A Want So Wicked (13 page)

“Why don't you let him see you?” I ask Onika.

“Why should he?” she growls, turning back to me. “He wanted me gone. He doesn't deserve to see me.”

“Charlotte,” Monroe calls, looking through her. “Don't talk to her. Don't listen to her. Please, honey. You have to go before it's too late.”

I snap back, my body still shivering from the cold air on the bridge. “Monroe,” I murmur. Marceline smiles to herself.

“Ah,” she says. “Monroe Swift. I should have known. He contacted me about Harlin. Wanted me to explain to him some of the rules of being a Seer. Monroe will help you,” she says, sounding confident. “Now, go on and get out of here. I have another appointment. I've told you all I can.”

“But—”

“Hush, child,” she says, turning away from me. “Do as I say. And you'd better steer clear of Abraham. He still believes you don't know what he is. It's best to keep it that way as long as you can. You won't like his real face.”

“But I don't know what to do,” I say. “How do I find Monroe? What do I ask him? I'm scared, Marceline.”

She nods. “That's good. It's good to know when to be afraid.”

CHAPTER 21

I
'm no longer doubtful of Marceline's explanations, her predictions. As I rush toward the front door of her house, I worry that Abe will be waiting outside like he was last time. But the street is empty except for a few cars passing. When I'm halfway down the walkway, I look back at the window, but Marceline is no longer there. I swallow hard and take out my phone.

I call Lucy and ask her to pick me up at a coffee shop on the corner of Mission. My sister doesn't ask why, but she sounds distracted. Right now I can't worry about her. I just found out I've lived another life, another life with Harlin. That means I wasn't always here. In fact, I wasn't here even a year ago. My memories of my childhood . . . they're not real. Or at least, they were created rather than experienced. I'm not sure what's true anymore. Are anyone's memories real?

As I stand outside the coffee shop, I think about Abe. Marceline said he used to be a Forgotten, just like me. But now he's a Shadow, forced to do terrible things. I suddenly think back on Marissa at the campsite. I could have sworn I heard the words “jump off the cliff.” Had he really said them? Is Marissa dead? Fear streaks through me and I start to wonder what else I don't know.

I cover my face, wanting to cry, but holding back the tears. I can't tell my dad or Lucy about the Forgotten—they'll have me committed. That leaves only Harlin. He understands. But the way he raced out of there . . .

A new feeling comes over me: anger. First Harlin kicked me out of his motel room, broke my heart. Then when he found out who I used to be—the very person he swore he loved—he ran away. I don't know if I can trust him not to hurt me again. Marceline is wrong. I am completely alone.

I wonder what else is locked inside my head. I wish I could break it open and know everything. Maybe in another life I sacrificed myself, but I'm different now. I have so much to live for. And if Onika is as horrible as Marceline says, there's no way I want to fight her.

Lucy's car pulls up, the music loud as it filters out of the half-open passenger window. When I climb in, she's chewing hard on a piece of gum, reminding me of our father. She stares straight ahead, pulling back out into the street.

“Aren't you going to ask why I'm here?”

“Nope,” she says.

I wait, watching her. Lucy's makeup is heavy, her clothes dark and uncomfortable looking. “What's wrong with you?” I ask.

Lucy glances over suddenly and then goes back to the road. “Just been thinking.” Her voice is low. “Things with my sometimes-boyfriend didn't exactly work out. Think it's time I see someone new.”

“This is about a guy? Lucy, when have you ever let a guy mess with your head? Dad would be shocked and awed to hear this.”

“Then don't tell him,” she says. “That's the last thing I need. I'd rather forget everything. I'd rather just give up.”

My eyes are wide as I stare at my sister, her entire personality different than I've ever seen her. “Hey,” I say, reaching out to take her hand. It's warm. “Don't you ever give up. Don't you dare.”

Lucy turns to me, her blue eyes gathering tears. “But I'm tired,” she murmurs. “I'm so tired.”

I tell her to pull over, and the minute she does, I wrap her in a hug. “What happened?” I ask. “Did he do something to you?”

Lucy sniffles, and then nods her head. “Yeah,” she says into my shoulder. “He gave me hope when there wasn't any.”

“He led you on?” I exhale. “The same thing just happened to me. What is it with us Landon girls? Maybe we're just too much for mere mortal men.” I smile, and feel relieved when she returns it. I can't believe I didn't see the number this guy was doing on my sister. I'll knee him if I ever find him.

