd stood in the shadows, watching?
Recording?

That wasn't really a hard question, not given the fact my BEF (Victoria's acronym for Amber, the “E” standing for Enemy) had been there.

After stabbing DONE, I went back to the main page and stared at the poster's name: Bliss. The picture was the generic Facebook silhouette. Security controls prevented me from seeing anything else.

But none of that really mattered, I knew. Only finding a way to access the vision trying to form.

*   *   *

“After four minutes without oxygen, brain cells begin to die,” Julian said after I told him about Will coding in the ER. I'd been at Horizons all of five minutes. My hair was still damp from my shower. Aunt Sara had been awake when I got home, but she'd just smiled that robo-smile and asked me how Jim was doing.

It was weird being relieved and sad at the same time.

Now Julian moved about his shop lit mostly by candlelight, with its mystical display of crystals and essential oils and handmade jewelry, incense, and all kinds of metaphysical books. It was always so peaceful inside, as if simply by walking through the doors you were transported to someplace quiet and safe.

“Most people never make it back from that,” he said. Hair secured in the customary ponytail now, the one that emphasized the sharp lines of his cheeks and his high forehead, he looked up, his eyes drilling into mine. “Those who do are never the same.”

 

FIFTEEN

“Headaches,” he went on, “confusion, seizures.” His voice lowered as he added,
“Hallucinations.”

He totally had my attention.

“It's a lot like what you experienced after your concussion,” he said. “The brain is trying to function again, but certain paths might not work anymore. Pieces of information or learning may no longer be available, so the brain compensates by trying to fill the blanks or find new ways.” He smiled. “It can be quite overwhelming.”

Will was definitely overwhelmed.

“But,”
Julian went on, “there are other changes, too, changes reported by a significant number of people who have passed through death's door, only to return. Straddling the line between this world and what lies beyond is no simple matter,” he said. “Many report
gifts of spirit.
”

“Like narrating other people's memories?” I asked.

“It's like being born again,” he said, “when we're pure and open to possibility, before we're limited by what's pounded into us about what's real and what's not.” His eyes glimmered. “If you listen to children, it's amazing what they will tell you. Many remember where they came from, where they were before. And for many, the channels of communication stay open, until some well-meaning adult shuts them down.”

Like my grandmother had done.

“Two-year-olds frequently talk about past lives,” he said, turning to a shelf behind him. He scanned a row of books before selecting one and turning back to me. “The detail is astonishing,” he said as I saw the title:
Past Lives.
“It's a well-documented phenomenon. They recognize places and the people with whom they are connected,
those they should avoid.

“But it's not just children,” he continued. “The only difference is they don't try to write off what they know as coincidence. The truth is, most of us know things. Most of us have the experience of thinking about a friend or family member we haven't spoken to in awhile and then suddenly they call, or getting a tight feeling in your throat long before bad news actually reaches you, or maybe it's the feeling that you're not alone, when according to your eyes, you are.”

Automatically I lifted a hand to the dragonfly at my chest and closed my fingers around the smooth edges. That was all I had to do to feel her.

“Almost every time there's a plane crash you'll hear about someone who was supposed to be on board, but at the last minute changed their mind. And the stories about mothers who cry out at the exact moment their son is killed in war, or children who see grandparents beside their bed, whispering good-bye, at the exact moment that grandparent is five states away, taking their last breath.”

I stood there, a quiet New Age chant drifting through the shop, something that sounded like it belonged in an ancient temple.

“You think that's what's happening with Will?” I asked after a moment. “That because of his near-death experience, he's…” I searched for the right word.
“More sensitive?”

Julian laughed. “Try wide open.” His eyes met mine. “Like you are. You must always remember nothing limits us more than us.” Frowning, he pivoted suddenly toward the front of the shop, where a wall of windows overlooked Royal Street. “Does your aunt know you're here?”

With a quick kick of my heart I turned to see her standing across the street, unlocking the door to Fleurish! At least that's what I thought. Beneath her coat, her shoulders were stiff, her back rigid, her hair pulled into a severe ponytail. Slowly she turned, twisting to stare across the street, straight at window into Horizons.

I darted behind a tall black armoire.

“I take that as a no.”

I flashed Julian a quick look.

“You didn't tell her about last night, either, did you?”

How could I? “I didn't want to upset her.”

The strangest look drifted across his face. “Don't worry,” he said. “She can't see you, not through the glass and the shadows.”

It was an odd choice of words.

But with them he was moving away from the window, toward a large table covered by a black cloth and containing bundled herbs. “How is she? Any better?”

I sighed. “Sleeping a lot, working long hours, and painting,” I told him. “The condo is now as green as a greenhouse.”

His shoulders rose, fell, all fluid and smooth, like he did everything.

I picked up a pink quartz pyramid, running my finger along the cool smoothness. “I don't know how to reach her,” I said quietly. “The only time she seemed alive was when you were there.”

He'd taken care of everything, cooking and cleaning, sleeping on the sofa for several days, until the night Aunt Sara woke up screaming and slapped him when he tried to comfort her. She'd shouted for him to leave. She'd been crying.

He'd stood without a word and walked away.

It was almost like she hated him,
or secretly loved him,
but that somehow LaSalle was still there between them.