Earthbound e-1 Page 7

  It’s only when he lifts one hand to adjust his sunglasses—sunglasses in the rain?—that I realize it’s the man who was staring at me when I ran into the wall. Have I got another stalker? Or should I add paranoia to the list of mental disorders brought on by my injuries? Most likely he just lives nearby, and now that I’ve noticed him, I’ll see him all the time—like how when you buy a new car, you suddenly start seeing the same model everywhere you go. Still, I’m creeped out, so I duck my head and grip my backpack straps as I pivot and head in the opposite direction.

  I’m only two blocks from Elizabeth’s office when my stomach rumbles. I was so nervous about my appointment—not to mention keyed up about Benson—that I forgot to eat breakfast. Now I’m famished.

  I’ve been hungry a lot lately. Like, starving hungry. When I came in from seeing Quinn yesterday, I think I ate twice as much lasagna as usual. I was going to ask Elizabeth about that, actually, but after everything that’s happened this week, I kinda forgot. I assume it’s a sign that I’m healing—that my body needs more fuel for repairs. Whatever it is, my stomach is screaming for food.

  Part of me wants to head to the library anyway—maybe Benson and I can go grab lunch. He did say we should get together, away from work. But sanity worms its way into my brain and I realize that showing up soaking wet and bedraggled at someone’s work is not really a great way to fish for a date. Home first. And maybe I should borrow Reese’s car to go to the library; it is really coming down.

  Looking nice for Benson didn’t matter before. But now …

  When I reach the house, the front door opens on silent hinges and I’m several steps up the stairway before I hear Reese’s voice.

  “It’s really not a good time, Liz. Tavia took off this morning and didn’t tell me where she was going. Did she even make your appointment?” Pause. “Oh! Well, in that case.”

  Startled, I turn my head toward the kitchen, my ears perking up when I catch my own name. Reese’s steps are coming toward me and I instinctively duck out of sight as she carries the phone into the front room to peek out the window.

  Watching for me.

  “The blond guy again?”

  Liz. Elizabeth? My stomach clenches within me as betrayal fills my chest. She’s telling them! Therapists aren’t supposed to do that. I clench my jaw, but I creep quietly down the stairs as Reese says, “She drew him? That’s excellent!”

  I curl my knees up to my chest, shrouded by the shadow of the winding staircase, and try not to make a sound, to not even breathe.

  “You’re sure? He looks just like our descriptions from Sonya? But—wait, he talked to her? That doesn’t make any sense, does it? Is there a possibility of a mistake?” She fumbles for a second. “Let me write that down. Quinn? Okay. A-ver-y,” she says slowly, writing. “I’ll look him up. It’s not a name I recognize, but you know how extensive our files are. Plus I can call in a favor. I have a friend in records who’ll keep it quiet.”

  I hear her sipping something and she swallows quickly, then says, “The Earthbound triangle? At his house? So you think he knows what he is?”

  I’m sick as I hear all my secrets dropping from Reese’s lips.

  “No, I agree, it must be. I’m happy to check out the one on Fifth as well. Were you able to get a house number from the picture? Maybe whoever lived there was a Curatoriate. There might be something left that we can use. But get me the sketch for sure—this could be the break we need.”

  The sketch … why did I have to leave my drawing with Elizabeth!?

  “How long do you think we have before we have to do the pull?” A long pause follows and I can hear from her footsteps that Reese has started pacing again. “I am still worried about it burning her out. I always have been. We both know she’s no good to us if her brain is destroyed. But if she’s basically doing a slow pull on herself?”

  She pauses, listening, for a long time while I assume Elizabeth is talking. As the seconds tick by, I start to sweat, wondering what in the world Elizabeth is telling her now. Finally Reese makes an affirmative noise, then says, “If it really is him, then she must be—” Her feet stop. “Liz, do you think she’s too damaged to resurge?”

  I swallow, hating the word damaged coming from Reese’s lips, no matter how frequently I apply it to myself.

