Watch Over You (11 page)

“You’re one of them,” she repeated again.

“I’m not. I can't explain, but I’m not.”

She shook her head and tried to pull free. With a sudden oath, he captured her face, holding it firm between his hands, and planted his mouth hard against hers. He kissed her the way he wanted to - hungry and needing. Like a man who had been starving for three
years…and he had. He kissed away every fear she had. Every thought that made her more scared than the last. He kissed her so hard that all she would be able to think about was him and only him. He kissed her the way he had wanted to that day at the cemetery. He growled in satisfaction when he felt her melt against him. “Do you feel that Tara?” he asked gruffly when he released her mouth. “Do you feel me inside your mind?”

She nodded.

“I’m not like them. I promise. I can't explain it to you right now, but I need for you to trust me. Can you do that?”

She didn’t answer.

“I won’t let them hurt you. Whatever happens, okay?” He caught her hand in his again and then pressed their joined hands over her heart. “Do you feel your heartbeat? You feel me in there? You have to trust me. Your heart trusts me.” Taking hold of her other hand, he pressed it over his heart. “Do you feel my heart beating?”

She nodded again and whispered. “Yes.”

“Close your eyes Tara. Feel our heartbeats. Do you feel them?”

They drummed together. Two hearts beating as one.

She opened her eyes slowly, calmer. “How is that possible?”

“I promise to you that I will explain. I can't right now. We have to leave. Trust me?”

She gave a weak nod and he let go of her hands, certain this time that she would not run away.

“Follow me.” He crept down the stairs, but when he looked back, Tara hadn’t moved. He nodded in encouragement and waved for her to come down. “It’s okay. I promise. I won’t let them hurt you.” The smoke was on the floor. It didn’t spread out, but piled up on itself, forming a more solid mass. Watching as it rose up from where it landed, Devan knew what it was forming and the sight filled him with dread. It was like watching
sand drain in an hour glass. Soon, the smoke would transform and one of them would be inside. Tara would be lost.

When he reached the bottom of the stairway, he looked back to Tara. She was on the middle step. “You can do it,” he urged. He glanced back at the smoke, watching it gradually grow in size. It formed legs and then knees. It was pouring in faster. The door rattled again. Another shadow moved closer. Now the pile was up to the thighs, the shape of its feet becoming clearer by the second.

Tara clutched her chest as she watched the transition taking place right before her eyes. “We have to go Tara. There’s no time.” He held both hands out to her. She took one cautious step, her eyes darting from him to the smoke and back again. “I’ve got you. Come on.” She took one last fearful look at the smoke and then lunged herself at Devan. He caught her as she flew into his arms, and relief filled him from the inside out. He led her by the wrist, running through the dining room to the kitchen. He tried the back door, but it was locked. “Where’s the key?” he yelled.

She ran over to the sink. There was a tin on the side. She rummaged inside and then tipped the contents out. Buttons and coins clattered everywhere as she spread them around and pulled out the key.

Devan snatched it from her and fumbled to get it in the door.

“Don’t open it,” she cried. “They’re out there.”

Unheedingly, he opened the door with caution and poked his head out, intent on getting himself and Tara out of there. He checked both ways, but it was just darkness. Normal, ordinary darkness that didn’t move, didn’t eat people up. The shadows hadn’t reached this far yet, but they would soon. He reached back behind him for Tara and as soon as her hand slipped into his, he launched himself from the house, dragging her along. They ran across the patio, across the grass and past the shrubs and the potted plants, down into the shadows at the depths of the garden. Devan didn’t look back.

Chapter Thirteen

Tara trailed behind Devan. She didn’t know what his destination was or how far they had run. She didn’t even think to take a mental note. As she held onto Devan’s hand and followed him blindly, heart and logical brain argued. Her mind devised so many scenarios, but her heart overruled - it knew what it wanted. Something in his eyes said that he was sincere. Maybe it was the fear he had displayed himself. That was real. His panic had been evident, but he was one of them. She couldn’t ignore that. It meant something. It had to. She should have been afraid of him, but for some inexplicable reason, she wasn’t.

They slowed when they reached a path. It was old and abandoned. Weeds scrambled over each other and sprouted up through cracks. Moss covered the edges; free to roam where no one had evidently stepped in a long time. Something was familiar to her, yet as she fumbled through the memories in her mind trying to locate the source, she came up blank. Devan swung the
gate open, and it squealed a sullen protest. Years of neglect had caused the red paint to peel off, allowing rust to take generous bites of the metal beneath. Tara did know this place. She knew she did…but it wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. An old concrete fence surrounded the premises. Bits of the posts were missing, chipped away from time and the elements. Rusted poles formed and supported the structure. Tara recalled that there had been sharp points reoccurring along the top of the fence, but many of them were now smashed away. The once neatly cut grass was wild and tall. Litter and discarded bags scattered the grounds. It had been a community centre, a long time ago, bursting with life and activities. A place that people had come to for comfort and friendship, not just the events that were being held. It pained her heart to see the windows boarded up. Even the main double doors that were originally painted blue with a pretty flower decoration were nothing more than rotted wood and weathered memories.

Images of the past fluttered into Tara’s mind as she took everything in. There was always a woman at the steps that led up to the front.  What was her name?
Marie? She would sit there in her chair with her bucket for collection. She’d sit there all day just reading her book. She’d stop and chat with the people coming and going. The picture brought a wistful smile to Tara’s face as she mentally walked through her memories.

After a moment, her smile turned to a frown. It couldn’t be this place, though. It was impossible. That place was miles away. In her old life - gone from this one. It was at the other end of the country, nestled in the heart of Devon. Not north of England, where she lived now. She missed it so badly. Maybe one day she could go back; that was if her heart could stand it. She loved the way people were down there. She missed her home, but Eric had been worth giving it up.

