Instinct (19 page)

            He
called me at three this morning. I was barely awake and he said so many crazy
things. He called me his toy and he said he would play with me until I broke. 
When I saw him at school, he acted like nothing happened. I asked him about the
call and he said he didn’t call me; he had no idea what I was talking about.
And then he acted all worried about me the rest of the day, telling people not
to upset me, that I was feeling fragile.  He told people at lunch that Nicole
and I had a fight, and she wouldn’t be coming around anymore.

            I
don’t know why I didn’t say anything. He just had this look on his face when he
talked about Nicole. I think he might hurt her.

            I put the journal
down and close my eyes, giving the words time to reconfigure on the pages
beneath my fingers. After a moment I look through the entries again and find
that my initial impression of the truth isn’t far from what she actually wrote.
It is the next entry where things begin to change.

October 8

            I
have to watch what I write in here. He found the journal in my bag this
afternoon and read it. He was angry. He said I had to stop writing mean, untrue
things about him. He told me not to bother hiding it, he’d find it. He’d know
if I was bad, he said.

            He
says if I misbehave he’ll take it out on Nicole.

            I
didn’t know people like him existed. It’s like he’s this empty shell, and the
only thing that fills him up is my misery. It’s food and drink to him. I can’t
get away from him.  I know that he’ll just do something to Nicole. I wish I
could tell someone, I feel so alone. I wish Jake wasn’t acting so weird. Half
the time he’s too angry to talk to me and then other half he just follows me
around like a lost dog. I looked out my window last night and he was just
standing there in the shadows on the sidewalk, watching me.

            Slow tears twist
down my cheeks as Miranda’s loneliness and misery leaks through the pages,
blurring my vision and replacing her unmeant honesty with shallow words that
barely scratch the surface of her true feelings. With increasing depression, I
turn the page to find the entries I have already seen, the truth behind the
words lost now except to memory. That Miranda didn’t feel safe enough even to
write in her journal what Shockey had done to her, how Phillip treated her when
he found out, how lost and violated she was, breaks my heart.

            Anger, fierce and
pure, dries my tears and bolsters my grim determination to glean all I can from
this journal, to allow Miranda to share her pain with someone else, even if it
is too late to help her. I move on to the next entry, gritting my teeth in
expectation of the emotional assault.

October 15

           
Everything
is numb. I am hollow. They shoved their hands in me and dragged it all out with
their greedy fingers. Everyone has a piece of me now, everyone but me.

            I
have to carve myself up, shape myself into something new. I don’t exist anymore.
Someone new has to be here. They look at me with accusing eyes, Jake, Nicole,
like I should be the same person, but how can they know, they can’t know that
everything I ever was has been stolen. HE has it, HE has all of me and HE will
take whatever’s left when I’m done carving up the leftovers. I don’t even bleed
right…I have to push down so hard to get the blood. I must not have much left.
I think it must still be there, a deep puddle on the seat, all that blood. It
wouldn’t stop, I think the tap is broken.

October 21

           
I
wanted to tell Nicole today. She stopped by my locker and just looked at me. I
knew she was going to cry, she makes this face when she’s going to, like she’s
swallowed a lemon. I wanted to tell her, I wanted her to make HIM stop, wanted
her to know about Shockey, but then HE came up behind me and put his fingers
around my neck and I knew HE would snap my neck right there if I said a word.

            HE
told me I couldn’t tell anyone what Shockey did because HE would look like a
fool. I belong to HIM now, and it’s my fault I got dirty.

            I
don’t know anymore, I can’t remember what I used to be like, how I used to
feel. I am this new person, an empty person, and I think I’m broken. Maybe HE
will let me go soon.

October 24

           
He
put a gun to my head tonight. He took me to a movie with his friends and after
he dropped them off he took me to the place where Shockey raped me and he
opened the glove compartment. He pulled out the brown paper bag and told me to
open it if I was so curious. I told him I didn’t need to, I didn’t care, but he
made me. It was a gun, I don’t know what kind, but it was heavy and cold. He
picked it up and put it to my head. It didn’t really bother me, I think it
would have been better if he’d just shot me.

            But
he said the crazy things again. He said he was almost done with me, and that if
I ever told anyone about him he would use the gun on Nicole, he would kill her
and he would make sure that I watched. I cried then. I didn’t think I still
could.

            I
promised I would stay quiet, I swore it, and he said he didn’t believe me, that
he would watch me and if he ever saw me even speak to Nicole he would kill her.
I believe him, I think it would be easy for him. I don’t know why he hasn’t
killed me.

