“We really should stop meeting like this.”
My eyelids flutter and I’m standing on the bridge near the railing where Onika’s perched. It’s not raining here, but the clouds cover us in gloom. “What’s happening?” I ask. I clench my stomach, but before I can even think about the sickness there, it’s gone.
“You passed out on the boy’s floor. He’s cute, by the way.”
I stare at her and then look around at the empty road, the empty city. It’s like we’re the only living things left. She smiles as if reading my thought. With an agile movement she hops down from the railing, her boots slap on the pavement.
“Why this bridge?” she asks. “My crossover was supposed to happen off a tower in London. It was a building where I lived for a long time.” She seems lost in a memory.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “I’m not taking us here.”
“Of course you are, love. These are your visions, not mine. This is where the big moment will happen!” She fakes enthusiasm and then lets the expression fade away with a smirk. “The crossover. The spreading of the light.” She laughs. “Or in other words, the place where you’ll die.”
A shudder runs down my body and I step back from her.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt you.” She leans against the railing, looking relaxed. “Actually, I’m here to help you.”
“How?”
“Well, for starters, I can help you get your skin back.”
My eyes widen. “Really?”
She nods. “We can make a deal. I have a lot of things I can teach you. You don’t have to go gently into the light, sweet Charlotte. Believe me, there’s no fun in that.”
“You’re like me? But you didn’t go into the light?”
“Not exactly like you, but close enough.”
Suddenly my entire world is illuminated and I feel like I’m being pulled out of my body. But when my eyes open, I’m on Harlin’s floor, staring up at his terrified face.
I remember the woman in black, Onika, and search for the window. But she’s gone. Harlin brushes my hair away from my face and checks me over. I hold on to him as he stays on the floor with me, wiping my tears.
“You passed out,” he murmurs, reaching to slide his shirt back over his head. “I thought you stopped breathing.”
“I’m okay,” I say, but my throat still burns. This time the dream doesn’t fade completely. I can still remember that Onika said she could save my skin. She said I didn’t have to go into the light. “I think I need to see Monroe,” I say.
Harlin pulls back to look at me. “Are you kidding? Charlotte, you need to go the hospital. This is serious.”
“I know. But Monroe has my records. He’ll know how to treat me.” I stagger, trying to stand, and Harlin straightens me.
“Baby, please.”
I turn and look into his eyes, see the confusion, frustration. And I see the distrust. But this is my chance. I have to find out if Monroe knows about Onika, and I have to find her again. I have to fight the Need.
“Let’s go,” I say softly. Harlin stares back, but then he puts his arm around me and helps me to the door. Even now, with him angry at me, I feel protected by him. I feel him.
Harlin grabs my green jacket and as we open the front door, Jeremy is there, his key poised to unlock the door. He has a bagel in his mouth and a surprised look on his face.
“Hey,” he says suspiciously as he straightens and takes the bagel from between his teeth. “You two all alone in there?”
“Don’t bother with the lecture,” Harlin says in a cold voice. “Charlotte’s just leaving.”
Jeremy nods to me, obviously uncomfortable with Harlin’s response, and goes inside. And when we’re out in the hall, I dare to feel something different. A chance to be normal.
Chapter 11
By the time we got outside the rain had stopped and Harlin dropped me off at the clinic just before six. When I walk in, it’s like Monroe’s been waiting for me. He’s standing in front of a busy room, patients coughing all around us. But his gaze is trained on me.
“I need to talk to you,” I say, stopping in front of him. His white lab coat is wrinkled and he hasn’t shaved. His eyes are unreadable.
Without a word, he turns and begins walking toward the exam room. “We’ll be in the back,” he says to the receptionist before asking me to join him. I suddenly wonder if he’s mad at me too. Did I do something wrong? Does he know about Onika?
I get into the room and climb up on the crinkling paper of the table. Monroe goes to the counter and begins taking out instruments that I can’t see from here. I just hear them clank on the metal tray.
“How’s your skin?” he asks, not turning to look at me. I’m officially freaked out by his behavior. Yesterday he came to find me, and now . . . now he’s acting like I’m a stranger.
“Still falling off. What’s wrong?”
Monroe stops what he’s doing and faces me, his lips tight. He watches me for a long minute and I recognize the expression. I’ve been at this clinic far too long to not know it. It’s his detachment. His way of breaking bad news and shielding himself.
“Are you going to finally explain to me what the Forgotten are?” I ask. “Because I’ve been having a hell of a day, and I’m pretty confused.” I’m feeling defiant, my heart racing in my chest. I want to know everything. He has to tell me everything.
Monroe is silent and grabs the tray before walking over and setting it on the cart next to me. Then he pulls up a stool and sits.
“Take off your sweater, please.” He’s so clinical. Then, as if he didn’t even speak, he reaches over to grab a needle and squeezes the plunger enough to make a thick liquid leak from the tip.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“It’s for your skin.”
My heart skips a beat. “You can fix it?”
His eyes meet mine for only a second. “Your shirt, Charlotte.”
Slightly calmed, I strip down to my bra and he asks me to lay back. He pauses above me, staring down at the huge patch of gold. He smiles, but I have to look away from him. That stupid look of amazement washes over his face again and it makes me feel invisible. Like it doesn’t matter that the gold is a part of me.
