Seeker (The Seeker Series Book 1) (21 page)

“I absolutely love it, Jack. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

I let him fasten it on my wrist and then put my arms around his neck and gave him the deepest, best thank you kiss I could produce. At length, he groaned and reluctantly pulled away.

“We better get inside or we’ll lose our reservation.” He put his hands against my cheeks to warm them. “And you’re freezing. It’s too cold at this altitude to stand around.”

We had a beautiful, romantic dinner. It felt like we were so much older than high school juniors; I felt grown up being with him like that. After dinner, I thought he would drive me home, but he surprised me by driving to the auto body shop instead.

“What are we doing here? Did you forget something?” I asked.

“No, I wanted to show you something. Come on. Close your eyes.” I gamely closed them as he led me back to the garage area. He stopped several times to make sure I wasn’t peeking. “All right, open them.”

I opened my eyes to see a shiny, sea green classic VW bug. “Oh, Jack. How cute! Did you make it?”

He laughed. “I didn’t
make
it. I painted it and did the body work. It was a wreck when it came in.” He took my hand and led me closer to the car. “Merry Christmas, Ally.”

I was flabbergasted. “What? You mean…? But you can’t…I can’t. Is this for me? Did you get me a car?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Oh my God, Jack. You can’t give me a car! You already gave me a beautiful present. I can’t accept. My mom and Grams would have a fit. I’ll have a fit!”

“Shh, Ally. Of course you can accept. I already asked them. They actually paid for most of the parts and have helped me keep it a secret for over a month. Even Mat helped me work on it. So, it’s kind of from all of us. Your mom and grandmother really managed to keep the secret.”

“But you already got me a present.”

“That was a
birthday
present. This is a
Christmas
present. Hey, it’s not your fault you were born on Christmas. As long as I’m around there will always be separate presents.” Wow. I was completely floored. The whole combo present thing had always been a pet peeve of mine.

“This year is going to be hard act to follow,” I said, looking up into his dark eyes.

He laughed and kissed me hard. “I’m sure I’ll manage. Come on. Let me show you your new car.”

I stopped in my tracks. “Jack, you know I don’t drive.”

He turned back and took my hands in his. “Driving lessons included. I promise I can help you get your confidence back. I’m a really good teacher. I’m also going to have to teach you to drive stick.”

“Stick? I don’t even know what that means.” I looked at him uncertainly. He looked right back at me, a knowing and confident smile on his face. Finally, I smiled back at him. I couldn’t bear to disappoint him after all the trouble he’d gone to. “Fine. I believe you. I’ll try. Thank you for my car. I love it. Now show me all the details. Then we definitely need to make out in it.” I really could not believe he had done this for me. How had he done all the work in so little time? No wonder he was tired all the time! I had no idea what I had ever done to deserve such a wonderful guy. Sometimes I wondered what he could possibly be getting out of this relationship since it seemed like I was reaping all the benefits.

We got in and he started it up, sputtering and coughing. The car, not Jack. VW Bugs are noisy and smell kind of funny. Jack turned on the heater to show me how fast it heats up. “In a spirit of complete disclosure, I need to tell you the bad news.” Jack looked at me with a serious look on his face.

“What? It sounds bad.”

He reached past me to open the little triangular window in the passenger door. “The bad news is that
this,
” he gestured to the two vent windows, “is your flow-through air conditioning.”

We both laughed, and since he was leaning past me to open the window, I decided it was time to get on with the fun part of why we were sitting in the car. Can I say that making out in a 1973 VW Beetle is not easy? That stick shift really gets in the way. Oh, calm down. Nothing much happened. Unfortunately.

Later that night, as he dropped me off—he had driven us home in the VW so I could see how it drove—I pulled him close and kissed his cold lips. “Thank you for the best early birthday/Christmas I have ever had.” I kissed him again. “Oh, and the presents were really nice, too.”

