A Need So Beautiful

  I reach out and grab on to the back of the chair, squeezing it as I look for a sign. Then on the floor under one of the chairs, something glows. A rush of air blows through me. I bend down to grab it, bring it close to my face and into focus. It’s a business card. But the only thing I can read on it is PORTLAND POLICE BUREAU: CENTRAL PRECINCT.

  Then, like being underwater for too long and bursting to the surface, I suck in a great breath with relief. I fall into the table but steady myself. The absence of pain is amazing.

  “Do you need an ambulance?” I hear the man ask, and he seems closer. I turn and look at him, surprised by how young he is. His dark skin is dotted with acne and he’s wearing a name badge that says Raphael. And he’s watching me like I’m crazy.

  “No,” I say. “I’m sorry. I just forgot something.”

  He looks me up and down, pausing at my bare feet and then nods his chin at me. “All right. Well, you need to leave. Place is closed.”

  I thank him and start walking, the business card clutched in one hand, my shoes in the other. I’m so relieved from the Need that I barely notice another worker as he enters the room after me.

  “Who you talking to in here, Raphael?” he calls out. I turn around. But Raphael scrunches his nose and grabs a push broom leaning against the wall.

  “What? I wasn’t talking to no one.” And as he begins sweeping, I lower my head and walk out. I’ll go to the police station later, and I’ll finish this Need. Maybe even fix that gray skin, get my gold back. And soon . . . that’s all I’ll be. Gold.

  “Have to be kidding me,” I murmur as I’m forced off the bus by a compulsion. It’s barely eight a.m. and I’m on the sidewalk, the business card clutched in my hand, staring straight ahead at the police station. I’m pushed forward and I put the card into my coat pocket as I stumble up the stone steps of the gray building.

  I can’t believe the Need is taking me here to counsel some criminal. Why not Sarah’s father? Maybe I could tell him not to be such a heartless bastard. Or what about Harlin’s mother? The Need could help her see that her obsession with her husband’s death is driving her son away. I just want to be able to help the people I know—

  My sight starts to blur around the edges, focusing in like tunnel vision. Oh great. How am I supposed to get into lockup if I can’t even see? I’m about to panic when I notice a woman sitting in the reception area. She’s ultra-thin with an expensive black suit, high heels, and a slicked-back bun. Suddenly a wind blows past me and my vision fades, leaving me blind once again.

  There’s a glow around the woman, a light golden hue. I’m here for her. An intense heat burns across my back. I hate this part. I hate everything about this.

  Knowing that I have to get to the woman, I stumble in her direction. When I’m close she looks up.

  “You okay?” she asks in a clipped tone.

  I want to scream, No! I’m not okay! I’m dissolving in front of your eyes! But instead I whisper, “Yeah. Just bad cramps.” I grab the hard plastic chair next to her before sitting down on it. I’m trying to hold myself together, but I wonder if my skin is turning gray or gold. What would all the officers here do if it spreads to my face? Would they be scared of me?

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” the woman asks. I look sideways at her, about to tell her again that I’m fine, but my eyelids flutter and behind them I see visions.

  Kendra Rudolph. I see her growing up as an only child, happy. Her mother was an elementary school teacher and her father was a cop. But when Kendra graduated high school, she had a scholarship to Yale. Her parents had struggled to make ends meet her whole life, and even though they’d given her everything she needed, Kendra didn’t want a future like theirs, of barely getting by. She never married, never really had time to date. She’s ambitious. She’s incredibly ambitious.

  I see Kendra sitting in a large office, phone in one hand, file in the other. She’s a hotshot defense attorney, but that means putting in lots of hours. But she’s willing to do it—because she wants to make partner.

  She’s expensive to hire, but she keeps her clients from going to jail. And in the past twenty years, she’s never lost. Not once. She’s protected both sinners and saints. But in the end, she doesn’t care which they are. As long as they pay her fee.

  I open my eyes and see Kendra staring at me, asking if I’m okay. She’s never loved anyone in her life—only herself. Only success.