  Reese sighs. “I wish I shared your confidence. But then, you’ve observed her much more closely than she ever lets me. Thank the gods for you or we wouldn’t know anything.” She changes position now, one hand resting on a jutted hip. A power position. “The triangle changes everything. He knows something. What are the chances he’s a Reduciate? Oh forget it; anything higher than zero is bad news. No, no, I think trying tonight is hurrying too much. Especially when we’re so close. Might be so close.”

  Not tonight. Not for whatever it is that they want to do to me. Is relief the right thing to feel in the face of all this?

  “I’ll move my trip up; I don’t think I can get out today without the higher-ups finding out, but I can swing tomorrow, assuming the sketch matches our descriptions.” Reese murmurs several affirmative noises before taking a shaky breath. “We have to watch her carefully. If she figures it out on her own, best-case scenario we lose her. Worse case, it damages her beyond use.”

  Damages me?

  “I hope so,” Reese says after another long pause. Her voice carries a melancholy I can’t reconcile with the content of the conversation. “We can’t hide her forever. I’m already worried. My sources are giving me mixed messages. That usually means they’ve found something and are trying to hide it. We all know what happens when they start circling,” she adds, and though I can’t say why, a tremor of fear shoots down my spine. “We can probably keep her alive for at least another week, but after that … all bets are off.”

  Keep me alive? I can’t breathe. It’s like taking one hard punch after another. Darkness scrabbles at the edges of my vision and I want to throw up and black out all at once.

  Reese turns, heading back to the kitchen, and I try to curl up smaller—draw even deeper into the shadows.

  “Just pray this Phoenix connection is legit. I have zero leads if it’s not, and we’ll have to proceed on our own. And that probably means running.” She sighs. “I hate running. Yeah, I know; one step at a time. I’ll be there soon.”

  I hear the beep of the phone disconnecting, then the familiar sounds of Reese pulling on a coat, grabbing her jingly keys, the hum of the garage door opening.

  I throw myself away from the wall and crouch by the window, parting the blinds just enough to watch Reese’s car slip down the street.

  Once she’s out of sight, I count to ten, slowly, then flee from the house, half running down the sidewalk, momentum fueling my gait until I have to slow down, clutching an ache in my side. My breath comes in ragged gasps and all thoughts of hunger have flown from my mind.

  I look around, unsure for a few moments of where I am. My mind tries to sort through the conversation I just heard, but nothing makes sense; everything is wrong. So very wrong. I don’t know what to think and all I really want to do is sink to the ground and cry.

  The words I heard ring through my head over and over, but the more I consider them, the less sense they make. Why would Quinn have anything to do with my past? I would remember if I’d met him before.

  Wouldn’t I?

  My memories were pretty patchy right after surgery, but they’ve been mostly whole for months now. Surely I wouldn’t forget him. Not with the way he affects me.

  Unless that’s why he affects me.

  But why would the triangles change anything? They’re just weird glowing things. I want to groan out loud. Why did I have to tell Elizabeth about them? Stupid!

  I’m walking without any sense of direction and hardly see the other people on the sidewalk as I pass. I don’t know what to do. Betrayal is an icy spike through my chest; I’m more alone than ever with no idea who I can trust.

  It was always Elizabeth.

 
Now there’s no one.

  Only myself.

  And Benson.

  My phone is in my hand before I can reconsider, a toneless ringing trilling in my ear. “Please answer, please answer,” I whisper as three rings sound, then four.

  “Tave?”

  “Benson.” I look in both directions before whispering, “Can you come get me? I’m in trouble.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Benson parks against the curb in front of his off-campus house and by the time he gets around to my door, I’m already out and shifting from foot to foot, anxious to get inside. “You okay?” he asks, his hands softly rubbing up and down my arms. It’s the first thing he’s said since picking me up.

  It was a little awkward—should I have greeted him with a kiss? Are we pretending last night never happened? I don’t even know.

  So I said nothing.

  Did nothing.

