The Watchers (10 page)

“He’s brilliant?” I asked dryly,
skeptically.

“Yep. Apparently, intelligence is genetic,”
she said with a laugh. “Ask Mrs. Heart. She had Daniel take an I.Q
test. It was off the charts. I heard her talking to another teacher
about it.”

“Oh yeah?” I said curiously.

“Why do you ask?” she asked just as
curious.

We walked into the chorus room, and the
teacher chided us for being late, cutting our discussion short. I
was grateful. I wasn’t sure if I could honestly answer Alex’s
question. Not in a way that would prevent lots of blushing and
internal scolding.

When the final bell rang, I was the first one
out of the door. I kept my head down and hurried out the front to
avoid the kids hanging out by their cars in back, knowing they
would stand there and talk for an hour, maybe longer. I knew, too,
if I didn’t flee Alex would badger me until she got a reply that
satisfied her. I wasn’t eager for that either.

As the sunlight hit me, I decided to walk
around despite the chilly air. I hadn’t explored the town any since
my walk with Daniel, centering my time between school and home. It
was a tactic that kept the thoughts out, but it was depressing. I
was getting cabin fever…bad. I could do with some exploration.
Maybe, like last time, this exploration would come with a
distraction.

I started up the street, giving most of the
brick shops cursory glances as I passed, not interested in
knick-knacks for tourists to prove they’d visited the awesomeness
of King’s Cross. Wanting to get off the main road, I turned and
walked onto a back street in search of the beautiful houses that
were everywhere here, remembering the road from my last walk. As I
walked, the depression from earlier in the week crept back into my
brain.

Fitting in was nice, despite the fact that
most people were still carrying around horrible stereotypes about
me, but I missed Savannah. I missed the city and the shops. I
missed the music stores and reading in the afternoons in one of the
numerous parks downtown, while musicians played nearby. I even
missed the bums and the panhandlers. I missed…I stopped walking in
stunned disbelief. Speaking of music stores!

I read the sign to my right, which claimed
the yellow house behind it was my typical place of worship. The
small house looked more like someone’s grandmother’s house rather
than an honest, wholesome, music store. Could it really be? It was
irresistible…I had to check it out.

I walked up the stone path, and crossed the
porch to the front door thinking I should knock on the pretty door.
Instead, feeling awkward, like I was being bad, I pushed it open
slightly and checked to see if anyone was around. A tall, skinny
woman with short silver hair smiled at me from behind a tiny
counter which was squished between sheet music and musical
instruments. Her eyes were curious but kind.

“Hello, dear. Can I help you find
something?”

Her thoughts were soft, but I could
hear them as she played the guessing game she played with all
strangers:
I bet she listens to jazz and
blues with a splash of rock thrown in. Those dark clothes don’t
fool me. I know a jazz lover when I see one.

I stepped further into the shop, encouraged
by her voice and her thoughts. “No, thank you. I’m just
looking.”

She smiled. “Let me know if you need
anything.”

I nodded, and she went back to reading
her book. My eyes strayed around hungrily as I walked past her into
the shop proper. The shop was perfect, the way a music store should
look: messy, overflowing, and full of curiosities. I spied several
expensive guitars hanging on the wall, and I went over to survey
them. One, a beautiful acoustic, stained a rich mahogany color,
stood out from the others. I walked around the center aisle, so I
could be closer to it, and touched it wistfully. I dared not play
it. The price tag told me I could never afford it. I was saving my
money for a car, and this guitar
was
the price of a used car. Even with those thoughts, I stood
poised next to it for a moment fighting against the urge to play
it.

A bell chimed I hadn’t heard when I first
entered the tiny shop, breaking the hypnosis the guitar had put me
in. I took away the hand I had placed there, not wanting to get
caught looking so helplessly in love with a guitar. Turning towards
the row of CDs which made up the middle of the small shop, I
purposefully didn’t look to see who had come in. I didn’t want the
attention or the thoughts, though I knew the thoughts were
inevitable. The woman asked the person same thing she had asked
me.

