Instinct (28 page)

“What do you
think we are?” I ask Cole, leaning against him, feeling the warmth of his arms
surround me. He stands behind my chair, dropping his chin on my head. It has
been a week since the night Phillip was arrested and he has been in custody
since. Cole has been with me practically every waking moment. He hasn’t been to
work all week, saying he’d rather stay with me at the store. Mom hasn’t started
paying him, but I’m pretty sure she’ll cave soon. She likes having him around
to carry the big stuff to clients’ cars.

“What do you
mean?” he asks, kissing the nearly faded bruise on my forehead before coming
around to sit on the counter. I push back the display of thumb rings Mom has
sitting by the cash register in hopes of attracting younger customers and give
him a knowing look.

“Exactly what
I asked. Why are we the way we are? Why can we do the things we do? Haven’t you
ever wondered?”

Cole rolls his
eyes and smiles. “Of course I’ve wondered. I asked my dad, but he just mumbled
something about superior genetics. I guess it’s just never been that important
to me.” He shrugs and picks up one of the rings to twirl around his finger.

I sigh and
watch the older couple across the room study a hope chest Mom picked up at an
auction yesterday. The woman is busy examining the inlay on the wood, but her
husband watches her, his eyes warm and affectionate, his hand resting gently on
her back. She turns and glances up at him and an entire conversation takes
place between them, a lifetime of exchanges that lead to the same conclusion;
they will do whatever makes the other happy. It’s a beautiful sort of normalcy,
made extraordinary by its consistent predictability.

A sharp pang
of jealousy slices through me and I turn to look at Cole. He smiles at me, his
entire face lighting, softening his hard edges, bringing the sapphire gleam in
his eyes into focus. The jealousy fades and I find myself once again wondering
what on earth I’ve done to deserve that expression on his face, the sweet
intensity of his gaze.

“I know what
you’re thinking,” he says teasingly, brushing my cheek with his lips, breath
tickling my ear.

“Oh yeah?
What’s that?” I ask archly, leaning into him and pulling in his scent, dark
citrus and spice.

“You’re
thinking you’ll never get to be normal like them. That because of your talent
you’ll always be alone, on the fringes.”

I pull away
and look up at him, startled at his insight. “How did you know that?”

“Because I was
thinking it too, just for a second. But you’re wrong, Derry. We’ll get a taste
of normal.” He hops off the counter as the couple approaches, their smiles
bringing an answering grin to my face. “I’ll make sure of it,” Cole whispers.

I stand at the
overlook where Nicole and I had our conversation the day she died. The last
time I spoke with her, laughed with her. All the snow has melted and the bare
trees are desolate without their frosting. Everything around me is stark and
cold, but I ignore the despondency that threatens to creep into my chest. I
have come here every evening since I got out of the hospital, looking for
something, thinking maybe I could get a sense of completion, a final answer.

Nicole’s
mother came to see me at the store today. The sight of her red-rimmed eyes and
haggard appearance brought up a surge of guilt that nearly choked me.

“Today is the
first day I’ve gotten out of bed since the funeral,” she had said, her voice
slightly wobbly.

I glanced at
Cole and he nodded at me encouragingly, so I assumed she had said something
normal, like hello or can I talk to you for a moment.

Cole had come
closer to me, prepared to give support, but I sent him away, knowing whatever
Beverly had to say to me, I deserved.

Once Cole had
disappeared into the back stockroom, she came behind the counter and put an
awkward hand on my arm, as though she had forgotten how to touch another human
being.

“Derry, I came
to tell you that I’m so sorry for the things I said. I would’ve come before,
but to be honest, I was ashamed.” My skin was quiet with her sincerity and I
shook my head at her, wondering how she could think even for a moment she owed
me an apology.

“Mrs. Sharp,
I…”

“No dear,
don’t interrupt. This isn’t easy for me.” She sighed and then steeled her
shoulders, determination finding its way into her expression. “Nicole would be
furious with me over how I’ve treated you. And I was wrong. Yes, you could’ve
handled things better, but you’re young, and we don’t always make the best
decisions when we’re young. You did what you thought was best for Nicole, and I
know losing her has been…difficult for you.”

Tears flowed
freely down my face while I just continued to shake my head at her, unable to
respond. She squeezed my arm once and let me go, already pulling away.

