Wynter's Horizon (21 page)

“Absolutely. I’m almost done here, and then I’ll join you.” I grabbed a can from the fridge, pressed it to my forehead, and headed for the deck off the side of the house. It felt like spring, the birds almost as loud as the pounding in my head. I read my messages, searching for clues that my exploits had gone viral. There was nothing besides the girls wondering where I was. I racked my brain to recall last night’s details. I could just imagine Jason taking
videos of me all tied up and plastering them on YouTube.

I only hoped he wouldn’t say or do anything because of his girlfriend. After all, he’d done it, too. I answered the girls’ messages, letting them know I was at Beck’s. That would raise eyebrows and probably more texts, but not as bad as the truth. I had no idea what to really tell them, but I was so tired of lying. My head throbbed. I watched the sunset and waited for Beck.

Chapter Forty

Beck—Explorers

I stayed inside, pretending to work but staring at her through the window instead, wondering what to say when I went out. I felt like the last twenty-four hours had put us on a whole different level, but what that was I didn’t know. Her comments about abusing my trust stuck in my head. I had been just as bad, trying to find out what she knew about her unconscious days. I wondered what she would think of that, much less the truth about what I was.

Quinn came up behind me as I stood watching her from the kitchen. “Are you going to tell her?”

I shook my head. It was a reasonable question. I owed her some kind of truth but didn’t know where to start: my heightened physical attributes, my covert job, or that I’d involved her in all this mess. There was no good resolution. Even if we did meet in another place, here we still lived in separate worlds, still two very different beings.

“You should tell her before she figures it out.”

“Do you think she will?” She hadn’t noticed before.

“She’s smart. If she finds out on her own, it could be disastrous.”

“It may be disastrous anyway. I mean, what’s she going to do when she finds out—stick around?”

“I don’t know. It sounds good.”

“Sure, and Frankenstein killed the girl in the end.”

“No sense being so dramatic, or identifying with a monster. Spiderman and Superman had girlfriends.”

“Yes, well, we’re not them. We’re just as likely to kill someone as to save someone.”

“How will you tell her?”

“I don’t know. It’s not the kind of thing you can blurt out over a meal. Hey, guess what, I’m a freak with super strength and can’t control my emotions, but the good news is I have feelings for you.”

Quinn grimaced then smiled, patting me on the shoulder. “Good luck with that.”

I gathered my documents and folders, putting them in a pile on the corner of the counter. “Well, for tonight, we’re just going to get dinner. I’ll tell her tomorrow.”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “Well, I’m going gambling. Have fun.”
He was out the back door before I could answer.

I gazed at her a while longer. I could see her silhouette looking out on the ocean, a sad expression on her face. I opened the door, but she didn’t turn. I wondered if she was still embarrassed. I moved next to her, both of us staring straight ahead. She finally glanced at me, a little smile playing with the corners of her mouth but not touching her eyes.

“Do you ever feel lost?”

I laughed inside. If she only knew.

“Yes,” I replied.

“It’s like I started out knowing where I was but totally lost my spot, where I was heading.” Her voice gained momentum and emotion as she talked. “How did I get here? And how do I get back?”

I didn’t know what to say. Her words were touched with sadness. I cleared my throat, trying to buy time. “I don’t know if you can get back.”

“Well, that sucks.”

“All the greatest explorers thought they knew where they were going then wound up somewhere else, but they did okay in the end. I mean, didn’t Christopher Columbus expect to find the Far East and, instead, discovered a whole new continent? Hell, he even got a holiday named after him, all for going off course.”

She smiled now, a genuine smile. “I guess so.” I wanted to take her hand in mine and tell her I would help her find her way, but I was no guide. This I knew.

She suddenly blew her breath out and turned to me with fire in her eyes. “And you know what really pisses me off? I left all my stuff there.”

“What?” I asked, confused as to where she had jumped.

“I bought a bunch of stuff at the mall. And I left it all there. At Jason’s. I ran out and got sick.” I smiled at her anger and the quick turn of her mind. “It’s not important.” She added self-consciously.

“Well…” I started. I knew how to solve this particular problem.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing. I can replace it, and if he talks, he talks. I can’t do anything about it now.” She shook the phone in her hand. I could see the worry on her face, despite her statement to the contrary.

“Okay. How about dinner?” I asked.

This time she turned her whole body to me and smiled. “That sounds good.”

I took her to The Galleon in downtown Newport—a restaurant almost as old as the town. The floors, stained a dark walnut, sloped with age and creaked as you walked on them, the wooden beams scattered throughout were the same dark color as the floor, giving the entire place a cozy atmosphere. Afterward, we walked through town, and I told her all about Newport, pointing out historic sights and regaling her with information I learned from countless historical books read in the wee hours of the night as I tried to avoid nightmares.

When we got back to the house, she hesitated for the first time since dinner, awkwardly standing in the doorway of the kitchen as I hung up my jacket. I grabbed a glass from the cabinet. She looked worn and tired as she stood watching me.

“What?” I asked. Her heart beat in double time.

“Um,” she hesitated.

“Ask me. Whatever you want.” I wondered if she wanted me to drive her back
to campus. It was late, but I didn’t care. She looked down and then back up.

“Will you sleep with me?” I almost dropped the tumbler despite my expert reflexes.

“I mean … will you sleep in my room?” Her cheeks flushed even deeper. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her eyes met mine and held.

I thought of meeting her on the beach, of seeing her at Jim’s when she hit that drunk, of kissing her in her room and finding her in the woods, of holding her tight as she told me about Abby. I didn’t know where we were headed, and that scared the crap out of me. Even more frightening was the fact that my nights were punctuated with nightmares and screams. Not an attractive quality or readily understandable, but I wanted to be with her, to be there for her, whatever she needed. I was just going to have to take my chances. “Yes,” I finally managed to choke out.