“This is a highly concentrated vitamin E extract,” he murmurs, aiming the needle at the surrounding skin. “Hopefully it’ll slow down the peeling process.”
“Does it work?”
He pauses. “For a little while.”
When I feel the first stick of the needle, I gasp. A burning fills the area, like he’s injecting glue into me. “It hurts!” I hiss.
He closes his eyes for a second, composing himself as if he hates the thought of hurting me. But then he sticks the needle in another spot. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
I suffer though four more injections, two needles. Each one just as painful as the one before. All the while, Monroe won’t look me in the eye.
When he’s done, he tells me to get dressed and goes to clean off his tray. My arm feels stiff as I slip my sweater back over my head. I feel so hurt all over. Like there’s nothing about me without pain. I’m wearing out.
“Are you going to talk to me?” I ask finally, ready to scream or hit him. “I need to know the truth about the Forgotten. You have to help me stop this.”
“I’ve told you the truth,” he says quietly. “And I can only help your symptoms. The rest is out of my hands.”
The weight of the world seems to fall on me. “I don’t believe you. I know you can help. Why are you being so cold to me?”
“You’re the Forgotten and I’m your Seer. I can’t intervene.”
“Look at me!”
He flinches and meets my eyes. And there I see his pain, his conflictedness. There I see his absolute devastation. And I know how much he cares about me.
“Don’t let this happen,” I plead.
Monroe reaches out to pat my hand, and then takes the tray bac
k over to the counter. “I can’t let our friendship cloud my judgment,” he says. “You have to fulfill your destiny. It’s the only way.”
Anger gathers inside me. He’s lying. “That’s not what Onika says.”
The tray slips from his hand, banging and vibrating onto the floor so loudly I reach up to cover my ears. My heart races from the jolt, but Monroe doesn’t move. He’s like a statue.
I slowly uncover my ears and stare at the back of his white lab coat. “You know her.”
“She’s found you,” he whispers without looking at me. Slowly he walks to sit on a stool in front of me, a faraway expression on his face. He doesn’t acknowledge what just happened.
Monroe looks up, gazing into my eyes. “You know, Charlotte, the first time I met someone like you, I was a child in London. When I saw the twelve-year-old girl who lived in the flat above me, I knew she was a different kind. Your kind.
“Jacqueline and I used to play in the hallways; tag, hide-and-go-seek. I was drawn to her, even though she was a few years older. It was like we needed to be around each other. She started to run off secretly and I would search for her; I had an intense desire to find her. But she was changing fast, even if neither of us knew what was happening. How she would cry.” He closes his eyes.
“And then one day, she was gone. I was so overwhelmed with loss. I went to her mother, demanding to know where she’d sent her.” Monroe looks at me again, his eyes wide. “But she didn’t know who I was talking about. She didn’t remember her.”
The world tilts. “What?” A cold shiver races over my skin and I recoil in horror. I remember the way Callie and Francisco forgot me after I fulfilled their Needs. What does this mean? “How could Jacqueline’s own mother not know her?”
“She was a Forgotten,” he says. “Erased from the world, from the memory of the very woman who raised her. Gone from everyone except me. Her Seer.”
“But . . .” My mind is running ahead, trying to comprehend what he’s saying, but I can’t. I don’t understand.
“To the rest of the world, she was like déjà vu. A familiar feeling. That is your kind. The Forgotten will help or save someone, each time coming closer to their destiny—and then once they’re done, they’re gone. People forget them, pictures fade out, records are gone. It’s like they never existed. All that’s left is this glimmer of hope in each person they’ve touched. Every person who has known them. They leave us with a feeling like there’s something else out there. Almost like faith.”
“You’re saying . . . no. It’s not true.” I shake my head, disbelieving. I know that Mercy and Sarah would never forget me. And not Harlin. Never Harlin. “How do you know all this?”
“Let me finish,” he says gently. “After Jacqueline, I began to notice things that other people didn’t see. Certain people moving among us, like ghosts. And I didn’t forget them like everyone else. In fact, I was drawn to their light. Soon I began to crave it. I went searching for them all over the world. When I was in Italy, I came across an old church where one of the Forgotten was a priest. He showed me text, ancient tablets dating back to the beginning. And in them was a chronicle of the Seers. I’m not the first. Hell, I’m not even the only one right now. We’re scattered throughout the globe, looking for our Forgottens. We have to protect the light.”
Was this why I’ve trusted Monroe all these years? He’s a Seer and I’m some sort of ancient prophecy? Did I never have a choice?
Monroe reaches into the inside pocket of his coat and pulls out a small leather medical journal. He holds it up to me. “I started documenting my time as a Seer, just like the ones before me, as a way to preserve the short lives of the Forgotten—a chronicle of their time on Earth.”
I want to rip it from his hands and find out everything he knows. But I dig my fingers into the paper of the table and let him continue.
