Silverlighters (17 page)

“We have no immunity to the diseases here.”

“But what does that have to do
wi
–”

“Just give me a minute–”

“What? To give me a watered down version of the truth?”

“Yes. No.” Jonathon ran a hand through his hair, and grabbed the back of his neck, looking flustered.

It was such an odd thing to see Jonathon flustered. He might not have been as strange as the others – but he
was
different. And he was normally so self-contained.

I felt like I was finally starting to unravel him. To see the real Jonathon.

“Then what?” I pressed.

“I was trying to give you an answer that makes sense. Otherwise it would be like trying to explain a television to a caveman.”

I snorted. “So now you’re calling me a caveman?”

Jonathon rolled his eyes.

Another first.

“Why don’t you just try giving it to me straight?” I said.

“I am. As much as I can.”

“Well it doesn’t explain Madison’s weird behavior, or Morgan’s.”

“The medication can – can affect emotions.”

“What – like a side effect or something?”

Jonathon shrugged, glancing away.

“You mean – what? It’s meant to?”

“Slow down. You’re not giving me a chance to think.”

“Then don’t. Just tell me.”

But suddenly I got it. Or at least I thought I did. “So you can watch people die without feeling anything,” I said, a flare of anger shooting through me. “So you could watch Chris die.”

Jonathon stared at the ground as another reality hit me.

“So this – me – us – whatever it is – it’s not real? Not for you.”

My mouth slammed shut, my teeth jarring together painfully.

I couldn’t believe I had actually said that.

I turned away, my face burning with mortification.

“Ellie?” Jonathon said softly. “Let me explain.”

“Forget it,” I said.

“You don’t understand,” Jonathon said.

“I understand enough.”

“No. You don’t,” Jonathon growled, grabbing my arm. “You really don’t.”

He let go of my arm, speaking quickly. “My medication – it wasn’t the same as theirs. Because – because Scoresby changed it. He – he wanted me to be able to feel. So he could control me.”

As he spoke I felt my body relax as I realized that not only was he telling me the truth, but he was telling me a lot more than he probably meant to.

My breath hitched as I turned, raising my eyes so that I could see his face. “By using your family?”

Jonathon nodded, clenching his teeth so tightly that the muscles of his jaw bulged.

I bowed my head, and Jonathon stepped closer, so that my forehead bumped against his chest.

“You believe me?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, leaning into him as my throat swelled with emotion at what they were doing to him. “And Morgan?”

“Sometimes the – the medication malfunctions–”

“Malfunctions? That’s an unusual way of putting it.” I looked up, studying his face closely. “So what – it drives them nuts? Is that what you’re saying.”

Jonathon curled my hair around his fingers. “So impatient. Let me finish. It’s because they sometimes malfunction that – that I could swap my medication with Morgan’s without the others getting suspicious.”

“Why would you care if they get suspicious?”

“You would have to have lived my past to understand that,” he said darkly. “And I was just getting in first – answering your next question.”

I choked back a laugh. Jonathon knew me better than I realized. This gave me hope, and made my heart contract. Which of course led to my next question.

“Well – won’t they just give him another shot? Like Morgan did with Madison – at least I assume that’s what that was about.”

Jonathon smirked. “Yep.”

“I don’t get it. You want them to?”

“It won’t matter if they do,” he said softly. “I swapped the entire cartridge – he still had six shots left.”

“You did?”

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he nodded. “Had to. It will take a few more hours for his emotions to level off. Until he starts acting more – more normal.”

I realized something then. Jonathon was enjoying this – defying the future – or whatever it was he was doing.

Which made me wonder if that was what Morgan meant when he called him Aberrant.

“What does Aberrant mean?”

Jonathon looked surprised. “It means different – diverging from normal ... you could have found that in any old dictionary,” he added, almost defensively.

I’d obviously hit a nerve.

“I know what it
means,”
I said. “And don’t give me some bland crap about not being able to tell me about the future. This isn’t about me. Or whatever the hell it is I’m supposed to do. It’s about you. And them. I want to know why Morgan called you that – like it – like it
meant
something.”

“It does,” Jonathon said. “Where I come from.”

He said it with such sadness that I actually felt it pressing in on me.

My heart stopped as I met his eye. I couldn’t look away.

I grabbed his hands without thinking, wanting to offer him some sort of comfort, to take away some of the sadness I had caused with my questions, even as I wondered what sort of world he had grown up in.

It felt like every time I got some sort of an answer, it only lead to more questions.

Jonathon gripped my hands tightly, and for the first time I saw uncertainty on his face as he leaned forward until his forehead was touching mine.

For a long time we just stood like that, looking into each other’s eyes.

I wanted to know what he was thinking. He still hadn’t said anything about how he felt about me after my embarrassing outburst.

I hoped he was showing me instead.

Jonathon breathed in deeply, his thick lashes slowly lowering until his eyes were closed, hiding what he was feeling.

I closed my eyes, savoring the moment, and being close to him.

I could feel his breath on my face. Warm and fresh.

The cool tip of his nose as it met mine.

We hovered like that for a long moment, our breath mingling, the expectation both sweet and painful.

