Entranced (Goddess of Fate Book 2) Page 8

“Yeah, but not for a few more hours,” she said breezily. “Thought I’d check up on you!”

  I settled back in my desk chair. “How’s school?”

  “Fabulous! But hard, too. It’s like I actually have to study!”

  “Poor you,” I said, my fingers fidgeting with the vinyl wrapped around the edge of the desk. Everything about this conversation felt trivial, somehow. “Now you’re just like the rest of us.”

  “What, you study, Jayne?” she teased. “And I thought you knew everything.”

  I leaned forward. “Hey, there’s something I need your help on.”

  “Your love life?”

  “Uh—no.”

  “College, then?”

  “No.”

  “Then it’s your super powers.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed.

  “What do you need, babe? What’s wrong?”

  “Well.” I hesitated. “Have there been a lot of suicides in your area?”

  “Suicides?” she said cautiously. “Why?”

  “I’m not suicidal,” I explained quickly. I stood up and paced around the den. “But people are dying like crazy over here. By suicide.”

  “That’s kind of bizarre.”

  “That’s not even the bizarre part.” I took a deep breath, warming to the subject. Finally, someone who would listen to me. “Some of them, I’ve Seen their deaths.”

  Dana let out a low whistle. “Oh, how awful.”

  I shook my head, pausing in my pacing. “No. It’s not like that. I mean, it is, because I’m still Seeing people die. But not their suicides.”

  “I don’t get it. How can you see them die but not see them kill themselves?”

  “Because . . .” I waited for dramatic effect before continuing. “That’s not how they die in my visions.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

  “Exactly!” I literally jumped in place. “It doesn’t make sense! I’m Seeing people die one way, and then they turn around and die a different way!”

  “Are they suicides in your visions?”

  “No. Sad, tragic, untimely deaths, but not suicides.”

  “Hmm. Could your visions be off? Something be out of sync?”

  I opened my mouth to loudly deny the possibility, but the words wouldn’t come out. Aaron had mentioned it; even I had wondered. What if what I was seeing wasn’t actually the future, but a bad dream or something? “Well, I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m a goddess of fate. Why would I see a fake death? Or an imaginary one?”

  “Doesn’t make much sense,” Dana agreed. “Have you asked Laima?”

  I sighed. “Yeah, without much success. Her responses are either unhelpful or nonexistent.”

  “You need to find an expert in this field. Hey, listen, I gotta go, but I’ll think on this. Call me and tell me as soon as you know something!”

  My spirits lifted. “Thanks for listening, Dana.”

  “Of course, girl. We’ll talk soon!”

  She hung up, the lack of noise deafening in the den. My smile faded. As good as it was to talk to her, it only reminded me of how alone I was. I frowned at my phone. Somehow the time had slipped closer to eight. Looked like I’d be hanging out with just me and myself tonight.

  *~*

  Beth joined me in the den around nine, and I abandoned my research to watch late-night comedies with her. The mindless humor didn’t ease the heaviness in my chest. It was still there when I woke up Saturday morning. I let out a sigh and let myself roll off the couch.

  “You okay?” Beth asked, cranking one eye open to peep at me. She lay on the smaller couch adjacent to mine.

  “Fine,” I grumbled. I ran a hand through my mess of wavy hair. “Gotta go get ready.”

  “For what?” She sat up, her own curly locks falling around her shoulders. “Are you leaving me?”

  “I have to do some research at the library.” I put the pillows back on the couch. “You can go hang out with a friend.”

  “I don’t have any friends,” she muttered.

  I looked up at her. “What?”

  “Nothing.” She waved me off. “I’ll just chill with Mom, I guess.”

  I frowned and went upstairs to get ready. I considered taking her with me to the library, but decided if she wasn’t suicidal now, hanging out there might make her be. A stirring of anticipation warmed my joints, and I dressed quickly. There was always the chance I’d find something world-changing.

  By noon, I acknowledged that even though I’d collected plenty of historical facts, none of them were relevant. Disappointment and frustration rolled around in my stomach. Then it growled loudly, and I realized I was also hungry.

