Perennial (5 page)

“Let me leave,”
I say, body shaking. I squeeze my eyes shut to avoid the sea of white light.
“It’s a dream, William. Wake me up and stay away from me.”

His
laugh is loud and unpleasant. I open my eyes and consider throwing a punch into
the light.

I
mean you no harm, Alix. I used the word “timing” last night. That’s what you
are. Perfect timing. Well, for me anyway. Hopefully, for you too. The verdict
is still out on that.

“My
bedroom,” I say. “Where you died.”

Where
I died. Hmm. You make it sound almost peaceful.

An
unseen force takes me by the wrists and squeezes hard, pinning my arms to my
sides. I realize I’m being gripped by William’s powerful hands, and his
invisible body is so close to my own that I can feel his warm, pleasant breath
against my face and neck, spiking my pulse at a dangerously high rate.

I
was murdered in my own bedroom, Alix. You’re the first person to use the room
since it happened. I’ve been waiting two years for you. I need your help.
You’re special. Vagabond gave me until the end of Friday.

“Until
the end of Friday for what?” I say, wincing from the pain in my wrists.

There’s
a long silence.

I
have until the end of Friday to figure out who killed me.

“Stop
it,” I say, trying to pull away but knowing I’m no match for his strength.
“You’re hurting me.”

He
releases me but stays close.

I’m
sorry. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but my emotions are
runnin
g high right
now.

“Who’s
Vagabond?”

Somebody
you can trust. If you meet him, you won’t like him. Nobody does. But you can
trust him.

“What
do you mean by
if
I meet him?”

 I’m
following Vagabond’s orders. It means you have a choice. He gave me until the
end of Friday, but I can’t make you help me. You have a developing gift, Alix.
ESP. Extrasensory perception. It’s not like I can make contact with anybody I
choose. Vagabond’s interested in you. He wants to see how good you can become.
That’s why he let me make contact. He says it’s no coincidence that you ended
up moving into my bedroom. I know you like school. Think of this as a test. If
you can help me find my killer, you’ll pass, and I’ll have peace in my world.

So
many feelings and emotions race through me. Fear. Confusion. Disbelief.
Overall, I’m still convinced this is all a dream. Problem is I want to experience
William Weed for as long as possible, so instead of demanding to awaken in my
own bed I decide to play along.

“So,
I don’t have to do it,” I say. “I can say no and call it a day.”

Vagabond
doesn’t want people who aren’t interested in developing and enhancing their
abilities. So yes, you can say no and never have contact with me again.
Tomorrow your life goes back to its boring, predictable course. A boring senior
year, followed by four years of boring lectures in Ann Arbor, followed by a
boring job and a boring husband and kids you don’t want but will have because
you want your father to be a happy grandpa. That’s really what your life has
been and always will be about. Pleasing your daddy.

“Screw
you, William,” I say, squinting and jabbing an index finger into his light.
It’s useless of course. My finger strikes nothing solid. “Maybe those are
exactly
the things I want, you idiot. Maybe you’re just jealous because you were nothing
but a drug addict with stupid tattoos and shitty parents.” I pause. He doesn’t
message a reply. “No. Wait,” I say. “I bet your parents were awesome and you
were just a spoiled-asshole son who was too weak to say no to pills, needles,
and powder.”

His translucent
hand grabs the back of my neck and squeezes hard. William’s fingertips feel
like they could easily dig through my skin and crush my bones. I close my eyes
and sense his open mouth centimeters from my lips.

Listen
to me, Alix.

There’s
increased anger in his voice as he continues squeezing my neck.

I
need your help. I’m just trying to convince you that everything you think
you’ve always wanted might not be your true destiny after all. Will you help me
find my killer or not?

He
releases my neck, and I sense him backing away a few feet.

“What
about the guy who threw me into a closet and told me to stay away from
Perennial?” I say. “And I’m pretty sure he’s the guy who texted me after I
visited your clever little blog. He told me I should have listened and stayed
away.”

You
just answered your own question. If you say no, you stay away and nobody
bothers you anymore. But I need you, Alix. I need you more than you realize. If
my murder remains a mystery, a killer walks the streets, and I live a tortured existence
on this side. I was no saint. I admit that. Vagabond despises me. I’m nothing
but a pawn to him. He says you’re capable of great things and that your gift
can possibly help a lot of innocent people against evil. The only thing in it
for me is that I might figure out who killed me.

“Where
can I find Vagabond?”

You
can’t find Vagabond. Nobody can. Vagabond finds you.

“But
who is he, William? Is he human? Is he something else?”

I’m
afraid I can’t say anything else. But your curiosity is obvious, meaning you’ve
already agreed to help solve my murder.

“Fine,”
I say. “I’ll need information from you. What do you remember about the night
you died? Did you do something to piss off Face? Was Aruna your girlfriend?”

His
loud, annoying laughter fills the space around us.

“Stop
laughing, William. Please just shut up.”

I
clench my jaw and close my eyes until he stops.

