A s I ride the bus toward home, I know that I have to keep what I learned from Harlin. If he knew who killed his dad, he might go after Phillip before the police could. He might do something that could ruin his life. I can’t take that chance.
I take my gloves from my coat pocket and slip them on. Then I check my phone and there’s nothing. No missed calls, no messages. I send Sarah a text and ask if she’s okay. And I suddenly worry that I haven’t heard from Harlin. What if he’s forgotten me?
The bus jerks, startling me, and then slows at a stop. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something. I turn quickly and my heart stops. Onika is sitting on the bench with her black boots crossed one over the other and her mouth pulled into a beautiful smile. Our eyes lock and she offers a pageant wave. The bus starts moving again, and I put my hand against the glass. I have to talk to her.
“Stop the bus!” I yell, jumping up. The driver looks over her shoulder at me and I hear a few murmurs from disgruntled riders. The bus slows just past the stop. I run down the aisle toward the open doors, my adrenaline pumping. I push the phone into my pocket as I hurry down the stairs.
“Next time I ain’t stopping,” the driver calls after me.
I pause on the curb as the bus pulls away and stare at Onika sitting calmly on the metal bench. The street is dead and isolated, and I’m immediately struck with nausea and clutch my stomach. Onika shrugs and the pain fades, leaving me warm all over.
“You don’t look happy to see me,” she says.
“Monroe told me all about you. What you really are. So why are you still following me?” I walk toward her and she holds up her palms innocently.
“You haven’t made your choice yet. Not until that weak body of yours finally gives in. Until then, it’s still business as usual for me.”
“I’m not falling for it.”
“No? Why? Because Monroe Swift is such an honorable man? He’d never lie to you.” She grins. “Have you noticed the pills he keeps in his coat pocket?”
“What? No.”
“Think. The Vicodin. Percocet. Occasionally a muscle relaxer. Why do you think he’s taking so many pills, Charlotte? Seems unprofessional.”
And I do remember seeing Monroe pop a pill or two over the years, but I’d never really thought it odd. We were in a clinic and I just . . . didn’t think about it.
“He’s hurting,” Onika mocks with a fake pout. “Being a Seer isn’t a walk in the park, dear. Watching the people you care about leave, over and over. He has to self-medicate somehow. My . . . imagine when you’re gone—his last Forgotten. I bet it’ll be such a relief for him.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that Monroe wants you to go into the light and set him free. He’s not getting any younger. And his headaches sure aren’t getting any easier. And once you’re out of here, he can have his life back. That’s pretty strong motivation, don’t you think?”
I step back from her, knowing the times I’ve heard him complain of migraines. Seeing how he’d wince when I asked about the Forgotten. He looked tormented. I narrow my eyes and glare at Onika. “That doesn’t mean he’d—”
“Get rid of you? No. Of course, you’re right. He’d never be that selfish.” Onika glances around the quiet street and then stands up. “I should really get going. I suspect we’ll be in touch, love.” As she flips her hair over her shoulder, the pain returns to my gut, making me groan.
I stumble over to the bench and sit, waiting for the pain to pass. And when Onika’s gone, it does. I push my hair away from my face, but when I look to my side, I see something next to me on the bench. Is that . . . is that Monroe’s journal? Onika must have left it for me, but I’m not sure why, and I’m not sure I should touch it. I look around for her again, but I’m alone.
I can’t resist anymore. Picking up the leather-bound book, I feel my heart pounding in my chest. It looks the same and I’m confused as I flip through it, but then I stop. The missing pages!
At the end of the book there are crinkled pages tucked in where there used to be nothing but jagged strips of ripped-out paper.
9/9
I met a little girl today, and I knew it was her. First I saw the light shining through her fractured bone on the X-ray, and then there was the incredible pull to protect her. She’s the first Forgotten since Onika. I’d thought that maybe my curse was broken, but now I know that it’s back. And she’s a seven-year-old named Charlotte Cassidy.
I gasp. This is what Monroe had torn out! Pages about me—about me being a curse?
