The Lost Savior Read online

  I slam my chair back, standing up and stumbling on unsteady limbs as a rush of images flood my mind. The air seems to distort around me, and I grip the edge of the table as some kind of invisible force seeks to pull me toward them. I dig my nails into the Formica top, clinging on, struggling to remain in place.

  Chill out. You’re drawing attention.

  My eyes dart to their table again. The blond is staring intensely at me, sending goose bumps sprouting all over my arms.

  There’s a tug on the invisible string connecting me to him, and he jerks the same time I do, his shocked expression mirroring my own.

  No! No way!

  More images zip around my mind, and I grasp bits and pieces, but none of it makes any sense.

  This cannot be happening.

  What is happening?

  Who the hell are those guys?

  What the hell is going on in my mind?

  Sit down. Relax. Everything will be fine.

  A squeak emits from my mouth. Holy shit. I did not think that.

  The blond continues eyeballing me, and I gulp as an insane idea lands in my brain.

  Did he … did he put that thought there?

  No. He couldn’t have.

  Please sit down.

  I’m barely conscious of Jensen clasping my arm and whispering in my ear. I did not think that thought either. Sitting back down is the furthest thing from my mind—getting as far away from here is more where I’m at.

  This cannot be real.

  I don’t know who they are, and I don’t like this odd connection between us.

  All I know is I need to get away from them.

  And I need to do it now.

  Chapter 9

  “Tori! Tori!” Jensen grips my shoulders, lightly shaking me, finally cracking through the veneer. “Baby, snap out of it.” He clicks his fingers in front of my face. I offer him a watery smile, trying to reassure him even though I’m totally losing my mind. The images continue, flashing back and forth in my brain, and I can’t make sense of them.

  There’s a tug on one of the strings again, and I can’t help responding. My head swivels in their direction. The guy with the dark fauxhawk watches me with concentrated focus, but his face is giving nothing away. Tattoos cover his muscular arms, creeping up the side of his neck. He emits a vibe that’s scary and thrilling and immensely intriguing.

  “Tori.” Jensen demands my attention, and I’m grateful for the distraction. I look at my boyfriend, attempting to smile again. He cups my face, peering into my eyes, concern radiating in his gaze. “There you are. What just happened? Do you know them or something?” He casts a quick glance at the boys at the end table, frowning.

  I shake my head and wet my dry lips. “No, I … I have a migraine.” I blurt the first thing that comes to mind and start rubbing my brow. “My head hurts. Sorry.”

  He looks over his shoulder again before pulling me into his arms, smoothing a hand up and down my spine. My eyes lock on the guys, and the charge coursing through my body starts humming a new tune. The guy with the fauxhawk continues to stare impassively at me through almond-shaped chocolate-brown eyes. His expression is intense but guarded, giving nothing away.

  The guy sitting beside him has bulging biceps that’d give The Rock a run for his money. Both his arms are covered in thick tattoos, and his light brown hair is cropped close to his scalp. He looks at me without even blinking, and I avert my eyes, checking out the last guy, the cute one with glasses sitting across from him. His hair is dark and cut in a fashionable skin fade. Copious leather bands ring both wrists. His build is leaner than the others, but when he props his elbows on the table, I notice the definition in his upper arms. His gaze is intelligent, and he offers me a shy smile.

  Finally, I return my attention to the blond, the one Zara proclaimed as a Bieber lookalike, and I can see why she made the comparison. His blond hair is long on top, artfully styled back off his face, with the sides shorn much tighter. He’s also rocking some serious muscle tone, and an intricate tattoo covers one arm. Two thick silver chains loop around his neck. He has a strong nose, high cheekbones, and lush lips, but it’s his eyes that reel me in—big and blue, framed by a thick layer of black lashes, his eyes are oceans I could drown in.

  I want to throat punch myself for my disloyal thoughts, because I don’t look at other guys. Ever. I have Jensen and he’s all I see. All I need.

  The blond cocks his head to the side. His lips curve up at the corners, and he graces me with a panty-melting smile.

  A wave of something indecipherable washes over me.

  “Sweetheart,” Jensen murmurs, easing me out of his arms. “Can you stop looking at them? Everyone’s watching.”

  My cheeks flush red. “Um, yeah, sorry.”

  His expression softens. “Do you want me to take you home?”

  I nod. Home. Yeah. Home sounds great. “Please.” I need to put as much distance between me and the new guys as soon as possible.

