Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 7

  I came to Knitting-Lady’s house. Looking through her front window, I noticed she was up to her usual routine. Seeing her working at her knitting made my world seem normal again. For a moment I could fool myself into thinking I wasn’t being hunted by men in white suits and a man with a gun. Hunted? Wasn’t that the word Mallory had used? And here I’d thought she was being overly dramatic.

  Leaning against a tree trunk in front of Knitting-Lady’s house, I allowed myself the luxury of a few moments’ rest. I watched as she yanked at a skein of pale pink yarn, then resumed her work, fingers effortlessly manipulating the yarn into something that would (I guessed) eventually be a scarf. Observing her going through the motions was soothing; I let my brain whir with all that had happened. Even though I’d essentially been spying over at the train station, I hadn’t seen anything of interest. Why should the men even care that I’d been there? And why spread out and search with their detectors on? I thought about how weird it was that the old lady had changed her mind about calling the police. She almost sounded drugged. Maybe the boss man had hypnotized her? Or maybe it was mind control, like Mallory talked about. None of it made sense. I looked at my cell phone and groaned when I saw it was half past three. My alarm would go off in three hours.

  Reluctantly I left Knitting-Lady’s yard and continued carefully toward home: through the industrial park and past the strip mall, until I was finally in New Edgewood at last. My side of town lacked the foliage, but the houses were closer together. I was familiar with every barking dog, every motion-sensor light, and every residence that contained a fellow insomniac who might be looking out the window. I avoided all of it. I didn’t see any further signs of the men who’d been chasing me, and I decided they must have given up. The worst was over.

  When I got to the back door of my house, I felt a surge of happiness so enormous it trumped Christmas morning. It was bigger than the feeling I got hitting my first winning home run. Home had never looked so good, and I could easily imagine a life where I would never leave it, and would stay cocooned safely inside for the rest of my days. I opened the screen door and turned the knob slowly to keep the noise down. Once inside, with the door shut behind me, I wiped my feet on the mat and, after considering how dirty they were, leaned over to take off my shoes.

  From my parents’ room came a shuffling noise and then the squeak of a door opening. I froze. If my mother was headed to the bathroom, she might not even come this way. Turns out, she wasn’t going to the bathroom.

  “Russ?” Once she’d called my name I knew there was no getting out of this. “Russ, is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.” The good news was that since Mom hadn’t ventured out of her room she couldn’t see me. If I was lucky, she would stay where she was and I could bluff my way through this.

  “Oh thank God, I thought someone had broken into the house.”

  “Nope, just me.”

  “What are you doing up, honey?” she asked, her voice floating through the darkness. “Trouble sleeping?” Even without seeing her, I could picture her forehead furrowed in concern.

  “No, I just woke up hungry, so I had a snack.” I thought fast. She’d certainly heard the outside door open and close. I needed an explanation. “Then I noticed the garbage was full, so I took it out.”

  “Oh. Well, thank you.”

  “Good night, Mom.”

  “Good night, Russ. Get some sleep.”

  “I will.”

  She retreated back into the room. When the door clicked shut, I went into the kitchen to check the garbage. It was almost empty, just as I’d thought it would be. Earlier, after dinner, I’d taken it out without even being asked. Luckily, my mom hadn’t remembered my kind gesture. Menopause was turning out to be my friend.

  I headed up the stairs and straight to the bathroom to check out my wound. I looked in the mirror and it was like seeing someone else. My hair stuck up funny, and there were dark circles under my eyes. The right side of my sweatshirt was dark with blood, and there were streaks of it on my right cheek. I must have touched my face with my bloody hand. My hands were streaked with dried blood as well, but I’d wiped most of it onto my clothes. I pulled at the neckline of the sweatshirt to get a better look, and the motion made me wince. Oh man, did that hurt! I ignored the pain and took off all my clothes, one piece at a time, and piled them in the corner, careful not to let the bloody part touch the floor. My parents rarely came up here, but I wasn’t taking any chances that my clothes would stain the rug or vinyl flooring.