After a minute, Lucy seems better and shifts the car into gear, driving us home again. “Never give up,” I tell her, taking her hand. She turns to me, squeezing my fingers.

“Never.”

 

Lucy and I are sitting on the couch watching TV while my father works on his sermon at the kitchen table. The night has been eerily quiet, eerily normal. My phone rang only once. When I saw Abe's number, my entire body went rigid. So I hit ignore, not sure I could pull off pretending to not know what he is.

But just like always, once I'm back in my regular life, all the talk about Forgotten and Shadows seems surreal. I start enjoying the latest episode of
True Blood
before there's a soft knock at the door. Oh no.

Lucy looks at me. “You expecting anybody?”

I'm sure it's Abe, coming to find me. I nearly call out to my dad, but then I wonder if Abe would hurt him. Marceline didn't say what Shadows would do to a normal person who wasn't one of their Wants. “No,” I tell my sister quickly. “But I'll get it.”

At the door I pause, willing myself to act normally. I can't let him see.

I open the door and freeze. Harlin stands there, his leather jacket covered in dried blood, one sleeve tattered and torn open. His left eye is slightly swollen with a bruise underneath, his cheek scratched. He's dirty, mud caking his jeans.

I rush toward him, closing the door behind us. “What happened to you?” I ask, reaching for him. I stop myself. I'm not sure how to act around him anymore.

Harlin stares at me, his face drawn and desperate. “I told myself it'd be stupid to fall in love with you, knowing what you are,” he says. “Knowing that you'll leave me.”

I swallow hard. I can't believe he's standing here, bleeding, to tell me this.

“And I'd be stupid to let you love me back,” he continues. “Especially with the choice you'll eventually have to make.” He looks at me helplessly. “But Elise, the first day I met you, I couldn't get you out of my head. And when I saw you at Marceline's, I figured out why. I had no idea about your past—or if you can even remember.” He pauses, seeming miserable at the thought.

“What are you doing?” I ask, not sure what he wants. “You need a doctor and—”

“I'm sorry for sending you away,” he says. “But I'm more sorry for the fact that I can't help loving you. And I need you to love me, too.”

Stunned, I'm not sure how to answer. I look over his injuries, his black eye. I think about how alone I felt earlier today and how he walked out of Marceline's without a word. He abandoned me.

“I'm mad at you,” I whisper.

“I know,” Harlin says, limping closer to me. “But please tell me there's more than that.”

“There is . . . but I don't know if I can—”

Harlin puts a hand on my shoulder as he leans closer. He holds his other arm against him as if it's broken and closes his eyes tightly. “Please.”

His face is pained with more than road rash. My heart aches for him. “I guess I'm stupid too,” I murmur.

Harlin exhales, stepping into me to lay his forehead on my collarbone, as if overcome. I put my hand in his hair. “I'm still really mad,” I say.

“And I'm still really sorry,” he whispers, pulling me closer. We stay like that for a long moment, admitting our feelings for each other but neither knowing what to do about it. Just then the front door opens, flooding the porch with light and startling us. “What—” My father stops when he sees Harlin leaning against me. After a quick flash of fatherly protectiveness, he notices his condition.

“Harlin,” my dad says. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“I was in an accident,” Harlin says. “On my way over tonight I spun out. Wrecked my bike. Wrecked my face a little too.”

“Your face will heal,” my father reassures him. “But I should have a look at that arm. Have you been to the hospital?”

Harlin shakes his head no, and my father sucks at his teeth disapprovingly. He opens the door and ushers Harlin inside just as my sister comes to check what's going on. She straightens when she sees Harlin, her expression tightening. He meets her stare, but then lowers his eyes as my father tells Lucy to go get the first-aid kit from the bathroom.

In the middle of the tidy living room, Harlin appears even worse. I want to hug him, but he's holding his arm close to his side, protecting it.

My father rolls up the sleeves of his shirt like he's getting ready to perform surgery. I touch Harlin's elbow.

“Let me take your jacket,” I say, moving to unzip it, careful not to bump his arm. “I'll clean the mud off.” I take my time pulling his arm through. He winces once, but bites it back. When I finally get his coat off, I can see why it was so difficult: His entire arm from wrist to elbow is covered in dried blood, probably from the gash in his forearm. As far as I can tell, it's not broken. I feel physically ill from seeing him this hurt. This vulnerable.

“Elise,” my father says softly, noticing how upset I am. “Help him to the kitchen table, sweetheart.”

“Were the roads slick?” he asks when I get Harlin settled in a chair.

