Silverlighters (11 page)

12

My father was training when I got home. His body was covered in sweat, and his hair stuck to his forehead in stringy clumps.

He punched the red and white boxing bag hanging from the ceiling. A series of quick, furious jabs.

“What are you doing home?” he puffed, putting a hand up to stop the bag from swinging.

“They let us leave after the memorial service,” I said. I didn’t mention we were told to leave after the scene we caused, and there was no way I was telling my father what I suspected.

I was still trying to make sense of it.

My father nodded, taking a closer look at me. “Get your gear on.”

“What? Now? No. I’m not in the mood,” I said.

“It’ll do you good.”

“No – I know what will do me good.”

He raised a brow.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

He punched the bag, then kicked it.

I ran up to my room and slammed the door, breathing hard. But within minutes I had changed my mind, and pulled my black tights and my purple gym top on. I grabbed my old
faithfuls
– black canvas sneakers – out of the wardrobe, almost cutting the circulation off as I yanked at the laces.

I knew it would do me good. I always felt better after training. Calmer. Clearer. And I needed to be clear when I met Jonathon.

My father and I spent the next few hours in a flurry of punches and kicks. No thinking – just reacting.

“Come on,” my father growled, sweat flying as he flicked his hair out of his eyes. “You’re not even trying.”

I realized what he was doing. He saw the anger in my face, and was giving me the release I so desperately needed.

But I resisted.

I knew what would come when the anger broke.

We moved through the house, my father dodging every punch. Every kick. Even the swing of the broom handle and the heavy telephone directory as I went freestyle, grabbing anything I could get my hands on.

I felt my body loosening up. The workout became tense, savage.

All the while my father was shouting at me. Taunting me. Telling me to let it all out.

“Come on.” He bounced back and forth. Daring me to hit him.

I turned, my leg swinging. A round-house kick meant to connect with his head.

He blocked it with the side of his arm. “Is that all you’ve got? Thought I taught you better than that.”

I completely lost it then. I was like a wild animal. Turning my body, I swung my knee up and out, a short sharp kick to the side that was never meant to connect. My father tried to block it, but he wasn’t expecting me to pull back at the last minute, aiming a little higher so that my foot connected with his shoulder.

I pushed off, hard, using the momentum to propel me as I brought my leg back in, and twisted my body. I swung my leg around into a thumping good spinning back kick.

The heel of my foot connected with his belly, and he bent forward, the air gushing out of him.

I stood there, panting, my breathing jagged as he caught his breath.

He nodded his head, a slow smile curling the corner of his lip. And I couldn’t help but be pleased by the gleam of approval I saw in his eye.

And so it continued, both of us beating away our inner demons. The need to connect with solid flesh, to feel alive, unhealthy and all consuming.

My father suddenly stopped, running a towel across his face. “I’m going for a shower. The news will be on soon.”

I wasn’t done. Nowhere near it.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm. My hair hung in my face in thin, damp tendrils, and I was panting like a dog.

Then I saw that the shadows outside the window were getting longer. The sky was beginning to darken.

“Fine. I need a shower anyway.” I pushed past him, running for my room.

I kicked the bedroom door closed and waited until I heard the shower come on. I locked the door, and turned my music up as high as it would go.

I had to hurry. I didn’t have long – but there was one thing I could count on. My father didn’t move when the news was on.

Pushing open the huge bay windows, I stood on the seat. I felt kind of stupid wearing my training gear, but there was no time to change.

I took a deep breath, raised my arms above my head, and with my feet planted firmly on the seat, I leaned forward, letting gravity take care of the rest.

As soon as my hands hit the branch outside my window, I gripped it tightly, my body curving behind me as I swung down.

I dropped lightly to the ground, glad of my dark clothing, and the soft tread of my rubber soles as I ran, gasping for breath.

Until I saw the candles flickering ahead of me outside the Pizza Parlor.

I slowed, when I really wanted to keep running. But somehow it seemed wrong not to stop. Not to look at the photographs of Chris plastered across the newly-replaced window.

The wilting flowers and teddy bears piled on the ground. The envelopes bearing his name, tucked in wherever they’d fit. The candles lining the wooden ledge of the window frame.

A sob threatened to rise in me, and I clamped a hand to my mouth, as though I could hold it back.

I hurried toward the park. I could feel it building. Because he didn’t have to die. They could have stopped it.

The thought was more than I could bear.

I heard a branch crack behind me.

I turned, my wobbly smile forced.

Only it wasn’t Jonathon. It was
him
– his silver eyes shining in the darkening night.

He stepped back. He hadn’t meant for me to see him.

“Why?” I asked, my voice husky. The tears I’d been fighting welling in my eyes.

