Pretty Dark Nothing (12 page)

“And ruin the mystery?”

“I think it’s a mystery worth solving.”

“I like to use my imagination.”

“All right, all right, no peeky at the cheer-goddesses in their lacy undies.” Marcus sighed. “Bummer.” Marcus cupped his hands and yelled down at the court. “Yo! Reese! Nice legs!” He winked at Teresa, who pretended not to see him. “Ah, the thrill of the hunt.” Marcus folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in satisfaction. “She’s got it bad for me, you know.”

“I can tell.” Aaron’s spine prickled as his barrier cracked. Dammit, Quinn. All he wanted was to stay away from her, but how could he when one little thought of her pale, pathetic face ignited a connection between them? Mentally, he batted her away, but none of his usual blocking methods worked. Learning to control his ability through physical touch was one thing, but learning to control something so random and unwarranted was something completely different.

He tried to ignore the tapping in the back of his brain, his power trying to get his attention, but every second brought him closer to losing himself until he couldn’t fight it any longer.

Closing his eyes, he searched for her. Fog swirled around her thoughts, making them hard to read, but her emotions came through loud and clear. She trembled with fear, screaming inside for someone to help. Desperation bubbled up like hot, wet tears, pulling at his heartstrings, begging him to rescue her.

He refused to give in. He gritted his teeth and worked to close the crack in his barrier. Trouble followed her like a black cloud. Why should he run after her again? That’s all he ever did anymore, run to her every time she called, every time she hinted at distress. He wanted to be her boyfriend, not her puppy. She could get out of her own mess this time. The taste of metal filled his mouth, and fear knifed through his barrier. He pushed harder. The pain eased. She was gone.

“Okay, Westland. Let’s give a big cheer for your fighting mustangs.” Principal Halstor pulled her powder-blue polyester pants up around her waist and tapped the top of the microphone.

The students ignored her.

“Is this thing on?”

The microphone screeched. A skinny kid with glasses moved a speaker out of the way until the feedback stopped.

“As I was saying, let’s give a big cheer to the state champion, Westland High Mustangs.” Principal Halstor pushed her glasses up with her middle finger, put the microphone under her arm, and clapped.

Principal Halstor lived in a time warp. Westland hadn’t won a game in two years.

“When did we become state champions?” Marcus asked.

Aaron shrugged. “Twenty years ago?”

Kerstin and Teresa held a six-foot sign between two poles. “Kick the Wildcats,” was written in bright-red letters.

The crowd erupted in rollicking cheers as Jeff led his losing team through the sign, shredding it into a million pieces. What did Quinn see in him? He looked like a dumb jock, even dumber for dumping Quinn for Kerstin.

Quinn. Maybe he shouldn’t have ignored her. Maybe she’d fallen and broken her leg. She could be lying in agony in the locker room. Aaron drummed his fingers against his thigh and shifted in his seat. Sweat gathered on the back of his neck. She was probably applying makeup or whatever cheerleaders do. She’s fine. Not that he cared.

The blond started to chant again. “Jeff. Jeff. Jeff.” Others joined in, and Jeff stood, grinning and waving like a king.

“A two-year losing streak, and he’s still the most popular boy in school. They all treat him like a god,” Aaron said, rolling his eyes.

“A god? Maybe I should scrap the swim team and try out for football,” Marcus said.

The noise in the gym dimmed as Aaron’s head surged with the familiar tingle of psychic energy, stronger than the last. Waves of fear and desperation rushed him; his barrier crumbled like paper, and he had no choice but to fall into the vision.

Eyes wide, Quinn backed away from her reflection. In the glass, a shadow moved behind her. A person? Who? He wasn’t sure—the vision was obscured by steam from a too-hot shower. Aaron jumped as Quinn screamed.

Then she was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

What had been one creature—one voice—became dozens as more of the leathery beasts appeared, taking shape from the wisps of fog that swirled around Quinn. She wanted out of the locker room—to find her friends, Coach White, anyone—but the tiny fog beasts blinked in and out of her vision like strobe lights, disorienting her, and making it impossible to find the door.

She covered her nose to block out the choking sulfurous smell that filled the air and groped for the row of lockers to her right. Demons weren’t real—they only existed in bad horror movies; they didn’t haunt girls’ locker rooms or jump through broken mirrors. If she was going to hallucinate, why couldn’t she see unicorns instead of evil, scary demons?