“I know what I’m looking for, thank you,” a
ridiculously melodic voice answered.

Doubting myself, I looked up to be sure.
Daniel stood on the other side of the CD aisle as if he had never
walked off, leaving me with his coat and a crap load of questions.
He had a boyish smile plastered on his face, and his hands were
jammed in his pockets in cool confidence. We looked at each other
for a moment, and I noticed he seemed different. His face was more
open and free, as if he’d found the key to a prison he had been
walking around in.

“I think you’re stalking me,” I told him,
trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach.

He’s a stranger, Clare, I reminded myself
firmly. A stranger whose thoughts you can’t read…don’t act so
natural around him.

His grin spread further. “What if I am?”

“I’d have to wonder at your tastes. Surely,
there are people more fun to stalk? People who go to more places
than just home and school?”

“And to music stores apparently.”

“I couldn’t resist.”

“You’re a fan of music?”

“You like breathing?”

“I suppose…”

Daniel started down the opposite side of the
CD aisle, running his fingers lightly across the titles as he went.
He was wearing blue jeans and a red t-shirt with a strange logo.
His hair was a different array of messiness but still dashing. His
face maintained an expression of happy confidence. What was he
thinking? My eyes narrowed in aggravation at his impossible
silence. I wanted to know where he had gone this past week, what
his warning had meant – I’d take anything, even a malicious
thought.

“How’s your week been?” he asked playfully.
His eyes sparkled with the light pouring in through the narrow
windows. Dust swirled in the light making everything hazy and
dream-like.

Besides hunting down someone who wanted me
dead? Wondering where you were? And being frustrated at your
cryptic warnings and mysterious ways? “Fine.” I bit my lip and
looked at him. “Why’d you tell me not to go in the woods?”

“Did I?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to go
there?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

I looked over his shoulder and saw the woman
watching us. “Okay.”

He rounded the aisle, his fingers still
brushing the CDs, and joined me on my side, shortening the space
between us. I turned away and ogled the guitar, figuring it was the
safer of the two to ogle. Not fighting the impulse, too distracted
by him being so near, I reached out and strummed the strings. My
heart lifted up a couple of inches at the sound it made. It was
beautiful and pure, everything I had thought it would be. As the
note faded, sadness replaced the warmth I felt. Something this
beautiful and amazing could never be mine. It was
too
beautiful.

“Do you play?” he asked.

He moved even closer. He was so close our
arms were almost touching.

“I used to.”

“But you don’t anymore?”

“I haven’t played in a while, no.”

“Why?”

“It’s always ‘why’ with you.” This reply
wasn’t good enough. He waited for me to answer, his face patient.
“Fine. I just kind of lost interest. I figured, ‘what’s the point?’
you know?”

“Does there have to be a point?” he
asked.

I shrugged and strummed the guitar again.
“Purpose is good to have.”

I turned and started to walk to the front of
the store, uncomfortable with the way his body was talking to mine.
We were too close. His body was too familiar. The woman at the
counter had disappeared in to the back, giving us space. It was
just us. That only increased the feelings coursing between us.

He followed me to the door and reached across
to open it before I could. I wanted to take a step back from his
overwhelming presence, but there was no room. He hesitated as he
opened the door, his body trapping me. I had nowhere to go.

“But sometimes too much purpose blinds you to
what’s really important,” he said seriously. “It makes you see the
end result instead of the journey to get there.”

“I can agree with that,” I said
awkwardly.

His face shocked, he took a step back and
held the door for me to walk through.

“What? I can’t agree with you?” I demanded,
glad for the cold air and the space.

“Of course, you can. It’s just strange for
you to. From what I’ve gathered, you like to be contrary.”

“No, I don’t…”

“Right…Can I ask you a question?” he asked as
we walked down the broad stairs.

“Only if you answer mine.”

“Deal. Why did you and your mom move
here?”

