Seers (11 page)
Authors: Heather Frost
What if I was being followed right now? And what about the black aura people? Black meant bad people, right? Or was that just in the movies?
And then, of course, my endless questions always brought me back to one fact: Deep down, I knew that Patrick O’Donnell was good. I’d seen that for myself. I’d felt it. And as I stared at
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the large movie screen, I just kept seeing him—his image when I first saw him, looking awkward and unsure, poised to enter the classroom. Him, sitting with the special needs kids, helping one of them open a water bottle. His pure blue eyes, staring into mine as we stood in the doorway and shared an almost magical moment.
Lastly, his panicked eyes as he stared through the window, begging me to listen.
Patrick O’Donnell, I decided there in the theater, was not dangerous. Had he scared me? Almost out of my wits. Did he mean me harm? Not at all.
But then, why was he here?
The movie ended, and Aaron continued to hold my hand as we stood and made our way out to the main aisle. Once in the crowded lobby he asked me if I was hungry. I nodded, and he led me out into the cool evening air. He drove to a slightly fancier restaurant than we usually would frequent, and I guess that was sort of his way of letting me know that he appreciated my newfound enthusiasm. It was a small Mexican restaurant, and I understood exactly why Aaron had chosen it—we’d had our first date here.
This was his way of showing me that we were back on track. If only I could have believed him.
We sat at a small table in the corner, and placed our orders.
Then we proceeded to snack on the chips and salsa, and I attempted to shake myself from my deep and all-too-absorbing thoughts. Now that the movie was over I would need to be better company. I didn’t want to ruin this evening for him, since it obviously meant a whole lot to him.
“Thanks for this,” I said suddenly, and he looked up with a slow smile.
“You’re welcome. And thank you, for asking me.” He hesitated, then continued carefully. “It’s been a long time.” I knew he was talking about my initiating a date, but for some reason I kept thinking about how—at least for me—our relationship was still far from how it used to be.
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“I’m sorry,” I replied, dipping another tortilla chip into the thick salsa. He waited for me to finish it, and then he reached across the table. I responded by placing my free hand on the red table cloth, and he gently wrapped his fingers around mine, squeezing tenderly.
“Don’t be sorry,” he insisted lowly. “You’re doing your best, Kate”
I wasn’t sure why his words bothered me, but they did. I decided to change the subject. “So, what did you guys do to our dear rivals today?”
He pulled back his hand, grinning as he reached for another chip. I knew not just from his aura that—in his mind—everything was back to normal. “You know that huge wall they have—
Senior Row? Well, it looks a lot less red now, and a lot more blue.” My lips tugged in a tentative smile. “Are you missing football?”
He nodded, licking some salsa from his lips. “More than I thought I would. But the team still lets me hang around.”
“They miss you, too.”
“Maybe my tackle,” he took another chip, and I followed his example.
By the time our food came Aaron was in a deep conversation about sports, and I was pretending to be interested. When we were finished Aaron held my elbow to lead me out of the building.
As we walked in the parking lot toward his car, I just kept staring at his hand around my arm. It was so . . . possessive. But I felt guilty just thinking the word, because I knew that wasn’t how he meant it.
He held my hand during the drive to my house, and after pulling into the driveway he leaned over and kissed me gently. But as he got out of the car and rounded the hood, coming to open my door for me, I couldn’t help but picture Patrick O’Donnell. Maybe it was seeing Aaron’s face through the window that triggered the memory, but it was enough to pull me back into my reality. The
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worries and thoughts I’d held at bay through dinner came rushing back, and I wondered how best to face them. Because no matter what I thought about Patrick, I was going to have to face him tomorrow. And despite my recurring insistence that he was good, I was still more than a little scared of him.
Aaron walked me to the porch, kissed me again under the golden light and then he moved back toward his car. I didn’t wait to watch him drive away, but opened the unlocked door and stepped into the house instead. The kitchen light was on, but before I could decide to walk toward it Grandma’s voice was calling out to me.
