Wynter's Horizon (6 page)

Chapter Nine

Freedom

She patiently watched the nurses shuffling through the paperwork laid out in front of them. This was her moment. She had waited for it for ten long years, suffered through countless group meetings and even more individual sessions. She’d taken the medicine they gave her dutifully, always aware of the ticking clock, knowing each day might bring her closer to her goal. A year ago, she had almost given up hope of ever gaining her freedom, contemplated telling those in charge to screw themselves and reveal her true insanity, when suddenly there was a whisper of budget cuts and lack of money. She conformed her behavior and, sure enough, in just a few weeks she was one of several slated to be let go. Not enough money to keep them. They were suddenly all declared “healed.” She stared at her chart across the counter. The nurse in charge wrapped her pudgy arms around it, dragging it closer. It didn’t matter; she had read it already.

They had determined her “fit for society” as long as she lived in a halfway house, got a menial job, and took her meds. The nurse’s mouth was moving rapidly, talking to her.
Good god, what could she be saying?
She was so tired of people half as smart as she telling her what to do. This one looked like she had an IQ of a mouse.

“
Lilly, do you understand, dear?”

She stared at the nurse’s ugly eyes. Brown like the color of dirt. No specks of anything else, nothing to lighten them or give them depth. Ugh. She, on the other hand, had the most beautiful eyes. She knew it. Blue like the color painted on Chinese vases. That’s what her mother always told her. And Beck. He had told her how nice her eyes were too. Anger roiled through her stomach.
Not now
, she told herself. There was going to be plenty of time to put her plan in place.

“Hold out your arm, dear.”

She did as she was told. That’s all one had to do here to get good marks. Eat, drink, pee, listen to the doctors, contribute in therapy and pretend. Pretend she didn’t see people they didn’t. Pretend she didn’t hear voices telling her to annihilate everybody. Pretend. That’s what she was good at. She watched her wristband fall onto the counter.

“There’s a bus outside waiting to take you to your new home.”

She nodded, complacent, like she knew what they wanted and, picking up her small bag of clothes and personals, she walked through the doors and onto the bus. Almost there. She had Watson’s letter in her pocket. She was going to meet him as soon as he got back. And then she could start really healing, make the others pay for what they did to her. She settled into a window seat and stared out at the pavement. Her stomach did a little dance. She couldn’t wait to kill them all.

Chapter Ten

Beck—Bothered

My sleep, when I finally did succumb, was violent, mostly of the past—dead bodies interspersed with images from the bar, the blond flitting throughout it all. I had not fallen into a restful sleep until after six a.m., shortly before my alarm went off. I had hit the snooze button a few times, trying unsuccessfully to turn the damn thing off, then lost my temper entirely. As I dragged myself from the bed close to noon, I passed the broken carcass of my alarm clock in the corner of the room. At least I hadn’t put a hole in the wall. I showered and dressed in the hopes of feeling better.

I flipped on the coffee machine and went downstairs to see if Quinn was up. Wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt, he lounged in a chair, watching some team whose name I didn’t recognize crush Manchester United. Perhaps I had been in the States too long.

“Working hard, I see?” I asked sarcastically.

If I bothered him, he didn’t seem fazed. “R and R is very important for the mind. I’m healing past traumas.” He sat up as a Manchester United player shot for the net and missed. “God, I miss Beckham.”

“I’m going to work through those files Drew gave me.”

I watched a few plays before getting up.

“Well, you go be detective boy, and I’ll be here holding down the fort.” He raised a coffee mug in my direction.

“That’s useful,” I answered, jealous of his ability to spend hours in front of the telly. I headed upstairs.

“Someone has to do it. Did you sleep well? Dreaming of the blond?”

I ignored him, stifling the urge to throw something at his head. Quinn knew my difficulties sleeping, the nightmares that woke me up. Worse since Colombia.

