The Watcher

Chapter Eleven



In my dream, Michael and I walked hand in hand up an arid, grassy hill. Sheep grazed in the meadows, and gardens stretched out like patchwork blankets below. Heat waves shimmered in the air around us, and the sky shone a crystalline shade of blue. Halfway up the hill, Michael stopped. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulled me close until our bodies grazed each other’s—not quite touching. I pressed myself into him. At first his kiss was gentle. Then those kisses became hungry, intense.

A voice in my dream said: Open your eyes.

When I did, I was surrounded by darkness, and I wasn’t with Michael anymore. I was with Damiel. Startled, I tried to back away, but he was so strong I couldn’t move. His smile sharpened, the corners of his mouth pulling fiendishly tight, and his brown eyes glowed red. I got the sense his hunger had nothing to do with kissing. He put his hand over my heart and it lurched, as though it would rip out of my chest. I gasped, pushing away from him with all my strength, but I was starting to weaken…

***

As she pulled her mom’s minivan into Fiona’s driveway, Heather cleared her throat so loud it made me jump. I’d spaced out.

Fiona lived with her mom and dad in a big, modern house with huge windows overlooking Puget Sound, and the view from their living room was incredible, especially today. The sun peeked through the clouds and beamed rays of light onto the water below like something from an inspirational greeting card. Fiona sat on her bed, fully dressed, reading a horror novel. A large gauze bandage was taped to her left wrist; she must have gotten stitches.

When she saw us, she sprang off the bed, her arms outstretched to hug both of us at once.

“So good to see you guys!” Fiona said.

“You too.” I hugged her.

Heather backed away first. “I’m so sorry,” she said. I wondered where she was going with this. “You’re my friend. I should have—”

Fiona cut her off. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to put everyone through this. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just…” She sat back down on the bed. When she looked up at us, her eyes were shining and wet. “Don’t know what happened. I really don’t.”

Heather sat on the bed and put an arm around Fiona. I grabbed the chair near the vanity table. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re going to get through this together.”

Fiona shook her off. “You don’t get it. I’ve been sad in my life, sure, but I’ve never been depressed. Over the last few days, I’ve been examined by doctors, psychiatrists, psycho-everything and all they could say is I didn’t fit the profile for a suicide attempt. My mom was ready to think I did it for attention.” She choked out a sob. “But I didn’t.”

I’d never seen Fiona so emotional before, and it worried me. Was she denying what happened? “Hey,” I said. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it. We can just hang out.”

“No, I want you guys to believe me. Nobody believes me! I’m not crazy, okay? I know it sounds nuts, but when I was in the changing room… You know me—I’m afraid of kitchen knives. I don’t even know where it came from. It may have been my hand holding the knife, but it wasn’t me in there.” She took in a deep breath and let it out, shaking her head. “Then, as soon as I…cut myself…it’s like I came around. I tried to stop the bleeding and couldn’t. I called out and Ms. Callou came to help.”

“Dissociation,” Heather muttered under her breath.

“Heather,” I said. “Now isn’t the time for psychoanalysis!”

My mind flashed back to that morning when Damiel spoke to Fiona in the hall. He was so intense, and she didn’t seem herself.

“I believe you,” I said to Fiona. “I saw you that morning. You looked sad.”

“I was sad that morning. All I could think was what a loser I am, and how no guy could ever want me. Not Dean. Not anyone.”

“You’re a total babe, Fi! Don’t you ever forget it.” Heather put an arm around Fiona’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “Have you talked to Dean?”

“Yeah. We’re good, I think,” she said. Grinning, she grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “He’s coming over later.”

I couldn’t shake the image of Damiel whispering in Fiona’s ear. I wasn’t sure if now was the right time to bring it up but I had to know. “Did Damiel say something to you?”

“Damiel? No. He’s never really spoken to me other than to say hi.” Fiona leaned forward tapping her foot. “Why? Did he say something?”

“No. Not at all.” I wasn’t quite sure what to say next. Hadn’t she seen him?

Heather cut in. “Mia’s got a date with him tonight.”

“Oh my God! Really? You lucky—”

“About that…” I began. I couldn’t go out with Damiel, not if he’d said something that hurt my friend. But if he did, she didn’t seem to remember it. While I thought I saw him talking to her, I could be wrong. Maybe it was just my imagination. Was I the one going insane?

“Don’t you dare cancel that date,” Fiona said. “I want to hear all about it.”

While the idea of going out with Damiel felt far from right, I agreed to go. My gut was telling me there had to be some kind of link between Fiona’s suicide attempt and what I saw that day. Even if he hadn’t been in the hallway talking to her, I must have seen something. Farouk had said his sister had visions of future events. Maybe I was having them, too. What if he was going to talk to her later and that was what I saw? Some possible future event. It was almost too strange to consider. The only way to know for sure was to ask Damiel. He had answers, and I wanted to know what they were.