Then another face flashed across my vision – a face with haunting silver eyes – and I gasped at the unexpectedness of it.

Jonathon pulled away, and for a moment I worried that he knew somehow.

I moved with him as my eyes fluttered open, waiting for a kiss that never came, until we were no longer touching.

I searched his face, could see the need in his eyes. I’m sure he saw the same in mine.

The need turned to hurt as I realized he wasn’t going to kiss me.

“I’m sorry,” he backed away.

“Way to make a girl feel good about herself,” I muttered under my breath.

Jonathon suddenly stilled, looking up. “Your dad is looking for you.”

Then he walked off, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

“Did I mention how infuriating you are?” I growled.

But it was more than that, I was also angry at myself.

I ruined the moment when the Silverlighter’s haunting eyes intruded.

20

I obsessed over it all weekend. I thought Jonathon felt the same way I did. His actions told me he did, but every time I thought we were getting closer, he pulled back.

It was easier to think about that than what the future was doing to him and the others.

Or why I saw the Silverlighter’s face when Jonathon came so close to kissing me.

A delicious shiver ran through me as I thought about the Silverlighter, making me smile. There really was something angelic about him. Otherworldly almost.

He was the embodiment of all that was perfect. His long, lithe figure. The graceful, feline way he moved. The raw power I sensed in him, and the almost casual aura of strength that exuded from his every pore. It was as though he knew nothing could touch him.

There was something warm and familiar and comforting about him, like the lingering remnants of a wonderful dream almost remembered. The sort that fades away before you can catch hold of it.

But I had also sensed a deep sadness and it made me want to learn more about him.

I wondered what he meant when he said he used to be human. That he didn’t know what he was anymore.

But mostly, I wondered when he would return. The expectation was killing me.

“Is it someone else – back – back home?” I gulped on Monday. I needed to know the truth, even if it meant humiliating myself.

“No – it’s not that,” Jonathon said, failing to take the hint. To give me the reassurance I so desperately needed.

I wanted to ask him
what
is was – but the whole boy-girl thing was still new to me, and I still had some pride left.

It didn’t help that Morgan looked so chipper when he saw Beck at break, jumping up to pull her chair out for her.

“Seriously?” Melissa snorted. “I mean – you do know what year it is, don’t you?”

Morgan didn’t seem to hear her. He only had eyes for Beck.

Dark, stormy eyes that followed her every movement, making her blush every time she looked his way.

By Tuesday it was obvious Beck was positively enjoying the attention as Morgan sat next to her, gazing at her with his big brown puppy dog eyes.

I watched enviously, it was sort of amazing to see.

They seemed to have forgotten the rest of the world existed. Talking in low tones, they edged closer and closer to each other until their chairs were touching.

Morgan’s need to touch her was so blatantly obvious it was comical. The way he
bumped
her arm. The way his powerful thigh edged slowly toward hers, and his fingers grazed her hand as he reached for a fry he didn’t eat.

I worried Beck was falling too hard, too quick.

Everyone knew she had a thing for Morgan. But what I didn’t know was how to warn her. She was falling for someone she couldn’t have. Someone who didn’t belong. He was going to break her heart.

I glanced at Jonathon. He looked as worried as me, and I wondered if that was why he kept pulling away; because he knew he would be leaving. We hadn’t so much as held hands since our almost-kiss, and things had been awkward between us ever since.

I tried to be annoyed with Morgan, when really it was Jonathon I was annoyed with. But seeing Morgan in action, the way he felt about her, it was hard to feel anything but warm and fuzzy towards him, hard not to feel a little green by his obvious devotion.

“It’s enough to make you sick,” Melissa said as she slumped into the chair next to mine.

But I could tell she was just as envious as me. Beck had found what we all wanted. What Melissa was still searching for after Chris’s death. A reason to exist. Something that made her feel alive.

It wasn’t until Thursday that I tried to warn Beck in my own way. “You and Morgan seem to be getting on well,” I said.

She nodded, her eyes gleaming. “Do you believe in love at first sight. It’s sort of like that. He just started
seeing
me.”

“You don’t think there’s anything – a little odd about that?” I asked carefully.

“What do you mean?” She gave me a strange look, and I backed off.

She was a little colder towards me for the rest of the day. Not in a bad way, just sort of aloof. Like she was worried I was trying to spoil her happiness. Or maybe she also worried that it was too good to be true.

On Friday Beck and Morgan graduated to kissing.

I caught them at the lockers. They were going at it like they’d just discovered how to breathe.

Andrew and Lanita were standing at the end of the corridor, watching them, and whispering quietly to each other. Their lips barely moved.

Madison stood behind them. She was grinning like a lunatic. I would never understand that girl.

I cleared my throat, and Beck and Morgan pulled away from each other. When Morgan saw Madison and the others, his face hardened. He slammed a fist into the locker, a brief flash of anger crossing his features.

Then he kissed Beck lightly on the forehead, and murmured something in her ear that made her smile, before leaving.

Andrew and Lanita fell into step behind him, but Madison stayed where she was a moment longer, still grinning, before following them out the door.