A rope of fog wrapped around her forearm, solidifying into a long, leathery tail, complete with scaly head and pointy claws. She screamed and grabbed for the beast, but the thing disappeared into a patch of fog and dissipated into the air. A dream, a delusion, nothing more. Sleep deprivation was known to cause hallucinations; she’d looked it up online. But how could it be lack of sleep when she’d slept a full eight hours the previous night? Or maybe all the caffeine pills and energy drinks had altered her mind, sent her on some sort of bad trip.

Blink. One monster landed on her head and laughed maliciously. Blink. One hovered over her back, the beating of its wings blowing strands of hair around her face. Quinn batted it away. Blink. One appeared on each shoulder.

“You’re
crazy
,” the left one said.

“Pathetic,” the right one added.

Another hovered in front of her face. Quinn stood perfectly still, back against the lockers, and gazed into its orange eyes. Her chest burned, and sweat dripped from her nose. It opened its mouth in a maniacal grin, revealing three rows of teeth. Its breath smelled like rotten eggs.

Quinn heaved and covered her mouth to keep from vomiting. “What do you want?”

“Your soul,” the voice boomed as the demon swiped at her cheek. She covered her face to protect her eyes, and a long talon scraped across her hand. Quinn whimpered as blood oozed from the cut. Faster and faster the beasts flew around her, disorienting her. A cacophony of shrieking ensued as they fought to be heard over one another, spewing words of hatred, each more terrible than the last.

Others filled the empty space, forging a spasmodic coffin around her. Brown ones, black ones, green ones, beating their leathery wings, screeching, jeering, and cheering the whisperers on.

Desperate, she dropped to her knees and closed her eyes. She felt along the floor, the cold, hard concrete bruising her knees as she crawled forward in search of the door. Enraged by her flight, the beasts screamed together in a macabre choir. She tried to block the sound of their shrieks by humming a tune of her own, but the louder she hummed, the louder they screamed. “Get this party started,” she sang, her light melodic voice clashing with the metal on metal sound of the beasts.

The demons pulled her hair and scratched her bare skin. She jerked and flinched with each strike. They were like a swarm of bees, everywhere at once. All she could do was bat at them, tuck her chin to her chest, and keep moving. Picturing the layout of the locker room in her mind, she crawled to the right until she felt the wall.

“All right,” she sang as she scooted on her knees, following the wall around until she felt the corner of the lockers.

“Gotta get this party started. Oh, yeah.”

The monsters continued their hideous chorus, and she smelled their fetid breath each time one came near.

“Gonna party all night.”

She opened her eyes.

“Gonna party just right.”

She blinked as the fog pulsated around her. There, to her right, was the purple door. Tears of happiness momentarily replaced her tears of fear. She got to her feet and ran.

Quinn tore through the wall of fog. Eyes closed, she grabbed for the handle and pulled hard. A force greater than her own held it shut. She yanked until she thought her arms would rip apart. Then she tried pushing, ramming her shoulder against the metal in desperation. Buzzing around her head, the demons laughed as she kicked and screamed at the unmovable door. Another solid click, and it finally gave way, momentum crashing it against the outside wall and bouncing it back, clipping her shoulder as she bolted through it. The dissonant choir stopped.

A wave of cool air enveloped her. She pulled in a deep breath to clear her lungs of the rancid, sulfurous air. Her heart pounded in her ears. She didn’t want to open her eyes, afraid of what she might—or might not—see, afraid the demons might be playing with her, so she kept them closed. They were silent, but that didn’t mean they were gone.

Hands splayed in front of her, she moved until the concrete blocks brushed against her fingers. Exhausted, she leaned her back against it, and sank to the floor. She listened for any movement, voices, anything, but all she heard was the frantic beating of her own heart. Nothing touched her, the hall smelled of dust and sweat, completely normal. Quinn sobbed hysterically, wiping at the river that poured down her cheeks. The salt stung the scratches on her hand where the beasts had clawed her. She examined her palm—a piece of glass had lodged in her skin. Scratches from the shards of broken mirror she’d been crawling over. Nothing more. Either she was crazy and they weren’t real, or she wasn’t and they were. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

***

Aaron sprinted to the double doors that led to the locker rooms and shoved them open with an eerie, hollow squeak. Sunlight from the lobby cut through the gray gloom of the hallway, illuminating Quinn in a halo of gold. She sat against the wall, head resting on the arms around her knees, muffling her quiet, erratic sobs.

