Malice, page 14
He lifts his hand, and it hovers in the air, as though he’s not sure where to put it. And then he cups my cheek, holding it as though it were Lalana’s blown-glass butterfly. “Thank you, Alice. Thank you for helping me breathe when I needed it most.”
I don’t know if I can speak. The tears coat my throat, drowning my words, stealing my vocabulary. I’ve always hoped someday my photos would mean something to somebody. I never dreamed that it had already happened without my realizing it. “Thank you,” I finally manage. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever received.”
“You have an unbelievable talent,” he says. “Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. Don’t let people like Uncle Charlie belittle you for your art. And stop wasting time on your foodie account!”
I laugh, shocked. “What? How do you even know about that?”
He crinkles his eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, your food photos are great. And if I ever need inspiration for what to make for dinner, I know just where to look. But your talent lies in capturing movement, in showcasing emotion. Not food. That’s what’s going to get you closer to reaching your potential. Photos that reveal your true heart. Not ones that hide your talent behind dinner.”
My jaw’s hanging open. Bandit follows my account? He must, since he wouldn’t be able to offer such sound advice otherwise. Advice that I’ve known in my gut—but have been too scared to follow.
He slouches against the wall, his eyes glowing with amusement. But he appears to be laughing at himself, rather than me. “I’m @ThiefOfYourHeart.”
My mouth clicks closed, only to open again.
@ThiefOfYourHeart religiously likes all my photos. He comments at least once a week. “Now who’s the stalker?”
He grins. “Only of the cyber variety. You’re the real-life kind.” He fiddles with the sleeve of my shirt. “So will you come with me to Charlie’s? It’s a two-hour drive. I could use the company.” He pauses. “Unless, uh, you have a boyfriend? Someone like Zeke?”
“I told you, I don’t date,” I say, even though I’m struggling to remember why. “Zeke and I are just friends.”
I’m aware that I just had a very similar conversation, with a very different boy, not two hours earlier. It’s…unsettling, to say the least.
This outing to Charlie’s cabin is exactly what I wanted. What I’ve been hoping and planning for this entire day: a way to access my target. And yet, I hesitate.
There are so many reasons to back away from Bandit’s invitation. My own personal security. The fact that I feel entirely too much for Bandit. Even now, the Voice’s words echo through my head. Don’t fall for this boy. It’ll only make what you have to do later harder. She may want me to save the world, but she wouldn’t want me to get closer to Bandit in the process. She’d suggest that I follow him instead. Find out where Charlie lives and return at a later time.
And then, there’s the pesky detail that I’ll have to kill a person. I’m not ready! Not now; not today. It would be so much easier, so much safer, to put off this task for another day.
There’s only one reason to proceed: because I refuse to abandon the future for another second.
I feel like I’m on a precipice. One decision would take me back to the Alice I’ve always known, the one who opts for the sheltered path, who follows without question the advice of someone older and wiser. The other decision would make me topple down unfamiliar terrain. It would forge a course to a new Alice, one whom I don’t know but whom I’ve glimpsed in sharp, vivid flashes in the last few days.
To tell the truth, I started making this decision the moment I rang Bandit’s doorbell. And now his fingers are brushing the skin below my sleeve. Now he’s giving me his trademark smirk, the one that no longer looks arrogant to me, only confident.
I’m more certain than ever that my older self and I are not the same person. We don’t have the same agenda. We may not want the same thing.
Which means I get to choose. Me. The present Alice. I get to decide how best to accomplish my mission.
“Let’s do it,” I say. “Let’s go to Charlie’s.”
But what I really mean is: Let’s embrace the present to save the future. Let’s journey deep into the woods, to the cabin of the man I’m supposed to kill.
Chapter 26
Two hours later, we pull off the paved road. We’ve been climbing into the mountains for a few miles, twisting and turning with the contours of the range. But now the dirt path onto which we’ve plunged is barely wide enough for Bandit’s navy Tahoe. A sudden dip causes the seat belt to bite into my shoulder, and a branch scrapes against the side of the car, creating a loud screech.
“Your poor paint job,” I moan, white-knuckling the bar on the passenger door. “These trees are wrecking it.”
Bandit fixes his eyes straight ahead. “Now you know why I don’t get out here more often.”
These are the first words we’ve exchanged in the last five minutes. He’s silent because he’s concentrating on the road. Me, on the other hand? I’m tense because there’s a gun in my backpack, and the closer we get to Charlie’s cabin, the more aware I am of its heavy weight against my thigh.
Earlier, however, I was able to forget my mission for long minutes at a time. I told Bandit about my passion for exploring the world—and all the nature, animals, and people in it. My mom lived in only one town, I explained. She only ever knew one group of people, one way of life. Maybe that’s not why she left; maybe my need to take a divergent path is only one factor contributing to my career choice. But I’d be lying if I said that her abandonment didn’t play a role.
He told me he used to be nerdy as a kid. He wore thick black glasses and was constantly teased. That was why he wasn’t nicer when I confessed that I loved him on the basketball court. He felt the scrutiny of all those eyes—and he resorted to the role he knew best, the one that’s protected him all these years: arrogant jerk.
