Mirage (31 page)

He reached for the door. “See ya, Vi,” he said, offering me a salute with his free hand.

“See ya, Ty,” I echoed as the door slammed shut.

As crazy as it sounded, I was going to miss him.

29 ~ Broken

F
orty-five minutes later, we were sitting in snarled crosstown traffic, going nowhere fast.

The window separating me from the driver slid down. “Sorry about the delay, Miss McKenna. Apparently the president’s in town.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” I called back. And here I thought I’d been smart, avoiding rush hour.

From the depths of my bag, my cell phone rang.
Whitney’s ring.
I dug around for it as the glass divider slid shut.

“Hey, what’s up?” I said, shoving the headset’s earbuds into my ears.

“Where are you?” she asked, sounding impatient.

“On my way home—I mean, to Patsy’s apartment. Stuck in traffic. Why?”

“Oh, no reason. Wait, never mind, I can’t hold it in any longer.” She sounded all excited now.

“Hold
what
in?”

“Guess where I am!” She sounded like a kid on Christmas morning. Wherever she was, it must be somewhere good.

“I don’t know, where?” I played along, laughing.

“Here’s a hint: Park Avenue.”

I sat up straight in my seat. “Wait, what?”

“I’m at Patsy’s place! Waiting for
you
—you were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago!”

“Oh my God, what? Are you kidding?”

“Nope. It was supposed to be a surprise. I’ve got an audition at Juilliard this week. I flew into Newark this afternoon, and Patsy arranged to have me picked up. The driver was holding a sign with my name on it and everything!” She paused for a breath. “Anyway, Patsy left keys for me with the doorman, and I’ve just been sitting around, waiting for you!”

I was smiling from ear to ear now. “Wow, this is so cool! How long are you staying?”

“Not long, just till Friday. My audition’s on Wednesday. I promised my parents you’d come with me. They’re totally freaked out about me walking the streets of New York by myself. You know, with the Stalker on the loose. I didn’t tell them that Patsy was going to be out of town.”

“Good call,” I said, nodding. There was an uncomfortable feeling in my gut, though. Probably because she’d mentioned the Stalker, I mused.

“Anyway, I hope I can meet some of your friends while I’m here. The girl who can move stuff with her mind and the one who can leave her body and all that.”

I laughed at her descriptions of Kate and Cece, relieved that it was all out in the open now.

“And I’m dying to meet Aidan,” she added. “Just a little worried that he’ll read my mind.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make him promise to behave.” My call waiting beeped, and I glanced down at my phone’s screen. It displayed an unfamiliar Manhattan number.

“Hey, Whit, can you hold on a sec? I’ve got another call.”

“Sure, I’m not going anywhere. Just waiting on you.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” I hit the button to switch calls. “Hello?”

“Oh, I’m so glad I reached you, Miss McKenna. This is Trevors, by the way,” he added unnecessarily. I’d recognized his voice right away. “Are you at home?”

“No, I’m in a car headed there now. Is everything okay?”

“I’m … not certain,” he answered hesitantly. “I think we need to sit down and talk, but until then … well, right now I must insist that you do me a favor and stay away from Aidan for the time being. Until sunrise, at least. I don’t have time to explain at present, but I think he might be headed to your home. Is there anywhere else you can go, somewhere you can stay tonight?”

“Not really. I’ve got company, and—” Again, my call waiting beeped. I looked down at the screen with a scowl. Whitney. She must have accidentally hung up and then called me back. “Wait, can you hold on, Trevors?”

“Of course,” he said.

I connected the call with Whitney. “Hey, what happened? Where’d you go?”

“Sorry. There’s a weird buzzing sound in the apartment. Do you hear it? It’s really loud.”

I heard it then, in the background. “That’s the intercom,” I told her. “Over by the door. Press the button—it’s just the doorman.”

“Oh, okay. Hold on a sec.” I could hear her shuffling across the room. “Hello?” Her voice sounded far away now, as if she’d set down her phone. “Really? No, that’s fine. Go ahead and send him up.”

Him?
My stomach did an uncomfortable flip, my pulse racing dangerously fast.

