Exiled (7 page)

They were travelling southbound on South Greeley Highway, heading toward Terry Ranch Road. AnnaBeth’s house sat on three acres and wasn’t too far from the Colorado border. Michael felt his eyes droop as they passed the Big Country Speedway. Giant floodlights lit up the arena. He ignored the high-pitched whining of the racing cars and focused on the roads yellow stripes. Neither he nor Chev spoke, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts.

All of a sudden Cheverly slammed on the brakes, whipping Michael forward against his seatbelt.

“What the hell, Chev?”

Smooth and unwavering, she said, “Holy cheese, what an idiotic truck driver.”

Michael knew his mouth hung open. He was stunned by Chev’s calm demeanor.

She gave him a quick glance and then said, to the back end of the semi truck, “I’m not going to flip you off. I’m not going to honk my horn . . .” She flicked on the left blinker and sped into the left lane. “. . . I’m just going to drive on by.” And she did, completely disregarding the semi truck that had pulled in front of them.

Michael, on the other hand, did flip him off. “Asshole,” he shouted. Then to Cheverly, “You handled that . . . well. If anything happened to Red . . . or us, I’d have been peeved.”

“Thanks. Glad nothing happened to your car . . . or us.” She giggled. “Staying relaxed in stressful situations helps keep me sane.”

By the gleam in her eyes, he knew she meant more than this moment. She was talking about yesterday, too. Her, Vinny and their botched anniversary date. Those thoughts made him realize he needed more alcohol—needed to be numb.

“Nothing happened between Vinny and me,” she began.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He peered out into the darkness, his head resting against the cool window.

“We talked. That’s it. I swear.” She blinked a few times. “I was mad you’d ignored me all day. I figured you’d forgotten.”

Michael turned toward her. “But the lake, our lake?”
Seemed too coincidental.
He watched her push a dark strand of hair behind her ears. Admittedly, he was still attracted to her.

They’d arrived at AnnaBeth’s. The sprawling rambler was bathed in light. Music blared into the night. Chev put the car in first and turned off the ignition. “I’m sorry, Michael. I promise nothing happened. I’d never do anything to hurt you.” Tears trickled down her cheeks.

A part of him, the part that had gone and made her chocolate-covered sugar cookies wanted to lean over and wipe them away. Tell her not to worry, that everything was okay, all was forgiven . . . “I’ll have to think about it.”

Neither Venus nor Zaren went to the party.

Dervinias’s little house had two bedrooms. He’d given the smaller one to Venus. The room was basic: a window, closet, dresser, nightstand and a bed. The décor on the walls—not so basic. The top half had been painted a cotton candy pink. The bottom half had paper stuck to it, covered in (get this) little princesses. There were hundreds of vertical rows of blond, brown and black-haired girls wearing a long bright pink gown. Each had a tiara and scepter. An off-white border cut the walls in half and a hot pink colored word, ‘Princess’ repeated itself over and over and over and over all the way around the room.

At least the bed looked comfy. A white comforter covered it and tons of different sized pillows had been propped against the headboard. It’d reminded Venus of a fluffy cloud. The pillows were pretty. Some covered in lace, pearlized shells, ruffles and tiny roses. Over the bed hung a small chandelier and with the lights on, the room sparkled with hundreds of tiny diamonds. On the white nightstand sat a lamp, the shade a soft pink. And the curtains dressing the window were thick, fluffy white.

When she’d first entered, she nearly died of humiliation. Dervinias swore he hadn’t done it. He said the previous owners had sold him the house furnished. Both Zaren and Dervinias had laughed. Yeah, hilarious.

The cute little room, clearly decorated for a little girl, brought concern and twisted her gut with worry. She couldn’t help wondering about the people who’d lived in the house before Dervinias. What’d happened to them? Why had they left everything? The girl? What sort of sadness or trouble had caused them to up and move? Humanity! Crappy new-fangled emotions for people she’d never met. They coursed through her body, an unfamiliar strain, the effects almost as poisonous as the air.

She’d asked Dervinias about the family, but he’d said he didn’t know. Somehow she didn’t believe him. Something felt off. He seemed too happy, too cheerful about . . . everything. Even when Venus had asked questions and he’d complained she was giving him ‘the third degree’, he’d continued with his too upbeat attitude. It was irksome. Irritating. The worst part was he seemed to enjoy bugging her.

“Look,” he’d finally said, “your fiancé’s father has a great desire to understand all things human—especially the younger generations. Teenagers to be specific. A lot of it probably has to do with the fact that we kelvieri look sixteen and will forever. But I’m sure it’s more. Over the centuries, he’s witnessed the younger generation become smarter and smarter while they’ve grown lazier and lazier. It’s made him curious. So here I am—an experiment.”

