Heartless (The Heartless Series) (10 page)

After a few uncomfortable moments, he walks over and slams the knife down on the table next to me. The sound of metal on metal echoes throughout the room, and I flinch. What the… "Wake up!" He yells.

"No." My voice doesn't sound as strong as I want it to be in my mind, but at least it makes Hart back up a bit. He runs his hands through his hair and paces back toward the window.

"No?"

"Yeah, no. I don't want to wake up. I want to talk to you." Once the words are actually out of my mouth, I hear how lame and pathetic they sound. But what else do I have? Hart is my only clue to anything that's going on here. Sad and strange as it is.

"You want to talk to me?" He scoffs. "Me? What? Have a little chat?" His dimples flash, and he seems to utterly be enjoying himself. It's nice to take a day off of torture and just talk to the dude who normally eats your eyeballs.

"Yeah. I guess. Have a little chat. Talk. I need to know a few things."

"You need to know a few things from the guy who lives in your mind." The way he says it makes me sound all crazy and stuff.

"You are more than in my mind. I know it."

His eyes narrow. "Do you now?"

Well, I did until he said it like that. "You were in history class yesterday. I know you were. Don't give me that Gabriel crap. There isn't any Gabriel. There's only you. You are messing with me, and I want to know why."

"Oh, there's a Gabriel. Gabriel Young. Age nineteen. First year of college. Took the year off after high school to see the world. Came back to Crimson Ridge a changed man, if you get my drift." He winks.

When I don't say anything back, he lets out a frustrated grunt and leans against the wall under the window that serves no purpose since it's grimy, gray, and yucky. Decaying. The room is decaying. The mirror over the table is so corroded I can't even see my reflection. Probably a good thing. I don't want to know what I look like now.

Looking back at the window, I don't think I can fit through it if I ever got off this table. Wait? Can I get off this table? I don't think I've ever tried. I just sort of let him do…

"That's the problem, sweetheart. That's always been the problem."

"Oh, I think there's always been a problem." I pull against the arm restraints to prove to him that they're there. I wish he'd just move them. Or, how about this? I wish we were in a field. A warm field with me fully clothed, where everything is hunky dory. The warm wind on my face. The wind blowing through the grass. Warm. Peaceful. Sunlight. Happiness.

I close my eyes and picture it. Wouldn't it be wonderful?

Light hits my eyes, surprising me. I open my eyes and see green.

Green grass.

Green trees.

Green rolling hills.

A pretty pond.

A single tree next to it.

A farmhouse.

Blue sky.

Warm sun.

I'm standing, fully clothed in a long pale yellow sundress. It's blowing in the breeze around my legs. And I'm warm. I'm actually warm.

For a moment, I'm happy. Actually happy. I twirl around and see him. Hart. Standing there staring at me. He's dressed in what I'd call old-timey clothes. Dull khaki pants from I guess the eighteen hundreds and a white long sleeved, flowy shirt. His dark hair blew around his face thanks to the breeze, but I can see. He's smiling. He looks like he belongs.

"Where are we?" I ask. I don't add
and why haven't we been here before,
but I want to.

"It's always been up to you. All of it. Everything I've done to you. Everything you've let me do. You were on that table because you knew there was something wrong with you. Something on the inside."

No. "So, you're not real. Really not real."

Hart takes a step toward me and, to my surprise, rubs his fingers gently over my cheek. "Oh, I'm very real. I could break your neck like a twig here if I wanted or in the real world. I'm very real out there, too. But in here, it's all you. It's always been you. You are giving yourself exactly what you think you deserve because you know that somewhere deep inside yourself, something is wrong. Really wrong. You know it. You feel it. You just don't know what… yet. But you will. Very, very soon." Hart leans forward, and for a second, I think he's going to kiss me.

He looks into my eyes the way Sam does. The way he used to before he started being so weird. Look at me talking about someone else being weird.

"There's nothing wrong with me." I can't even convince myself.

"Then why do the police want to talk to you?"

"Someone set me up." My chest feels like it's going to explode. My breathing gets quicker, and I decide—probably too late—that this is a bad idea. I never should've gone back to sleep. I should've just stayed awake. It wasn't worth it. "Someone put a note in Danika's hand. Someone's setting me up."