I worked for a while, trying to push through the evidence I had brought from New York. After an hour or two, though, my mind began to wander back to the bar and Wynter. Finally, when the daylight waned, I gave up the pretense of work and headed down to see if Quinn had moved. Now dressed in jeans, he lay on the couch watching an old episode of
Angel
.

“Bloody hell, what are you doing?” I asked, collapsing into a chair. He didn’t move or look my way, his attention riveted on a fight scene.

“I love the demons in this show. Besides, I’m picking up tips on fighting. That way I can really kick your ass. How’s the work going?”

“It’s not. And good luck kicking my ass. I’m faster than you, even with my bum leg. And you’re getting fighting tips from a vampire.”

He didn’t miss a beat, muttering something about luck having nothing to do with it, and then, not even dragging his gaze away from the screen, he asked, “How bad?”

“What?”

“How bad do you want her? It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you struggle with wanting something, much less a girl.”

I contemplated leaving indignantly, but it was ridiculous to pretend. “Bad,” I mumbled, hating to admit the fantasies that had been plaguing me for the last hours. I paused before divulging the rest. “And … I think I’ve seen her before.”

Quinn sat up, his eyes now focused on me. “You’ve seen her before? Not with me, you haven’t. I’d remember her, even if she isn’t my type.”

Bugger
. So much for the theory that he had been with me. “Really? You’ve never seen her?”

He shook his head, staring at me, waiting.

“I just have this feeling that I somehow know her,” I tried to explain. I shrugged, uncomfortable. I didn’t have anything more, just a weird feeling.

Quinn smiled and relaxed back down. “How many times did that asshole punch you in the head before he electrocuted you?”

“Too many.” I had a scar running down my cheek that proved that. Maybe there was a connection. I wasn’t making sense. It was bad enough being attracted to this girl without this other niggling feeling. “Maybe it’s just sex and its getting me all riled up.” But then why did I know her name?

“Probably. How long’s it been? Months?”

“Piss off.”

“You should try using some words from this country”

“What are you talking about?”

“If we’re staying permanently, you might try to blend in more. They use words like ‘rule and rock’ for cool, and ‘whatever’ to tick someone off. And then ‘seriously’ as a question. Like seriously?” His voice rounded up in an exaggerated manner.

“Bloody hell, I thought they only use acronyms.” I said, exasperated. It was hard to keep up with the trends, especially here in the States, but I had no desire to live in England anymore.

“Apparently, they use both. We’re just old. YMTM.”

“What?”

“You more than me.”

“Sod off,” I growled on my way back up the stairs.

“Whatever. Hey, are we going back and cruising the university kids tonight? ‘Oh, Wynter, I’m so turned on by you.’” His voice was annoyingly high. I slammed the door at the top but that didn’t stop him. “‘I looove you, Wynter with a Y.’” I froze on the way to the microwave, hand wrapped around another cup of coffee. The memory wavered and then cleared. Sunny, blue sky, a beach. And Wynter, smiling at me as she backed up.
Safe travels, Wynter with a Y.
My stomach jumped, and the image disappeared. How was that possible? I slid the cup into the microwave, staring at the way it went round and round, trying to remember more. Nothing else came except the same picture of Wynter and the beach. Smoke rose up off the coffee, and I flipped the door open to the microwave, carrying the steaming mug outside.

Maybe Quinn was right about my head. The sun slipped behind the horizon, painting it pink and orange. Frustration tied with worry churned in my gut. I was used to remembering almost everything; that was one of my enhanced powers. But, ever since Colombia, things had been upside down. The doctor at the hospital had said PTSD. Of course, he didn’t know the whole truth. The stuff that only a few knew.

If I admitted anything to Quinn, he would think I had gone completely over the edge. I shook my head to get rid of her image. I didn’t need these strange memories, this nagging feeling, or the lurking desire to kiss this girl. Life was complicated enough. I took a sip of coffee. I needed to get rid of this girl from my mind. The problem was I had no idea how.