He stopped, his face torn at my anguish. I didn’t realize why then. That I knew him. That I’d always known him. That I always would.

I had no idea our lives were forever intertwined in ways I couldn’t possibly imagine.

He continued to move back, his strange silvery eyes filled with pain.

Something inside me threatened to crumble, to break apart. I was teetering on the fragile edge of reason.

“Why didn’t you save him, too?” this time it was a scream. My voice broke, and my arms dropped helplessly to my sides as I sank to my knees.

It happened so fast – within a heartbeat; he was kneeling in front of me, his breath so close I could feel it. As though he’d moved time and space in order to get to me faster.

But by then I was no longer thinking. I was reacting. My fists hitting and punching at him as he drew me closer.

“Why?” I choked the word out, the tears still coming.

His silver eyes flashed as he looked up, his expression changing.

And just as suddenly I was in his arms and we were no longer on the ground.

We were nestled in the hollow of an enormous tree, in that magical place where the thick limbs of the branches met, as though it had been designed especially for us.

It just felt so right, so familiar, being in his arms.

I felt as though I had finally come home.

13

I was on his lap, my back pressed to his chest. My body was curled into a ball, cradled within the curve of his as he wrapped himself around me.

He was holding on so tightly it was as though he were afraid to let me go.

Above us the branches spread out, and I tried to choke back my sobs as he rocked me back and forth, back and forth.

My tears glistened in the healing light of the moon, and the early stars of the evening shone brightly above us.

For a long time he just held me, his voice soothing as he hushed me, his fresh breath warm on the side of my face.

“Why did you save me?” I whispered, my throat hoarse.

There had to be a reason. A reason why he saved me and not Chris.

“I couldn’t live in a world without you.” His voice was raw, full of unspoken pain.

I turned my head, pushing against his arm so I could look up into his eyes. Those strange and eerie and beautiful eyes.

He was breathtaking. I had never seen anything so beautiful before, and would never tire of looking at him.

His skin was alabaster-pale, giving him an other-worldly look. His thick lashes blinked at me, and his head tilted slightly to one side, his dark hair shifting with the movement.

I felt the urge to run my hands through his hair, and along the strong line of his jaw.

His hands, so warm, so alive, were suddenly cupping my face. So hard it was almost painful. “You have no idea how important you are.”

The force of his words stopped my tears cold.

Something happened then, as he stared into my eyes, his thumbs lightly stroking the line of my jaw.

I sucked in a deep, shaky breath. His eyes seemed to be made of moonlight and fog. I could see my face reflected in them.

And I remembered. I remembered everything as though I were reliving it again.

He tried to pull away as the stolen memories tore through my mind. But I seized his hands. Held them there.

He didn’t fight me. But then, he always knew he could take it back again.

I was only about two or three the first time I remembered seeing him clearly. There had been other times, but they were fuzzier. Like when he’d smiled down at me in my crib. Or the time when I was at the park with my mother, my excited voice driving him away when I called out to him to come play.

The time he found me crying at the store was so clear it could have been yesterday.

I was lost and scared, and then suddenly he was beside me, his big, warm hand curling around my smaller one.

“It’s you,” I said, my tears evaporating as we walked through the store.

Nodding his head, he crouched down beside me, and pointed.

My mother looked so scared as she hurried through the store. As though she’d thought I was gone forever.

“Mommy, you got lost,” I shouted.

She let out a happy gasp, and ran toward me, pulling me into her arms. The smell of her shampoo enveloped me.

By then I knew not to mention him. Instead, I stared over her shoulder until I could no longer see him.

I was fascinated with the man who had moons for eyes.

There had been so many times, and over the years he never changed. It was as though he lived outside of time.

I think I always loved him. But somewhere along the way, as I grew older, my love matured into something more.

I realized he would always be there when I needed him. So I started putting myself in danger, knowing he would come.

When I was eight, I jumped out of a tree. I wasn’t high enough to do any damage. But he came.

He caught me in his arms and set me down. Then he left again.

When I was nine, I jumped off the roof of my classroom. I wasn’t especially imaginative at that age.

That was the first time I worried he wouldn’t come, as I felt myself plummet through the air toward the pavement below.

He did come, though, catching me at the last moment. I think he meant to give me a scare. And it worked. I didn’t try again for a long time.

The night my mother died I was reckless. He found me on the roof of our apartment building, my skinny legs dangling over the ledge as I peered down, wondering what death felt like.

I was still wearing the purple dress, and had bunched it up between my thighs.

When I felt my forehead prickle, I stared at the movement of my
knobbly
knees, afraid to move. I didn’t want to scare him away.

