Chapter Four
He was here.
With one look from him, my throat ran dry and my body stilled under the weight of his piercing gaze. My first instinct was to run toward him, to feel that he was whole—that he was alive—but instead, I curled my fingers into the cushion and held my ground. James’s gaze flicked to Mack before drifting over the candle and the wine bottle Gracie and I had shared earlier that evening. His back straightened, and he returned his focus to me.
A strike of lightning lit the apartment and thunder rolled through. The room was silent with tension, and it wasn’t until Mack sighed and brushed his hands against his pants that I was able to look away.
“It was nice meeting you, Gracie.” He turned to me while the room and all its inhabitants hung suspended, the air heavy. His lips parted, his hand lifted, but whatever he planned to say died before he could speak. He dropped his hand with a sigh. “Take care, all right? I’ll stop by tomorrow, make sure you’re okay.”
“Make sure you’re okay?” Gracie asked taking a step toward me. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
I ignored her and stood, giving Mack an awkward wave and an uncomfortable smile. “See you later.”
On his way out, he nodded to Xander but slipped past James without a glance, even though their shoulders came within an inch of touching. When he was gone, James looked down at the puddle surrounding his shoes.
“What’re you doing here?” I asked him, my voice a breath.
From my peripheral vision, I saw Gracie slap Xander on the arm. She mouthed something to him, but I didn’t catch what it was.
James’s chest rose and fell, steady and strong, while his eyes focused on me as if we were the only two people in the room. “I needed to see you.”
The words were said without apology, and they hit me in a way that tightened the space between my ribs. I wanted to physically shake with it, to close my eyes and let it consume me, but I couldn’t. I was frozen.
“I didn’t realize you’d… I’ll get going,” James said. He left silently, and when the door closed, I could do nothing but stare at it.
“How’d he know I’d be here?” I asked Gracie, my body and mind adrift and reeling.
“Ask Xander,” Gracie growled.
He raised his hands in apology. “I didn’t know it’d be a problem. Abby, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s okay,” I said before I ran outside. The rain was cold and battered against me like stinging needles. James was already across the lot, his back hunched against the weather.
“James,” I called through the pounding rain, but my words were lost in the storm. I jogged to catch up and called his name again. This time, he stopped. His hair was plastered to the top of his head while drops of water dripped from his lashes.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I approached.
Being seen with Mack, even though it was completely innocent, made me uncomfortable. I didn’t owe James an explanation for why he was there, but for some inexplicable reason, I felt like he needed one.
“For what?” he asked.
“When you came up…” I paused. “It’s not what it looked like.”
James wiped his hand along his brow and pushed his hair away from his eyes. Hurt lingered in his expression, and my heart stung.
“It doesn’t matter what it was,” he said. “Like you said, we barely know each other. I should’ve listened.” He turned and unlocked his truck with a click of a button.
He was leaving, and a knife-like pain sliced at my chest, tearing a ragged path down to my stomach.
“Don’t go,” I said as his hand grazed the door handle. “Let me explain.”
James glanced toward my apartment before turning to me.
“Explain what?” His body shrugged with indifference, but his eyes told a different story.
I rounded the truck to stand in front of him. “I had a flat and he helped me. Mack and I—we’re not together.”
“Does he know that?” There was an edge to his voice.
“Why’re you mad at me?”
His chest expanded as he pulled in a deep breath. “I’m not mad at you. I just—I’m mad at me. I came here thinking… I don’t know what I was thinking.” His hands lifted before he dropped them to his sides. There was a prolonged moment where nothing, yet everything, was said. He shook his head and stepped toward me. “You haunt me.”
My thoughts scattered like marbles on a tile floor.
“And I can’t get you out of my head. We both know something’s going on here—something outside of normal—and I know you want space to figure that out. But that guy?” He pointed in the general direction of my apartment. “I don’t know. Something’s not right with him.”
My spine straightened. “Why would you say that?”
“Call it instinct.”
“You don’t know him.”
His head tilted. “Do you?”
My jaw dropped, and my brain couldn’t work fast enough to understand how the conversation had turned. James put his hands on either side of my face, and fire lit my skin ablaze. A thousand feelings pulsed inside my veins when he leaned close.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. If you want me to stay away, I’ll try. But I know you feel everything I’m feeling, and believe me, it scares me, too.” His gaze searched mine while the nameless emotions swelled inside of me, filling me until my bones threatened to break.
His thumbs stroked my cheeks, and my breath caught in my throat. I placed my hands against his chest, meaning to keep the distance between us. But the moment my fingers touched his shirt, and the heat from his skin penetrated mine, I couldn’t help but ball them into fists and gather the fabric to pull him closer. His arms wrapped around me and engulfed my body in a heat that was too warm for the freezing temperature.