  “Yeah. No,” I mumble. What was the question? “Can we go inside?”

  Benson opens the door and beckons me in. There are a half a dozen guys lounging in the great room; three are playing some sort of video game in front of a humongous television and one in a chair near the front window looks at me with a flirtatious grin.

  “New girlfriend?” he asks, addressing the question to Benson, though his eyes never leave my face.

  “Not my girlfriend,” Benson responds blandly, without looking at him, his hand on my shoulder, ushering me toward the stairs. I stiffen, trying to shove away the dart of hurt that goes through my heart at his words.

  “Good news for me,” the guy says, his smile growing even bigger.

  “Underage,” Benson calls back.

  “I am not,” I whisper.

  “Trust me, it’s better if Dustin thinks you are,” Benson whispers back. “World’s only virginal self-proclaimed seducer, and he’s so desperate to lose it he’ll hit on anything even remotely feminine.”

  I snicker.

  “Don’t laugh,” Benson says wearily as we reach the top of the stairs. “He’s my roommate.” He pushes open the door and my eyes widen at the two walls so completely covered in topless women it might as well be the wallpaper.

  “Nice,” I say dryly.

  “I did warn you.” He shakes his head, then motions to the other half of the room. “This is my side.”

  Benson’s bedroom is exactly what I would have expected. Sparse, but neat, with an eclectic collection of posters and knickknacks. He picks up a polo shirt draped across an armchair and gestures for me to sit.

  “So?” he asks, taking a seat at the foot of his bed and tossing the shirt up onto his pillow.

  Silence settles between us.

  “I saw Quinn yesterday,” I blurt, realizing I’m going to have to start my confession there before I can explain the rest.

  Benson just grimaces.

  “It’s why I came to the library in the first place.” I clamp my mouth shut; that wasn’t the right thing to say either. Hey, guy I made out with last night, I only came to see you because of another guy. And then we kissed. And then I pulled magical ChapStick out of my pockets. Now I’m running from a conspiracy that might be trying to kill me. I groan and put my face in my hands. “I know this is so incredibly awkward, but I have to tell you about him or none of the rest makes any sense.”

  “I’m listening,” Benson says, and though his voice is tight, it doesn’t sound angry.

  Tentatively I say, “His name is Quinn.”

  “You mentioned that. So … you guys talked?” Benson asks, still not looking at me.

  “I told him that the stunt he pulled at my house was unacceptable.”

  A tiny tick of a smile. “And he said he won’t do it again?”

  Kind of. “Basically.” But it tastes like a lie and I don’t like to lie to Benson. “He talks kinda strange.”

  “It sounds to me like everything about this guy is strange.”

  I can’t argue with that. Instead I relay the whole conversation.

  “Things to show you? What does that mean?” Benson asks.

  “I don’t know, but … hopefully I’ll find out next time I see him.”

  “Next time? You’re already planning it, aren’t you? Even though he’s talking about time running out and people you should fear.”

  I just glare.

  Benson fiddles with the zipper on his backpack sitting next to his bed. “I don’t understand, Tave,” he finally says, not meeting my eyes. “You’re so logical, so smart. It’s like all that disappeared when this guy showed up.”

  My knee-jerk reaction is to be hurt, but a sting of conscience makes me admit that he’s right. I hardly recognize myself, my decisions, since this guy walked into my life. “It isn’t that I’m not being smart,” I insist automatically. “It’s something else, something I can’t really explain. I know he won’t hurt me. You have to trust me on this one.”

  “What does he look like?” Benson asks after a minute.

  “Why does everyone want to know what he looks like?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

  “Who else did you tell?”

  “Elizabeth totally dragged it out of me.”

  “You told your therapist?”

  “It is her job,” I mutter, even though I still kinda hate that I told her.

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “What does he look like?”

  I tilt my head at him, not sure why he cares, but I rattle off the basics. “No horns, no fangs, no wings,” I tack on when I’m done.

  “What did Elizabeth say about him?”