  “It’s just money,” I whisper. Kendra’s aura flares up slightly at the mention of the word and I can feel her desire for it. Her obsession.

  I fall back into a vision and suddenly I am her, three weeks from now. I’m in my office, phone at my ear. There’s an older woman rambling, promising to pay twice my usual fee if I defend her son. I smile, knowing that it means a new Jaguar, or possibly a vacation to Costa Rica.

  But the case will be tough. I’ve read about her son in the paper. He killed a cop, and those cases are notoriously tough to win. I pick up the day’s newspaper again, and the man splashed across the front page is Phillip Windmere, a twenty-seven-year-old trust-fund kid turned addict. It says that evidence was just recovered tying him to the murder of a cop two years ago. It says he—

  I gasp, pulled back into the reception area with Kendra. “Harlin’s dad,” I murmur.

  “Excuse me?”

  Heat prickles my skin, stinging just as the message comes to me. “You’ll win,” I say. I cover my mouth, horrified at the words. No! She can’t!

  “Win what?”

  I try to resist seeing anything more, but it’s like a nail is driven through my head. I scream out in pain and put my palms to my temples. I can feel the room of people watching me. But I can’t stop the visions—the Need won’t let me free this time. And after seeing what happens when I resist, I’m not sure I can go through it again. The pain. The Shadows.

  “In three weeks,” I say quietly, unable to look up, “you’ll get a call about a client. His name is Phillip. You’ll be offered a lot of money to defend him.” Tears start rolling down my cheeks. I’m betraying Harlin. I don’t want to say another stupid word. I refuse to help the man who killed Harlin’s father. How could the Need put me in this situation?

  I start to sob, almost unable to continue, but then I hear the message and pause. My eyes widen as I look up at Kendra. “You can’t take the case,” I murmur. “Even though it’s going to upset the partners at the firm.”

  “What?” The cutting sound of Kendra’s voice tells me she’d never upset the partners, not when she’s jockeying for a position to join them.

  A calm stretches over me and I give into the light, letting it form my words. I’m so tired now, but also relieved. I say what I’m supposed to. “You’ve helped many people go free, a few deservedly. But this is different. This man, Phillip Windmere, not only murdered a cop, he also killed a woman a few months back.” I pause. “Like Madeline.”

  I know about a case Kendra won fourteen years ago. She had to defend a man who murdered a young woman named Madeline Strait. The man was so clearly guilty, but in the end, Kendra did her job. A mis-served warrant let that monster go free, and before he walked out of the courtroom, he smiled at Kendra and thanked her.

  Left in the courtroom with Madeline’s weeping parents, Kendra has been consumed with guilt ever since. She wishes she had never taken that case.

  “Madeline,” she repeats softly, obviously flooded with the same memories.

  I nod, watching the light around Kendra glow and darken with her sadness. I reach out to put my palm around her wrist. “If Phillip Windmere gets off for this murder, he will kill again. In a few months time he’ll break into a home for drug money and discover a sleeping family there. Children, Kendra. You can’t let that happen. If you defend him, he’ll go free. You have to walk away from the case.”

  “The partners . . .” she answers, but it’s robotic, like maybe she knows what she should do.

  “It’s right,” I whisper. “You have to do what’s right.
Even if it means losing the partnership bid. You’ll save lives.”

  Just then the heat becomes intense and I feel my hand burn into her skin. She yanks away, but the colors of my vision are slowly returning. Her eyes are glassy, and I know she’s listening.

  I bite down on my lip to keep from bursting into tears. The man who killed Harlin’s dad will pay. No one else will ever be hurt by him.

  “It’ll be for Maddy,” Kendra murmurs to herself, staring past me. And in my head I can see that tonight she’ll go home and rethink things. She’ll lose the possibility of her partnership, but she’ll go to a new firm. And eventually . . . she’ll run it.

  I don’t even care about the euphoria at this point, in fact, I’m not even sure it’s there. I’m just so overcome with gratitude; I slump down in the hard chair, cover my face and cry.

  The Need has helped someone I love. This one time, it gave me a chance to help Harlin. And I can feel that Phillip Windmere will spend the rest of his life in jail.