            Then
he put the gun away and took me home, he acted sweet again, like he used to.
Told me I was his girl, his lovely girl. He said I have a beautiful soul and
he’s so lucky to have me.

            He
took it. He took my soul.

October 30

            I
am going to tell Jake. I can’t tell Nicole, but if I tell Jake, he’ll keep her
safe from HIM. Jake doesn’t scare me anymore, nothing can scare me anymore. I’m
going to tell him everything. He can stop Shockey, he can make all of it stop.
I’m going to tell him tonight.

            I
don’t care what he thinks of me anymore, what anyone thinks of me. I just want
her safe.

It is the last
entry.

            I drop the book and
curl myself into a ball, sobbing so hard I can barely draw breath and making
this strangled moan that hurts my ears.  I don’t know how long it goes on, but
the tears keep coming. I have never cried like this before, not over my dad
leaving, not over some of the horrible things I’ve learned about people, not
even over Nicole’s death. It feels as though all the sorrow, all the despair that
was contained in those pages is finally being released through me, that Miranda
is the one sobbing uncontrollably, not me.

            I take a shuddering
gasp and drag myself back from the bleak words, willing my hands to be steady
as they take the journal again, closing the cover respectfully, as though
pulling a sheet over a naked corpse.

            Another sob chokes
me, but I clench my jaw to prevent its release, somehow convinced that holding
that last cry inside will keep me connected to Miranda, to Nicole, to what must
be done. With an effort, I swallow it, feeling it shift from the futile
weakness it represented to something else, something hard and hot, a knot of
flame that lodges itself in my chest and pulses, telling me to do something,
anything.

            Below, I hear a
knocking at the door and know that Cole is here.  With another glance at the
journal, I make a decision to tell him everything; of all people he can
understand why I have to find out what happened to Miranda and Nicole, why I
owe it to them. The flame in my chest flares as though satisfied and dwindles
to a smolder. I will reserve the fire for the moment I need it most, but keep
that same burning sense of purpose firm in my mind. Nothing matters now but
finding justice for my friend Nicole, and for the damaged girl who could have
been my friend had she lived.

            “I’m afraid of my
brother,” Cole says in greeting, dropping into the chair at my desk with a
weary sigh. I stare at him, taking in the slightly disheveled state of his
clothes and the slowly darkening bruise on the right side of his jaw.

            “Did Jake do that?”
I ask, pointing at the mark. Cole starts, putting his hand up to his jaw and
then frowns, shrugging off the obvious evidence that he’s gotten into it with
his brother.

            “It’s no big deal,”
he says, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. “I can handle Jake.”

            “You’re the one who
told me to be careful around him,” I remind him, wondering how two such
different people could be related. Cole is all sharp edges and soft center, a
deceptive outward package with all the trappings of the classic misunderstood
bad-boy. Looking at him now, his sapphire-blue eyes trained on mine defiantly, jaw
clenched, I can feel something more is there, swimming just under the surface,
waiting for me to ask the right question. Something I can’t see clearly just
yet.

            “Look, I wanted to
apologize. I should’ve come to see you in the hospital,” he says. I just raise
my eyebrow at him, waiting for the explanation. When he doesn’t continue, but
just glares at me, daring me to ask why, I retaliate by leaning back on my bed,
studying my nails with deliberate interest.

            The silence
lengthens and I can practically feel the frustration coming off him in waves
until he breaks into an admiring laugh.

            “You’re good at
interrogation, you know that?”

            I smile and glance
over him, for the first time in days feeling something other than guilt or
depression. I had planned on telling Cole everything, my suspicions and plans,
but being so close to him, knowing his eyes are on me, hearing his voice, being
just a short gesture away from touching him, I am suddenly giddy. It’s like
being deprived of breath for too long and taking that first long, slow sip of
air.

            “It’s been
mentioned before. So what’s the deal? Why did Jake come see me and not you?” I
ask, suddenly serious. Even through my pain over finding Nicole I had
registered hurt at his absence.

            Cole grimaces and
climbs up onto the bed next to me. My heart thuds in my chest as he takes my
hand in his, holding it on his thigh.

            “I’m going to tell
you some stuff about me, about my family, so you’ll understand what’s going on
a little better. And I want to tell you, not just because of your ability, but
because I’m worried about you.”

            My brows draw
together in confusion and I open my mouth to speak, but Cole just squeezes my
hand and shakes his head.

            “No, just let me
get this out. Then we’ll talk.”

            I search his eyes
for some sense of what he’s about to tell me, but finally subside, nodding to
let him know I’m ready.

