Pawn (Nightmares Trilogy #1) (11 page)

As soon as the shrill sound assaulted
my ears, I shoved hard against the other girl’s stick. The joint
force propelled the ball high in the air and straight into the
pocket of one of my teammate’s sticks. I tore down the field, my
speed unmatched by the girl marking me. As I neared the
twelve-meter arc, I planted one foot and pivoted, stick high in the
air - an unspoken call for the ball. I never saw the ball land in
the mesh pocket, but felt the weight when it settled into its home.
Instinctively, I turned, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that
Devon would be standing behind the goal. I didn’t bother looking to
make sure she was; I released the ball mid-turn.

“SHOT!” the goalie screamed, her voice
coming out garbled around her mouth guard.

The defense collapsed on the goal, but
they were too quick on the draw because I hadn’t taken a shot. Just
as I’d known she would be, Devon stood behind the goal and to the
left. She cradled the ball three times, giving me enough time to
rush forward. Since the goalie had assumed I was shooting instead
of passing, she read the play wrong and left one side of the net
wide open.

Devon passed the ball back to me. The
pass wasn’t on my right like it should’ve been since I was
right-handed, but instead sailed to my left. Like I’d known that
Devon would be behind the goal, and that Anna Beth would make her
shot, and that the Bronco would hit us if Devon ran the stop sign,
I knew Devon would aim for my left side. My stick was waiting for
her pass. I eased the stick back as the ball landed in my pocket,
and in the same motion I flung the ball into the empty
net.

The ref’s whistle sounded. “GOAL!” she
screamed.

“Ridiculous shot!” Devon shouted,
knocking me to the ground in her enthusiasm. I laughed even as both
our sticks dug painfully into my ribcage. When she helped me to my
feet a minute later, my gaze immediately scanned the crowd for my
mother. She had promised she’d be there, and I desperately hoped
she hadn’t missed my rare goal. Disappointment threatened to dampen
my elation when I didn’t immediately spot her black hair in the
stands.

What I saw instead made my head spin,
and excitement replaced the adrenaline pumping in my veins. My
heart felt like it might burst when his gaze met mine. Standing on
the top row of bleachers wearing a blue hoodie, hands shoved into
his jeans pockets, was Kannon. The way my body responded to him
came as more of a shock than when he had touched me. Even with his
hair dripping water down his cheeks and his tee shirt clinging to
him, I’d been unable to tear my eyes away from him at the lake. But
now, that feeling of being physically pulled towards him was so
intense I could barely breathe.

Time stood still. My teammates ceased
moving around me. The cheers from the home bench and the bleachers
no longer reached my ears. My peripheral vision grew hazy; only
Kannon stood in sharp focus. The urge to run from the field, vault
the fence that separated the bleachers from the track, and throw my
arms around his neck overwhelmed me. Then my father’s warning
sounded in my mind: Trust your instincts. The only problem was that
my instincts were divided. His connection to Jamieson Wentworth
aside, something about Kannon bothered me. Scared me, even. Yet,
that fact wasn’t enough to dampen my fascination with
him.

“Eel?” Devon snapped her fingers
before my eyes.

“Hmmm?” I responded,
distracted.

“You okay?” Devon thrust her face in
front of mine, breaking the invisible thread tethering my gaze to
Kannon.

The stands weren’t full, so it was
easy for Devon to locate the source of my agitation. “Who is that?”
she asked, squinting to see better. “Is that the kid from the
lake?”

“Yeah, Kannon,” I said absently. A
nagging sensation was tugging on my memory. There was something
familiar about all of this: Kannon in his hoodie, the bleachers, me
standing on the field.

“Kannon? I thought you didn’t know his
name.”

Oops. I wasn’t sure why, but I hadn’t
told Devon about Kannon’s phone call or the text messages we’d
exchanged. The way her eyes scrunched and the skin around her mouth
went taut made my insides squirm guiltily. Devon and I shared
everything, and this omission was big for me.

