The Reaping (20 page)

“But I told you I didn’t make any deals.  What does he want with me?”

“And
I
told
you
that maybe
you
didn’t make a deal, but
somebody
did.  Probably one of your parents.  Not just anyone can make a deal for you.  Besides, I don’t think that’s all he wants with you.”

I thought of the letter from my mother and an ominous cloud settled over me.  “And how do you make good on your deal?”

“Depends on the deal, I guess, but I think with twins there’s always a fight.”

“A fight?”  I asked.  Derek nodded in answer.   “A fight for what?”

“A fight for your life.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, unable to disguise the tremor in my voice.

“Somehow he finds what people need most and he gives it to them.  For a price.  With twins, it’s like hitting the jackpot.  He gets two for the price of one.”

“But I don’t understand,” I repeated, but in my gut I thought I probably did.

“It’s kill or be killed, but either way you lose.  If you lose, you can never come back here, never move on.  You die, but not really.  You’re trapped in the darkness,” he said gravely.

“And if you win?”

Derek laughed bitterly.  “No one really wins.  You can’t kill a man without becoming the monster.”

I felt like I was about to hyperventilate.  I couldn’t
kill
someone, especially not my identical twin.  To look into her face, so like my own, and end her life, condemn her to an existence like those other people I’d seen.  No way!

Suddenly, I was overcome with the urge to run, run far and fast.  And then hide.  Forever if need be.  I was certain I couldn’t handle what he was suggesting.  Heck, I wasn’t even sure I was strong enough to handle what had happened in the past month.  Who could? 

Then I remembered the girl in the garage asking me to save her.  What if that really was my sister?

“So you’re saying that I’ll have to- have to
kill
my sister or be doomed for eternity?”  I felt the weight of it, the hopelessness of it pour down on me like thick, black tar, drowning out light and air.  “Is there no other option?  No way to…to…”

“Not that I’ve been able to find,” he said, shaking his head.  “Yet,” he said again.  “But…”

“But what?”  I felt my entire being latch onto the possibility in that one word, the hope of a “but”.

“There’s something that just…”

“Just what?”

“That I just don’t get.”

“What?”

“You’re already dead.  If you’re already dead, how can he claim you?”

I felt deflated.  I had hoped there would be something else, something more like a loophole that he’d just realized.  “I still don’t believe that’s possible.  I mean, look at me.  Do I look dead to you?”

“No, but maybe that was part of the deal.”

I had no response to that, bits and pieces of Dad’s version of “the accident” flitting through my mind.  “So you’re saying that it’s possible that I’m dead and that the only reason I’m here right now is because someone pretty much made a deal with the devil.”

“Pretty much,” he agreed.  “At least that’s one theory.”

“There are more?”

“I don’t know. 
That’s
why I need to think,” he said pointedly.

I was silent, mulling over what Derek had said as he resumed his pacing.  Then a thought occurred to me.  “Why couldn’t he find me?”

“That’s another question I don’t know the answer to.”

“And why did he think you could?”

Derek stopped and looked at me, hard, for several long, tense seconds before he responded.  “I think he knows I can feel you,” he said carefully.

“How can you feel me?  Why?”

Derek shrugged his shoulders in that way of his.  I felt like I’d seen it a thousand times, like I’d known him all my life.

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, a ripple of warmth skittered through me at the thought of him knowing what was inside me,
feeling
what I felt.  And feeling
it with me. 

I felt the blood stain my cheeks.  A question, one that I had to know the answer to, came to mind and I was embarrassed about it even before I opened my mouth to speak.

“What does it feel like, to feel me?”  It sounded like such an intimate thing, to
feel
me.

“I can feel it when you wield, partly because right now it’s tied to your emotions.  I feel your fear, your anger, your power,” he said then paused.  “And your danger. When you’re out of control, I can feel it raging inside me like it’s
me. 
Only it’s not.”

It wasn’t quite the romantic explanation I’d hoped for, but I supposed it made sense.  My cheeks burned.  I was even more embarrassed for thinking that the explanation might be something different, something sensual. 

I nodded, casting my eyes toward the floor, as if in thought.  At least I hoped he’d see it that way so I could compose myself.  Nervously, I tucked my hair behind my ear.

I saw black boots as Derek came to stand in front of me.  I didn’t look up.  I was afraid to, certain my face was still beet red.  I saw him raise his hand toward me then felt his finger beneath my chin.  I let him lift my face until our eyes met.  When they did, I felt it again—the magnetism, the electricity, the heat.

“But that’s not all I feel,” he said softly, his voice touching me like a physical caress.  “I feel drawn to you, inexplicably drawn to you.  For a few weeks now, it’s been getting stronger and stronger.  I knew I had to find you.  If Fahl hadn’t wanted me to locate you, I’d have looked anyway.  I started here because of the nexus.  I thought it was worth a shot.”  He paused, brushing his thumb across my lower lip before he continued.  “But once I got here, I knew you were close.  I could feel it.  You’re like…gravity,” he said, the last no more than a whisper.

