Malice, page 17
I’m living it.
“Where is that hunky boyfriend of yours?” a voice says behind me. “Did he say where he was meeting us?”
I glance back. She’s older. More black makeup rims her eyes; her top is cut lower than I’ve ever seen her wear. But there’s no mistaking my best friend. Lalana.
My heart leaps, and I can’t tell if the emotion belongs to me or the older Alice. Our minds blend together like a milkshake, and it’s impossible to distinguish one from the other.
“He said in the club.” I rise onto my tiptoes. But with wall-to-wall people and arm-to-arm jostling, it’s like trying to find the one pink grain in a Santorini volcanic sand beach.
Except…there he is!
Miraculously, I glimpse Zeke’s beloved Silver Oak baseball cap, turned backward on his head. Four years since we’ve left high school, and he still wears that old thing.
“Be right back,” I murmur to Lalana. I push through the crowd, ducking under limbs and skimming past backs.
I catch up to him and wrap my arms around his torso. Definitely more solid than before. He just started a new workout regimen, and holy wow, is it working. I make an appreciative sound in my throat and run my fingers over his abs.
He turns, and my blood runs still. Oops. It’s not Zeke but a stranger with black hair and beautiful eyes that taper at the corners.
Cheeks burning, I snatch away my hands. Damn the long-sleeve collared shirt! “Sorry! I…uh, thought you were someone else.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Apparently.”
I nearly stumble. There’s something familiar about that brow. That bored, bored expression. I know this guy; I’m sure of it.
“We went to high school together,” I blurt. “You’re that kid who used to have blue hair.”
“And you’re the girl who has the genius brother,” he returns.
This, for some reason, hurts. “Is that all I’m known for?”
“I could say you were the girl whose attention I tried—and failed—to catch,” he says, the corner of his lips twitching, “but that would sound too much like a line.”
I can’t help it. A shiver moves across my spine, and I drop my eyes before I can stare too hard at his mouth.
A moment later, a hand closes around my arm. I look up. Same height as Bandit, same build. Just as gorgeous, just as smart. And that’s where the similarities end. Zeke is African-American, while Bandit is Asian. Zeke is my boyfriend, while Bandit is a stranger. Just a boy who traveled in a different circle at my prestigious private school.
“Let’s get out of here.” Zeke twines his hand through mine and turns toward the door.
My heart sinks to the alcohol-slicked floor. An intense sense of loss overwhelms me. Why? Why do I have this reaction to a guy I don’t know and barely remember? “Nice running into you,” I say to Bandit. “Sorry, uh, about the accidental fondle.”
Zeke tugs me into the crowd. I glance over my shoulder. Bandit winks at me. He winks. I’ve never known a guy to pull off such a corny move, but if the heat bubbling up my insides is any indication, it works.
Not that it matters. I’ll likely never see him again. I grip Zeke’s hand as he leads me through the crush of people, propelling me on to our future.
And leaving Bandit to his.
Chapter 33
I jerk awake. My pillow is soaked through, and the thin sheet is twisted around my body. I pant, trying to collect my thoughts, to remember how to breathe.
It’s okay. It’s okay. It was only a dream… Wasn’t it? The earlier images fade and twist, becoming even fuzzier and more convoluted the longer I’m awake. But the scene at the club remains clear. Sharp. I can repeat my conversation with Bandit word for word. I feel as though I lived it.
Does that mean the scene actually happens in my future…or at least one of my futures? The original timeline, maybe, before the Voice interfered. Before she threw Bandit in my path a few years too early.
I groan and grab my head. The jellyfish in my mood lamp jump over one another, oblivious to my distress. What is happening? Why is my present and future getting all mixed up?
Suddenly, footsteps pound down the hall. Urgent, rattled—an emergency.
I raise myself on one elbow just as Archie bursts into the room. His hair sticks out in every direction, and he’s wielding a wooden rod as though it were a baseball bat. He wears, of course, his Marie Curie T-shirt. Does he sleep in that thing?
“Are you okay?” he gasps. “Where is he?”
I lift my hands in the air. “It’s just me, Arch. No one else is here.”
He lowers the rod, his eyes narrowing on me, in my striped pajama pants and cotton tank, alone in my bed. “Are you sure?”
“As one of your proofs,” I say.
He prowls the room, checking behind my desk, opening the closet, even lifting up my mood lamp, as though he’s searching for a false bottom.
“Why do you think someone’s here?” I rub my arms. Now that my heart rate is slowing, the sweat is drying on my neck, chilling me.
“I heard you scream.” He drops to his knees to check under the bed, sweeping the rod in a wide arc. “I thought you were being attacked.”
I shiver. If all goes according to plan, the only person who will be doing the attacking is me. And yet, nothing has proceeded like I hoped. Is Archie’s concern an omen? Maybe the Maker’s allies are organizing a strike on me, right at this very moment.
Archie collapses at the foot of my bed, and the wooden rod bounces harmlessly on the carpet. “I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.” He hunches his shoulders, his breath weird and hitching.
I freeze. My brother is actually…crying.
“Archie!” I fly across the bed, throwing my arms around him.
