The idea that's been nudging me, poking around the edges, and trying to get my attention, has finally been heard. And even though I'm not sure if I'm right, and knowing I'll have no choice but to slink off in shame if I'm wrong, I take in the crowd, my eyes moving from Miles to Haven to Stacia to Honor to Craig to every single kid who's just going through the motions, following along, doing what everyone else says and does without once stopping to question, without once asking why. Then I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and focus all of my energy on them when I shout: "WAKE UP!!!"
Then I stand there, far too ashamed to look now that all of their derision has switched from Damen to me. But I can't let that stop me, I know Roman's performed some sort of mass hypnosis, putting them into some kind of mindless trance where everyone's doing his bidding.
"Ever, please. Save yourself while you still can." Roman laughs. "Even I can't help you if you insists on continuing."
But I don't listen to him—can't listen. I have to find away to stop him—to stop them! I've got to find a way to wake them all up, get them to snap out of it—Snap! That's it! I'll just snap my fingers and—I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and yell as loud as I can: "SNAP OUT OF IT!"
Which only results in my classmates going wild, their ridicule hitting the next level as a profusion of soda cans are hurled at my head.
Roman sighs, looking at me when he says, "Ever, really. I insist. You've got to stop this madness, now! You're making a bloody Tool of yourself if you think that'll work! What're you gonna do next, slap all their cheeks?"
I stand there, my breath coming in short shallow gasps, knowing I'm not wrong, despite what he says. I'm sure he's got them spellbound, hijacked their minds by some kind of trance—And then I remember this old documentary I once saw on TV, where the hypnotist brought the patient back not by slapping or snapping but by clapping on the count of three. I take a deep breath, watching as my classmates climb on top of the table and benches, the better to pelt me with their uneaten food. And I know it's my last chance, that if this doesn't work—well—I don't know what I will do. So I close my eyes, and yell: "WAKE UP!"
Then I count from three to one and clap my hands twice at the end. And then—And then—nothing.
The whole school goes silent as they slowly come to. They rub their eyes, blinking, yawning, and stretching as though awakening from a very long nap. Gazing around in confusion, wondering why they're on top of the table with the very same people they once deemed as freaks.
Craig is the first to react. Finding himself so close to Miles their shoulders practically touch, he bolts for the far end. Reassuring himself with the company of his fellow jocks, reclaiming his manhood with a punch on the arm.
And when Haven stares at her carrot sticks with a look of absolute disgust, I can't help but smile, knowing the big happy family is back to their normal routine of name-calling, eye-rolling, and snubbing each other in favor of their usual cliques, returned to a world where animosity and loathing still rule. My school is back to normal again. I turn toward the gate, prepared to take Roman down, but he's already gone. So I grip Damen tighter, easing him across the parking lot and into my car as Miles and Haven, the two best friends I've missed so much and will never see again, follow along.
"You guys know I love you, right?" I glance between them, knowing they'll freak, but it has to be said. They look at each other, exchanging a look of alarm, both of them wondering what could've possibly happened to the girl they once pegged as the Ice Queen.
"Um, okay..." Haven says, shaking her head.
But I just smile and grasp them both to me, squeezing them tightly as I whisper to Miles, "Whatever you do don't stop acting or singing, it's going to bring you—" I stop, wondering if I should tell him how I just saw a flash of bright lights and Broadway, but not wanting to rob him of the journey by always looking ahead, I say, "It's going to bring you great happiness." And before he can even respond, I've moved on to Haven, knowing I have to get this over with quick, so I can get Damen to Ava's, but determined to find a way to urge her to love herself more, to stop losing herself in others, and that Josh is worth hanging on to for however long it lasts.
"You have so much value," I tell her. "So much to give—I just wish you could see how bright your star truly does shine."
"Um, gag!" she says, laughing as she untangles herself from my grip. "Are you okay?" She squints between me and Damen. "And what's up with him? Why's he all hunched over like that?"
