The Gathering Dark (18 page)

In the bushes, something rustled.

The noise passed through Keira like an electric current. It rattled her teeth and the fork in her hand clattered to the floor. She spun around to find Walker staring at her. His expression spun—suspicious, then horrified, then amazed, then relieved, and then back to suspicious. Keira was dizzy with it.

“What—what were you looking at?” she choked out.

“I thought I saw a cockroach on the wall,” he said evenly.
“Will you excuse me for a second? I need to use the restroom.”

Without waiting for her to respond, Walker slipped out of his seat and strode toward the back of the restaurant, almost angry.

The door closed behind him, and Keira had the oddest sensation that he was gone—not just in another room, but
gone
.

She sat and stared at her inedible dinner, trying to ignore the invisible hedge looming behind her. When Walker appeared beside her, she jumped.

“I didn’t meant to startle you,” he said. His smile was hot and lazy as a summer afternoon, but there was a tiny, worried crease between his eyebrows. “This place isn’t nearly good enough for you. Maybe we should get out of here?”

Keira watched his face. His forehead relaxed. Maybe she’d been reading too much into his expression. Maybe he was only suspicious because
she
was acting so weird. She had to figure out what was making her mind play these tricks on her.

“Sure,” she said. Her voice was measured. “I couldn’t eat another bite. At least, not of this.” She gestured to her plate.

Walker tossed some money on the table. “I shouldn’t have eaten the
first
bite of mine. We could go back to my place. I have some ice cream in the freezer, if you’re still hungry.”

Curiosity swallowed Keira in a single gulp. She wanted to see his place, his things. She wanted to know what would happen if they were finally, really alone. She wanted
him.

Her common sense took over. She couldn’t go to his
apartment. There was no way that was a remotely good idea. Tempting, yes. Good . . . not so much. Keira checked the time and blew out a disappointed breath. “I can’t. I have to be home by nine.”

Walker’s eyes widened. “Nine? What kind of curfew is that?”

“Big Bad Wolf curfew, I think.”

Walker laughed. “Fine. But if this keeps up, I might have to start calling you ‘Red,’ ” he warned.

Keira shot him her most murderous stare. Ever since she was a kid, people had been trying that cutesy, redhead crap. “Carrot Top” and “Red” and even, for a short but horrible period in the fifth grade, “Clifford,” after the dog in the kids’ books.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, slipping on her coat.

Walker pushed the restaurant door open. “I might,” he teased. “Don’t Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf eventually end up in bed together?”

The thought turned her blood molten, in spite of the cold damp air that twined around her.

“Yeah, right before he
eats
her,” she shot back.

The look on Walker’s face twisted her words until she was sure she would spontaneously combust right there in the parking lot.

Smug as a cat with a mouse under its paw, Walker opened her car door.

“Come on,” he said, dropping the innuendo. “You can make fun of my music all the way home.”

In spite of herself, Keira laughed and swung into the car. “Deal.”

It wasn’t until he was halfway around to the driver’s side that Keira realized she’d let him open her door for her. She hadn’t even noticed he was doing it.

Walker’s triumphant expression said that even if she hadn’t noticed what he’d done, he absolutely had.

Back at Keira’s house, Walker turned off the engine.

“What are you doing?” Keira asked. She hadn’t meant to sound horrified.

Oops.

Without missing a beat, Walker opened his door. “Trying to correct your mother’s impression of me,” he said. “Moms like guys who come in for a minute and say hi. Trust me.”

Keira hesitated. If both of her parents were home, if they’d decided to “sort through some things” while she was gone . . .

“What?” Walker asked.

“I—it could be World War Three in there.”

Walker nodded solemnly. “All the more reason for me to come in. I don’t want to send you into the trenches alone.”

Keira tried to smile, but it twisted and broke, dying on her lips.

Walker reached across the car and squeezed her hand. “Seriously. It’s okay. If they’re fighting, I’ll leave. And I’ll still call you tomorrow. It doesn’t bother me, Keira.”

The dashboard wavered in front of her as tears crept into her eyes. “It bothers
me
,” she whispered.

