Part 15 (1/2)

Friends. Lovers.

We had the chance to be, Together forever under the Alayeahian Sea.

As if to prove there was no avoiding an invasion of her mind, Dervinias started humming the chorus along with her thoughts. Ugh. He deserved a thorough beating. But her whole body hurt. She rested her head against the seat and listened.

His sang in a deep baritone. After a few times through, he said, ”It's been so long since I've heard that song. Thanks, Venus.”

He made it difficult for Venus to stay mad.

Zaren reached over and grabbed her hand. Grateful for his comfort, she squeezed; pleased he knew exactly what she needed. ”You're welcome, Dervinias.”

They continued home in silence.

Venus said her goodnights to Zaren and Dervinias on the way in the house. She wanted to be alone. It took every effort not to drop into bed and sleep, grubby clothes and everything, but the idea of dirtying the pretty white comforter drove her into the shower.

Before she went to sleep, she stretched her mind to reach Cheverly, placing loving ideas about Michael into her head. Cheverly had quite the dreams, too. It made Venus's job all the easier. After Chev, she entered Michael's mind-well tried. There wasn't anything to enter. Clearly, he hadn't gone to bed yet. Venus waited for a while, but fell asleep.

When she realized she was on the fringes of his mind, she searched through his dreams as well as his memories. The visions she encountered terrified her while simultaneously breaking her heart.

No!

33. Human Nature.

Around ten, Michael and Cheverly decided to call it a night. They'd already returned their horses to the barn and Venus, Zaren and Dervinias had gone. It made it easier for Michael to focus on Chev. She walked him to Red, his hand in hers.

”Can you forgive me, Michael?” she asked tenderly.

He loved her upturned nose. The way her glistening lips called to him in the moonlight. Her dancing eyes surrounded by curly lashes. She looked incredible. It wasn't even hard to bend and brush his lips against hers. They tasted of toasted marshmallow and hot chocolate.

She smiled into his lips. ”Is that a yes?”

In response, Michael kissed her harder, clutching her shoulders. He made every effort to block out images of Venus. Their almost kiss, the feel of her body against his. The strange, scary, weird pictures that'd entered his mind when their lips touched. He resisted a shudder at the memory of Venus on the ground heaving blood this afternoon.

What's the matter with her? Who is she?

Shaking off the questions, he worked harder to focus on Chev. She'd reached her hands under his s.h.i.+rt, and her hands wandered. The girl knew how to arouse him. Despite that, he gently pushed her away and searched her face for answers she wouldn't possess.

”Oh, Michael, I love you.” She touched his face. Brushed away some hair that'd fallen into his eyes.

Michael watched the words leave her mouth, heard the lilt of longing. Her eyes sought a.s.surance, and her body language begged a response.

Why not?

”I love you, too, Chev.” His voice hadn't cracked. The words didn't come out weird. He'd sounded sincere. Michael did . . . love her, care for her. She was kind and gorgeous, a perfect combination.

Tears filled her eyes. One ran down a cheek.

He caught it, wiped it away. ”Are you okay?”

”Yes. Very okay.” She hugged him, pressing her face into his chest. Michael hugged her back, knowing he should feel happier. Feel more. Instead, he felt anxiety, like he'd swallowed a large rock.

Michael didn't think it had anything to do with Chev. He kissed the top of her head. The smell of her shampoo-jasmine-filled his nose. No, he didn't think so. Wherever their relations.h.i.+p led them, Michael believed she loved him.

Is that what you want?

”Michael?”

”I should go. Do you want to get together tomorrow?” He opened the door, climbed in.

”Yeah?”

A question hung on her lips, but the boulder in his stomach seemed to be growing. He had to go. Now.

”I'll call you. Promise.” Michael started the car, closed the door and left. The closer he got to home, the larger the stone became. Something was wrong.

34. Sharp Dressed Man.

When he turned off Red and closed the garage, he noticed the clock on the wall next to the door. 12:06 A.M. The door from the garage to the kitchen gaped, ajar. When he pushed it open further, a pungent smell a.s.saulted him.

Sharp. Combined with the citrus scent of their cleaning supplies, he couldn't place it. From the street, it'd looked like every light in the house was on, which was maybe why he glanced at the clock. Mother preferred to keep the house dark. It had to do with her depression and her constant belief that life wasn't fair.

Those were reasons she'd given him before. But, he'd always figured it made the evil she flung at him seem less real. So his coming home and seeing the complete opposite gave him pause, made Michael worry. He didn't know what to expect: A drunken rampage or worse.

One way to find out.

”Mother?”

Typically, when she stayed up late, she either watched TV in the den or her bedroom. Michael checked the den first. The television blared some late-night talk show. A couple of the cus.h.i.+ons on the couch were scrunched, like they'd been used, but she wasn't there. With the remote, he switched off the TV. Then he went into her bedroom. An empty gla.s.s sat on the nightstand. Next to that, a bottle of wine, opened and half full. Normal. At least twenty squished cigarette b.u.t.ts lay in a gla.s.s ashtray. The burgundy comforter and sheets on her bed were pulled back.

”Mother,” he called again. No answer. He switched off the bathroom light after checking it. His letterman's jacket, with the hole in the shoulder, had been moved. Where'd she put it? In his closet? He had no idea with her. It could've been thrown in the trash. As he moved toward the living room, the rock in his stomach nearly sent him to his knees. The stench became stronger. He had to check it before heading upstairs.

When he entered, it was as if his mind went on pause. He forgot how to think, how to do anything but stand there, frozen. For how long, he had no clue. He knew the images that flooded his mind would haunt him forever.

Blood. Death.

Everywhere.

The odor burned. A physical a.s.sault from every angle beat his senses. Large blotches of blood stained the walls, with streaks running toward the floor, like they were racing to see who got down first. Blood had been flung all over the furniture, the closed curtains, and the carpet. It covered the lampshades, too, giving the room an eerie red glow.

”Mom,” he yelled. She lay on the floor in front of their wood coffee table, hands tied at the wrists. Michael ran and fell to his knees at her side.

Disgusted. Horrified. Terrified.

Bile rose into his throat. He stood, ran to a corner and puked. When he finished, Michael realized he'd touched a wall to hold himself steady. More blood. His mom's blood, covered his hand.

”No. No. No,” he cried, wiping it on his pants and rus.h.i.+ng back to her.