The Stranger Inside (9 page)

Instantly, Sawyer’s eyes lit up—like he wasn’t expecting this turn of events. But he grabbed it. Grabbed me. Without a word, he took me in his arms and had me on the couch in like, a nano-second. If that.

But out of the corner of my eye, I saw something. Something dark. It whizzed by—fast. I only caught a glimpse of it. But it kicked my heartbeat into high gear. Instantly had me shaking. “What was that?”

Sawyer pulled away from me and looked around. “What?”

It had zoomed by so fast. I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t see it either. Not really, truly. I wasn’t sure. But it
seemed
it had been a big, dark, spooky … shadow. Just like I thought I saw that day in my room.

The memory made me shiver all over again.

“Jodi, are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah,” I lied.

“No you’re not. You look scared.” Sawyer took me into his arms. “You’re shaking.”

He held me a long time, having no idea what was going on. But his arms were warm, comforting, and after a time they calmed my shivering.

Almost.

***

When I got home, I had email from Grey. I would have thought I’d be excited, but I wasn’t. Maybe it was because of that shadow thing. Maybe it still had me spooked. I’m not sure. But seeing that Grey wrote—it made me nervous. Actually filled me with dread.

I hadn’t heard from him in weeks. So, it was weird that he wrote now, suddenly, when I had a “boyfriend.” It was … weird. Not just the timing, weird that he wrote at all. Grey doesn’t “do” e-mail or texting or anything that involves “talking with his fingers”—his words, not mine.

I thought about just going to bed, reading his message in the morning. It was dark. I was cold and scared. I wasn’t up for bad news. I just wasn’t.

But I knew if I went to bed, I’d just think about the message all night, worry.

So, I didn’t leave it. I sat ridged, bracing myself for whatever he had to say, knowing for Grey to actually breakdown and e-mail, it couldn’t be good.

Jodi,

I’m sorry you have to go through this. I know it’s not true. You know it’s not true. They’ll figure it out. No way did your dad kill that lady. No way. And like that?! I don’t think he even killed himself. I really don’t. I have no idea what happened. Or what the hell’s going on. But what they’re saying—no way.

The blood drained out of my face. I felt sick. What was he talking about? I had no clue. People thought my dad had killed a lady?

A chill ran down my spine.

I ran for the bathroom, needing to throw up. I didn’t make it to the toilet though. I threw up over the sink, some getting on the wall. Then I threw up in the toilet, again and again.

I curled up in a ball on the cold bathroom tile, shaking, but too sick to move. Instead I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stop the tears. Dad
had
seemed crazy before he died. But he wouldn’t do that—kill someone.

He wouldn’t.

Would he?

CHAPTER 5

Okay, breathe. I Googled my dad on the Internet. Surprisingly, there wasn’t that much about him. I mean, about his death. He was a surgeon, so there was stuff about that—stuff from before he died. But his death, gross and morbid as it was, didn’t make headlines. Not out of the local area anyway.

But I did actually find what Grey was talking about. My dad was suspected in the murder of a woman named Sophie Jones. All I found was a couple of news articles about it that said Sophie had been stabbed repeatedly in her apartment then hacked up with an axe.

Apparently, one of Sophie’s neighbors saw my dad storm out of Sophie’s home, covered in blood. The neighbor admitted she’d never seen him with Sophie before, but that he’d been screaming to Sophie about her younger sister. He kept shouting for Sophie to tell him where she was. Then there had been screaming. Lots and lots of screaming.

The article went on to say my dad’s fingerprints were all over the murder weapon—the knife used to kill Sophie, although the axe was still missing. But apparently, Sophie had been tortured with multiple weapons while the perpetrator tried gleaning Sophie’s sister’s whereabouts.

“We’re unable to press charges against the guy, though,” an Officer Gardner was printed as saying. “Dr. Logan offed himself the day after killing Miss Jones. Let me tell you, there’s a gruesome story …”

That was all I could find. All I wanted to find. Dad wouldn’t do that—kill a stranger, kill anyone. No way. Of course not. Only … I couldn’t help thinking about Dad that last week—the week before he died.