“I feel it, too,” I confessed, lost in the magic of the moment.

“I know,” he said.  “You practically vibrate with it.  You even pull me into your dreams.”

I felt my cheeks warm again.  What was it with this guy and making me blush?  “You know about that?”

“Yeah.  At first I didn’t understand what was happening, but it didn’t take me long to put two and two together and figure it out.  And then I saw the clearing…”

“I-I—” I stammered, not knowing what to say, humiliated beyond description.

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since I first saw you—in the woods, covered in blood.  I knew it had to be you I was feeling.”

Derek bent his head toward mine and I closed my eyes, lips tingling in anticipation. 

And then the phone rang.

With a frustrated sigh, Derek stepped away from me and disappeared into the kitchen.  I heard him answer the phone then his end of a conversation with someone he obviously knew.  It sounded like someone was asking if I was awake.  When he reappeared, he confirmed my suspicions.

“It’s Leah.  You up for a visitor?”

What I really wanted was more time with Derek, for a multitude of reasons, but I knew that I could hide no longer.  It was time to pick myself up and get back in the game.  It’s what Dad would’ve wanted.  He always used to tell me he didn’t raise a quitter.  Like never before, I hoped he was right.

Less than half an hour after we hung up, Leah was hauling a huge overnight bag through my door.  She informed me that since she knew I wouldn’t come and stay with her, she was going to stay with me.

“At least for the weekend,” she clarified with a grin.  She flounced off down the hall, curls bouncing, to put her things in my room, leaving me alone with Derek for a few more minutes.

“Do your thing with Leah.  I’ll see you Sunday night.”

When I saw the promise in his eyes, I couldn’t help the stupid grin that tugged at my lips.  I nodded and turned away to walk him to the door.  I opened it and, as Derek moved past me, I realized that I was already missing him.  And that was completely ridiculous. 

Even though he had already stepped down onto the stoop, I still had to look up into his eyes when he stopped and turned back to me.  He was enormous.  And he was mesmerizing.

“I won’t be far,” he said.  Glancing over my shoulder, presumably to check for Leah’s presence, Derek must’ve surmised that the coast was clear because he dipped his head and quickly grazed my cheek with his lips.

I stood at the door, watching him mount his bike and drive away.  When he was out of sight, I shut the door.  With a gargantuan effort, I pushed him from my mind, determined to give Leah my full attention, no matter how difficult it was.  And believe me,
it was difficult.

********

Sunday arrived before I knew it.  Though initially I’d had my doubts, I had really enjoyed my time with Leah.  Surprisingly, she was just what I needed.  I was forced to ignore all the insane aspects of my life in favor of just being a teenage girl having a sleepover.  We diligently avoided all sensitive topics, which really just included my father and Stephen because Leah had no idea what other issues I was dealing with.  But it seemed that pretending everything was alright and slipping out of the drama for a while was a good change of pace.  It was clarifying and cleansing in ways that I hadn’t expected.

And for the most part, it went off without a hitch.  Things got a little hairy at night and at dinnertime.  It didn’t take me long to figure out that those were going to be the two most difficult times of the day for me. 

I doubt that dinner is a painful experience for many people, but it was proving to be an extremely emotional time for me.  I’d shared a thousand dinners with my dad over the years.  And if I’d ever realized it, I’d never really acknowledged the fact that he was the one consistent thing in my life.  No matter where we were—what town, what house, what state—he had always been there for dinner.  Always.  And it hurt me now to know that I’d taken him for granted all these years. 

The other challenge was nighttime.  My sleep was poor at best.  My dreams were chaotic, some riddled with glimpses of that same black house, of faces in the shadows and something haunting me, hunting me.  Others were images of my father, some real, some imagined.  I woke dozens of times each night, soaked in sweat, heart pounding, tears streaming down my face.  With each rising sun, I became more and more exhausted.

So this morning, at an obscenely early hour, I exited my room as quietly as possible and padded into the kitchen to start some coffee.  As I scooped the fragrant grounds from the canister, I thought again of Dad telling me it’d stunt my growth.  I smiled despite the pain that gnawed at my heart.

As I put the coffee can away, I noticed a stack of mail behind the sugar jar.  I had been so self-absorbed and grief-stricken lately, it hadn’t occurred to me to ask if someone had been getting the mail; evidently they had.

I pulled out the stack of envelopes and flipped through them.  Most were the usual accumulation of bills—electric, water, cable, phone—and junk mail, but one piece looked out of the ordinary so I turned my attention to it first. 

The plain manila envelope was thick and had nothing on the front but for the two address labels and a stamp.  On the label in the center of the envelope was my name and address, typed in a neat font.  On the label in the upper left corner was an unfamiliar name and address.  I thought it had the ring of a law firm—Lewis, Lewis and Schmidt.  The return address was for a town in Ohio.