For Your Heart (Hill Dweller Retellings) (7 page)

    
Honestly, I like that idea better than me possibly being right.  Because if I am right, then there’s a green-skinned killer after me.

    
I don’t tell anyone else what happened.  I’m too afraid no one will believe me.  The more I think about it, the more
I
don’t believe me.  I mean, really?  A green-skinned man?  Who dresses like he’s part of the SCA, prowls around the woods like he’s in the freaking Hunger Games, and then wigs out because I picked a silly rose?  None of it makes sense.  Even if he is real, he was probably only trying to scare me…I mean, he’s way bigger than me and armed…he could have raped or killed me but he didn’t.  So, what does that make him?  A posturing Greenpeace advocate with a really good paint job?

    
At lunch, Celeste stays quiet as I explain to Amber that I got grounded and couldn’t come to her meet.  While she’s disappointed, she understands, which I knew she would. 

Jeanette

    
By the end of the day, I almost believe it‘s all a crazy fantasy I dreamed up…Something I read out of a book.  And even if it is real?  Well, I’m not dead and he didn’t rape me, so he’s probably some kind of sociopath with a penchant for wildflowers and my mind was playing tricks on me, making me
think
he was green.  Best way to avoid him?  Stay out of the park.  Which I intend to do at all costs.

    
In calculus, I take a hall pass and make my way to the bathroom in the music wing.  It’s the cleanest and least used bathroom in the school, so I don’t mind making the longer trip across campus – besides it gets me out of calc. 

    
I do my business and as I’m flushing, the door opens.  I step out of the stall, tucking in my shirt.

    
“You know, Lovely, you shouldn’t have run from me yesterday.”

    
Freezing, I look up.  Green Man is sitting on the window sill, his long, raven-black hair outlining him like a death shroud.

    
Instinct kicks in and I turn to flee, but he magically appears in front of me, his massive body blocking the door.  He flashes a dark smirk.  “There really is no need to run.” 

    
I backpedal until my butt hits a sink.  Dread leaks to my toes, making my bones feel like linguini.  Good thing I already went to the bathroom because I’d be peeing my pants in terror right now.  Slapping my hands over my eyes, I start that age old manta, “You’re not real.  You’re not real.  You’re not real.”

    
“Aren’t I?” He’s so close I feel his breath on my face, sense his body on the tips of the tiny hairs on my face.  “Shall I convince you I am real?”

    
I peek between my fingers.  He’s there.  He’s lost his Ren Faire garb and is dressed in a school uniform – which is weird – and his handsome face is near enough that too deep a breath would bring his nose to mine.  I lean backward until I’m practically sitting in the sink.  I want to turn away, to run, but he has his hands planted on both sides of me. 

    
What do I do?  How do I make him go away?  Am I psychotic?  Schizophrenic?  Should I even be talking to him?  Does humoring hallucinations make psychosis better or worse?  Maybe if I can figure out what he wants, he’ll go away?

    
I struggle for my voice.  “W-what do you want?”

    
He takes a step back, giving me room to breathe.  “Just to talk.”  He gestures toward my half tucked in shirt.  “Please continue with your business.”

    
I ignore his prompt and back around the first sink.  “T-talk?  Y-you’re not going to hurt me?”

    
He cocks his head and raises his hands.  “I don’t have any weapons.”

    
Glancing at his big paws, I say, “You don’t need weapons.”

    
He shoves his fingers into his pockets.  “I’m only here to talk.”  He circles me.  I try to spin to keep tabs on him, but he’s back on the sill before I see him move.  He’s quick.  Unnaturally so. With reflexes that fast, he certainly could’ve done anything he wanted to me already.

    
“H-how do I know you won’t hurt me?”

    
“You have my word.  I won’t hurt you.” He shrugs.  “For now.”

    
I swallow the massive lump in my throat.  “For now?”

    
He smirks.  “For now.”

    
I bite my trembling lips.  “H-here?  Talk?  In the girls bathroom?”  I’d rather talk somewhere more public, in case I need help…Then again, if I’m nuts, maybe it’s good we’re somewhere private.

    
Green Man sits forward and looks around the room.  “You don’t honestly take baths in here, do you?”

    
His question sounds so sincere that, for a moment, I stare open mouthed, taken aback by his naivety.  I shake my head, trying to stay on track.  “You shouldn’t be in here.  It’s creepy.”

    
His grey eyes speak levels of hostility that make me cringe.  “Well, All Beauty No Brains, if you hadn’t escaped payment, I wouldn’t have to find you.”

    
My cheeks flare hot at being called All Beauty No Brains – which is both a compliment and an insult.  “You attacked me with a knife!  Anyone with a brain would run from you.”

    
Putting his elbows on his knees, he leans forward and meets my eyes.  “Anyone with a brain wouldn’t have picked one of those roses.”

    
I scowl, more annoyed than afraid.  “How’d you get in here anyway?”  As soon as the words leave my mouth I know they verify his assumption that I’m an idiot.  The answer is obvious.  Wearing that school uniform, he looks like he belongs here.  No one would look twice at him.  Well, maybe they would – he’s still green.  Wanting to cover my slip, I say, “Where’d you get that uniform?”  Then the horrible fear slips out. “You-you didn’t kill anybody, did you?”

    
“Kill anybody?” he repeats, voice incredulous.  “What do I look like?”

    
“A killer.”

    
He lifts his chin.  “I don’t kill humans.  Your lot isn’t worth my time.” 

    
I blink.  “Humans?” 
So…He’s not real.