“No,” Harlin says, careful not to put his bloodied arm on the table. “Something happened with my bike. Locked up on me the minute I got onto the main road.” Harlin shoots me a weary look, but I'm not sure what he means by it.

My father walks to the sink and runs a clean towel under the water. When he comes back he begins to clean Harlin's arm, and Lucy enters with the first-aid kit.

“Do you want a couple of aspirin?” I ask, feeling helpless that I'm not doing anything.

“No, I don't mind the pain,” Harlin says, and then flinches when my father gets to the cut.

“Get him the ibuprofen,” my father says. “I think you could have probably used a stitch or two,” he tells Harlin. “But a bandage might work now.”

I go to the cupboard and pull out the medicine, Lucy standing against the counter watching silently. My fingers are shaking as I undo the cap, and then I pour a glass of water, bringing both over to Harlin.

“Thank you,” he says in that tender way of his. I take a seat next to him as I clean the dirt and blood off his jacket with a damp paper towel.

“Is there anyone I should call?” my father asks him, beginning to wrap his arm in white gauze. “Where are you staying?”

“I'm out here alone,” he says. “I was at the Sunset Motel on Route Five, but I had to use the money I had left to take my bike to the shop. I'll wait until morning and get my brother to wire me some funds.”

My father pauses to look up. “How did you get here tonight? Did you hitchhike?”

Harlin nods and then swallows the pills I gave him, maybe wanting them more than he admitted. When my father's done, Harlin twists his arm to check his bandage and then thanks my father.

“Elise,” my father says after washing his hands. “Can I speak with you in the living room for a minute?” He doesn't wait for an answer as he leaves.

“Uh . . . sure,” I call after my dad. Harlin mouths
Sorry
, as if he did something wrong, and I put my hand on his shoulder as I pass him. When I get into the living room, I find my father pacing in front of the sofa.

“What am I supposed to do?” he whispers the minute I'm close.

“Excuse me?”

“He doesn't have a place to stay, Elise. It's dark outside and he's
hitchhiking
. Even if I paid for it, I'm not sure letting him stay in a rundown motel is the best option here.”

“Dad, I have no idea what you're getting at.”

“You're not going to ask me if he can stay the night?” My father crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wasn't. But now that you mention it . . .”

“You hadn't even thought of it until I brought it up, did you?”

“Nope, but it is a fantastic idea. And very Christian of you.”

My father rubs his face before glancing around the living room, then toward the bedrooms. “I'm assuming from the porch that the two of you made up?”

“Mostly,” I say with a smile.

“Harlin can stay on the couch,” he says. “And I'd better not wake up and find him in your room, Elise. Or his motorcycle accident will look mild in comparison. I'm not running a dating service.”

“Gross.”

“Be quiet. Now find him some clean clothes, and I'll show him where the bathroom is so he can take a shower. After that get some extra blankets out of the linen closet.” He pauses, looking me over. “I trust you,” he says.

“Thanks, Dad.” I give him a quick hug, closing my eyes as I think about how I've been lying to him. And I hope that someday things can go back to the way they were. Or at least, how I remember them.

CHAPTER 22

H
arlin glances at the sofa and then back at me. He's been scrubbed clean and rebandaged, his hair wet and brushed to the side, making him look incredibly sexy. He's wearing his own T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts that Lucy found in her room. We didn't ask who they'd once belonged to.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he asks. “I mean, did your dad really invite the handsome stranger who's dating his daughter to sleep on the couch?”

“I like how you added in the ‘handsome.'”

“Thanks.”

“And yes. My dad is cool like that, plus he thinks you're a lost soul in need of saving. He's not really that far off there.” Harlin nods as if he agrees and I drop the blankets onto the arm of the sofa.

My father turns on the light in the hallway, keeping the living room extra bright before closing his door halfway. Lucy has gone to her room, leaving Harlin and me alone.

I take his cleaned jacket from the chair when he asks to see it. He holds it up, inspecting the rips and tears, cursing under his breath. He quickly apologizes, setting it on the back of the couch, and asks me to join him.

I do, but the minute I'm next to him, my heart speeds up. We have so much to talk about; I'm not even sure where to start. So I begin with the obvious.

“Why did you run away at Marceline's?”

Harlin lowers his head. “Because it hurt. Hearing about Charlotte—about you—hurt me. But I shouldn't have left. I'm sorry.”

“We had a life together,” I say, as if it's a fact of our past and not something I long for.

Harlin pauses. “Yeah.”

“Were we happy?”

He looks over at me. “When you weren't hiding things from me? Deliriously happy.”

