Instinct (25 page)

“You know I
can’t really talk to you about an ongoing investigation,” Sowers chides gently.
I turn my bruised face toward him, my eyes full of plea. He sighs and leans
forward, speaking quietly. “But between us, not so great. The coroner has
removed the accidental death ruling, but unless we can find where Nicole was
injured, or link it to someone it’s difficult to move forward.”

I can hear the
frustration in his voice and take heart.  “What about Phillip? I’ve told you
all that his car was there moments before I found Nicole; can’t you search it
or something?”

Sowers just
shakes his head. “Your word is not enough for a warrant. There’s nothing that
ties him to Nicole just now. We’ll keep an eye out, but it doesn’t look good.”

Smiling sadly,
I nod, recognizing without more evidence, I’m never going to see Phillip pay
for what he did to Nicole and Miranda. “Thanks anyway,” I say, my eyes heavy
from exhaustion and trauma. I know that in my dreams tonight, I will fight
Shockey again and lose.

“You take it
easy and quit getting into trouble, you hear? Come down to the station when
you’re feeling better so you can sign your statement.” Sowers gets to his feet,
brushing invisible lint from his dark slacks. “And between you and me,” he adds
softly, his eyes locking onto mine, radiating sincerity. “You watch out for
that Phillip.”

With a final nod
to me, he leaves and the nurse enters to assault me with a penlight, the
blinding light curling its way around my eyeballs and drilling into my skull.

“Your mom left
just before he got here,” the nurse hovering over me says, moving her finger
back and forth, clearly asking me to follow it with my eyes.  I oblige and
submit to her other requests with as much grace as possible, which isn’t much
considering all I want is to go back to sleep. “She said to tell you she’d be
back in the morning.”

I thank the
nurse and sink back into the pillow, preparing myself for an uncomfortable
night. My neck is a raw ache and every breath I take sends fresh agony through
my side. Even with the lights out and the curtain drawn, the faint light from
the IV monitor elicits a stab of pain from my bruised head. I close my eyes and
drift, neither awake nor sleeping but somewhere in between.

My eyes open
and I sit halfway up before pain thrusts me down again. Blinking, I look around
for whatever has woken me, but the room is drenched in shadow and my sleep-blurred
vision makes everything muddled.

Something
shifts to my left and I swing my head over, nearly crying out when pain slams
into my skull from the movement. A dark figure rises from the chair and I
wonder for a moment if my mother has come back, but menace stretches out sticky
fingers and wraps around my neck, making my breath shallow and stuttered.

“You know, I
bet I could smother you with that pillow before anyone would notice,” Phillip
says, his voice smooth and calm.

 Dread pools
in my stomach, frigid and deep. I reach to push the button that will call the
nurse, but Phillip’s hand is abruptly there, stopping me, turning my wrist so
my palm is facing up, the angle a distinct threat. He looks at it, considering,
and then begins to bend the wrist backward, winning a harsh gasp from me.

His shark’s
teeth gleam whitely in the dim light and for a moment I am trapped in the
nightmare I’ve had so many times, with his reptilian green gaze fixed on me
hungrily.

Phillip sighs
and releases his aggressive grip, taking my hand in his like a lover’s. “But
then I’d have to explain what I’m doing here after hours and there would be awkward
questions…” His eyes tighten with annoyance. “And I hate awkward questions.”

“What do you
want, Phillip?” I rasp, my throat nearly closed in fear.

“I want you to
stop telling the police that I killed Nicole. They’ve been asking me about
Miranda too, and I really don’t appreciate it.” His plastic face mimics a
wounded expression. “I’ve been so nice to you.  I don’t know why you’re acting
like this.”

His nonchalant
mention of Nicole and Miranda stirs something in me. Fear burns away with
mounting anger and I jerk my hand out of his, ignoring the slash along my side
from the violence of my rejection.

“You killed Nicole,
Phillip. I know it. And you don’t scare me, not anymore.” My voice is cold and
unyielding and a brief flicker of uncertainty races behind his eyes before the
bland mask regains control. He releases my hand and takes a step back. I
immediately punch the button that will summon help and Phillip gives me a wry
smile.