Chapter Forty-One

Wynter—Discovery

He had a broad back and really nice arms. They poured out of his t-shirt, molded and muscular. Not like a weight lifter, just nicely sculpted. I thought of the way he held me, cradled to his chest as I cried. He smiled at me over his shoulder as he filled the glass with water. My stomach jolted a bit, and I felt warm all over, my heart suddenly picking up its beat. He held the tumbler out, and I grabbed it, knocking against the pile of papers on the counter. They scattered across the floor.

“Oops. Sorry.” I left the glass on the counter and bent down to pick up the mess. Papers and pictures were mixed together, spread out like pixie sticks across the floor. Beck was beside me but not quick enough. The photos, large black and whites, were of dead people. I stopped, my hands poised, not sure if I should touch them. A guy hanging from a rope, a
woman naked and dead in a bathtub. Another woman shot through the head on a dirt floor. A soldier, neck broken lying in a ditch. And the last one. A picture of me standing in front of my dresser, wearing only my bra and underwear.

My heart started racing as a wave of nausea passed through me. I stood up, my eyes glued to the photos. Fumbling for the counter, I knocked the tumbler off. The shattering glass as it hit the floor barely registered.

Beck swept them up into a pile but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the floor where the picture of me had lain.
What the hell?
Finally, I looked at him. He stood absolutely still, watching me, papers and photos clutched in one hand. I moved away, now staring only at him. I glimpsed his hand reaching out to me, and I backed up hard against the kitchen counter. It jerked me back to my senses.

“What the fuck?” I squeaked.

“Wynter—” he sputtered as I turned my full attention to him. Why did he have a picture of me? And what about all those dead people? He told me his job was some kind of corporate consultant. It all crashed in on me—how he found me, his surreal way of moving at times, that gash above his eye this morning that was almost gone.

“Oh, my God.” I gasped, my head spinning as I tried to put together a sensible thought. I inched toward the doorway, feeling my way around the counter. He tracked my every move but didn’t shift a muscle as I backed out of the room. I paused in the hall, trying to figure where to go, our eyes still locked. He curled his hands into fists, and I gulped.

“Wynter.”

“No,” I cut him off. “Why do you have a picture of me? And
… those other photos …?”

“Wynter. Please, hear me out. It’s complicated, my job … my life, but I did not take that picture.” His speech was pressured, rushed. His raspy voice, so comforting before, now scared me with its intensity.

“I bet it is.” I swallowed hard. “You lied to me. Are you stalking me? Are you going to kill me like those other people? Are you even human? Right now, you … you don’t look human.”

He smiled and then grimaced slightly, “I’m human, mostly.”

That was enough. I catapulted myself toward the front door, glancing back. He stood in the hall but didn’t follow. I didn’t know where I was heading, but I knew I had to get out. The house that had seemed so charming and cozy felt like a trap now, dark and gloomy. I tried to breathe as I opened the front door and peered into the pitch night.
Oh God
, I thought,
Where’s Quinn
?

I heard Beck’s voice and spun around, but the hallway was empty. I stifled the urge to scream for help. No one would hear me. I decided to take my chances outside when Beck came from the kitchen, phone in one hand, my bag in the other. He placed it a few feet away from me and backed away, his eyes never leaving mine. “I called a taxi for you. They’ll be here in a few minutes. You can wait here or in the driveway. I’ll be in the bedroom. Quinn left and won’t be back for a while. You’re safe in either place. I won’t hurt you.”

I just stared back, gulping for breath and trying to slow my pounding heart.
Mostly human? What did that mean?

The taxi dropped me off at the dorm, and I ran to my room, making it just in time before I puked. When I stopped heaving, I lay on the bathroom floor, trying to get up and hoping to God no one found me like this. My head was ready to explode.

Eventually, the cold tile penetrated my clothes, and I started shivering. I dragged myself up and stumbled to bed.

Chapter Forty-Two

Beck—Visiting the Prat

Quinn came back in the middle of my cleaning up.

“That’s not a good sign.”

“You know the thing about secrets?” I proposed, examining the floor to make sure I had gotten all the pieces. I didn’t fancy stepping on a sliver.

He leaned on the doorjamb watching me, an amused expression on his face. “They always come out.”

I sighed in answer. “She knocked the pictures off the counter.”

“She think you’re a serial killer?”

“Not sure. She was definitely freaked out, especially about the picture of her.” I stood up, dusting off my hands, and dumped the shards in the garbage. “She asked me if I was human.”

Quinn laughed. “What did you tell her?”

“Mostly,” I answered.

“Sounds like you need a scotch. I know I do.”

I handed him the garbage can and followed him out, swiping a pair of glasses and a bottle from the bar on the way to the porch.

“Did you win?” I asked after some silence, the word immediately bringing up her image.

He grinned and pulled out some hundreds. “Our mystery stalker wasn’t there.”

“Huh.” We polished off the bottle, and I went to bed. Sleep, as normal, proved elusive but, for once, the nightmares didn’t come. Instead, I spent most of the night and the next day tossing and turning, seeing her face, remembering her body in my arms as I carried her into the house, how warm she had felt, despite her shaking legs and chattering teeth. I thought of her tear-streaked face, full of embarrassment, of her standing on my porch. I was reluctant to get up and face the reality that she was gone—and with her, all the possibilities she had encompassed. This was the most I had felt for anybody, ever.

I bumped into Quinn in the kitchen. He meandered around opening cabinets and doors, clearly seeking something. I pulled on my jacket, formulating a plan of action as I did so. She may have left, and with good cause, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t still do something for her. I had made some calls on the start of project one. Now project two waited, and this one was even more enticing.