Ever (16 page)

“I look like I’m twelve,” I retorted.
Yeah, I know I’m short and flat. Any other observations you want to make, Wilder?

“You’re perfect.” He said, without a hint of sarcasm.

I sucked in a breath. Perfect? Was he crazy?

Jaren turned the key in the ignition. “Bundle up. It’s going to be a little cold.”

I shoved my beanie down onto my head and pulled my hoodie up over it. The cart took off with a lurch as Jaren threw it into gear. I heard a joyful laugh spring from my lips as he gunned the motor, taking us on a wild ride through the night. He seemed to know just where to go. After the initial jerks and dips, we settled into a steady pace. We drove in silence for quite a while, until I was nearly lulled asleep. Then the vehicle stopped.

“Come on. We’re walking from here.”

The blackness was punctuated only by starlight and the gaze of the moon. The second I stepped onto the earth, I was greeted by a familiar tugging sensation as my energy level soared.
Roots!
I snapped at myself, feeling the grounding feeling of earth against my toes. I glanced at Jaren and caught his barely perceptible wink.

“Feel okay?”

“I think so.”

Like last time, I could feel the tugging sensation but now it wasn’t as overwhelming. I held a vision of my feet connected to the ground, which seemed to help. I had my headlamp in my pack, but Jaren strapped his on and gestured for me to follow him. One lamp was enough. I took a deep breath. Something significant was going to happen. I mean, I had been dreaming of The Tree for weeks now. I couldn’t get its image out of my head. And even though it wasn’t allowed, I knew I was going to touch it.

It was a bit of a hike to get to our destination, but I didn’t feel winded at all. As we walked, an exhilarating buzz began to thrum through my veins. I felt light and giddy. We walked in silence, breathing deeply. It never occurred to me to be afraid. I guess somehow, I knew that The Tree was part of my destiny. Like Jaren had said, maybe I was meant to do something—something important—and The Tree was the catalyst for whatever that something was.

I felt its energy before it registered that we were standing right in front of the low wooden fence that surrounded the giant sequoia. The low hum singing in my blood intensified. There was a dull whisper in the recesses of my consciousness. The sound tickled at my brain, enticing me. Experimentally, I took a step back, away from the fence, and the whisper became less audible. Confused, I stepped forward and I could hear it more clearly. I stood stock still for several seconds, my head cocked to one side.

“I need to touch it.” I was hardly aware that I had spoken, and I wasn’t even sure if I was speaking to Jaren or to myself. In fact, I was starting to feel a little bit disconnected from myself again—from everything.

“Stay grounded,” Jaren reminded me.

I felt his hand come down on my shoulder and like an explosion, pleasure shot through me at the point of contact and raced down to tingle through my toes. I gasped aloud, leaning into his hand, trying to prolong the feeling. Jaren placed his other hand on my opposite shoulder and little sparks careened down my arm. I could feel a tangible thread connecting us, from his palms, through my body, then down into my sneakers and into the ground.

“I’m anchoring you,” Jaren whispered huskily. “Don’t move.”

I couldn’t if I tried. Electric waves of sensation rippled through me, heating my insides with pleasure. After a few minutes, I slowly became aware that he had removed his hands, but the anchoring effect remained. I was connected to him—I could feel it.

“That was intense,” Jaren breathed. “Are you okay?”

“Stop asking me that.” I said, trying to conjure up any sort of emotion other than the one I was currently feeling. I couldn’t seem to stop staring at his mouth, imagining it coming down on mine.

I took a shaky step away from Jaren, my back coming into contact with the wooden fence that guarded The Tree’s short, fragile roots. The moment I touched the fence, the whispers started up again, urgently. The low, murmuring sound just wasn’t loud enough. Before I knew what I was doing, I had hopped the fence. Part of me sensed that Jaren was right behind me—that he was calling me back—but it seemed like I wouldn’t be able to breathe until I touched the tree.

From our nature walk, I knew that the center of the tree was blackened—I think it had caught on fire at some point. A small, triangular-shaped hollow was created there and suddenly I was standing inside of it. The roaring in my ears got louder and louder. My hands were shaking, like they were filled with an itch I had no way to scratch. Then my palms started to burn like crazy and I heard myself cry out, but my voice sounded so far away. In desperation, I shoved my hands above my head, connecting with the charred bark of the huge sequoia.

Everything went black.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Crying Girl

I
blinked my eyes several times, but I couldn’t see a thing. I called to Jaren but he didn’t respond. My heart started to pound, the blackness obscuring even the sight of my own hands in front of my face. I groped around but I couldn’t feel the tree at all. I didn’t want to smack into something in the dark so I fell to the ground and hugged my knees into my chest.

I took a shuddery breath, squeezing my eyes shut tight and praying that when I opened them, everything would be back to normal. No such luck. When I opened my eyes, there was still nothing but blackness. No sounds, no smells. Nothing at all. I was about to panic. Then faintly, the whining noise started back up. It was a haunting sound and as it got louder, a tiny point of light began to form a short distance away. I held my breath, watching a white line appear to part the blackness like it was no more than a thin curtain.

