The Watcher (7 page)

By the end of the day, practically everyone at school had flocked to Damiel at some point. He was dark and interesting and, unlike Michael, he had no past. Try as they might, no one could dig up any gossip about him. We didn’t even know where he came from, and people seemed to like it that way. He brought a sense of mystery and adventure that was sorely missing to the senior class, not to mention the school itself.

“He’s so
hawt
,” I heard one girl say to two of her closest friends in the hall.

***

Those same girls, juniors, stood in a cluster outside their classroom before the bell rang the next morning.

“Bet he’s a great kisser,” said one of the girls with a little sigh. The three of them giggled.

“So totally badass,” said another, flipping her pale blond hair. She had porcelain skin and eyes that were almost cobalt blue. I couldn’t help but think she and Damiel would look good together. “Think he’s seeing anyone?”

“Hey, Tricia, get in line!” said the first girl. “He’s mine.”

I walked past them on my way to class. Was I the only girl in school who didn’t swoon at the thought of Damiel? Girls flocked to him. Every day he had a different one on his arm. Blonde, brunette, tall or short, it didn’t matter. He petted and charmed each of them, working one girl into a frenzy before moving on to the next. He had a certain appeal, I guess, but all I could think about was Michael.

I still couldn’t figure out what happened between him and me the day of the hike. I thought we’d connected, that he cared—until he read Elaine’s article. We hadn’t spoken since. Occasionally he would give me a look I didn’t understand. Deep and intense, as though he really knew me. Sometimes I even thought he might come over so we could talk, but then he’d hesitate and walk away.

I hadn’t seen any other strange anomalies lately—no shadowy dogs or flickering lights. But whatever it was that I’d seen nagged at the back of my mind like a chore I’d forgotten to do. I had to know if there was some kind of explanation, and asking Michael
wasn’t
an option. So, during a free period after lunch on Friday, I decided to do some research. Not knowing where to begin, I tried the school library. But it didn't exactly have books on the subjects of shadowy dogs or flashing lights, and I was hardly going to ask the librarian for help.

I didn’t even know how to describe what I saw. It might have been easier if I could name them, or if there were a pattern to what I was seeing. At first the lights appeared when Michael was carrying me, but it wasn’t consistent. The other day, when I was out with Bill, the lights flickered at the café.

I decided to try the Internet and did a search for “seeing flashing lights,” which actually produced results. I found lots of information on eye problems and detached retinas. All of it was too scary to consider. I vowed if I started seeing the lights again, I would go to the doctor.

I was in the middle of looking up “seeing shadows” when Damiel slid up behind me.

“Homework?” he said.

Startled, I instinctively closed the web page I was looking at.

If he’d seen what I’d been reading, he didn’t let on. His voice was as smooth and rich as black satin. “You’re Mia, aren’t you?”

I nodded, flattered he knew my name.

“I’m Damiel. I don’t think we’ve formally met.” He offered me his hand with an elaborate flourish. I shook it. “What do you normally do for fun around here on a Friday night?”

“Nothing,” I said, then cringed inwardly. With both Heather and Fiona dating, my social life was pretty much non-existent these days. But that wasn’t something he needed to know.

He pulled up a chair beside me and leaned in close. “How about we make our own fun then? Go for a ride?”

I looked down at the keyboard. Having him so close made me hold my breath, a little freaked out. “I don’t know.”

He leaned back but reached his hand out on the desk so it rested hardly an inch from mine. Eyebrows raised, mouth open, he paused dramatically before he spoke, as though making sure he had my attention. “You know, I once heard this myth about the afterlife…”

“The afterlife?” I shifted in my seat and pulled my hand away, not wanting to give him the wrong idea.

“Yeah. You believe in one, don’t you? Heaven? Hell? Reincarnation? Or do you think when you die it’s all over?”

“I–I don’t know,” I stammered. Many ancient cultures did believe in an afterlife, but I wasn’t sure what I believed. “I wasn’t raised religious or anything.” My mind flashed back to Farouk’s comment about Michael’s near-death experience, the idea of Michael coming back different. What did it mean?

