I walk over to the bookshelf, noticing how the floor creaks. A lot of the hardbacks look old, and they have that musty smell I love. I pick one up and open it. As the pages part, I realize its title: Dante’s Inferno. My trembling fingers drop it and I scrabble to pick it up, half-eyeing the door to see if the guys are coming out yet. No such luck. I run my fingers across the leather cover one more time before stowing it back on the shelf and scanning the other spines for titles I know. It appears that Scott has refined tastes; he has more classics than a literature professor. Next to the books, there is a sword-like letter opener jabbed into a small crystal prism. Intrigued, I take it out and palm it, unsure why. I’m no thief—never even shoplifted bubble gum from a store. It’s just not in me. But here, now, I’m not even sure who ‘me’ is. I should, but I don’t. I contemplate putting the thing back, but at that moment, the door eases open and Griffin walks out first. I try to read his expression, but it is inscrutable. His jaw is clenched, and he glances at me, pain in his eyes. He shuffles to the couch. Scott follows, and I look from one to the other, gaining nothing. More lies, then. Now even Griffin is in on it.
“So,” I begin, “did you two have a nice little heart-to-heart?” Neither answers. In fact, neither of them look at me either, which only goes to show they’d both rather talk about me than to me. “Do I get to know what that little exchange was about?”
“No!” both of them snap simultaneously. Now I have their attention, but Griffin is nervous and Scott is just damned evasive.
Lies.
Scott eyes Griffin cooly, and they both settle back as though trying to get comfortable, something that ordinarily Griffin wouldn’t have a bit of trouble with. But I think Scott has brought out the worst in him. What the hell?
“I believe you had some questions you wanted me to answer, Lizzie. Is that right?” My name sounds all wrong when he says it, kind of like it’s been spoken in a foreign language he doesn’t recognize and hasn’t heard pronounced before. He rests his forearms on his thighs and leans forward, hands clasped, as he studies my face.
His blue eyes disorient me, and I feel I can barely breathe. He reminds me of Lev, but then he doesn’t, and it makes my heart want to pound out of my chest. Focus, Lizzie. Focus, I think. I search for the aura. It’s there; I can see it as plain as day. Okay, maybe it is faint, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.
“I…I know what you are.” Okay, so putting it like that sounds crazy, but is there a good way to say it? I don’t think so.
“That’s not…a question,” Scott says, pulling his hands apart and resting them on the couch. “And I’m not quite sure what you mean by that.”
Griffin closes his eyes, probably focusing on just breathing, but his expression seems more tortured than it should. What does he know that I don’t? What did Scott tell him?
“I think you know exactly what I mean.” I stand and walk to the hearth. “You’re not human.”
“What are you talking about?” Scott jumps up from the couch and tries to touch the back of my head. “Did you hit your head again?”
I slap his hand away and glare. “Don’t. I know what you are. Lying isn’t going to change what I know. I see the aura. Lev had it, too. You’re an angel. It doesn’t matter if you want me to know; I do. So just admit it, all right? At least do that for me. I’m tired of all the lies and the secrecy, and I’m tired of being treated like a child—some stupid little kid who needs protecting from everything. I’m not that fragile. Trust me.”
Pale-faced, he drops his hands and takes a step back. “I don’t know—“
“Yes, you do!” I stride toward him and snake my hand through the air where the aura is. Although I can’t touch the wings, I know they’re there.
Scott and Griffin exchange glances, and Scott suddenly looks like a bachelor trying to care for a newborn baby—totally inept and way out of his league.
“I know what you are. You might even be a sojourner.” I step back and glare at him. “I could always test that theory.” I swallow hard and wait. “But maybe you’re not my sojourner. That was Lev. Probably still is. But I wonder if I’ve got his attention yet?”
“What the hell is a sojourner?” Griffin demands also rising.
“What is going on, Lizzie.” Scott suddenly seems nervous as he stares at me, each breath just a little faster than the one before. His fingers twitch, and he rolls them into and out of a fist just to keep them busy.