Devan pushed down on the handle of one of the doors and found it wasn’t locked. Shoving it open, he pulled Tara in after him. “Should we be here?” Uncertainty laced her voice as she surveyed her surroundings. It was just as she remembered, freeze-framed from a long time ago. It looked the same. Felt the same. It even smelt the same. The only thing that was missing was the life that used to thrive within these walls. Folding tables were stacked at the side of the small stage. Chairs were piled three high along the walls. “It can't be,” she whispered again. She let go of Devan’s hand. “It isn’t possible.”

He didn’t speak to her. He was too busy dashing about the place, checking doors, checking the windows, even though they were boarded up. Back and forth he went, carrying chairs  to barricade the double doors. He found an old broom and wedged it between the handles. “We should be okay for a little while,” he muttered to himself.

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t think they will find us here yet. Maybe we can stay the night, move when its daylight?”

Neither of them was talking to each other. Devan’s mind was focused on keeping the shadows out and Tara was staring at everything like she had walked through some kind of time warp. He stood in front of her when he was satisfied the place was as secure as he could make it. “Will you answer me now?” she asked. “What’s going on? This place…?” His eyes were back to normal; almost back to normal at least. They were blue again, but brighter than before. He was different, though. Bigger, he didn’t look sick like he had just a few hours ago. He looked stronger.

“You know this place, don’t you?” he asked.

It didn’t matter how many times she visually inspected everything and mapped those things out in her mind, disbelief still had its firm grasp. “It can't be true. I can't be here.”

“Tell me about it, Tara. Tell me what this place is.”

“Did you do this? Is this part of everything?”

“What is it, Tara?” He reached for her, but she pulled away. Walking backwards, she shook her head and refused to believe what it was that her eyes were telling her.

She studied every inch - from the floor, up along the walls, to posters she remembered, even up to the ceiling where the occasional cork board was missing, leaving only a dark hole. “You did this, didn’t you? You brought me here on purpose? How could you? Is it even real? Did you read my mind? Steal my memories. What are you?” Her voice escalated with each question. Her arms worked as fast as her mouth. Devan grabbed her, his expression stern.

“Tell me what this is, Tara. Tell me where we are.”

The words were in her mouth, but it was impossible to say them. A million memories came rushing into her mind, putting her right there. Every corner. Every table. Every chair. Each of them held something more than before. It felt real. It looked real. “This shouldn’t be here.”

Devan’s grip loosened and Tara slid from his grasp. As if in a trance, she turned slowly, taking it all in. She blinked, hoping that when she opened her eyes again, everything would simply have changed and none
of this would be real.. She didn’t understand. Maybe it wasn’t the same place. Maybe this was some kind of illusion. As she walked towards one of the doors, every part of her brain was seeing the place as if she were there. This wasn’t just familiar. This was the hall.
The centre
.  She marched over to a door at the other side with full intention of yanking it open to try to burst the memory bubble she was captivated in, but as she clamped her hand down on the handle, she froze. Fear knotted inside her stomach. What if this was the same place? What would it mean if she opened it and everything was there? What would she find? She wasn’t so sure she wanted to know.

“What is in there?” she heard Devan murmur from right beside her.

“You know already?”

He didn’t answer, but that didn’t matter. Her mind was drifting between the past and understanding what was happening. She turned the handle, heart beating wildly. Smells flooded out and washed over her, overwhelming her senses. Everything in it was just the
same, just as she remembered it. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment and a sob caught in her throat.. “It can't be,” she whispered. Canvasses were propped against the wall - half-finished paintings. Boxes of paints and brushes sat on the shelf above. Table-top easels rested at the other side. She reached out and traced her fingers across the tops of the pictures as if at any moment, they would vanish.

There was a painting at the front. Her heart skipped a beat as she reached out a trembling hand  to pick it up. “This is Eric’s,” she said incredulously. It looked as if it had been painted only yesterday. There was no dust on it. No signs that it had been there for years. “This just isn’t possible.”

“Tell me what this place is, Tara,” Devan urged again from behind her. She wanted to turn around and yell at him. She wanted to ask him what he was doing, but she was mesmerised by the painting. It captivated her the same way it had years ago. Her fingers clung to it as if she had just found the best prize in the world. It was one he had painted before she knew him. The first day they had met actually. The day she had dared to join the art class in the evenings. The painting had been as beautiful as he had. He’d sat there on a stool, one foot resting on the bar and the other on the floor. He’d been wearing jeans that hugged his long legs. A soft, denim shirt hung off his shoulders, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It had gaped open, revealing a white t-shirt underneath. His hair reached past his collar, like Devan’s in length, but darker. Dark curls fell onto his forehead, accentuating his handsome features. Glasses sat on the top of his head rather than on his nose.

She caught herself smiling at the memory; so vivid. If she closed her eyes, maybe she could touch him. Maybe she could feel him. Longing built up inside her chest for what she would never have again - and it was all her fault. Maybe if she hadn’t met him, he would still be alive. She hid her face behind the painting and  swallowed back her tears.

“Why are you doing this? Is this punishment for killing him?” she sobbed. “Is this you?” she asked again when he didn’t answer. “Why did you bring me here?”

“What is this place, Tara?”

“You won’t answer me?” Frustration built up inside, under her skin. She wanted to yell at Devan. She wanted him to answer her, but his reply was always that same question. “Why? Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “Is this some sick joke to you?”

“I need you to tell me,” Devan said. She clutched at the painting. Anger and rage welled up inside her. What he was doing was cruel and he knew it. She was a fool for trusting him. She would have been better with those dark men. “Tell me, Tara.”