"Who? No one even knows you except Sam. You have no friends, no real friends. Who would hate you so much that they would set you up for murder? You aren't that special. That important. Not to them anyway. They have no idea what you are."

It's true. I'm not special. I'm not anything. "I didn't hurt her. You did." Tears well up in my eyes. It had to be Hart. It had to be. "You can get out of my dreams. You possessed Gabriel. You possessed someone. You did it. And you blamed me."

Hart backs away and puts his hands in his pockets. "You really think I'd do that? Sweetheart, I have enough fun in here with you without having to kill someone for it."

"It had to be you." I wipe away a rogue tear and feel the first drops of rain fall on my face. Storm clouds rolled in when I wasn't paying attention. If I can control everything, then why not the rain?

Stupid brain.

"Sorry.. Not me. Maybe you should start looking in the mirror. See what you really see." He starts to back away, but keeps his gaze trained on mine. "I told you before, angel, this is all on you. All of it. The torture. The visions of the dead girls."

One,
angel
? That's a new one on me. Hart usually calls me sweetheart or love or darlin'—cause he's all Southern and proper like that. And two… "Visions?"

"Yeah." He stops moving. His body begins to fade as the thunder rolls overhead. "Angel, you've been having visions. I didn't bring them into the dreams. There was no other girl."

Chapter Eleven

I
NEARLY FALL OFF OF THE BED
when I wake up. I do, however, knock my laptop off, and it crashes on the floor with a sickening thud. I freeze. I can't move. Can't even really think. I can't afford to have it fixed or get a new one. So there it goes. Something I worked my tail off last summer to pay for is gone. Just gone.

Because of the stupid nightmares.

Because of Hart.

I can control things, my butt.

I peek through my fingers to see exactly what damage I've done when I notice my laptop sitting perfectly perfect on the floor. No dents. No scratches. No nothing.

My lamp is on. I didn't turn it on, so Sam must have before he left. Doesn't seem like him, though. I mean, maybe old Sam would have, but not this new guy. And he says I'm the one who changed. I haven't done any sort of thing. I'm the same Gracen I've always been, except now I dream about demons and dead girls. So really, I'm like the old Gracen. Only older. Perfect.

I grab my laptop and plop it on my lap, which is hidden under piles of covers. Upon further inspection, I notice nothing is
wrong
. Not even the screen has been damaged. Good luck is finally on my side!

I turn it on, remembering Tina sent me a message I didn't reply to. She probably thinks I'm being some horrible person and not talking to her. That's the thing I hate about Internet etiquette. It's so easy to offend someone. I don't want to offend Tina. I need her. What happened before, those messages I saw, was just a fluke. My mind being weird. But I'm okay now. I'm totally in control. I'm. In. Control.

I need Tina to feel normal, since I don't have that in my life right now. You really think Sam fits that bill? No. If anything, Sam makes me feel like even more of a loser. A freak. A horrible person, because I've somehow changed or upset him or don't live up to his standards.

I want to change. I need to change. But not tonight. I'm too tired tonight. I'll check my computer and then try to go to sleep. I want to talk to Hart again. He knows something. Or doesn't know something. Whichever it is, it seems important. Did he really just say there was no girl in the dream with me? I know there was! She was standing right there next to me. No, she didn't participate in Gracen-cide, but she watched. Kinky little thing.

I didn't put her there. Hart did. It's all part of his weird torture that he likes to do. Now he's messing with my mind. I'm nothing special. I'm not doing any of this…. HE is.

Hart is the monster.

Not me.

When my browser opens, it's on a page I don't remember ever being on before. Some news of the weird thing that talks about UFOs and monsters that go bump in the night. I don't need a monster in my closet. I have one in my head.

The top story is something about a full moon and planets aligning or whatever. I don't care about any of that, so I click the little x and navigate my way to my social media accounts. If I'm going to learn something, it'll be there. Sure enough, all I had to do was scroll, and I found it.

