Secrets - [Guardian Trilogy 01] (7 page)

I laughed, in spite of myself. Juliet and my mom both had the tendency to blame anything wrong with me on either my eating habits or the amount of sleep I’d had. “I had cereal.”        

She shook her head in a motherly fashion. “Eat this, and get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I do need a good night’s sleep. I’ll be busy all day tomorrow.” I’d almost forgotten about my gallery show.

“Have you picked out all the pictures for the show?”

“Yeah, I had them sent over earlier this week. I need to check the set up and help with any last minute changes. You'll be there, right?”

“I never miss.”

Juliet and I ate our dinner speaking only of the show for the rest of the evening. She helped me pick out a dress and shoes to wear. I finally got to bed around 1:00 a.m. so tired from the day that I fell asleep almost the instant my head touched the pillow.

I was there in the desert again. Like the night before, there was no town in sight, but the bridge sat empty, waiting for me. I walked over and looked down. The snakes were gone. Instead, there was a tiny stream. Probably full of snakes, I thought.

“No snakes,” came his voice from behind me as if he could read my mind.

I turned around. “Where am I?”

“You really don’t know?”

“No.”

“But you were so close last night.” A slight smile touched his perfect mouth, but it wasn’t humor. It was a smile filled with warning and dangerous intent.

 “In my dream?”

“Your dream?” Something resembling understanding touched his eyes, and the smile slid from his lips.

“Yes. Why do you keep bringing me here?”

He seemed genuinely amused by this. “Sweetheart, I'm not bringing you here. You're coming all on your own.” I noticed a faint southern accent in his voice.

“Then why are you here?”

“It may not look like much, but it's mine. Mine alone. You're trespassing.”

“This?” I gestured all around us. “This waste land is yours? Why would you want it?”

He looked around, appraising our surroundings with an expression that clearly said, “It’s not so bad.”

He looked back at me. “No one asked you to come.”

“What is this place? Is it real?”

“It's all I am. Many secrets are buried in the sand.”

“What sort of secrets?” He was so evasive, my curiosity was piqued. I wanted to know more about him. Who he was, what he was doing here, and most of all, was he was real?

“
My
secrets.”

“Will you tell me them?” I knew it was impertinent, but I couldn’t help it.

“No.” The edge in his voice seemed to make the air vibrate.

“I still don’t understand why I am here.”

“That makes two of us.” He shook his head. “Don’t come back. I can’t risk you being here. I'll have to stop you, one way or another.”

“Stop me? How?”

“I'd prefer not to harm you.” His voice was so matter of fact, I nearly missed the threat.

I looked away and noticed the stream was filling rapidly from an unknown source, rising and moving faster, looking increasingly violent and turbulent.

“What was behind the doors?” The question popped into my head and out of my mouth before I could think about it.

Suddenly the stream ceased, it became a stagnate puddle. “You must stop coming here.”

“Why?”

“You can’t take back what you see.”

“Are you real?”

“As real as you are.”

“You're not just in my imagination?”

“Quite the opposite. You’re in mine.”

“That’s not possible. How?”

He shrugged. “No idea. It’s a first for me.”

“Can you at least tell me your name?”

He frowned. “Holden”

“Holden,” I repeated slowly, willing myself to remember it. “I'm sure this will sound dumb and cliché, but there's something about you. . . .”

No trace of a smile softened his stony face. “I've had that same thought.” The stream started running again, smoothly and peacefully.

“And I found you?” I asked, doubtful of this.

“So it would seem.”

 “Why would I do that? Better yet,
how
?”

He shrugged. I began mindlessly pushing sand to one side with my foot. I thought about rewording my questions, hoping to force him to give me more informative answers. “Will you hurt me?”

He nodded. “It’ll be a shame though.” Nothing on his face suggested that he actually meant those words.

“I’m crazy, right? This is my brain’s way of telling me I’m cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Or I have a tumor. You're the product of a tumor.”

“No, I don’t think I am.”

“Of course, the tumor would say that.”

He looked at me like he didn’t quite know how to deal with me or my rant. “Crazy to some is perfectly sane to others. I think you have a gift.”

“The gift of insanity…”

“No, of seeing the abyss.”

Apparently sarcasm didn’t register with him.

“‘The
abyss’
—I take it you don't mean the late eighties movie with Ed Harris?”

Holden looked at me levelly, unamused.

“And what if I don’t want to see it?” I didn’t know what the abyss was, but I was sure it wasn’t a good thing. His icy green eyes flickered to my foot, his eyebrows pulled together, and darkness clouded the sky and his expression.

“It's time for you to go.”

“Will I see you again?”