“Kate, is that you?”
“Yes,” I assured her, walking across the dark wood floor and heading for the kitchen. A part of me was wishing I could just crash in my bed, but at least it was Grandma, and not Grandpa—
the one who would be sure to realize something was wrong.
She was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea and reading a book. She looked up when I stepped into the room, and her smile was genuine but distracted. Just by looking at the extra yellow in her aura I knew she was reading a romance, and I couldn’t help but smile. Some people could find enjoyment in the simplest things. I wished not for the first time that I could be more like her.
“How was your date?” Grandma asked, her rough voice soothing in the otherwise quiet house.
“It was really nice. I needed it, I think.” She nodded. “You certainly did. He’s a good boy.” I nodded to her book. “I’ll let you get back to that.” Grandma sighed, shifting her weight in the chair as she did so. “Good idea—your grandfather will be down any minute now, and I can’t read while he teases me . . .” She focused back on the page before her, and I turned and went back the way I’d come, only this time I moved up the stairs.
Once back in my room I followed my regular routine—only 82 K • • •
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this time I kept my light off. I didn’t want to see any colors. I didn’t want to think. The dim light offered by the moon filtered through my window, adding a comforting glow to my surroundings. In minutes I was curling up on my bed and pinching my eyes closed.
But my brain wouldn’t stop thinking, and I couldn’t banish Patrick’s face from my mind.
As I slowly fell asleep, it was almost like he was watching over me. His clear blue eyes were riveted on me—a silent observer. My last conscious thought was that I should be scared, or at least a little uneasy under his unwavering gaze. But I wasn’t. I only felt peace.
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Eleven
I took my seat in American Lit five minutes before the warning bell. I was completely alone, and absolutely nervous.
I caught myself biting my thumbnail, and that’s when I decided to doodle while I waited for him to show up—Because somehow, I knew he would, despite everything that had happened yesterday.
I set my pencil to paper, and then let my mind focus on the issue at hand—Patrick O’Donnell. I was hoping that he’d show up soon, so we could have a few minutes to talk before the rest of the class showed up. In my mind, this was the perfect place to try and understand what had happened between us, because he couldn’t really do anything to hurt me if the rest of the class started walking in on us. It was a public place that afforded us a couple minutes of privacy. Not that I thought he would hurt me—that strange feeling from last night had yet to leave me. The assurance that he was watching over me was still real, though it didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
My stomach was reacting to all of this by doing strange flips every couple of seconds. A part of me was still convinced that being alone with him—even for a minute—was stupid after that display in the parking lot. But my more confident side completely refused to act like a scared little girl. I wanted some answers, and I knew I’d go crazy until I heard his explanation. I didn’t know what to expect from him, since I’d seen so many sides of him now, but I wasn’t going to run away from this anymore. At least, not
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until I understood what was going on.
He cleared his throat a bit loudly, and I looked up quickly, fighting to keep the fear off my face.
Patrick was biting his lower lip, hesitating in the doorway.
He looked so harmless, so . . . sorry. I felt my body tighten, and I straightened in my desk, my eyes glued to his face, watching for the first sign of hostility.
“May I come in?” He asked in a thin whisper.
He doesn’t want to hurt you, a small voice in my head reassured. But the lingering peace I’d felt just a moment ago wasn’t quite as prevalent, now that his eyes were on me.
I nodded once, but didn’t take my eyes away from him.
He stepped slowly into the classroom, moving cautiously toward me. All he was missing was the raised hands—other than that, he had the surrendering look down. His bag hung from one slightly raised shoulder, and his eyes had a strange combination of openness, but were still guarded somehow. I could tell by the slow way he walked that he was gauging my reaction to his presence. I must have passed the test because he took his usual seat next to me, though he was careful not to come any closer. His eyes never left my face.
I refused to say the first word, and so we sat in a cold silence for a short moment, just staring at each other.
His lips pressed tightly together, and then he spoke lowly.
“I’m sorry about yesterday. It wasn’t my intention to scare you.”