The old memory I had of us fighting on the phone comes back to me. I'd hurt him then, kept the Need from him. I lied to him. “So maybe we do it differently this time,” I offer. “We should tell each other everything. Always.”

Harlin checks his bandage. “Okay,” he says. After a moment he puts his good arm over the back of the sofa, turning toward me. “What else can I tell you?”

“Tell me about Monroe Swift.”

“Monroe was your Seer. More than that, really. You'd known him most of your life; he knew your family. He helped you toward the end, even if I didn't approve of his methods.”

“Meaning?”

“Lies. Secrets.” Harlin swallows hard. “I understand more now, but at the time I was angry. Now I know that Seers aren't allowed to talk about their Forgotten. We're not allowed to tell
anyone
. It's our pact—our way to keep the light safe from the Shadows. We lead the Forgotten to their destiny and then remember their path.” There is sorrow in Harlin's voice. “It's not an easy life, Elise. It's very lonely.”

“You were there,” I say, drawing his gaze to mine. “I had a memory, and you were there with me when I went off that bridge. You told me you'd remember everything.”

“I do remember everything,” he says. “I remember every minute of our lives together. And other than Monroe, I guess I'm the only one who does.”

Sadness spreads through my chest. “I'm sorry I'm someone else.”

“I didn't mean it like that,” he says. “I love you. I'll love you no matter who you are.” His fingers find mine, intertwining. “I just want us to be together. I want you to stop leaving.”

“Believe me. I don't plan on going anywhere.”

“I won't let you this time,” Harlin says. “I'll fight for you.” I can feel his resolve, his absolute belief in his promise. I look over his bandage, upset when I think about his injuries.

“How did you get in that accident?” I ask. “You strike me as an experienced rider.”

“I'm a perfect rider,” Harlin says, straightening and clenching his jaw. “Someone tampered with my bike, and to be honest, I'm seriously pissed about it.”

I widen my eyes. “Didn't notice.”

Harlin chuckles. “God I've missed you,” he says. “Where have you been for the last nine months? Where were you hiding?”

“Colorado.”

“I should have driven through Colorado, then.”

“Maybe you should have.”

He rests his head against the back of the couch as he watches me. “Have you . . .” His voice is unsure, worried. “Have you dated anyone?”

I laugh, partly embarrassed. “Unless you count one misguided date with a coworker, I've never gone out with anyone.”

“Abe?”

My heart skips a beat. “You know about Abe?”

“I've never met a Shadow before,” he says. “But I could see exactly what he was the day he came up to you in front of Marceline's, see the darkness surrounding him. Most Shadows hide from Seers, but he wanted me to know what he was.”

Despite what I've learned, there's a part of me that is still crushed about Abe. “He was my friend,” I say quietly. “I thought he was.”

“Shadows can make you believe almost anything.”

“So what do I do now?” I ask. “How do I see Abe, knowing what he is?”

“You don't. You stay far away from him. He's dangerous.”

I agree, but avoiding Abe is going to be harder than Harlin thinks. I know his persistence. Closing my eyes, I force the thought away. Right now, I want at least a second of normal. So when Harlin wraps his arm around me, I lean into him.

We watch
The Daily Show
, and soon Harlin's breathing is deep and I think that he may be asleep. When the show ends, I yawn, and Harlin stirs.

“I'm sorry,” I say, lifting my head.

“Don't be,” he answers, and rubs his eyes. “Can't believe I would sleep through snuggling. Maybe I have a concussion.”

“I would accept that as a valid excuse.”

“Here,” Harlin says, opening his arms. “Let's try it again.” I hesitate before leaning against his chest, my entire body relaxing the minute I do.

Harlin's hand touches my hair, his fingers running down the length of it past my shoulder. “I can't believe I found you,” he murmurs. “I've needed you so much.” The emotion in his voice brings tears to my eyes. I wonder what Harlin's been through, and how much he's lost.

“You have me now,” I say. Harlin sighs, holding me close. When he starts to drift off again, I sit up. “I should go to bed,” I say. “Oh, here.” I grab the blankets. “These are for you.”

Harlin takes them and stretches out on the couch, extending his arms over his head as he groans, showing off a small sliver of skin between his shorts and his T-shirt. I help cover him with a sheet, since he has limited use of his arm, and when I'm standing over him, he turns his face toward me with the most sinfully innocent expression I've ever seen.