He let out a long breath, and a groan vibrated within his chest. I didn’t speak. I honestly tried to get something—anything—out, but my throat closed. Never before had I wanted to melt with someone as much as I wanted to with James. But that feeling didn’t last. Too soon, I was thrust into a vision long enough to see his face beaten black and blue and to see my hands dripping in blood—his blood.
I pulled away, and his arms fell against his sides. “Don’t,” he said, defeated. “Don’t do this.”
I took another step back and shook my head. “You’re right. I feel it, too.” Something akin to relief flashed in his eyes. “But something’s not right with me. When I’m with you—”
His eyes softened as he took a step toward me. “I understand that feeling.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” I shivered and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Reed Street. Tomorrow night.” He was insistent. “It’ll just take a few minutes, and I promise—I’ll prove to you—I understand.”
He slid into his truck and turned on the ignition. I could do nothing except watch him leave, and I stood there with exhausted emotions as his taillights disappeared into the rain. Walking back toward my apartment, I glanced up in time to see Mack’s curtain close.
The rain stopped sometime during the night, and the cold front that’d blown through froze the entire city. The roadways were nearly impassable, and newscasters warned everyone to stay home, while covering every major vehicular accident in the metro area.
A heavy knock sounded at the door, and since no one in their right mind would be out driving in this, that left only one person. When I opened the door, Mack was bouncing on his toes, his arms crossed over his chest.
“This’s crazy weather, right?” he said when he saw me.
I nodded and looked down the hall to see small icicles hanging from the eaves. “Yeah, that was some storm.”
An uncomfortable silence landed between us. On one hand, here was the guy I was beginning to think of as a friend. On the other was James and his assumption that Mack was something else and wanted something more.
Gracie was stirring in her bedroom, and it would be a matter of minutes before she came out. I grabbed my jacket and moved into the hall. Mack stepped back and waves of tension rolled off his shoulders.
“Listen,” he said. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble last night. Was that your…” His words trailed away, but I knew what he was asking. And if he was asking, then James was right. I wanted to bang my head into the wall.
“You didn’t, and don’t worry about it.”
He looked expectant, like he was waiting for me to continue. When I didn’t, he glanced at the parking lot and rubbed his hands together. “Since it seems like we’re iced in for the foreseeable future, I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me. Here.” He nodded at his apartment. “Tonight?”
My face fell. “I, um…”
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But I promise, my cooking’s edible. You won’t be hospitalized long.” His lips split into a grin.
I smiled despite myself. “As enticing as that sounds, I’ll have to take a rain check. I actually have plans.”
Mack’s smile faltered. “Yeah, sure. Definitely.” He stepped back toward his door, and the remaining bits of his smile faded. “Next time. And, um, be careful tonight.”
I put my hand on the doorknob. “I will. Thanks.”
I pushed the door open, and Gracie yelped from the other side. I paused and peeked around the door. She was standing on the other side holding her nose.
“Were you watching through the peephole?” I asked as I stepped inside and closed the door.
She shook her head and then nodded. “I think you broke my nose.” Her voice was muffled under her hand.
“Serves you right,” I said as I shook myself out of my coat. “Are you okay?”
She dropped her hand and wrinkled her nose back and forth. She wiped her watering eyes and took a deep breath. “Is it crooked?”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “I think you’ll live.”
Gracie flopped down on the couch, and I walked to the fridge with her eyes on my back. “Spit it out,” I told her.
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. Your thoughts are loud enough.” I grabbed a Diet Coke, and as I was about to face her, a flyer attached to the freezer caught my attention. I pulled it off and looked at it. “What’s this?”
“Xander gave it to me last night.”
It was an advertisement for a winter showcase featuring local artists. I stared at the location and something spiraled inside me. “Reed Street is an art gallery?”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“James mentioned it.” I looked at Gracie, and she frowned. “Don’t start,” I said. “You’re the one that brought him here last night.”
“No, I didn’t. Xander did.” I tilted my head in question, waiting for her to elaborate, but she didn’t.
At the bottom of the flyer was a list of featured artists, and the name James Kingsley stood out like a fluorescent beacon.
“Are you going to this?” I asked her.
She stretched on the sofa and turned on the television. “I was thinking about it. Xander wanted me to go with him, but I’m not going anywhere in this weather.” Her shoulders shook with an exaggerated shiver. “And even if I was willing to go, there’s no way I’m riding in a car with Xander in all that ice. So, no, I’m not going.”
I flattened the paper on the countertop and traced my fingers over the bold letters.
“James invited me,” I told her.
Her forehead wrinkled with concern. “Are you going?”
