Altruist (The Altruist Series Book 1) (4 page)

“I’m not sure where she got it but it’s been in our family for some time. I do know that anything handed to us from the past is important though, even if only for sentimental purposes. You should keep it close.”

“Yeah, I think I will.”

By the time dinner comes to a close, I can’t help but feel like I’ve managed to get to know Abel’s family better than Abel himself. My parents walk Eliath and Shoshanna to their Class 4 car, exchanging pleasantries and making plans to do this again. I follow along, a few paces behind, hoping to take in as much of the Cohens as possible. Feeling a hand grasp mine, my momentum towards the black SUV stops and I turn to find Abel connected to the hand now holding mine. I can’t help but smile.

“Thanks for having us over.” He looks down and kicks his brown boot into the gravel of the driveway.

“I didn’t really have anything to do with the inviting part, but I’m glad it happened.” I stare at him, willing his face back up from the pavement.

“Maybe we can do this again sometime, you know, minus the parents and siblings.”
 

“I’d really, really like that. Actually, The Council throws this festival every year. It’s sort of a giving back to the city thing. Anyway, it’s this Friday at the fairgrounds and I was planning on going with a couple friends if you’d like to come?” His hand feels so warm against my own that I begin to dread him leaving.

“Yeah, that sounds great!” He smiles, and the way his cheeks cause his eyes to squint makes me think that he isn’t the type of person who is capable of containing their happiness. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He sprints off towards the car and the absence of his hand in mine makes me surge with a sense of loss. A second later he returns with a crumpled piece of paper in hand. “Here’s my number. Text me if you want. If I don’t hear from you I’ll just plan on meeting you guys there.”

I take the paper out of his hand, breaking through an obnoxiously large grin I manage to mutter, “Definitely.”

Chapter 5

By Thursday evening I’m bursting at the seams to dial those 9 digits and hear his voice. Even though I know that some government official will be listening to whatever words I speak or spell, it’s been about 36 hours since his hand left mine and my mind has been consumed with nothing else. Laying on my bed, textbooks and notes scattered around me, I wonder if maybe just one text would come off as too interested. After explaining to Willa and Asher the events of the evening, I’ve been given explicit orders to just see him at the Festival. “Guys don’t like girls who act like they’re too into them, they like a chase.” I hear Willa’s words ring in my head. Asher rolls his eyes and suggests that it’s weird for strangers to show up at my house and give me their numbers, that I’m better off ignoring the entire situation. I can’t really blame either of them for their reactions and though I’m trying desperately to abide by their advice, I can’t help but think that if they had met them they would see it wasn’t really that strange of an encounter. More than Abel, Willa was put off by Shoshanna being so interested in my life, and even though I agree that it was odd, I don’t think it’s a red flag to run away in the opposite direction from the Cohens. I want to know them, not just Abel, but all of them. Maybe it’s because they represent a change in the norm, something different. Whatever it is, I don’t think I could simply go on not trying to see them again.

Turning onto my left side, I slide my hands together and rest them underneath my head, my body curling into fetal position and finding comfort. My eyes meet the metal box on my nightstand and I stare at the symbol on the front. The deep green triangle with interlocking pearl detail emits an iridescent glow in the dim light of my bedroom. I reach over and grab it off the nightstand, pulling it towards me for a closer look. I feel a slight tingle run throughout my body when I lift it this time and it catches me so off guard that my immediate reaction is to drop the box, but my hands won’t seem to release. In fact, my grip tightens. I feel a surge of energy and focus hit me all at once, my fingertips pull toward one another underneath the block and I feel a change in the smooth metal. Instantly I flip it upside down so that my eyes can examine what my fingers have felt. On the bottom of the box, directly in the center is the triangle emblem with the same inner three-column detail as Shoshanna’s necklace, though the encompassing circles are absent. How did I not notice this before? The engraving is deep and boosts my theory that the compartment inside must be very small. The lines are thin but extremely precise. My fingertips trace their pattern over and over, creating a mental photograph to be categorized and stored. Finally, once I’m content that I have memorized the symbol, I place the box down on my bed and though the tingling in my body reduces, it doesn’t completely subside. As the strength I felt surging through my body a moment ago starts to dissipate, I suddenly feel exhausted.

I am cold and fearful as a woman bends down towards me. Her hair is a deep chocolate brown and her dark grey, dull eyes peer into mine. I want her to go away; her presence makes my body tense, I need help. As she comes closer to me, I begin to realize that no help is coming. Her fingers dip into a small vial filled with a shimmering purple liquid and she brings them to my lips. They smell fragrant but not pleasant, a sweetness masking a rotting odor. As the purple liquid hits my tongue I feel a warm sensation overtake me, tingling leads to numbing. My eyes feel tired, and once they close, I know they will not open again.

I awake paralyzed, convinced I am still inside the helpless body, convinced that I am dead. As I gasp for air I realize the paralysis is mental and my hands shoot up to my eyes. When I pull them away from my face they are wet. I am crying.
Why am I crying? Why does this keep happening? Why can’t I make it stop?
My confusion quickly turns into frustration. I grab my phone and without fully realizing what I’m doing, I press the nine digits that I pray will lead to peace.

             
Hey, it’s Cate, sorry, I know it’s late. Are you awake?