“I’m sorry if
you got into danger with Phillip because of guilt over what I said. I never
wanted you to put yourself in harm’s way. But I want to thank you for finding
out the truth. You can’t know what it means to Nicole’s father and me, knowing
she didn’t want to leave us.” Beverly drew in a harsh breath and bit her
trembling lip, trying to stay in control.  “Thank you, and take care of
yourself.”

She had
hurried out the door and down the street before I could protest, leaving me
alone with my tumultuous thoughts, robbed of the chance to beg for forgiveness
once more.

I look over
the water and think of Nicole, of her quick laugh when no one was watching, of
the ferocity of her loyalty, the glimpse of real friendship she gave me. Tears
slide down my cheeks and I know I am saying goodbye to her. Somehow, I think
she would understand.

My gaze shifts
and I am looking over at the defunct train bridge where Miranda took her last
step. Phillip has confessed to Nicole’s murder, although of course he claims it
was an accident and he was too afraid to call the police. Not sure how he’s
explaining my presence in his trunk, but I feel certain he’s got a perfectly
reasonable defense. I doubt it’ll do him much good; Officer Sowers told me in
private there was a lot of evidence tying Phillip to Nicole’s death.

But he swears
he had nothing to do with Miranda, and so far his alibi for that night checks
out. Despite Nicole’s blind certainty, despite my own disgust for his broken
morality, even I must admit it seems he had nothing to do with Miranda’s fall.

The loud
rushing of the river below calls my attention again and I stare down into its
swirling depths, the cold purity strangely appealing; an answer more final and
absolute than any I could conceive. Miranda’s death is a question I will
probably never resolve. A truth I will never grasp.  I stare down at the water
and wonder what she saw in it, if there had been an answer deep under the
surface that called to her, or if she simply slipped and cried out for another
chance as the current took her under.

My phone
buzzes in my pocket and I pull myself away from dark thoughts to see the calls
I’ve missed. Cole and my mother, both within minutes of one another.
Remembering Mom’s shattered expression when she saw me in the hospital bed for
the third time, I know losing me would have broken her, and I shudder thinking
of her wandering around angry and guilty like Nicole’s mother. Or simply
packing my things away in despair the way Miranda’s mother did.

A reluctant
smile pulls at my lips and I send them both text messages promising I’m on my
way home.

Casting a
final glance at the river, I whisper, “Goodbye, Nicole. Goodbye, Miranda.”

I walk back to
the store, to my home, my stride lighter with each step, the burning knot of
guilt and rage in my chest only a faint ember now. I fought for them, and now
there are people who will fight for me, who will keep me from stumbling off
whatever bridge tempts me with long-denied answers.

When we take
that icy plunge, we are not the only ones who drown.

Mattie Dunman is a lifelong
resident of "Wild & Wonderful" West Virginia, and has dreamed of
being a writer since she first held a pen in hand.

A self-published author, Mattie
has pursued several useless degrees to support this dream, and presently enjoys
teaching the dying art of public speaking. She spends most of her free time
writing, but also indulges in reading and traveling.

She is the proud owner of an
adorably insane American Eskimo named Finn, and a tyrant cat named Bella, who
take up more of her attention than they probably should.

Mattie loves to hear from
readers, so please visit her at
www.mattiedunman.com
!

Thanks for reading!

Now available on Amazon!

Liz Hannigan
has been on the run since she was twelve years old.

 Her mother is
dead. Her father has lost his job. And thanks to an experimental procedure, Liz
is now able to ‘download’ the contents of every brain around her with a simple
touch. Forced to hide from both the federal government and a darkling group of
morally deficient scientists known as the Coalition determined to exploit her
abilities, she moves with her father to the bucolic coal town of Pound, West Virginia.

But the hunt
for Liz and her abilities hasn’t ended, and her hopes for peace are shattered
when she inadvertently downloads the enigmatic Carey Drake, whose unusual good
looks and charm conceal a secret as shocking as her own. Stunned by the knowledge
that she has found someone else who has extraordinary abilities, Liz finds
herself drawn to Carey, discovering a deep attraction, and dares to hope for
the first time she might find love.