“I have these dreams,” he mumbles. “Demons chase me. Every night. No matter how fast I run, no matter where I hide, they always catch me. That’s why I hate sleeping.” He pulls away from our hug, his eyes blurry behind his glasses. “Tonight, they found you. They ate you up, crunching on your bones, spitting out your organs, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to save you.”
The shiver turns into a full-body tremble, and it’s all I can do not to dive under the covers and take my brother with me. Dreams. Nothing but the unconscious mind processing the events of the day.
And yet, I know better than anyone else that dreams aren’t quite so benign. Hell, I just had proof of that.
“I’m right here,” I say, ignoring the prickles on my skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”
But even as I say the words, I know they’re not true. Just a few hours ago, I contemplated flinging myself off a mountain road alongside Bandit.
Archie must’ve sensed I was in jeopardy. Somehow, he knows that I might be ripped away from him. It’s this strange connection we’ve always had, being born eleven months apart. Not quite twins but closer than regular siblings.
“Listen, Arch,” I say. “About Maggie. I don’t think we can trust what Lee says—”
“Don’t.” He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Even if Lee was lying to me, Maggie is sincere. I know it.”
I twist the comforter into knots. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I’m not happy,” he says, so softly I have to lean forward to hear him above the whir of my mood lamp. “I’ve never been happy.”
Guilt slices through the chills. My brother spends the bulk of his time in our basement, alone. I thought that was what he wanted. I must be as bad as Dad if I never bothered to make sure.
“You’re the only one who’s ever loved me.” His eyes blaze. “Do you know I’ve never had a real friend, ever? I have no idea how it feels to have someone like me for me. Not because I’m their brother. Not because of what I can do for them.”
“Zeke’s your friend.”
Archie laughs. The sound could crack windows. “Zeke? I’m not sure you know him nearly as well as you think.”
I frown. “What are you talking about? Clearly Zeke cares about you. He’s over here all the time!”
“I’m pretty sure Zeke only wants to be my friend because of the brainpower I can lend to his research.”
“What research?” I ask, but even as I say the words, my stomach flips. Because Archie already complained to me that Zeke didn’t thank him in his acceptance speech. Because Zeke himself told me at the car wash that he needed Archie’s help with a conundrum.
Is this the reason Zeke won the award over my brother? Because there were two minds working on his project rather than one? More importantly, can research on cell modification lead to the invention of time travel? Or…a deadly virus?
Bandit might be my target, but that doesn’t absolve the others of all guilt. This web is too tangled for someone to weave alone. And I have a feeling that my mission can’t end—won’t end—by killing a single person. I lace my trembling fingers together. “What, exactly, have you and Zeke gotten yourselves into down in that basement?”
“Forget I said anything,” Archie mumbles, picking at a loose thread on my bedspread.
“But I don’t understand,” I protest. “What you’re saying about Zeke doesn’t match anything I’ve witnessed—“
“I said, drop it!” My brother’s tone turns sharp. He lifts his eyes to mine, and they’re so vulnerable, so raw, that they steal the words from my lips. “I just…I want someone to talk to.”
“You have me,” I say helplessly.
He snorts. “No offense, Alice. But you don’t understand half of what I say.”
I shrug. Because he’s right. I’m not the best companion for him. And even if I were, I can protect him only until the end of summer. After that, my brother’s path will diverge from mine. He will go somewhere I cannot follow.
He stands and walks to the door, and I’m seized with a deep, dark certainty that I’m losing my brother. He began this slippery descent into loneliness six years ago, when Mom left. All my efforts to preserve our closeness have been about as successful as stopping the flow of the Amazon River with a toothpick.
“Hey, Arch,” I call. “Remember my first day at preschool? I stood in the middle of the blacktop, bawling. And then you came up, took my hand, and led me to the tricycles. We spent the rest of recess chasing each other and laughing our heads off.”
The corners of his mouth quirk. “Yeah. I remember.”
“You were my hero that day. And every day after that.”
He searches me like I’m a faded equation in an ancient textbook. “Your only friends back then were your dolls, squirt. So forgive me if I’m not impressed.”
“I only owned, like, one doll,” I protest.
“Exactly. Even among your pretend friends, you only had one.” He smiles, which never fails to make my heart lighter.
And yet, I can’t shake my uneasiness. His casual teasing reassures me that my brother is still there, underneath the loneliness. But it doesn’t tell me what he’s really thinking. It doesn’t help me close the gap.
Archie adjusts his glasses and grasps the doorknob. “Be careful, Alice. There’s so much evil in this world. I don’t want you tangled up in it.”
One blink later, he is gone.
Chapter 34
I don’t go back to sleep after my brother leaves. I can’t. My mind spins too wildly; too many emotions push and jostle at my heart. Anxiety over Archie. Dread at my upcoming mission. Confusion over my dream.
I’m more certain with each passing minute that the scene in the club happened in my original timeline. Does that mean I’ll end up with Zeke? Is Bandit nothing more than a blip in my life?
At least I know that I’ll find love and happiness, even if it’s not with Bandit.
That should make him easier to kill.
I wince like I do every time I think about my mission. But that won’t work. I need to desensitize myself to the words. Numb myself to the idea.
