Second Sight (6 page)

Clenching my jaw I turn to
him. “I don’t much care
what
you buy, Griffin, because I’m not selling. No
market, no product, no deal. Got it? Unless, of course, you’re the
one doing the selling. Is that it? So, let’s hear it. Get it over
with.” I tap my foot impatiently.

The color drains from his face, and I see a
shift in his expression. The frustrated façade gives way to
sadness. “I think it has something to do with Lev, whether you’re
willing to admit it, or not.”

“
And this is a new theory,
right? Did this one take you long?”

He winces. “Lizzie—”

“
Maybe this does have to
with Lev. Maybe it doesn’t. But do you really think I’m going to
‘open up’ if all you’re planning on doing to running is Jimmie when
you figure it out?”

I’m pacing again, feeling all the more like a
caged animal—one of those cute little strays they use in lab
experiments—poke here, prod there, gauge the reaction.

Griffin throws up his hands in
exasperation.

“
What makes you think I’m
going to tell Jimmie anything?” He follows close on my heels, and I
curse his long legs.

“
That’s why you’re
here.”

“
You haven’t listened to a
word I’ve said, have you?” He grabs my shoulder and forces me to
turn around. “Just talk to me. I promise I’ll keep it between
us.”

All right. I’ll bite. For now.

“
No matter what I say?
You
promise
?” I
level a demanding gaze at him, still unsure what I will or won’t
tell him. Griffin is trying to be patient—I’ll give him that
much—but if I tell him Lev was an angel who carried souls from this
world to the next, and I’m trying to find him again, it might push
him over the edge. Or worse yet, get me committed. But then people
are like that. It’s how they’re wired. Anyone will believe a lie.
The truth is another thing.

“
I promise,” he drawls.
“Now tell me what’s going on.” We walk to the kitchen table, and I
point for him to sit while I go to the fridge to get us both cans
of soda. Although he takes one, I can tell by his determined frown
he’s not interested in beverages.

Not a good sign. If I believed in portents,
I’d clam up right here. But there aren’t such things, are
there?

“
Do you believe in the
supernatural?” I ask softly, sinking into the hardwood chair and
popping open the can.

“
In theory.” He slides his
long legs to the side of the table. “But what does that have to do
with anything? ” He takes a sip of soda.

“
I was looking for
Lev.”

Soda spews from his mouth, and he almost
chokes. His fingers clasp the can tightly so he won’t drop it. I’m
tempted to pat him on the back, but that’s not going to dislodge
the problem.

“
You were what?” he
croaks.

“
You heard me.” I take a
drink, trying to appear calmer than I am.

Closing his eyes, he draws a calming breath
and slowly sets down the can before he gently takes my hand—a
sympathy gesture, I’m sure. I don’t want or need his sympathy.

“
Lev is dead, Lizzie. You
can’t find him—not alive, anyway.” His voice is flat, and I see the
struggle on his face to maintain his rapidly crumbling composure.
He flounders in his desire to save me from
self-destructing.

My hand stiffens beneath his, smothered as it
is by kindness. “Lev wasn’t—isn’t—what you think.” I sit back in
the chair and drink my soda, waiting for the next exchange. I guess
this is as good of a way to test Griffin’s loyalty as any. I mean,
if he figures I’m going off the deep end and tells Jimmie, that’ll
definitely answer a few questions.

“
He’s definitely not
bulletproof, Lizzie. We both know that.” He gently pulls his hand
from mine. “Jimmie warned me about this,” he mutters, his face
pasty. I’d say he looks like someone suffering from a stomach flu,
but that would definitely make me the stomach flu. Not
good.

I stare at him as my left shoe nervously taps
linoleum that definitely needs to go. In fact, this whole room
needs to go—and me with it. It’s so 1970’s, just like the house in
Massachusetts.

“
What if he wasn’t
human?”

That does it. Griffin shoots out of the
chair. The pasty color is worse, if that’s possible, and his eyes
dart back and forth as though he’s looking for answers he’s not
going to find.