The heavy, metal door slammed shut, shrouding the hallway in dusk. He winced as its echo reverberated off the concrete walls, traveling down the corridor and into oblivion. Quinn flinched, but didn’t look up. She looked as if she’d been in a fight. Red, angry scratches adorned her skin, her disheveled hair escaped the clips that held it from her face, and her legs were streaked with dirt. Had Jeff done this to her? Kerstin? Aaron swallowed his anger. She’d probably clam up if he interrogated now. If she wanted to talk about it, she would; he shouldn’t force it.

He tried not to make noise as he slid down the wall. The fluorescent lights cast their otherworldly, green tint on her silky hair. A few inches separated them. He breathed in the intoxicating strawberry scent that surrounded her and listened to her sob, waiting for her to break the silence.

She grabbed his hand and squeezed so tight he thought his bones would break. “Aaron?” she asked, her voice laced with uncertainty.

“Yeah. It’s me. No one else.” She flinched as he moved a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “What happened?”

Quinn snatched her hand away and tucked it under her arm before he could get a psychic reading on her real emotions.

“Have you ever felt like you were going crazy?” Quinn stared out into nothingness, her tear-stained face transfixed on whatever puzzle troubled her mind.

Aaron stared at his hands. He thought of the first time he’d touched Josh after the accident, the secret blame buried in Josh’s mind—that it had been Aaron’s fault. Then came the onslaught of emotions and thoughts from every nurse, ever doctor, every person he came in contact with. Images he didn’t want to see, knowledge he shouldn’t have as he violated their privacy. It had taken suicide to wake him up, to help him see it didn’t have to be a curse. He could learn control, and it could help him remember who he had been. Now he could sneak in and out of the minds of others without them even knowing. “Yeah.” He finally answered. She nodded but didn’t add an explanation.

Aaron bit his tongue to keep the millions of questions dancing in his mind from spilling across his lips. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

She nodded then quickly changed it into a shake.

“Did someone hurt you?” Aaron said patiently.

A nod, and then another shake.

“Which is it, Quinn?” Aaron couldn’t stop himself. “Where did the scratches and bruises come from? Did Jeff do this to you? Kerstin? Tell me, and I’ll make sure they don’t hurt you again.” Anger welled inside him—red, hot, unflinching—and he balled his hands into fists.

Quinn shook her head. “Jeff would never hurt me.”

“Really?” Aaron winced at his own sarcastic tone. After everything she still defended Jeff. Where was Jeff when she needed him? Kissing Kerstin, that’s where. He took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. “Sorry. It’s just, look at you.”

Quinn sighed and stared at her feet. “It wasn’t anything sinister. I promise.” She twisted the fabric of her cheerleading skirt in one hand. “I slipped on a puddle of water and fell against the sink. The force must have knocked the mirror from the wall. It shattered and some of the shards scratched me. Freaked me out a little, that’s all.”

“You seem more than a little freaked out.” Aaron wanted to touch her, to search her mind for the truth, but he wanted her to tell him because she trusted him, not by using his ability.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Quinn asked. “Why are you always there when I need someone?” Aaron didn’t know what to say. Telling her the truth, that they had some sort of psychic connection sounded crazy, even to him.

Aaron memorized Quinn’s profile, her small nose and full, pink, kissable lips. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he was a freak, to be frightened of him the way Josh and his dad were.

“Coincidence, I guess,” he lied. “I was looking for the bathroom.”

“The closest bathroom is at the top of the bleachers. How do you always know when I’m in trouble?” she said, turning to look him right in the eyes.

Aaron was caught off guard. His tongue felt like stone as he tried to answer, but he couldn’t find the words. He was lost in those soulful eyes.

He fell, sinking fast though the dark, violet-blue as the connection grabbed hold of him, and he sensed her desire and need for him. Frightened and exhilarated, afraid of losing himself again, he tried to pull back, afraid the connection might work both ways. What if she could see into the darkness of his soul? What if she guessed his secret? He wasn’t ready for that.