    
Ignoring me, he pulls at the lapel of his jacket and looks down at it, his expression appraising.  “I have a friend who’s a Manifester.  He did a good job, don’t you think?  You don’t want to know what I went through to get him to make it.”

    
“You still have your head so it couldn’t have been that bad.”

    
He smirks and a deep dimple pinches his right cheek.

    
I look away, unnerved by his crooked smile, and search for something to say, something to figure out if he’s an illusion. I wash my hands…They’re shaking again. “What’s a Manifester?”

    
“You’re awfully curious,” he teases as he twists, putting his feet on the ledge and leaning against the window frame.  His eyes meet mine in the mirror and I’m struck with how familiar his face is.  It must be a coincidence; I’ve never met this guy.  I don’t know any men who can turn green at will.  It’s because he’s a hallucination.  I’ve probably seen his face on a stranger and my mind is borrowing the image to make up this fantasy.

    
Looking away, I reach for the towel dispenser.  “It’s not every day that green,” I pause.  What should I call him?  Is he a person?  Well, he’s still shaped like a human being.  “-people talk to me.  I’m trying to prove to myself that I’m not crazy.  If you can answer my questions then you have to be more than a figment of my imagination.” I look back to him. “Right?”

    
He shrugs.  “I suppose.”

    
“So, Manifesters…?”

    
“Can pull anything out of thin air.”

    
I dry my hands, slow and meticulous.  “That’s not possible.”

    
“Anything is possible.”

    
“Including glowing green skin?”

    
His smirk deepens and he flashes even, white teeth.  “Yes, green skin included.”  Eyes still on mine – capturing mine – he slides off the sill and his hand shoots toward me.  He takes the towel from me and grabs hold of one of my hands. “You’re shaking.”

    
I look down at his hand on mine.  “I’m scared of you.”

    
The skin under his eyes pinches.  “If you’re dreaming, then why fear me?  Perhaps your body knows something your brain does not.”

    
Swallowing, I fight to find words.  “S-so, you’re really real?  You’re real and you attacked me?”

    
Smiling indulgently, his fingers slip up my forearm, shackling my wrist.  I glance at his hand again.  “L-let go.”  He doesn’t move.  “Please.”

    
Grudgingly, his fingers slide away.  He stares at me.  I stare at him, my lungs feeling like a bellows and my stomach hitching in violent threat.

    
A loud
beep
screams over the PA, making me jump – breaking the spell.  “Well, that’s the bell,” I say in a nervous octave.  “Gotta go.”  I inch toward the door.  “You shouldn’t come in here again.”  I don’t know if I mean the building or my head.  I turn and run, but he’s at my side, hand clamping around my wrist again.

    
“Wait.”

    
Numb with terror, I look up at him.  He’s taller by a head and his callused fingers easily encircle my wrist.  I notice the dark, purplish shadows of hickies along the side of his neck.  Why would a figment have those?  Hickies signal interactions with other real-life beings, right?  Does that mean he’s telling the truth?  He’s real?  For a moment, neither of us seems certain what to do.

    
“You stopped shaking,” he whispers.

    
I glance down, wanting to ascertain he’s telling the truth.  He is.  Why did I stop shaking?

    
“You still owe me,” he says, too close.  “For the rose.”

    
“Fine, I told you I’d pay you back.”  I tug a little.  “But I have to go.  I can’t be late for class.”

    
“I will come to your house tonight.”

    
Alarm shoots through me.  “You-you know where I live?” I gasp, gawking with incredulity.  “What are you, a stalker or something?”  Is that worse than a killer?

    
His brow crunches and his fingers go limp; I take the opening and wrench my wrist away.  He lets me.  “I have never stalked you.  Stalking is for prey,” he says, pursuing me as I back away from him.  “I know where you live because you live beside my forest and I see you put out the cat in the morning.”

    
Oh.  Well, that seems logical…

    
“I will come to you.  You won’t get away with tearing up the Summer Queen’s roses.”

    
I pull up short.  “Summer Queen?”  The bell rings again and I glance at the PA speaker, cursing the damn thing for making my life hard.  Much as I don’t want to hang around this imaginary weirdo, I want to ask him what the hell he’s talking about.  However, I’m late for Spanish, not doing my grade any favors.  If I mess up anymore I’ll be grounded for life.

    
I’m through the door and halfway down the hall before I hear Green Man yell after me.

    
“Tonight!  Don’t forget!”

Tamrin

     When Lovely comes home, she’s deep in a tearful argument with her father.  I don’t dare go into the house with his watchful gaze shifting from the kitchen to where she sits crying at the table.  He looks ready to draw blood.  By the increase of tears, she looks like she’s losing.  I crouch under the window and strain to hear what they’re saying.

    
“-told you this thousands of times, Jeanette.  If you aren’t doing well, you need to be responsible.  Being late to class isn’t going to help you.”

    
“I know, Dad, it was an accident.  I got- got sidetracked.  There was this guy-”

    
“Great!  Now you’re letting boys get between you and school.”

    
Enmire tugs at my sleeve.  “I think she’s talking about you, Master.”

    
I cringe; she’s in trouble because of me. 

    
“Don’t you want to get into a good college?”

    
“Yes!” she grunts.  “But that’s not the point!  You’re not listening, Dad!  This guy is-”

    
“Honestly,” he interrupts, “I don’t want to hear any excuses.  Especially if they’re about boys.  Is that why you’re not doing well?  There’s a guy involved?  Who is it?  I’ll expel him!”

    
Enmire giggles beside me.

    
“Dad!”  She seems embarrassed.  “No, there’s no one in sch-”