When an agent
of the Coalition begins stalking her, Liz must find a way to work with the
government agency she most mistrusts as she strives to build a longed-for
normal life and take down the agent who has tracked her down. Caught up in a
struggle to save herself and those she loves, the girl who sees all is blind to
true danger until it is too late.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

I stood in
front of the hallowed hall of learning and looked down at my white ballet
flats, now splashed with mud and decorated by little smudges of green from the
squishy grass I had just trudged through. There was mud on the cuffs of my
jeans too. A great way to start the day.

“Elizabeth
Hannigan! Welcome to Shank High! I’m Preston. Preston Deene. I’m your student
mentor and I’ll be helping you find your way around here today.”

For a moment,
I thought the overexcited boy in front of me might implode with the thrill of
his assignment. Perhaps if I hadn’t met about 15 other ‘mentors’ in the past
couple years, I would have been more impressed with his performance, but as it
was, I just wanted to find my classes and slink to the back, remaining
invisible for as long as possible.

Preston,
Preston Deene’s hand was outstretched in friendly welcome, though as I
continued to ignore it the gesture became increasingly wilted. As his cheerful
expression faltered I sighed and gave in.

“Hi, Preston.
Call me Liz.” I placed my gloved hand in his and shook, doing my best to reward
his persistence with a smile. He looked askance at the glove, but didn’t ask
any of the usual awkward questions and just grinned fiercely, probably relieved
that I had finally responded.

“Ok, so…uh, 
Liz. Your locker. Let’s hit that first, and then I’ll get you to your class.”
He gestured for me to start walking and paced along at my side.  We continued
in uneasy silence until my overly chipper guide halted in front of a locker in
the center of the hall. He chuckled at the number, 665.

“Boy, you’re
lucky you missed the next number, huh? Bet that locker’s cursed or something.”
He gave a casual laugh and I took a closer look at him, surprised to see that
for the first time I hadn’t been assigned an overachieving computer geek.

Preston was
tall and solid-looking; I was willing to bet he was on the basketball team. His
hair was blond and shaggy, hanging just below his chin, softening somewhat
sharp, pointed features. All in all, he was probably the kind of boy who
coasted through high school on moderate good looks and athletic talent;
typically harmless and generally uninteresting.

He handed me
the slip of paper with the locker combination on it and I fumbled with the
padlock until it popped open. I sighed in exasperation; it was one of those
stupid half-lockers shared with another student. The top half was empty, so I
placed the afternoon textbooks I was given on the clean shelf and hung up my
jacket. Slinging my messenger bag back over my shoulder, I slammed the door
shut and turned to the still eager Preston. Repressing the urge to roll my eyes
and groan, I stood quietly waiting for the next exciting development in our
tour.

“Ok, well
then, let’s get to your first period. We’re a little late, but Mr. Tesh won’t
care.” He glanced down at my schedule. “Hey, it looks like we have two classes
together; gym and English. We can sit together in English, and if you need a
partner in gym I’d be happy to help you out.”

I just bet
you would,
I thought. Like every other male mentor I’ve had, Preston had
that same ‘I got dibs on the new girl’ look on his face.  I gave him a
noncommittal smile and trudged along at his side, resigning myself to the usual
stares, humiliating remarks about the strangeness of my wardrobe, and barrage
of well-meaning representatives from every social group in the cafeteria. When
you’ve been to as many high schools as I have, you know the drill.

After an
interminable walk through a labyrinth of identical hallways smelling strongly
of bleach, we ended up in front of the typical wooden door with its thin
rectangular mesh-screen window.

“Ready?”
Preston asked with a raised eyebrow. I nodded solemnly and he opened the door.
As predicted, the class was already in full swing and of course every head
turned to watch me enter. Preston led me to the teacher, who was standing in
front of the whiteboard clutching a marker looking confused and hurt, as though
by interrupting his class I had insulted him personally.

Mr. Tesh was
short, stocky, and balding; a few last, defiant hairs greased across the top of
his head in an unfortunate mimicry of every Wal-Mart manager I’ve ever seen.
Preston handed him my paperwork and stood silently as Tesh reviewed my
information. After a moment he looked up at me with more confidence and nodded
a dismissal to Preston. My guide backed out the door, giving me an encouraging
wave and engaging in a little manly shoulder punching with a boy in the front
row. I shifted my bag on my shoulder and waited for instructions.