9/24
Mercy Hernandez is taking care of Charlotte and I’m glad for this. It gives me constant access to her, to watch for signs of her crossover. I now wonder if Onika turning to the Shadows kept me from my freedom. I can’t let the same thing happen to Charlotte. The whispers in my head have told me that Charlotte’s my last, and that she needs to cross over. I have to make sure she goes into the light. I can’t survive another Forgotten. I can’t.
10/12
I’ve felt a presence lately, like I’m being followed. I fear it’s Onika, looking for my Forgotten. I don’t think she’ll try to find it in a child, at least not yet. Charlotte came in today with a cut on her hand, a deep scrape that required a stitch. She says she fell—again. This is the second time she’s come to me with an injury, and I suspect the compulsions have started. I hope they speed up soon. I’m not sure how much longer I can hide her. Or how much longer I can keep going.
Cold air prickles over my face as my eyes begin to tear. Was Onika right? Maybe Monroe never cared about me. Maybe I was just a way to finish his destiny. He never wanted me to have a choice. He just wanted me gone.
I flip through a few more entries, feeling sick from the clinical terms, the unemotional way he describes me. It’s like I’m not a person at all. He’s been studying me like a goddamn lab rat. The next two pages are the same, just writings about my life. I’m thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Each entry preceded by my medical stats. Like a patient—not a friend. Not family. With only two pages left, I just let the tears stream down my cheeks.
2/15
There is a boy in Charlotte’s life. She’s never really expressed interest in dating before, so I was surprised when she mentioned him at work today. I’m worried.
If Charlotte doesn’t choose the light, I fear I’ll be trapped forever. I used to dream of her on the bridge, standing in the rain, ready to cross over. She would fall and then I would be free to walk away, leaving the journals for the next Seer to carry on.
Only now, my visions of Charlotte have stopped, and I wonder if it has to do with her boyfriend. That maybe he’s a Shadow, or that maybe . . . she’s falling in love with him. Charlotte has to make the right choice. I’m hoping her process will speed up because I’m tired. So tired.
9/12
It’s happened! She’s changing and I can’t believe how beautiful it is. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it, and now that I have, I’m filled with such calm. Amazement. I know now that it’s been such a gift to help this higher purpose, even if it’s the hardest thing imaginable.
But this time is different. I know what I’m supposed to do and I know that I want my part in destiny to end . . . but I’m not sure I can let Charlotte go. I care for her. I don’t want her to experience the heavy loss that’s coming.
“Help her to her end.” That is the mantra that’s running in my head, a thought placed there by something other than myself. And I know I have no choice but to do what I’m told. But when Charlotte goes over that bridge, the last piece of my heart will go with her.
After I read the last page, I let the journal fall from my hands and onto the cement before I cover my face. I fight back the urge to scream as I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m going to disappear. There is no way to stop it, not unless I go with Onika.
The sound of an approaching bus breaks the silence in the air, and I pick up the journal, sliding it into the pocket of my coat.
When the bus stops in front of me, I climb on, half-dazed. Monroe’s been studying me. Even though he claims to care now, maybe it’s because he’s so close to being free of me. Free of the Need. Can’t really say I blame him.
I’m about to lay my head against the seat when I see Sarah’s high-rise condo on the water. I wonder if she’s home. She hasn’t texted or called back, and I’m worried as I jump up to get off the bus.
A doorman stands in front of the building—someone I’ve known for years—and I smile at him as I pass. But he just nods his head politely without any hello, like maybe he doesn’t know me.
Don’t let it bother you, I tell myself. Instead I cross the lobby to the call boxes and punch in Sarah’s number. When there’s no answer I try it again, but after a few minutes, I realize she’s not home. What if she’s in the hospital? I take out my phone, about to call her again, when the double doors at the front of the building open.
“Thank you, Gerald,” she says, waving her hand absently as she walks in. I’m completely relieved to see her. She’s okay.
“Sarah!” I yell from across the lobby as she heads for the elevator. She glances sideways at me and then stops, smiling softly. “I texted you,” I add when I catch up to her. From this close up she looks bad. Her skin is pale and pasty, like someone with the worst hangover in the world.
