Secrets - [Guardian Trilogy 01] (11 page)

What kind of girl does it?
A voice reprimanded me in my head as I wrote down the directions to the precinct. I found Juliet speaking with Chandler. I pulled her aside and let her know we needed to leave. We said good-bye to my mom, but I didn’t tell her why we needed to go. She disliked Christopher so much on my behalf; it would be more trouble than it was worth. Everything having to do with Christopher was more trouble than it was worth.

Eight

It wasn’t hard to find her apartment building. I watched her leave with her friend and followed them to the suburbs, waiting while she went to church with her mother. She wasn’t like the other women I was around. She was good and not just on the surface. I could feel how much she cared for people beneath indifference she projected. I could see it like a torch flickering deep within her. Her caring and understanding of the human condition emerged from each of her photographs.

Unfortunately, since neither of us could control the dreams, she simply had too much access to me. It had to be severed before she got me killed. And so I made my final decision, I guess—or she had. She’d died the moment she stepped foot into my mind—she just didn’t know it yet. There are rules. I was surprised I even considered bending them.

Several people went into her mother’s house. I had the intention of observing her for a few days before making my move. However, in a strange turn of events, she separated herself from the group. Not only that, then she walked into the perfect cover. I felt compelled to take the opportunity; it was like the stars aligned for this one purpose.

I walked to the little wooded area of the yard with no plan or strategy in mind. It was careless of me, but the temptation was too great. I found her sitting on an old swing, her eyes closed, and her face turned towards the sky. She looked peaceful. She sighed, her lips slightly curling.

“Thinking about me?” I asked, abandoning my intent for the moment. I wanted to talk to her one last time. Her eyes opened quickly, but then they met me with a steady confidence that made me smile.

“Hi,” she said as if she expected me all along. Such a curious little creature she was.

“Hi,” I said back, leaning closer to her. She swayed back on her swing, away from me. I smiled again and all my plans fell from my mind.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

People generally have a fairly decent ability to sniff out a person’s nature. For example, a douche bag can rarely hide the fact that he’s a douche for very long. If someone frightens you, they’re probably a scary person. It really isn’t that difficult. I was generally responded to in one of two ways. The first, and more natural, response is fear. People recognize the predator and avoid me. The second response, which is aided by God’s gifts and certain talents, is desire. No one has ever just responded to me with curious acceptance.

I wasn’t sure how to answer her question. I’ve come to kill you seemed …well, let’s just say it would probably have been the end of our conversation. “I came to see you.”

“How did you know where I was?”

“I followed you,” I answered honestly, wanting to gage her reaction.

It took a moment, then her brows furrowed together, and she repeated incredulously, “You
followed
me?”

“What? Twice, I caught you digging through my subconscious. All I did was follow you to your mom’s for a little conversation. Which is more invasive? Which is worse?” I teased. It had been a long time since I bothered to tease anyone. Hell, it had been a long time since I had a real non-work related conversation with anyone.

“Like I had a choice. I didn’t mean to—Wait, how do you know about my dreams?” That was a very good question. I’d forgotten that I’d feigned ignorance at the gallery.

“Your dreams, my reality. After the second night I knew I had to meet you.”

“That’s why you came to my show? But you pretended you didn’t know who I was. You told me to stay away—”

“Well, you shouldn’t be poking around in other people’s minds. Rude.” I continued to joke, enjoying it far more than I should.

“This is crazy—” Her jaw clenched, she rocked slightly in the swing.

“It’s life.”

            “This isn’t possible. It’s just not! I don’t know who you are, but you need to leave. You can’t just go around following people—you weren’t invited here. All of this is crazy!”

 I recognized what was happening at once. She wasn’t talking to me; she was talking to herself. She was about to pass out and rob me of my conversation. “Olivia,” I said shaking her gently because she seemed so fragile. I softly moved my hands to her face and focused my energy on her hoping the touch would shock her back into reality, but still nothing happened. “Breathe, Olivia, just breathe.” I was going to lose her in seconds. “Damn it.”

Then I did something monumentally stupid. I kissed her. I shouldn’t have. I’d wanted to since the moment I saw her and that should have been reason enough for me to hold off. I didn’t have a problem with emotional attachment. A little thing like a kiss didn’t matter at all in the grand scheme of life—until now. I knew the moment I broke the kiss and felt loss that I had made a horrible error in judgment. She was unlike any other girl—I couldn’t apply the same rules to her. She too seemed reluctant to give up the connection and kept her hands linked behind my neck, even after I pulled way. I had to break all contact. I had to refocus. I pried her hands off my neck and placed them back on the chain of the swing. Then I took several steps away from her, trying to find my distance again. She started to talk but I stopped her. I needed to find the will to do what I’d come to do. Yet I came up empty handed. All I could do was focus on my new feelings with sickening fascination.

