Unhinged (14 page)

“Whoa,” he says, putting his hands up in
surrender. “I was just curious. I didn’t mean to offend you.” He
doesn’t give me time to decide whether or not to accept his
apology, he just moves on. “So, I assume you’ve somehow tried to
help Logan or Dejana, but you’re frustrated because it didn’t work.
Am I warm?”

Actually, he’s burning hot, but I wasn’t
about to tell his vain ass that. “Something like that, yes,” I
reply.

“Are you going to tell me what happened, or
am I going to have to stand here with you all night and guess?”

Scared to death, I bite my tongue. The
thought of trusting a virtual stranger so completely with the
knowledge of my curse, paralyzes me. As much as I need the help, I
just can’t bring myself to trust Brett. For so many reasons, I
can’t tell him the truth. But the most significant reason I hold
back is actually fear for his safety. The only other people in the
world who know everything there is to know about my curse, are
cursed themselves now. How can I let someone else in knowing that
he may suffer the same fate? Brett senses my hesitation.

“I get that you’re scared, so keep your
secrets for now. But we still need to help our friends, and I think
I know someone who can help us. That is, if you think you can trust
me enough to take you to him.”

“Trust isn’t really a factor. I don’t trust
you, that’s for sure, but that doesn’t really matter anymore,” I
say as I push my way past him and leave the kitchen, heading for
the front door.

“Then why did you agree to go with me?” he
asks following me out.

“Easy. I don’t have any other choice.”

Chapter
Fourteen

~ I Really Hate Surprises ~

We climb into Brett’s pristine silver truck,
and I’m caught off guard by the cool leather seats and the presence
of every possible gadget a car can have, shining at me from the
dashboard.

“I think all that’s missing from your car is
an automatic driver. Or did that come standard as well?”

Brett’s lip goes up in a snicker, but he
doesn’t respond to my sarcastic comment. Since his attention is
mostly on the road, I get a chance to really look at Brett. He’s
similar to Logan in so many ways, yet different. I can see the
defined muscles of his arms flex under his blue shirt as he turns
the wheel. I don’t know much about Brett, but I don’t remember him
playing any sports, so he must get fit some other way. He sits
relaxed in his seat, like he’s in no hurry, has no care in the
world. I envy him. Abruptly he turns and catches me staring at him.
I turn away quickly, hoping he didn’t notice.

“We’re almost there,” states Brett, making me
realize something.

“Wait. It’s late. Will this friend of yours
even be up?”

“He doesn’t ever sleep,” Brett says
cryptically.

A few minutes later, we’re driving down a
small dirt road surrounded by woods. It’s very eerie, and once
more, I second guess myself about letting Brett help me. For all I
know, he’s taking me to this remote area to kill me. What was I
thinking?

I look over at Brett and notice his deathly
tight grip on the steering wheel. Maybe I’m right after all; he’s
nervous about something. Perhaps he’s just trying to figure out the
best way to subdue me without me putting up much of a fight. I wish
I had enough confidence to carry a weapon. Tyler ruined any hope of
my ever using a knife and I hate guns.

We near the end of the dirt road and I know
I’m out of options. Fleeing is my only alternative. As Brett slows
the truck at the end of the dirt road, I grip the door handle,
ready to jump out the minute we are slow enough that jumping won’t
result in me breaking my neck. I pull the door handle half way in
preparation, when suddenly a cabin comes into view. As Brett pulls
into the makeshift driveway, I see it more clearly. The small
wooden cabin is nestled within the heart of the forest. It looks
like God came down and cleared one small circle of trees
specifically for this cabin. Nothing else resides within this small
clearing, save a water well and a car that I assume belongs to the
person we came to see.

The brown cabin is one story with a wide
front porch that spans the entire front of the house. There’s only
one rocking chair outside—this person must live alone. There’s a
light shining from the front room; Brett was right, the man must
not sleep.

As he parks the car near the house, Brett
clearly becomes more agitated. His fingers glow white from gripping
the wheel too hard and he keeps tapping his foot in some
unconscious tick.

