The Monster Within (7 page)

Ethan, please, let me know you’re okay. I just need to make sure you aren’t hurt. I know losing Sam was hard on you, but you need your family right now. We need you, too
.

Her sobs tore my insides to shreds.

Something slammed into the side of the cottage. By the sound of it, it was close to the bedroom. I ran for the bedroom and peered out the window. Ethan was leaning against the house, slumped forward in pain.

“Ethan!” I had to help him, but the front door swung open. The guy saw me instantly. I backed farther into the bedroom, pushing the door closed, but a foot blocked me.

“I need to talk to you.” The guy rammed the door open.

I screamed and backed away as he stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. He had platinum-blond hair and alarming blue eyes. He was skinny but strong, judging by how he forced his way into the room.

“Who are you?” I yelled, hoping it was loud enough to alert Ethan—if he’d recovered.

“I’m trying to help you.”

He moved toward me, and I backed into the corner between the bed and the closet. I looked around for a weapon, something to use to keep this guy back. I reached for the lamp by the bed and picked it up.

“Stay back!”

“I’m not going to hurt you. Put that down. We don’t have much time, and there’s so much I need to tell you.”

“I’m not putting this down, and I’m not having a discussion with some random guy who broke into my house.”

He reached for the lamp. “Come on. Give me the lamp.”

“Give you the lamp? Oh, yeah, sure. You’ve trapped me in a room with you. Let me give you a weapon to bash my head in.” I scoffed. “Not happening.”

“You have to listen to me.” He stopped moving toward me and dropped his arm like something had snapped inside him. “Besides, why would you use the lamp on me when you can kill me with your bare hands?”

My bare hands? Oh, my God! What did he know? Had he seen me last night? He could’ve been in the car that was driving by. He could’ve been the one who put the rocks in a circle around the cottage. He knew what I was, and he was trying to scare me.

“Sam, you need to hear what I have to say.”

A lump formed in my throat. “How do you know my name? Who are you?”

“Sam!” Ethan shouted.

“Ethan!” I gripped the lamp tighter in my hands in case the mystery guy tried to attack me out of desperation.

The bedroom door flew open, and Ethan’s eyes rushed from me to the guy. He lunged for him. “Get the hell away from her!” Ethan grabbed the guy by the front of his shirt and threw him into the living room. I heard a crash and knew our TV had gone down with him. So much for our one channel.

I held onto the lamp, yanking the cord from the wall, just in case Ethan lost the upper hand before we got rid of the intruder. I rushed to the doorway and stayed there as Ethan grabbed the guy and hauled him to his feet. He pulled back his arm and slugged the guy right in the nose. The sickening crunch of bones breaking made me cringe so much my shoulders practically went through the roof. The turkey and cheese sandwich I’d inhaled between refilling drinks threatened to make a reappearance.

Blood poured from the guy’s nose, and there was a small part of me that felt sorry for him. Ethan backed off a little and watched the guy stagger backward. His eyes were glued to me. “You have no idea what you’re doing,” he said, reaching for the door.

“If I ever see you near this place or Sam again, I’ll break a lot more than your nose.” Ethan gave the guy a final shove in the chest. He slammed the front door behind him and bolted it. The back of his head looked sticky with dark red blood from where he’d slammed into the side of the cottage. I had no idea where the flashlight or hammer was or how the guy had gotten the upper hand on Ethan. All I knew was Ethan was hurt.

I dropped the lamp, not even caring that the bulb shattered on the floor. I ran to Ethan and buried my head in his chest. My whole body heaved as I sobbed.

“Shh. It’s okay. He’s gone.” Ethan rubbed my back, trying to calm me.

But in that moment, nothing could calm me. I’d died, come back a killer, and now someone knew my secret. Knew it and might want to hurt me because of it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I
SPENT
the night in Ethan’s arms. I barely slept, afraid I’d start gasping for air. I wouldn’t kill Ethan in my sleep. I’d never let that happen. So I lay awake, listening to his rhythmic breathing. I hoped he didn’t have a concussion, but he assured me it was only a scratch, nothing bad. Still, when the first rays of sun peeked through the window, and Ethan rolled over, I checked his head for gashes. Not a one. His pillow didn’t have so much as a drop of blood on it. He’d be okay.