“It’s no good. I have to leave,” I said, but my legs didn’t move. Olivia closed the space between us and touched my arm, causing instincts to kick in. They wanted to take care of the problem. They begged to lash out and finish this pesky girl once and for all, but something else inside of me refused to consent. Olivia stood beside me, hers eyes widening with fear. Now she understood. I could see it in her face that she could see what I was. There was no turning back—yet still I walked away.

Not the right time, I told myself, though I wasn’t fooled. I knew this was a serious blow to my plans. I had her. I could have ended all the doubt, but I failed again. How pathetic could I be? If I couldn’t kill her, I’d have to figure out what to do about her.

I got in my car and drove away fast, needing more space between us in case I changed my mind. The first bar I found on my way back to her apartment would be my salvation. I ordered a drink. A girl came up to me, trying to make small talk and batting her eyes. I leaned in close and whispered in her ear. She listened intently, caressing my thigh.

When I was finished, she blinked three times then went to a table where a couple was sitting. She began flirting with the man at the table while I watched his girlfriend get more and more angry. Eventually the less pretty girlfriend went running to the bathroom, crying. The boyfriend stood helplessly between the woman who was clearly out of his league and the bathroom where his girlfriend was hiding.

While amusing, it barely took the edge off. I needed something more satisfying. I finished my whiskey and walked out. I walked until I found a group who looked like trouble. Probably petty theft and vandalism, but we could do better than that. They just needed a little inspiration to think larger. I walked into the center of their group. Energy poured out of me in waves. I felt a relief from the pressure—like I’d been holding my breath. My dilemma with what to do about Olivia was buried. Now I could have fun.

Nine

Juliet gave me a knowing, yet disapproving look. “I’m not saying anything, but if you keep helping him, he’ll never go away.”

“I have to help. He has no one else.”

“And that’s his fault, Liv. If he didn’t screw over every person he’s ever met, he wouldn’t be in this shape.”

“I’m working on my sainthood,” I said, trying to make a joke rather than endure the conversation Jules seemed to want to have with me.

“So long as that’s it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, so long as this is about good deeds and not harboring feelings for that arrogant schmuck then I won’t complain.”

“I don’t have feelings for him. I don’t think I even had strong feelings for him when we were together—I felt sorry for him.”

“You’re too nice for this world, Liv. Christopher never deserved you.”

“I don’t know why you insist on believing our break up devastated me so much. I was never upset about it. I didn’t cry—”

“You hardly ever cry, but it had to hurt more than you let on because you haven’t dated anyone since. You’ve hardly even given anyone a second glance. And that’s the patented Olivia reaction for hurt.”

“It has nothing to do with Christopher.” I didn’t know how to explain this to Jules. Part of me thought she should just understand and not constantly question me. I didn’t love Christopher. I knew he was a mistake. He was never the person I was supposed to be with, and I’d always known that. I went out with him because he, literally, had no one in his life, and I wanted to help him. Yes, his cheating was a blow to my ego—because I thought I was making a difference and was wrong. He wasn’t going to even try to be the person I thought he could be. So I left. Cut ties with him.

“Then why?”

“It’s easier for me to be alone. I’m not good at relationships.” I seemed to carry too many expectations for my boyfriends. I always believed whole-heartedly they could be better, do better, and I wanted to help them achieve that. I could see the inherent flaw in this line of thinking, but it was hard to break. Holden came to the forefront of my mind. Would I be good at a relationship with him? I doubted it. He was such an enigma. Sometimes he was sweet and careful, and other times, frightening and violent. He was a mass of contradictions.

 Juliet said something else, but I was no longer in the mood to talk. I closed my eyes and thought about Holden kissing me. I could almost feel him smiling wherever he was, like we were connected by more than just dreams. A small smile touched my own lips. Holden may have been arrogant, intimidating, and maybe even a little scary, but he was a puzzle, and I liked puzzles.

Juliet and I walked into the police station, and I asked for Detective Sullivan at the desk. In a few minutes a middle-aged man with a receding hair line and traces of formerly bad skin came to collect me. Juliet made no attempt to follow us, but the detective looked at her.