Kill Bandit. Kill Bandit. Kill Bandit.
A phrase to block out the soft feelings that threaten to arise. A mantra to turn me into a murdering machine.
I don’t want to kill him. Every organ inside me rebels at the thought. I can’t help but cling to the hope that there’s another way. He can change. I believe in his goodness, and I just can’t accept that death is the answer.
And yet…millions of lives are at stake. The Voice told me in no uncertain terms what I must do to protect the future.
Can I really defy my older self, and her hard-earned wisdom, on a whim? Can I risk all those people in a deluded attempt to save one boy?
I don’t know.
Ping. Ping. Ping. The cell phone on my nightstand sounds with three successive text messages. Rolling over on my mattress, I pick up the device, almost afraid to look.
Sweetest Boy Alive: I’m not telling u what I’m wearing. This time I’m just gonna show u
The text is followed by an image of Bandit—more precisely, a selfie of his handsome face and solid body. In it, he peers at me through the blue hair flopping over his forehead, his eyes piercing and vulnerable. He’s wearing khaki pants and a black T-shirt emblazoned with the words Sorry, not sorry. The last two words are crossed out with a thin strip of masking tape.
Sweetest Boy Alive: Last night didn’t end how I wanted. Can we talk? Plz
My breath catches. He’s apologizing…with his clothes? Even though I’m the one who won’t give him answers? That’s as cute as the baby hedgehog videos I watch on YouTube. Helplessly, I brush my finger across his face. The image moves as soon as I touch the screen, pulling me back to reality.
I shake my head roughly. What am I doing? I’m supposed to kill him, not caress him. The millions of dead people couldn’t care less how adorable he is.
Sweetest Boy Alive: The rents r out of town. That’s not a come-on, I promise. just…if u want 2 talk, I’m here
I drop the phone like it burns me. This is it, then. The perfect opportunity to fulfill my mission. His parents gone, the house empty. I can’t put off this task any longer.
Tonight. I have to kill him tonight.
I take breath after breath, faster and faster. But I can’t fill my lungs. I can’t stop my panting. Bandit can no longer be the guy I’m crushing on. I refuse to think about him as a person, as the boy who drinks sweet chrysanthemum tea because it reminds him of his khun yai. I have to forget his smiles, pretend I never knew the feel of his lips.
He can only be one thing to me: the target I need to take out to save the world.
So I change into workout clothes and do what I always do when I need to not think: run. Down the street, through the park with the rusted playground, onto the wooded trail that will take me on a four-mile loop.
Kill Bandit.
The sun inches into the sky, sneaking fingers of light through the gaps in the leaves. The shade offered by the densely grown trees is cool and blissfully serene.
Kill Bandit.
My heart pounds, my muscles ache, my feet slap at the dirt path. I revel in the sensations, pushing myself harder. Faster. Longer.
Kill Bandit.
Is my soul sufficiently numb yet?
I slow to a jog as I round the corner back to my house. I can do this. I’ll fire a bullet into his chest, just like I researched on the internet, and poof, he’ll disappear from our world, taking with him unimaginable loss and sorrow. All I have to do is not think. Not feel…
My best friend sits on our front porch, her fingers laced loosely over her knees. Her hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she’s holding a blown-glass butterfly, with wings so fine they might as well be gossamer.
I suck in a breath. She’s here. She’s actually here.
“Lalana!” I launch myself at her, wrapping my arms around her back. “How are you?”
I’m almost sobbing, I’m so excited to see my best friend. But her spine is as stiff as a board, and she holds the butterfly as though it were a life preserver. She’s not hugging me back.
I retreat, my hands dropping awkwardly to my sides. “I’ve been so worried,” I say quietly. Part of her hood is tucked into her collar, and I have to fist my hands so I don’t reach out and straighten it.
“Have you really?” She raises her eyebrows. Uh-oh. I know that expression. Lalana has the kindest, most generous heart in the world, but she doesn’t put up with anybody mistreating her. Apparently, even me.
“Of course,” I say helplessly. “You’re my best friend.”
She strokes a finger over a butterfly wing, not looking at me. “The school suspended me for a week. Since this is my first offense, the lawyer recommended we enter a guilty plea for possession and pay the fine. Not a big deal, in the larger scheme of things. But that’s not all.” Her fingers tighten on the butterfly. “As you can probably guess, my parents are shipping me out to California. They’ve had enough of my wild behavior, and they’re putting an end to it, diaw nee. I’ll finish high school out there.”
“I’m sorry. I…” The words fade, as though they know how hypocritical they are. “When do you leave?”
“It hardly matters, does it, when this will be the last time you see me.” Finally, she looks up. At last, those dark-brown eyes drill into mine. “I know the marijuana was yours, Alice.”
My heart stops. “What… What are you talking about?”
“I thought you might be using drugs. You were acting so weird. Waltzing up to Bandit and telling him you loved him?” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe I thought you were covering for me. Wow, was I deluded.”
Her voice hardens with each word. Becomes so brittle, it might shatter. “I know you put the weed in my locker. There was a huge chip of your sparkly blue nail polish on the Ziploc bag.”
