True Intentions (16 page)

She exhales through pursed lips, making a grunting sound. She frowns. From my years of experience with these two, I know this conversation is going to turn ugly—
fast.

"What?"

Mallory gives Julia a mean, hateful glare.

"The Cubs opening day is this Tuesday, I got us tickets!" Mallory screams.

I shriek, mirroring her excitement.

"Are you serious?"

Opening day tickets. Wow!

I give her a bear hug.

"There's one problem. I only got two tickets. I didn't know you were planning to bring your cousin when they went on sale, sorry." She sticks her bottom lip out.

"That's fine," Sam jumps in, easing Mallory's guilt. "I'll find something else to do while you guys are at the game. I am sure there's plenty to keep me busy in Chicago."

Sam shoots me a wink. I assume he'll be close by the entire time.

The rest of the car ride, Mr. King asks me questions about how I like California.

"It's great," I say, not thinking about all the
I'm miserable
emails to Mallory.

Both Mallory and Julia give me a "yeah right" glare.

I can't help but smile. Discovering the truth about Samuel Perry has definitely rejuvenated my tolerance for Lake Arrowhead.

After the long car ride, we arrive at the King's suburban home. Mallory's mother is inside cooking dinner. I'm starving. After all, it's after 8:00 p.m.

Darn layover.

While we eat dinner, we reminisce over fun, embarrassing times in our childhood. Stories like when Mallory's pet hamster Zoe died, and we had a hamster funeral. When we told my dad about the funeral, he asked if we'd made sure Zoe wasn't breathing. Apparently, hamsters hibernate sometimes. Mallory freaked out, and we ended up back at her house, digging up Zoe's body to check if he was still alive.

Sam laughs.

The stories keep coming until the unthinkable happens—Mallory brings up Mr.

Mysterious.

We're discussing Mallory having had a huge crush in sixth grade over the new boy in the neighborhood, Tommy Smith. She obsessed over Tommy, but Tommy didn't reciprocate her feelings of love. Once he realized Mallory liked him, he became
really
mean.
He taunted Mallory at every opportunity, calling her "foul Mal." He tee-peed her house and even filled a squirt super soaker with urine and sprayed her.

Her parents comforted her by saying, "When a boy is mean to you, he really likes you and doesn't know how to approach you."

No matter how hard Mallory tried, Tommy never changed his tune.
Poor Mallory

. . . .
So here we are, reminiscing about Tommy Smith, when suddenly Mallory says,

"Are you going to tell Ava that her Mr. Mysterious is secretly in love with her too, Mom?"

Sam's eyes perk up.

"Who is Mr. Mysterious?" he asks. His eyes scan everyone at the table.

Before I have a chance to throw Mallory the
shut-up look,
she starts explaining.

"There's some guy at Ava's new school that she's been gawking over. At least my crush over Tommy was back in sixth grade, not as a junior in high school."

Sam raises his eyebrows in interest, making Mallory continue the saga.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up
!

"It gets better," she continues, her eyes not moving from Sam's face. She is enjoying every second of her extended story. "One day Ava confronts him about being mean, and he totally rejects her." She pauses to laugh but doesn't look in my direction.

"So, now Ava completely avoids him."

"Really? Interesting" Sam says, grinning at me.

Then he says, "Ava, you never told me about this guy. Is it anyone I know?" He's playing the dumb cousin part too well.

I glance at the ceiling, trying to remain composed.

How embarrassing.

I want to crawl under the table and hide for eternity, or at least until morning.

"No," I hiss, showing my disapproval of this topic. I shoot Mallory an evil glare.

"Oh," Mallory frowns, finally getting the message I'm not pleased.

"It's getting late, gang. Let's go show Ava and Sam their rooms," Mrs. King says, changing the subject. At least she notices I'm ready to pass out from embarrassment.

"Thank you, Mrs. King," Sam says as he shoots me a wink.

At least
for now
, I'm off the hook.

