Illusions (The Missing #1) (15 page)

The Past

Four Months Ago

“I
s it safe to talk?”

I looked up from my notebook. I was sure she was being flirty. I loved how every statement was given like a shared confidence. It made me feel special. Like I belonged.

I couldn’t help but smile back.

It was so easy to do. With her.

She had a way of making everything seem better. Brighter.

We had shared a handful of conversations. Stolen moments between classes. Not much had been said, but in some ways they were the most poignant discussions I had ever had.

Maren sat down beside me on the stone bench outside of the library. I had been sitting there for almost an hour waiting for her. I knew she would happen upon me, and I wanted to be ready.

I knew that she walked this direction on the way to her car. Her class would have been dismissed fifteen minutes ago, and she sometimes stayed to ask her professor questions about an assignment. Maren seemed to be the studious sort, even if she didn’t look like it.

I knew a lot about Maren Digby. The kind of information gleaned from careful observation.

I knew her schedule. I knew that she was only taking three classes at the community college. One English class, Statistics, and Political Science. The English class was the one she had just left.

The Political Science class had surprised me. She didn’t seem the kind of girl to be interested in politics. I appreciated that there was more to her than what I had originally guessed. She was more than a beautiful hippie in flowing tops and patchwork jeans. She was more than the girl with the toothpaste commercial smile and silver bejeweled fingers.

Maren was kind. She was thoughtful. She was everything I wished I could be.

I liked so many things about her. All the things I had learned and the things I had yet to discover.

I noticed how she would bring an apple and a bag of crackers with her so that she didn’t have to waste money on lunch. She would eat the apple first, but she’d keep the core instead of throwing it away. She would wrap it up in a napkin and put it back in the cloth sack she used to carry her food.

What did she do with the apple core? Why did she keep it?

I planned to find out. Slowly. Carefully. In secretive ways.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays she only had one class. It began at eleven in the morning and lasted for two hours. But she would stay on campus after lunch, spending the afternoon playing her guitar beneath the willow tree until around four when it began to grow dark.

People would stop and listen to her pluck the strings. They’d talk to her and she would talk to them. Comfortable smiles. Unhurried chats. Everyone received an acknowledgment. Everyone wanted to talk to her. I felt a twist of jealousy. Strong and severe.

Maren Digby was a likable woman. People watched her. Just as I watched her. Both women and men followed her with hungry eyes. Wanting something from her, even if it was only a discarded greeting.

She was beautiful. She was talented. She was so many, many things. With a wistful smile and sparkling eyes. With thin fingers that danced over guitar strings. With a voice that sang clear and true.

And she talked to everyone. She offered pieces of herself out to anyone who wanted them.

But she saved her best smiles for me.

I knew that she gave me the important pieces.

I was convinced of it.

And I guarded them jealously.

“Of course,” I said, moving over to make room for Maren on the bench. She sat beside me and laid her guitar case on the ground.

She looked over my shoulder at the words I had scribbled on the page. Would she realize they were about her?

Star kissed

Dreams untold.

She sings the stories

that unlock my soul.

“That’s beautiful. We should put it to music,” she said, her hair brushing the exposed skin of my shoulder. I was wearing a shirt like hers. A grey stretchy sweater hanging loosely around my neck. I liked dressing in clothes that reminded me of Maren. It made me feel closer to her.

I turned my face so that my nose was less than an inch from her hair. She smelled like coffee and something sweet. Cotton candy, perhaps? Good enough to eat.

“If you want to,” I replied shyly, looking up at her through my lashes.

Maren gave me a look that penetrated deep. She was a woman who saw too much. She reminded me of Bradley in that way.

“You hide a lot, don’t you, Nora?” She chewed on her bottom lip, and I wanted to tell her to stop. I didn’t want her to mangle the pretty, pretty skin.

But I didn’t say anything. Words escaped me. I’d rather sit there with her and not talk at all. She had a calming way about her. Like slipping into a warm bath.

Maren rested her arm along the back of the bench, just behind me. I leaned into her slightly so that we were touching. It was nice. More than nice.

“What’s with you and the berserker guy? I’m worried he’s going to show up and rip me a new one,” she said, and I giggled at her description of Bradley. Mostly because it was appropriate.

Maren chuckled too, and I liked having this moment that was just ours.

I shrugged. “He’s my friend.” Simple but honest.

Maren frowned. “Are you sure that’s all that it is?” she asked, and my heart tripped over itself. Did she seem bothered? Was she jealous?

What a deliciously joyous thought.

I nodded, my hair falling in my face and I quickly pushed it back. I wasn’t hiding. Not this time.

“Just friends,” I said softly.

Maren was still chewing on her bottom lip. I watched her mouth in fascination.

“He doesn’t hurt you, does he?” Her blunt question didn’t shock me. I knew what she must think. I knew that was the impression Bradley gave. She wasn’t the first person to question our relationship.

I liked how worried she was for me. I was used to Bradley’s concern. But Maren’s felt . . .
different. Special.

