Inescapable (The Premonition Series) (13 page)

“Just say yes, Evie, because she’ll only work on you until you do,” says Brownie conspiratorially.

We open our doors and climb out of the Goose. “Don’t I have to be a Chi or something to be involved? Especially if I’m on your team?” I ask, wondering how this all works.

“No, everyone will look at it like we’re recruiting you, which we are, but come on, you’re no Kappa,” Brownie says, then takes a sip of her fountain drink.

“You’re recruiting me?” I ask as we head toward the dorm.

“Sweetie, we didn’t start out to, we never recruit because it’s kind of beneath us. I figure you either like us or you don’t, but it’s just that we like you—you seem to get us. A kindred spirit if you want to look at it that way,” Buns says, putting her arm around my shoulder. “You don’t have to pledge if you don’t want to; we just like having you around.”

“So, you’ll help us beat the Delts?” Brownie persists, opening the door to Yeats and holding it for Buns and me.

“Yes, I’ll help,” I agree, because it will be the distraction I need after my smack down at the 7-Eleven. I don’t have any way to decipher what is happening to me. I am just trying to live through the horror of it.

Brownie and Buns both clap like two ten-year-olds. “Okay, strategy meeting tomorrow night after practice. Are you all right to practice, Evie? How’s your knee?” Brownie asks with concern.

“It’s stylin’. I can practice,” I say, knowing that I can’t keep up the charade of fake limping anymore.

“Fierce! Do you want to come in and kick back for a while?” Buns asks, opening the door to their room.

“No thanks, I think I’m going to try to go back to sleep,” I decline. “I’ll see you both tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sweetie.” Buns says as I walk down the hall to my room.

There is a note taped to the outside of my door. I open the note and read it:

Dear Red,

Sorry, I was being a tool. I stopped by to see you, but one of the girls I asked to get you said that you weren’t in. Please call me when you get this so I can apologize. Russell

CHAPTER 9

Foreign Language

I read the note from Russell several times. It’s so sweet; he actually said he was being a tool, which he kind of was, but he was a sweet tool. Once inside my room, I fold up the note, placing it on my desk, and then I change into a t-shirt and boxer pajama bottoms. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I walk down the hall to the bathroom.

On my way back to my room, I stop dead in my tracks because there are butterflies taking flight in my abdomen the closer I get to my room. Backing up from my door slowly, I consider my options. I’m in my pajamas with no shoes and no keys to get very far. Rabbiting doesn’t really appeal to me anyway, since this is my room.
Mine.
I square my shoulders, walking the remaining steps to my door.

When I open it, I scan my room for Reed, but he isn’t inside. Leaning back against the door to close it, I sigh in relief until I think to look in the closet. Creeping to the folding door, I peek inside, but he isn’t in there either. I exhale the breath I’ve been holding, before I brush my hair and pull it back into a ponytail, preparing to go to bed soon.

Then I prowl my room nervously. My Reed radar is still going off. He has to be here, at Yeats Hall, somewhere.
But why?
I wonder anxiously.
Maybe he’s visiting someone downstairs or something,
I think and instantly feel a twinge of jealousy shoot through me, shocking me with its intensity.
What do I care whom Reed sees?
I think rationally, trying to shrug off the feeling that I’ve just had.
I don’t even like him, and the less he thinks about me, the better, right?

Turning on my computer, I read an email from Uncle Jim that outlines some technologies that are being developed to insert subliminal messaging into advertising. Realizing that none of the software that he is talking about resembles anything like what Reed can do, I decide I might have to accept Reed’s explanation.

I think for a second about telling Uncle Jim about the scary light and having my nightmare in the 7-Eleven this evening, but my hands shake with fear.
I can’t tell him,
I think, wringing my hands together so they won’t tremble.
He’ll be really freaked out, and he’ll want me to come home. He’s safer if I stay away.

I type a quick reply message to him, giving him a bubblegum version of college life. Then I ask him to check out Russell’s computer, providing him the IP address. I send the email and shut down my computer. Finding my phone on my nightstand, I send a text to Russell explaining that I am sorry, too, about our argument and that I’ll see him at breakfast in the morning.

I pull back the blanket on my bed before I walk over to shut off the desk lamp. On my way back to the bed, I happen to look out the window, and I see Reed standing outside of it. I nearly scream but I am able to stifle it. I do, however, shy back from the window in a knee jerk reaction while my heart just about pounds out of my chest.