He’d woken me up in the middle of the night, covered in blood. “Jodi, leave,” he had said, shaking me awake. “Leave now!” He threw a bunch of cash at me and shouted for me to run when I just sat there, staring at him. But I was confused, didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. Why was he all bloody? Why was he sending me away? He’d thrown some of my clothes into a suitcase and ordered me to go to a hotel—and not tell him where—and not to go to school. Then he’d turned and left the house. And I never saw him again. Not ever.

Three days later, the police found him dead in our apartment. He had written my name in his blood—on our wall. He’d written “Jodi Go Hospital.”

I didn’t know he’d left that message. No one told me. That piece of info was on the Internet. All I’d known was that he’d been found hacked up, mangled. His heart carved out—and the police thought he’d done it to himself. But they were wrong.

They had to be.

***

Thirsty. So thirsty. And … my arm … uncomfortable. What? I tried to open my eyes … too tired. But my arm. What was up with my arm?

I tried to crack my eyes open. Just have a peek. No use. Too hard. Too tired. Still, I tried. And tried. Finally, I managed to pry tiny slits, squint. But then, whoa! My eyes popped open wide. And my heart leapt to my throat.

What the … ?

My right arm was handcuffed to Sawyer’s bed! I was about to scream bloody murder when Sawyer sauntered into the room, carrying a tray of food—fancy sandwiches and a soda. “Hey Kenzie, calm down,” he said good-naturedly. “Look what I brought: turkey sandwiches and here’s a DVD you can watch while you eat. ”

I swallowed, nauseous. “I turned into Kenzie … again?” My voice was all raspy, like I swallowed sandpaper.

Now I understood what was going on. Sort of. Though what the crap?
Handcuffs?
I’d asked the Kenzie thing as though it was a question, but it wasn’t. At all. I already knew the answer. Unfortunately. That’s why I felt so sick, like I was going to hurl. I clumped my lips shut—not because I was worried about barfing, but to keep from screaming. At the top of my lungs. I’d turned into her again. Again!

Sawyer sat on the bed beside me and gently unlocked the handcuffs. He gave me a sideways look full of apologies. “Hey, Jodi. Sorry.”

I wasn’t sure which he meant—sorry that I’d turned into Kenzie, or sorry that he’d handcuffed me to his bed. I rubbed my chaffed wrists, my cheeks blazing.

Sawyer seemed to get what was going through my mind. He set his jaw. “I’m sorry about both Jodi, sorry you were Kenzie again. Sorry I had to trick her to keep you … virginal.”

My mouth popped open.

Sawyer rubbed his neck, smirking. He raised his eyebrows. “The girl wants me, bad.”

I downed the soda while Sawyer explained that Kenzie/I had come to his house totally looking for action.

“She had me going for a minute,” he said. “I’d just woken up—and you know, happy to see you at my door.” He went on to explain they didn’t talk; she just attacked him with kisses. When he figured out it wasn’t me, he had to chain her to the bed—literally. “I swear, I had to. I had to trick her—she was … you know, in your body and wanting it. So, I suggested the handcuffs.” He raised his eyebrows. “Man, she was into that. But I swear, I just did it to … keep us both safe. And in our clothes.”

I didn’t say anything through his whole explanation. I just clutched my stomach and got up from his bed and limped into his bathroom. Sawyer followed me. I got a glass of water, gulping it down. Then I splashed cold water on my face. Sawyer watched me, saying nothing. He just stood in the doorway, his jaw set, looking worried.

“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” he finally said. “What can I do to help?”

I stared at him—wishing with all my heart there was something he could do. I wiped at the tears that welled in my eyes. Sawyer took me in his arms and held me tight. “I still think it’s just stress,” I whispered into his chest.

It seemed like it was. The last thing I remembered was being at my computer…. Yeah.… It
had
been stressful. I’d been reading about … Dad … what the police said he did.
Oh!
In a rush it all came back to me—all the horrible stuff I read—Sophie Jones, screaming, an axe.

I pushed Sawyer away and covered my mouth, then leaned over the sink, positive I would barf again. But I didn’t. Nothing came out. Just sobs.

