Читать книгу Perfect Lies - Кирстен Уайт - Страница 12

THE BLOOD IS POUNDING IN MY HEAD; I CAN FEEL IT building pressure behind my eyes. Still nothing. My arms and stomach muscles are trembling; I can’t hold this handstand much longer, even with the help of the wall bracing me.

“What are you doing?”

I startle and fall down, my legs smacking against the wood floor of my bedroom. “Ouch.”

“Are you okay?” Cole asks.

“This is my room,” I snap from my undignified position on the floor.

“Door was open. Dinner’s ready.”

“Not eating.”

“That’d explain the crankiness.”

I flip him off, then stand. I don’t have to put up with crap from someone who obviously hates me and wants me out of the house. Rafael and Adam and Sarah all like having me here. I’m determined to show that I have some value.

Unfortunately, this experiment proved fasting plus making all the blood rush to my head does not a vision trigger. Sucks. Guess I won’t sleep tonight and add extreme fatigue.

“What are you trying to accomplish?” Cole asks.

“Are you still in here?” I grab a throw blanket off the edge of my bed and wrap it around my shoulders. Adam’s way more thoughtful.

“Yes.”

I sigh and flop down on the bed, light-headed. “Sometimes I can make myself see something if I push my body far enough.”

“Doesn’t sound healthy.”

“I need to see …” Fia. I need to see Fia. But I also don’t want to. I don’t want to see her trailing after James like a well-trained pet. It makes me sick, makes me angrier than I’ve ever been, that she chose him.

She chose him. Call me, Fia. CALL ME. Tell me why.

I kick a pillow off my bed. “I’m sick of being useless.”

“You aren’t useless.”

I laugh harshly. “Is that why you’re so eager to ship me off?”

He doesn’t respond. I think he’s gone, so when he talks it startles me. “Fia wanted you safe.”

“Yeah, well, Fia’s not here, is she?” I stomp past him and out of the house. I’ve gone on enough walks to familiarize myself with the path down to the beach. It’s late in the evening, the Georgia air still sticky, so there aren’t many people out. I walk in relative silence, guided by the steady pulse of the ocean.

When I feel the ground shift into sand beneath my shoes, I take a few steps to the side and sit, facing the eternal ocean breeze. It doesn’t smell like I thought it would. I spent too many years with those horrible “sea air” candles confusing my brain about what, exactly, a huge body of salt water would smell like. It’s not sweet at all; it’s heavy and cold with the slightest hint of decay.

But breathing it in, filling my lungs with it, makes me feel very, very alive.

Eden was from California. She always talked about taking me there and teaching me to surf. It wasn’t until a year ago I found out she’d never surfed in her life; she’d lived in one of the interior desert cities and had never even seen the ocean.

If Fia wasn’t going to stay with me, why couldn’t she have gotten Eden out so I wouldn’t have to be alone? Eden deserves the ocean.

Then again, Eden never hated the school like Fia always did and like I learned to. She’d laugh and say everything’s relative. I can’t imagine what her “relative” comparison was that the school was preferable, but I don’t doubt it was horrible.

Someone sits next to me and I startle. “Sarah?”

“Cole.”

I roll my eyes. I don’t know why he’s out here, but I’m not going to try and initiate conversation. I dig my hands into the sand, flashing back to that day on the beach in Chicago. That day I thought I knew exactly how everything would feel and turn out. That day they made my sister kill two people. I didn’t see that. I never see enough.

I find a rock beneath the sand. Sarah told me they cart in the sand for the tourists, and that if you go a mile down the beach it’s nothing but rocks. I rub my thumb along the contours of the stone, wonder how long it had to be turned around on the bottom of the ocean, battered and broken, until it came out this smooth.

“Why are you here?” I ask after a few minutes, unable to stand him sitting this close, saying nothing.

“I like the ocean.”

I throw a handful of sand at him. “Here here, idiot. With Lerner. With Sarah. With Rafael. You don’t seem to agree with anything they do, so why are you helping?”

My question is met with silence. I’m about ready to stand and go back to the house when he finally speaks. “My mom was psychic. She didn’t talk about it much. I probably wouldn’t have listened. I left home at fifteen. My father was … I shouldn’t have left her there, but I was mad. Mad at him, but even angrier at her for staying. By the time I went back three years later, he was gone and she was sick.” He pauses, the break punctuated by sharp laughing gulls. He clears his throat. “She forgave me. Told me to find a girl she’d been seeing in visions for months. One of Keane’s.”

“Sarah?” I’ve wondered about her. She knows so much that it wouldn’t surprise me if she had worked for Keane at some point.

“No. Her name was Leanne. She was a Feeler.”

For some reason it’s a relief to me that Sarah never was Keane’s. It makes her feel … cleaner. “Did you find her?”

“Too late. I don’t know what they made her do, but she killed herself before I could get her out.”

I let my head hang, feeling the weight of the memory on my shoulders. I reach out and find his arm, rest my hand there. “Fia tried … she tried to kill herself, too. It’s not your fault. It’s Keane’s fault.”

He clears his throat. “Sarah found me at my mom’s funeral. I’ve been helping where I can ever since. I don’t agree with all her decisions, especially not bringing in other people like Rafael, but someone has to do something.” He sounds sad and lost, a quality in his voice I’ve never heard there before.

I squeeze his arm, then let my hand drop.

“Why did your sister go back?” he asks.

I curl up, resting my chin on my knees. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe she wanted to stay with James.” I glower, thinking about him. I hate him. “But who knows? Maybe she has some grand master plan.” I snort, then move so my eyes are against my kneecaps, pushing into them. “Then again, planning was never her strong suit. She probably just felt like it.”

“She loves you.” He states it like fact.

“How do you know?” My eyes burn with tears, and I push them harder into my knees.

“When we took her, you were the only thing she cared about. She was desperate to get back to make sure you stayed safe.”

I gasp a messy snort of a laugh. “I really thought she was going to kill me.”

“And you still showed up.”

“I owed Fia her freedom. And she needed me.”

“As a general rule, when you think someone’s going to kill you, you run the opposite direction.”

“Yes, sir.” I stand, brushing the sand off my pants. He joins me in the walk back to the house and I turn things around in my head, everything mixing together and jumbling up. Cole’s tragic history. Fia’s choice to leave me. Her relationship with James.

The world bursts into bright colors, and I see a girl, a teenager, but tiny. She’s got white hair and black eyes. She’s sitting across from a woman I actually recognize—Doris, from the school—but she looks bored, slouched with one leg draped lazily over the side of her chair.