The Guardian (The Gifted Book 1) (6 page)

10
Holidays

Rhea shot up from her pillow, arms extended in front of her, and screamed. Pillows and stuffed animals launched off her bed as if they feared for their lives. In a matter of seconds it was over.

Rhea sat in the middle of her childhood bed, gasping for air
, as she became aware of her surroundings. The storm door slammed downstairs, startling Rhea and signifying that her mom was home from the store. She looked at the clock, 4:30 p.m., four hours since she'd arrived home for the holiday. She'd fallen asleep shortly after lunch. Her mom, Christine, had insisted she take a nap, noting the dark circles under Rhea's eyes.

Rhea
had explained that she'd pulled a couple all-nighters studying for exams and that she was okay, but that wasn't true. She didn't like lying to her parents, but over the years it had become second nature. It had become a necessity.

For as long as Rhea could remember, she'd had what her parents called an active imagination. That's how they explained the creatures and places Rhea could see in the shadows cast by the moon's light.

When she was little, the creatures used to scare her. If she woke in the middle of the night and looked around her room, she often saw different types of animals staring back at her from the shadows. She'd yell for her mom, afraid the creature she saw was in her room, but each time Christine came to her rescue, it was gone. The light from the hall would fill her room, wiping away the moon shadows.

Her parents would tell her it was just a dream or her imagination. Rhea never agreed with her parents, never believed that what she could see in the moon shadows wasn't real.

Shortly after she turned nine, a dog-like creature became a regular sighting in the moon shadows, but Rhea wasn't afraid when it appeared. She didn't know if her lack of fear had to do with what it looked like or whether she was just growing up. One night, she worked up the courage to crawl off her bed and sit in front of the creature, to try and convince herself it wasn't real. It didn't move or make a sound. Was it real?

Her study of the creature was interrupted when her mother stepped into her room to check on her. Instead of seeing what Rhea saw, her mother saw Rhea looking into the dark empty corner where her dresser met the wall. That was the night the lies started.

For years her parents had tolerated her stories about the shadows, assuming they were just her imagination, but the sitting-on-the-floor event pushed them to consider sending her to a shrink. After a lengthy conversation, Rhea convinced her parents she wasn't crazy and would not be leaving her bed again to sit on the floor. That seemed to make them happy; they liked the idea that they had ended Rhea's obsession with the shadows.

Being threatened with becoming an outpatient at the local loony bin wasn't the only life-changing event Rhea experienced that night long ago. When her mom
had caught her on the floor and spoken her name, the creature had turned to look at Christine. That was the night Rhea had confirmed the creature was real and that it could hear her.

~~~

Rhea looked at the mess on the floor that hadn't been there before she lay down. She had assumed her physical assault on her surroundings would stop once finals were over and she was home, but obviously that wasn't the case. As she looked at the chaos that was once her tidy childhood room, she knew her dreams weren't being caused by exam-related stress. Now what was she going to do?

Rhea swung her legs over the edge of the bed and glimpsed the vase of flowers Christine had placed on her nightstand that morning, something she'd always done after semester exams. They were dead.

Rhea gasped and reached to feel the once soft and colorful wildflowers, hoping the sun's shadows in her room were playing tricks on her eyes. The daisy crumbled, the dust falling to her nightstand and onto the floor.

She pulled back her hand in horror and disbelief. Her heart started to race
, and for the first time in a long time, she was scared. She couldn't let her mother see them. How would she explain when she didn't know the answer herself?

Glancing around the room
, she saw the plastic bag that held some miscellaneous items she had brought home from school. Dumping her things onto her reading chair, she carefully placed the bag over the flowers before attempting to use it to pull the stems free of the vase. The stems disintegrated upon her touch, and the flowers fell into the bag while the remainder of the stems dissolved into the water.

Rhea quickly tied the plastic bag closed and dumped it in the trash can under her desk
, just as a knock sounded at the door.

"Rhea?" whispered Christine as she slowly opened the door.

"I'm awake." Rhea stepped forward so Christine would not come in and see the flowerless vase.

"Oh, good." Her face lit with a genuine smile. "Do you want a salad with dinner? I'm making spaghetti."

"Sure. That would be great." She forced a smile back, hiding the emotions churning away at her insides.

Christine's brow scrunched as she leaned forward to scan the room. "What happened in here?"

"What?"
Play dumb,
she thought.

"Rhea, your room. It's a mess."

"Oh, I ... um ... I ..."

Christine didn't wait for Rhea's excuse. She hadn't really wanted one. "You're
twenty-one years old now. I'm not going to tell you to clean your room, but, honestly, you've only been home a few hours." Christine turned to leave. "Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes." She closed the door without waiting to hear the excuse her daughter was sure Rhea was going to offer.

Rhea stood frozen in place, amazed that such a brilliant scientist would be so accepting of the strange and unexplained.

~~~

"What time are we expected?" Daen
asked, stuffing another sweater in his duffel bag and zipping it closed.

Randell dropped his bag by the front door of their apartment. "I told them we would be there by 4:00. They're hoping we
will stay through the entire holiday and semester break."

Daen tossed his bag next to Randell's. "That works for me. It'll be nice to get some fresh air,
and get in some regular practice. You ready for a challenge?"

"As long as you don't tap into your special powers, I can hold my own
, thank you very much." Randell tried to look dignified but broke into laugher when Daen raised his brow with an are-you-serious look.