“He doesn’t hurt me,” I assured her. Feeling bold, I put my hand on her thigh. Just above the knee.

Oh god, I was touching her.

It was blissful. It was just right.

For only a second . . .

Maren tensed slightly and her smile became strained. Inside I mourned.

She dropped her arm from the back of the bench and got to her feet. Quickly. Too quickly. My hand fell away and I was cold. From the inside out.

I lowered my head, refusing to look at her.

I had ruined everything. My eagerness to be close had made her run.

Then I felt her hand on my shoulder and she squeezed. I looked up and she grinned. It lit up her face and I felt better.

“I have to go. Can we meet here tomorrow? Maybe I could read your stuff. If that’s okay,” she said and I nodded. Of course it was okay.

And then she was gone.

It felt like new beginnings. It felt like what life was supposed to be.

“New friend?”

Any warmth I had felt from Maren’s presence was doused in white-hot hatred.

“What are you doing here?” I spat out. I was shocked at how easily I unleashed my fury. Normally I wouldn’t dare. Rosie knew that.

She seemed surprised as well. Her eyes widened slightly, but then her mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

“That’s really none of your business,” she retorted. She watched Maren walk across the grass. I didn’t like the thoughtful expression on my former foster sister’s face. It made me nervous.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Her question was leading. She was trying to trap me.

I wouldn’t let her.

“What would Lesley say about your new . . .
friend?”
Rosie chuckled, enjoying my discomfort.

I hated when she said Mother’s name. I loathed that she was permitted to say it at all.

I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to antagonize her. I didn’t want to give her a reason to attack me. Though I knew with Rosie, she didn’t need an excuse.

She leaned in close and I pulled away slightly. I couldn’t help it.

“What would Bradley say?”

“Don’t talk about him!” I seethed. I couldn’t help it. Bradley was off limits. She knew that.

“Oh, he’s cute,” Rosie cooed, staring at my silent friend as he walked down the street, hands in his pockets, looking angry and defiant.

He looked up, seeing me. I was always on his radar.

“Why’s he looking at you?” she demanded, sounding annoyed.

“He’s my friend,” I answered. Rosie had only been with us for a week, and I was still trying to be nice to her. To be her
sister.

Rosie snorted. “Why would he be friends with
you
?”

She sauntered towards him, shaking undeveloped hips. I followed behind her meekly. Rosie was pretty. Bradley would notice that and then he would love her too. Just like Mother.

“Hey cutie. My name’s Rosie Gilbert,” she said. I frowned. That wasn’t her last name. That was
my
last name.

Bradley didn’t look at her. He looked at me. His green eyes dark with questions.

“Her name is Rosie Allen,” I corrected.

Bradley raised an eyebrow and finally turned his attention to my foster sister. She flushed.

“Well, I’m living with the Gilberts now, they said I could use their last name—”

“I don’t care,” Bradley cut her off. I covered my mouth in shock. Rosie reared back as though he had slapped her. “You’re a liar. That’s all I need to know about you,” he continued before turning back to me.

“You don’t have to be so rude,” Rosie sputtered.

“As long as you’re nice to Nora, I won’t have a problem with you,” Bradley informed her, voice hard.

“I’ll see you later,” he directed at me. I nodded.

Then he was gone. Rosie turned to me, her face thunderous.

“He’ll love me too. I promise,” she declared. I wished I could smile. Because her delusions made me want to dance.

“I’ve never understood your relationship. You say he’s your friend, but he comes into your room at night—”

“How do you know about that?” I demanded.

“What’s her name?” Rosie asked, ignoring my question, inclining her head in the direction Maren had gone.

I didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t want Rosie to have anything that belonged to me. But I found myself giving it to her anyway.

“Maren Digby,” I said begrudgingly.

“Maren. Maren Digby. Pretty name for a pretty girl, don’t you think?” Rosie taunted, her blue eyes flashing.

I wouldn’t answer her. I refused to rise to her bait.

“You and I both know he won’t like Maren sniffing around. He wants you all to himself,” Rosie continued, her gleeful grin cruel and calculating.

“It’s not like that,” I protested, knowing my argument was useless. She’d believe what she wanted to believe. Just like everyone else.

She played with the ring on her finger, and I found myself staring at it. It was easier than looking at her.

“You never know when to run, Nora. That’s your problem.”

I startled at her words.

Rosie got to her feet. “Just don’t go giving that sad, pathetic heart away too easily. It might end up being the worst thing you ever do.”

Was she threatening me? I couldn’t tell.

With Rosie it was hard to know.

She was gone before I could ask her.

Day 6

The Present

And so being young and dipped in folly

I
raged.

I despaired.

I fell apart.

I got back up.

I was defeated.

I was strong.

I went around in circles becoming a dozen different versions of myself in the span of minutes. My emotions were wild and out of control.

I hallucinated things that couldn’t be there. Conversations I knew I hadn’t had. Memories that were false and meant to torture me.