“And after years of studying, I found that every Forgotten has a limited life span. Some start as children, like Jacqueline, others not until they’re adults. I’ve even met a few in a senior center, doing their deeds before fading. They just appear—no life before, yet the universe compensates for that, gives them an identity. And then light grows inside the body until it’s compelled to help. It will brighten until you’re finally set free.” He stops, his hand shaking as he holds the book. He opens it, turning toward the middle.
“No life before,” I repeat. “So it wasn’t post-traumatic stress that took my memories.”
“No. I only told you that so you wouldn’t be frightened, sweetheart. I’ve tried to do the best I can for you. I care about you, Charlotte. I’ve loved all of the Forgotten in some way. Especially you. But I always lose.” His face breaks a little before he straightens it. “I can’t stop your crossover. I’m so sorry.”
“No.” I shake my head. It’s too horrible to comprehend.
Monroe blows out a breath and I see the doctor side of him take over again. It’s his defense mechanism. “As your skin peels, I can apply a compound, enough to hide you in normal circumstances. But your time is short. Maybe a few weeks?” He pauses. “Maybe less.”
The pain in my chest is going to kill me and I lie on the exam table and curl up. I feel like a child. I’m scared and alone, just like I was in the moments before Mercy found me in the hospital. Inside I know that Monroe is telling me the truth, but it hurts too much to believe. I can’t let myself believe him. “My family won’t forget me,” I murmur.
“That’s the hardest part,” he says, tilting his head to look at me. “You will slowly be erased from their memories until there are none left. Eventually they won’t even remember having met you. That’s why I’m here. Because even when everyone else forgets you, I’ll still be here. I’ll guide you until the end, just like I did for the others.”
“I don’t want to end.” I climb down from the table. “You have to fix this. Otherwise I’ll ask Onika. She says there’s a way to—”
Monroe stands up and grabs me hard by the shoulder. “You stay away from that beast,” he hisses. “Don’t you listen to a word her forked tongue spews.”
“What?” He’s hurting me, but the look of terror on his face has me shaken. “But she said—”
Suddenly there’s a tug in my gut, but when I try to ignore it, it becomes an intense pain. I wince, pulling away from Monroe to lean back over the table. “It’s the Need.”
“The Need?” he whispers to himself, as if he likes the term.
“Make it stop,” I growl, pushing my forehead down into the table as I continue to writhe. “Make it stop.”
He’s at my ear. “Don’t fight it. It’ll destroy you.”
“It’s destroying me anyway!” There’s another painful turn, this time at my side, and I scream.
I’m compelled to leave. My body feels like it’s on fire and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop myself from going. I still have so many questions. But I can’t stay. The Need won’t let me.
I straighten up as best I can and back away. I feel like a puppet, only instead of strings, I’m guided by ribbons of heat that tear through my flesh. There’s a file set in the plastic basket on the back of the door and I have to reach for it.
Monroe says nothing as I yank the folder out and flip it open, the pages blurring in front of me. I’m pushing through the papers, waiting for something to come into focus. And then it does. It’s the name of a pharmacy. Dell’s Drugs. Dell’s is just a block or two away, and all at once I know that someone is there waiting for me. Waiting right now.
My feelings fade but I don’t move. I don’t want to go. “What happens if I don’t fulfill the Need?” I ask without turning around.
“You must. It’s your destiny.”
“What happens if I don’t?” I ask again louder.
“Then the light will be lost. The people you’re meant to save will lose hope because they won’t feel that love. That acceptance.”
I laugh bitterly, the cruelty of it too much. “So I just have to sacrifice myself? Di
ssolve?” My hand clasps the doorknob. My body is pulling me out the door, but I have to hear him out. I want him to tell me I don’t have to go.
Monroe walks over and hugs me, resting his cheek on the top of my head. But I don’t squeeze back. Instead I feel the binding of his journal in his coat pocket.
“It’s truly beautiful,” he whispers. “A burst of bright light like nothing you can imagine. It’ll fill the world with a moment of unconditional love. Everyone you’ve touched will have peace.”
“And then I’m gone?” I slowly snake my fingers into his outside pocket and wrap them around the leather-bound pages. It feels like old skin.
“Released back into the universe,” he murmurs. “Sent home.”
“Well,” I say to him, sliding the journal under my sweater before backing up. I meet his eyes. “I think that destiny sucks.”
Without waiting for a reply, I slip out of the exam room and through the white-floored lobby. I’ll find a way to beat this. But right now I have somewhere else I need to be.
Chapter 12
Dell’s Drugs is on the bottom floor of an apartment building on the corner of Eighteenth Street. It’s in an old brick structure, but inside, Dell’s is as antiseptic as can be. White walls, white tiled floors—even the shelves are white. As I enter, the Need continues to burn me. Tearing me up from the inside.
The cashier glances at me, but doesn’t say anything. She pops her gum and goes back to reading the latest issue of Seventeen. Toward the back I see the sign for the pharmacy and a rush of air blows past me. I reach out to hold on to the nearest shelf.
“You okay?” I hear. I nod and look up, seeing the cashier staring at me. She shrugs and flips the page of her magazine.
I reach in my pocket and touch the journal, comforted by its existence. Monroe said he’s been documenting the Forgotten. If Onika’s like me, she must be in here. And it’ll say how she fought the crossover.