I turned over to check the alarm clock. Ten after six. I had to get up and face my first day of school as Samantha Smith. Since Ethan had gone shopping during my training at the diner yesterday, we finally had more than crackers to eat. The good part about working at the diner every day after school was we’d never have to cook dinner for ourselves. Gloria said dinner was part of our wages. I think she just liked being motherly. She was sweet like that.

“Morning.” Ethan finally emerged from the bedroom, sleepyeyed with his hair sticking up in every direction. He was the only person I knew who could make disheveled look sexy.

“Good morning.” My eyes drifted to the bit of bare stomach that was exposed as he stretched his arms over his head.

“What? Do I have something on me?” He looked down, trying to figure out what I was staring at.

“No, it’s just you. I’m admiring you.” I smiled and took another spoonful of cereal.

His face lit up. “Admire all you want.” He kissed the top of my head before heading into the bathroom. Ethan got ready quicker than anyone I knew. I had about two minutes before he’d be rushing me out the door. I cleared my dishes and grabbed a protein bar for Ethan. He ate one every morning.

Someone had moved the rock back in place during the night. That, or the peeping Tom had tripped over it and knocked it back in place. Either way, we had to step over the rocks to get to the car. The drive to school wasn’t long at all. There were about ten schools in the area. Who knew a resort town would have so many local residents? The high school was huge. I had no doubt I’d get lost. We pulled into the parking spot Ethan had secured for us.

He squeezed my hand. “So we have to find the guidance office first. They’ll have our schedules. And then—”

“We’re split up and thrown to the wolves?”

“It won’t be that bad. So, we might not be in the same classes. It’s only school. We’ll be together at work and at home.”

“I know.” I was acting clingy again, and I didn’t like it. It wasn’t me. But I was nervous. It had been more than twenty-four hours since I’d killed Herman. What if that feeling came over me again at school? I didn’t want to kill anyone.

The guidance office was nestled in the middle of the school. The security or hall monitor, whatever he was called, brought us there. A little old lady who reminded me of my grandmother was sitting at the desk when we walked in.

“Can I help you?” She smiled at us, which threw me. Most people who worked in the school offices back home hated when they had to interact with the students, but this woman seemed happy to have someone to talk to.

“Hi, I’m Ethan Jones, and this is Samantha Smith. We’re transfer students.”

The woman—Mrs. Melrose, according to the nameplate on her desk—nodded and began flipping through some files. “Yes, I have your schedules right here. What a coincidence that you arrived together.”

Ethan and I forced smiles on our faces. How did we explain how we knew each other? I was supposed to be from Phoenix, and Ethan was supposed to be from Florida. It didn’t really make sense.

“We sort of bumped into each other in the parking lot. He looked as lost as I did,” I said, thinking on my feet.

Ethan nudged me with his foot, and the slightest smile crossed his lips. “I wasn’t going to turn down the chance to meet a pretty girl on my first day.” He winked at Mrs. Melrose. I think she misunderstood what he was saying, because I swear she started blushing. Yuck! She was well past the “cougar” label.

“Well, if you need anything, feel free to stop in the guidance office anytime.” She handed us our schedules.

We muttered “thank you” as we studied our schedules. It was worse than I’d thought. I was in all middle-level classes, which wasn’t bad, but Ethan’s schedule was packed with honors courses. He’d always done well in school, but he’d only taken honors history. The guy watched way too much of The History Channel. I wondered how he’d manage with such a tough schedule.

“At least we have lunch together,” he said, trying to make the best of the situation.

We managed to find our lockers. Ethan’s was at the opposite end of the hall from mine, which meant I probably wouldn’t even be able to catch a glimpse of him between classes with the crowded hallways.

He walked me to my locker and kissed me goodbye. “Good luck. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Hours. Lunch was hours away. I gave him my best fake smile and opened my locker. I realized I didn’t have any books yet, and I hadn’t worn a coat to school, so there was really nothing to put in my locker. I slammed it shut and looked for room 213, English literature with Mr. Ryan. I hoped we wouldn’t be studying Middle English. It was a different language and way too difficult to read.