  What was Aaron doing, and why hadn’t I heard from him? I flipped my phone open and stared at it, then flipped it shut. If he couldn’t answer my texts, I’d just go to him.

  It wasn’t until I’d parked my car at the curb in front of Aaron’s house that I began to question my decision. If Aaron didn’t answer me, maybe he didn’t want to talk to me. I pictured the ugly scene last spring when I’d spontaneously decided to drop by, only to find Aaron at home with his ex-girlfriend. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel.

  “You’re already here, Jayne,” I told myself. “And Aaron wouldn’t do that to you.” He wouldn’t. His current behavior could be explained away by study groups and classes. So why was my heart racing?

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and went up the walkway. I rang the doorbell and held my breath.

  The door opened, revealing Aaron’s mother. I groaned inside. I should’ve foreseen this and at least put on some makeup. “Hi, Mrs. Chambers,” I said, fixing my smile on my face. “Is Aaron home?”

  She looked at me like I was a new species of mosquito. “No, he’s not, Jayne. He’s in hospital.”

  My heart stopped for a full second. “You mean—oh right.” I breathed again and laughed at myself. “He’s at work.” Why hadn’t she just said that? I had the feeling she’d been trying to catch me off guard.

  Aaron worked for hire as an entertainer in the children’s wing of the local hospital, dressing up as a clown and making kids laugh. Which would’ve been quite silly if it weren’t so delightful.

  “Yes,” she said, her eyebrow quirking. “I thought you knew his schedule.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I clasped my hands together in front of me. “I’ll just head there.”

  I didn’t look back to see if she was watching me as I backed out of the driveway. I knew I couldn’t blame Aaron for his parents, but sometimes I couldn’t help wondering if he’d inherited any of his mom’s issues.

  I paused at the hospital reception desk, not recognizing the girl sitting there as she stuffed the end of a large sub sandwich into her mouth. “Excuse me. Can you tell me which floor Aaron Chambers is on?”

  She tucked her food out of sight under the desk, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and swiveled around to the computer. “Aaron Chambers?” She began typing.

  “No, no,” I said quickly, “he’s not a patient. He’s an entertainer.”

  “Oh, you mean the clown-man hired out by patients’ parents?”

  That was him. My boyfriend, the clown-man. “Yep.”

  She checked a chart. “He’s in the oncology ward right now. Check in at the fourth floor and don’t go into any rooms with the door closed.”

  “Thanks,” I said, turning and heading for the elevators.

  The smell of cleaners and sanitizers choked me when I stepped off on floor four. The worst part was that they all had a hint of lemon, so I spent the whole walk to the check-in desk swiveling my head from side to side, afraid someone was going sneak up on me unawares.

  A nurse stood behind the desk, checking someone’s chart. “I need to check in, I think,” I said, leaning closer.

  He looked up from the chart. “Who are you looking for?”

  “Not a patient, actually. Aaron Chambers. The clown guy?”

  “Oh, sure.” He nodded and leaned ar
ound the desk, then pointed down the hall. “I saw him five minutes ago in room four-nineteen. I’d check there first.” He went back to his chart.

  “Thanks,” I murmured, and headed that direction.

  Right as I passed room 411, a strong scent of lemon overpowered the mild cleaning smell. My feet turned toward it without my telling them to, and in a moment I stood in front of the closed door.

  A quick glance back showed the nurse wasn’t at the desk anymore. I pushed the handle and let myself in before I could change my mind.

  A thin waif of a boy lay stretched out on the bed. His sunken eyes were closed, and aside from the citrus odor that peeled off of him in waves, the sour scent of death hovered around him. He couldn’t be more than eight years old.

  I sat down in the chair next to his bed, taking his hand and leaning toward him. It wasn’t too late for him, or I wouldn’t be able to smell him. But time was almost up. Even if I could change it, should I? Or was he one of the ones who was supposed to die?

  Or would he suddenly try to kill himself after I had the vision?