Randell shrugged. "Fine. I can't help it that you have, what is it, a hundred or
so more years of experience than I do."

Now Daen was laughing. "You're very good
, but I suspect we're both a little rusty. Battling with swords requires constant practice to be at your best."

Randell feigned seriousness. "Well
, it's a good thing we don't fight with swords in this world or we would be in grave danger right about now."

Daen pulled a water bottle from the fridge. "You joke
, but I never know when I'll be allowed to go back, or the circumstances under which it could happen. I feel vulnerable not carrying my weapons, let alone not practicing regularly."

Randell raised his hands defensively. "Fine. Okay. What has you so uptight?"

"I'm tired. I can't shake the anxious feeling that she's close. And every day I go without practice I feel less able to do what I was sent here to do."

Randell knew Daen would rather live at his parents' house so they could practice each day. After returning from Randell's years at school, they'd gotten rather spoiled living at home. But when he got the job at the university, he
'd known it was time to move again.

Randell said, "I'm sorry about the living arrangements but it was getting embarrassing living at home. What would I say to a date? Would you like to come to my house? Oh yeah, don't mind my mom and dad in the living room."

Daen rolled his eyes. "It's not like you've brought anyone home since we've been here, and I'm most certainly not going to." Daen dropped his eyes and shook his head before heading to his room.

"Dude! I know it's been hard on you. But how do you know she's waiting for you? It's been a long time."

Daen stepped out of his room to look at Randell standing at the end of the hall. "I hope she's moved on. I want her to be happy. But I can't move on. I have to keep believing I'll get to go home. And if she's still there, is still single, and still wants me after I abandoned her, well, I'll be damn sure not to give her a reason not to take me back."

Randell leaned on the
frame of Daen's bedroom door. "Hey, I'm sorry if I said something out of line. Are you going to be okay?"

Daen sat on his bed and looked at Randell with a steady gaze
. "I don't know. It's these dreams I've been having; the ones that crush me." Daen stood and started to pace. "I need to find the source and I have no idea where to start looking. I'm not a tracker. I can't sense gifts." He picked up a shirt from his reading chair and slammed it into the hamper.

"I look every time we leave the house
," Randell said. He was doing okay this time around as far as his gift wearing him down. What bothered him more was the feeling he was prying. He didn't feel right eavesdropping on people's emotions, but for the sake of his friend and his mission, he did it; anything to help Daen get home.

"I know. I appreciate it."

The thought of Daen leaving was hard on Randell. Daen had become more than a friend. He was like a brother. He thought that perhaps, when the time came, he would go with him. Of course he hadn't broached the subject with Daen or his parents. He'd decided that it was best to leave the arguing until the last minute.

~~~

Rhea quickly picked up her room and headed downstairs to set the table for dinner. She took the stairs slowly, looking at the family pictures her mother had recently framed and hung on the stair wall.

Her school pictures were arranged in a multi-image picture frame, showing how Rhea had changed from a gangly little girl to a young woman. The arrangement also showed how the color of her hair had changed over the years. She'd forgotten that she didn't always have silver and gold highlights mixed in
with her blond hair. They had started to appear a few years ago.

Surrounding her school pictures were photos she'd seen before; photos of her with her parents during the holidays and on various family vacations. The contrast between her and her parents was striking when you put all the photos together. They each had brown hair and dark eyes
, compared to her blond hair and light green eyes. She'd known for a long time that she was adopted and hadn't thought much about it. But having this display in such a well-used space in the house would be a constant reminder.

It was nice walking down memory lane occasionally
, but not every day. She assumed she would get used to seeing the pictures and eventually be able to tune them out. As she made her way to the bottom step, she was stopped by a photo she'd never seen before; a baby in a basket.

She whispered to herself. "Is that me?"
She wondered why her parents would put her in a basket. Maybe they were too poor to buy a bed when they first got her. No. The adoption agency wouldn't have given her to them unless they had proven they could take care of her.

Maybe it was a joke, but then why put it on the wall? She hadn't asked a lot of questions about the adoption process. She'd always assumed it was your run-of-the-mill adoption. As she leaned in to examine the photo more closely, the front door opened and her father, Brian, stepped in
, shaking his umbrella behind him before closing the door.

"Hi
, Dad."

"Rhea! Hey
, kiddo. How was your trip home? You do okay on your finals?" Brian dropped his coat off his shoulders and hung it on the coat rack along with his umbrella.

"The trip was uneventful and finals went well." She reached to give him a hug. Zip! Snap!

"Ow! Ground yourself. What were you doing before I came in, running around the house scuffing your socks on the carpet?" He laughed while rubbing his arm and inhaling the aroma from the kitchen. "Ah, spaghetti. I'm starved."

"Go change. I was just about to set the table. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes." Rhea watched her dad climb the stairs and wondered about the shock she
had given him.

Static electricity, a common occurrence, was to be expected in the winter when one turned on the central heat
, but that shock had been different. She watched with concern as her father rubbed his arm where she'd barely touched him. In the past, she'd felt the shock as well, and although it stung, the pain didn't last. This time she hadn't felt it. She glanced at her hands as she walked to the kitchen and noticed her fingers were pink.

She probably wouldn't have given the shock much thought
, but this wasn't the first time it had happened. Over the last few weeks, she had shocked a lot of people, and for no apparent reason. The dorms and classrooms all had tiled floors, so scuffing her feet didn't explain it. She'd gotten to the point of being overly cautious, avoiding contact with anyone for fear of causing pain.