I hadn’t been able to see him out there because the light from the lamp had made the window almost opaque. With the lamp off, I can easily see Reed leaning back against the fire escape railing with his arms crossed in front of him.
He has been watching me since I came back from the bathroom,
I think in irritation. I try to remember if I’ve done anything embarrassing, but I can’t think of anything, so I march to the window and wrench the curtains closed. Then I get into bed and lie there fuming.

Hearing the window latch release and the two panes of glass fan open, I realize that Reed is letting himself in, so I roll over and pull the blanket over my head. “Just go away, Reed!” I whisper-hiss to him in the darkness.

“Genevieve,” Reed’s voice carries from outside on the fire escape, “Meet me in the parking lot in five minutes.” His voice sounds strange—strained.

“Whyyyy?” I whine, hoping to put him off.

“You have five minutes!” he says sternly before the windows slam shut.

I sit in my bed for about two and a half minutes.
What is the worst he can do if I don’t come out?
I think angrily. When the third minute ticks on the clock, I kick my blanket off my legs and bound out of bed.
“Fine!”
I say through my teeth with my hands in fists.

I slip on a pair of running shoes and put on my hooded sweatshirt. I exit the dorm via the back door and I am in the parking lot with about thirty seconds to spare. Locating Reed’s car parked in the back of the lot, I trudge over to it. Reed gets out of the driver’s side and walks around to open the door for me. He isn’t wearing a shirt and I realize that he hadn’t had one on when he was on the fire escape either.

My eyebrows draw together as I think,
He shouldn’t just walk around like that; it’s obscene to have to look at someone so perfect. He should do the world a favor and eat a donut or two, sheesh.
Sitting sullenly in the seat with my arms crossed in front of me, I refuse to look at him.

He watches me before he sighs heavily, saying, “What happened tonight?”

My eyebrows pull together. “Let me think… what didn’t you see when you were spying on me outside my window? How did you get up there, anyway? The ladder has to be pushed off the fire escape, and it’s at least twenty feet off the ground. There is no way you could reach it you…you…
total
perv!” I rant at him.

His eyes narrow, mirroring mine. “JT said you fainted at the Seven-Eleven tonight. He said you were as white as a ghost, and he said you were mumbling in Latin before you went completely unconscious. Pete said he thought you were dead for a second. Now explain what happened before I lose my temper,” he grits out through his teeth.

Oh, just wait until I get my hands on that Delt composite!
I think angrily.
JT and Pete are each getting a big fat rating of one.

I look away from him, replying sarcastically, “Well, you can tell JT and Pete for me that the next time they hold a knitting bee and gossip circle, I could use a new sweater!”

“Genevieve,” Reed says quietly, but it has the same effect on me as if he’d shouted.

“Fine! I went to the Seven-Eleven to get snacks, I got my butt kicked by the florescent light, I woke up on the ground, and then I went home. The end. Goodnight,” I say and try to open the car door, but Reed locks it before I can pull the handle. “Ahh, Reed!” I complain when I couldn’t find the unlock button again.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Reed says slowly, obviously deciding to treat me like an errant child. “You entered the Seven-Eleven…” he trails off so that I could fill in the blank.

Exhaling the word, “Fine,” I tell him what happened: from the déjà vu, to the gore, to the loud noise, to the KO by the flickering light, to waking up and being told that I had been speaking in tongues…well, in backward Black Sabbath anyway. I give him as much detail as I can think of; I even explain about the putrid smell.

Reed’s jaw grows more taut as my story goes on. “What were you saying…mumbling before you went unconscious, do you know?” he asks urgently when I’m done.

“No, they told me that I was saying something, but I don’t remember that part,” I reply.

“If you heard the language again, do you think you would recognize it?” he asks speculatively.

Frowning and giving him a small shrug, I answer honestly, “I don’t know.”

And then the most amazing thing happens: Reed begins to speak to me in a language that is at once so familiar and yet so foreign that the dichotomy of it makes me dizzy. It’s lithe and musical, and though I can’t understand a word of it, it calls to me in a hypnotic way. I feel compelled to get closer to the source of it, and when he stops speaking, I realize to my horror that I’m clinging to his chest with my ear all but pressed to his lips.

“What was that?” I ask him in awe.

“Did you like it?” he asks with humor in his tone; my reaction is funny to him.

“What were you saying?” I ask breathlessly.

“I was telling you what a frustrating creature I find you,” he replies.

