Deadly Little Games (12 page)

DOCTOR:
How are things with your dad?

PATIENT:
My life doesn’t revolve around him.

DOCTOR:
Then who
does
your life revolve around?

PATIENT:
(Patient doesn’t respond.)

DOCTOR:
Is that a scar on your arm?

PATIENT:
Yes.

DOCTOR:
Something you want to tell me about?

PATIENT:
Not really.

DOCTOR:
You aren’t trying to hurt yourself, are you?

PATIENT:
It’s an old scar. This is such a waste of time.

DOCTOR:
Have you thought anymore about hurting other people?

PATIENT:
(No response.)

DOCTOR:
I’m waiting.

PATIENT:
(Still no response.)

DOCTOR:
Do you want to talk about something else?

PATIENT:
I make you uncomfortable, don’t I?

DOCTOR:
What makes you say that?

PATIENT:
The way your mouth twitches when you ask me a difficult question. The way your jaw tightens when you don’t like something I say. You’re doing it now…with your mouth.

DOCTOR:
But I’m not asking anything right now.

PATIENT:
Inside your head you are. You’re asking yourself if you can really help someone like me, or if I’m already too far gone. You’re asking yourself if someday I might blame you for screwing me up even more, and if I’d ever come back to hurt you.

DOCTOR:
Those aren’t my questions.

PATIENT:
Do you want to know the answers?

DOCTOR:
(Doctor doesn’t respond.)

PATIENT:
Your jaw is tightening.

DOCTOR:
Maybe we should end things for today.

PATIENT:
Just when things were getting interesting.

C
OMPLETELY SHAKEN UP
inside, I tell Adam to take me home. On the ride there, he asks me over and over again if I’m okay, and apologizes for trying to get me involved. Part of me wants to tell him the truth about what my aunt and I have sensed. Another part wants to smack him upside the head for not being more concerned about himself than about me.

“You really need to take this seriously,” I say, glancing out the window as he turns onto Columbus Street. “Don’t be like me—like the way I was.”

He asks me to elaborate, but I really don’t feel like dredging up the details of what happened with Matt, remembering what it was like to be held captive in the back of a trailer and the haunting sensation of constantly being watched.

“I’m sure there’s some stupid explanation,” he says, finally turning onto my street.

“Like what?” I ask. “Someone wants you dead.”

“There’s no need to jump to conclusions.”

“Did you not see the same message I did? It said that you deserve to die.”

“I’m just trying to be rational here—to put things into perspective.” Adam pulls up in front of my house and puts the car in park.

“Then what about the crossword puzzles? You obviously thought they were significant enough to cancel your plans with Piper.” I shake my head, thinking how Kimmie had warned me about Adam’s sincerity. Does he seriously believe he might be in danger, or was this whole scene tonight just an excuse to see me?

“What do you want me to say?” he asks.

“That you won’t go home alone.”

“Looking for a little company?” He winks.

“You know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately, I do.” He sighs.

“Can you call Tray? Or, better yet, campus police? Have them check things out at your apartment.”

“I’ll call Tray.”

“Promise?”

He nods and gazes at my mouth. “It’ll give me an excuse to talk to him about stuff.”

“Then call me afterward, okay?”

Adam agrees, and I step out of his car, catching a glimpse of Ben’s motorcycle parked across the street.

I watch as Adam pulls away, and then look around for Ben, wondering if he’s already inside the house. But then I spot a shadow moving toward me from the end of the street.

“Ben?” I call.

A chill in the air cuts through my core, and I tighten the collar of my coat. Finally I recognize Ben’s posture and walk. Wearing dark clothing, he moves beneath one of the streetlamps, and I see his face.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Waiting for you,” he says, standing right in front of me now. His eyes are watery from the cold.

“You could’ve called.”

“I did call. Your mom said you were out, and so I tried your cell, but you’ve got it turned off.”

I pull my cell phone out of my pocket to check. “I don’t know how that happened,” I say, clicking it back on.

“Maybe you turned it off because you were upset with me.”

“Maybe,” I say, giving him a pointed look.

“For the record, I really did need to help my aunt, but—”

“Forget it,” I say, cutting him off. I press myself against his chest and snake my hands beneath his coat.

“But you come first,” he whispers, finishing his thought and drawing me close.

I take his hand and lead him inside the house, where my parents are waiting up for me.

“Ben,” Dad says, giving me a confused look. After all, it’s not every day that I go out with one boy and end up coming home with another. Ben greets my parents, but Dad’s eyes remain fixed on mine. “Is everything…”

“It’s good,” I say, finishing his thought, hoping to ease his fatherly concern.

Ben and I head down the hallway to my bedroom, and I shut the door behind us. I show him the crossword puzzles and then tell him about the past couple of hours with Adam.

“It was like what happened with Matt all over again.” I glance at my dresser mirror, reminded of the bright red lettering that had been scribbled across it. “I really thought that I could handle this. I thought I was prepared. I mean, it wasn’t like I didn’t have any warning.”