***

He took me driving on Sunday afternoon. We drove around this really big church parking lot so I wouldn’t freak out too much and so I could begin to get the hang of a manual transmission. I lost count of how many times I stalled out, jerking to a halt. He was incredibly patient with me, never making me feel like a complete dumbass, even when I flooded the engine. This getting back into driving thing had a steep learning curve for me. I finally began to get the hang of it, but I was nowhere near ready to take to the city streets. Since I was leaving in a week, he asked if we could leave the car at the auto body shop so that he could continue to work on it while I was in Ireland.

“I have some adjustments to make, now that it’s been driven some. I think I need to put a new starter in it. You shouldn’t have any trouble starting it or flooding the engine once I do that.”

“You know, Jack,” I said as we drove home with him now driving. “You are a pretty handy guy to have around. What are you not good at?”

“Oh, I think I should let you figure that out for yourself. No need to advertise my faults.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“Seeking what is true is not seeking what is desirable.”

–Albert Camus

Our last week before winter break was mostly review for finals and then the final exams on Thursday and Friday. Tuesday afternoon, after cheerleading practice, I was in the main building hanging posters advertising a Christmas bake sale the cheerleaders were having during lunch on Friday. I had volunteered to hang them because I was taking the bus to meet Jack at the shop and he didn’t get off work for a while. It took longer than I expected and I was actually running late for the bus I was hoping to catch, when I realized that I still had to go back to the gym and retrieve my jacket out of the locker room. I contemplated leaving it, but the temperature had dropped significantly during the afternoon; a big storm was preparing to roll in later in the week. I sighed and texted Jack to let him know I would be late.

I was closing my locker when I was hit with a violent vision that literally brought me to my knees.

Veronica, bleeding and battered, being hit repeatedly by the same hands I had seen before.

I sat down hard on the bench, head in my hands. I felt sick to my stomach with the suddenness and violence of it. I somehow knew, absolutely and without a doubt, that this was happening
now,
just like I had known at Veronica’s party. I had to find her. I had to stop this. Then I did a really stupid thing for which I have no rational defense—I headed off to find her and stop her from being hurt. Why didn’t I call 911 or my mom or Jack? I have no idea. It was like something took over my brain and all my good sense, and I headed off to look for her. I could tell that she was somewhere in the vicinity of the gym, because there was athletic-type stuff surrounding her. The vision kept playing on the fringes of my conscious mind. That’s the only reason I can think of, now, for my irresponsible, careless behavior
. Find her, help her, find her.
It kept repeating over and over, blocking out everything else.

I ran to the gym and stood in the middle of the empty floor, listening, trying to control my heaving breaths so I could hear. The lights were off; the only visibility came from the weak, stormy winter light streaming through the skylights. The gym echoed with emptiness, with that sense that nobody else was around. I ran to the various doors that led to classrooms, offices, and closets. Most were locked; those that weren’t were empty. I was in the back hall leading from the auxiliary gym to the main gym when I finally heard it: a faint, weak cry. I followed the sound, willing it to repeat. I had to stand perfectly still and hold my breath to hear it again
. The weight room.
I had never been inside the weight room; it was the realm of football players and wrestlers. It was completely dark in the room and I had to grope my way toward a sliver of light coming from under a door on the far wall. I banged my shins hard on some piece of equipment and struggled to keep in a curse. Something was niggling at the fringes of my consciousness, some sense of familiarity, but I pushed it away impatiently. I could hear garbled voices coming through the heavy fire door. As I crept closer I could make out a female crying and screaming with a deeper voice yelling some of the foulest words I have ever heard in my life. I stood listening for a heartbeat before I heaved it open, hoping to gain an element of surprise.

The sight that met my eyes was horrifying and is now forever, unfortunately, burned into my memory: Veronica half-lying on a desk in the weight room office, nearly unconscious, one eye completely swollen shut, blood dripping from her nose and mouth. Her jeans and underwear were pulled down around her ankles. Standing over her, hands on his open belt buckle, was Coach Trevino, the young, muscular boys wrestling coach and weight trainer. I’ve only ever seen him a few times before; he apparently spends the vast majority of his time in the gym and its environs—a place I had never had much reason to visit until recently. I had heard girls giggling about how good-looking he was, but I had always thought he seemed rough and crude somehow. Not my type at all. He certainly wasn’t good-looking right now. The look that was frozen on his face as I threw open the door was one of complete and abject
rage.
He was obviously out of control, having severely beat Veronica and was now about to inflict even more suffering and humiliation by raping her. Her head rolled toward me, her one good eye widening with surprise.