“My dad took my phone,” she says, looking at the ground. “God, I’m so sorry about last night. I really screwed up.”
“Why did you do it?” I ask. “Why would you drink so much? You could have died.”
“I was desperate. I just wanted it all to go away.” She meets my eyes. “The other night at this benefactors’ dinner, Seth asked me to go outside. While we were out there, he walked me over to the side of the building and we hooked up. Then—”
“I already know that,” I say.
“You heard?”
A frightened tingle runs over my skin. “No, you told me. At my house, remember?”
Her eyes widen. “No. I haven’t told a soul.”
“Sarah, you came to my room after I didn’t show up for lunch. I was home because I got hit by that car and you—”
“You were hit by a car? When did this happen?”
My breath catches in my chest and I step back. “No,” I say, putting my hands over my mouth. I can’t handle this. I can’t handle her forgetting everything.
She reaches out to touch my arm and her fingers feel like ice. “Oh wow,” she says, laying her hand flat on my skin. “You’re burning up. Maybe you have a fever.” She looks like she just realized something. “That’s probably why you’re confused. Do you want my driver to take you to the clinic?”
I’m not sure what to do, where to go. “No. I can’t go to the clinic,” I say, and turn away from her. If she’s forgotten, does that mean—?
Without waiting to think about it, I run outside and catch the bus to Harlin’s apartment. I need him.
“You look pale,” Harlin says as we sit on the couch of his apartment. “You should take off your jacket and gloves.” He still remembered me when I arrived, which wasn’t exactly great because he was far from happy to see me. But I apologized until I was sobbing on his doorstep. He couldn’t turn me away at that point.
I look sideways at him, confused at how normal I feel right now. Even though I’m still a bit out of it, my anxiety is amazingly low. It’s like a drug, being with Harlin. “Don’t you think it’s cute?” I ask, holding out the sleeve of my jacket.
He doesn’t smile, obviously still angry. “It’s cute, Charlotte. But it’s hot in here. You should take it off.”
I don’t want to fight with him. I want us to be playful. Happy. I narrow my eyes and put my hand on his knee. “Is that all I should take off?”
“I can hear you,” Jeremy says as he walks into the room, startling me. “Don’t make me sit between you on the couch.”
I immediately blush. Now Harlin laughs. “Did you just get busted trying to be a smartass?” he mocks, putting his arm over my shoulder. “That’s what you get. Now come here.” He pulls me into him.
I lay my head against Harlin’s chest, and feel his heartbeat. It’s steady and strong, like him.
“I don’t like when you’re mad at me,” I whisper.
“I’m never mad at you, Charlotte,” he says. “I just want things to be like they used to.” He kisses the top of my head. “I just want more time with you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, because that’s the one thing I can’t give him.
The house phone rings and Harlin tenses but he doesn’t move to get it. Jeremy sighs heavily and walks by, drinking a carton of juice. “I’m not answering it,” he says. “I’m tired of making excuses for you, Harlin. Talk to her.”
It’s then that I remember the lawyer, Kendra. And how she’ll make sure that the man who killed their father will pay. It’ll fix them, I think. Fix the fractures of their family. I wish I could tell them. But I know it’ll do more harm than good right now. I hate keeping this secret.
Harlin says nothing and I start to feel uncomfortable as the phone rings again and again. Finally, just when I think I’m going to lose it, it stops. The room is quiet until Jeremy swears under his breath.
“Don’t start,” Harlin says, pulling away from me and straightening up.
“I’m not starting anything,” Jeremy answers. “But you can’t avoid it forever.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil.”
In a swift movement Jeremy reaches out and slaps Harlin upside the head. I move over on the sofa, but Harlin is frozen. Silent.
“Watch your mouth,” Jeremy snaps. “I’m not Mom. You can’t just—”
Harlin jumps up from the couch, shoulder-bumping Jeremy as he walks toward the door. When he gets there, he pauses but doesn’t look at me. “Charlotte?”