“Give yourself a break,” Ben says, sitting beside me on the bed. “It took a long time for me to get used to my psychometric powers, too.”

“I just don’t know if I can do this. What if I don’t want to know the future?”

“It’ll get easier.”

“When?” My voice quivers. “It took you two years to come out of seclusion.”

“That was different,” he says, referring to Julie’s death. “I won’t let anything like that happen to you.” He pries the crossword puzzles out of my hands and runs his fingers over the clues.

“Well?” I ask.

“Well, they were all clearly done by the same person.”

“Yes, but you can tell that just by looking at them.”

“I can feel it, too. I can feel the same impulse in all of them.”

“And what impulse is that?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t really tell. I’m sensing a lot of your energy.”

“Because they were in my pocket.”

He nods.

“So, the impulse could be anything. It could be anger; it could be someone just playing a game—”

“It could be a warning.” He holds up the WATCH YOUR BACK puzzle.

“I know,” I say, feeling a chill rush over my skin. “It’s exactly what you sensed when you touched me in the airport.”

“Which just proves how connected we are.” Ben sets the puzzles down and pulls me close. “Whatever all of this stuff means, I’m here for you. Remember that.”

“Even though it concerns Adam?”

“I’m here for
you
,” he repeats.

“So, don’t leave me tonight, okay?”

At the same moment, there’s a knock on my bedroom door. It’s like my parents suddenly have extrasensory powers, too. “Camelia?” my mother calls.

I get up to open the door.

“It’s time for Ben to get going, okay?” she says. “You both have school tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Ben says, standing up from the bed.

I look at the clock. It’s a little past ten.

Mom leaves us alone to say our good-byes. Keeping my eyes open, I kiss Ben full on the lips, hoping he gets the message.

Ben nods as if he
does
get it, and then I walk him to the door, tell my parents good night, and head off to bed.

I
N MY ROOM
, I change into a long T-shirt and flannel shorts and pull my hair out of its twist so that it falls past my shoulders.

A second later, my cell phone rings. I check the ID to see who it is. “Adam?” I answer.

“Yeah, hi, it’s me.”

“Did you call campus police?”

“I called Tray. I don’t have the strength to deal with campus police tonight. After last semester, they’re not exactly fans of mine.”

“Is Tray there with you now?”

“Yeah, and everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, tightening my grip on the phone. “Do you think he’d mind staying with you for a little while?”

“Camelia, I’m fine,” he insists. “Whoever did this obviously doesn’t have a key to my apartment.”

“Why is that obvious?”

“Maybe because the writing was done outside my door, and not splashed across my bedroom wall like in the movies.”

“Will you call me first thing tomorrow?”

“I must say, if I knew all this creepy stuff was going to elicit this much attention from you, I’d have gotten myself harassed weeks ago.”

“Adam, I’m serious.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

We hang up, and about five minutes later, Ben shows up at my window. I open it wide to let him in. He smells like the night—like burning leaves and the promise of snow.

“Sorry I took so long,” he says. “I moved my bike a couple blocks away.”

“Clever thinking.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks. “Because I feel sort of weird. I mean, your mom told me to leave.”

I glance toward my closed bedroom door, feeling a tad guilty. “I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Well, I’ll only stay until you fall asleep.” His dark gray eyes draw a zigzag line down the center of my face, landing on my lips.

We ease down onto my bed. The window is still open a crack, and the cool air prompts me to burrow beneath the covers.

And to take Ben along with me.

We pull a blanket over us and face one another on my pillow. Ben runs his fingers along my hip and then rests his hand against my outer thigh—gently, as if I might break.

I can see he’s sweating. His forehead is moist. His fingers tremble against my bare skin, but I silently beg him not to pull away. I place my hand over his, feeling his fingers dig into my leg—almost a little too hard—causing me to flinch.

He draws away, but I pull him back. And kiss him again.

I run my fingers under his sweatshirt, over his chest, feeling perspiration there, too.

“No,” he whispers, pulling away once more.

“You won’t hurt me,” I tell him. My entire body aches. I move to snuggle against him, but he sits up, grabs the bottled water from my night table, and takes a sip. I watch the motion in his neck, and feel myself swallow, too.

Ben sets the water back down and looks straight into my eyes. I reach out to touch the scar on his arm—the branchlike lines and the one broken limb—wishing I could climb up inside the strongest part of him.

And never let go.

“Maybe we should slow down a bit,” he says.

I run my hand down his hip and stop at his thigh, somehow sensing a mark on his skin. “I want to be close to you,” I insist, wishing he could hold me all night without pulling away.

Ben studies me, as if considering the idea for one magical moment. His lip quivers, and his eyes narrow.

But then he merely kisses my forehead. “I want to be close to you, too,” he says. “Probably more than you’ll ever know.”

He lies beside me on the bed, on top of the covers, while I remain beneath them. It’s at least a couple of hours before I’m able to fall asleep—before I can stifle this insatiable thirst inside me.

I don’t really know when Ben finally nods off, or if he ever does. When I wake up the following morning, he’s gone.