“What’s a sojourner?” Griffin demands again, louder, standing next to Scott, unsure what to do.
“An angel who escorts souls from this world to the next,” I reply, pulling out the letter opener. I make a big show of touching the point. “Nice edge.”
“Give me that.” Scott steps toward me, but I dance away. Griffin can’t seem to move at all; his mouth is twisted into a horrified grimace.
“No. Not unless you tell me the truth. You are an angel, aren’t you?”
He reaches for the letter opener, but I shift the point so that it jabs my wrist. That completely stops him. I’m not really planning on doing anything, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try to get the truth. Besides, I don’t think he’s got it in him to call my bluff. He has no idea how much I hate pain.
“Lizzie, put it down.” Scott’s voice is soft, almost painful.
“Tell me. Just give me some answers, and I’ll think about it.”
“Lizzie,” Griffin warns, almost hyperventilating. Now he should know better. “Please do what he says.” He shakes his head and steps toward me, forcing me to apply a little pressure. The damned thing is sharper than I thought. I prod through the skin, and a small bubble of blood appears. Immediately both of them back up, their eyes never wavering from my wrist.
“You’re right,” Scott finally says. “I am an angel. Now will you give me the opener?”
“In time.” My breathing is ragged, and I should be elated, but I’m afraid. “Are you Lev?”
He flinches. “What do you think? Do I look like Lev?”
“Where is he?” Only my voice betrays the building fear.
“He’s not on earth anymore. He had no choice.” His voice is calm, detached, even.
I shake my head, and tears burn down my face. The words stun me so much I stagger backwards. “I don’t believe you. He’s here. I just have to find him.” My hand wavers, and in that split second, Scott rushes me, the aura clear and bright. There is no time to escape from the hands that pull the opener free and the arms that wrap around me. The opener clatters to the floor.
I start screaming, struggling against the confines of his arms and the wall of his chest, but his strength is unbreakable. Griffin grabs the letter opener, sinks down onto the couch, and thrusts his free hand into his hair. He starts rocking back and forth, his eyes wide in shock. He won’t look at me, and I know he’s afraid. He should be.
“Calm down, Lizzie. You just need some help to get through this,” Scott says.
“Get away from me!” I yell, trying to bash my head against his. I hate his hands—hate the way they’ve forced me into stillness. I keep struggling, which forces him to take me down, thrashing as he pins me. The anger explodes with tears, but no matter what I do, I cannot get loose. Angels. If this is what they are, who needs them? Maybe God, but not me. Never again.
“It’s going to be okay. You just need some help—someone to guide you through this.” His expression is neutral, but the pity lingers in his eyes as I keep trying to break free. At last, even the tears finally stop, and I just lie there, my eyes closed—so damned tired.
Scott slowly lifts his body from mine. “Lizzie?” His voice is soft. He tries to touch my shoulder, but I push his hand away.
“Leave me alone.”
I hear him get up, and I think he’s walking over to the couch because I hear him talking to Griffin.
“I have a friend who runs a youth center here in town. She and her husband both counsel troubled kids. I think Lizzie needs that right now. She’s not proces
sing what’s happened. She’s not letting it go. I’ll call Jimmie and tell him about what’s happened and try to get an okay for her to come into town a few times a week to see them. Could you drive her? I don’t think any of us trust her to come alone.”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“Great. Here’s a business card. My number is on the back.”
Here it comes—the nuthouse. Jimmie’s nuthouse. Looks like he’ll get what he wants, like always. And all these lies—how many more? It’s said the truth will set you free, but I’m not buying it, because everything I’ve thought has been a lie. All of it. Lev should’ve just let me drown.
“Lizzie?” Scott’s back to hovering over me, and I can’t face him. I never want to see him again. I don’t care if he is an angel, which he probably isn’t. He’s not Lev, and even if he were, it wouldn’t matter now. So I pretend to sleep.
I hear Griffin stand and come toward me. “Jimmie said she hadn’t been sleeping well.”
“Okay. I’ll get her if you get the car door open.”