I set the phone down after I send my message and turn off the screen; the room fills with darkness. Sitting up I bring my knees into my chest and clutch them, desperately looking for some control. If I could just grasp onto a single thought maybe I could regain some composure. Minutes pass and my heart begins to race. I glance at the clock, 3am. He must be asleep. I lean back against my headboard and force myself to take a deep breath. As soon as I feel my heart begin to pump blood at a normal pace my phone illuminates and the screen reads: Abel. I lunge for my electronic lifesaver and slide the contact bar open.

             
Yeah…is everything alright?

He wants to know if I’m okay. Of course he does, I’m texting him at 3am like a crazy person. Moments ago I frantically needed him, not because I’m completely irrational and think that he is capable of controlling my nightmares, but because for whatever reason, Abel Cohen is the only thought that brought comfort. How can I tell him that? I can’t.

             
Everything’s fine, sorry if I woke you, just wanted to say hi.

Just wanted to say hi? Really? That’s the best I could come up with?
I roll my eyes and sigh. I am a complete mess. Tapping my fingers against smooth glass of my phone I patiently wait for his reply, if he does reply. I can’t blame him if he doesn’t. Out of all of the familiar dreams I’ve had, this was the worst. Being unable to protect myself, being unable to move, being completely and, for the first time, utterly helpless made a bad situation infinitely worse. I lay here, engulfed in self-pity, agonizing over sleeping again and convincing myself that perhaps the life of an insomniac would suit me. Then a single thought enters my mind like a bolt of lightning: I saw her face. Suddenly I hear the familiar chime of my phone alerting me that I have a new text message.

Don’t worry about it..I’m awake. I’m glad you texted me..I’ve been hoping you would all day..get some sleep though..we have a date tomorrow night
J

As my eyes scan the text my body instantly feels warm. A smile creeps across my face and any fear I felt moments ago is now completely gone. I set my phone on the nightstand and curl back up into bed, feeling each muscle in my tense body slowly start to relax.
He called it a date,
I think to myself.
I’ve never been on a date.
My eyes close and though I’m nervous another dream will come, I now know, without a doubt, two things. First, in every other nightmare, the person after me was a man, this means that there is more than one. Secondly, I’ve seen her face and I won’t forget it.

###

“He called it a date?” Willa squeals as she quickly runs the flat iron through my hair.

“That’s what he said.” My voice squeaks with nervousness at the thought.

“Wow that must have been one hell of chicken dinner your mom made,” Willa laughs and the hot iron comes dangerously close to burning my neck. She’s right, I’ve had plenty of guys ask me out but these are boys who I’ve known me my entire life. What could I have possibly done to interest Abel in the 3 hours we spent together? My stomach clenches at the thought of disappointing him, maybe he’ll find out I’m not all that special.

Willa must notice the worry across my face because no more than 2 seconds pass until she blurts out, “I’m so excited to meet him! You totally deserve a nice guy in your life, and if it doesn’t work out between you two then send him my way because I totally deserve a nice guy in my life, too. Blake is such a jerk, he’s so full of himself, ya know? Like he’s God’s gift to the world, and let me tell you something, he is most certainly not.” She smiles at me through the mirrors reflection. Willa and Blake have been on and off for the past 3 years and with this being Blake’s senior year, he’s subtly making sure that Willa knows that university girls are going to be a lot to compete with. I’ve been telling her for the past 2 years and 51 weeks that she could do so much better. She’s the one girl at Summit that could definitely give Chelsea Morris a run for Homecoming Queen and if Willa actually cared about things like that, the crown would undoubtedly be on her head. Chelsea has known this since we’ve been 14 and it kills her that Willa’s popularity is so effortless.

“Girls!” My dad calls from downstairs. “Asher’s here to take you over to the Festival!”

Willa sets the flat iron on my vanity and again our eyes meet in the mirror’s reflection. “If his jaw doesn’t immediately drop at the sight of you tonight, then Asher is right and something is seriously wrong with him,” she smiles. “Run!” I let out a loud laugh that echoes through my room and stand up; grabbing my bag I head down the hall.

“So how did you swing getting your parents to let me drive the precious Catherine Quill the entire 5 mile journey to the fairgrounds?” Asher’s attempt at a British accent lands flat and I shake my head, smiling profusely.

“Mom’s stuck at an open house and I basically had to swear to Dad that I would wear five seatbelts and a helmet,” I explain. It’s not really their fault, the Class 3 car that Asher got for his birthday two weeks ago seems like it could stop running at any given second. But it’s more than just a way to get from point A to point B, it’s freedom for him, and although it makes me uncomfortable not having to walk, I’m glad he has it. 

“Your parents are so overprotective!” Willa dramatically shouts from the backseat over the music.

Asher turns the volume down and adds, “Yeah, but for protective parents, they sure seem comfortable with you meeting up with some unknown vagabond.”

“Vagabond? Really, Asher? You don’t even know him, he’s a nice guy. You’ll see.” I reach over and playfully jab his arm.

“Okay, but just so you’re aware, your Dad for the first time has entrusted me with your safety and if I see him so much as glance at you the wrong way, we’re leaving.”

“Yes sir, Asher sir!” I bring my hand up to a salute. Asher smirks.

“Ahh, I love this song!” Asher says excitedly. “You know I listened to them before they even had a thousand plays online.” If Asher has any faults it’s that he’s a complete music snob and though at times annoying, it’s one of those traits that makes him human. By now Willa and I have learned to accept his music critic claims and nod our heads in agreement.