I laughed. Was he serious? He was looking at
me, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans again as he
walked. He genuinely wanted to know. His eyes told me so.

I told him, hoping, trusting, he would keep
the story to himself. “My mom is from here. This is where she grew
up. She ran away, though, when she was very young. She didn’t get
along with her parents very well…her mom wanted a life for Ellen
that Ellen just didn’t want. Beauty pageants and conforming…it just
wasn’t Ellen…Her mom wouldn’t listen, so Ellen ran away. We’ve been
all over the United States for…various reasons, and she hoped that
coming back here would end our, uh, moving.” I had almost said
running. “Her dad died about four months ago, and he left her the
house in his will. It was sort of a major shock for us, because he
hadn’t talked to her since she ran away…” I trailed off thinking
about the memories which were haunting her.

I had found her last night crying over a
picture of her parents. I had comforted her, and we had talked
until late, but talking had only done so much. There were demons
here she was facing every day. Demons I couldn’t face for her.

“But it’s hard for her to be here?” Daniel
asked.

I nodded. “There are a lot of bad memories
for her here, and more than her share of regrets.” I creased my
forehead in thought, watching my feet as we walked. “But she needed
to come back. It’s important to her. And if it means her dealing
with things that have haunted her since she was young, then I can
deal with being here. I owe her that much.”

“Why?”

“Ellen and I are worlds apart but she tries
to understand me. She lets me be me, even if she doesn’t always get
it. And,” I sighed, playing with my necklace, “she’s always there
for me. She would never abandon me like my dad did.”

My eyes widened as the last words escaped. It
was too easy to talk to him. It shouldn’t be that easy. I looked at
him, worried and afraid. What would Mr. All-star quarterback think
of that? Was I right to think he would keep our conversation to
himself?

His answer quieted my fear. “I can understand
that feeling,” he said quietly. “I feel pretty thankful my parents
didn’t abandon me like my birth parents did.”

I stopped walking. “You’re adopted?”

“I don’t think of it like that,” he said.
“They’re my parents. They’re just not biologically mine.” He kicked
at the ground then looked at me. “I would appreciate you not
telling anyone at school about that. I haven’t told anyone.”

“I won’t say anything,” I said.

“I believe you.”

“Did you ever meet your birth parents?” I
asked.

“No,” he replied. “Never.”

“Sorry…”

“Your dad walked out?” he asked back.

“I thought everyone here would know about
that,” I said with a reluctant grin. How could he not know?

“I know what everyone else has said, but I
don’t actually know the truth.”

He had turned to face me, his arms crossed. I
was pleased I could quite literally stand up to him. He was taller
than me, but only by a little bit.

“How people interpret the truth and the
actual truth are two different things,” I agreed. I drew in a heavy
breath then told him. “My dad left before I was born. Ellen was
eight months pregnant.”

“Has he ever contacted you?”

“No. And I don’t want him to.”

“You don’t mean that.” He sounded sure.

“Yes, I do. Ellen is all the family I’ve ever
needed. She’s there for me in all the ways that matter, you
know?”

He gave me another funny smile. “Yes, I do
know.”

We started walking again. But the feeling
between us had changed. We were confidants, sharers of each other’s
secrets. We were bound together by what we had divulged. I had
learned something I hadn’t expected about him, but my curiosity
still wasn’t sated. There was so much more I wanted to know.

“What are you really doing here if you aren’t
stalking me?” A thought occurred. “Wait…I thought you were out of
town?”

“Now I know you were checking up on me.”

I made a face and he laughed, filling the
deserted back streets with sound.

“Which question would you prefer me to
answer? The woods one, the stalking one, or the out of town
one?”

“Can’t you answer all of them?”

“Nope.”

I contemplated my question of choice. “The
woods one.”

He stopped walking and crossed his arms
again. His foot made a staccato beat on the concrete.

“There’s been an animal out in the woods
recently. It killed a couple of bears. A Forest Ranger friend told
me.”