  “She kind of encouraged me, actually,” I mutter, feeling instantly guilty.

  He raises one eyebrow sardonically. “What the hell are you supposed to do when your shrink is crazier than you are?”

  “You try not to let her kill you, I guess,” I say, my voice hollow. We’ve finally reached the reason I called him.

  Benson bolts to his feet, staring down at me. “What do you mean, Tave?”

  “After my session with Elizabeth, I went home. And I guess Reese didn’t hear me come in because she was on the phone with Elizabeth—she called her Liz, by the way, not Dr. Stanley—and they were talking about all kinds of crazy stuff.” As I speak, Benson drops to the floor in front of me, rubbing warmth into my icy-cold hands as I relay the conversation as best I can remember. I close my eyes and focus on the feeling of his hands on mine, trying to remember every secret, every threat, the fact that they expect me to be dead in a week. The words become heavier as I repeat them, as though my uttering them aloud suddenly makes them real.

  “Tave?” Benson asks when I’ve finished.

  He hesitates and I’m amused that he’s worried that he might be able to say anything to ruffle me. I feel like we’re miles past that point.

  “Do you think this Quinn guy is the one looking for you?”

  I was wrong.

  My fingers clench around his and I clamp my teeth so quickly I catch the skin of my cheek. I wince at the pain and touch the tip of my tongue to the stinging spot in my mouth. “No,” I say without further explanation.

  “Tave, you have to at least consider it.”

  My head is already jerking back and forth. “No. He would never want to hurt me.”

  “You don’t know that,” Benson says, leaning forward. “All kinds of people can want to hurt you. People you would never—you can’t know.”

  “It could be anyone else, Benson. Like this lady when I scraped my head or—” My voice rises as soon as I think of it. “There’s this man with sunglasses. I’ve seen him twice now and—”

  “And you’ve seen Quinn three times. Twice at your house,” Benson interrupts.

  “He wouldn’t—” My voice cuts off as my head falls into my hands. “How can I explain it to you? I can’t even explain it to myself.” I slump against the arm of the chair. “I’m just so tired.”

  “Stay here,” Benson says. “I’ll be right back.”

  What?

  I reclin
e into the surprisingly soft armchair as Benson slips out the door, leaving it a few inches ajar. My head is starting to ache and I remember that the whole reason I went home at all was because I skipped lunch … and breakfast—I’ve got to start taking better care of myself. Woman cannot live on caffeine alone.

  In a moment of clarity I wonder just how bad this can be. So my shrink is sharing information I gave her in confidence …

  With my guardian who took me in with basically no warning and has provided for my every need for the last eight months. And who’s trying to hide me from someone. And getting ready to run. With me? Without me? After getting rid of me? I don’t even know.

  No matter how I justify it, everything comes back to that.

  Could Elizabeth be trying to hide me from Quinn? That doesn’t make any sense—why would she tell me it was okay to see him if she knew he was dangerous? And I refuse to consider that Benson might be right—that Quinn is the danger. It doesn’t fit.

  I look over at Benson’s desk, trying to distract myself. There’s a small, framed picture and I lean over and grab it to get a better look. Benson, probably two or three years ago, with an older guy and a woman. His mom and brother, I assume. He mentions them fairly often.

  I study their faces. Benson and his brother don’t look alike at all except for their matching brown hair, but I can see his mother’s features in his face. The angular jawline, high cheekbones, and wide eyes. They’re all smiling. Part of me feels like I should be jealous, resentful even. Benson has a family—minus a dad, apparently, but still—and mine are dead.

  Of course I could never wish such a thing on Benson. I’m completely happy for him, I realize as I put the picture back. I’m glad I can be. Elizabeth says empathy is the most important part of being human.

  Elizabeth.

  I lean my head back and focus on Benson with his family instead. Dare to imagine myself in the scene with him. It feels like the most far-fetched of fantasies at the moment. My eyelids grow heavy and I let them slip closed. Just resting my eyes a bit.