***

“This split personality thing
has
to be caused by stress,” I whispered to Sawyer as he held me on his couch, stroking my hair. I was just shaking. Not crying. I couldn’t cry. Not anymore. I needed to figure this out. Now. Get rid of Kenzie once and for all, before I did something worse than attack my boyfriend with kisses.

I swiped at my tears, and took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Sawyer let me borrow his cell and I dialed the grief counselor. The one I’d been trying to get a hold of all last week—the one I’d tried making an appointment with
three
times. Yesterday I had decided I was going to just give up, since things seemed to be getting better—only, well, now I changed my mind about that. Big time. Things weren’t better. Things were awful.

This was an emergency. And there was an emergency number the doctor gave on his office recording. I dialed that number now, with shaky fingers.

But when the counselor’s wife answered the phone and I explained who I was—that I’d been trying to make an appointment all week—she
yelled
at me. Really loud. And bitter. About how I’d cancelled the three appointments she’d set up for me.

When she hung up, I threw Sawyer’s phone across the room. He gave me a look like,
Really?

“Sorry,” I moaned. I got up and paced, my heart beating a mile a minute.

Sawyer eyed his broken phone, then me. “Looks like you’ve turned into Kenzie more than we thought,” he reflected, watching me. He’d been listening. His cell was pretty much a speaker phone when you got close to it. Obviously he’d come to the same scary conclusion I did: Kenzie had cancelled those appointments.

Kenzie.

A chill went through me. I wasn’t sure anymore if I had multiple personalities or if I was completely crazy. Like Dad.

But no. Dad wasn’t crazy. He didn’t kill that lady.

So what had happened?

I needed to know. Because if he
was
crazy … then so was I.

***

Finally, I got a call from Looks, the store in the mall. Nora, the manager, wanted me to come down to the mall for an interview—today. Only I’d been getting ready to go with Mom to the flea market. We were going to have a “Girl’s Day Out,” since Craig was spending the day golfing with friends.

“Yeah, I can make it,” I told Nora.

I didn’t really mind canceling on Mom, but I did feel slightly guilty about it. It was the first thing we had planned to do together since I’d come to live with her. She was trying to make peace with me, and I was all for that. Still though, I needed a job.

Besides, I think really she only suggested the outing because I tried asking her questions about Dad—what she knew about Sophie Jones.

“I don’t know anything about any of that,” she had said, trying to act all fake-cheerful which was actually kind of scary.

That’s when she came up with the flea market plan. “I know,” she had said, all
won’t-this-be-better-than-conversing
-like, “why don’t we have a girl’s day out? Just the two of us. It’ll be fun.”

Baffled, I had agreed. ‘Cause, well, I just did. But when I told her about my job interview she seemed relieved. Or maybe I just imagined it. I’m not sure.

“Alright,” Mom said, either way. “We can do it another day.”

Mom dropped me off for my interview on her way to the flea market. But as I entered the mall, I was slugged with déjà vu. A few weeks ago I’d entered this mall plagued with morbid thoughts of Dad as well—different thoughts, but they were horrible and disturbing just the same.
That
day I had turned into Kenzie. Picked up on Sawyer.

Ugh! I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think about any of it, Dad or Kenzie or Sophie Jones. None of it. I studied the mall map, trying to find Looks and forget my drama. Cover it all up, all of it—just keep busy, busy, busy. Make it all go away. Or at least pretend to until after the interview, until I could go home. Then I could collapse into a sobbing mess, or do what I needed—figure out what was going on. But not right now. Right now, I just needed to avoid stress and not turn into Kenzie.

When I got to the store, I was a little early. I stood outside, not sure what to do. I tried to browse around Looks. It was small, but cool, with loud music, and funky clothes. I would definitely shop here if I were still interested in clothes. But these days I wasn’t. Still, I looked around the store anyway, focusing on normalcy. Life. Not blood or shadows or axes. But things that used to matter—things like jobs and relationships and … life.

There seemed to be only two girls working today, one a model thin blond that looked a little older, probably in her early twenties; the other, a girl about my age, with short, coal black hair, and an earring in her nose. When it was time for my interview, I waited until the checkout counter was clear of customers and then slowly wandered over to make myself known.