We head upstairs, and Mrs. King shows us our rooms. I've slept at their house at least a thousand times, but I've never slept anywhere besides Mallory's room. This week, Mrs. King has me sleeping in the guest bedroom. The spare bedroom décor makes me feel like I've gone back in time. The antique furniture, blue-flowered duvet, and matching drapery remind me of my grandma's bedroom. Poor Gramps.

Sam will sleep on their pull-out couch in the bonus room down the hall. They mainly use the area as a second family room and computer station for the girls.

Despite the adrenaline rush from being home in Chicago, around Sam, and still in significant danger, I'm exhausted. I can barely keep my eyes open even though it's only 7:00pm California time.

We say goodnight, and I go into the spare bathroom first for a quick shower. As I dry off, the bruises all over my neck and arms are a reminder the danger is far from over.

I crawl into bed, too tired to think any more tonight. Tomorrow will be a new day. Another day to analyze the fact I'm in love with a dark angel put on this earth to make us sin.

I gulp at the thought.

Why does just being in his presence bring sinful thoughts to my mind
?

I fall into a deep slumber before I have the opportunity to answer my own question.

* * * * *

I awaken to shallow, rapid breathing along my neckline. Instinctively, I quickly jump out of bed believing I'm under attack. A hand covers my mouth before I have the chance to let out a scream.

My eyes widen. It's Sam.

I breathe a sigh of relief, but my heart is beating so hard, it may come out my chest.

He removes his hand once he's confident I won't scream.

"Don't ever scare me like that again. You're lucky. I almost screamed loud enough to wake the dead," I say in a whispering yet firm voice. I glare at him with narrow eyes. It's a clear warning.

He smiles sheepishly then looks at the closed bedroom door.

"Don't worry, everyone's asleep. No one is coming to save you," he reminds me as he lays his head on the extra pillow.

"What are you doing in here?" I ask, uncertain of what time it is.

"I couldn't sleep," he says. Then he sticks out his lower lip and makes a pouting face. His mouth changes into a smirk, giving away his deception.

"You really
are
a demon."

"I told you about my past," he chuckles. "Did you think I was lying?"

He's staring at me. The nightlight in the corner gives me enough light to see his expression. I can't help but wonder what he might be thinking. Before I can ask, he leans closer and kisses me with his lips open slightly.

"I couldn't take it anymore," he confesses, breathing in my hair. "I needed to kiss you again. This acting thing is killing me. It's harder to act like your cousin for twenty-four hours than to fake I'm a human for two hundred years."

He pauses briefly, deeply inhaling my hair's aroma. After he removes his face from my locks, he sarcastically adds, "Plus, I want to ask you about your Mr.

Mysterious."

I freeze, feeling the blood rush to my face.

I refuse to respond.

He knows Mallory had been describing him. I can't deny that.

"Is that how you feel about me?" he asks, breaking the long silence I deliberately created.

I look in the opposite direction, refusing to answer his question. I can tell by the increased rate in his breathing, my silence is driving him crazy. I consider prolonging the quiet, just to torture him. After all, he almost gave me a heart attack a few moments ago.

"I'm scared to tell you how I feel," I divulge, refusing to make eye contact.

Instead, I stare at the flowered bedding and nervously run pieces of the bedspread through my fingers.

"Why would you be like that? Didn't you tell me to be honest when I didn't want to tell you about my past?"

I nod.

He has a point . . . . Darn it.

"You don't like it when I put you on the spot."

It isn't a question.

Another valid point.

I'm not sure how to express my feelings without sounding like a moron, or worse—a stalker.

"I really . . . like you. Not just 'cause you're perfect in every possible way, and I can never be like that, but because you're . . . you. And believe me, I know it's wrong for me to feel this way. But, I can't help myself. You're addicting. Maybe you're like a Venus flytrap, beautiful enough to draw your prey in, but dangerous and potentially deadly. It's just . . . I am in complete awe of you, yet I don't even know that much about you. I want to know everything, yet I'm kinda scared."

As the words come awkwardly out of my mouth, my mind is spinning with confusion about how to possibly explain what I feel—at least so he might be able to understand and not think I'm crazy.

I think about stopping right there, protecting my emotions and waiting for his response. But the desire to get all this off my chest trumps common sense and self-preservation. I need to own up to my fears.