  The thoughts kept me silent for several minutes while I contemplated what could go wrong.

  “I have to try,” I whispered. I leaned closer to him. “Hello,” I said near his ear, wishing I knew his name. I squeezed his hand. “Can you hear me?”

  He stirred. I glanced toward the door to his room; it was still shut tight. Turning back to him, I rolled his hand over and noticed for the first time the hospital bracelet he wore. Duh. I read his ID. Carter Johnson. “Carter.”

  This time his eyelids fluttered open. I only had time to note the crystal blue color of his eyes before I fell into a vision.

  “Carter.”

  The soft voice of his mother calls him from above, luring Carter out of sleep. “Mama.”

  He hears the tears she chokes on, feels the heat of her hands as she rubs his knuckles. “Stay with me, baby.”

  She keeps on talking, but he drifts away from her words. He’s so exhausted. Everything hurts. He wants to sleep forever, to stop the pain. It takes so much effort just to open his eyes.

  “But I don’t understand,” his mom says to the nurse. “The medicine is working. We’re beating it. He’s cancer-free now.”

  “Sometimes we’re too late,” Nurse Jessica answers. “His body is too weak. I’m sorry, honey. Just hold his hand, because he won’t be here much longer.”

  “Carter,” Mama sobs.

  Carter tries one more time to open his eyes. He wants to see his mother again, her beautiful face. But his lids feel glued together. They don’t respond to his desire to open, and he gives up. In a moment he can no longer remember why it was so important, and he exhales. It seems like too much effort to take another breath. So he doesn’t.

  The vision ended, and I knew from the shortness of it that Carter didn’t have much time left. His end was almost here.

  “Who are you?” Carter whispered.

  I studied him without answering. The nurse had said the cancer was gone. The only reason Carter wasn’t recovering was because he was too weak. Surely that was something that could be changed. He could regain his appetite, gain some weight, get some strength. It wasn’t like it was a deliberate decision to die.

  “I’m Jayne,” I answered. “I just came to see you.”

  He nodded, a wisp of a smile in the corners of his lips. Then he closed his eyes again, and his breathing deepened.

  I sat in my chair and stared at him. Making a decision, I pulled out my cell phone. This one deserved to live, if I had anything to do with it. My fingers worked in overtime as I sent my request into Laima.

  Carter. Boy. In the Lacey Township hospital, dying from aftereffects of cancer. Request a change.

  There. It was done, come what may.

  And if Laima granted my petition to extend his life, someone else’s life would be shortened. The natural balance had to be maintained.

  I pushed that thought from my mind and slipped out of the room to resume my search for Aaron. But I kept thinking about the little boy I’d left behind in that hospital room. I checked my phone. Nothing from Laima yet.

  I spotted a pair of shiny red shoes stepping around the corner, followed by striped white and yellow pants. “Aaron!”

  The painted face and curled red wig turned toward me. “Hey, Jayne. You should’ve called.”

  I suppressed a smile, knowing Aaron still harbored some embarrassment when it came to his job. Yes, it was funny, but he couldn’t know how much it endeared him to me. “I did. And I texted.” A lot. “Why can’t you keep your schedule consistent?”

  “I’m for hire. I come when someone wants me to.”

  “Right. Well, I went to your house first and had a rather interesting run-in with your mom.”

  He winced, barely noticeable behind the bulbous nose. “Probably safer not to go there without me.”

  “What’s up with her? Why is she out to get me?”

  “She’s not, Jayne.” Despite his strict British upbringing, I could imagine him rolling his eyes.

  “Don’t tell me I’m imagining it,” I persisted. “I’m not dumb.”

  He sighed and rubbed the bushy eyebrow pasted on his face. “She just doesn’t know you yet.”

  Triumph flared in my chest. “And she doesn’t want to. Why?”

  “I don’t really know.” Yet he didn’t meet my eyes.

  “But you have a suspicion,” I pressed.

  “No, not really. Well, maybe the college thing.” Aaron shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Jayne, let’s talk later. I’ve got to finish my work up, all right?”

