The Deadly Nightshade (22 page)

“Careful,” I say. “You don’t want to lose those fingers.”

He smirks. “You’re right. Those are important.”

“Don’t you think you should stop distracting me from my post?” I ask, the tone of my voice a little more flirtatious than I had originally intended. But I decide to go with it. After all, it can’t hurt if I don’t mean anything by it. Not that I even know what I’m doing anyway, considering the last attempt I made at flirting with anyone was when I seductively asked my crush to pass me a box of crayons in the fourth grade.

“You’ve only got a few more minutes left until you’re relieved. I could keep you company until then, maybe walk you to your door. When’s the last time you had a guy walk you home, huh, Nightshade?”

Never,
I want to say, but I hold my tongue. The lieutenant is venturing into uncharted territory. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.

“Nate—”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, standing up and making his way toward the ladder. “Goodnight, Nightshade,” he says before climbing down.

“Goodnight, Nate,” I call after him.

I turn my head to watch him go, reflecting upon what just occurred. He really isn’t so bad—Reina could have sent worse to keep surveillance on me. And the flirting, well, that was unprecedented . . .

As I stare off into the black forest, it occurs to me that I am alone again and the opportunity to escape is still present. But it’s too risky now—with the changing of the guard approaching at any moment, there is too great a chance I will be seen before I can make it over the wall, and who knows what the consequences would be if Reina caught her prisoner making a break for it . . . No, I decide it is safer to save my plan for another day, perhaps even tomorrow, if possible.

I am relieved of my post less than a minute later.             

Chapter 40

I don’t sleep a wink the entire night, but I don’t remain wide awake, either. Instead, I fall into some sort of half-consciousness, a dull haze of remote wakefulness that prevents me from obtaining any real rest. As the hours pass and dark turns to light, I toss and turn, my mind racing as I try to figure out my next course of action. Beside me, Connor snores like a chainsaw. I find myself replaying our three months together before Sweetbriar in my head—meeting him, trying to get rid of him, tolerating him, and finally somewhat enjoying his presence. To think that could all be erased tomorrow night. Should I even bother to say goodbye, or will he try to stop me? Either way, it doesn’t matter. I am leaving Sweetbriar regardless.

I get up earlier than usual that morning, unable to lie in bed idly any longer. I need to clear my head, to get away from everybody, to get away from that obtrusive snoring. I yearn to be alone in the forest again, to walk freely, to hunt
my
way, to be independent. I could do just that, too, if it weren’t for these damn walls that insist on keeping me caged like I’m some sort of criminal.

As daylight breaks, I find myself slipping quietly out of the house and walking down the cobblestone street toward the iron gate. The air is a bit warmer today than usual—a sign of the seasons changing—and I actually begin to sweat as I practically jog toward the camp’s exit. Noticing me approaching, the two guards bar my path.

“I need to go out,” I insist. “Just— Just a few minutes. Please.”

They exchange a glance. “I don’t think so,” says one of them. “Not unless the rest of your group is coming too.”

“Look, I’ll be right outside, alright? I’ll come straight back, I promise.”

But the two of them must either be reading my mind or following Reina’s orders to keep me on lockdown, because they refuse to open the gate. I argue with them for a few minutes, determined to get the hell out of here, but they stand their ground. Then Nate, who notices the commotion as he happens to be passing by, joins us to find out what is going on.

“Nightshade, we’re not leaving for another couple of hours. What are you doing?”

“She wants to go out,” one of the guards answers for me. “We told her no, but she won’t listen.”

“I just want five damn minutes to myself outside, is that too much to ask?” I snap at them.

“Nightshade, you know you can’t go out alone. It’s too dangerous, especially with everything that’s been going on recently,” says Nate. I look up at him, willing him to see the desperation in my eyes, hoping to play on his compassion. I don’t have to say a single word; he falls for it immediately. His eyes soften and he sighs, adding, “Which is why I’ll come with you.”