“I know.” His voice was warm and calm. It soaked into her, making everything okay.

Keira got out of the car. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Together, they headed up the front walk and Keira opened the door.

The silence that poured out was more beautiful than music.

Walker, a half step behind her, put a hand on Keira’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Hello?” Keira called. “We’re home.”

“In the kitchen,” her mother called back. “And who’s ‘we’?”

Walker’s laugh was too quiet for anyone except Keira to hear, but she smacked his arm anyway. It only made him laugh harder. The two of them wove their way through the dark hall.

“Oh, hi, Walker. It’s been a while.” Her mother wore her best PTA smile—the one she reserved for people she couldn’t stand but needed to be nice to anyway.

“I know. Thanks for letting me take Keira to dinner tonight.”

Keira’s mother tugged the dishcloth through her hands.

If that thing had a neck, she would be wringing it.

“Why don’t you two go in the living room? I’ve got some decaf brewing—I’ll bring it in when it’s ready. Walker? Do you take cream or sugar?”

“Both. And lots of them, please.” Walker smiled sheepishly. Keira thought it looked very sweet. Her mother looked like she thought the sheepishness was nothing more than a wolf in disguise.

Keira and Walker left her mother fiddling with cups and spoons. They sat an awkward but polite cushion-width apart on the sofa.

“Will you play?” Walker asked, gesturing to the piano.

Keira hesitated. She wasn’t ready to play the pieces she’d written herself—not for anyone else—but the rest of her playing had sounded so wooden lately.

“Coffee’s ready!” Her mother’s voice was painfully perky. Her polite veneer was so thin that Keira could see her seething underneath it. Her mom stepped into the living room. In that instant, the same tree that Keira had hallucinated before swung into existence, swaying wildly in a wind that Keira couldn’t feel. The branches above Keira’s head dropped fruit like enormous hailstones and she automatically ducked as one sailed past her head.

“What’s wrong?” her mother asked, frowning. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Keira struggled to pull herself together, but the two visions coming so close together had left her nerves splintered. “No ghosts. Imaginary trees, sure,” she wisecracked pathetically, “but no ghosts.”

Walker stared at her. His voice was light, but his face was dark as a coal mine. “Imaginary trees aren’t that bad. As long as you can duck the falling fruit, you’ll be fine.”

The words rumbled toward Keira. They slammed against her eardrums, their meaning painting itself across Keira’s mind.
Instead of popping out of existence, the landscape around the tree shimmered and grew, spreading across the living room floor.

Keira clutched the pillow next to her as her sense of balance evaporated. She couldn’t tell which things were real and which weren’t. The couch was firmly beneath her, but her mother wavered insubstantially in the doorway. Keira could feel the wind that howled around the tree. It slapped her cheeks.

There was only one thing in the whole room that looked normal, that looked right.

Walker.

His eyes caught hers for a moment before glancing up at the canopy of tree branches over her head. She saw his hand curl into a fist at his side.

He knew. The thought stole her breath. It also made air completely unnecessary. He saw what she saw. She wasn’t crazy. The visions weren’t hallucinations or messages from her subconscious.

They were real.

They were

fucking

real.

Chapter Twenty-Four

T
HE TWO VERSIONS OF
the living room in front of Keira vibrated like off-key tuning forks. It felt like her skull would crack from the pressure behind her eyes. Only Walker stayed steady. She focused on him as a whimper slipped between her lips.

Walker shook his head.

“Look at your mom,” he instructed her. His words were low and urgent, out of place amid the oceanic roar of the wind in Keira’s ears. His voice was a life raft, and without thinking—without questioning—she grabbed for it.

Keira turned to see the frown spilled across her mother’s
face. Mrs. Brannon clutched the tray so tightly that the tendons in her hands stood out. She glanced between Keira and Walker, like she’d missed the crucial point of a tennis match. Like one of their faces would tell her who had won.

In an instant, the tree and the world that went with it disappeared. The real world went back to playing its solo.

Keira sat, trembling and exhausted, still clutching the pillow. The fabric was damp beneath her hand.

Walker pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. She could see him deciding what to do. Keira wasn’t used to seeing him have to think before he spoke. But then again, she’d never seen him this clearly.