  I relented, backing away. “Right. Oh, one more thing.” I glanced at the silent phone still cupped in the palm of my hand. “I visited a little boy today. Carter something. I Saw him.” I waited for Aaron to grasp my meaning. “I asked Laima to change it. Let me know if anything happens with him, okay? Good or bad.”

  “I will.”

  There was nothing more to say. I took a few steps back and watched Aaron walk away, wondering why each step seemed to take him farther away from me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I went back to my car and leaned my head on the steering wheel, obsessively opening my phone again. I just needed to know I could still do this. I scrolled through the names of the last few people I’d texted before Laima. Aaron. Aaron. Aaron. Aaron.

  I scowled, annoyed again at the one-sided conversation. My eyes landed on the last name on the list. Stephen.

  Concern for the latter replaced my own emotional anguish. Putting my issues aside, I pressed the Call button. It rang four times and then went to voicemail.

  I gave a soft laugh and dropped the phone onto my dash. Why had I expected anything else? Maybe I’d just have to start showing up at people’s houses unannounced if I wanted to talk. But first I needed to eat. Fast food to the rescue.

  Half an hour later, my stomach satisfied, I drove toward Stephen’s house. My mind went on autopilot as I turned the familiar roads. Though it had been more than six months since I’d gone this direction, every street sign, every signal felt familiar. A wave of nostalgia filled me, intoxicating and agonizing at the same time.

  I parked my car at the curb outside his two-story house. I stepped around the trimmed bushes, trying not to look at the bricks on the patio beneath the upstairs bedroom. I knew that was where Stephen’s father had leapt to his death just weeks ago.

  I pressed the doorbell, the last time I’d stood here and rung that doorbell washing over me like déjà vu. The night of Jessica’s party. The night Stephen hooked up with her before we came back here and he pretended like I was the only girl in the world to him.

  It didn’t stay a secret for long. By the time first period was over on Monday, whispers flew all over school, followed by the discreet—or not so discreet—looks in my direction. And then the giggles, the pitiful glances, until finally even I heard the rumors. My boyfriend had cheated on me with Jessica Baxter, and everyone kn
ew except me.

  The pain of his betrayal still sliced through me like a knife. I had been crazy about him, madly in love with him and us as a couple. What would have happened if he hadn’t done that?

  The door opened, and a middle-aged woman with wavy blond hair stared at me, pulling me out of my reverie.

  “Hi,” I said. “You must be Stephen’s aunt? I’m Jayne, a friend of his. Is he home?”

  She blinked at me, the skin around her green eyes—the same green as Stephen’s—lined and dull with dark shadows. She didn’t smile, but her face had a pleasant look. “Yes, he’s home. Come on in, Jayne. I’ll get him.”

  He was here. He was okay. I let out a tiny breath and followed her through the entryway and into the living room, where she sat me on the couch. I turned and watched her go up the stairs, feeling like an idiot for coming over here unannounced. What would Stephen think?

  I heard a murmured conversation, and then Stephen appeared at the top of the stairs. “I didn’t expect you, Jayne.”

  I stood and watched him descend. He wore a sweatshirt and jeans, his hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes were bloodshot, though I didn’t know if it was from tears or something else. “You weren’t in school today. I was worried.”

  He reached the living room and settled on the couch beside me. “Yeah, I got your text.” He didn’t look at me.

  I fell silent, not really sure what I was supposed to say. “How are you coping?”

  Stephen turned his head and stared at me. “So now you want to talk? Why did you blow me off yesterday, when I was the one with questions?”

  Even from here I could smell the alcohol on his breath. That explained the bloodshot eyes. I cringed and popped a finger in my mouth, chewing on the nail. “I’m sorry. I was just . . .” Any lame excuse I might give slipped back down my throat.

  “You knew,” he said, his tone accusing. “I know you did. How? How did you know? And why won’t you tell me? Why are you here, Jayne?”

  I wrapped my fingers around each other and searched for a plausible explanation. “Your dad just didn’t seem well when I had my job interview with him last spring. It worried me.”