Of course, it didn’t help that he was the victim of rampant rumors last year, the ones that claimed his parents were bribing the guidance counselor.
“Do you want to know why I was really seen leaving her office at all hours?” he asked, his eyes dark and vulnerable. “I was receiving counseling for Khun Yai’s death. But I suppose the truth is nowhere as juicy as the gossip.”
I reached across the console and squeezed his arm. Because I was as guilty as the rest of our classmates in my perception of him. Entitled, universally admired Bandit, without a worry to darken his painfully perfect life.
Yes, he’s popular. Yes, he has a high opinion of himself. But though we may be different in some ways, we’re achingly similar in others. In our values. In the cores of who we are.
Presently, we stop in front of a cabin, and my vision narrows to a single pinprick. The gun feels like it’s burrowing a hole in my leg. I think I’m going to black out.
Breathing deeply, I relax my fingers on my backpack straps, one by one, and focus on the scene in front of me. The cabin is unlike any I’ve ever seen. Elevated ten feet in the air, the grown-up tree house is complete with balconies, windows, and sliding doors. The entire structure is perched on three thick, sawed-off trunks and braced against another enormous tree. A long, rising walkway leads to the front entrance.
The result, however, is far from whimsical. The house is crudely built, with wood that looks like it’s battled a hundred thunderstorms. The frame looks sturdy enough, but there’s no trim on the windows, no shingles on the roof. It’s as though the builder lost interest halfway through the project.
“Charlie lives here?” I ask, my mouth dry.
“Yep.” He opens the door and hops down from the Tahoe. “For at least the last decade.”
I should follow him out of the car, but I don’t. Thoughts whirl around my head like a tornado. I have to kill a person. Not just any person, but Bandit’s uncle. The person we just drove two hours into the woods to see.
My heart rams against my chest. I have no experience at this. This mission. This murder. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I even get the opportunity to point a gun at Charlie. Will I be able to pull the trigger? Can I single-handedly be responsible for ending a person’s life?
I don’t want to do this! I want to find a brook and listen to the water gurgling past the rocks. I want to be a girl whose only goal is getting to know this intriguing blue-haired boy. I want to forget I ever heard a voice in my head.
A set of knuckles raps against the car window, and I jump. Bandit peers through the glass, his brows furrowed. “You coming out?” Hastily, I slide the backpack over my shoulders and step onto a field of overgrown weeds that tickle my ankles.
The long trip up the walkway feels like I’m marching toward the gallows. My breathing doubles with every few steps. By the time we reach the front door, I’m a sweating, knee-trembling mess.
Charlie better not be in a violent mood, because I’m not overpowering anyone in this state.
Instead of knocking on the door, Bandit turns to me. “I didn’t mean to brush you off before,” he says. “Back at the house, when you asked me who made me feel worthless. I said it was none of your business, but the truth is…I was glad you cared enough to ask.”
My pulse downshifts to a more even rate. “It’s okay. The question’s personal. I get it.”
“My parents,” he blurts. “It’s funny, really. The rumors couldn’t have gotten it any more wrong. In order to bribe anyone, they would first have to care. And the truth is, they never wanted me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “It’s tough when parents put their work ahead of their kids.”
“No, you don’t understand.” He rubs his neck. “My dad’s just a distracted person, but my mom actually doesn’t want me. She tells me all the time. She accidentally got pregnant when they were starting their business, and Khun Ta threatened to disown her if she got an abortion.” His words spill out in a rush now.
“She’s never told me she loves me. Not once. In the third grade, I brought home a Valentine, a big red heart I’d made in art class, with the words ‘I love you, Mommy’ across the front. Do you know what she said?”
“What?” My stomach clenches involuntarily.
“She said never to call her Mommy again. I was to refer to her as the formal Khun Mai, and that’s it.”
The ache in my chest is so tangible, I could hold it in my hand. Your parents are supposed to love you above all else. And when they don’t, you can’t help but question your worth. I should know. The doubts started when Mom left. But every instance of Dad’s indifference reinforces those insecurities and makes them real.
“It’s her loss if she doesn’t value you properly,” I say fiercely.
“Maybe.” He moves his shoulders. “Anyhow, I just wanted you to know. You flew to my defense, even though we just met last week. And that means something. I didn’t want you to think otherwise.”
I lick my lips. I’m glad my words mattered to him…but why is he telling me now? “Are you, uh, saying all this because you think we’re in some kind of danger?”
He laughs. “Why would we be in danger?”
Oh, maybe because I have a gun in my backpack. And we’re about to knock on the door of the person I’m plotting to kill.
He faces the door again, and prickles of apprehension cover the fullness of my heart.
Nobody answers the first knock. He tries again, trading in his knuckles for a fist, banging instead of tapping. Still nothing.
He cranes his neck to peer around the cabin. “His car’s not here. Weird. He never goes out. Even his groceries are delivered once a week. Plus, he was expecting me.”