  A few minutes go by, and when I look up, Kendra is gone. She didn’t thank me or say good-bye. I know she probably didn’t even recognize me as she left. I take a deep breath and stand up, my body still shaking. No one so much as glances at me as I walk out, and for a second, I worry that I’m invisible. But I bump into an old man and he curses at me, reaffirming I’m still here.

  When I get out into the cool fall air, I wipe at the tears on my cheeks. I notice my hands, the skin now missing from both of my palms. But it was worth it for Harlin, I tell myself as I go down the front steps, heading to the bus stop. Because now no matter what happens to me, things will be better for Harlin after this.

  For once, I consider that it might be okay—my destiny. It might be okay if I go into the light. For so many weeks, I’ve fought the Need. And now . . . I’m just so very tired.

  Chapter 20

  A s I ride the bus toward home, I know that I have to keep what I learned from Harlin. If he knew who killed his dad, he might go after Phillip before the police could. He might do something that could ruin his life. I can’t take that chance.

  I take my gloves from my coat pocket and slip them on. Then I check my phone and there’s nothing. No missed calls, no messages. I send Sarah a text and ask if she’s okay. And I suddenly worry that I haven’t heard from Harlin. What if he’s forgotten me?

  The bus jerks, startling me, and then slows at a stop. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something. I turn quickly and my heart stops. Onika is sitting on the bench with her black boots crossed one over the other and her mouth pulled into a beautiful smile. Our eyes lock and she offers a pageant wave. The bus starts moving again, and I put my hand against the glass. I have to talk to her.

  “Stop the bus!” I yell, jumping up. The driver looks over her shoulder at me and I hear a few murmurs from disgruntled riders. The bus slows just past the stop. I run down the aisle toward the open doors, my adrenaline pumping. I push the phone into my pocket as I hurry down the stairs.

  “Next time I ain’t stopping,” the driver calls after me.

  I pause on the curb as the bus pulls away and stare at Onika sitting calmly on the metal bench. The street is dead and isolated, and I’m immediately struck with nausea and clutch my stomach. Onika shrugs and the pain fades, leaving me warm all over.

  “You don’t look happy to see me,” she says.

  “Monroe told me all about you. What you really are. So why are you still following me?” I walk toward her and she holds up her palms innocently.

  “You haven’t made your choice yet. Not until that weak body of yours finally gives in. Until then, it’s still business as usual for me.”

  “I’m not falling for it.”

  “No? Why? Because Monroe Swift is such an honorable man? He’d never lie to you.” She grins. “Have you noticed the pills he keeps in his coat pocket?”

  “What? No.”

  “Think. The Vicodin. Percocet. Occasionally a muscle relaxer. Why do you think he’s taking so many pills, Charlotte? Seems unprofessional.”

  And I do remember seeing Monroe pop a pill or two over the years, but I’d never really thought it odd. We were in a clinic and I just . . . didn’t think about it.

  “He’s hurting,” Onika mocks with a fake pout. “Being a Seer isn’t a walk in the park, dear. Watching the people you care about leave, over and over. He has to self-medicate somehow. My . . . imagine when you’re gone—his last Forgotten. I bet it’ll be such a relief for him.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that Monroe wants you to go into the light and set him free. He’s not getting any younger. And his headaches sure aren’t getting any easier. And once you’re out of here, he can have his life back. That’s pretty strong motivation, don’t you think?”

  I step back from her, knowing the times I’ve heard him complain of migraines. Seeing how he’d wince when I asked about the Forgotten. He looked tormented. I narrow my eyes and glare at Onika. “That doesn’t mean he’d—”

  “Get rid of you? No. Of course, you’re right. He’d never be that selfish.” Onika glances around the quiet street and then stands up. “I should really get going. I suspect we’ll be in touch, love.” As she flips her hair over her shoulder, the pain returns to my gut, making me groan.