I shake my head, annoyed that
this
is his solution. “Do you really think I can’t handle myself?”

“Of course I do, but the only way they’re going to let you through this gate is if I’m next to you, alright? We don’t even have to talk to each other if you don’t want to. How does that sound?”

I agree somewhat reluctantly, frustrated by the idea that I must be constantly watched like a damn delinquent. Now my chances of escaping are slim to none, unless, again, I were to kill him, but I won’t do that. If Nate is my only ticket out of here for the time being, my only chance for even the slightest bit of freedom, then I will take him.

After he checks with Reina to make sure it is okay that we leave, Nate orders the guards to let us through, and then the gate is open. Seeing those iron doors part fills me with adrenaline, and I am overwhelmed with the urge to run, but I know what will happen if I do. No more going out for you, Nightshade. Not a chance. So I contain myself and settle for the steady, even walking pace that Nate sets. Soon, though, he falls behind and allows me to lead, giving me the freedom to choose wherever I want to go, which I am grateful for. As we traverse the forest, stepping over vines and dead leaves and plants preparing for the oncoming spring, Nate remains silent as promised. It is a wonderful thing, silence between two people when words aren’t necessary. But it only lasts a little while—he ruins it by opening his mouth.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I suppose,” I sigh.

“Do you . . . like Sweetbriar any better now than you did when you first came here?”

I shake my head. “You’re doing it again, Nate. It’s not going to work.”

“I know. I know,” he insists, looking slightly embarrassed. “Just humor me, please. I really want to know.”

I mull the question over for a minute in my head, trying to find the words to correctly depict my feelings toward Sweetbriar. Finally, I reply, “Yes, I think I do. But sometimes I just need to be alone. I’m not the type of person who can stand being around people for a long time, Nate. That’s why I’m leaving.”

“You know,” he says, smiling, “I think you have a greater love for these people than you let on. I think deep down you care about them and you know it, and that scares you.”

I stop walking and turn to him for the first time since we left. “I’m incapable of love, Nate. I don’t think I’ve ever loved another person in my entire life.”

He shakes his head. “See, I don’t think that’s true. I mean you loved your parents, didn’t you?”

I contemplate this for a second. I was too young when my mother died, too stuck in that selfish childhood stage to really feel anything for her other than attachment by instinct. And my father, did I love him? Reflecting on my life before his death, all I can remember is an unwavering devotion and desire to please, but does either really constitute as love? I shake my head.

“Well I’m sure they loved you, Nightshade,” he says. “Just like Connor loves you, just like these people love you.” His eyes drop to the ground, and after a moment’s hesitation, he whispers, “Just like I love you.”

“What?” Could I have heard him right? No, he can’t possibly mean it in the
romantic
sense—that would be ridiculous. He must mean the platonic type of love, the type you would feel for a friend.

But judging by the tender, sheepish look in his eyes, I know exactly which type he means.

“I was screwed the minute I saw you, dirt- and blood-covered as you were,” he says. “Looking at you, the first thing I thought was: ‘This girl could kill me—I have no doubt she could—and if she did I don’t even think I’d mind.’ From then on you were in my head, no matter how much I tried to push you out. I fell in love with the way you carried yourself, with your attitude, with your independence. And I know you well enough to know you don’t feel the same way, and I don’t expect you to reciprocate, but I just figured I might as well tell you before you leave. I meant to last night, but I couldn’t work up the courage . . . You’re a very intimidating woman, you know, but I like that about you. You’re smart and assertive and bold and daring—everything I wish I could be. So yeah, I’m pretty much in love with you, and I hope that doesn’t overwhelm you, but I needed to get it off my chest.”

I stare at him for a moment, my mouth ajar but no words coming out. Taken aback by his confession, all I can manage is a quiet “Thank you for telling me.”

He smiles. “I’m sorry if that was a lot to take in.”