He tries the knob, and the door swings open. A scent wafts out, dank and musty. Instantly, the hair on my neck stands up. I have no idea what the smell is. I just know I don’t want to be here.
Indecision wars across Bandit’s face. A light breeze blows over us, and in the bright light of the late-afternoon sun, I can see goose bumps pebbling his skin. “What do you think?” he asks. “Should we go in?”
No! I want to scream. Let’s leave now, before I commit a crime that will lock me up for the rest of my life. Before the situation goes terribly wrong and he ends up killing us.
But the Alice I want to be isn’t a coward. And I didn’t drive all this way just to turn around and go home. I take a deep breath. “Let’s go grab the papers you were sent here to fetch.”
I sound 500 percent braver than I feel. Too bad my teeth start to chatter. So much for my swagger. To cover up, I stride past Bandit…and bite back a scream as something scrabbles over my sneaker.
“Oh,” I gasp. “A cockroach or rat just ran over my foot.”
“You don’t know which? They’re not exactly the same size.” He steps gingerly beside me.
I don’t want to tell him that this something was closer to the size of cat.
His fingers brush against mine ever so slightly. That’s all the invitation I need. I grab his hand and hold on tight.
We move farther into the house. I take in the simple layout. Living room in the center, kitchen to the right, bedroom and office to the left. The meager pieces of furniture—bookcase, table, couch—are spare and utilitarian. A layer of dust coats everything, almost as thick as the blanket of leaves outside, and a pile of gray fluff is swept against the wall.
But no Charlie.
My shoulders droop. Oh, thank goodness. Maybe I won’t have to use the gun today.
“Is it always like this?” I ask, covering up my relief with a sneeze.
“Charlie’s never been tidy,” he says. “But this…this is next level. Sometimes he gets so preoccupied with his work that he forgets to clean. I guess this is one of those times.”
Charlie’s obsessing over a project now, right when the Voice started showing up in my head? The timing’s too coincidental. Whatever this research is, it’s got to be related to the virus.
“Can we take a breather?” Bandit asks faintly.
His tone makes me snap up my head. He’s looking around frantically, as though we might be trapped inside.
“The balcony,” he manages. “Can we go outside?”
“Of course.” I usher him through the double glass doors.
The view is breathtaking. The world is bisected into two colors: the heartbreaking blue of the expansive sky and the lush emerald of the tree line. A breeze lifts the hair off my shoulders, and I can see the appeal of living in a tree house, shoddy housekeeping and all.
My fingers actually ache for my camera. But the gun took up too much room in my backpack, so there wasn’t room for the Canon Rebel.
Bandit, however, is not appreciating the view. He’s not even looking at it.
Instead, his palms are braced against the railing, and he’s lowered his ears between his shoulders, breathing hard.
Uh-oh. Does he suspect what’s inside my backpack, amid the dried-flower-infused lip gloss and cell phone battery pack?
I place a hand on his shoulder. “Bandit, are you okay?”
He pauses for an inordinately long minute. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Talk to me.” Dropping my backpack, I wiggle my way in between his arms so that he has to look at me.
He lifts his face, and his expression is both sheepish and miserable. “I kinda have this thing about germs.”
I let out a breath. So he doesn’t suspect me. Suddenly, I remember the small mountain of sanitizer he squirted into his hand when I vomited in the bushes. I guess he wasn’t concerned about my germs, in particular. He just doesn’t like anybody’s.
“It’s more than a thing if you’re out here trying to catch your breath,” I say.
“First time that’s happened,” he admits. “The level of filth is just over-the-top. I could feel myself getting sick just standing there.” He shudders. “‘Phobia’ is too strong a word, though. I’m not a fan of germs. That’s all. I don’t even like to touch people.”
“You’re touching me,” I point out.
We both look down at our bodies, which have somehow become nestled against each other.
The air practically bristles with energy. I’m wedged in between his legs, my back up against the railing. A pulse beats at his neck. His lips are parted—and inches from mine.
I detect the moment his eyes change, shifting from panic into…something else. Something that warms me from the inside out.
“See, that’s what I like about you.” He places both hands at my waist, and my nerves sizzle through my T-shirt. “When I’m around you, I hardly think about germs.”
“You held my hair back when I threw up in the bushes,” I say, my voice wobbly. “That had to be challenging.”
“It wasn’t my favorite moment.” He brushes back my hair, and his fingers skate along my ear. “But to be honest, I was just focused on helping you.”
I’m trying really hard not to go up in flames, right here on the balcony. It would be such a shame. With so much wood, I’d turn this entire house into an inferno.
“You make me want to try all sorts of things I’ve been too afraid to try,” he murmurs, staring at my lips.
“Do you mean kissing?” I ask, trying to string together some brain cells. “Are you saying you’ve never kissed anyone before?”
I’m stunned, honestly. Bandit’s really attractive, and his abs are a hot topic of discussion among the girls—and a few guys—of the junior class. In all that talk, I swear I’ve heard rumors of him making out with someone.
My own kissing experience hasn’t exactly been vast, since I don’t date. But there’s been the mashing of lips in the darkened gym during homecoming. Some amateur groping at a party.