When I turned my head he was sitting beside me, his long jean-clad legs dangling in time with mine.

I glared at him. “Why didn’t you save her?”

He never did answer me. He just sat with me until he heard my father coming up the stairs.

I turned instinctively at the sound of my father’s voice. And when I turned back he was gone.

After that I did everything and anything I could think of to make him come back, getting more and more daring as I graduated from jumping from great heights, to stepping in front of a car when I was fifteen.

I knew never to question him. Whenever I did, he left. I just wanted to see him again.

I was fifteen when I first told him I loved him. And the day I turned sixteen, I tried to kiss him. But he grabbed my arms, holding me away from him, a haunted look in his eyes as he shook his head.

“Why not?” I demanded, feeling completely humiliated. I had saved my first kiss for him, and had been planning it for months. “Don’t you love me back?”

“I’m not part of your future,” he whispered against my hair, his voice husky.

That’s where my memories stopped. Completely and abruptly. But his didn’t. They continued.

He was always watching me. Looking over me.

My very own guardian angel.

I felt so safe, then. Like nothing could ever hurt me again.

His body stiffened, and he started to pull away, but not before I saw that night in the parking lot through his eyes. He was running toward the car, the parking lot bouncing up and down with his movements.

My pale face stared out the back window in horror.

The man I called Scar crouched behind the car, his gun raised, ready to leap up and shoot me.

“It was you?” I searched his face. I could see the love shining in my eyes reflected in his, and I knew he felt the same way I did. That we were meant for each other.

How could I have forgotten him?

At that moment, I felt complete. The empty ache that was always with me was filled.

And then, he finally gave me the one thing he’d been denying me, before he took it all back again.

It just happened. There was no hesitation. No thought. It was exactly the way your first kiss should be.

His lips were soft, his breath cool and fresh as I pressed myself against him, wanting more. Knowing I would never be able to get enough of him.

But oh, how I tried, my heart blooming as heat rushed out in a fire that consumed me.

I was so greedy for him. His touch. Somehow I had turned so that I was facing him, my arms drawing him closer. Closer. As though I could make him a part of me. Just having him wasn’t enough.

When I opened my eyes, we were on the ground again.

I chuckled, my face warm, happy. “What – were you worried we’d fall?”

He set me down and pulled me to him, crushing my body against his. The side of my face rested on his hard chest.

I was so aware of him. The smell of him, and the way his arms felt on my back. The way his strong hands gripped my shoulders.

He rested his chin on my head, and I could feel his heartbeat against his warm chest, beating time to mine.

His voice was a low, soft murmur, whispering across the top of my head.

“I was worried I would fall. That I’d never stop.” His voice was husky.

Then I realized what I was seeing.

I gasped. “You – you can freeze time?”

He laughed, a low rumbling purr that vibrated through his chest on the side of my face.

“No,” he shifted his arm, running his hand gently down the back of my head, “nothing as dramatic as that.”

“What then?” I asked.

Across the road, a young couple were caught mid-stride, their hands linked together, the love in their faces as they gazed at each other making them seem to be two parts of a whole.

“We just stepped sideways,” he said.

Not far away I noticed a dog, its leg cocked, mid pee.

“
Ew
, that’s just disgusting.” I buried my head in his shoulder, breathing deeply.

The strong, earthy scent of him made me hungry for more. I raised my head, my lips already parting.

His lips were so warm and soft.

I was truly in heaven.

I wanted that kiss to go on forever. To never stop.

But as I pressed closer, he pulled away.

He turned me ever so slowly, moving behind me, until I was facing the Pizza Parlor.

Jonathon was only a few feet away, in front of the shrine. The guilt he bore captured so irrevocably in that brief moment in time.

His shoulders were bowed with the weight of his burden, the sadness engulfing his face.

I knew I wasn’t meant to see his pain – not like this. I was intruding – but I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

A single tear hung from his lashes, catching the glow of the candlelight.

I felt my heart tug as I remembered the way Jonathon had held my hand so tightly, giving me strength. The feelings he’d stirred in me. Feelings that were still there. They’d just been swamped with what I felt for – I tried to turn, realizing I didn’t know his name. How could I not know his name?

But he wrapped his arms around me, holding me in place, as though he couldn’t bear to look at me again with what he was about to do.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into my hair, and before my thoughts could turn into words, he took it all back again.

I felt it when he stole those precious memories. But no matter how hard I fought to hold onto them, his need to remove them was more.

He might have been able to remove every trace of himself from my memory, but he could never remove the hole he’d left deep inside me.

As those last tiny slivers pulled away from me, silvery stars streaked before my vision, and I vowed I would find them again.

They belonged to me and he had no right to take them.

Then it was over.