“No, no, don’t apologize. I’m, uh, I’m glad you told me,” I assure him slowly, trying to figure out the right thing to say. I don’t want to hurt him if I can avoid it. “It’s just— I can’t imagine feeling any kind of romantic desire in this world.”

Nate nods in understanding. “I’m glad I told you too. At least now I know I can die without any regrets,” he laughs.

I laugh too. Although his feelings are unrequited, Nate doesn’t seem all too disappointed, which is a relief on my part. In a way, part of me wishes I did love Nate. He is such a kind, good-natured man, and there is no doubt in my mind that we would be compatible on many levels. But it’s impossible. To feel that kind of affection for someone, to feel love, it goes against all that I am, all that I have labored to become. He deserves to be loved fully and completely, and that is something I am incapable of doing even if I wanted to.

With that, Nate and I decide it is best we cut our walk short and head back to camp. Once again, that perfect silence is achieved, but it is no longer peaceful. A sensation like a cold stone forms in my stomach, and I begin to feel heavy— physically heavy. Aware that something is very wrong with me, I begin to worry that I am falling ill, which is the last thing I need right now. Then it hits me, and I realize I would be better off if I
was
sick, because at least with illness there is a chance of recovery. But this, no this is far worse, deadly even. Against my will, the stitching has begun to unravel—one loose thread was all it took to start the process that could undo years’ worth of work.

Finally, I am able to identify the sensation I am feeling: Guilt.

Chapter 41

Nate and I return to camp to find Sheppard, Sophia, and Claire waiting for us at the gate. Our hunt goes quickly that day—barely an hour passes before Sophia puts an arrow through the head of an old doe. As I assist Sheppard in dragging our kill, I catch the preacher glancing at me every so often in my peripheral vision, his knit eyebrows forming deep grooves in his forehead, but I stare ahead as if I do not notice. After a few minutes of this, he gives me one of his signature nudges and asks what is bothering me. Though my first instinct is to shut down, to shut him out, the weight in my stomach has not yet disappeared and it occurs to me that maybe the preacher will know how to get rid of it. In a whisper, I tell him I will explain when we get back to Sweetbriar.

After Sheppard and I deliver the doe to the kitchen, I pull him aside and explain what occurred between Nate and me in the woods. He listens patiently as I recount my reaction to Nate’s confession and describe the heavy feeling in my stomach that has not left since. When I am finished, he places a hand on my shoulder and smiles.

“Sounds like you’re feeling slightly guilty to me, kid,” he says.

“But that doesn’t make sense. Why would I feel guilty?”

“Well, do you regret telling him you don’t have feelings for him?”

I shake my head. I have no reason to regret it. It’s the truth.

“It’s normal to feel bad about letting someone down, Nightshade. But, if you ask me, I think you made the right decision. Nate is a good guy. I’m sure he understands.”

With Sheppard’s confirmation that I did the right thing, a part of the weight in my stomach is lifted. I will never stop being amazed by how this man always knows what to say. I doubt a better person has ever existed than Elijah Sheppard. Feeling slightly relieved, I thank him for his help and go on my way.

Before I can process what I am doing, my feet carry me to the schoolhouse. As I stand at the building’s entrance, I realize there is one more person I want to confide in more than anyone, and that is Connor. This could be our last chat, I suppose, if I’m going to leave tonight, although he has no way of knowing that.

Upon entering Savannah and Connor’s classroom, I am welcomed by the sound of seven high-pitched voices loudly chorusing, “Hi, Nightshade!”

“Hi, kids,” I say, smiling. “I just need to borrow Mr. Hawthorne for a second, if that’s okay.”

I look up to the front of the room and am shocked to see Connor standing beside Savannah—actually standing, with his hands in his pockets instead of wrapped tightly around metal grips.

“Connor, where are your crutches?”

With a grin, he walks, not hobbles, over to greet me. “Dr. Lam took me off of them this morning. I was going to tell you during lunch. She said I’m strong enough not to need them anymore, but I should keep away from any strenuous activity. I can’t even tell you how much I’ve missed walking on two legs, Nightshade.”