“You should hope not.”

My alarm clock was singing from a distance, pulling me away though I wanted to stay. Needing to know more, but quickly losing my hold on the dream, I followed the path of Holden’s last glance and looked down at my feet. Blood bubbled up from the hole I had dug in the sand—
It was no use.

I opened my eyes to a bright sunny room. I pounded on the top of my clock to turn it off and squeezed my eyes shut, trying desperately to get back. I failed. Eventually, I pulled myself out of bed. There was a busy day ahead of me.

The day went by in a flash of planning, arranging, and rearranging—then finally it was time for me to go home and change. The dream was all but forgotten, but I was nervous. It wasn’t my first show and I knew what to expect, but the tension beforehand never got better.

I showered and put on my favorite little black dress and nude colored heels. I pinned my hair into a messy, curly arrangement on the top of my head letting pieces inch their way out like little brunette snakes. I took a long look at myself in the mirror, sizing myself up and searching out the major flaws.

Not too bad considering what I have to work with
, I decided. The buzzer rang in the apartment; my cab had arrived. I grabbed my purse and left without another thought about how I looked.

The cab arrived at the gallery, and I could see the lights gleaming inside and hear the gentle buzz of conversation. It sounded like a decent crowd. I always harbored the fear that one day no one would show up, and I would have to apologize to the gallery for being a horrible failure. I took a deep breath then walked in, smiling. Immediately, I was greeted by several people whom I hardly knew, but almost recognized. I made my first round, talking with my guests and politely answering their questions while trying to get away as quickly as possible. Eventually I made it through most everyone in the room. I went over to where Juliet had positioned herself. She was chatting with some short guy who was wearing slightly wrinkled clothes and held himself in a stiff manner that suggested he was uncomfortable. When I got over to her, she grinned, “Looks great, Liv. This may be the best one yet.”

“You think so? I wasn’t sure about ‘Life with a Soundtrack.’” The picture in question was a photo I’d taken of a girl walking down the street listening to her iPod and dancing with no regard to those around her. In general, I liked the picture. The composition was good, and I captured her vibrancy, but I didn’t know if it fit with my
Personally St. Louis
theme. I had taken the picture from behind her and most everyone else was from the front.

“I liked it. You didn’t have her face, but you caught her irreverence and personality. I bet it's the first one to sell.”

“Maybe.”

“Olivia, this is Mark. He works for
The Journal
.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mark. I hope you’re enjoying the show. Do you have a favorite piece?” I understood why Jules was schmoozing with this man—she was trying to get me a good review—but something seemed a little off about him. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time or the focus to figure it out at that moment.

“Actually, it’s ‘Life with a Soundtrack.’ I envy her freedom of mind—and the color and life in the picture jump out of the frame. It's the sort of place you wish to be after a long day.”

Not too bad, maybe I was slipping in my judgment. This guy he could hold a conversation. Jules had been with worse.

Someone tapped my shoulder and a too familiar cologne filled my nose. Unease spread throughout me. I knew who it was before I turned around—Christopher, my ex-boyfriend. I forced a smile and a greeting. He stood too close, infringing on my personal space. I took a slight step backwards to give myself some room but managed to bump into someone else. I turned to apologize and it was
him
, Holden, the man from the bar and my last two dreams.

“Uh, I-I-I, uh . . .” Words escaped me; all I could do was shake my head in disbelief.

 “Excuse me.” His voice was low and unused sounding. He didn’t make eye contact. Before I could say anything, a couple of new arrivals came over to speak with me. When I turned back, Holden was nowhere to be seen, lost in the crowd. I felt Christopher’s hand on my shoulder again.
Of course, he’s the one who waited around
. I turned back towards him.

 “The show is great, Olivia.” His eyes briefly scanned me up and down. “Your photographs are … revealing.”

“Revealing?”

“Looking at these people is like getting to know them.”

I took a second to size him up. Was he being serious or was he mocking me? It was always a fine line with Christopher. His face remained completely passive and friendly. “Only a small piece of them—why are you here?”

“To see you, of course. Would you like another drink?”

My champagne flute was still half full, but I agreed—anything to get rid of him.

He walked away and Juliet appeared immediately. “Insidious man.”

I nodded, but my mind was on Holden. Who cared about Christopher with Holden around? “I can’t believe he's here,” I said aloud, trying to get a grasp on what I was feeling.

“I know, what an asshole.”

I frowned, forgetting she couldn't read my mind. “The guy from the bar?”

“No, Christopher. What guy from the bar? Did you meet someone the other night? It isn’t Ron, is it?” she searched the room.

I blushed, feeling cornered by my inability to answer her question.