  I twisted around in front of the mirror, trying to get a look at the source of the pain on the back of my neck. Could I have snagged my shoulder on something attached to the train station building and not realized it until later? The wound was circular, like I’d been poked with a large skewer, and it was still bleeding, though not quite as badly. I placed my hand over it to see if I could stop the flow, and my fingers got oddly warm. Pressing on the wound felt comforting and lessened the pain. I kept the pressure on, my fingers getting warmer and warmer, like they had a fever of their own. Beneath my touch, there was a sudden movement, like something jerking free. It reminded me of when I was a kid and my dad pulled a sliver out of my palm. A pinch, a pull, and before I could even say ouch, he’d gotten it out. But no one was doing this, it was just happening on its own. Something was rising out of the wound at the base of my neck; I could feel it making its way to the surface.

  And then it was right under my fingertips, a small, bloody lump. I stared at it for a second before turning on the faucet and rinsing it off.

  It was a bullet.

  I blinked a few times, trying to readjust my eyes. A bullet. I’d gotten shot and not even realized it. They were trying to kill me. If this was a crime show I’d know what caliber this was and could trace it back to its origins. But this wasn’t a crime show, and I knew nothing about guns or bullets besides what I’d learned through games. And getting shot at in real life wasn’t exciting—it was terrifying.

  Shaken up and shivering, I stepped into the shower. A risk because my mother had a knack for hearing running water, even when she was asleep. Later she would certainly ask why I’d taken a shower so early, but there was no getting around it. I needed to clean off the blood and get a good look at the wound.

  I knew I’d promised Mallory and her two sidekicks that I’d keep this a secret, but the situation was starting to feel bigger than anything I could handle alone. A bullet wound needed medical attention, and there would be no way to explain how it happened except to tell the truth. And maybe the truth was what was needed. Tell the police, let them handle it. A bunch of high school kids were no match for men with guns.

  When I got out of the shower, I felt a lot better. I wrapped a towel around my middle and went back to the mirror to check out the wound, but I didn’t see it from that angle. I twisted around, thinking I was looking at the wrong shoulder, but I still couldn’t locate it. Finally, I got a hand mirror and checked out my entire back side, from the base of my neck to the bottom of my spine. The skin was unbroken. There was no indication that I’d ever had an injury, much less gotten shot. I looked down at the blood-soaked pile of clothes for confirmation that I wasn’t losing my mind. I reached down and touched the sweatshirt, and when I looked at my fingers they were tinged with red.

  And there on the counter next to the sink was the bullet, right where I’d left it.

  Fresh blood and a bullet. But no wound. This was crazy.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was cold in my room, so I pulled on sweatpants and a clean T-shirt before sliding into bed. I was certain I wouldn’t sleep, sure it would be impossible with everything that had happened. So it was a pretty big shock when the music went off and I jolted awake. I reflexively hit the snooze button and opened my eyes a crack, trying to sort through the realities of the night.

  Staggering out of bed, I went to the bathroom to splash water on my face. After I’d pressed a towel to my face, I noticed the bullet next to the
soap dish and toothpaste. Nothing says “shot at by a guy with a gun” like the existence of a bullet. Glancing downward I saw my bloody clothing, still in a haphazard pile on the floor. So last night had really happened then. I looked at my face in the mirror, bloodshot eyes with dark half-moons underneath, and I knew there was no way I’d be walking the halls of my high school today pretending it was just a normal day. I trudged down the stairs to tell my mother I was taking a sick day.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, turning away from eggs in a frying pan. She set her spatula down to place a hand on my forehead. “No fever, but you do look terrible.” Her worried eyes met mine. “Is it your stomach?”

  “My stomach, my head, you name it.” All true. Then I added, “I think I’m coming down with the flu.” Not true.

  “Maybe your snack in the middle of the night wasn’t such a good idea?”