“Class, we
have a new student.  This is…” Mr. Tesh squinted at my name on the paper in
some consternation, apparently defeated by the small type.

“It’s
Elizabeth, but I go by Liz, sir.” I decided to help him out, doing anything I
could to speed up the process of the uncomfortable introduction. He nodded
gratefully and began again.

“This is Liz
Hannigan. She’s joining us rather late in the term, so hopefully some of you
will help her get caught up.” He glared at the class intently, willing them to
behave like human beings for a change. After a lengthy moment of scrutiny, Mr.
Tesh finally gestured to an empty desk in the exact center of the room. I would
be placed in just the right spot for everyone to stare at me.

Just what I
live for.

I took my seat
and immediately tried to become less conspicuous; after a few moments of
avoiding eye contact by studiously staring at my pencil, I felt the myriad eyes
shift back to the front of the room and let out the breath I’d been holding.
Finally looking up, I caught the eye of the guy sitting diagonally in front of
me. He was turned around completely in his desk, apparently not worried about
being yelled at for not paying attention. He had a knowing smile on his face
and I steeled myself, guessing what was coming.

“Hey, new
girl,” he whispered in what he thought was a sultry voice. “Wanna have a study
session?” He smirked and I rolled my eyes; I’m sure he thought he was being
original, but I had heard every variation on this line in existence. It never
failed that on the first day I would be picked out by the obligatory hot jerk
as easy meat, be subjected to derogatory remarks from the trademark “mean
girls,” and eventually end up eating lunch alone in whatever corner of the
school I managed to hide in.

I was
exhausted by the process. High school was redundant for me anyway. I already
knew more than the faculty at Shank High in the economically depressed town of
Pound, West Virginia, could ever possibly teach me. Only my father’s insistence
that I would draw less attention as a normal high school student than an
eccentric recluse kept me locked in the endless cycle. At the age of 16, I
could qualify for a doctoral degree in any subject I chose, never mind a high
school diploma.

I ignored my
unwanted admirer, despite his persistence in whispering increasingly obscene
suggestions at me, and finally, predictably, he called me a frigid bitch and
left me alone. With a sigh of relief, I turned my attention to Mr. Tesh,
discovering belatedly that I was in a history class, presently focused on the
American Revolution.

As the class
progressed I began to feel sorry for Mr. Tesh. He obviously cared deeply about
his subject, but his attempts to elicit discussion were thwarted by his pupils’
indifference. When he asked ‘who was Thomas Paine’ and got no response, I
caved.

“Yes, Miss
Hannigan?” His wistful look as he responded to my raised hand was painful to
see.

“Paine was the
author of
Common Sense
, a pamphlet distributed to American colonists
that advocated independence from Britain and was used to incite the revolution.
Later, his highly popular
Rights of Man
became the foundation for the
Enlightenment and was instrumental in inspiring the French Revolution.”

As soon as the
words left my mouth I was sorry; the dawning hope on Mr. Tesh’s face and the
baffled looks from my peers told me I had drawn attention to myself with my
textbook answer, the last thing I wanted to do. I cursed inwardly, appalled at
my blunder so early in the game. Usually it took several weeks for me to get on
the faculty’s radar, and a few more months before they were recommending me for
early graduation and college interviews. Each time I had to move I promised
myself I wouldn’t let it happen again, I would keep my mouth shut and fake my
tests by purposely putting down mediocre answers. But every time it became
impossible; it was as though the information that was stuffed in my brain was
constantly seeking a way out and side-stepped my intentions at every turn.

I kept quiet
for the rest of the class, avoiding the teacher’s eye as he continually sought
me out after every question. By the time the period ended, I was actually glad
to see Preston’s blond locks outside the door and dashed to meet him before
anyone else could corner me. Unfortunately, he misread my flight for eagerness
and gave me his homespun grin, taking my arm in his in an old-fashioned
gesture. I recoiled from his touch and yanked my arm away reflexively, feeling
chagrined as I took in his stricken expression.

Despite the
gloves and long sleeves, the jeans and scarves, I was always terrified of
touching. There was always the chance that somehow the protection of clothes
would be breached and there would be that dreaded moment of skin on skin, when
there would be no defense against the onslaught of information from which I
could never escape. Since awakening from the accident four years ago, every
instinct I had told me to avoid contact at all costs, never let anyone get
close, and run if they did.