“Whitney?” I called out, yelling into the phone now. “What’s going on?”

I heard a clunk, and then she was back on the line. “Sorry, I dropped my cell. Anyway, you’re not going to believe this, but Aidan’s here. I told the doorman to send him right up.”

It was wintertime; Whitney was there at Patsy’s apartment.

Oh God, no. Please.
I took several deep, gulping breaths. “Whit, I know this sounds crazy, but what are you wearing right now?”

“What am I wearing? What difference does it—”

“Just answer, okay?”
Please don’t say a pink sweater and jeans. Please, please, please.

“A pink sweater and jeans. Why?”

My stomach dropped.
No.
This wasn’t happening—it
couldn’t
be. With a horrible sense of clarity, I knew that the dream must have been a vision, after all. Even if I was wrong, too much was at stake to risk it.

And then I remembered Trevors on the other line. Trevors, telling me to stay away from Aidan tonight. He was warning me; he must have known something was wrong, that Aidan was coming to find me. Instead, he was going to find Whitney there, all alone …

Holy crap.
My hands were shaking so badly now that I nearly dropped my phone; one of the earbuds slipped out of my ear and it took me several tries to shove it back in.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I had to do something. Now, for God’s sake!

“Whitney, listen to me,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the hysteria out of my voice. “This is important, okay? Get out of the apartment. I can’t explain it, not now, but Aidan …” I shook my head. “You’ve got to get out of there. Don’t worry about locking up—just leave. Get downstairs and wait with the doorman.”

Would she be safe there? I didn’t know, but I had to chance it.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, sounding incredulous. “It’s only Aidan. You know, your boyfriend?”

“Just go, Whitney. Now! I’ll explain later. Seriously, this is life or death, okay? I’ll be there as fast as I can!”

“Are you crazy, Violet? I’m not—”

“Go, Whitney.” I was crying now. This was my fault—all my fault. “Please!”

“Fine! You’re scaring me, you know.”

I heard the door slam, heard the elevator ping.

And then I realized what I’d done. “Wait, don’t go near the park!” I screamed.

There was a beep on my phone as it dropped the call. Which meant she was in the elevator now, stabbing at that
L
button, her hair slipping from its ponytail, just as I’d seen.

Damn it, I should have told her to stay
inside
the apartment. Stupid, stupid. But it was too late now—the vision was in motion.

Frantically, I pressed buttons on my phone’s screen, trying to get back to Trevors, but he was gone. I pulled up the number he’d called from and hit redial. Tapping my foot against the divider in front of my seat, I waited while the phone rang—and rang and rang.

Crap.
What was I supposed to do now? There was no one else to turn to, no one to ask for help. Except …

Matthew.

Of course! I dug in my pocket and pulled out the crumpled slip of paper. I misdialed twice, completely unable to make my fingers work properly. After the third try, it started to ring.

“Violet?” he said, sounding breathless. “Where are you?”

“Stuck in traffic, trying to get home.” I was nearly blubbering now. “You’ve got to help me—it’s Aidan! My friend Whitney … a vision … he’s going to attack her!” I couldn’t even string together a coherent sentence.

“Take a deep breath, okay?” It sounded like he was on the street, walking. Running, maybe. “I think I had the same vision—blond girl, pink sweater, ponytail? In Central Park?”

“Yes! It’s all happening, right now.”

“Shit. I think Aidan injected the new serum this morning.” He sounded slightly stunned.

“He
what
?” I asked, my voice rising.
No!
He’d promised me that he wouldn’t.

“I’m on my way, okay? Meet me in the park, at the foot tunnel. Do you know which one?”

Of course I did—the image was burned into my brain. I glanced out the window, surprised to find that we’d finally made it across the park. We were halfway down the block between Fifth and Madison, waiting for the light. It wouldn’t take me long to get there on foot.

“Yeah, I know where it is,” I told him. “I’m going to get out of the car now and run.”

“And, Violet … bring your stake.”

My stake?

“Go,” he yelled into the phone. “Now!”

I ended the call and banged on the glass, trying to get the driver’s attention. Slowly, it slid down.

“I’m getting out here.”