“Um, why are you so nervous? I thought you
said this guy is a friend,” I ask, confused by Brett’s
behavior.

He looks over at me, unrest written all over
his face. His eyes dart back and forth from me to the cabin as he
struggles with some inner debate. Finally, he finds his voice.
“Well, I wasn’t completely truthful with you before.”

No shit, really?
I think. I’m not
surprised at all since everyone lies. “About which part
exactly?”

Seeing my distrust, he hurries to explain.
“Wait, I didn’t mean it that way. This guy
can
help. I never
lied to you about that. I just didn’t tell you that I’m not his
favorite person. My being here may have lost you any possibility of
this guy helping.”

“Well, we’ve come this far, so why don’t we
go and find out?”

Despite his misgivings, Brett nods his head
and opens his door. I exit the truck as well and make my way to the
front door of the cabin. Though I walk with confidence, inside I’m
a nervous wreck. I avoid people for a reason. The idiocy of
striking out to meet someone new, solely based on the whims of
another guy I barely know, engulfs me. I’m two seconds from turning
around and running back to the truck when the front door opens and
an older man steps out. The light from the room pierces the
darkness, causing him to glow angelically. His body turns toward me
first, taking my measure as he looks me up and down. I must have
passed some test, because he nods his head before turning his
attention to Brett. And then, all hell breaks loose.

“You
!” the old man yells furiously.
“How dare you step foot on my land. You are
not
welcome here
young man. You get your butt right back into that truck and drive
away before I get my shotgun and make you.”

Brett wrings his hands in agitation and
refuses to meet the old man’s furious gaze. The confident boy I saw
in my house, who convinced me to accept his help, is gone.
Suddenly, I feel sorry for Brett. Sympathy, brought about from
years of being bullied by others, rises within me. I turn and face
the old man, anger giving me courage to face a stranger.

“Stop threatening him, now. Whatever crap is
between you two, I need you to put it aside. Awful things are
happening in our town, and Brett says you are the only one that can
help. He’s only here because I needed his help. So why don’t you
stop talking about shotguns and convince me that you can actually
be of some use.”

The old man steps out further onto the porch
and his figure clears. I almost wish he hadn’t bothered. His blue
eyes are piercing as they meet mine, his annoyance at being
interrupted by unsavory teenagers apparent. He’s holding a book in
his right hand and his reading glasses in the other. He just stares
at me, his anger at Brett diminishing as he contemplates my words.
There’s a nagging in my brain, a small voice telling me I know him
from somewhere. But where in the world would I have met him?
There’s nothing unusual about him. He’s wearing what any older man
would wear: khakis and a plaid button down shirt, tucked in with a
belt to keep his rather large waist at bay. The loafers he wears on
his pudgy feet complete the ensemble that screams of someone that
grew up in the 1950’s and just can’t understand why young people
would even want to wear something called skinny jeans. As he
continues to stare, it finally dawns on me where I’ve seen this man
before.

“It was you. You’re the substitute that
helped me that day Kyle stabbed Brandon in Madame Primm’s
classroom. You helped calm everyone down. I’ve never seen you at
school before that day. What were you doing there anyway, Mr…?”

“Evans. And it’s Dr. actually. Dr. Richard
Evans. I was at your school, young lady, giving a presentation on
Forensics Psychology. I was on my way out when I heard the
commotion and offered my services. I think it’s best that we talk
inside.”

Dr. Evans steps back from the door, giving us
plenty of room to enter the small log cabin. As I walk in, my eyes
immediately go to the quaint fireplace that dominates the large
room that makes up the one story cabin. There are no walls to
separate rooms, just furniture laid out in such a fashion that it
makes the room seem like it’s in sections. There’s no TV, just a
few very comfy chairs and a large brown leather couch that make up
the living room. To the right of the makeshift living room is the
small dining table with only two chairs and a small kitchen beside
that. Dr. Evans has all top-notch appliances in the small kitchen,
but it’s apparent he doesn’t need much in the way of material
possessions. I walk further into the cabin and make my way to the
couch. That’s when I see it. A large table pushed back to the far
wall. It’s filled with all sorts of papers spread out, books of all
different sizes open to various pages. It looks a lot like a mad
scientist lab, but without the chemistry stuff.