“Well, some cultures used to believe, at the time of death, that instead of being judged on how well you abstained from the pleasures of life…” He leaned in closer. “…you would be judged by how well you
enjoyed
them.” With a smile that could boil glaciers, he ran a finger up my arm from elbow to shoulder. It left a path that tingled all the way down to my toes.

“Interesting,” I said, surprised by how fast this was going. No one had ever touched me that way before. All the blood rushed from my head, leaving me dizzy and more than a little scared of him. “W–where did you hear this?”

“Read it somewhere.” He shrugged. “In order to honor the gods, they believed you should live your life to the fullest.”

“They did?” I asked, trying to recover from the swooning his touch had brought in me, the way it clouded my thoughts. I was reminded of a show I’d seen on TV about sharks. There’s a way of hypnotizing them called “tonic immobility.” Some sharks use it for mating, where the male would roll the female onto her back and she would be paralyzed in a serotonin-induced euphoric state. On the show, when people learned how to do it to them, the sharks would seek them out so that they could experience this bliss, sinking deep into the water until the human could hold on no longer.

In that moment, I knew exactly how those sharks felt.

“So how about you, Mia?” he asked, a slow, seductive smile forming on his lips. “Do you live your life to the fullest?”

I thought of Michael, how much I’d hoped he’d talk to me, and now here was Damiel offering me pleasures I’d only fantasized about. Despite my feelings for Michael, a voice in my head said
Of course not. Show me how!
All hotness aside, ten minutes ago he was just another guy at school, and now that he was asking me out I was enthralled by him. How did he do it?

Across the library, Michael was leaning against one of the stacks with his arms crossed, as beautiful and unattainable as ever, his mouth set into a hard line. Why was he watching me now when he seemed to care too little on regular days? Was he judging me for flirting with Damiel when he hardly spoke to me himself?

My mouth dried up and I swallowed hard, not sure what to say next.

“Relax,” Damiel said, startling me. “I won’t do anything unless you want me to.”

I laughed. It was more of a nervous trill that rang out through the quiet library. The librarian at the desk put her finger to her lips in admonishment.

When I looked back to where Michael had been standing, he was gone. I was so flustered I hadn’t seen him leave.

Despite the fact that Damiel seemed interested in me, I wished Michael was the one asking me out. But that would never happen. My attraction for Michael was pathetically one-sided. It took a crisis for him to even come near me and I half wanted to put myself into some kind of crisis to be near him again.

“Tell me something?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

Damiel gave me a suggestive smile that made my face heat up. “Sure.”

“What’s with you and Michael?”

His smile wavered slightly. “Why do you ask?”

“Something about the way the two of you look at each other—”

“That makes you think Hallmark card?”

I stifled a grin. “Not exactly.”

He chuckled, a low throaty sound. “I can’t help it if he acts like he’s in a spaghetti western.”

“A what?” I gave him a puzzled look.

“You know. Clint Eastwood.
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.
You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”

“Sure.” A memory of Bill watching old Clint Eastwood movies with Dad when we were kids clutched at my throat. I swallowed. “Which one are you?”

He leaned in to me and said in a low, sexy voice, “Definitely
not
the ugly.”

I had to agree with him, but his ego didn’t need the boost. I focused on the computer screen, logged myself out, then asked, “So you two know each other?”

“We met last year in the hospital.”

He lifted his booted foot up to his chair and pulled up the leg of his jeans. My attention was drawn immediately to a large serpent tattooed on the back of his calf.

“Did that hurt?” I said, taking a closer look. The serpent was highly detailed, its scales shades of black and gray against his olive skin.

“Wasn’t bad at all compared to this.” He pointed to the six-inch scar that ran from his shin all the way past his knee.

“Oh.” I blushed again when I realized the scar was what he’d meant to show me. His tattoos were none of my business. “How’d you get that?”