I feel the arms scoop me up, and it takes everything I have inside to play possum and not stiffen up. Part of me wonders if maybe Scott is right. Maybe I am just some messed-up kid. Maybe Lev was just a bad dream. In any case, who cares?
Scott carries me out to the car and sets me in the passenger seat before snapping the belt across my lap. One hand brushes the hair from my face and he whispers, “I know you’re not asleep, Elizabeth. Just hurting. And you’re mad. But I do care about you, and I want you to be okay. If it takes you never speaking to me again, then I can live with that.” Then he backs away, leaving me alone in the car with Griffin, and while Scott seemed to know I was still conscious, Griffin isn’t so attuned to my mental state. He drives away, believing that I’m in dreamland. Fine by me. I don’t know what I’d say to him now anyway. Not that I’d say anything at all. This is what comes with trust, and I can totally live without it.
Before we get out of town, Griffin pulls into a gas station and goes inside to pay. I open my eyes to see where we are and come face-to-face with Jimmie’s truck at the next pump. What the hell is he doing in Knoxville? I thought he was working. At that moment, I’m grateful for the tinted windows; maybe he won’t see me. I scan the area, but Jimmie isn’t outside. In fact, I see him coming from the convenience store, and he’s not alone. That nurse, Teresa or whatever her name is, is latched onto his arm. The two are laughing and talking, completely oblivious to the world around them, and I sit up, watching them get into Jimmie’s truck and drive away.
The sudden emptiness hits me, and I see Griffin coming out of the store, a bottle of soda in hand. Almost instinctively, I close my eyes and pray for release. If I sleep and there are dreams, maybe this time they’ll keep me.
Chapter Six
“Lizzie? Time to wake up.”
I blink and realize we’ve pulled into the driveway, and even as I move, my neck aches. I massage the muscles, trying to ease the tension, but it doesn’t help. I turn to find Griffin has already opened my door and stands beside me, sporting his usual frown. One hand rests on the hood of his car, the other on the door.
“What time is it?” I ask, trying to blink away the fog coating my brain. It doesn’t want to go.
Griffin peers down at his gold watch. “4:30. Jimmie will be home soon.”
I doubt that, I think, unlatching my seatbelt—not if What’s-Her-Face has anything to say about it. And how could Griffin have missed them at the store? Never mind.
As I scrabble out, Griffin steps back, but his hovering instinct is still alive and kicking. Right now, it’s taking everything I have to get out of the car, grab my keys, and head up the walk. I can’t meet Griffin’s gaze, not as the memory of Scott forcing me to the floor resurfaces.
“You okay?” Griffin closes the car door and follows me up the walk.
“Right as rain,” I mutter, shoving the key into the lock and twisting. I wish he would stop following me.
“Yeah, about that. You’re acting…strange.” He’s so close it feels like he’s breathing down my neck, which feels like it must be the most popular hangout.
I freeze, wanting to turn and smack him. Once inside, I set my purse and keys on the table. I swallow hard, but as much pain as I take in, there’s always more headed my way. Somebody must think I’m starving for it.
“Lizzie?” Griffin tries to touch my shoulder, but I flinch. His fingers recoil, and he slowly drops his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“What did he tell you?” I growl. I’m shaking, and that’s never a good sign. I don’t need a seismograph to figure out the fault line in my body is about to shift again.
“That he was worried about you. He’s afraid if you fall, we won’t get you back. And he’s right.”
“Don’t. I think I’ve had enough ‘comforting’ for my own good’ today. You want to hang around until Jimmie gets back, fine. Right now, I’m getting a bath and going to bed.”
I stride toward the door.
“It’s not even five yet, Lizzie.”
I stop and laugh hollowly, wishing it were really that funny. “You’re right. It’s not. But I’m tired. And Jimmie’s got more than enough on his mind right now, I’m sure.” The image of Jimmie walking with that woman pops into my head again and I cringe. I try to ask myself why I should care, but why doesn’t matter. It’s like asking why Lev died. No answer is going to make me feel better.