“Please
reconsider what you think you know, Derry. I’d hate to see anything happen to
you. After all, we’re friends, aren’t we?” He melts into the darkness and slips
past the curtain seconds before it swings back with a burst of light and the
nurse appears, her smile tired but friendly.

“I’m cheating
on my husband,” she says inquiringly. Relief washes over me and I realize just
how much fear I was suppressing, no matter how brave a face I had put on for
Phillip.

“Can I have
some water?” I ask, conceding that there is little point in mentioning
Phillip’s visit. It was a warning anyway; I haven’t pushed him to dire action
just yet.

But I’m close.

“Are you sure
you’re up for this?” Mom asks again, biting her lip with indecision. I have a
flash of déjà vu, remembering how we sat just like this in the car, waiting
outside the school on my first day. The same sense of uncertainty, of hidden
peril hovers outside the window, misted into the fog that has gripped the town
since early this morning.

“Yes, I’m
fine,” I assure her. On the whole, I’m being honest. My head is much better
after three days of bed rest and my side barely twinges when I move now. Mom
was reluctant to let me go back to school so soon, especially since I had only
been back one day before being assaulted by my teacher. But I prevailed, mainly
because I wouldn’t shut up about it.

“Call me if
anything happens or if you get scared.” She hesitates and then gives me a
one-armed hug, pulling me in at an awkward angle that stretches my side
uncomfortably. I ignore it and take in the embrace. They are too rare to cut
short.

“I will, I
promise. I’ll see you later,” I say and jump out of the car before she has the
chance to change her mind. After a final wave, I turn and climb the stairs,
thinking I have known more sorrow and pain in this school than anywhere I’ve
ever been.

I’m really
starting to hate this place.

Once inside I
feel as though I’m alone on a stage, a spotlight trained on my every movement.
Eyes follow me wherever I go, whispers poking at the tender meat of my brain as
I make my way through the crowd. Several people stop to say things to me; based
on their sympathetic and encouraging expressions, I assume condolences or words
of comfort and so I smile and nod, feeling like a hollow bobble-head doll. My
head begins to pound from the harsh glare of the florescent lights bouncing off
the reflective surface of the linoleum. 

I make it to
my first class early, not bothering to stop by my locker. Only a few seats are
filled and I take mine, carefully avoiding the looks being thrown my way. Mrs.
Sullivan gets up from her desk and strides over to me, casting a suppressing
glare at the students who watch me closely from the other side of the room.
Abashed, they return to their conversation. I pretend it’s not about me.

“I was raped
in college,” Mrs. Sullivan says, her eyes warm with concern as she takes a seat
in the empty desk to my left. I cough to cover my gasp and rub my hands over my
eyes, trying to push back the tears that seem to be ever present.

“I’m sorry?” I
say resignedly, beyond trying to figure out what was really said.

“I said I
think you are very brave. Please, let me know if I can do anything for you.
You’ve been through a rough time since coming here.”  She pats me gently on the
shoulder before returning to the front of the class, nodding at the sudden
influx of students.

I clench my
jaw and stiffen my limbs as Phillip enters the room, his golden hair brushed
back from slightly pink cheeks and emerald eyes. I wonder how I ever found him
appealing. He makes my stomach turn now.

His eyes meet
mine and he holds my stare as he maneuvers down the aisle, his approach sinuous
and predatory. I force myself not to look away, not to show him how terrified
he makes me. I haven’t seen him since his impromptu hospital visit and I am on
edge, waiting for his next move.

Dropping into
his former seat behind me, Phillip reaches out a hand and strokes the fading
bruise along my cheekbone. “I was so sorry to hear about your little
altercation, Derry. You do have a habit of making the wrong people angry.”

My breath
hisses out of me like a punctured tire and I slap his hand away. “Don’t touch
me, Phillip. You don’t scare me. Your little visit in the hospital just proved
how twisted you really are.”

He leans
forward, pasting a confused expression on his face. “What are you talking
about, Derry? I didn’t come to see you. I wanted to, but I was afraid it would
upset you. I know we’ve had our differences lately,” he murmurs. I whip around,
ignoring the stab of pain in my head and fix him with a severe look.

“Don’t try
that bullshit on me, Phillip. You and I both know you were there, and what you
said,” I whisper angrily, ignoring the quiet buzz of conversation around us, my
whole universe centered on the treacherous glint in his eyes.

