Harbinger (12 page)

“Faye!” Mom called over her shoulder in her realtor voice. “Get your patootie over here.”

In the car, I was terrified. I shoved the paints down into the crack in the seat and sat on the edge that was sticking out. I didn’t dare touch them while Mom gave her tour of the house. Or while she pumped more gas into our SUV. I didn’t let myself open the box until I’d sneaked them up to my room and locked the door.

And there they were. Those bright colors were all mine. Standing on this hillside now, years later, I ran my finger along the stubby paintbrush, and the same greedy need growled in the pit of my stomach.

“Grab an easel, a board, and a dish of water. Then set up looking at something you want to paint.” Art Uncle pointed to a stack of splattered particleboard and the banged-up aluminum easels. Damion, standing closest, reached for one, but Nami snatched it first.

“Thanks.” Nami tossed the word over her shoulder.

Damion’s eyes followed Nami as she sauntered off toward the cliff. His feet stayed put, but his body leaned forward ever so slightly, as if trying to stay closer to her. Nami planted her stolen easel so it looked out over the water toward three small, barren islands sticking up into the smoggy sky. Tankers sounded their low horns as they crossed the oily, rainbowed water, eternally questing to make up for the lack of foreign oil.

Damion frowned at Nami and shook his head, but then set up his easel right next to her anyway. He went through the motions of pretending to be interested in the same ocean vista. And Nami let him keep his facade.

Maya took an easel and walked to the edge of the clearing, facing the distant Screamers. Zach hung back, finally choosing to paint the dense forest behind us.

“Pick just one thing and try to portray it accurately,” Art Uncle admonished us. “A single tree . . . a pinecone . . .”

“A scenic oil rig . . . a trash-covered beach . . . ,” Maya sniped. “A clear-cut viewed through razor wire—”

“That’s enough.” Art Uncle shot her a warning glance, then went on. “The goal isn’t to make it scenic or pretty, but to make it authentic.”

Picking up my supplies, I ran my finger across the paper already taped to the board. It was thin and cheap, but I didn’t care. I was just glad to get a chance to paint again. Tasting the anticipation in my mouth, I looked over the cliff. It was always a delicious moment, trying to choose just what part of the world to paint. And I already felt stronger with the watercolors in my hand.

Far below us, Rita reemerged on the fenced-off beach. Clearly she did know a few secrets about how to get around Holbrook. What had she said that first morning? “The path is hard to follow”?

Is that the path she was talking about?

Down on the beach, waves shimmered white and blue as they crawled over the generator buoys and up onto the exposed shore. I placed my easel a little ways off from Damion’s and Nami’s. Where I could keep an eye on Rita.

It was low tide, and seagulls swarmed the wide beach, sorting through remnants of plastic lids, shreds of fishing nets, and thick ropes of seaweed. It was disgusting, but also glorious. Sun flashed off the underwings of scavenging birds. Waves crawled up the stony beach again and again, fighting the moon’s pull.

A sudden attachment to this barren landscape ambushed me. Forgetting about Rita, I angled my easel so I had a better view of the trashed shoreline. I felt the tenuous current of vitality under the grime. Yes. This was the right place.

I dipped my brush into the water and started with blue. The first streak was pale and watery. I remembered how disappointing it’d been for me, using that first set of paints. All those rich circles of red, orange, blue, and brown were so bold and solid in their box, but on paper they were only ghosts of themselves. Inadequate to portray the scenes in my imagination. I’d experimented, using the barest drop of water or pushing just the edge of the brush against the paper. Finally, the colors had popped off the page, like they did inside my mind.

Now, my brush danced across the page in a staccato of blue, leaving room for cresting waves. Anxiety jittered through me as I remembered the water from this morning. The same music drifted through my mind, but this time, the steady beat soothed me. My chest loosened, letting my breath flow in and out easily. It was just me and the colors and the beach below.

The blue water morphed into a black sky, crowded with stars. The beach lay silvery and pristine. And there were people there. Two dark figures standing knee-deep in the water. The smaller one singing up at a blood-red moon. The larger one reaching out her arms.

Even though the figures were vague shapes, I knew it was Dr. Mordoch and me on the beach. I was painting the very beach from my vision.

As I put in the details, the music crept into the painting, syncing with the rhythm of my strokes. And the yearning I’d felt that night so long ago struck me with such force that I almost dropped my brush.

I’d been looking for something. Someplace. I’d needed to
do
something. I painted Dr. Mordoch’s shadow stretching huge across the beach. Her hand clamped on mine. Keeping me from it.