Venus nodded. Her parents had talked about sending an expedition to Earth for the same sort of reasons. They had questions about why humans seemed to die at such a young age.

“So you’re here to study the humans? You’re a Discoverer?”

“Well, yes and no. My official title is Geneticist, but I’ve gone on several expeditions before this one and discovered many different worlds, so Discoverer fits, too.”

“What have you learned? Are humans bound to become extinct?” Her Earth Studies teacher had given humans another century at most before they destroyed each other and their beautiful planet.

“Probably, though I find their take on emotions fascinating.”

Venus shrugged and went to bed. She’d had more questions, but Dervinias seemed anxious to get to the high school party and Venus had been tired.

Still was.

But so far sleep eluded her. Two hours of tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable enough, relaxed enough, to close her eyes and drift. Without success. A faint mildew odor tickled her nose and the bed wasn’t as comfortable as it’d looked. Kind of lumpy. She’d changed into pajamas for sleep, a black tank and boy shorts. The material, though softer than the clothes she’d been wearing, scratched her skin. And human underwear—awful! Talk about riding into areas they didn’t belong. No wonder humans were grouchy. She missed her silky unisas and her lovely, comfortable bed that read her body’s every need, both internally and externally. She guessed that if clouds weren’t vapor, but as soft and squishy as they looked, they’d feel like her bed back home.

“Cret,” she swore and flipped onto her back. Forcing her breathing to slow, she closed her eyes.
If only I didn’t have to breathe. If only there was a switch to turn off my mind.

But it refused to shut down. Scenarios on how she’d ended up on Earth coursed through her. Who would’ve done it? She knew her family had enemies. That went along with being royalty. What they did about it was a different story. Their counselors, chancellors and especially her parents had always kept that part of ruling the kingdom away from her. They’d said she was too young to understand. Now she was on her own and she didn’t know where to start. It could’ve been anyone. How could she help them if she didn’t know where to begin?

And Sadraden? Her irrihunter’s baby? Both dead. Venus felt tears form in her eyes, a human thing to do—cry. She tried to blink them back, but one escaped and she wiped it away. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.” Another tear. Pain wrenched and twisted her heart. The tears flowed and she let them.

For the first time ever, she cried herself to sleep.

Kelarians can tell the difference between a dream and reality. A part of their minds always remained alert. For this reason Venus knew she’d pierced someone’s consciousness. What she didn’t know was whose. They weren’t hers. The images she witnessed guaranteed that, but this hadn’t happened before. Like a child hiding in a corner, she tried to stay out of the way. She had no doubt getting involved in a dream or a memory could be detrimental.

She watched.

A little boy with a shuck of black hair sat on the floor playing with cars. He looked like he was three. The dark wood floor felt cold against his bare feet and he wriggled his long toes against the tingling numbness. He wore a yellow t-shirt and khaki shorts. Venus could hear yelling in the background and felt the boy’s mind fill with fear. He was scared of the angry voices—of his parents. He didn’t think they loved him. That he was bad and was to blame for their constant fighting. Suddenly, the voices got quiet and then the man called for him.

“Son. Come here.” A command. Venus watched the boy stand and followed him into a bedroom. Smoky haze and the smell of cigarettes overpowered his senses. A man sat in a stuffed orange and white flowered chair. Black hair, like the boy’s, covered his head. Gray peppered the edges, near his ears. He was clean shaven. Handsome even. Across from him, a woman sat on the edge of a bed, rocking back and forth, her eyes red and puffy. “Sit on the floor.” The man pointed to the ground. The boy obeyed, head lowered. Afraid. And the man knew it. He looked away, like he had to gather himself. Venus watched the man’s eyes. They were the eyes of a devil.

Fear for the boy slashed at her heart. He was like a lamb to the slaughter.

“Let me see your feet.” The words dripped with malice.

“Why?” the boy asked. Innocent.

“Don’t question me, stupid.” He grabbed a foot and lifted it with one hand. In the other he held what looked like a thick piece of glass. “Catherine, this is your fault. Yours and this boy’s. You two make me do this.” Then he cut the boy’s foot.” Blood poured onto the floor—a red river.

Venus turned away, unable to watch the boy’s suffering. She could still hear him scream. Sorrow filled her for the tortured boy. How she hurt for him—with him.

The memories continued. And so did the abuse. She witnessed, experienced every cut and bruise, externally and internally. Years and years of his suffering strangled her, like rope on a noose. She struggled to breathe. He’d been right. His father blamed him for everything.

By the age of seven his father left and Venus felt a momentary relief. He’d be safe. But, no. The mother, Catherine, continued with the abuse.