“
You’ll wear out the
floor.” I lean back in the chair and focus on breathing, trying to
stay calm in the wake of the hurricane I sense coming.

“
Lizzie.” I know there
should be something after my name, but the words won’t come, like
he’s forgotten how to speak.

“
Lev isn’t what you
thought, Griffin. He’s an angel. And I don’t believe his spirit
died from that bullet six months ago—just his body.”

He whirls, his lips parted in a horrified
grimace. He raises both hands and thrusts his palms forward. “Stop
it, Lizzie.”

“
You asked!” I stand and
try to figure out how to diffuse the panic I see threading through
his taut shoulders and back. He’s barely breathing, and I’m sure if
I checked his pulse, it would be interesting.

“
I don’t…know where this is
coming from, and I don’t know where it’s going. But imagining Lev
as still alive is just torturing yourself.” He reaches out and
takes my shoulders. “You have to stop before something happens you
can’t take back.”

I don’t think he realizes just how deeply his
fingers are digging into my shoulders. I don’t think he’s aware of
much at all, considering the wild expression on his face—a mixture
of horror and fear. He thinks I’m losing my mind.

“
Like?”

“
A bullet.” His voice
cracks, and his hands press harder—less horror, more panic. And
he’s bruising me without realizing it. Now I see how fast he really
is breathing and how little he’s holding it together. So I gently
reach up and touch his hands to loosen the grip.

“
I’m not crazy. I swear. I
know things about Lev no one else did and that no one else ever
will.” The words choke in my throat, and I feel tears burning
again. The old trick of biting my lip drives them back momentarily,
but I feel them constantly waiting. It’s as if they know I can only
maintain control for a few moments. Then again, my life is in the
now. If I think too hard about the past, it debilitates me—and the
future holds no promise without Lev. Still, there
is
the anger, edging
along the sidelines, waiting. Powerful, resolute, solid. I try to
will it away, but I can’t. I
need
it.

Griffin opens his mouth and closes it several
times, trying to figure out what to say. “Lizzie” is all that comes
out.

“
I’m not crazy,” I say
vehemently. “How do you think I survived the waterfalls without so
much as a scratch? You saw me fall. But did you see the flash of
light afterward? I’m willing to bet at that moment you shut your
eyes, afraid of what you’d see. But if you hadn’t, you would have
seen a white brilliance sweep in, catching me, carrying me
downstream where Lev and his ‘father’ pretended to fish me
out.”

He shakes his head. “You were lucky, Lizzie.
That’s it.”

“
Bullshit. Did you see Lev
enter the building right before Maguire shot me?” I thrust my hands
to my hips.

“
That doesn’t mean he was
an angel. And the bullet killed him. He was human, Lizzie, just
like the rest of us. I’m just sorry as hell it happened and that it
hurt you so damn badly, but it did..” He sinks back onto the chair.
It’s amazing what a few words can do to make someone look older in
a matter of seconds. Right now, Griffin looks anything but the
eighteen-year-old who graduated last year.

“
He was an angel, Griffin,
and there’re others out there like him. I know. I’ve seen
them.”

“
Saw what exactly?” He
keeps shaking his head, as if that will make all this just go
away.

“
Around Lev, there was this
aura of light. Nobody else could see it, but I did. Even before he
told me what he was, I knew. Then he showed me his wings.” I step
forward, but Griffin steps back.

“
Stop.” His voice sounds
ragged and tired.

“
I saw someone else,
too—like Lev.”

Griffin closes his eyes as though trying to
calm himself. For all I know, he’s forcing himself to count to a
hundred. Maybe he should try for 1,000. “Okay, I’ll bite.” His tone
is clipped and angry. Griffin doesn’t mind pushing, but he never
has liked being pushed. “Who is it, and how do you know?”

“
I saw the aura.” I throw
my can into the trash and ignore the first part of the question,
hoping it will just go away.

“
Okay, again, who is this
person you think is an angel?” He looks up at me, narrowing his
blue eyes in hopes doing so will force an answer.