Dr. Mordoch scooping me up and carrying me to the beach.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Then there was another voice speaking from the shadows.
“You should’ve let her go.”

The memory rushed at me and I filled in the white space. Painting the speaker into the picture.
A hand. An arm. The shape taking form in the darkness.

“That’s quite an imagination you have.”

I jumped at the sudden voice behind me, sending a black smear across the emerging figure. The Uncle was leaning over my shoulder, an amused look on his face. “It’s obvious that you have talent. Too bad you’re spending it on this nonsense.”

I looked at my painting, full of shadows and stars, then down at the gaudy real-life beach. Where I’d painted cool blues and silvers, heat waves rippled above tar-covered pebbles.

“Everyone gather around. See what this student’s done.” I cringed as my Family crowded behind me.

“Nice.” Zach sounded impressed.

Maya joined in, in her brusque way. “So much for my tree.”

She held up a picture of a brown stick with a green blob on top.

Art Uncle took back control. “Faye . . . It’s Faye, right?”

Right.
The traditional you-aren’t-important-enough-for-me-to-know-your-name maneuver.

“You can see that Faye here has a good sense of color. She sets her mood wonderfully.” Smiling, Art Uncle held up the painting so people could see it better. I wished Kel were here. There weren’t many things I was good at, but this was one of them. I wanted him to see what I could do.

“And this line here”—Art Uncle pointed to the slope of the cliffs near the beach—“really balances the composition.”

Then still smiling, he picked up the cup of water and doused the painting. “But these techniques are wasted if you’re too good for the basics. Though I suppose, why bother with realism when you live in a fantasy world?”

The black sky dribbled down the paper, turning the whole painting into an ugly brown. It’d felt so real a second ago—Dr. Mordoch, whatever I was looking for, the third figure—but everything was blurring together now. Within seconds, the beach, the people, the memories were completely swallowed up.

14

I WAS GRATEFUL
for one thing. That Kel hadn’t witnessed my humiliation. But when I saw he wasn’t waiting for us at the lunch table, anxiety buzzed in my stomach, making me feel sick.

Just then it occurred to me that his absence might have something to do with whatever was going on with us all at night. I thought about the flash of memory I’d had when I’d seen the flying bird carved into the column. Hands digging through the mud, covered in blood. I shuddered.

When I sat down at the table, I almost jumped up again. Something sharp and pointy poked at me from my already uncomfortable chair. I forced myself to relax, so I wouldn’t draw any attention. While the Takers moved around, rationing out the food, patrolling the room, I eased whatever it was out from under my leg.

It was smooth and metallic. My throat felt too tight to swallow. A knife? But I couldn’t feel a blade. My eyes flicked down to it in the weak cafeteria light. Silver gleaming in the shadows.

Then my eyes made sense of it and I almost laughed with relief. It was my Japanese brush pen. Superfine nylon bristles. Refillable ink. A little shorter than most, so I could carry it in my pocket. Mine.

I made a show of spooning tomato soup into my mouth while my mind spun with questions. I’d brought the pen with me to Holbrook, but it’d been taken away from me, along with my sketchbook and clothes and everything else I owned.

What is it doing on my seat? Is this some kind of test? Are they watching to see what I’ll do?

A scrap of paper was folded and tucked under the metal clip of the cap. Hands under the table, I slowly teased the paper out from under the clip. There was just one word written on it.

Thanks.

My pulse throbbed in my throat. I didn’t know how it’d gotten there, but I knew it was from Kel. It had to be. His handwriting was just like him, dark letters slanting toward the edge of the paper with a kind of contained energy.
But why “Thanks”?

I slid the pen down into my boot and bit off my smile. Suddenly it felt easier to swallow the salty soup, easier to sit through the silence. Easier to be here. Five minutes ago I’d just been another degenerate in a uniform. But feeling the cool metal of the pen tucked down in my boot, I remembered who I was. Despite my ruined painting. Despite the cryptic pictures. Despite Dr. Mordoch’s sanctioned bullying. I was still here.

And, somewhere, so was Kel.

Lunch felt like it went on forever, and of course our table was the last one excused from the cafeteria, making it clear that we were still on Dr. Mordoch’s blacklist. It also conveniently made us as conspicuous as possible as we went to our mandatory Free Time. We were officially the “example.”

A Taker led us to the corral I’d seen on my way to Solitary that first morning. The five other Families who were also scheduled for Free Time were already inside. Some of the kids were like tigers in a zoo, pacing around and around the dusty yard. Others stood in twos and threes, whispering to each other, heads close together. Of course, this place wasn’t for barnyard therapy. No.
We
were the animals Dr. Mordoch kept in this holding pen.