I shake my head and climb inside, having no more time to waste. And as I back out of my space, I look out my window and say, "Hey, do you guys know where Roman lives?"
Chapter Forty-Two
I never imagined I'd be grateful for my sudden growth spurt and newly bulging biceps, but it's because of my new size and strength (not to mention Darnell's emaciated state) that I practically carry him all the way from my car to Ava's front door in just a handful of steps. Supporting his body as I knock on her door, fully prepared to break it down if I have to, but glad when she answers and waves us both in. I head for the hall as Damen stumbles along with me, pausing just outside the indigo door and gaping at Ava when she hesitates to open it.
"If your room is as sacred and pure as you think it is, then don't you think that will only help Damen? Don't you think he needs all the positive energy he can get?" I say, knowing she's conflicted about admitting the "contaminated" energy of a sick and dying man, which is just so ridiculous I hardly know where to begin.
She looks at me, holding my gaze far longer than my diminishing patience would prefer, and when she finally gives in, I barrel right past her, getting Damen settled on the futon in the corner and covering his body with the wool throw she keeps nearby. "The juice is in my trunk, along with the antidote," I say, tossing her the keys. "The juice won't be any good for another two days, but he should be much better tonight, when the full moon rises and the antidote is ready. And then you can give him the juice later, to help rebuild his strength. Even though he probably won't even need it since it'll all reverse anyway. But still—just in case—" I nod, wishing I felt half as confident as I sound.
"Are you sure this'll work?" she asks, watching as I pull my very last bottle of elixir from my bag.
"It has to."
I gaze at Damen, so pale, so weak, so—old. And yet, he's still Damen. Traces of his amazing beauty still present, marred only slightly by the acceleration of years resulting in his silver hair, his nearly translucent skin, the fan of wrinkles surrounding his eyes. "It's our only hope," I add, waving her away as I drop to my knees, the door closing behind me as I smooth his hair off his face and gently force him to drink. At first he fights it, thrashing his head from side to side and keeping his mouth firmly closed. But when it's clear that I'm not about to give up, he gives in. Allowing the liquid to flow down his throat as his skin warms and his color returns. Emptying the bottle and gazing at me with such love and reverence, I'm overcome with joy just to know that he's back.
"I missed you," I murmur, nodding and blinking and swallowing hard, my heart bursting with yearning as I press my lips to his cheek. All the pent-up emotions I've fought so hard to keep in check all this time, now rushing to the surface, bubbling over, as I kiss him again and again. "You're going to be okay," I tell him. "You're going to be back to your old self very soon." My sudden burst of happiness withering like a popped balloon as his gaze turns dark and sweeps over my face.
"You left me," he whispers.
I shake my head, wanting him to know it's not true. I never left him—he left me—but it wasn't his fault and I forgive him. I forgive him for everything he's ever done—or said—even though it's already too late—even though it doesn't really matter anymore—But instead I just say, "No. I haven't. You've been ill. Very ill. But it's over with now and soon you'll be better. You just have to promise to drink the antidote when—" When Ava gives it to you—the words I can't bear to say, won't say, not wanting him to know that this is our last moment together—o
ur final good-bye. "All you need to know is that you're going to be fine. But you need to watch out for Roman. He's not your friend. He's evil. He's trying to kill you. So you must regain your strength so you can take him down." I press my mouth to his forehead, his cheek, unable to stop until I've covered his entire face with my kiss. Tasting my own salty tears on the curve of his lips, as I breathe him in, hoping to imprint his scent, his taste, the feel of his skin, wanting to carry the memory of him wherever I go.
But even after I tell him I love him—even after I lie down beside him, pull him into my arms, and press his body to mine—even after I remain there for hours, lying right alongside him as he sleeps—even after I close my eyes and concentrate on melding my energy with his, hoping to heal him with my love, my essence, my very being, trying to impress some small part of myself onto him—even after all of that—the moment I move away, he says it again. An accusation from his dream state, intended only for me.
