Secrets - [Guardian Trilogy 01] (13 page)

“I need to sleep.” I yawned.

“Aren’t you staying here?”

“Not tonight. Sleeping is easier in my own bed.”

“Okay.” She nodded, but looked worried.

“If I need you, you’re close by and vice versa.”

“Okay, sweetie, just remember you said that and call me if you need anything. I don’t care what time it is.” She gave me a hug.

“I will and thank you.”

When I got into my apartment and locked up behind me, I felt numb again. I leaned against the door and closed my eyes. Poor Christopher. I could have listened to him. I could have not asked him to leave. He deserved better than that. Why did I have to be so damn self-righteous? Guilt and grief washed over me.

“I’m a horrible person,” I whispered, needing to say it out loud, needing the universe to know.

“You’re not so bad,” a rich baritone rang out from inside my apartment.

“Holy crap.” I fumbled with the door handle so I could unlock it, so I could
run
. My hands were shaking and refused to work properly, but I managed to get the door open. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. A peaceful, calming tingle coursed through my body. I didn’t need to see who it was; I knew. I remembered. I shut the door slowly, calmly locking it once again. I turned to see warm brown eyes and deep dimples.

“What’s with me and stalkers?”

He chuckled, but didn’t look psychotic “I’m not stalking you. I’ve just been following you, or—more specifically—watching you, trying to gage who you are.”

“Riiiight.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s pretty much the definition of stalking.”

He squeezed my shoulder and looked at me with empathy, changing the tone of our conversation completely. “I’m sorry.”

I knew in my stomach he wasn’t apologizing for breaking and entering.

“Why are you here?” My voice sounded as tired as I felt.

“I’m not sure I
should
be here.”

“Well, that didn’t stop you from breaking into my house.”

“I know about your boyfriend.”

“My
ex-
boyfriend,” I said pointedly, but the mention of Christopher took wind out of my sails.

“Do you want to talk about him?” He took my hand, and I felt the walls that had been holding my emotions in begin to crack and crumble. Tears followed. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t stop weeping, and I couldn’t speak. The stranger led me to my couch where I curled into a ball racked with guilt and an overwhelming flood of emotion. He stayed with me, not speaking or touching me. Just company, a friend. Finally, a dry sob shook my body

“I don’t want to talk about him. I was so angry with him, I didn’t see—” I couldn’t go on, couldn’t breathe.

“You’re doing fine. You keep too much inside.”

“I should have helped him.”

“You couldn’t have helped him. You
are
a good person. You’ll help many, but you can’t save everyone. That’s why I’m helping you.”

I heard his words, but they didn’t make sense. Who was this strange man? Why was he in my house? And why did not knowing the answers to such pertinent questions seem like a minor detail? After a few minutes, I composed myself enough I could speak whole sentences rather than a few jumbled words of regret.

“I don’t even know your name,” I said.

“I sincerely apologize. Quintus. My name is Quintus.”

“Well,
Quintus
, why are you here? Not that I’m ungrateful exactly, but—”

“I can’t tell you. It’s not time. All I can say is there’s an interested party watching out for you. My job is to watch, not participate. You, however, have complicated that. You saw me. You
noticed
—something no one has done for … well, I don’t know if anyone has ever done that.”

“Interested party? What does that mean?”

“Someone has an interest in your actions, your life, your
well-being
.”

“Why would anyone have an ‘interest’ in me? I don’t get it.”

Another flash of dimples and the twinkle in his kind eyes made me feel extraordinarily uninformed. “You’re very special,” he said. “The future holds great things for you.”

I don’t know if it was the clear tenor of his voice or the conviction in his eyes, but in that moment I believed him. At that instant, I would’ve bought whatever he was selling. This strange man who admitted to stalking me and who obviously broke into my apartment seemed completely trustworthy.

“You should rest now. I’ll be touch.”

“Okay,” I said, struggling to maintain my suspicion.

Quintus stood up and looked at me sympathetically. “Will you sleep?”

“Probably not. There are just too many questions, too much to think about.”

He extended his hand towards me and I hesitantly took it. He led me to my room. “Get in bed.”

“Excuse me?”

“Trust me.”

I frowned.

“There are not many things you can trust in this world, but I’ll guarantee you I’m one the things you can.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t completely convinced, and I did lie down—but I kept a close eye on what he was doing. “Goodnight.” He softly touched my forehead and everything went black.

 “My keys. Where are my keys?” I mumbled to myself, as I looked all over my parents’ house. I couldn’t find them anywhere and I had to go to class. I couldn't be late. Outside there was a child’s pink bicycle in the yard. I rolled my eyes, but grabbed it having no other choice.

