Unhinged (11 page)

Huh, maybe Brett isn’t such a douchebag after
all. “That would be great, thanks,” I say, and I genuinely mean
it.

“No problem. Let me step outside for a second
and call. You guys stay with her, just in case.”

I watch as Brett leaves the room and softly
closes the bedroom door behind him as he makes the call to the
police. I don’t dare speak until I know he is for sure out of
hearing range. Regardless of his recent willingness to help us, I
still don’t trust him. What can I say? I’m cursed with memories of
complete assholes. Trusting isn’t exactly ingrained within my
psyche.

Logan nudges me lightly, bringing me back to
our present dilemma. I realize he wants to know what happened in
Dejana’s mind, but a small part of me wonders if he can withstand
the horror that comes with knowing the evil that resides within
her. I battle with what to hold back and what to share as I look
into his sad eyes filled with such innocence, such hope that I
can’t bear to hold anything back from him. He risks so much just
being with me and he deserves the truth.

“She’s in a coma. Somehow, the memories of a
totally psychotic serial killer made their way into her mind. Her
brain shut down to protect itself. As far as I can tell, she’s
okay, as long as she stays in the parts of her mind that hold some
of her best long-term memories. The evil that’s sprouted deep
within her subconscious is still separate from the rest of Dejana’s
mind. As long as it stays that way, she’ll be okay, but I have no
idea of knowing how long she’ll be able to hold out. The tornado
that represents all of those memories is huge and seems to be
growing. It’s only a matter of time before they take over her mind.
And if that happens, it’ll be too late. We won’t be able to save
her. Those memories are just like a real tornado that devours
everything in its path—it won’t stop until there’s nothing left.
And from what I can tell, it doesn’t have any plans to stop.”

To Logan’s credit, he doesn’t react to the
news as badly as I thought he would. The only indication that he
even understood the severity of the matter at hand is a deep sigh
of frustration. That boy is so much stronger than I ever give him
credit for.

“Did you see any of the killer’s memories?”
Logan asks, both out of curiosity and concern. He knows how my
curse works, understands the price I pay for it, but at the same
time, I can see he wants to protect me from it; shield me from the
horrors that lie within the recesses of an evil mind.

“Yes,” I whisper, hoping that’s enough. “I
did.”

Logan bows his head in defeat, knowing
somehow that would be the answer, but hoping it wasn’t true. “How
are you holding up?” he asks, the concern evident in his voice and
those beautiful eyes that stare back at me with such intensity it
frightens me.

“Fine,” I answer simply, hoping he doesn’t
see the lie behind my words. Whether he desires it or not, I will
do my best to protect him from the evil things I see. Because to
me, he is the antithesis of evil, the one bright light that can
make all the evil things in this world flee.

The desire to touch him is too much for me to
resist. In a completely uncharacteristic move, I turn towards him
and pull him into me, his lips just centimeters from mine. The need
to kiss him, to feel the heat of his lips against mine and absorb
something good for once, overwhelms me. I can feel his breath on my
face as it comes faster in anticipation of our lips meeting. His
breath smells sweet and clean. His face sports stubble from a five
o’clock shadow. I lean in even closer, so close that I can
practically hear his heart beating a thousand times a minute within
his chest.

With complete abandon, I finally touch my
lips against his and am immediately intoxicated with the feel of
warmth and electricity that flows through me. I revel in the pure
pleasure that is his kiss. Logan moves to deepen the kiss, moving
his tongue against mine. My heart races faster as heat radiates
throughout my body. I pull him even closer with my bare hands,
desperate to have him as near as possible. Logan responds in kind.
He groans as his hands move to wrap completely around me. There is
no space between us, no desire for any space for that matter, as we
embrace as if we may never kiss again. Surprisingly, I don’t absorb
any new memories; my mind lets me simply feel. Electricity courses
through my veins and throughout every pore as we kiss, making my
body practically sing from the sensation. I never want this to end.
Yet, as with most good things in my life, it does. And way too
soon.