I feel the heat of embarrassment flush my cheeks. “Oh, so it’s not the content that makes it sound so lovely,” I say, releasing my grip on him and straightening in my seat. “What language is that? It sounds Celtic, but not…” I trail off, searching my mind for any indication of what it could’ve been. “I feel like I should know what you were saying, but I don’t,” I say in disappointment. “Can you teach me it?”

“You will know it soon enough. Was that the language you were speaking?” he asks.

“I don’t know, you should ask JT and Pete. I was being introduced to the floor of the convenience store at that point,” I reply absently, still enthralled by what I’ve just heard.

Reed’s eyes narrow again as he asks me arrogantly, “Why did you try to conceal this from me? You should have come to me right away after it happened.”

My eyes connect with his beautiful green ones as I scoff, “Are you serious? I’ve got news for you, pal: you’re the last person I’d go to with this information.”

“That is absurd. I’m the only one who could interpret for you what you experienced,” he says, speaking slowly as if I lack the wit to comprehend him.

“Oh, right, because you’ve been such a bevy of information for me in the past,” I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, Reed, you’re a virtual Rosetta stone!”

“Genevieve,” Reed sighs my name in frustration.

“Reed,” I reply mirroring his tone, before pointing out, “you have to admit you haven’t exactly inspired trust.”

“Oh, I see, and who does inspire your trust, your soul mate? Is that who you can tell?” Reed asks, sounding suspiciously like he is jealous.

I shake my head slowly.
You’re insane,
I think,
Reed’s not jealous; he doesn’t even like you.

I wrinkle my nose. “My soul mate? What are you talking about…you mean Russell?” I ask incredulously.

“Yes, Russell,” Reed replies sullenly.

A flutter of fear edges through me. “I haven’t told Russell a thing about what happened tonight, and if you do, I swear I’ll never speak to you again. He’s
not
a part of this! And I didn’t tell you either simply because I didn’t want to tip the scales,” I say defensively, trying to explain my position.

“What do you mean by ‘tip the scales?’” Reed asks me in confusion.

My chin lifts as my throat grows tight. I twist my fingers together in my lap, before I say, “I didn’t want to add any more items to the con side of the ‘Genevieve’s Continued Survival’ list. What if this is the thing that makes you decide that I’m now dangerous enough to eliminate?” I ask, not looking at him but instead focusing on the dashboard in front of me so that I can’t assess if it is, indeed, the proverbial straw.

“You are afraid of me?” Reed asks me, sounding unpleasantly surprised.

“Of course I’m afraid of you. You’re menacing, you’re overbearing, you’re arrogant, and if you don’t see that, then you can just add high to the list,” I say, using my fingers to tick off his shortcomings.

“You are saying you don’t want my help?” he asks me angrily.

“Now you want to help me?” I laugh humorlessly, scrubbing my face in disbelief. “You’ve been treating me like I’m the scourge of the earth, and now, all of a sudden, I get knocked out by a bright light and you want to help me? Well, sorry, but I’m having a difficult time believing you. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest before I get struck by lightning, or something equally as bizarre.”

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” Reed says softly. I steal a glance at him, seeing him grip the stirring wheel with both hands and the tension translates to his forearms. His perfect lips thin as he adds, “I regret much of my behavior where you’re concerned. I haven’t handled myself, or our situation, well.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “Our situation? You mean the fact that you’re a predator and I’m prey, that situation?” I ask him softly. Reed’s frown darkens, like he doesn’t enjoy the obvious description of what we are to each other. “I regret that situation too, trust me,” I reply and tense, waiting for him to respond angrily like he did before, but he surprises me when he remains quiet. He almost appears lost, like he doesn’t know how to respond to what I’ve just said. “Reed,” I sigh. “What am I going to do with you?” I ask, peering at him. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I think you had a premonition tonight,” he says bluntly.

I don’t know what I had expected him to say, but that isn’t it. Frowning and looking away from him so that I can concentrate, I ask, “Like a hallucination?”

“No, more akin to a prophecy, or an omen,” he explains.

I don’t realize that my left hand has a death grip on the car’s stick shift until Reed put his hand on mine in a comforting way. “So now I’m the Oracle of Delphi? Is that what you’re saying?” I ask him contemptuously, thinking of all the stories I’ve read involving omens.
They never have happy endings. That’s why they’re called tragedies. It’s that, and the fact that someone ahuays ends up with his eyes gouged out or becoming food for the crows,
I think cynically.

“No, of course not,” he says. “You are speaking of mythology. This is real.”

“Okay, so an omen. So now I’m forecasting the future?” I ask as he laces his fingers with mine, distracting me momentarily from my line of thought.