I nodded before I spoke. “Yes.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She sat up on her knees. “That guy’s got problems. I’m telling you, the stories I’ve heard…”
I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t interested, but somehow hearing gossip from Gracie about James, felt wrong.
“Don’t tell me.” I folded the flyer and put it in my back pocket.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. I’m already nervous about meeting him. I don’t need a reason to back out.”
“I beg to differ.” She crossed her arms and fell back onto the couch.
“He and Xander are friends, right?” Gracie nodded. “And he trusts him?” Again she nodded, but I could see the hesitation. “Do you trust Xander?”
“That’s not fair,” she said. I raised my brow, and she huffed. “Yes, I trust him.”
“Then that’s all I need to know. For now.”
“He’s got another side.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” She rolled her eyes, and I continued. “Look, I can’t explain it, but—something’s happened with us. I have to know what it is.”
Gracie snorted. “It’s called sex appeal. Believe me, I get it. He’s smoking hot in a scary sort of way. Just don’t let it blind you. He’s got issues, and that’s putting it mildly.”
“Gracie, no more. Seriously. I trust him.”
“You shouldn’t.” She turned to stare at the television, but I knew Gracie too well to believe she was watching it. She was too busy stewing.
When I left for the gallery, there were ice warnings all over town. I drove slow, and that, combined with road closures and traffic accidents, caused me to arrive over an hour late.
The gallery was in an old brick building tucked between a used book store and a coffeehouse. I pulled into the shared parking lot, and my heart sank. Aside from my Honda, there were only two other cars, and James’s truck wasn’t among them. Light spilled from floor to ceiling windows, but inside, Reed Street looked empty. Bracing myself for the cold, I pulled my coat tight around my middle and walked across the lot as fast as I could. By the time I opened the gallery doors, my nose was frozen and my teeth were chattering.
A burst of warm air swirled around me, and the cold slowly melted away. I peeked around the empty room, and just when I thought I was alone, an older woman with stylishly large, black-framed glasses appeared from around the corner.
She smiled. “I didn’t think anyone was going to show.”
“Has no one been here?” I asked.
“A few.” She held out her hands for my coat.
“The weather’s terrible. Maybe they’re running late,” I said.
“Well, we’re hoping,” she said before leaving me to wander.
Reed Street was a casual place. The vaulted ceilings showed off exposed beams and industrial wiring. The floors were concrete, stained a dark mahogany, and the walls were a crisp white that allowed the art to pop with color.
As I walked around, I found it difficult to imagine James here among these sophisticated paintings. He was all rough and unfinished edges. Picturing his scarred hands making smooth strokes on something as delicate as a canvas was nearly impossible, but was it unbelievable? Hadn’t he always been gentle with me?
I was three quarters of my way through the exhibit when I saw his name. It was on a white card beneath a heavily framed canvas. I stared at it, afraid to view the painting above because, somehow, I knew it would change everything.
Taking a steady breath, I looked up, and my first reaction was disbelief. I gave my head a tiny shake and took a step closer. This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be. But no matter how I viewed the painting, the image remained, and what was staring back at me was, well, me.
Of course, there were differences, like the style of my hair, but everything else was a mirror image. I’d never seen my own reflection while inside the visions that haunted me, but I knew without a doubt that this was the girl in the hole. This was the girl that ran in terror. This was the girl huddled in fright under the crack of gunfire.
A sharp pain twisted in my chest, and my throat swelled until my breath was shallow and labored. For a week, I’d envisioned myself hiding in a dank hole. The image of James, his face a silhouette, was engraved in my mind. But here, in this portrait, was how I must’ve looked to him as he stared down at me. I was wide-eyed and frightened, and my pale skin was luminescent under the light of the moon.
How was this possible? The rise of panic and the overwhelming urgency to run had my muscles quivering as I prepared for flight.
“You came.”
I turned at the sound of his low rumbling voice and found James standing at my back.
“I wasn’t going to,” I said after a moment’s hesitation.
“What changed your mind?” he asked, his eyes intent and searching.
“I don’t know.” I pointed at the painting, my chest full and crowded. “You want to explain this?” I asked, turning back to him.
He opened and closed his mouth before running a hand through his hair. “This girl…” He pointed to the painting. “I’ve drawn her for over a year now.”
He looked confused, like the words were difficult to express. James shoved at the sleeves of his sweater. The scars that branded his hands wove up and around his forearms. Places on his wrists and the underside of one arm were discolored and uneven, even though the skin had healed.
He turned toward the portrait. “When I first saw you—that night at the bar—it was like seeing a ghost.” Tension billowed between us. “I never thought there was a chance you could exist.”
“And now that you know?” My heart thundered in my chest, beating so loud I was sure James would hear.
His hand lifted and hesitated before he brushed the hair from my shoulder to expose the skin at my neck. “I’m still figuring that out.”