  “No, Mom, I don’t think that was it.”

  She looked so concerned, I felt guilty. “Okay then,” she said. “Go back to bed and I’ll call in for you. Unless you want to try eating something first?”

  “No, I think I just need rest.”

  She nodded. “Oh, I almost forgot. Carly is dropping Frank off right after school. I’ll leave a note on the table saying you’re sleeping so he doesn’t bother you.”

  “You know he’s still going to come up to my room, don’t you?” I said, shaking my head. There were no boundaries in my nephew’s world. Carly didn’t raise him right, that was why.

  “Be nice, Russ.” Mom sighed. “Frank is family.”

  Like I needed to be reminded of that. As I headed back upstairs, I heard my dad come into the kitchen.

  “What’s wrong?” Dad asked.

  I paused to hear Mom’s response. She said, “Russ is sick. He’s staying home today.”

  Dad chuckled sympathetically. “There’s some bug going around the office—headache, stomach problems, achiness. It comes out of nowhere and hangs on for a day or two.”

  “That must be it,” Mom said. “That’s what he has.”

  The power of a good reputation. They never doubted me for a moment. If Carly had pulled the same thing in high school, they would have assumed she was hung over or else faking it so she could spend the day with her loser friends. It almost wasn’t fair. I headed up to my room and plopped into bed, ready to sleep like a pharaoh in a tomb—alone and for a long, long time.

  I woke up a few times during the morning when I heard my phone ping with text messages.

  From Justin: Dude, u pulling a Ferris?

  Mick: Get your sorry self down here. If the rest of us have to suffer through a Friday, so do you.

  Mallory: Are you OK?

  And then not too much later, I heard from all of them again.

  Mick: Don’t make me come get you.

  Justin: You better be doing something awesome.

  Mallory: Now I’m worried. Please let me know you’re OK.

  I was too tired to do much more than text back “I’m OK” to Mallory. The others would have to wait.

  I got up around one to eat some soup and a sandwich, then checked the local news online, but there was nothing about an excavation near the old train station, or anything about men in white suits running rampant through the streets of Old Edgewood, with buzzing detectors in hand. Remembering what Mallory had said, I didn’t Google anything on the subject. That can all be traced. I didn’t believe her then, but I believed her now. Whatever I’d seen last night was dangerous, and I wasn’t looking for trouble. My room was my cocoon, and I didn’t want to be found. Let other people figure out what was going on. I wasn’t brave enough to risk my life getting involved.

  I wasn’t even a little bit brave. I wanted my old life back, the one where I studied for tests and diligently went to school, not doing anything that would make me stand out from the crowd. The worst things I did involved TPing houses with my friends, thinking endlessly about sex, and taking a drag off something that was not a cigarette at Melissa Reinhardt’s pool party last summer. Even those minor infractions would have shocked my parents, who were convinced I was the world’s best son. Which was fine by me.

  I crawled under the covers and closed my eyes again, but this time I fell into a dream. It was nighttime, nearly pitch black, and I was running from the men with the detectors. There were no houses in sight, just an endless stretch of open field. Panting, exhausted, I kept going, but it was no use, they were closing in on me. My legs were heavy and I couldn’t get any traction. The white-suited men were right behind me now, the buzzing from their devices like bees swarming behind my head. I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. One of the men grabbed my arm and I tried to pull away, but he had a tight grip. I knew I only had moments left to live. “No,” I said, “please no.” I couldn’t see his face, but he was shaking my arm and saying, “Russ, Russ, wake up!”

  It took all I had, but I swam to the surface and pulled myself out of my sleep. When I opened my eyes, I was back in my bed with Mallory’s face right above me. “Russ, it was just a dream. You were dreaming.” She put her hand on my forehead, the way my mother had earlier that morning, but I liked the feel of Mallory’s hand a whole lot better. This felt as unreal as the past few minutes, like the chasing had been a dream within a dream.