The faintest
trace of a smirk pulls at his lips before he straightens up, his expression
morphing seamlessly into bewildered concern. “Derry, I don’t know what you’re
talking about. I know you’ve been traumatized recently, but please don’t try to
shift blame on me. I’ve been so worried about you,” he declares, voice slightly
raised, drawing the attention of the rest of the class.

I dart a
glance around the room, taking in the avid faces of my classmates. They seem
hungry, eager for conflict, and I realize the trap Phillip has set for me.

“You’ve had a
head injury, Derry. It’s no wonder you’re confused. I just want to be here for you,”
he continues, his every breath mocking me, every word driving hot needles
through my skin.

Though my
classmates whisper, I can still hear them and the truths they are holding back,
many of which indicate they believe I’m making everything up for attention. The
injustice of this sears me from the inside out and for a moment I think I know
how Jake feels when the rage overtakes him. The urge to dig my fingers into
Phillip’s neck, to watch panic flood his eyes as he struggles for breath is
nearly overwhelming.

“You liar,” I
whisper, my voice low and furious. Phillip just raises his eyebrows and shakes
his head at me sorrowfully.

“I think all
this trauma has really messed with your head, Derry. You should be more
careful.” He holds my gaze for another moment and then turns away, digging
through his bag, clearly dismissing me.

Shaking with
rage, I turn around, facing forward, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from
screaming. For a moment, I am filled with doubt. Did I imagine his appearance
in the hospital? The whole thing was so surreal, almost dreamlike in my memory.
The more I think about it, the more I wonder why the nurse hadn’t said anything
about seeing him. Or that no one had noticed him. Had our conversation just
been one of my nightmares, made real from stress and pain?

I shift around
to look at him again. He glances up and gives me a smile, his teeth glinting
whitely. I narrow my eyes and turn back around. That way lies madness.

I am unable to
concentrate on the rest of the class, Phillip’s presence behind me making my
skin buzz painfully the entire time, reminding me that nothing about him can be
trusted. 

When the tone
finally sounds, I make a beeline for the door, needing to get as far away from
him as possible.  I nearly make it out the door, but a hand grips my arm in a
painful squeeze and I halt, knowing without turning around it is Phillip.

“Derry, I
don’t want you to be angry with me. We need to work on our project, remember?
Why don’t we meet up this afternoon at the café by the tracks? I know that’s
one of your favorite spots,” he suggests, eyes cold, like a creature that has
never touched emotion, only lives with a view to kill.

“Get your hand
off me,” I growl, pulling away sharply. “I’m not Miranda. You can’t break me.” He
releases me and I make my escape. I understand the threat. He knows where I
like to go, tracks my movements.

He can find me
when he wants.

Biology is as
slow and mind-numbing as usual, but at least no one bothers me. Even Tasha
avoids my eyes, and when the period ends I am disappointed. It was peaceful for
just a little while.

I head towards
the cafeteria with a sense of dread, thinking that maybe I should just go find
an empty classroom somewhere to eat. I turn around and start to do just that
when I am interrupted.

“I’m sad that
Phillip is interested in you,” Ruth’s voice penetrates my stupor of indecision
and I wince. The last thing I want to do is hang out with anyone even remotely
connected with Phillip.

“Hey Ruth,” I mumble,
looking for a way out of this conversation.

“Do you want
to sit with me? Phillip said he thought you looked a little lost. He’s very
worried about you,” she explains, gesturing to the back of the cafeteria where
Phillip is sitting at a table, watching us. He lifts his hand in a wave and I
feel my teeth grind together. He is toying with me. The way he played with
Miranda before destroying her.

“No thanks,
I…” I break off as Megan drops down at a nearby table and my shoulders slump in
relief. “I’m joining Megan. But thanks,” I say, hurrying over to the table
before Ruth can protest.

Megan looks
surprised to see me, but makes room at the table, gesturing me to an empty
chair across from her. “I’ve got a crush on Shane,” she says in the most civil
tone I’ve heard her use to date. “How are you doing?”

“Okay. Wishing
people would stop asking me that,” I return with a smile. She gives me a
sheepish grin, shaking her head.