He studied my face in a way that made me self-conscious. His dark eyes roved over every feature, every plane, every bit of skin, with an intensity that laid me bare. Vulnerable.
I stepped away to shift his focus, unable to hold up under his scrutiny. Two other portraits I hadn’t seen hung to the right of the first. Both were of me, but they were different. Softer. Less frightening. I stepped closer to the last and pointed to the necklace that I wore. The pear-shaped stone was yellow and hung just below my collarbone. A swirl of white diamonds encrusted the top most portion of the jewel before they branched off and attached to a delicate chain.
“What made you paint this?”
James stepped next to me, our shoulders close enough I could feel his warmth.
“I don’t know. It seemed important at the time.”
So, there we stood, staring at the portraits, neither looking at the other. His fingertips brushed mine—an accident I was sure, but that didn’t stop my body from responding. I tensed and tried to still my quaking limbs, but when his hand touched mine again, I reached for him. A second later, our fingers threaded together, and a shiver shot through me.
I closed my eyes, hoping to calm my wild heart, but instead, I saw an image of James’s body, lifeless on the concrete. I heard a scream, my scream, echo under a black sky, and I saw my hands soaked in blood. I pulled away and stepped back to put distance between us.
“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” James looked at me with apprehension. He couldn’t know what it was, but he knew enough.
Everything I thought I understood, everything I thought I knew, was fading. This thing that was wrong with me, this sickness I’d inherited—it didn’t make sense anymore. The undeniable attraction that pulled us together, my visions, his paintings…what if it was something different altogether?
When time bends, and you’re everywhere at once, you’ll understand where I am and where I’ve gone. My mother’s words, which I’d disregarded at the time, came back to me with sudden clarity. Is this what she had meant?
“What do you see when you close your eyes?” James’s voice distracted me from my thoughts.
I shook my head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
He glanced at his paintings before the barest hint of a smile tilted the corner of his mouth. “Try me.”
The door jingled, and a couple walked inside. Their excited conversation and loud smiles made the gallery feel small. “Can we get out of here? Go for a walk or something?” I asked him. He glanced at the couple, now headed in our direction, and nodded without question.
The air outside was damp, and the cold was biting. The tall oaks that bordered the street created a canopy of leaves that blocked the night sky and sheltered us from sound. The few shops that lined the street were void of activity, their lights out and their parking lots empty.
I chewed at my bottom lip and worried over what to say, but James, walking with slow, measured steps, didn’t seem worried at all. A brisk wind blew, and leaves, brown and dry, scraped across the concrete.
“When I was twelve,” I began, “I could’ve sworn there was a ghost that lived in my room. I felt it against the wall, to the left of my dresser. I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there.”
James didn’t respond. He just bowed his head and waited for me to continue.
“One night, my friend Sissy was over. I didn’t do that often. I had family problems that kept people away, but Sissy didn’t seem to mind. We were up late one night telling scary stories when I decided to tell her mine. I told her about that spot in my room. I told her that no matter how bad things got at home, I could sit there, and everything felt better.” I shook my head at the memory. “She called me crazy. I hated it when people called me crazy.” James still didn’t respond. He didn’t even so much as look in my direction. “I tried to convince her I wasn’t, so I went into more detail. I told her I thought the ghost was a boy—that he was there to help me.”
I blew a breath through my lips and pushed my hands farther into my coat. “The next day at school, it was everywhere. She’d told everyone I was insane. That I was just like my mother.”
He stopped walking and faced me. “Are you?”
I bit hard at my cheek and tasted blood. “Crazy, or like my mother?” James didn’t answer. “If you’d asked this afternoon, the answer would’ve been yes. To both.”
“And if I asked you now?”
I shrugged, and my body splintered in several directions at once. “I’m not sure.” I twisted my fingers until my knuckles ached. “The thing is, if I told you what I saw when I closed my eyes, I know what you’d think. Hearing it from Sissy was one thing, but you—”
James’s hands ran up my arms and gripped my shoulders, and in the space of a breath, we were within an inch of each other. His forehead dropped against mine, and he squeezed his eyes closed.
“If you only knew”—his head dropped until we were cheek to cheek, his breath at my ear—“how long I’ve wished you were real. I’ve drawn hundreds of pictures of you—wishing, hoping.” He pulled away just enough to look in my eyes. “If you’re crazy, then I think you’re in good company.”
I couldn’t help the way my hands, tentative at first, touched his stomach and slid up to his shoulders. My fingers grasped the hair at his neck, and his response was immediate. He bent so that his arms wrapped around my middle, and in one sweeping motion, he straightened and crushed my body to his. He leaned forward an inch at a time, and I closed my eyes waiting for what I knew would be a moment that forever altered my life.