“Help me.” It was no more than a whisper.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Coach Trevino screamed.

I should have been terrified; I was, I know I must have been. But a cold, steely calm crept over my entire being and I slowly advanced toward the desk. “Get away from her.” I didn’t even raise my voice.

I have never seen anyone in a killer rage before; I devoutly hope never to again. He roared—I can’t think of any other way to describe it—and launched himself at me, his belt dangling and the top of his pants undone. I turned to run, hoping at least to get him away from Veronica. He slammed me up against the door before I could even get it open, knocking the breath completely out of me. He grabbed me by the back of the neck and the hair and lifted me up to his eye level. My 5’1”, 100 lb. body was not much of an obstacle for him.

“You’re dead!” he screamed. I believed him. He slammed me into the glass trophy case beside the door. I heard and felt the shatter of glass, much of it imbedding itself into the back of my head. I slid down the broken front of the case into a pile of glass shards, now mixed liberally with my blood. I know I must have screamed, but I can’t remember. He stood over me, breathing heavily. When he saw I was still conscious, not quite dead, he reared his foot back, preparing to deliver what probably would have been a fatal kick to my head. At the last second, Veronica, who had managed to pull herself up from the desk, hit him in the back with a folding chair. That would bring most people down, but he was in such a rage—hyped up on something?—that it merely distracted him. She saved my life, but at great cost to her own. He was distracted, but became even more violent. He turned on her with a scream and smashed his fist into her head. She fell, unconscious, as he began viciously kicking her in the stomach and ribs. She would be dead in seconds, if she weren’t already. With my last vestiges of strength and consciousness, I crawled over to a large trophy that was now lying close to me, picked it up, and with enormous effort, smashed the heavy marble base into the back of his head. I don’t think I will ever forget the sound of that moment: the
thunk
of the solid trophy base connecting with the hard flesh at the back of his skull. I wasn’t even able to tell if it knocked him out, or if he was still standing. I fell into a heap of blood and glass, consciousness finally, mercifully slipping away.

***

When I awoke, it was to a dark room, antiseptic smells, and a beeping sound. There was none of that ‘where am I?’ stuff that you always see in movies. I knew exactly where I was and I was so glad to be there that I felt tears start to build. I sort of thought I might be waking up
somewhere else,
if you know what I mean. Or, rather, not waking up at all. I slowly turned my head, sucking in my breath at the pain, and saw Jack’s beloved face; he was slumped in an armchair next to my bed. I realized he was holding my hand, loosely, through the bed rails. He had fallen asleep. He looked rough; dark stubble covered the lower half of his jaw, his hair looked as if he had run his hands through it repeatedly. He looked like he was wearing scrubs, which I couldn’t figure out. I stared at him, loving that I still could, for a moment before I squeezed his hand gently.

“Jack,” I whispered, scratchily.

He woke up immediately. “Ally. Oh, God.” He leaned over me, looking intently at my face, trying to determine if I was really with him or not. “Jesus, Ally. I was so scared.” A tear threatened to escape his eye and my heart split in two.

“Jack,” I whispered again. He leaned in and kissed me so, so softly, on my lips. “Tell me,” I insisted as he pulled back. “Veronica.” I feared what he would say.

His eyes clouded. “She’s alive. Barely. She’s in ICU. That bastard nearly killed her. She’s in really bad shape.”

“The baby?” I whispered. He shook his head. I didn’t even know how to feel about it or how to process this. “What about…him? Did I…?” I couldn’t find the words.

He again shook his head. “No. You fractured his skull, but he’ll live, unfortunately,” he said bitterly.

I couldn’t help the sob that escaped. Jack held me carefully. “Shh. It’s all right, Ally. It’s okay now. It’s over.” He sat back. “I need to text your mom. I sent them downstairs for coffee, but I had to swear to text immediately if you woke up. Tara’s here too.”