“A kiss good night?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

I nearly swoon with the thought of it, with the temptation of it, but then Harlin turns his cheek, touching a spot just above his beard. My heart thuds as I lean down, and in the second before I touch him, he closes his eyes.

I press my lips to his cheek, his skin warm—hot, even. I run my finger gently over the bruise under his eye and then kiss him there, too. He lets me do this all without ever touching me, ever speaking. And when I straighten up, Harlin's eyes open, glassy with tears.

“Don't ever leave me again,” he murmurs.

I process his words, not sure if I can promise that after what Marceline told me. “I never want to leave you,” I say, and go to my room, turning off the light on the way.

 

There's a rumble of thunder outside, and the world around my bedroom shifts and fades. When the new scene comes into focus, I'm on the high-rise rooftop again, wind whipping my hair painfully across my face as the city lights dot the streets below. There's another clap of thunder, making me start, and then the rain pours around me. The fat drops soak my hair and pajamas as I search for a way down.

The metal door in the corner of the building bursts open, banging into the wall behind it as a man walks out. He's tall, with dark hair and black pants, and I recognize him as the one who turned Onika into a Shadow. The rain doesn't touch him. He crosses the roofline to stand at the edge, staring out over the city.

The door opens again and Onika stalks through this time. She's beautiful, her straight blond hair flowing over her black jacket as her boots click on the cement floor. Her posture is menacing, and I feel myself shrink back even though I'm sure she can't see me.

“I've been looking for you, Rodney,” she calls. “I believe we have unfinished business.”

The guy laughs, turning to her. He meets her before she can reach him and puts his hand on her cheek, almost mockingly. “I can't change your outcome, my beauty, if that's what you're here for again.”

The expression on Onika's face is absolute agony. But soon it turns to something else. I watch her skin start to change, cracking and graying, ripping open. She growls under her breath, less like an animal and more like a demon.

“You lied to me!” Onika snarls. “You ruined my chance at happiness.”

“Don't be a fool,” he says. “What were you going to do instead, burst into light?”

“I wouldn't be a monster!” She holds up her arm and pushes back the sleeve of her jacket, her exposed skin sickly in the rooftop lights. She digs her nails into the gray flesh there, pulling it away. But there is only more gray underneath. “Rotted straight through,” she tells him. “I'd rather be dead.”

Rodney starts to laugh, but Onika pushes him hard, making him stumble back. His expression falters, as if he's surprised by how strong she is. Onika begins to slowly circle him.

“I've searched the world for an end,” she says, narrowing her eyes as she crosses behind Rodney. “But as the saying goes, there is no easy way out.”

Rodney whips his head around, trying to keep his focus on Onika as she continues to circle, stalking him like prey.

“But you know what I discovered?” Onika asks, her eyes wild. “That I am not only a Shadow. I am pure misery. Pure hopelessness.” She chuckles then, a sad, sick laugh. “I cannot be destroyed by anything on this earth, not even if I wish it. How did I get like this?” she asks him. “How did I let you trick me into losing every shred of my humanity?”

Rodney doesn't answer, his fear rendering him silent. His smooth skin begins to crack, turning gray and rotten.

Onika continues on. “Was it when my mother sold me to the men in my Russian town? Perhaps it was later, when the man I loved told me I was going to disappear forever. Or maybe, lover,” she whispers, “it was when you forced yourself on me, tempted me with your words until I didn't know better.”

Onika comes to stand directly in front of him, her boots making a final
clack
on the concrete. “I'm capable of so much now. The Shadows pulse through me relentlessly, tearing me apart and then filling me up. I am tortured, darling. But”—she pauses—“there is one silver lining to my existence.”

Rodney pulls himself up to his full height, his shoulders still tense. “And what would that be, my beauty?”

She smiles like a mad child. “That I can finally kill you.” She lunges forward, burying her hand deep inside his chest, her fist breaking through his rotted skin. Rodney screams in agony and falls to his knees in front of her, unable to fight even after Onika rips her hand from him. Black shadows seep from the hole left behind. Onika laughs, something low and filled with hatred as Rodney cries out, his flesh withering before flaking away. Onika watches, a smile on her lips as her skin smoothes like porcelain, gleaming against the dark night sky.

“Please,” Rodney murmurs as he lifts his arm to touch her. Before he can, his arm falls away; his entire body falls away, into ash—scattering on the floor of the building's roof.

I scream, tripping over my own feet as I try to back away from the scene. Onika slowly turns. Her blue eyes widen, the skin around them cracking. And my heart stops.

“You,” she says, pointing directly at me. “What the hell are you doing back?”