Chapter Eleven

Wynter—Thinking

Sunday morning after brunch, I headed out for a run. As I stretched on the dorm steps, Mark came up from behind, bumping my knee in an effort to displace me. I didn’t budge, flipping him a smile over my shoulder as I slid one leg back and the other out, flexing my hamstring. Annie, Julia, and I had befriended Mark and his crowd when they were freshmen and we were sophomores. He was a nice guy, not drop dead gorgeous but cute and athletic, with crinkly blue eyes and a mop of blond wavy hair. A lacrosse player like Jason, I’m sure he heard all the team rumors, but he had never seemed to let it bother him. He dated a junior who lived on my floor, and he always stopped by to chat when my door was open. He paused on his way up the steps.

“Hey, L, how’s it going?”

“Not bad, Mark. How are you?” He had nicknamed me Legs years ago because of some story he loved to tell but had recently, for unknown reasons, shortened it to
L
.

“Hanging in there. You finished running or going now?” He slid his hands into his pockets, watching me, his plaid shirt out and rumpled.

“Now. You?” I switched legs and bent over further.

“Just stopping by to see Kristin.” He turned and swung open the dorm door.
“Have a good run.” He peeked around at me. “You were quiet this weekend, L. No late nights? You’re off your game.”
He shot me his killer smile. He knew my knack for getting into trouble, as he had more than once seen me coming home in the early morning when the sun was just rising, clearly dressed in the same clothes in which I had begun the night.

“Whatever.” I called to his departing back and heard his laugh echo down the hall as the door closed behind him. I started walking toward the post office, shaking my legs out to warm up. I pulled each arm across my chest, listening for my shoulder to crack into place and stop aching. Mark always made me smile. At one time, Annie and Julia had been convinced he liked me for more than a friend, but he had never made a move, and I had never encouraged anything. I wasn’t attracted to him like that, though every now and then when I saw him with Kristin, I wished I felt more.

It was a beautiful day. The sun shone bright and the leaves looked gorgeous in shades of red and gold. The fallen ones crunched under my sneakers as I walked. The student store and post office were located in a white, clapboard building along the entrance to the school. Years ago, before the campus expanded, it had been the admissions building. The wooden stairs creaked as you walked on them and the floors dipped in places. It was a common place to see people between classes, but on a Sunday morning it was quiet. I checked my mailbox and set off on my run.

The campus was a rectangle sitting up on a hill, bordered by the Sound on the south side and a preserve on the north. The west and east sides had gray stone buildings and walls that emphasized the New England character. I ran the inside roadway of campus first, passing by the main part of campus before heading across the street and down toward the athletic department, hockey rink, and the river the crew team used. My final lap took me back up and around the north-end dorms.

I thought about the weekend. I hadn’t seen Jason much, and another trip to Jim’s had been disappointing, the stranger from Thursday night nowhere to be found. Though I did manage to sweet talk Jim into giving me his name. I tried to Facebook him, but nothing. Google came up with an old article about some finance guy saving a kid outside of Providence but without a picture or an age. I knew it was pointless to search for this guy, but I couldn’t help myself. My heart skipped every time I thought about our eyes meeting. I looped through the center of campus past the library and student center. The guy’s face still plastered in my mind spurred me on until my lungs felt like bursting, and I heaved to a stop by the back parking lot.

I walked a bit to slow my breath then headed inside to shower. It was too bad Google didn’t
pull up a picture of him. He hadn’t seemed like some corporate finance guy to me, especially the way he threw that guy into his friend, but then again sometimes the way things looked and the way they actually were could be quite different. I knew that.

Chapter Twelve

Beck—The Pool Game

I spent the next week trying to work and rehabbing my leg, convincing myself hourly I was getting over her. Most of the time I stared off into space, trying to find some memory of Wynter that made sense. By the end of the week, I had exhausted all Internet searches of her and debated calling Drew for more in-depth resources.