I start walking, and even as I reach my bedroom I hear Griffin call out, “I never meant to hurt you, Lizzie.”
I slam the door and lock it as I lean against it, whispering, “But you did. Everyone does.” In that moment, I think I can hold it all in. Then the walls tumble so fast I’m on the ground, trying to pick up all the pieces. There’re so many tears I can’t see through them, and I can’t stop them. I want to be angry—want to let the frustration and pain and, yes, even hate wash over me like hot, acrid rain, but even in that I am denied. I can barely breathe. Gasping, I stagger to my feet. Through the teary blur, I start picking things up and hurtling them at the walls across the room. I don’t care what my hand touches even as I break it. The loud, crashing impact is my only comfort.
The pounding at the door begins almost at once, along with the rattle of the door knob.
“Lizzie! Open up!” Griffin demands.
“Leave me alone, Griffin Hauser! I never want to see you again!” My whole body is shaking, and I feel like I’m going to fall over.
“Let me in!” he yells. “Before I break it down!”
“Go ahead,” I scream as loudly as I can. “Break it down just like everything else. It’s just wood. Your daddy can replace it!” Maybe he can just replace me, too, I think. If I don’t matter to Lev, why would I matter to anyone else? Sobs overwhelm me, and I go into the bathroom and lock that door as well, wanting to put as much space between us as possible.
The pounding stops, and I know I’ve reached as deeply as I could to wound him. I thought it would make me feel better—that it would at least take away the burning inside—but I don’t think anything can do that, no matter how hard I try. Jimmie is right. I am broken, and there’s no fixing me. All this is for what? Some angel who chose to return to Heaven and leave me in this hell?
It’s the middle of summer, and I’m shaking. I strip away the clothes and toss them into the trash—yet another thing I never want to see again. As I twist the knobs, letting the water warm up for a shower, I glimpse myself in the mirror—pale, thin, and strange. I don’t know this person anymore. Turning away, I step into the shower, flinching from the scalding rush of heat across my back. I stand there, letting the water sluice around me and run down the drain. I absently finger the scratch on my wrist. It’s such a small wound. Or maybe that’s the normal part; maybe the rest of me is the wound. Who’s to say? I touch my arms where Scott gripped me, searching for bruises. It doesn’t matter if I can see them; I feel them just the same.
I slowly sit in the middle of the shower a
nd let the water rain down on my body, more of a fine mist now by the time it reaches me. I think of the falls and the rush of air as my fingers slipped from my gloves and how the mist accepted me, drawing me in as I plummeted, at once motionless—suspended amid that icy rush. And then the blinding light. He’d come for me then. But now—now this is all there is. I wrap my arms around my chest and rock back and forth as more tears come.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Eventually, the water turns cold. At first, I don’t even notice; I don’t care. Then, when my body starts shivering, I turn off the water and get out, mechanically grabbing a towel and dabbing the water from my skin. Then just as mechanically, I slip into my pajamas and crawl into bed. I give the locked door one last look at the locked door and turn out the light.
I don’t know how much time has passed before I hear someone jiggling the knob and the door slowly opens, admitting a slice of light from the hallway. The rest of the room is dark, so night must have fallen at some point. I try to drift back to sleep, but until whoever it is goes away, I might as well just pretend. I don’t want to talk. There’s nothing to say.
“Is she all right?” Griffin asks.
Someone leans in close. I’m guessing probably Jimmie.
“She’s sleeping.” It’s not Jimmie’s voice but Scott’s. I want to stiffen up and tell him to get the hell out, but I can’t. Scott steps back. I hear his shoes scuffing across the hard wood floor.
“Thank God. I’ve never seen her like that, not even right after Lev died. She seemed to have more hope then.” His voice is strained, but good for him. Let him be strained for a while. You get what you deserve.
“Grief does funny things to people. Give her time. I think my friends can help.”
“I hope so.” The chairs by my desk creak, indicating they have both sat down. I wish they would go away. “Did you ever get a hold of Jimmie?”
“Not yet.”