Abruptly, Logan breaks the kiss and pulls
away. I’m left sitting there alone and cold, the electricity
fizzled out and the feelings of euphoria gone. “Whoa,” says Logan,
one hand on his head, the other on the banister for support.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, feelings of déjà vu
piercing my brain. I remember Dejana suffering from vertigo at my
house before I went to go see Mary. Panic threatens to drown me. I
can’t breathe, I can’t think. All I can do is wish the bad away.
Not Logan, please not Logan,
I chant silently over and over
again until I can force myself to believe it. “Please, Logan, you
have to fight it. It can’t happen to you too. I don’t know what I
would do without you. Please, I don’t know what to do!” I scream as
panic overtakes me with every second that ticks by.

“I’m okay,” Logan whispers. “It’s alright.
Don’t worry,” he adds needlessly. “I can hold on, but I need your
help.”

“What can I do?” I ask him desperately.

“I have to know what’s happening to me,
what’s invaded my mind. I need you to enter my memories like you
did for Dejana and try to fix it if you can. But not here, we have
to leave Aimee; we have to go to my house where we can be
safe.”

Before I can come to terms with what’s
happening to Logan, we hear the roaring of sirens in the distance
and know that the ambulance Brett called will be arriving shortly.
I wonder fleetingly why he didn’t re-enter the bedroom, but with
all that’s happening to Logan, it just didn’t occur to me to care.
For someone that supposedly cares so much for Dejana, he sure is
taking a long time to come back. But honestly, I just can’t think
about that right now. Whatever Brett is doing is his business. What
I care about is Logan, and it is obvious he’s in trouble. Hell, I’d
be deluding myself if I didn’t admit that we all are in some
seriously deep shit. And worse yet, I don’t own a shovel.

Chapter
Twelve

~ Sometimes Love Just Ain’t Enough ~

Shortly after the ambulance takes Dejana to
the hospital, we set out for Logan’s house. I drive, uncertain of
his state of mind, or how well he’s holding it together. I have no
idea what is in his brain and even less of a desire to see what
type of horrible memory is festering within his psyche. I know
Logan is strong and has withstood more pain than anyone should
possibly have to in a lifetime, but even if I did enter his mind
like I did with Dejana, what good could I do? I could identify the
problem, but that doesn’t mean I can do anything about it.
Desperation engulfs me, I have no idea what to do and I am in
way
over my head.

“How are you feeling?” I ask Logan carefully.
He’s sitting next to me in the passenger seat, pale as ever and
sweating. He’s fighting whatever his mind is trying to force upon
him and the hopelessness of the situation hits me full force. The
people I love the most are crumbling around me and I’m helpless to
stop it. Sometime in the past week, the world has turned cruel and
unforgiving. Actually no, I was just a fool to believe it could
actually be something other than that for once.

We finally arrive at Logan’s house. It’s very
late, and I don’t see any lights on inside the house so his parents
and younger brother are probably asleep. As I pull into the
driveway, I turn off the headlights so I don’t wake up the family.
I hop out of the car and race to the other side, hoping to help
Logan, but he’s already out of his seat and walking towards his
house. He tries to maintain his usual confidence, but I can tell
he’s weak.

“We need to sneak in through the back. The
key is hidden underneath the fern—the one on the left side of the
back door.”

I look beneath the left fern and sure enough,
there is a random key hiding there in the center of a dirt ring. I
take it out and place it into the keyhole. I turn it as quietly as
possible until I hear a soft click, indicating the lock has given
way.

“Come on,” I say to Logan as I push my way
through the kitchen door and move aside so he can follow me. Once
we are both inside his rather large kitchen, I shut the door and
lock it behind us. The less evidence that I was ever here, the
better. I turn to face Logan and the breath catches in my throat.
The boy I know and love is fighting a battle and losing. His face
is ashen and he is sweating enormously. His blue t-shirt is soaked
and his eyes are glazed over in either confusion or pain, I can’t
decipher which one. I can tell the dizziness is all consuming, yet
he stays on his feet and pushes through the discomfort.