I sit down on the couch and put my hands
under my legs. Even with gloves on, you can’t be too careful.
Seconds later, I move a bit to the right as Brett sits down next to
me. He leaves plenty of room between us, so there’s little chance
of touching, but I’m still very wary of him.

Dr. Evans sits down on the oversized brown
leather seat adjacent to the couch and places his book on the small
table next to the chair. I notice there’s a half-empty wine glass
next to a lamp on the table. No pictures of family, no knick-knacks
to commemorate life. Nothing but empty space all around. It’s
unnerving, and a little bit creepy.

Dr. Evans settles into his chair like older
people do: he crosses his legs and places his hands upon his knees.
If that isn’t a therapist’s position, I don’t know what is. I know
that firsthand from a short stint in therapy, a time long before I
realized I was cursed, rather than insane. Dr. Evans clears his
throat, a clear sign he is ready for us to begin. His blue eyes
study mine, his stare intense and focused, like he can see my every
thought and intention shine out through my blue orbs. Again, I’m
hit with a creepy vibe.

“So, Ms. Richardson, I assume you’re here
because you’ve lost your friends to insanity and you’re unable to
separate them from their delusions. Am I warm?”

Nope, freaking hot.

He remembered my name. Moreover, somewhere
along the way, learned my last name as well as schooled himself on
what’s been going on in my school. Nope, not creepy at all. To my
right, Brett’s all kinds of edgy. He’s tapping his foot on the
hardwood floor and biting his nails. Clearly, he’s uncomfortable
being around Dr. Evans so I decide to move on with the conversation
in the hopes that it gets us out of here as fast as possible.

“Yes, sir. That’s actually exactly what’s
happening. But I’m confused as to how you know what’s going on?
Other than the incident with Kyle, I haven’t seen you around at all
when students have gone delusional.”

“I’m a psychiatrist who specializes in
forensic pathology my dear. The police have already contacted me to
consult, and I’ve seen every case file they have on the people
currently calling the Anchor Mental Hospital home. You’d be
surprised how many friends I have, Ms. Richardson,” says Evans,
looking pointedly at Brett.

What is their deal anyway? Why is Brett so
uncomfortable around this guy? More to the point, what does Evans
have on Brett that makes him so nervous? Though I’d really like
answers to the mystery of this odd relationship, I simply don’t
have time to care.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re up to date,
'cause that saves us time. This nervous wreck beside me says that
you can help. I sure hope you can because I’ve tried and failed
twice. I just don’t know what else to do. But I’m willing to do
anything to get my friends back.”

Dr. Evans looks at me fixedly as he plays
with the mustache dominating his round face. His hands are calm as
they caress his facial hair, his eyes doing their best to decide if
I’m worthy of helping. After a bit, he sighs and uncrosses his
legs. He scoots up in his chair as he places his elbows on his
knees in a serious stance. As he moves closer to me, I slink back
into the cushions of the couch, doing my best to put as much
distance as I can between us. A psychiatrist has to have heard some
seriously messed up crap over the years and I don’t need any more
of that in my head. Evans takes a deep breath as he interlocks his
fingers. Whatever he’s going to say, it can’t be good.

“Are you sure, Aimee? Are you truly ready to
do anything to save your friends? Even if it means losing yourself
in the process? I know everything, including what you can do. If we
go through with this, it will most certainly change you. And in
ways you can’t even begin to imagine.”

Cryptic much, dude?
Wow, this guy just
keeps getting creepier. I’m not sure exactly what he means by
losing myself, but the fact is I’m lost anyway without Mary, Logan
and Dejana. I can’t live without them. Or more to the point, I
don’t want to. I’ve lived the life of someone alone and scared for
sixteen years. I’ve had enough.

“Yes, I’m ready to do whatever it takes to
give them back their sanity. Even if it means losing mine in the
process.”

Smiling, Dr. Evans leans back in his seat and
nods approvingly. “Then we’d better get started.” He hops out of
his seat and walks to the table filled with books and papers.