I stood up gingerly, brushing the dirt from my palms and made my way to the only thing I could see. I had a fleeting thought that maybe I was dead—that I was going toward the light like people do in so many scary movies. I shivered, hesitating as goose bumps rose up on my arms and legs. Then the haunting cry sounded again and this time I recognized the sound. It was the same strange wailing I had been hearing for weeks now. Tentatively, I took a step into the light, leaving the darkness behind me.

* * *

For a moment, I froze, unable to process what I was seeing. I took a step forward and felt the gentle pull of an invisible thread. The scent of sandalwood greeted my nose and I knew that even though I couldn’t see him, Jaren was connected to me, somewhere. With more confidence, I walked into the light until the darkness was just a speck in the distance.

Someone was crying.

I looked around to find that I had stepped from the middle of a dark forest into a house. I was in the doorway of a bedroom—a girl’s bedroom from what I could tell. Pink gingham bedding and curtains, white high-end furniture, and the oddest thing—a life-sized carousel horse in the corner.

Weird.

The haunting wail continued. I spied a girl hunched over a desk. She was scribbling furiously on some paper, her tears making fat, wet splats on her words.

“Hello?” The girl didn’t respond. “Hello?” I tried again, louder this time.

Still nothing. It was like I wasn’t even there. I raised one hand to touch the distraught girl on the shoulder. To my horror, my palm passed straight through her like I was made of smoke. I gasped and turned to face the mirror that stood next to a sizable walk-in closet. My reflection stared back at me. I certainly looked real enough. I was still me—not some vapor or a slimy plasma ghost or something. I ran my fingers through my hair and down my body, feeling the warmth of my own skin to reassure myself that I was as real as anyone. I touched the mirror but my hand passed through that, too—like I was a ghost. Oh, God, maybe I had done that thing Jaren had been afraid of, where I left my body and now I was out here—and I had no idea how to get back.

The door had closed behind me and my hand passed through the knob when I tried to open it. Dread filled me, traveling up from the soles of my feet to lodge in the pit of my stomach. How could I feel nauseous if I was dead? The crying girl hiccupped loudly, drawing my attention.

A strange sensation brushed the skin near my ear and I almost thought I heard the words,

“Hear and listen.” I stood stock-still, my ear cocked to one side. Heart pounding, I whirled around, but nobody was there.

“Sylvia?” I whispered, half-expecting a smiling woman wearing moccasins to appear in front of me, but nothing happened.

“Okay,” I muttered. “Hear and listen. Not much else I can do here anyway.”

I spent a few minutes listening to the crying girl. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t see her face as she hunched over her diary or journal or whatever she was scribbling in. It seemed like just as I almost got a glimpse of her face, she turned away. Something prevented me from getting too close. I tried yelling, waving my hands, and jumping up and down, to no avail. I paced the pink gingham bedroom, pausing at the carousel horse more than once. What a weird thing to have in your room. And it looked expensive, too, with its garish golden trim.

“I have to do this. I’m sorry!” the room’s occupant suddenly cried out, shoving her notebook to the floor and burying her face in her hands. It was a diary, I realized, as it plopped down open, near my feet. Then I realized that there was one more thing I could do in this strange place besides hear and listen.

I could read.

Nobody understands me. Nobody ever will. I try my very best, and I’m just not good enough. They don’t love me. Nobody does. Nobody will, I know it. I’m fat, ugly and stupid. No matter how hard I study, I can’t pull a 4.0. I am just a huge disappointment.

Nobody will miss me when I’m gone.

The writing looked rushed, like it had poured from the crying girl’s pen onto the page. I didn’t get the fat part. From what I could tell, the crying girl was thin. Maybe a little too thin, actually. Below the sad passage was a doodle that made me do a double take. It was another forty-seven. But it was written with a dash between the numbers.

4-7.

Like it was a date.

I sucked in my breath.
Do I even have breath at this point?

I squinted at the crying girl’s doodle again. Maybe it
was
a date. April seventh. The more I considered it, the more confidence I had that I was right. The forty-sevens symbolized a date—one that would arrive in a few short weeks. A dark feeling of foreboding came over me then. I was certain that something terrible was going to happen on April seventh.

At last, she lifted her head, and I could see her wipe her face with the sleeve of her sweater. I recognized the sweater from somewhere. This girl was probably a student at my school. I studied the back of her head as she stared at the pink wall in front of her desk. Blond hair. Thin build. Light skin. Just like most of the kids attending Covecrest. Who was she? The girl took a deep breath and then began to turn toward me.

Tensely, I waited to see the girl’s face. Just as she turned, there was a harsh tug from somewhere deep within me. I felt my entire body, or whatever I was at the moment, go cold. The roaring returned to my ears and the whispers started back up. Then the pink walls of the crying girl’s room began to blur. I desperately tried to see her face as she bent to pick up her diary but when she looked up, her face was just kind of…not there. She was vanishing before my eyes. I watched helplessly as the room faded around me. The last thing I saw was the crying girl slipping her diary beneath her mattress.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Prelude to a Kiss

W
arm. I was really warm. I felt a smile settle on my face as I luxuriated in the comforting heat. A familiar smell surrounded me. My body felt so heavy. So did my eyelids. I realized I couldn’t open them. I didn’t want to anyhow. What delicious, drugging heat…

“Mmm,” I murmured. My voice sounded alien to my own ears. It sure was dark. Near my cheek, a steady beat lulled me into a warm puddle of contentment.

And then I realized I wasn’t alone. Far from it.