“
Scott Matthis. I can take
you to him.” My heart starts hammering in my chest, and I hope I
can keep just enough information from Griffin to drag him to
Knoxville, too. If Jimmie thinks Griffin is a suitable babysitter,
who am I to disagree?

“
And did he
tell
you he was an
angel?”

“
I didn’t ask.” I rush
upstairs to get the scrap of paper Scott handed me and head back to
the kitchen, where a shell-shocked Griffin awaits. I want to burst
out laughing, and while that might be a good thing, I don’t think
Griffin would appreciate it.

“
I must be insane,” he
mutters, rising. “All right, let’s go find this Scott Mathis—under
one condition.” He blocks my path to the door.

“
Which is?”

“
If he doesn’t corroborate
your angel story, you let it go. You stop putting your life on the
line, and you focus on the future, not the past. Agreed?” He folds
his arms across his chest and waits. His left eyelid twitches
nervously, and it seems Griffin is hardly prepared for this
babysitting gig, after all.

“
But what if—”

“
No buts.” Griffin shakes
his head. “I’m letting you lead me into madness, Lizzie. You’ve got
one shot to prove you’re right. Otherwise, you let it
go.”

And why should I? Who does Griffin think he
is all of a sudden? Jimmie? My father? Once again I’m reminded of
my first impression of him—some rich kid whose money refuses to
take no for an answer. I should so throw him out—tell Jimmie this
isn’t going to work. God, how could I have even trusted him? Maybe
there is something wrong with me. Gritting my teeth, I know what
he’s asking, but the answer is hell no. I’m not dropping anything
and he has no right to ask. Still, I can play nice and pretend to
let him have his way. What harm is there in that? Still, I hate
lying so it’s going to take a lot for me to pull this off.

“
Do we have a deal?” Lev
asks, trying to make me look him in the eye.

“
But—”

“
No.” He slips his hand
over my mouth. “We do this my way or no way. Your way almost got
you killed, so we’re not about to do that again. I just now got in
Jimmie’s good graces, and it was no small feat.”

My eyes bulge.
Good graces
? What good
graces? Jimmie’s got a spy. That’s all there is to it.

“
All right,” I agree,
letting my shoulders sink, knowing he’s not about to go unless he
thinks I’m giving in. Then again, Griffin should know I’m not
planning on stopping until I find Lev, one way or another. But,
see, that’s just it—he doesn’t. He and Jimmie, they don’t
know
anything
outside of what they
want
to know.

His shoulders sink, probably in relief over
not getting deeper into this argument. Then again, I don’t think he
would be so relieved if he knew where we’re headed. “Thank God,” he
exhales and turns away.

“
So can we go?”

“
Is Jimmie going to have a
bird you left the house?” He pulls out his keys
reluctantly.

“
Not if you chaperone. Your
coming was his idea. What am I supposed to do to entertain you in
the house? No, the way I see this, it’s his fault. If you’re with
me, nothing’s going to happen.” I grab his arm and lead him to the
door.

“
Yeah, like nothing
happened at the waterfall or at the school. I’m your lucky rabbit’s
foot, all right.”

Rabbit’s foot. Horse’s rear. Same thing. “So
come on, rabbit’s foot. Let’s get going.” He lets me lead him
outside to his car, where he even opens the door for me. I used to
think Griffin was all about Show and Tell, that his manners were
just a good way to get a girl horizontal. Now I know better, that
part of him is real. I can’t fault him really. He means well. He
does—annoying as that is. He just doesn’t quite know what to do
with the flash and dazzle of being from a family made of money, and
I’m beginning to think maybe he actually hates money these days. Or
maybe not. It doesn’t matter, one way or the other.

Once behind the wheel, he starts asking for
directions. It only occurs to him after we leave Tellico Plains
behind and start towards Knoxville that perhaps he should have
asked more questions before agreeing to my prospect of meeting an
angel.

“
So where exactly are we
going, Lizzie?” His voice has that sarcastic edge that tells me he
realizes he’s been had and he can’t do much about it.