Beck looked warily at me. “I don’t get what the big deal is,” she said. “It was just a kiss.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I kept my mouth shut. I couldn’t tell her the truth.

“Okay,” Beck gushed, her face getting all dreamy as she grabbed my hands, “it wasn’t
just
a kiss. It was the best kiss in the history of kisses.”

“I just want you to be happy,” I said carefully.

“I am happy. I’m so happy you wouldn’t believe it. I am bursting with happy.”

Until they leave.

My heart sank.

I was in as deep as Beck and I didn’t know what to do about it.

It felt like the closer Beck and Morgan got, the further the gulf between me and Jonathon grew.

By Monday, the only time Beck and Morgan left each other’s side was to go to class. They held hands all the time, and stared at each other, not looking where they were going.

Instead, the rest of the world had to move around them.

Beck’s cheeks were glowing with happiness, and she seemed to have forgotten I existed.

Which was fine by me, because it meant I got more time with Jonathon on my own.

I was a complete hypocrite, only I didn’t see it at the time.

I was judging Beck, who had no idea what was going on, yet I had fallen for Jonathon.

Leaning against my locker, I sighed, clutching my books to my chest as I watched Jonathon open his locker at the other end of the corridor.

“It’s not you, you know,” a voice said.

I got the shock of my life when I turned.

It was Madison.

“What would you know,” I glowered at her, and stormed away.

I immediately regretted it, because maybe she did know. But when I turned back she was gone.

The phone was ringing when dad and I got home that afternoon.

It was Beck, her voice low and urgent.

“Beck? What’s wrong?” I was instantly alert.

“They found him,” she said breathlessly.

“Who?” I said.

“Mr. Allen. The man who was driving the car that – that killed Chris.”

“They did?”

“Yeah. I was in the cruiser when the call came in,” she said quickly. “They found him in the trunk of his car. With a bullet in his head.”

“What? But – that doesn’t make sense. Unless – unless it was revenge. For Chris.”

“No,” Beck breathed, and I could hear the tears in her voice. “They – they said he was already dead. They found the car ages ago. But it was in another state. They didn’t connect it until today.”

“You mean – he wasn’t driving the car?”

“No. Someone else was.”

“Who?”

“They found some prints in the car, but they have no idea who it is,” Beck’s voice shuddered. “He’s got a really long rap sheet, Ellie. He’s wanted for all sorts of things. But none of it makes sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to go,” Beck hissed. “Dad’s coming. I wasn’t meant to tell anyone.”

“Beck? Beck?”

My only answer was the dial tone.

The next morning Beck was a mess. Her eyes were dull, and her brown hair hung limply against her face. Dark circles rimmed her eyes.

I was sitting at one of the outdoor tables with Jonathon and Morgan when she arrived.

Morgan stood as soon as he saw her, his brow furrowing with worry.

“Beck – what’s going on?” I demanded as she sat down, her pale hand clutching Morgan’s dark one so tight hers turned white.

She pulled out a piece of paper, her face bewildered. “One of my father’s men dropped some papers off when he was in the shower ... I – there was a list. I copied it down. Look – look at the dates. I mean – how can it be possible? How can the same person have killed all those people?”

Jonathon raised a brow at me as Beck leaned into Morgan, her face too pale.

Morgan’s jaw tensed, his stormy eyes both curious and wary as she passed it to me.

I scanned through the dates Beck had circled in red pen first, wondering why she was so
creeped
out.

Beck was right – it didn’t make sense – at least, not in her world. They stretched back over more than a hundred years.

Murders, robberies, kidnappings. Arson.

According to the list the first person was killed in 1873.

Chris’s name was at the top of the list, followed by Mr. Allen’s.

My heart skipped a beat; directly underneath was my old name, followed by my father’s.

Then, about halfway down, my eyes froze on one particular name.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

My skin went cold.

It couldn’t be possible.

My heart shuddered, seemed to stop. Then it started again, beating too fast.

“Ellie?” Jonathon was already alert.

“No.” I shook my head in denial. It was just too much.

For a moment I couldn’t feel anything. It was frightening how dead I felt inside.

I raised my eyes as Jonathon reached for me, but it wasn’t his face I saw. It was the man I called Scar.

“He killed my mother,” I whispered.

“But – there’s no Fitzpatrick on there,” Beck said, confused. “I would have noticed.”

Of course there wasn’t. Fitzpatrick wasn’t my real name.

The full horror of it hit me.

I’d as good as signed Chris’s death certificate the moment I arrived in Berrywood.

Chris was never meant to die.

It wasn’t some random accident.

The future killed him.

“Ellie?” Beck sounded scared.

The piece of paper shook in my hands.

My heart slammed fiercely against my chest. Too hard. Too fast.

My thoughts pounded at my head.

Dead.

Chris was dead.

Because of me.

He wasn’t meant to die.

“Ellie?”

He was dead by the same hand that had killed my mother.

“Ellie?”

It was meant to be me all along.

I stood up, trying to make sense of it.

Jonathon was right. It was always me. Someone was trying to change what I do. Change the future.

“I – I have to warn my father.” I backed away, the piece of paper clutched tightly in my hand. I was still shaking my head, as though I could wish it away.