I’m
sorry, Alix, but you’re grasping at straws. Desperation and ignorance make
anybody unattractive, even somebody as beautiful as you. Besides, the game
doesn’t work that way. I can’t give you any information. You have to solve the
mystery using your brilliant mind and developing abilities. Vagabond’s orders.
Again, he needs to know how good you can become. If I reveal too much, the deal
is off, and we all lose. I’m sorry, but you’re on your own.

“I
can see what you stand to lose, not knowing who killed you. But what would I
lose? Nothing as far as I can see. As you said, I’ll just go back to my nice,
boring, predictable life.” I pause. “Lots of people in this world would love to
have something like that.”

Nice
try, Alix, but your interest in all this surrounds you like a bright, shining
halo. This is the most important puzzle of your life. You have all the pieces
you need. Go solve it. Our time is up for tonight.

“Wait,”
I say, not wanting to lose his presence and voice. “What about Lewis Wilde? He
seems different. Can I trust him? He said you two were friends. It’s the only
question I’ll ask you.” I pause and take a deep breath. “Can I trust Lewis?”

I
feel William’s mouth close to the side of my neck. I close my eyes as his warm
breath travels around my throat and the nape of my neck before settling on my
lips.

 Lewis
was a good friend, Alix, but loyalty has different meanings to different
people.

My
eyes remain closed as his fingertips caress the sides of my face. A warm,
tingling sensation washes through me in reaction to his touch. I imagine
Lewis’s hands doing the same thing and soon find myself thinking other things
about Lewis that surprise me.

“I
need to know you’re real and not a dream, William,” I say, unable to resist his
hands as they travel gently down my neck, arms, waist, and outer thighs.
“Please,” I whisper, “I want to help you, but I need to know you’re real. Lewis
is real. Are you real, William?”

Of
course I’m real, Alix. I’m William Weed. I’m your Dream Guy. Open your eyes and
see for yourself.

I gasp and
awaken bolt upright in bed, my sheets and pajamas once again damp with sweat. I
sense something at the foot of the mattress but can’t see anything in the dimly
lit room. I rub my eyes and slide my glasses on.

William
Weed stands over my bed, hands folded in front of his waist, the slightest
smile on his beautiful face. It’s the William from the blog photo, and he’s
absolutely stunning, shirtless in his black cargo shorts, taller and even more
muscular than I imagined. He’s there for less than a second; not long enough
for me to get a closer look at his tattoos; not long enough for me to ask him
to remove the sunglasses and backwards baseball cap.

I
blink once, and then he’s gone. But William is real. I know this now. I’ve
agreed to play a dangerous game, a game that can kill me if I’m not careful. As
crazy and un-Alix-Keener-like as it sounds, this is a game I know I must play.
As Vagabond told William, it was no coincidence I ended up living in his bedroom.
Up until now my parents have planned my life for me. I loved Mom. I love Dad,
and I would never do anything to hurt him. But something is happening to me—something
that reaches beyond the so-called normal world. I have new, developing
abilities I need to explore; abilities that can help people; abilities that
both excite and terrify me. I have otherworldly abilities that can fight evil.
The universe is enormous. In the grand scheme of things, humans are specks of
dust. There is so much more out there.

Strange.
Although I’ve never met Vagabond, I find myself eager to impress him. He’s
obviously part of something special. When it comes down to it, I’m really not
much different from my father. Dad is a cop fighting the bad guys, and it looks
as if I’m heading down a similar career path. Except something tells me my
stage will be far larger than his. I need to solve William’s murder. Not only
for William, but because I want access to whatever special club Vagabond is
considering me for.

Of
course, it also occurs to me that I’m falling in love for the first time, and
it happens to be with two different guys. One object of my affection is a
mysterious fellow senior who lives down the street. The other happens to be a
ghost who by all accounts was quite a bad boy when he was alive.

Wednesday,
September 5

The second day
of school is surprisingly normal for a high school that just lost its finest
teacher to a horribly violent death. I’d been checking the hallways all day for
any sign of Lewis’s amazing face, but I didn’t see him until sixth-hour history
class, where a long-term substitute named Mr. Frank Dobbins introduced himself
at the front of Mr. Watkins’s former classroom on the second floor and
awkwardly explained his approach to teaching the course. Although he pointed
out more than once that he was no Marc Watkins, he insisted he would teach the
independent study just as Mr. Watkins would have done, a fact all ten of us
appreciated. Basically, this means we get to select and research our own
narrow, instructor-approved American history topic for the entire semester,
which is exactly what independent learners want.

Mr.
Dobbins, a tall, stocky man in his late thirties, looks professional in his navy-blue
suit and reminds me of a retired football player. Despite the overall jock-like
aura he gives off, he seems like a nice, fair teacher, as good a replacement
for Mr. Watkins as any, I suppose. I also sense that the high intelligence
levels of, and ultra-nerd vibes given off by, the ten select students in this
class intimidate him. I find that awesomely funny.

“Any
topic ideas yet?” Lewis asks.

We’re
near the back of the classroom, desks facing each other as we brainstorm
research proposals during the last twenty minutes of class. Mr. Dobbins
circulates the room, stopping and conferencing with students, tapping notes
into his tablet now and then. For all I know he’s checking sports scores or
messaging a girlfriend or something.