In spite of his parents, he managed to stay kind. He began playing football so he could feel like a winner in some area of his life. It’d worked. People flocked to him. A born leader. He escaped the pain by reading. Developed a love of poetry: William Blake, Emily Dickinson. He devoured books. All of Shakespeare, War and Peace, Frankenstein, anything by Hemingway, Faulkner, Mark Twain. He also held a secret hope that his mother, in her way, still loved him.

Venus watched him grow, felt his losses, experienced his crushes on girls. He decided early that they used him. Many of his decisions were a product of his mother’s hurtful words, which taught him to never let himself get too close. Still he’d fallen for a beautiful girl. Cheverly! These were Michael’s dreams. Michael’s memories. Deep down, she’d known. She watched the two of them together. He seemed to love her and she loved him. Venus also witnessed the day he’d seen Cheverly with Dervinias. The pain he’d experienced. And though hate seethed within, she felt his underlying love for the girl.

She also saw the way his mother treated him and felt the intense rage he harbored. Like a ship in a storm, he’d been pummeled and beaten at every turn in his life. With every relationship he dared have. He was growing weary. Ready to sink and disappear into the churning waves . . .

Unexpectedly everything in his mind went dark. His heart began to beat fast, like a frightened rabbit. Excitement? Fear? She didn’t know. Maybe both. It was as though a blindfold had been placed over her eyes. Venus couldn’t comprehend, nor see what happened.

Only felt his confusing emotions.

Then his soul soared with an unexplained pleasure. And when she finally understood why, she was devastated. He wanted to die. It saddened her to realize he considered death as a means of relief. She tried to dig deeper, see if there was a specific reason, but he wouldn’t let her in any further. Frustrated, she pushed, trying to advance further into the recesses of his mind, but she wasn’t sure how and didn’t want to hurt him or herself.

She’d almost given up, but like a light bulb, his mind flipped back on. She heard birds singing, a fast moving stream, smelled the Larkspur and the Sunflowers. He was remembering that day on the mountain. The day the two of them met. Venus stayed on the fringes, now familiar with the sounds. And then she saw herself, moving toward Michael.

It was strange, seeing herself as he did: long blond hair flowing behind her as she ran. The sun hitting the strands made him think of a glowing halo. Ethereal was the word he used. His heart quickened as he watched who he believed was the Angel of Death.

Michael believed she’d come to kill him. Take him from his pain. Save him.

When he first saw her, he’d thought she ran naked toward the stream. The sunlight had blurred her skin and her cream-colored unisa together. All he noticed were her Kelvieri’s Boots. Her skin shone, radiant. And the way the light hit her eyes, he kept thinking of a song—Electric Blue—by some group called Icehouse.

As she drew nearer, his heart softened. But, almost as quickly he cursed himself for having any sort of feeling. Once they’d started talking, he hungered for an emotional and physical bond. Craved it worse than the alcohol he’d been drinking. So tormented.

He longed to be taken from his forsaken life. It caused him pain to realize she hadn’t brought relief. Hatred. Agony ripped through his body. She watched him pull out the gun, tap it against his forehead. Venus wanted to reach out and take it from him. Then she heard the word he’d heard:
coward
. It’d saved him, but where did it come from?

She was drowning with him in his sorrows. So much about their first meeting made more sense.

And then she saw him again at that diner, where he noticed her. Desire coursed through him whenever he pondered their kiss.
Apple cider
. But Venus shook her head. That didn’t matter. What was of the upmost importance, he’d gone to the party with Cheverly. They’d talked. He’d allowed his feelings for her to bubble to the surface, though he hadn’t wanted them too. He had so much pain, yet he still cared.

How Venus hurt for him. The more she learned, the more her soul connected with his. He needed her help. He needed love more than anyone she’d ever known. And, Venus wanted to help him.

She had no idea how or where to begin. Love was an emotion foreign to her, at least the true, everlasting love that could exist between two people . . .

She woke abruptly, covered in sweat. Entering Michael’s mind had been exhausting. She felt damaged, having suffered his every cut and each emotional cruelty, as he had. Venus felt the inklings of understanding ripple inside her mind. There was a reason the Gods, Ith and Aetha, had linked her to this boy. It wasn’t merely a punishment. It was much more.

A whispered confirmation enveloped her.
“Yes.”

The Gods hadn’t sent her here, but they would allow her to learn from the experience. This had become part of her immortal’s journey—part of her quest toward becoming kelvieri. If immortality were to be hers, if she wanted to return home and find the truth behind what’d happened to her family, her irrihunter, and, if she wanted to someday rule Alayeah, Venus needed to do this.