If he was as dangerous as Michael said, I needed some kind of backup plan, someone who could come and help if I needed it.

“Can I ask you a favor?” I said to Heather when we were on the ride home.

She turned down the car stereo and checked the rear-view mirror. “You know you can.”

“Can you call me tonight at eight, just to check in?” I asked. I didn’t want to worry Heather with the reason why, not without proof, but I figured if she called me I could make up an excuse to get out of there.

“You mean a bail-out call?” she said, her attention focused on the road. “I doubt you’ll be bored.”

“Probably not,” I said. Being bored was the least of my worries. “You will call, though? At exactly eight o’clock.”

“Of course.”

After she dropped me off at home and I was alone, I tried to convince myself that the sweaty palms and tightness in my chest were just nerves, but I knew it wasn’t true. Something about going out with Damiel, alone, seemed really wrong. It was misleading, and I didn’t want to do that. What I wanted were answers, but I didn’t know how else to get them.

To bolster myself, I decided to wear the temporary tattoo Heather had given me. I’d been saving it for a special occasion, and for some reason tonight felt like I needed to have wings. Wearing my hair up would even show them off. I was so curious about how they’d look, I applied them right away. It took a little while to center them between my shoulder blades and the nape of my neck, but when I was done, they looked amazing.

I put on a little black dress. It was cut low in the front and back, so you could see the tattoo, but not too low. Soft and comfortable, it hugged my curves without being too clingy and looked good with my high black boots. My hair was tied up, and I was putting on eye shadow when the doorbell rang. Startled, I checked my watch; it was only 6:55. Was Damiel early? I double-checked myself in the mirror. I still needed mascara at the very least. He would simply have to wait on the sofa while I finished.

The knock on the door came again. Determined to not let the idea of seeing Damiel intimidate me, I flung the door open.

“Michael.” I almost fell back on my heels. “What are you doing here?”

He scanned my outfit with a quiet intensity that made the skin on my neck flush. Catching himself, he focused on my boots and let out his breath. “I’ve been sent.”

“What do you mean you’ve been sent?” I demanded. “Who sent you?”

He raised his hands as though I held him at gunpoint. “I’ve come to talk. May I come in?”

I’d forgotten how tall he was. He towered over me, and I couldn’t help but notice how clear his eyes were, how even the dim porch light played off his skin, making it glow. His hair shone almost black.

“I’m still getting ready,” I said, moving out of the doorway and leaving him to close the door while I put on a light.

He cleared his throat. “Nice tattoo.”

“It’s not real,” I said, turning back to face him. “I can’t get a real one ’til I’m eighteen.”

“Wings, huh?”

“Yeah. I had this dream about them once. It meant a lot to me.” It seemed natural to tell him, as though he’d understand. But when he looked away with a wry grin, I regretted saying anything. “Why are you here?”

“Look, I know Damiel will be here soon…” He ran his hand through his hair. “But—”

“I know. I know,” I cut him off. “You don’t want me to go out with him. He’s dangerous.”

If he was upset, he didn’t show it. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he gave me a shrug that said he didn’t care either way. “Why are you going?”

“Because.” I sighed. His lack of reaction made me feel all the more foolish. “I need to know what’s going on.”

“You think he’s gonna tell you?”

I hadn’t thought of that. Here I was about to go all Nancy Drew on Damiel’s ass, and my big plan was to lay my cards on the table and ask him what he’d said to Fiona. Maybe I’d dance around it a bit, but I was relying on him to tell me. Michael had all but called him a liar the day before. Why would Damiel say anything resembling the truth?

“Okay,” Michael continued. “Say he did tell you. What then?”

“I’ve got a safety plan,” I said defiantly, trying to hide how foolish I felt. “Heather’s going to check in, come get me if necessary. I won’t be alone.” I wasn’t sure about the Heather coming to get me part, but I figured she would. I would do the same for her.

“He’s a predator, Mia. He could hurt both of you.”

The word predator caught me off guard. I remembered my dream that morning where Damiel kissed me and it felt like he was draining me dry. I wanted to argue, but I knew deep down that Michael was telling the truth. I’d never wanted to go out with Damiel. I’d been pulled into it right from the beginning, like watching a train wreck. Only the train wreck was me.

Michael took a step closer until I had to crane my neck to see his face. “Tell him you don’t want to go.”

His eyes met mine and they were filled with genuine concern, same as that day I’d fallen in the woods. I wanted him to come even closer.

“Okay,” I said. “You’ve got to give me some answers, though.”

Clearly amused, he raised his eyebrows and said, “I don’t have to, but I will—once he leaves.”

“Once he leaves?” I confirmed, before he could change his mind. “You promise?”

He tensed, as though a jolt of electricity had shot through him, and spun around to face the door. “He’s here.”