It isn't what I'd been looking for, though. I wanted to know more about Danika. What I find is a story on Scarlet, or the girl I called Scarlet. Her real name is Meg Dawson. She was found dead at her house this morning. Her heart was missing.

Just like Danika's.

Just like mine.

Ripped out.

Police have no leads.

I expect I'll be getting a visit from them soon.

I slap my laptop shut and lay it next to me on the bed. I hear Hart in my head.
They have no idea what you are.

I run to the bathroom and throw up everything I haven't eaten today. After I force myself to stand, I wash my mouth out. I wipe my eyes with a towel, and when my eyes meet the mirror, I try to scream. I can't. His hand is on my mouth. His red eyes stare back at me.

"What did you do?" he whispers in my ear. He doesn't sound menacing. Not scary in the least. More… curious.

Every bit of self-defense leaves me. I know I should probably kick him in the shin or the balls or bite his hand. My body does none of that, though. I just stand there, trying to scream for Sam, and look into Hart's eyes. In the dream world, is one thing. Here, in real life, not so much. I liked him better when he was possessing Gabriel. Seemed less freaky that way.

Hart keeps his gaze trained to the mirror, looking into my eyes, as he runs his fingers over my cheek. His skin is cool, smooth. Any other time, it might feel good.

Hart smirks. Oh good Lord, I keep forgetting he can read my mind!

He runs his hand over my cheek until he gets to a stray piece of hair. He places it behind me ear, kisses my neck, and disappears.

Just like that.

Gone.

I fall over onto the sink, and my hands dig into the countertop. What the hell? What the ever loving HELL!

My legs get shaky, and I can't hold myself up. I sink to the floor, too terrified to cry. What do I do? Do I yell for Sam again? And tell him what? Tell him that I have my very own Freddie Krueger? I don't want a Freddie. I don't want any of this.

Who else? My mom? No. She feels guilty enough about this anyway. I can't tell her.

Tina? Hell no!

Who else… who else?

Great. I have no one else. No one I trust anyway. I mean, the only other people I have ever really talked to are Marcy and Lucien, Professor Mitchell's assistants. Yeah, I can see myself finding them and saying, "Hey, I need to talk. Care to be my listening companion? I see this demon and dead girls before they're dead, and I sort of think I'm going crazy like my aunt, but I sure hope not. I'm just trying to hold on, but it's not easy, and I think I'm either dying or going off the deep end… or I'm a murderer…"

Except I haven't been around those girls. I was asleep when they died. It's not like I can kill with the power of my mind. Right?

They have no idea what you are.

I'm going to be sick.

Gah! Why can't I get though one thought process without thinking about Hart? I need meds. I need a padded room. I need a damn team of psychologists loading me up on drugs and telling me it's all in my head due to some deep-seeded childhood issue.

Not that I know what those issues would be.

Scarlet, or rather Meg is dead. Danika is dead. Hart is semi-real. I just… I can't deal. I can't process this.

I can't be here. My heart is beating so hard in my chest, and my skin feels like it's going to roll away. I can't be here. I can't feel these things or think these things. I need to be alone. Maybe not alone, but somewhere where I'm not here.

Somewhere I can breathe.

Somewhere that I can get away from it all for five minutes.

I don't care that it's dark outside.

I need out.

Now.

I jump up, careful not to look in the mirror just in case Hart is there again. I run to my room and throw on some black yoga pants, a sports bra, and a black short-sleeved shirt. I slip on some shoes, don't even attempt to throw my hair back, grab my bag, and leave.

Chapter Twelve

I
HEAR
S
AM SNORING IN HIS
room. How can he sleep at a time like this? My world is literally falling apart. Literally. And he's asleep.

Must be nice to be him. Nice not to have to think about things or worry that he's some sort of killer.

Outside our apartment, I nearly fall over and have to hold on to a tree to keep my balance. Killer? I'm a killer? No, I'm not a killer. I'm not. If anybody is the killer, it's Hart. Of course, Hart lives in my head, so…

"STOP IT!" I order myself because it's stupid and I'm giving myself a headache. I don't know what's going on, but considering myself a murderer seems a bit farfetched. Let's go there as the last resort. Let's just focus on what we know.