"You left me."
Not realizing until I've said my final good-bye and closed the door behind me, that he's not referring to the past. He's prophesying our future.
Chapter Forty-Three
I head down the hall and into the kitchen, my heart heavy, my legs wooden, and every step away from Damen just makes it worse.
"You okay?" Ava asks, standing at the stove, brewing some tea. As though all of those hours didn't just pass.
I shake my head and lean against the wall, unsure how to answer, unable to speak. Because the truth is, okay is pretty much the last thing I feel. Empty, hollow, bereft, awful, depressed—yes. But okay? Not so much. But that's because I'm a criminal. A traitor. I'm the worst kind of person you could ever hope to meet. Allof the times I tried to imagine that scene, tried to imagine how my last moment with Damen would be, I never once thought it would end like that. I never once thought I'd stand accused. Even though I clearly deserve to be.
"You don't have much time." She gazes at the clock on her wall, then at me. "Would you like some tea before you leave?"
I shake my head, knowing I've a few things still to tell her, and a few more stops to make before I go for good.
"So you know what to do?" I ask, seeing her nod as she brings her cup to her lips. "Because I'm trusting you, Ava. If this doesn't work out in the way that I think, if the only thing that goes back is me, then you're my only hope." My gaze locks on hers, needing her to understand just exactly how serious this all is. "You've got to take care of Damen, he's—he doesn't deserve any of this, and—" My voice cracks as I press my lips together and avert my gaze. Knowing I've got to go on, that there's still more to say, but needing a moment before I can. "And watch out for Roman. He's good-looking and charming, but it's all a facade. Inside, he's evil, he tried to kill Damen, he's responsible for what he's become."
"Don't worry." She moves toward me. "Don't worry about a thing. I got the stuff out of your trunk, the antidote is in the cupboard, the juice is—fermenting, and I'll add the herb on the third day like you said. Not that we'll even need it, since I'm sure everything will go exactly as planned." I look at her, seeing the sincerity in her eyes, relieved that at least I'm able to leave things in her capable hands. "So you just get yourself over to Summerland, and I'll take care of the rest," she says, pulling me into her arms and hugging me tightly to her chest. "And who knows? Maybe someday you'll find yourself in Laguna Beach and we'll meet all over again?" She laughs when she says it and I wish I could laugh along with her, but I can't. The weird thing about saying good-bye is that it never gets any easier.
I pull away, nodding in place of words, knowing that to say anything more will make me break down completely. Barely managing to squeak out a "Thanks," before I'm already at the door.
"You've nothing to be thanking me for," she says, following behind. "But, Ever, are you sure you don't want to peek in on Damen, just one last time?"
I turn, my hand on the door knob, considering, but only for a moment before I take a deep breath and shake my head. Knowing there's no use in prolonging the inevitable, and far too afraid to risk seeing the accusation on his face.
"We've already said good-bye," I say, stepping onto the porch and moving toward my car. "Besides, I don't have much time. There's still one last stop I need to make."
Chapter Forty-Four
I turn onto Roman's street, park in his drive, rush toward the door, and kick it right down. Watching the wood crack and splinter as it teeters from its hinges and swings open before me, hoping to catch him off guard, so I can punch all of his chakras and be done with him for good. I creep inside, my eyes darting around, taking in walls the color of eggshells, ceramic vases filled with silk flowers, poster-sized prints of all the usual suspectd—Van Gogh's The Starry Night, Gustav Klimt's The Kiss, and an oversized rendition of Botticelli's The Birth of Venus framed in gold and hanging right over the mantel. All of it appearing so surprisingly normal, I can't help but wonder if I've got the wrong house. I expected grit, edge, a post-apocalyptic pad with black leather couches, chrome tables, an abundance of mirrors, and confusing art—something sleeker,hipper, anything but this chintz-ridden fuss palace that's nearly impossible to imagine someone like Roman living in.