“I mean, she’s standing there holding that heavy tray,” he said carefully. “And we’re just sitting here watching her.” He leapt up, taking the tray from Keira’s mom. She was too busy staring at Keira to notice, much less protest.

“Sweetie, you look terrible.”

At the sound of her mother’s familiar voice, the world tilted and nausea lurched through Keira. She bolted off the couch with one hand clamped over her mouth. She barely made it to the bathroom before her dinner made a sudden reappearance.

Keira flushed the toilet and shuffled to the sink, her hands shaking as she turned on the cold water.

She didn’t look in the mirror. She didn’t want to see what lurked in the glass.

“Keira? Are you okay?” Her mother knocked frantically.

“I’m fine,” Keira called back. Her voice rasped and broke, showing her for the liar that she was.

Her mother cracked open the door. “Oh, my God, you’re
gray.
Where did the two of you eat, anyway? You look like you have food poisoning. Or—you weren’t
drinking
, were you?”

“No!” Keira shook her head. “We went out to Kincaid’s. I had the chicken.” The word brought another stomach-wrenching spasm, and Keira stumbled back to the toilet, retching.

“You’re going straight to bed,” her mother declared.

“Keira?” She could hear Walker, standing at the end of the hall, the creaky floorboard complaining beneath him.

Keira sat up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I have to talk to Walker first,” she protested.

“Mrs. Brannon, if you could give us one minute—” Walker started.

Keira’s mother cut him off with a snort. “You two can talk tomorrow.” She turned back to Keira. “You. Go get in bed. I’ll see Walker out, and then I’m calling your father. He can pick up some saltines and ginger ale on his way home.”

Keira heard the front door open, the surprised tenor of her father’s voice and Walker’s baritone response. Keira wavered on her feet.

“Oh. Speak of the devil.” Keira’s mom frowned. “I mean it. I want you
in bed.
”

Her mother ducked out of the bathroom. Keira heard her
parents ushering Walker out the door. Keira staggered toward the living room. Each step was terrifying. The floor didn’t feel solid beneath her feet, and she wasn’t sure that she’d still be looking at the dusty family photo at the end of the hall after her next blink. If the utterly foreign forest appeared in its place, she would start screaming.

She needed Walker. She needed to talk to him. To find out what the hell was going on and why, all of a sudden, it looked like crazy-land was a real place after all.

Her cell phone was in the living room. She just had to get to it.

Her mother intercepted her in the foyer, her coat half on, her face fury-clad.

“What do you think you’re
doing
?” she demanded. “You need to be lying down. Why will no one in this house
listen
to me?”

While her father crept into the kitchen, Keira reached into the open coat closet and slipped her cell out of her coat pocket. “I was just getting something,” she said vaguely. “I’m going to bed now. Swear.”

The phone nestled in her hand like a lifeline.

Her mother reached out, tugged Keira’s fingers off the plastic case, and slipped the phone into her massive, many-pocketed mom purse. “I don’t think so. You’re to stay off the phone. It won’t kill you to wait until tomorrow to talk to Walker.” Her mother snapped her bag shut and stormed to the door. “I’ll be back with some ginger ale.”

Keira stared after her.

Her mom was wrong.

If she couldn’t talk to Walker, it might very well kill her.

She tiptoed into the living room and picked up the house phone. When she clicked it on, an unfamiliar woman’s voice filled her ear.

“Hang on—hello?” her father’s voice interrupted.

Suspicion squirmed through Keira, making her nauseous all over again. She dropped the phone back into its cradle and went, as instructed, to her room.

•  •  •

Keira lay awake, waiting for her mother.

Her eyes were closed so tightly that she could feel her lashes against her skin. Behind her lids, there was nothing but darkness, shot through with colors like the northern lights. As long as she stared at that emptiness, as long as the pillow stayed smooth beneath her cheek, she felt okay.

She wondered if Walker was calling her. Texting her. She wondered what her mother would think. If Keira’s phone went off incessantly, her mom was likely to label him a stalker before she’d even paid for the crackers and soda.