I glance at Jeremy but he’s still staring at the spot next to me where Harlin was sitting. Then he meets my eyes and tilts his head toward Harlin, telling me to go. I stand and murmur good-bye to Jeremy.
Once in the hallway, I touch Harlin’s arm and feel his body relax. He turns suddenly and wraps himself around me, burying his head in my hair. I stumble back, but hold him. He’s squeezing me tight and I put my fingers on the back of his neck, whispering in his ear that I love him.
After a minute I take my arms from around him and rest them against his chest. His hazel eyes are sad, tired, and I’d do anything to make it better. But I can’t tell him what I know. I can’t even promise to stay with him now that the Need is almost done with me.
I get on my tiptoes and kiss him. He lets me, not making any moves as I first kiss his top lip, and then his bottom one. When I pause and look at him, he still doesn’t reach for me. “Stop being mad,” I whisper before trying to kiss him again.
He doesn’t let me and instead holds me back by my arms. He lowers his head so it’s even with mine and looks deeply into my eyes. “Tell me what’s going on with you.” His face is serious, but his eyes are pleading. “Please.”
What can I say? What can I possibly tell him that will make sense? “I love you,” I say. “That’s all there is, Harlin. I just love you.”
His mouth opens in surprise, or maybe he’s thinking of arguing, but before he can respond, it happens. I’m struck with a shooting heat over my body and I’m doubled over before I can stop it. Harlin drops to his knees, holding me to him.
I’ve got to pull myself together, get to the Need, but it’s so painful this time that I’m not sure I can. Harlin’s voice is starting to echo and I know that if I don’t move soon, he’ll call an ambulance. And I can’t go to the hospital.
It’s hard, but I straighten, feeling like daggers are in my gut. I pull away from Harlin and lean on the cracked plaster of his hallway wall.
“What’s happening?” he says, sounding frantic.
“Cramps,” I answer, unable to fully look at him.
“You’re lying, Charlotte!” he yells. Suddenly he grabs me by the elbow and spins me around. I’m so alarmed that I temporarily forget the Need. All I can see is how upset I’m making him. “My God,” he says, tears falling from his eyes. “Are you dying or something? Is that why you won’t tell me?”
“No,” I say quickly. But that’s not true. Because really, I am dying. And I’m about to let him down the same way his father let him down. I’m going to leave him too early. I’m going to leave him heartbroken. I pull my elbow out of his grip and stand close to him, ignoring the pull that’s yanking me toward the exit.
“You’re lying,” he whispers, like he’s given up. His face is drained of color as he watches me. Harlin raises his hand and puts his palm on my cheek. I turn into it, but don’t take my eyes from his. “I can’t do it anymore,” he says. For a second his face breaks with the start of a cry, but he shakes his head quickly instead. “I can’t be with you anymore.”
“What?” I push his hand away. He can’t mean that.
“You keep lying to me,” he says. “Over and over you lie, sneak around. That’s not a relationship, Charlotte. You’re killing me.”
Before I can argue, he leans forward and kisses the top of my forehead, pausing long enough to make it seem final. And inside, the Need can’t compete with the loss I feel. I’m losing everything.
“Don’t do this,” I murmur as he backs away from me toward his apartment door.
“Good-bye, baby,” he says in a hushed voice. He pauses and I wait for him to tell me that he didn’t mean it. That this isn’t happening. Harlin stares at the floor for a long moment, and then goes inside.
I stand there, my body aching, but my heart feeling worse. Harlin and I had plans. We had a future. I want to bang on his door, explain everything and make him understand. I’m not sure I can go on without him.
But suddenly a thought occurs to me. Maybe this is better, leaving him like this instead of slowly dissolving away. I close my eyes and start to cry. There is a hot burning up and down my arm as if I’m on fire. I push up my sleeve.
The skin falls away as the fabric rubs against it, leaving my entire arm a brilliant, glowing gold. There’s no way to hide this now. There’s no way.
I start for the stairs, wanting to get out of the hall before someone discovers me. I’ll follow the Need and Harlin will forget me. They all will.
It’s almost over.