“I’ll explain later,” I mumbled, and
started towards where our teammates were huddling around Coach
Peters. I was lost in thought, my mind back at Caswell Lake with
Kannon. The now all-too-familiar fog settled around me, but not in
time for me to understand what was about to happen. She hit me hard
on the shoulder and I fell to the ground, landing on my
butt.

“Pay attention to
where
you are going,
Captain
,” Jamieson Wentworth sneered,
glaring down at me.

Chapter Seven

“She’s such a bitch,” Devon muttered,
grabbing my arm and helping me to my feet.

I nodded in agreement, not
only because, well, Jamieson
was
a bitch, but also because I couldn’t speak. The
instant we collided, I recognized her piercing eyes glowering down
at me. I’d known the words that were going to come out of her
mouth. And this time I knew why.

My dreams. I had dreamt the literal
run-in with Jamieson. That was also why seeing Kannon in the stands
gave me the feeling of déjà vu. The dream about Jamieson had
started with me seeing him in that same hoodie watching the game
from the bleachers. Nausea swept over me and I swallowed the urge
to be sick.

As Devon dragged me towards
our teammates, I glanced over my shoulder.
Please don’t be on the track
, I
prayed. But he was. Kannon, with his blue hood pulled over his
hair, was heading for the stadium exit. He took two more steps
before turning. The distance between us made it impossible to make
out the green of his irises or the strong line of his jaw, but
there was no doubt it was Kannon.

“I’ll see you soon,” I muttered under
my breath and imagined Kannon saying the words in my head. I knew
they were true. I would see him again soon.

My mind was a jumble of disjunctive
thoughts and feelings. Relief warred with anxiety. Elation battled
dread. Certainty mingled with indecision. I finally knew where the
visions were coming from, but that knowledge was hard to swallow.
The object of my unhealthy infatuation had turned up at my game,
bringing with him a sense of impending doom. We, Kannon and I, were
destined to meet again; whether that was good or bad, I couldn’t
decide.

“Nice goal, Andrews,” Coach Peters
said, clapping me on the back as Devon and I joined the huddle.
“Alright, let’s finish strong. We have two minutes - let’s get one
more!” Coach hollered.

I didn’t care about scoring or winning
or lacrosse in general. My whole life I had been taught that there
is a logical explanation for everything in the world. My mother
didn’t believe in the supernatural or ghosts or anything that
science could not explain. Dad was the whimsical one. He believed
in the afterlife, alien life forms, and all things paranormal. As a
professor of history, he argued there were too many inexplicable
events throughout time for us to truly believe we humans were the
only ones inhabiting the earth, or the galaxy for that
matter.

Prior to the last week, I’d sort of
sided with my mother. I liked things uncomplicated, black and
white. Now I wasn’t so sure. Whatever was happening to me, science
could not explain it.

The last two minutes of the game flew
by. We didn’t score again, but neither did St. Mary’s. When the
final whistle blew, I led my team in the requisite cheer for our
opponents and then stood just behind Coach Peters in the
handshaking line. After all the “good games” were exchanged, I gave
the captain for Mt. St. Mary’s directions to Elizabeth’s house for
the after-party.

On the way home from the game, I
checked my cell and noticed three messages, all from my mother. The
first was an apology for having to work late, again. The second was
an order to call her the minute I got the message. And the third
was a reiteration of the second. I punched one on my speed dial and
waited for her to answer.

“Evelyn Andrews.”

“Hey, Mom,” I said.

“How was school?”

I shrugged even though she couldn’t
see me. “Fine.”

“That’s nice,” Mom said, clearly
distracted. She made no mention of the game. “What are you girls
doing now?”

“Heading home to change and then going
to Elizabeth’s.” I crossed my fingers, hoping she wouldn’t tell me
that I had to go home instead.

“That is fine. I will be home late, so
call me at the office periodically.”