“Yeah, I guess
I would too in your position. Let me just say though, that Shockey is a creep
and we all knew he was a perv. He deserves whatever he gets,” she assures me. I
appreciate the gesture, but thinking about his hands on me, the feral light in
his eyes when he attacked sends a cold rush through me. I just nod and open my
brown paper bag, fishing out the sandwich Mom made for me last night while she
was still feeling domestic.

I am quiet
through lunch, listening absently to Megan and her friends chatting and making
appropriate noises every once in a while. The sandwich is lead in my stomach
and the thought of three more hours of pretending everything is fine, ignoring
the curious stares and barely whispered commentary is draining. I put my head
in my hands and swallow, still feeling the stiffness in my throat from all the
inflammation. The urge to call Mom and ask her to come pick me up drowns out
the inner voice telling me to brave it out, to show everyone that it doesn’t
bother me, to show Phillip I’m not weak.

As though
reading my thoughts, my phone buzzes in my bag, and I dig through it eagerly,
hoping for some escape. A smile spreads across my face when I see the text
message from Cole.

           
I’m
defying my father.

I blink and
the words reform.

           
I’m
outside the school. Come meet me?

Without
thinking too hard about it, I reply
YES!
and grab my things, standing up
hurriedly.

“Where are you
headed?” Megan asks curiously, noting my sudden change of mood.

“Gotta go,” I
answer, dumping the remains of my lunch in the trash and hurrying toward the
doors to the student parking lot. I am almost home free when a voice calls out,
stopping me in my tracks.

“I hate my
brother,” Jake says, hastening to my side, frowning. I stifle the surge of
annoyance as he puts a hand on my shoulder. Whatever happened between us
before, Jake did save my life. That counts for something.

“Hi, Jake. I’m
just heading out,” I say, taking a step forward, hoping he’ll get the hint. He
follows me and looks out the door to see Cole waiting on his motorcycle. Jake’s
face darkens with anger.

“So you’re
still going with him? Even though he didn’t come for you? Have you forgotten
who pulled that animal off you?” he growls, his fingers digging painfully into
my shoulder.

“Jake, calm
down. You’re hurting me,” I say in a calm voice, trying to talk him down before
he loses control.  The pressure on my shoulder eases but he doesn’t let me go.

“You’re mine,”
he snarls, turning me so I have to face him. The possessiveness in his tone is
as alarming as the barely restrained strength of his grip.

 “Jake, you’re
scaring me.”

He takes a
deep, shuddering breath and releases me, fisting his hands in his hair, face
stiff with strain. “I don’t know why I do this, I don’t know why I want you so
much,” he finally whispers, his voice heavy with grief.  I watch him, fighting
the wave of pity that sweeps over me, urging me to put my arms around him.

“I don’t
understand it either, Jake. I don’t want you to feel this way,” I say quietly,
wishing he could acknowledge the possibility that he is as gifted as his father
and brother, learn to control it. But denial is written across his features and
he just studies me with frustrated desire.

“I can feel
you, all the time.” He takes a step closer to me, brushing my bruised cheek
gently with his knuckles. “You’re in my head when I’m alone, and when I’m near
you,” he breathes in, inhaling my scent. “You are everywhere, dancing over my
skin, churning in my blood. I don’t want to hurt you, but you fight me and I
just lose it.” He fixes pleading eyes on me. “Stop fighting me, Derry. Please.”

I am quaking,
horrified, because deep down, some part of me wants to stop fighting him. My
lips still remember his taste in my mouth, the heat of burnt cinnamon. My skin
still trembles with the intense need I felt for him in that first moment,
before rationality set in and told me that violence wasn’t love, just a lethal attraction
that led to nothing but dead ends and closed doors.

“I’m sorry,
Jake. I’m so thankful for what you did, and I will always be grateful. But you
frighten me, and until you get some control I can’t be around you.” I keep my
voice gentle, soothing, praying that he will understand the words and not just
hear the rejection.

 “Miranda was
scared of me too,” he groans miserably, hand dropping away from my face.
Forgetting Cole, who has stepped off his bike and is looking impatiently at the
doors, I focus on Jake.

“What happened
with her Jake? Did you have something to do with her death?” I ask quietly, but
with the force of my will behind it. I am beginning to understand how much
effort I have to put into the questions I really want answered.