“Had an accident this past spring. Michael and I shared a room, became friends even.”

“What happened?”

He shrugged and covered his leg. “He doesn’t want to remember it, so he avoids me.”

“That’s strange.”

“It is what it is.” Leaning in toward me again, he whispered in my ear, “Want to come out tonight?”

I took a deep breath, bracing myself against the onslaught of his charm. “I really can’t.”

He wore an astonished expression, as though surprised I could resist. Considering how many other girls were all over him, I guess he had reason. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a haze around him, as though he were bathed in a faint smoke, but when I blinked and refocused it was gone.

Leaning forward, Damiel touched my hand, then my hair, all the while smiling at me like he was sharing a secret. It would have been so easy to lean into that smile, let it take me places. How could I be so crazy about one guy and so affected by another?

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“I’m sure,” I said, getting up. I couldn’t get Michael’s expression out of my head.

When I returned to my locker, Michael was waiting for me. His jeans fit him perfectly, and the red sweater he wore showed off his broad shoulders and the line of his chest—muscular but lean. Standing there, he did more for me than Damiel’s touch. He cast his gaze down as I approached, as though he couldn’t even bear to look at me.

“How was your little chat with Damiel?”

“How is it your business?” I asked, wishing this wasn’t the first thing he’d said to me in weeks.

His scrutinizing glare was as cold as the morning sky. “This isn’t a game.”

“What isn’t?” I flicked my hair over my shoulder, trying to act casual. “Talking?”

He leaned in until his face was inches from mine, and my heartbeat went off the scale like a Geiger counter measuring a solar flare. It was all I could do to breathe. I didn’t want him to be angry. I wanted that moment we’d had at Fiona’s car after he helped me out of the woods. Staring into his eyes, I held onto the memory of that side of him. The gentle, caring side that I knew was in there. Even if he hadn’t shown it to me since, I still remembered.

All the color left his face and he backed away. When he spoke, there was no anger left. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

Before I could respond, he turned on his heel and left.

My frustration burned. I wanted to yell after him down the crowded hall but didn’t want to cause a scene. Instead, I threw my books into my locker. The force of them collapsed one of the shelves, making a mess of the inside.

What was this—this
thing
between us? Just when I thought he was going to let his guard down, he bailed. I didn’t even know what he was talking about. What
was
I dealing with? How was I supposed to know if he wouldn’t tell me? Letting out a heavy sigh, I searched among the rubble for the notebook I needed for my next class. I didn’t notice Elaine approach.

“Trouble in paradise?” she said, her expression far too smug.

Making no attempt to mask the anger on my face, I returned my attention to my locker. “Everything’s fine.”

“Michael Fontaine
and
Damiel Lucas in one day.” She made a disapproving clicking sound with her tongue. “Do you need to make a play for every hot guy in school?”

The smart thing to do would be to ignore her, but then she’d have the last word. Refusing to back down, I stared into her sparkly brown eyes; they were filled with spite. “Jealous much?”

Immediately, I regretted what I’d said. She was baiting the hook, fishing for something to write about, and the last thing I needed was my name smeared in the paper again. We could fight, but it would be picking a fight with someone carrying a loaded weapon, and she was the one with the gun.

“Me? Jealous of the likes of you?” She let out a dry little laugh. “Hardly.”

Grabbing my bag, I proceeded to ignore her.

“You think you’re all that, don’t you? Believe me, they only notice one thing about you—or is that
two
?” She sneered and motioned to her chest disapprovingly.

She was practically calling me a whore, and on some level it really hurt. On another, I was so angry I wanted to hit her. A few scenarios played out in my mind, the most satisfying of which was smacking the door of my locker into her pointy turned-up nose. But I couldn’t afford the repercussions, and I didn’t want to hurt anyone, not even her. All I could do was walk away.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling at my fantasy of her with a bloody nose. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You’ll never get him,” she called to me when my back was turned.

As I wandered to my last class, I wondered whom she meant: Damiel or Michael. Perhaps she meant both.