“Nothing,”
I say. “I still like yours, by the way. I love the science link with the DNA
too. Famous Unsolved American Murders and the Likelihood of DNA Evidence
Helping to Solve Them.” I smile. “Wow, Lewis. I can already see the title on
the cover of some well-respected historical journal. I’m jealous I didn’t think
of it myself.”

“I’m
starting with the Donner Party.”

“Gross,”
I say, laughing and adjusting my glasses. “Back in the nineteenth century, some
California pioneers got snowed in, starved, and eventually ate each other,
right?”

“Actually,
there’s a lot more to it than that,” he says, his aqua-green eyes melting part
of me every time they connect with my own. “The cannibalism is the mystery
part. I’d like to figure out who ate who, if anybody, although DNA evidence is
probably useless in the Donner Party case. Still, you have to admit that it’s
one cool story.”

Mr.
Dobbins gives us a strange look and moves on to another pair of students. When
his back is to us, Lewis and I cover our mouths to muffle the laughter.

“On
a somewhat related note,” I say, gathering my composure, “I have a favor to ask
you.”

“About
cannibalism?” he says, smiling.

“No,”
I say. “About murder.” Lewis must sense my sudden seriousness, because his
smile fades and he stares right through me. “I believe you about William
getting murdered and not killing himself,” I add in a hushed tone. “I think we
should do something about it. But I can’t do it alone. I’m asking you to help
me solve his murder.”

Lewis’s
gorgeous mouth opens slightly. Then he rubs his face with his hands as if he
doesn’t believe what he’s just heard.

Clasping
his hands in front of his chest, he looks me dead in the eyes and says, “Alix,
you have no idea—” He cuts himself off, shakes his head, and studies the room
to ensure nobody is listening in. “Listen to me,” he continues, quieter now,
gaze back on me. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, okay? Willis was
into bad stuff with bad people. I know because I was there once, remember? I
got clean, and he didn’t. There’s a reason why I told you that stuff on the
porch last night about the Beaconsfield police covering up his death. I wanted
you to mention it to your dad, okay? He’s the cop, Alix. Not you. And he’s not
a Beaconsfield cop either. Everybody knows Clint Keener does hardcore
undercover federal shit, so I was thinking he might have some power to look
into Willis’s so-called suicide.” He shakes his head as if it’s full of
cobwebs. “Jesus, are you insane or something? Drug people will kill you if you
start sniffing where you’re not wanted.”

“Wait
a second,” I say, struggling to keep my voice low. “What about all that stuff
about me finally starting to discover who I am? You said that last night, right
after I mentioned Oval City, Aruna, and Face. It felt to me like you were
trying to convince me to get involved.” I pause and think about William. “Like
it was my destiny or something.”

Lewis
closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “All one big misunderstanding, Alix.”
He exhales deeply and opens his eyes. Around us students begin gathering their
belongings in anticipation of the dismissal bell. “I’m sorry if I misled you. I
didn’t mean to. I was simply hoping you’d mention things to your dad.” He
pauses. “Well, everything except me knowing where your bedroom is.” He smiles.
I don’t. “Right,” he says. “Wrong joke at the wrong time. Sorry.”

“Maybe
I don’t need my dad on this one,” I say, drawing a few glances from my peers. I
wait for them to look away before whispering, “I know what I’m doing. Trust me.
But I can’t do this without your help.” I dig into my pocket and drop a yellow
sticky note with my phone number written on it onto his desk. He glances at it
but leaves it lying on the desktop. “I’m going to Oval City tonight,” I say.
“I’d like you to be my tour guide.”

“Bullshit
you are,” he says, pointing an index finger at me. “If you go there, there’s a
good chance you might not come back, especially if you’re nuts enough to drive
that new Explorer.”

“Then
wish me luck,” I say. “I’m leaving around eight. With or without you.”

The
dismissal bell rings. Lewis and I stare at each other as the class files out.

“Just
one question,” he says, standing. “Why? You live in Beaconsfield, Michigan, and
you’re sitting in one of the best high schools in the country. I get the sense
you can choose the university of your choice. You don’t seem like a drama
queen. You say you lose it and flip out every now and then, but who doesn’t?
What I’m saying is that you have a perfect life with an amazing future in front
of you.” He shrugs. “So why does a sweet, beautiful, wholesome girl like you
want anything to do with something as ugly as Oval City or the death of William
Weed?”

I
ponder his solid questions for few moments. Then I say, “Like I told you last
night, there’s something happening to me. I’m questioning things for the first
time in my life.” I pause. “And it has everything to do with what happened in
my bedroom two years ago. We need to bring justice to William. People can’t
just get away with murder.”

When
the room empties, Mr. Dobbins gives us a good-bye wave before entering a tiny
office connected to the front of the classroom and closing the door. Lewis
reaches for the sticky note and shoves it into his front pocket.

“So,
I’ll hear from you later?” I ask.

Lewis
nods. Barely.

I’m
turning to leave when he says, “Alix?”

I
stop and turn in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Bring
a weapon,” he says. “Nobody goes to Oval City without one.”

My
heart pounds, my knees are on the brink of buckling, and it takes everything I
have to keep a straight face as I nod and walk away.