  I stumble over to the bench and sit, waiting for the pain to pass. And when Onika’s gone, it does. I push my hair away from my face, but when I look to my side, I see something next to me on the bench. Is that . . . is that Monroe’s journal? Onika must have left it for me, but I’m not sure why, and I’m not sure I should touch it. I look around for her again, but I’m alone.

  I can’t resist anymore. Picking up the leather-bound book, I feel my heart pounding in my chest. It looks the same and I’m confused as I flip through it, but then I stop. The missing pages!

  At the end of the book there are crinkled pages tucked in where there used to be nothing but jagged strips of ripped-out paper.

  9/9

  I met a little girl today, and I knew it was her. First I saw the light shining through her fractured bone on the X-ray, and then there was the incredible pull to protect her. She’s the first Forgotten since Onika. I’d thought that maybe my curse was broken, but now I know that it’s back. And she’s a seven-year-old named Charlotte Cassidy.

  I gasp. This is what Monroe had torn out! Pages about me—about me being a curse?

  9/24

  Mercy Hernandez is taking care of Charlotte and I’m glad for this. It gives me constant access to her, to watch for signs of her crossover. I now wonder if Onika turning to the Shadows kept me from my freedom. I can’t let the same thing happen to Charlotte. The whispers in my head have told me that Charlotte’s my last, and that she needs to cross over. I have to make sure she goes into the light. I can’t survive another Forgotten. I can’t.

  10/12

  I’ve felt a presence lately, like I’m being followed. I fear it’s Onika, looking for my Forgotten. I don’t think she’ll try to find it in a child, at least not yet. Charlotte came in today with a cut on her hand, a deep scrape that required a stitch. She says she fell—again. This is the second time she’s come to me with an injury, and I suspect the compulsions have started. I hope they speed up soon. I’m not sure how much longer I can hide her. Or how much longer I can keep going.

  Cold air prickles over my face as my eyes begin to tear. Was Onika right? Maybe Monroe never cared about me. Maybe I was just a way to finish his destiny. He never wanted me to have a choice. He just wanted me gone.

  I flip through a few more entries, feeling sick from the clinical terms, the unemotional way he describes me. It’s like I’m not a person at all. He’s been studying me like a goddamn lab rat. The next two pages are the same, just writings about my life. I’m thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Each entry preceded by my medical stats. Like a patient—not a friend. Not family. With only two pages left, I just let the tears stream down my cheeks.

  2/15

  T
here is a boy in Charlotte’s life. She’s never really expressed interest in dating before, so I was surprised when she mentioned him at work today. I’m worried.

  If Charlotte doesn’t choose the light, I fear I’ll be trapped forever. I used to dream of her on the bridge, standing in the rain, ready to cross over. She would fall and then I would be free to walk away, leaving the journals for the next Seer to carry on.

  Only now, my visions of Charlotte have stopped, and I wonder if it has to do with her boyfriend. That maybe he’s a Shadow, or that maybe . . . she’s falling in love with him. Charlotte has to make the right choice. I’m hoping her process will speed up because I’m tired. So tired.

  9/12

  It’s happened! She’s changing and I can’t believe how beautiful it is. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it, and now that I have, I’m filled with such calm. Amazement. I know now that it’s been such a gift to help this higher purpose, even if it’s the hardest thing imaginable.

  But this time is different. I know what I’m supposed to do and I know that I want my part in destiny to end . . . but I’m not sure I can let Charlotte go. I care for her. I don’t want her to experience the heavy loss that’s coming.

  “Help her to her end.” That is the mantra that’s running in my head, a thought placed there by something other than myself. And I know I have no choice but to do what I’m told. But when Charlotte goes over that bridge, the last piece of my heart will go with her.

  After I read the last page, I let the journal fall from my hands and onto the cement before I cover my face. I fight back the urge to scream as I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m going to disappear. There is no way to stop it, not unless I go with Onika.

  The sound of an approaching bus breaks the silence in the air, and I pick up the journal, sliding it into the pocket of my coat.

  When the bus stops in front of me, I climb on, half-dazed. Monroe’s been studying me. Even though he claims to care now, maybe it’s because he’s so close to being free of me. Free of the Need. Can’t really say I blame him.