It turned out that I had a pretty bad concussion and 17 stitches in the back of my head, along with a lovely shaved spot. Hats were going to be part of my daily wardrobe for the foreseeable future, and it would be a while before I could shampoo. Gross. The doctors kept me overnight for observation, but I was allowed to go home the next day, as long as I spent it resting.

Veronica was not nearly as fortunate. She was in a coma, mostly drug-induced, to help her heal. She had to have surgery to repair internal damage done by the vicious kicks, including a torn uterus. They also had to remove her spleen. It was unclear whether or not she would ever be able to bear children because the damage was so severe. She had also suffered a severe concussion from Coach Trevino’s fist.

Coach Trevino, the rat bastard who did this, was fine. Isn’t it always the way? He had to have a few stitches and had a minor skull fracture. He was currently being held without bail in the Bernalillo County Metropolitan Detention Center awaiting trial for multiple counts of rape and attempted murder. I should have hit him harder. I don’t mean I wish I had killed him or anything. I would never want to actually take a life if I could avoid it; I think it’s unfair that out of the three of us, he suffered the least damage. He also wasn’t talking; he had lawyered-up immediately. I’ve always wanted to say that. We would have to wait until Veronica was awake to find out what had happened, why she had ever gotten involved with him, and why she had not told anyone he had raped her.

Grams and my mom were amazing when I got home, waiting on me hand and foot, bringing me tea, juice, and putting DVDs in for me. My head hurt too much to read. It actually hurt too much to even enjoy watching movies for long. The doctor had given me some hefty Tylenol that didn’t do much for the pain. All I wanted to do was sleep; I could barely stay awake long enough eat. I hoped I would start to feel better soon so I could enjoy milking this for all its worth. Both Mom and Grams had tried to get me to talk about what had happened in the office with Veronica and the coach, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it to anyone. I was trying hard not to even think about it. I know they were both worried sick about my emotional health as much as my physical health.

Jack came by after school; he looked worse than I felt. I had finally been able to persuade him to leave the hospital around 5 a.m. so he could at least shower and change before going to school. He couldn’t afford to stay home because of the physics review and we were planning to go over his notes this evening. I was hoping to be allowed to return to school the next day to take my finals, but was starting to worry that my head would still be hurting too badly. He hadn’t shaved and looked ruggedly handsome, yet completely exhausted. I tried to convince him to go home and get some sleep, but he wouldn’t listen.

“Let me sit with you for a little while. I need to hold you. Then I’ll go.” He sank into a corner of the couch. I nestled into his arms and pulled the blanket over both of us. We were asleep in seconds. We awoke hours later to the delicious smell of lasagna wafting out of the kitchen. Grams served dinner on trays in the living room while I finally got a chance to ask Jack about the details of what happened the previous afternoon. How did I get to the hospital? Who found us? I had no memory of those events, only the horror leading up to them.

“When I got your text message, I was finishing up at the shop and decided to surprise you by picking you up at school. I couldn’t find you anywhere and you weren’t answering your phone. I was literally running all over that damn school, looking for you, when a janitor mentioned he had seen a redheaded girl by the gym. Ally, sweetheart, why didn’t you call me? Or the police?”

“I don’t know, Jack. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Grams. I had a vision and it kept playing over and over in my head. I couldn’t think of anything else except finding Veronica and helping her. It was stupid.” I buried my face against his chest.

“No, Ally,” Grams said. “It was brave. Perhaps not wise, but you saved that girl’s life. I’m very proud of you.”

“Your Grams showed up about the same time I did. She knew you were in trouble. We both started frantically searching for you. When I opened that door, and saw you lying on the floor in all that blood and glass…I don’t know. I think I went a little crazy. I thought you were dead. I thought I’d lost you.” He closed his eyes, leaned his head back on the couch and sighed deeply.

I tried to remember any part of what he was telling me, but I couldn’t. What I did remember was another vision, the vision I had of Veronica with all the blood and pain, the one in which I couldn’t tell if it was Veronica or myself that was being hurt. The vision that I had decided to keep from Cassie.