            “I think you
figured out at the funeral home that my dad is like us. Talented.” I nod in
confirmation and he continues, looking down at our entwined hands. “So was my dad’s
brother. My uncle could make people happy, like giving them a shot of serotonin
just by smiling. Kind of the opposite of what I do.”

            He pauses and
glances up at me, looking for something. I just stare back at him, still
confused as to why he’s telling me this. With a shake of his head he lets my
hand go and walks over to stand at the window, looking out at the slowly
melting snow.

            “I didn’t know any
of this. Not until I moved here. My whole life, I thought I was some kind of
freak of nature, an accident. I never knew my father, and Mom never really
talked about him, except to say that he wasn’t the kind of man she’d want me to
be. All I knew was that he got my mom pregnant and then ditched her. I know now
that he was married to Jake’s mother at the time. She was pregnant with Jake
when my mom was pregnant with me.”

            I curl my lip in
disgust, feeling my earlier instinctual dislike of Geoffrey Wise cement. Cole
glances back at me and gives a bitter laugh.

            “Yeah, I know.
Great guy, right? Anyway, she never had contact with him and neither did I.
Until she died.” He sits back in the chair and leans forward on his knees, one
leg bouncing agitatedly, as though he simply cannot keep still.

            “It was after…after
the neighbor died,” he whispers, and I can almost see the tortured boy he had
been, standing in front of the collapsed body, empty beer bottles clinking
noisily as they rolled across the floor away from the impact. There is a catch
in his breath before he continues.

            “We didn’t have any
other family, so I was staying with one of my mom’s friends while social
services tried to figure out what to do with me. And then he came and said he
was my father and I had to come live with him.”

            “He knew about your
mom?” I ask, prodding him gently.

            Cole nods, a
faraway look in his eyes. “He knew where we were all the time. Just never
bothered to come by.  Anyway, of course my social worker was thrilled that he
came forward, and was even happier about the fact that he was wealthy and a
mayor and everything. So I left with him by the end of the week.”

            “Where did you live
before?” I wonder out loud, curious about what kind of changes he had been
through.

            “Not far from here,
just over in Frederick. Half an hour away and he never came to see us.” Cole’s
voice is quiet, controlled, but a vague sense of unease creeps up my spine and
I know his restraint is weakening.

            “Cole, you don’t
have to tell me this if you don’t want to,” I tell him, seeing the rigidity of
his back, his too-straight posture.

            He glances back at
me as though he’s forgotten I was there. “Sorry.” He takes a deep breath and
the slowly increasing disquiet I felt fades to nothing. “Strong emotion makes
it harder to control,” he admits.

            “You never told me
what you were so upset about the first time I saw you.”

            Laughing under his
breath, relieved in the change of subject, Cole wipes a hand over his face. “It
seems so stupid now. I told you I was expelled, right? Well I was trying to get
back into school. I had a meeting with the principal that morning. He told me I
would never set foot in his school again. It really pissed me off.”

            “I can see why.
Seems pretty unfair,” I commiserate.

            “Yeah, well. They
have some kind of zero tolerance policy for violence, and I guess hitting a
teacher, even accidentally, is a big violation. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll
be done with my equivalency exams before Jake graduates.”

            Seeking to preserve
the relative peace, I keep the drama talk to a minimum. “I’ve already passed
mine. Equivalency exams,” I clarify when he raises an eyebrow. “Technically I
don’t need to go to school. I just wanted to see what it was like, before it
was too late.”

            The blue chips of
his eyes soften as he walks back over to perch next to me on the bed. “And what
do you think now?” he asks kindly.

            I am alarmed and embarrassed
to find that my eyes are pricking with tears. “I think maybe my mom was right.
Maybe I should’ve just stayed home, worked in the store. Maybe people like me
aren’t meant to mix with everyone else,” I whisper, revealing a fear I hadn’t
dared admit to myself.

            “I think you should
do whatever makes you happy. It sounds to me like you haven’t had much
opportunity.” Cole puts an arm around me, pulling me close. I don’t resist,
noting even through my clumsy attempts to stem the tide of tears, I fit perfectly
into the curve of his body, my shoulder tucked snug against his chest, hips
tight against his like matching puzzle pieces. A warm tingling flows through me
that has nothing to do with our conversation.

            “How long have you
known about what you can do? I mean, I didn’t really get what was going on
until I was around thirteen or so. Was it the same for you?” he asks quietly,
his fingers tracing circles around my elbow. I feel all my blood rush to where
his fingertips brush my skin and it is suddenly difficult to focus on what I
want to say.

            “No.” I clear my
throat and force my attention back on his question. “I mean, not really. I
don’t know exactly when it started. I’ve been this way as long as I remember.”