Freddy stood at the gate, sneering down at us.

“No shouting. No fighting. No running. And no touching. I don’t think I need to remind any of you what happens if you break the rules.
Zz-zzzz-z-zzz!
” Freddy jolted his body like he was being electrocuted. He roared with laughter at his own performance, then doubled over when it turned into a coughing fit.

He hacked and spit for a bit. Then, still wheezing a little, he unlocked the gate. “Have fun!”

Thirty-five heads swiveled to stare at us as we filed inside. Evidently, no one had forgotten about yesterday’s lunch. But I didn’t care. Kel was at the other end of the corral, his hoodie, sunglasses, and gloves standing out against the sea of jumpsuits. I took a deep breath.

“Yum-my,” Nami whispered over my shoulder. “That’s what I call a tall drink of water.”

I studied her face, trying to tell if she was making fun of me.

“Come on.” She grinned and elbowed me. “You can see those arms even under all those layers. He’s not fooling anyone. And all that hair hiding those killer eyes. Melty. Yep, I do love me a rebel without a clue.”

Watching him, sitting by himself in the corner of the yard, I tried to look at him through Nami’s eyes. I had absolutely no experience with girl talk, but I knew enough to see that she was right. I combed the snarls out of my hair with my fingers and looked down at my jumpsuit, painfully aware that there was nothing I could do to make it less hideous.

“The way he’s been looking at you, I don’t think he’ll notice your outfit.” Nami gave me a little push in Kel’s direction. Eddies of flies churned around my feet as I made my way across the fenced-in yard to him. Kel glanced up and smiled his slow smile at me.

“Pull up a chair.” He patted the ground next to him and I sat down.

I wanted to ask him about the pen, but doubt nibbled at my mind.
What if it’s not from him? What if he’s got no idea what you’re talking about? At least say something!

“You missed art.”
Thank you, master of the obvious.

“Yeah? Well, I decided to take a vacation day. And I can tell you, Nami’s right. This resort does
not
deserve five stars. Did you know there’s not even room service?” Kel’s voice rose in fake outrage and he grinned at me. My stomach flipped over and wagged its tail.

Kel shifted a little closer and took off his sunglasses. I was shocked by how tired he looked. In Solitary, he’d said something about getting sick, and by the look of things, he still was. The circles under his eyes were darker and sunken in. Red patches streaked his cheeks and across his nose, like he’d been sunburned. Kel hadn’t been playing hooky. Not that you’d be able to at Holbrook. Something was genuinely wrong with him.

“Are you okay?” I reached out to touch him. A shadow fell over us and I froze, my arm outstretched awkwardly, inches from Kel’s arm. A Taker hovered behind us, daring me to complete my gesture.

I dropped my hand in my lap and the Taker backed off, continuing his patrol of the fence. Here Kel and I were, finally face-to-face, but there might as well still have been a wall.

“I took a lovely stroll around the grounds this morning—” I couldn’t tell if Kel was still kidding or if he was being serious. The green in his eyes glinted at me. “Did you get my present?”

My face went red and I smiled, relieved. “But ‘thanks’ for what?”

Kel shrugged, and winced with the jarring movement.

“Are you okay? Kel, you look sick.”

“Way to stomp on a guy’s ego.” He played it off, but I could tell that he wasn’t okay.

What’s wrong with him?
When I opened my mouth to keep pushing, he cut me off.

“Look. I needed a few extra hours’ sleep is all.” Kel’s voice had an edge to it now that ended my questions. “I felt better, so I took a look around the place.”

“How’d you get my pen?” I tried to keep my voice level. Then I regretted asking. If he had some sort of deal with Dr. Mordoch, I didn’t want to know about it. So I changed my question before he could answer. “How’d you get out of your room?”

“How’d any of us get out of our rooms?” Damion stood looking down at the two of us. Nami sank down next to me and Zach next to Kel. Seeing the look of hero worship still in Zach’s eyes, I guessed no one had ever cared before if Zach got into trouble, let alone kept him out of it.

Maya hesitated for a second before she sat down, like she was trying to decide whether or not to join us. But it was just for show; she wasn’t welcome anywhere else.

Damion squatted down, facing Kel and me, and winced. I was glad to see that even mighty Damion was sore from yesterday’s sit-in. He eased himself the rest of the way down, finishing off the circle.