“Well, you sort of did,” I snapped reflexively.
He winced a little, and nodded his head. “I know. And I’m sorry.”
“You pretty much attacked me,” I reminded him, my voice still harder than usual.
He squirmed in his seat. I don’t know why, but I found it kind of . . . cute. He looked completely repentant—not a look a girl generally saw on a guy. “I know. I didn’t mean to let that happen. I lost control—I thought that . . .”
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“That what?” I demanded.
His eyes pierced right into mine, and I stopped breathing under his intense stare. “I thought you were going to run away from me,” he said thinly, a deeper emotion throbbing as an undercurrent to his words. I almost thought it was fear. Whatever it was, it kept him from sounding creepy.
I wasn’t going to let him know that, of course. I actually felt like I had the upper hand right now, and I wasn’t willing to let him know that he’d won that easily.
I leaned back in my chair, regarding him with what I hoped was a hard look. “Listen, I don’t know what your problem is, but you need a doctor.” He blinked, and his brow furrowed in confusion. “You’re cryptic and creepy,” I explained. “And whatever it was that happened yesterday . . . it’s not normal.” He glanced over at the wall, his eyes lingering on the clock a second too long—I knew he was avoiding my gaze. Then he turned back to me, pleading etched on every line of his angular face. “Kate, I promise I can explain everything, but this isn’t the place.”
“What did you mean about people with black auras?” I asked, ignoring his attempt to end the conversation.
The skin around his eyes tightened and his strong shoulders stiffened. “Have you seen anyone?” He asked, the hesitation that had made me feel powerful fleeing from his demeanor in an instant.
My lips pressed together, and I just stared at him and his sudden mood change.
“Kate,” he said, leaning toward me. “This is important. Have you seen anyone with a black aura?” The bell rang harshly, and the sound made us both jump. The rumbling of voices from the hallway that had been distant before became louder—harder to drown out. Our time alone was coming to a fast close.
Patrick’s eyes were quite clearly filling with worry. But before 86 K • • •
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he could open his mouth again, I was speaking firmly. “I have questions. If I meet you later, can you give me answers?” He nodded eagerly, though his body was still tight with concern. “Yes. I can.”
I hesitated, then decided I owed it to myself to ask. “Can I . . .
will I be safe with you?” I hated how the worry I’d been feeling slipped into my words. Instead of powerful and unconcerned, they sounded weak and fearful.
But after hearing my somewhat timid question, Patrick’s face relaxed, and his beautiful eyes became soothing. He nodded once, his eyes not leaving mine. “You will always be safe with me.” And though it defied reason, I knew that he was speaking the truth.
My lips cracked apart, my mind unable to stop my heart from asking the question. “Who are you?” It sounded better than the alternative—What are you?
He offered a small, half smile. “Someone you can trust.” What kind of answer was that!? I shook my head a little, still not breaking our gaze. “No, not that—Are you—” For real?
Human? Some kind of mental person? Any of those could have easily been understandable ends to that question. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to ask any of them, because just then Aaron stepped into the room.
He was followed quickly by a couple other students, and they effectively ended the conversation. Patrick turned away from me, reaching into his bag to pull out a notebook and pencil.
I turned back to my own paper, where I stared in shock at what I’d ‘doodled’. It wasn’t a doodle, first of all—probably not by anyone’s definition. It was a sketch. One I’d done without thought, though the sure lines hardly looked accidental or unconscious. It was far from finished, but the image was obviously a face. Patrick’s face.
I felt my cheeks redden, and I slapped the paper over, hoping to hide it before Aaron could see it. I saw Patrick glance over at
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me and the sudden sound I’d made, and I prayed he hadn’t caught a glimpse of it.
Aaron tossed his bag to the floor, and then sat next to me, grinning hugely. “Morning,” he said, leaning over to kiss me. I surrendered my lips briefly, but as I pulled back I sensed Patrick turning quickly away. My face was really burning now, knowing that he’d watched.