  “Mallory?” I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “What are you doing here?” Yep, she was here all right, sitting on the edge of my bed. Only a sheet, a blanket, and a comforter separated my body from hers.

  Her dark eyes narrowed in concern. “When you weren’t in school, I worried. I thought maybe we freaked you out last night, or else something had happened to you.”

  “Who let you in the house?” I glanced at my alarm clock. It was just after two. School wouldn’t even be out yet. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

  She shrugged. “I stopped at the health room and said I had cramps. I told them all I had left was study hall, so they let me go early. And then I came here, and when no one answered my knock, I came in the back door. It wasn’t locked.”

  “Wait. You just came into my house?” Such nerve. I never could have done that. I didn’t know if I should admire her or what.

  “I was really worried.”

  “Oh.” Wow, what a rush I was getting from the fact that this beautiful girl was worried about me. It was almost worth getting shot at.

  “You really should lock your doors,” she said, stating the obvious.

  “When I came in last night, I must have forgotten.”

  “So you’re really just home sick?”

  “Not quite,” I said. “Something happened last night after I left you guys.” I ran my fingers over my head, wondering how my hair looked.

  “I had a feeling something was up,” she said.

  “Wait here,” I said. She scooted back and I slid out from under the covers, glad I was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt instead of any of my usual nighttime choices. I went into the bathroom to get the bullet and snuck a look at myself in the mirror while I was there. Not too bad, considering.

  When I got back to my room, I saw she had moved off the bed and over to my desk chair. Walking in and spotting her there, hair pulled away from her face (which highlighted her chiseled cheekbones), chin lifted, and hands folded in her lap, she looked like a girl way out of my league. A few days earlier, after she’d fallen out of her chair in science class, I’d come home and looked up the name Nassif, and discovered it was Egyptian. Right now I could easily believe she was of Egyptian nobility, a descendent of Cleopatra. Hard to imagine that someone like Mallory was in my bedroom because she’d been worried about me. This was the kind of scenario my friend Mick always talked about. If he could see me now.

  I placed the bullet on the desk in front of her. “I got a little gift last night, over by the train station.”

  She picked it up and examined it, then looked up at me questioningly. “A bullet?”

  I sat on the end of the bed, and she swiveled in the chair to face me.
I started at the beginning. “Last night, after we left the diner, I just had to go back to the field where I saw the lights.” I told the whole story, every detail. I felt a little like I was rambling, but she leaned forward and took in every word, fascinated.

  When I was done, Mallory sat back with her arms folded. “So I was right then,” she said, in a satisfied way.

  “You knew all this?”

  “No, I didn’t know anything about the field or the men trying to kill you. I’m talking about your superpower. You can heal people.” When I didn’t say anything, she added. “First Nelly Smith, and now yourself.”

  “You think I made the wound go away? That I touched it and just like that—poof—all better?”

  “Of course. Do you think bullets rise up out of people on their own? And why didn’t getting shot kill you in the first place? It hit your neck, for crying out loud. You should be dead or paralyzed!” Her eyes shone with excitement. “And that’s why Nelly Smith came back. When you went to feel her pulse, you resuscitated her.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that…” If that were true, wouldn’t I know? I didn’t feel any special healing energy coursing through me, I just put my fingers over the wound.

  “What’s healing, but cells regenerating?” she said. “And that requires energy. We all picked up energy from the light source, and each of us utilizes it differently. Jameson can move objects; I can affect people’s thinking—”

  “Mind control,” I said.

  “More or less. And Nadia can read people and see their pasts. She’s scary good at it, actually. She sees right through the veneer and into their deepest places. It’s hard for her to do, actually, because she usually doesn’t like to be so close to people.”

  “You know what? You need to tell me everything you know,” I said. “I want to know what you saw and how you figured out you got these so-called ‘abilities’ and how you know we’re being hunted. You didn’t seem all that shocked that someone was trying to kill me. I feel like I walked into the middle of a movie. Time to fill me in.”