“That’s great!” I exclaim. After all these weeks of waiting, Connor is finally healed, and we can leave! But then it hits me—Connor isn’t going anywhere. Only I am. Suddenly the news of his recovery is no longer so exciting.

“So, what did you come down here for?” he asks.

I ask if he has a minute to talk, and after requesting that Savannah cover the class he guides me out into the hallway. When the door to the classroom is shut and I am sure no one will overhear us, I give him a quick overview of the recent events involving Nate. He stands there grinning like an idiot the entire time, hanging onto every syllable. When I am finished, he bursts into laughter.

“Holy shit,” he says, unable to contain his amusement. “You made him fall in love with you. In less than
three months,
too. That’s incredible.”

“Shut up. This is serious,” I snap, slightly annoyed that he’s taking the matter so lightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m a terrible friend for laughing. Look, I think you made the right call letting him down easy. You have no reason to feel guilty, you know.”

With these words, the last of the awful weight in my stomach is lifted and I am able to breathe a sigh of relief. Connor is right—I shouldn’t feel guilty about not reciprocating Nate’s feelings. But the real problem isn’t whether or not I have a reason to feel it, but that the feeling was ever there in the first place.

After I thank Connor for his help, the two of us part ways, him returning to his kids and me heading for the door. I have only just stepped outside when the sound of hurried footsteps and a woman’s voice calling out to me bring me to a halt. Both belong to Savannah.

“I’m glad I caught you,” she says, breathing heavily as if the light jog from the classroom to here was almost too much for her body to handle. She looks different today—older, frailer, wearier. Her ever-present smile has been wiped from her face, her cheeks are a spectral white save for the clusters of freckles that speckle them, and the skin beneath her eyes is puffy and sallow.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, slightly troubled by her appearance.

“I wanted to know if you’re still planning on leaving, you know, now that Connor’s leg is better. People have been talking . . .” She trails off, unable to finish the sentence, her eyes flitting to the ground.

“Most likely, yes.”

“I’m worried about Connor,” she admits, her large eyes brimmed with tears and her voice catching. “He isn’t fully healed yet—I mean, Dr. Lam said it herself that he shouldn’t be using that leg too much. He’s— He’s not like you, you know? I just . . . I know it isn’t my place, but I don’t think he should go.”

“I know,” I murmur. “And I agree with you. Connor belongs here, in Sweetbriar. That much is obvious to me. It’s his choice whether he stays or goes—I won’t push him one way or the other, I promise.”

Her smile returns to her face, and with it her youthfulness is restored. She blinks rapidly, trying in vain to disguise her tears. The look of worry in her eyes turns to one of gratefulness.

I am about to walk away when she adds, “I wish you would stay too, Nightshade. I think you belong here just as much as he does. And maybe you don’t think so. But the people here love you, and they feel safer with you around. If you leave . . . we’re all really going to miss you.”

I can’t help but smile. “Thank you, Savannah, but it’s just what I have to do.”

Without warning, she throws her arms around me in a hug, pulling me tight against her frail figure. “I wish you would reconsider,” she whispers into my hair. “But if you don’t, then I wish you the best of luck out there.”

She releases me from the embrace, smiles again, and hurries back inside. I may have disappointed Nate this morning, but at least I managed to make Savannah happy, and I guess that balances things out. She knows which side Connor will choose just as well as I do, but now more than ever I am convinced that this is where he belongs. Sweetbriar is a much better fit for him than out there, and I suppose I have known that all along. I won’t blame him for choosing this place over me—hell, if circumstances were different, I might stay a little longer too . . .

But there is no point in thinking about what could be, about what might have happened if things were different. Even if I
did
like it here, even if I
did
want to stay, I couldn’t. Roman is coming for me, and I have no choice but to leave. And if I
did
love these people, then how could I remain in Sweetbriar and put their lives in danger?