“My bedroom,” says Logan in short breaths.
“We’ll have privacy.”

I try to help Logan as we make our way to the
back stairs, but he declines my offer as gentlemanly as possible in
his current state. We make it up two steps before Logan falls to
his knees and starts to bang his head against the wall. I watch in
horror, totally helpless and frustrated beyond belief at my
ineptitude.

“Stop it now, Logan! You’re going to wake
your parents,” I whisper in as much of a shout as I dare. “Please,
just hold on a bit longer. Your room is right at the top of the
stairs. You can make it. Now get up dammit, and walk.”

My words seem to get through to Logan because
he stops pounding his head against the drywall and begins to crawl
up the stairs; each step a herculean effort to ascend. Finally, his
room comes into sight. That seems to spur his strength as he darts
for the door and falls inside. I lightly run after him and help him
onto the bed, making sure he is settled before I run back and shut
his bedroom door. From behind me, I hear Logan softly say my name.
I run back over and sit beside him on the bed. I take his cold
clammy hand into my gloved one and hold on for dear life.

“I’m here, Logan,” I tell him, unsure if he
can still hear me since his eyes are closed and his breathing is
shallow.

“Now,” he says in a very soft voice. “Must do
it now. I can’t hold on much longer.”

“It’s okay, I got this. I won’t let you
down,” I say as I take off my gloves for the second time today. My
hands are shaking, fear of the unknown making me weak. I look at
Logan’s pale white face; note his closed eyes, as he lies there
deathly still. Fear of losing him fills me with renewed strength.
Before I do this, there is something I have to tell him, something
he has to know in case I lose him to the delusions forever.
Something I never got to tell Mary or Dejana, and it’s the only
thing that ever really mattered. I don’t know if he can hear me, so
I can only hope that he can feel me. I place my hand upon his heart
beneath his shirt and say the words that up until now have
paralyzed me with fear.

“I love you, Logan,” I declare as the vertigo
begins and the darkness consumes me.

* * * *

A brightly shining light temporarily blinds
me, so I shield them with my hand to try to see where I am. I look
around and realize that I am in the old cafeteria of our school,
the one before it was destroyed by the bomb. The blinding light is
the sun coming through the large windows on the left-hand side wall
that faces the courtyard, or at least the ones that
used
to
be on the left-hand side facing the courtyard.

As usual, during a lunch cycle, there are
tons of people sitting around chatting as they eat their lunch. I
begin to search for Logan as I try to figure out why he chose this
memory to show me. I finally find him, sitting on top of the lunch
table across the way, shooting the breeze with his baseball
teammates.

He's healthy and gorgeous in the dark green
T-shirt I love and his usual jeans. He is smiling and laughing at
something one of his friends said, acting like a teenager without a
care in the world—just as it should be. Sadness fills me as I see
how great his life used to be. Until I came along. Of course, this
would be one of his happiest memories, one that doesn’t include me.
Seeing this memory reminds me how much he gave up to be part of my
cursed life, how unfair life can be when it comes to love.

As I watch him talking, I see that he
intermittently goes from looking at his friends to checking out
something behind him. He's done it four times since I began
watching him. Whatever fascinates him can't be something he hears,
because the cafeteria is as loud as usual. I look around, curious
as to what keeps making him look behind him. When I finally see
what holds his gaze, my mouth drops open like a bad scene in a
movie.

Two tables back from Logan, surrounded by
empty chairs, sits me: eating silently and making no eye contact
with anyone. As usual, everyone is avoiding me like I have the
plague. I help this notion take root by placing a constant look of
scorn upon my face, contempt for the world shining brightly in my
blue eyes.

I walk closer to my memory self and notice
that I am wearing darker eye makeup than usual. I only do that when
I am nervous, so I’m guessing today must have been my first day at
this school. So this is one of Logan’s favorite memories—the day he
first laid eyes on me. Gratefulness and love fill me. What I
thought was the worst thing that could happen to him, he sees as
the best. Perhaps we are all destined to fall for that one person
that is able to see us as we wish we could see ourselves—perfectly
imperfect.