Unbound (16 page)

“Rachel?”
my babysitter had called from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you in bed yet?”

“Yeah,”
I yelled back, not moving from my position at the window, waiting as I always
did, for my parents to come home.

My
breath caught as lights swung onto our street and my heart sped up for one
beat, two beats – where they home
?
My shoulders slumped – not my parents. Their car was red, and even in the
darkness, I could tell this one was blue.

Paying
close attention to the end of our street, I let my eyes wander for a moment
over the front yard. My purple bike still lay on the grass near the steps. I
would get in trouble for that. Too late now.

The
large maple tree on the corner of our lot was partially visible from my
bedroom, its low-slung branches perfect for climbing. Distracted from my watch
for headlights temporarily, I looked towards the dark patch between the tree
and the sidewalk. The one where I sometimes saw him.

I
don’t know who I thought he was. I’m not sure I’d even given myself a story
about him, except that I knew that believing he was there made me feel special.
I was only half-aware that I looked for him at all, sometimes seeing him,
sometimes not. The shadows were empty tonight and I let my eyes move back to
the road.

The
loud crash from downstairs startled me so badly that I jumped, bouncing my head
sharply off the glass.

“Heather?”
I waited, half turned towards my bedroom door, frozen. Minutes passed.

Removing
cramped fingers that gripped the windowsill, I padded to the top of the stairs.

“Heather?”
The silence scared me more than the crash. Straining, I could hear the tinny
sound of laughter coming from the living room. The television was on. Maybe she
couldn’t hear me.

Taking
the stairs one step at a time, I gripped the banister like a life line.

“Heather?”
I called more softly this time. Dread had begun rising up from my feet,
distorting my movement. Every heartbeat felt like an eternity.

Peering
into the living room, the flickering light of the television washed over the
furniture.

Not
in here.

Turning
slowly on shaky knees, I took a step towards the kitchen, and then another.

“Heather?”

I
started to cry.

With
my fingernails digging into my palms, I forced myself towards the kitchen.
Forced myself to see what was there.

My
screams were so loud they hurt my own ears.

Heather
lay on the cold ceramic tile; her body twisted grotesquely, one leg crumpled
underneath her. A kitchen chair lay toppled near her head, where a small
trickle of blood coursed down her alarmingly white forehead to puddle on the
floor. Stepping in, my brain belated registered pain and I looked down to see
tiny pieces of glass littering the kitchen floor, the largest piece no more
than the size of my thumb.

Backing
up, my red footprints marked the floor. My stomach roiled with fear. Sobbing, I
turned towards the hallway, running now towards the front door, to escape.

Throwing
the door wide, I stood on the threshold. And stopped.
 

A
man stood at the end of our path, his features hidden by the shadows.

He
didn’t move.

My
limbs tingled as my head cleared.

The
phone. I was supposed to call 911. Re-entering the house, I closed the door.
Locked it.
 

Stumbling
towards the living room, I picked up the phone and punched in those three magic
numbers that would make the world right again.

Before
I had even been able to give my address, the doorbell rang and I dashed on
stinging feet to let the emergency workers in.

Later,
I sat with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and cradled a cup of strong
tea, while my parents praised me and comforted me. But I’d heard the ambulance
attendant as he wheeled Heather out, conscious now, but groggy with pain from
the leg that had snapped in half as she tumbled off the chair.

“Your
neighbour called first. He was out walking when he heard your daughter
screaming.”

I
was only eleven, but I knew already what my parents would try to puzzle out for
months to come. Not a single neighbour would take credit for calling 911. No
one they spoke to was out walking that night.

And
I had known, although they did not, that my screams had barely had time to die
in the hallways of our house before the ambulance had arrived.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

My
breath caught in my throat as dark shadows twisted around the maple tree in
front of my apartment. Rooted to the spot, I waited for some sign that he was
there. The grass was silver and ghostly, robbed of colour in the moonlight and
the bare spindly branches from the tree reached towards the windows like the
fingers of a crone. Despite the darkness of the room, I suddenly felt exposed
and vulnerable. A shiver scurried down my spine, and uneasy, I moved away from
the window and went to bed.

The
dream begins the same way.

Jacob
and I are shrieking with laughter as we run through a meadow filled with
buttercups and butterflies. The tall grass brushes softly against my knees and,
exhilarated by the sun and the sweet smells, I run ahead.

“C’mon
Jacob!”

There
is no answer.
 

Turning
to look for him, I see Jacob and Eaden, standing hand-in-hand, watching me.
Jacob’s face is serene as he smiles up at Eaden, trust implicit in his gaze. In
sharp contrast, Eaden’s face is anything but tranquil. Seeing me alone, anguish
and fear wrack his expression. His eyes are wild. “Run,” he pleads.

I
do.

Bolting
through the meadow, the long grass becomes as thick and twisted as barbed wire
and my legs burn as it slashes me. Angry, dark clouds boil on the horizon and
the wind howls through me as if I were made of paper. Rustling bushes mark the
approach of the predator I know to expect, but this time, when death
approaches, I don’t smile to greet him.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

My
scream echoed through my dream and the four walls of my bedroom simultaneously.