I wanted to remind her that I was
eighteen and all these rules and regulations were getting old. I
didn’t, though. Despite everything, I knew my mother loved me and
cared about me and just wanted to protect me. The checking-in
wasn’t so bad, and she rarely said no to any request I made so long
as she knew where I’d be and with whom.

“Will do,” I told her before saying
goodbye.

“She working late?” Devon asked after
I’d hung up.

“Yeah. Want to pick up First Wok and
get ready at my house?” I didn’t want to be alone tonight. The
visions were bothering me more than I wanted to admit. Left to my
own devices, I would concoct a list of crazy theories and
ridiculous possibilities for what was wrong with me. With Devon
around, I could gossip and try on a million different outfits and
pretend like everything was normal. Just another Friday night in
Westwood.

“I’m so ready for tonight,” Devon
declared an hour later, licking duck sauce off her index finger. We
were sitting on my bed, gorging ourselves on shrimp fried rice and
wonton soup.

“Me too,” I agreed, patting the food
baby protruding from my normally flat stomach. “I’m going to need
to wear something loose,” I added, when I realized the size of my
stuffed belly made it look as if I were having twins.

Devon laughed. “No way. There are
going to be a ton of hot St. Paul’s boys there. You are dressing to
impress.”

St. Paul’s was Mt. St. Mary’s brother
school. They always crashed our annual party. While most of the
boys that attended the elite private school were as snobby and
stuck-up as their female counterparts, they were a welcome change
of scenery from my male classmates.

“Shower so we can go. I promised
Elizabeth we’d be there early,” Devon said, throwing a pillow at my
head. “And thanks to your inability to say no to anyone, we still
have to drive to Timbuktu and pick up Mandy.”

“Uggg, fine.” I rolled my body over
the side of the bed since sitting up seemed like an uncomfortable
option. There was no reason to respond to her dig on Mandy. Devon
wasn’t a fan and I knew that. But she had finally reached a point
where she tolerated the other girl, which was probably the best it
was going to get.

“I’m going to use the guest bathroom,”
Devon called as I retreated into the one adjoining my
bedroom.

“I hope so,” I called over my
shoulder. “You smell.”

Despite my argument to the contrary,
Devon insisted I wear a barely-covering-my-butt royal blue dress
from BCBG. At least it was loose on my tummy. But the hemline only
skimmed the halfway point between my hip and my knee, and the
neckline plunged into dangerously low territory. To complete the
look, Devon draped a gold necklace with an enormous glass bead
surrounded by a spider web of gold, holding it in place over my
head.

“Since we never got a chance to look
for your other one,” she said.

This dream catcher, like the one I’d
lost at the lake, had been a present from my father. The bauble
that matched my dress nestled itself in the point of the neckline’s
V, drawing even more attention to my most notable
attribute.

My friends all coveted my natural
endowment. I didn’t understand their jealousy. Whenever I showed
off the girls, I felt trampy, and over the years more than one of
my friends’ fathers had stared a little too long and a little too
hard at my chest.

Devon wore black leather leggings with
a skintight tube top. As usual, she looked gorgeous; and I hoped
that maybe she’d meet a nice boy from St. Paul’s who would have her
saying, “Rick who?”

“You look hot,” Devon assured me, when
I kept pulling down the visor on the passenger side of the Chevy to
check my reflection.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re my best
friend. I think that makes you contractually obligated to tell me I
look good no matter what,” I pointed out.

“No,” she replied, tearing her focus
from the darkened road, “boyfriends are contractually obligated to
lie to you. Best friends are required to tell you the truth, even
if it’s painful.”

She had a point. Devon was brutally
honest when the occasion called for it, and even when it
didn’t.

Devon turned on her right blinker when
we approached Mandy’s driveway, although there really wasn’t much
of a point. Mandy’s was the only house on the country road. Gravel
crunched beneath the Cavalier’s tires as we made the mile trek to
Mandy’s front door. Once the house materialized in the darkness,
Devon laid on her horn; the blast sounded unnaturally loud in the
silent country setting.