When I got to the door, I wasn’t sure if I should walk in or knock. I could see Mr. Ryan sitting on the edge of his desk and reading from a book. I didn’t want to interrupt him, so I opened the door and quietly crept inside. I recognized the book,
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
. I’d read it sophomore year. At least I knew I’d do well on my first exam. Mr. Ryan’s reading was full of emotion, nothing like the way Mrs. Belfry read aloud to us back home.

No one even noticed me standing in the doorway. They were all into Mr. Ryan’s reading. I saw a few girls practically drooling and realized it might not just be Mr. Ryan’s voice that had them so mesmerized. He was young with dark, almost black hair, like mine. Even though he was sitting I could tell he was tall and in great shape. Yes, I might like English lit this year. Not that I had a crush on Mr. Ryan or anything. He was a teacher and that made him old in a completely different way. But he was easy to look at and listen to.

Finally, he shut the book and smiled. “Writing like this captures your heart and doesn’t let go. It’s like—” He turned and saw me for the first time. “Well, hello. Let me guess, Samantha Smith. New transfer student from…” He held his hand up. “Don’t tell me. I know this. Phoenix, right?”

I nodded. “You got it.”

“Any seat is fine. I don’t assign them. I want my students to feel comfortable. You can’t absorb great literature if you aren’t comfortable.”

I looked around, spotting an empty seat by the window.

“Grab a book on the back shelf.” He pointed to a bookshelf filled with not only school-approved books, but novels I’d buy if I saw them in a store. When I got really sick, Mom bought me a Kindle, and she let me load it with books. I wished I still had it. It would make staying awake at night a lot less boring.

“Have you read
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
before?” Mr. Ryan asked, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah, back at my old school.” I sat down with my novel.

“Would you care to pick up where I left off in the reading?”

Why did teachers always like to make the new kid read aloud? Did they think it would make the other students accept us? Because, really, it just made everyone look at you like the new school freak you were.

“Um, I don’t know where you were.” Lamest excuse ever.

“No problem,” Mr. Ryan said. “We are in chapter nine. Um, Mr. Milton, will you please show Ms. Smith the correct page and passage?”

The redhead sitting next to me leaned over and took my book, opening it to the page. He pointed to a paragraph. “There.”

“Thanks.” I wanted to sink into my seat and die of humiliation. Not only was I the new girl who had interrupted class, but now I had to read out loud. The girls in the front row glared at me. Thanks to me, they wouldn’t get to listen to Mr. Ryan’s hypnotic voice anymore. I cleared my throat and began reading, eager to get this over with.

“He put the glass to his lips, and drank at one gulp. A cry followed; he reeled, staggered, clutched at the table and held on, staring with injected eyes, gasping with open mouth; and as I looked there came, I thought, a change—he seemed to swell—his face became suddenly black and the features seemed to melt and alter—and at the next moment, I had sprung to my feet and leaped back against the wall, my arm raised to shield me from that prodigy, my mind submerged in terror
.

“‘O God!’ I screamed, and ‘O God!’ again and again; for there before my eyes—pale and shaken, and half fainting, and groping before him with his hands, like a man restored from death—there stood Henry Jekyll!”

I stopped, unable to read any more. It was too familiar, and not because I’d read it before. It was too familiar, because it was me. Or at least it could’ve described what was happening to me. Restored from death, pale and shaken, gasping with open mouth. It was what happened to me before…I stole the life from someone.

“Ms. Smith, is everything okay?” Mr. Ryan looked sympathetically at me.

“I-I’m sorry.” I let the book fall from my hands and ran from the room. I tried to ignore the whispers of the other students. I had no idea where the girls’ bathroom was, so I kept running. I found a stairwell first and decided that was a good enough place to hide. I flung open the door and ran down to the landing in the middle of the stairs. I sat down and buried my face in my knees. Life wasn’t supposed to be this hard, was it? I’d thought after having cancer, nothing would be difficult. Didn’t the universe owe me something? Or was this my punishment for giving in to what I’d become? For taking human life instead of letting my own drain out of me?

The bell rang, forcing me to wipe my tears and get up before I was trampled by hundreds of students rushing to their next class. I checked my schedule. French? How had I not noticed that before? I’d never taken French. I contemplated going to the guidance office and telling them there was a mistake. But they’d check my records—well, Samantha Smith’s records—and see there wasn’t any mistake. I wasn’t going to figure this out in the three minutes between classes, so I headed in the direction I thought French was in.