            “Even when you were
a kid? That must have been tough. I mean, they say kids are perceptive, but I
guess in your case it was more than that.” Cole tucks my head under his chin
and I can feel his breath shifting my hair.

            “You could say
that. My dad certainly didn’t appreciate it,” I say without thinking and then
stiffen, trying to pull away from Cole. He tightens his grip and holds onto me
until I relax again.

            “How is that?” he
asks in the same quiet, undemanding tone. Gently, he eases himself back on the
bed, tugging me with him, until we lay together, his hand absently twisting my
hair.

            Off-balance, I
answer honestly, telling him something I haven’t admitted to anyone, not even
Nicole. “It’s my fault he left us. He didn’t want to be my father anymore.”

            I feel Cole’s lips
brush my forehead and something inside me stretches and expands, reaching out
for him. The tenuous, golden thread I felt between us the first time we talked
is there again, strengthening and drawing us closer. In a rush, I tell him the
rest, knowing somehow this connection is important, vital.

            “He was already
weird about me. When I was taken out of school because of an honesty incident,
he stopped spending as much time with me. He never wanted to be alone with me,
and he barely spoke around me anymore. My mom and he were fighting all the
time, and one night she was tucking me in and told me to ask Dad if he loved
somebody else, and to tell her exactly what I heard him say.”

            Cole draws in a
sharp breath but doesn’t interrupt; he just keeps stroking my hair, the sharp,
citrusy scent of his cologne filling my senses.

            “I was eight, and I
didn’t really understand what she wanted, but I said I’d do it. So the next
morning I walked right up to him at breakfast and said ‘mommy wants to know do
you love somebody else?’” I cringe, remembering the fury that had flooded his
face, the almost purple tinge to his skin when he looked up from me to glare at
my mother.

            “He answered. I
think whatever he said was probably bad enough, but I heard what he really
meant. He said, ‘I don’t love you.’ And then he left. And never came back.”

            My throat closes
over and I can’t speak anymore, all the confused hurt of being unwanted barreling
through me all over again. Drawing in a shuddering breath, I turn my face into
Cole’s chest, trying to smother that dismal, forlorn place where memories of my
father live.

            “God, Derry. I’m so
sorry,” he whispers, tightening his embrace until all I can feel are his arms
around me, the press of his body against mine. I drag my head up and meet his
eyes, dark pools of sympathy and apology for something he hasn’t done. “No
wonder you were so angry at me for accusing you of being manipulative. That’s
the last thing you’d be after being used like that. I’m sorry,” he says again,
and I feel the truth in his words, the tender weight of them settling around me
like a soft blanket.

“I forgive
you,” I whisper, finally letting the bitter taste of rejection I’ve held onto
for weeks dissolve into nothing.  He moves closer, his eyes locked on mine,
asking permission. My lips part slightly and he closes the gap with his mouth.

This time
there is no uncertainty to our kiss, no second thoughts or reproach. For a
moment, our lips simply rest against each other, our breath mingling in a
perfume of peppermint and honey, and then his hands are tangled in my hair,
pulling me closer, as though he can fuse us together forever from the heat of
the kiss.

Colors swirl
behind my eyes and an intoxicating lightness spreads from our joined lips into
my chest, weaving golden strands around the inflexible, frozen thing that has
formed there, melting away some of the isolation. My own arms are wrapped
around him, twisting his body until he is on top of me, his skin blazing to the
touch, making me feel as though I’ll never be cold again.

When we
finally part, both of us are gasping for air and every inch of me is trembling,
aching for more. His eyes are dark and hungry as he gazes down at me, our
bodies still pressed together in painful awareness.

“That was…” he
murmurs, breaking off to press his lips to mine again. I feel that he is
shaking too, and I glow with pride that he is as lost as I am. He releases me
again and buries his mouth in the nape of my neck, sending delicious tremors
through me until I squeeze him tighter with desperate need.

With a shaky
sigh, he draws away, sitting up and pulling me onto his lap, still unwilling to
completely break contact. “I’m going to need a bucket of ice, or a cold shower
or something,” he finally says, a rough laugh in his voice.

A ridiculous
urge to giggle rolls over me and I take a deep breath to halt it. “Do you still
believe that was me manipulating you?” I ask playfully, nearly drunk with the heat
still pulsing through me.

Cole kisses my
jaw just below my ear and laughs softly. “I think I was an idiot. Please tell
me we can do that again.”

For a while,
we don’t speak, but I learn the curves of his face, marveling that he is not
made of sharp angles at all, but smooth contours and delicate skin. His hands
drift over my back and hips, memorizing my shape and discovering how to steal
my breath.