“What about your luggage?” he asked, his puzzled gaze meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

“Just take it to my apartment—the address you’ve got. Leave it with the doorman.” I was already opening the door and reaching for my bag—the one that held my stake.
This can’t be happening
.

I stepped out, lifting my bag over my head and draping it across my body as I prepared to run.

I took off at a sprint. My panic rose with each slap of my shoes against the sidewalk. I was nearly hyperventilating, blinded by tears as I ran, picking my way through the crowds of pedestrians. I missed a curb and tripped, twisting my ankle. Ignoring the pain, I continued on, running as fast as I could into the streetlamp-lit park.

Please, oh please. Just let me get there in time.

Or, even better, let me be wrong. Let Whitney be safe with the doorman right now, Aidan standing at the apartment door, shaking his head and wondering what is going on.

At last I found the path toward the foot tunnel. It was strangely empty, the landscape as bare and brittle as it had been in my vision. I picked up my pace, ignoring the painful stitch in my side and the twinge in my ankle. At last the tunnel came into view, the yellow light illuminating it as eerily as I’d remembered.

I paused, listening for footsteps as I caught my breath. I heard them up ahead on the footpath to the left, a dirt track that led slightly uphill under a canopy of barren, spindly branches.

“Whitney?” I called out as I dashed up the path. In seconds, I crested the rise, and there she was, just up ahead, directly beneath a streetlamp.

“Violet?” She stumbled, half turning in my direction as she fell to her knees, her eyes widening with terror as Aidan appeared—
poof
—just like that, midway between where I stood and where Whitney cowered. “No!” she cried out.

He was seemingly unaware of my presence as he bore down on his prey. He was in some sort of a trance, I realized.

He could have struck in an instant, his movements a blur to the human eye. Instead he moved slowly, deliberately. It was almost as if … as if he were toying with her.

“He kept appearing out of nowhere,” Whitney sobbed, her terrified gaze meeting mine. “I didn’t know where to go. I just … kept running.”

I watched, frozen in fear as he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet.

“Aidan!” I screamed. “Stop!”

Still clutching Whitney by the arm, he turned, his eyes a horrifying red. He lifted his lips in a sneer, exposing his fangs.

Holy hell and God in heaven.
Whatever this creature was, it wasn’t Aidan. It was a shell of him, a horror-movie imitation. He wasn’t in his right mind. Something was wrong—really, really wrong.

I heard pounding footsteps, and then Matthew drew up beside me. I realized then how vulnerable he was, how vulnerable we all were. Aidan didn’t recognize me, didn’t know me. He could very well kill us all.

“Get your stake, Violet,” Matthew said breathlessly. “Now!”

Dazed, I nodded, unzipping my bag and reaching inside. I let out a gasp of surprise as my fingers closed around the smooth, satiny shaft. Instantly my mind was flooded with thoughts—Aidan’s thoughts. A single thought, actually:
Feed.

I tightened my grip, choking on a sob.
This isn’t right!
a voice screamed in my head. No, I’d had another vision where I’d seen myself plunge something directly into Aidan’s heart, but it hadn’t been here, in the middle of Central Park on a cold December night. We’d been inside, on plush, thick carpeting. And he’d been lucid, arguing with me, urging me to do it. I could still change this. I
had
to.

“Aidan, please!” I tried again, taking two steps toward him. “Let her go. You don’t want to do this.”

Matthew grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me back to him. “Listen to me,” he whispered harshly, his mouth beside my ear. “You’ve got to do this—he’s not himself, don’t you see? He’s going to kill us if you don’t.”

“No,” I said, struggling from his grasp. “I can get through to him; you’ve got to let me try.”

He shook his head. “I can’t let you do this.”

But I
could
do it. Like Jenna in the vision with Julius last year,
I
was the different element this time—the element that could set the chain of events off onto a different course.

With some of my visions, it was clear that I wasn’t actually there. I was like a fly on the wall, watching the action unfold. But with others, I
was
there, an integral part of the action. Matthew had helped me learn to distinguish between the two.

In this dream that was really a vision, I hadn’t been there. I hadn’t been able to interact, just watch. Which meant my very presence—here, now—could change things, could alter the outcome.