Bolt
upright, I clutched my knees to my chest and gasped for breath. As the images
of my twisted dream receded, waves of sorrow and fear washed over me in spasms.
Spent, I lay trembling for hours, wide eyes fixed on the ceiling, until
eventually, numb with exhaustion, my eyes slid closed in surrender and I
slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Sitting
on the edge of the bed the next morning, I was unable to shake the lingering
disquiet of my nightmare and stared disconsolately out the window at the sullen
sky. It had been days since I had gone for a run. Maybe this sense of
foreboding was the result of too many changes to my routine. Maybe a good dose
of endorphins was all that I needed. Throwing on a long-sleeved tee-shirt and
running tights, I stepped onto the sidewalk in the grey light of the morning.

Morning
had always been my favourite time to run. The empty stillness of just-dawn felt
optimistic, holding the promise of fresh starts and second chances. Trying to
lose myself in the rhythm of my foot strikes, I hoped to recapture that sense
of expectation. Hoped to shake the feeling that everything I had was about to
slip away from me. The cold, crisp air held the tang of smoke and although the
sun did not light the sky in an obvious way, I tried to imagine its radiant
brightness behind the impassable ceiling of clouds.

Midway
through my run, sweat dampening the back of my neck, I felt my shoulders
loosen, felt the hopelessness of my nightmare fade. More relaxed, I scolded
myself for paying so much attention to my fears. It was so typical of me. So
predictable that just when things seemed perfectly right, my dread would kick
in, full force. In my sessions with Alex, I’d worked hard to understand that my
anxiety was protective. That it kept me at a safe distance from others. By
avoiding connections, I was making sure I wouldn’t be hurt. This was my old
pattern, hiding behind my fear when I felt vulnerable, and I was learning new
ways to cope.

Satisfied
that I had wrestled my demons, I showered and got ready for work in better
spirits. After all, today I would see Eaden and I was definitely looking
forward to that. Whenever I was with him, any doubts or worries I had were so
much more manageable. Like an organic source of Prozac, I knew my unease would
dissolve like mist in the sunlight the moment we were together again. He was
the safest thing I knew.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

Spotting
the envelope immediately when I got to work, sheer delight floated through me.
Like balloons filled with helium, happiness wafted upward, bumping around in my
brain. After I quick check to make sure I was alone, I tore open the envelope, resisted
the urge to kiss the paper, and unfolded the crisp white page.

Rachel,

I
missed you yesterday. Have dinner with me? I’ll meet you here at five o’clock.

E.

Grinning
so hard it hurt, I tucked the invitation into my bag and tried to tuck thoughts
of Eaden into my heart, defence against the doubts that danced and hovered at
the edge of my awareness.

*
         
*
         
*
         
*
         
*

Five
o’clock found me eager and waiting on the front steps of the library.
 

“Hot
date?” Tomas teased, poking his head out the glass doors.

Making
a face, I stuck my tongue out at him, but the blush that I felt colour my
cheeks was answer enough.

“Whoa!
Sassy today. He must be a keeper.” Laughing, he ducked back inside.

The
first fifteen minutes passed quickly. Leaning against the metal railing, I
fought the urge to stretch up on tiptoe to look for him among the crowds on the
sidewalk. As excited as I was to see Eaden, knowing that any moment I would
spot him walking towards me kept the worst of my impatience at bay.

The
next fifteen minutes were longer. Like a cranky toddler woken too early from a
nap, my insecurity began to clamour for attention. Slumping, I sat down on the
icy steps, hunched over with my arms crossed against my chest to keep warm. Had
he changed his mind? Realized that I wasn’t compelling after all? Irritated
that I was taking an emotional step backward after my insights this morning, I
tried to rouse my anger instead of my insecurity. So I spent the next
quarter-hour practising being angry at Eaden for keeping me waiting. But the anger
was harder to hold. Courteous to a fault, it just wasn’t like him to be late. Whatever
was holding him up would be legitimate. Better to wonder what sort of kiss I
might receive to place himself back into my good graces. My lips tingled in the
cold night air as I envisioned how Eaden would keep them warm.

The
last fifteen minutes were the worst. Back on my feet, shifting impatiently,
fear and irritation were joined by mortification as Tomas opened the door, red-faced.

He
cleared his throat. “Sorry Rachel, I’ve got to lock up now. Guess your guy
didn’t show, huh? You’ve got your cell? You don’t want to hang out here once
everybody goes home. It’s not safe. Want me to call you a cab?”

The
effort to smile felt Herculean. “No, I’m fine. I can walk. Thanks, though.”

Shoving
my hands into my coat pockets to warm them, I began to walk home in the
gathering darkness, disappointment and unease battling each other for
supremacy. It wasn’t logical to worry that Eaden had been hurt, per se. Given
my understanding of the term immortal, I knew he wasn’t lying dead in a ditch
somewhere. But I’d never been accused of lacking an imagination, and his
immortality certainly didn’t stop me from concocting other disasters that could
take him away from me just as easily. Sure that I was somehow to blame, I
ruminated over the cryptic comment he had made about consequences. Was he in
trouble for revealing himself to me? What if the shadowy Council he spoke about
had relocated him against his will?
 