He looked around to make sure we were alone, then gave us that appraising look he had. “We’ve been discussing this whole bloody-hands thing, and it seems like there are two possibilities. Either someone is trying to frame us for something. Or—”

“Or something creepy is going on,” Nami finished his thought. She tilted her head, smiling sideways at Damion. Clearly they’d already disagreed about this point. “I vote for creepy.”

“I vote creepy too.” Nervous energy played across Zach’s face, coming out in a rushed string of words. “I mean, who would go through all that trouble to sneak in and pull us out of bed and cover our hands with . . . with whatever that crap is. Not to mention, highly unlikely that someone could pull it off without waking us up. I mean, the drugs are strong, but . . .”

“Maybe Dr. Mordoch has something to do with it. Maybe she’s double-dosing us or something.” Damion’s black eyes looked sharply at Kel. “Maybe one of us is in on it.”

“’Cause we’re all just dying to get into your bedroom, right?” A smile floated on Nami’s lips.

Damion stammered, “No, I-I-I just meant—”

“I know what you meant, and I also vote that we stop that here and now. Whatever’s going on, creepy or not, it’s happening to all of us.” Nami wiggled her stained fingers, reminding us of the thing that tied us together.

“All for one and one for all?” Kel raised an eyebrow.

“Right. ’Cause if something goes down, we’re all screwed. Okay?” Nami looked around the group at us.

No one nodded, but no one disagreed either. It was a start.

Maya, who’d been unusually quiet up till now, looked at me and asked, “So anyone got an idea what
is
going on?”

I shook my head to let her know I didn’t know anything new.

“Vampires?” Nami guessed.

“Be serious,” Damion snapped, trying to regain control of the conversation.

“I am being serious. Think about it. I mean, it’s the middle of the night—”

“Ghosts? No, ninjas!” Zach jumped in, his eyes lighting up.

Damion tried to keep the discussion from slipping away. “Don’t be stupid . . .”

But it was too late. The conversation descended into banter and it was bizarre, sitting there in the middle of it all. I’d watched this same scene a hundred times in the hallways of my high school. And I’d have given anything for someone, just one person, to let me join in. Now I had five someones. Sure, we’d been thrown together and shunned, but it still felt real. I couldn’t risk losing this makeshift Family. The symbols from this morning came back to me. I had to figure out what was going on before someone got in trouble.

Or gets hurt.

Kel shifted and his leg brushed against mine with a soft
shush
of our uniforms touching. It happened so fast that it could’ve been an accident, but it wasn’t. He picked up our conversation again, whispering in my ear, “I found something this morning. Something besides your pen.”

I nodded.
Go on
.

“You know that pattern you were looking at yesterday? The one on the column?”

My breath caught in my throat. Had everyone seen that? I nodded again.

“I saw another one, during my ‘tour’ of the facilities this morning. It’s in the sitting room, part of the pattern around the chandelier. You’d seemed kinda fascinated by it.”

There was a question implied in Kel’s tone, but he didn’t push it. I kept my face neutral and turned the questions back on him. “Why were you sneaking around the Compass Rose, anyway?”

“I thought I might be able to find some of my stuff that Dr. Mordoch confiscated.”

“Where’s she keeping it?”

“It’s all in her office. Luckily, it was the first place I looked. I figured she’s the kind of person who wants to keep her weapons close to her.” Kel reached into his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out a guitar pick. It was mottled brown like a tortoiseshell, and Kel rubbed it gently with his thumb. “It was my mom’s. She used to play in a band. I mean, they weren’t on a big label or anything, but I have a couple of tapes people made of her shows. You know that song I was singing the other day in Solitary? That was her favorite.”

Kel flipped the pick back and forth between his fingers. “She was good. Really good. She quit after she married my dad, but she taught me my first chords. And when she got sick, she gave me this.”

He stared at the ground, blinking hard. “I never got to tell you thanks.”

“Thanks?” I thought about the single word on Kel’s note.

“For talking to me the other day.”

Solitary came back to me in a rush. Our whispers drifting back and forth through the wall. How calm I’d felt talking to him.

“I wish—” Kel stopped himself and a crease marked his forehead. I could hear the same feeling in his voice. The same longing to reach through this wall between us. “You know, if we were anywhere else. Anywhere but here, I’d—”

His eyes flicked up and speared mine. Splaying my thoughts wide open. Every buried yearning sizzled to the surface. And as I burned, the world froze around me. The fence, the chatter, the Takers dropped away, and all that was left was an island of us.

Never before, even during my most intense visions, had I felt so alive. Never before had every single muscle and cell and thought sung with power. The words of Kel’s song came back to me again.