"I'm scared this . . .
thing
you do to me you also do to all the girls you meet, and I'm just a notch on your belt buckle. I'm scared that these feelings are one-sided, and I'm way over my head, but I can't stop."

At that comment, he looks away and I assume he is upset by my remarks.

Great . . . now he thinks I am a jealous stalker.

"You're wrong. What do you want to know?" he asks, looking up at the ceiling.

His is voice cold.

His response startles me. I try to think carefully about what to ask, but then blurt out what I really want to know.

"Everything."

That's a stupid response.

A little direction might be nice.

"Okay, like how did you become this way? Why did you give up your soul?"

He looks over at me with severe pain in his eyes. I'm not sure if he's upset I feel the way I do, or because of something in his past. I wait patiently while he takes a deep breath, and then he starts to slowly explain, choosing his words very carefully.

"It was 1798 and I was seventeen. We lived in a small town called Goshen, New York, located right outside of New York City. My little sister, Virginia, and I were outside playing in the snow. I was supposed to be watching her while my parents were inside with my grandmother and some doctor. You see, doctor's used to come to your home for house calls back then. I mean . . . what I am trying to say is they would treat you at your home versus you going into a hospital or office then. My grandmother was dying from pneumonia, and there wasn't much else that could be done. My parents didn't want my little sister—who was nine at the time—to know what was going on, so they had me play with her outside. I was daydreaming—not paying attention to her—

and she chased after a ball she had been throwing in the air."

He takes another deep breath, and I can see this topic is hard for him to talk about.

"We lived on property leading to the river. It was pretty common back then to live by water since no one had indoor plumbing. Anyways, Virginia ran after the ball, unaware that she was on ice from the frozen river rather than on snow. She fell in. I heard her scream and ran after her and tried everything in my power to pull her out—
to
save her.
But I ended up falling in too. The water was so icy cold, I could barely move much less think clearly. I was drowning. While dying, this strange thing began happening. I could see my body from above and that Virginia was still alive, barely hanging on to the ice. I had pulled her partially out before falling in. I was going to die—there was nothing I could do about that. The worst part was knowing Virginia would die too. I instantly thought about my parents; the pain it would cause them. You see, I was the oldest of five. I had three younger brothers between me and Virginia.

Back then, there wasn't a lot of protection from illness and infections. All three of my younger brothers died when they were young. Seth died at birth. He was a stillborn.

Jason died at age three from pneumonia and Albert died at age five from a cut that got infected. So Virginia and I were all my parents had left out of their five children. I was pretty much dead, but Virginia still had a chance. She was still clinging for life. So, I begged for God to save her. Instead of God, I heard a voice offering me a deal. At first, I didn't know who the voice was. But I soon realized it was the voice of Satan. If I would give up my soul, Virginia would live. He would make sure she survived. I accepted the offer without thinking twice. And he fulfilled his end of the bargain, Virginia didn't die that day and she ended up living a long life. She eventually died when she was sixty-two years old, but that age was very old back then. She got married, had kids and grandkids, and took care of my parents when they grew old. My parents didn't lose everything after all, and theoretically I got to watch her grow up and live a full life—

from a distance
, anyway."

I remain motionless and completely silent. Just hearing how Sam sacrificed his own soul to save his sister brings tears to my eyes. I blink rapidly, trying not to let them spill over. I feel horrible making him relive those painful memories.

"So, that's pretty much it. I've been like this ever since. I'd never wish this existence on my worst enemy, yet I don't regret saving Virginia and watching her live a happy life and eventually go to heaven."

His eyes never move from staring at the ceiling as he finishes his explanation.

"As far as the other girls you were asking about. The
notches on my belt
are what I think you called them . . . . It's kind of complicated to explain how my kind can be with your kind in that way. But I can tell you that I have only gone as far as to kiss one other girl ever, in either of my lives. Her name was Mary, and I was fifteen years old and still human. So, if you're worried, or
maybe jealous would be the better word,
about another girl, don't be. Mary died at least 180 years ago."