I tour the house, checking every room, every closet, even under the bed. But when it's clear he's not home, I head straight for his kitchen, find his supply of immortal juice, and pour it straight down the drain. Knowing it's juvenile, useless, and probably won't make the least bit of difference, since the moment I go back everything will reverse itself again. But even if it adds up to no more than a minor inconvenience, at least he'll know that inconvenience came from me. Then I riffle through his drawers, searching for a piece of scrap paper and a pen, needing to make a list of all the things I can't afford to forget. A simple set of instructions that won't be too confusing for someone who probably won't remember what any of it means, and yet still clear and concise enough to keep me from repeating the same horrible mistakes all over again. Writing:
1. Don't go back for the sweatshirt!
2. Don't trust Drina!
3. Don't go back for the sweatshirt no matter what!
And then, just so I don't completely forget, and hoping it might trigger some sort of memory, I add:
4. Damen
And after checking it over again (and again), making sure it's all there and that nothing's been missed, I fold it into a square, shove it deep in my pocket, and head for the window, gazing at a sky turned a deep sunless blue, with the moon hanging heavy and full just off to the side. Then I take a deep breath and head for the ugly chintz couch, knowing it's time. I close my eyes and reach toward the light, eager to experience that shimmering glory one final time as I land on those soft blades of grass in that vast fragrant field. Aided by their buoyancy and bounce as I run, skip, and twirl through the meadow, performing cartwheels, back handsprings, and somersaults, my fingertips grazing over those glorious flowers with their pulsating petals and delicious sweet scent as I wind my way through those vibrating trees along the colorful stream. Determined to take it all in, to memorize every last detail, wishing there was some way to capture this wonderful feeling and hold it forever.
And then, because I have a few moments to spare, and because I need to see him one last time, need to be with him in the way that we used to, I close my eyes and manifest Damen. Seeing him as he first appeared to me in the parking lot at school. Starting with his shiny dark hair that waves around his cheekbones and hits just shy of his shoulders, those almond-shaped eyes so deep, dark, and even, back then, strangely familiar. And those lips! Those ripe inviting lips with their perfect Cupid's bow, followed by the long, lean, muscular body that holds it all up. My memory so potent, so tangible, every nuance, every pore, is present and accounted for.
And when I open my eyes, he's bowing before me, offering his hand in our very last dance. So I place my hand in his as he tucks his arm around my waist, leading me through that glorious field in a series of wide sweeping arcs, our bodies swaying, our f
eet floating, twirling to a melody heard only by us. And every time he begins to slip from my grasp, I just close my eyes and make him again, resuming our steps without falter. Like Count Fersen and Marie, Albert and Victoria, Antony and Cleopatra, we are all the world's greatest lovers, we are all the couples we've ever been. And I bury my face in the warm sweet hollow of his neck, reluctant to let our song end. But even though there's no time in Summerland, there is where I'm going. And so I run my fingers along the planes of his face, memorizing the softness of his skin, the curve of his jaw, and the swell of his lips as they press against mine—convincing myself that it's him—really him! Even long after he's faded and gone.
The moment I head out of the field, I find Romy and Rayne waiting right by the edge, and from the looks on their faces I know they've been watching. "You're running out of time," Rayne says, staring at me with those saucer-sized eyes that never fail to set me on edge.
But I just shake my head and pick up the pace, annoyed to know they've been spying, and tired of the way they keep butting in. "I've got it all covered," I say, glancing over my shoulder. "So feel free to—" I pause, having no idea what they do when they're not bothering me. So I lift my shoulders and leave it at that, knowing whatever they're up to, it no longer concerns me.
They run alongside me, peering at each other, communicating in their private twin speak before saying, "Something's not right." They stare at me, urging me to listen. "Something feels terribly wrong." Their voices blending together in perfect harmony.