My
breath rasped and my throat tightened painfully as my thoughts ran wild. What
if I never saw him again? What if I never felt so special, so important, so safe
again? I felt my eyes sting with unbearable grief, imagining our separation. My
loneliness. But anger was back in a flash. Get a grip, Rachel. He’s an hour
late, not a missing person. I was suddenly furious with him. Really furious,
this time. His excuse better involve heroic deeds to have stood me up on the
front steps of my work. It was humiliating.

Hands
clenched into tight fists, I stalked along the sidewalk, murmuring the angry
words that would spill from me when I laid eyes on him tonight. Despite my
agitation, or perhaps because of it, I think I was ready this time when my
scalp prickled and I became aware of a presence behind me on the deserted
sidewalk. Calm seeped into me like a warm bath, and, centred now, I waited
until I heard his footsteps before turning to confront him.

Whirling,
his name died on my lips. The man standing in the shadows was as tall as Eaden,
but I knew instinctively it wasn’t him. As he stepped into the synthetic glow
cast by the street light, his face stretched into a mocking smile that creased
his eyes, but did not enter them. Dark features contrasted with the light-coloured
clothing he wore; an expensive cream suit flattering his olive skin and black
hair that was combed back into a sleek pompadour. An equally well-made tan
coloured trenchcoat hung from his muscular frame.
 
Heavy-lidded, dark eyes studied me with
detached curiosity as he walked towards me, hands clasped casually behind his
back. When he spoke, his voice was velvety smooth and subtly accented.

 
“Well, this is a surprise,” he said. He
stopped a few feet away and examined me from head to toe in a sweeping gesture.
“I was expecting someone a lot less ordinary.”

Still
as stone, I watched him from the corner of my eye as he circled behind me to
get a better look.

Stopping
behind me, so close I could smell his cologne, he chuckled. “No accounting for
taste, is there?”

Infuriatingly
calm, I wondered why I wasn’t frightened, why I hadn’t bolted down the dark
empty street for help. Why was I just standing there?

I
stared back, vaguely curious as he stepped back in front of me, gazing at me
thoughtfully. His eyes were bleak. They were the eyes of someone who no longer
had a soul.

“You
do telegraph quite nicely, very easy to find.” He nodded with satisfaction.
“Maybe there is more to you than meets the eye, hmmm?”

Abruptly,
he grabbed my chin and shook it back and forth in a vice grip. “Let’s play,
shall we? Speak, child.”

The
command was non-negotiable. “What do you want?” Some part of me registered
surprise that my voice was so impassive, so aloof.

He
pouted in disappointment. “Well, that was entirely predictable. No fun there at
all.” He released my chin and scratched his index finger against his temple.
“What do I want?” Leaning in close, he stage whispered, “The
Mafte’ach
of course, you silly girl. You
must know that.”

My
eyes never leaving his, I shook my head in denial. I didn’t understand.

His
face brightened. “Oh, this is delightful!
 
You really don’t know, do you?” Black eyes glittering, he tilted his
head to look at me, puzzled. “Was he really telling the truth, then?” he mused.
“How very interesting. We thought that he had simply deteriorated.” He gave me
a wink and spun his index finger near his temple. “You know, gone loco.”

He
grabbed my face again and brought his own within inches, eyes searching. “What
gifts are you hiding, child. Tell me.”

Life
a frantic animal, terror pressed up against the numb curtain that enveloped me,
searching for a fissure to break through the aberrant paralysis. As the edges
of my vision began to blur, I was pretty certain that despite my lack of
concern, I was starting to lose consciousness.

Like
a flash of lightning, a fragment of my nightmare seared into my awareness, so
blinding I blinked.

Standing in the meadow, the
clouds were beginning to boil. “Run,” Eaden pleaded, his hand clasped tightly
in Jacob’s.

Staggering
backward, I tried to do just that, but it was like swimming against an
undertow. My limbs, thick and heavy no longer seemed to respond naturally.
Stumbling, I managed a few steps away from him, and then, a few steps more.

“Rachel?”
he called softly. “Where are you going?”

Wanting
to weep with frustration I barely felt, I used every bit of strength I had to
keep moving away from him.

“Turn
around, Rachel,” he said.

My
traitorous body turned against my will.
 
The rational part of my brain, so lucid without emotions to complicate
matters, acknowledged my defeat with only passing interest. All was lost, it
seemed.

He
stood in front of me, an indulgent smile on his lips as he shook his head
slowly back and forth. He tapped me playfully on the nose with his gloved
finger as if I were a mischievous puppy. “You are naughty, aren’t you?”

He
paused then and arching an eyebrow, glanced at me appreciatively, this time
sweeping his gaze below my neck. “Or is that where your charms lie?” he asked.

Pressing
his mouth close to my ear, his breath was hot and sticky on my neck.
 
“What happened, young one? Did you
resist him? Fight him? Was he excited by your struggle?”

To
any passer by, we would seem like lovers embracing.

“Perhaps
I should know what he found so captivating about you that he would give up his
reward?”

If
I had a voice, I would be screaming.