 I left the bicycle and ran into the mall. It was a glass maze of clothing store windows. The aisles were crowded with fraternity and sorority members. They glared at me as I tried to push my way through. The hostility on their faces was unwarranted and annoying. Aisle after aisle I couldn’t find my way through to an exit. There was one door that wasn’t glass. It was instead shabby and wood planked. I yanked it open and pushed my way into a bar. It was even more crowded than the mall. I scanned the room for someone who could maybe help me. I saw my mom and Juliet. They waved and headed in my direction.

“What are you doing here, Olivia? You should be in class,” Mom said.

“I can’t find my way out.”

They laughed. “Follow us.” Juliet led the way, but before we made it to an exit, the fire alarm sounded.

The crowd shoved and knocked each other out of the way. I was pushed down. People streamed past me, tread on me, but none stopped to help. My mom and Juliet continued to walk away, not noticing that I’d fallen. I curled into a ball, covering my head to protect myself from the mob of people rushing the door—and suddenly a hand wrapped around my wrist, easily pulling me out of the stampede.

My savior was solid. I pressed up against him to escape the people bulldozing against me. He acted like a barricade, a wall they went around. “Holden.” I pressed tighter, resting my forehead on his shoulder trying to block out my surroundings. His arms lightly, hesitantly enclosed me. We stayed suspended like this— the world moving quickly and violently around us. A rock in a river.

“This way,” a trace of a southern drawl evident once again. He walked me to a truck that was parked along the curb, then opened the door of the cab for me. I was accosted by a sickeningly sweet smell—the bench seat was covered in blood. The last thing I wanted to do was get in the bloody truck. He noticed my expression and followed my gaze.

“Oh. Sorry about the mess.” He looked at me strangely, but retrieved a towel to cover the seat. I climbed inside with his help, holding my breath so I didn’t have to smell the gore. “Where are we going?” I asked.

“I have no idea. This is your dream.”

“
My
dream? Then are you real or part of the dream?”

“Both.”

“Explain, please.”

“This place, this situation is in your mind, unlike the last two times when we were in mine. Basically, we're in your head. I, however, am very much real. Along for the ride, so to speak.”

“So you're just playing along? How did you know the truck was yours?”

“I didn’t. It was there. What’s with the blood?”

“I have no idea—I thought it was yours.”

“Your mind is a strange place so far.”

“How? How do I show up in your dreams and you show up in mine?”

“I don’t know.” He looked annoyed. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

I tried hard to remember what had happened before I went to sleep. “I saw you at my mom’s house. You left. You ran away. Why?”

He smiled at me like I was a child. “No time for that answer now. Then what happened?”

“Then what happened?” I echoed. “Oh—then I got a phone call.” Suddenly I was sad, very sad.

“Yes.”

“Christopher killed himself. I had to go to the police station.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why he did it.”

“No, why did you have to go to the police station?”

“I identified the body.” The tears spilled over the edge and the dull ache was back in my chest.

“Are you crying?” Holden seemed horrified and kept glancing over at me with increasing concern as I continued to sniffle. Finally, he stopped the truck so he could turn fully towards me. He cupped his hand gently around my chin and turned my head to face him.

“I thought you never wanted to see him again. Isn’t that what you said at your show?”

His question induced sobbing as I remembered how horrible I’d been the last time I saw him. “Oh God!” I crumpled into my lap.

“Was that wrong? Olivia, stop crying. What's wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry.” I took a couple of breaths. “I’m sorry. I just shouldn’t have been so mean. He was looking for help, someone to talk to … and I kicked him out. Maybe I could have saved him if I wasn’t so selfish. . . .”

Holden looked at me in disbelief.

“I know. Disgusting isn’t it?”

“Olivia,” he said, speaking very softly like he didn’t want to scare me or cause a scene. “I can’t let you think that. The guy was an asshole. He wasn’t there for help. He was there for money. His plan was to rob you. At no point did it ever occur to him to just ask for your help. He would have done
whatever
it took to get what he wanted from you.”

“What could he have done?”

“Don’t be naïve—plenty of things. He drugged the champagne he was going to give to you.”

“How do you know?”

Holden talked on as if he hadn’t heard me. “I believe the plan was to slip something in your drink so you’d be at his mercy. After that he was going to take you back to his apartment and … well, I’m sure you can fill in the rest.” He gave me a hard look. “He didn’t care about you or your life. All he cared about was preserving his own. Don’t waste tears on him. He isn’t fit to be the dirt beneath your feet.”

“How could you possibly know this?”

“He told me, in a manner of speaking.”

“Why would he tell you?”

“That isn’t important. What's important is that you know this wasn’t your fault.”

Another tear slid from the corner of my eye. Holden gently brushed it away. “No more.”

“If I don’t cry for him, who will?” I gave a weak smile. “Even if he was planning those horrible things, he still meant something to me once. I never wanted this for him. I only wanted happiness for him.”