  He kisses me softly on the lips. “Okay. Let me grab your things.” As he bends down, a tray comes flying at him from across the way, swatting him across the back of the head. Milk dribbles over his hair and down his shirt, trickling onto his jeans. Clumps of congealed noodles land on his head, slithering down his back, and a few slip onto his chest. “What the actual fuck?” he shouts, picking a limp noodle off his face.

  My eyes dart to the table at the end. The guy with the fauxhawk slaps the blond across the back of the head, and my nostrils flare up, instinctively knowing he had something to do with this. I’ve taken two steps forward when a girl lands in front of me, her cheeks flaring bright red. “I’m really sorry,” she says, reaching out to remove some of the noodles from Jensen’s head. “I don’t know what happened. My tray just flew off the table.”

  Jensen pins her with a disbelieving look. “You expect me to believe that? Did I do something to you?”

  “No, of course not.” The girl’s cheeks are now the color of our scarlet living room curtains. “I don’t even know you. I’m really, really sorry.”

  I help remove the rest of the noodles from his hair and body, depositing them on the messy tray. Jensen stares at the girl, his brow furrowed as it always is when he’s deep in thought about something. One of the staff appears with a mop and bucket, glaring at Jensen as if he dumped the tray on top of himself. He takes off his soiled shirt, balling it up and stuffing it into his bag, leaving him in a short-sleeved plain white tee.

  “It’s okay,” Jensen says with a sigh, after a bit. “Forget it. No harm done.” He snatches my bag, slinging it over his shoulder.

  “I am really sorry,” she mumbles before racing back to her table as fast as her legs will carry her.

  “Let’s just get out of here,” I say, wrapping my arm around his back. The little pulsing, buzzy strings aren’t happy as I walk toward the exit, and it’s almost like a physical wrenching as the lines separate.

  I only start properly breathing when we’ve left the school building and we’re walking toward Jensen’s truck. I don’t care if I get in trouble for leaving without permission. My record is spotless. Mom will understand and call the school to smooth it over later.

  We’re both silent, and I close my eyes as I lean my head against the window, grateful that the strange images have stopped flashing through my mind. He drives me home, offering to come in, but I pull the migraine card, kissing him and sending him on his way.

  Mom is in the kitchen, and I feed her the same lie, hating myself for it when her eyes wrinkle in concern. I’m sure neither of them believes me because I’m never sick, and now I’ve played that card twice in as many days. Both know something is up, but they’re not pushing.

  It’s only when I’m within the safety of my bedroom that I allow myself to properly freak out. I scrub my hands over my face as I pace the floor.

  Who are those guys and where did they come from? I can’t ever recall anyone transferring to school at any time, let alone in the middle of a seme
ster. And is it a coincidence that I have some kind of wonky electrical reaction to them like I did with that alien freak at the mall, or is the reaction because of the alien freak at the mall? Has he altered my internal wiring or something?

  After an hour going around and around in circles, I pull on my red Soffe shorts and white long-sleeved racer top, lace my sneakers, tie my hair up in a ponytail, and jog down the stairs. “I need to clear my head,” I tell Mom as she begins to protest, grabbing two bottles of water and shoving them in my backpack. “I’ll stay on the paths around the farm, and I have my cell.” I wave it at her before dropping it into the inner pocket of my bag. Securing the straps, I open the door and set out.

  I run for miles, sticking to the paths farthest from the main part of the farm, needing to be alone with my confusing thoughts. After an hour, I stop in one of the northernmost fields, dropping down onto the ground and planting my back against the trunk of an old tree as I guzzle some water. An image surges to the forefront of my mind, and I close my eyes, resting my head against the bark.

  The baby is wailing, but the beautiful woman in the extravagant gold gown whispers in its ear, and the baby’s cries die out. The woman has beautiful luminous sea-green eyes and flawless skin. A single tear cascades down her cheek as she cradles the baby in her arms.

  “Quickly,” the man says, his tone urgent. “We need to move fast.” She follows him silently, hugging the baby close as more tears spill from her eyes. The man ducks his head, entering a dark tunnel and the woman follows suit. The air is icy cold the farther they descend. A dim light appears in the distance, growing brighter the nearer they get. The man presses his hand to the seam of the closed double doors and they instantly part. The woman’s sobbing grows more insistent, her anguished cries betraying the full extent of her grief. The man reaches out, taking the baby from her arms. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but there is no other way.”

  The baby cries out, arms and legs flailing as it’s placed in the cool silver capsule.

  The woman’s anguished howls filter through the air as the capsule closes.

  The image fades out, replaced by a blur of jumbled pictures I can’t grasp. I open my eyes, my chest tight, as I replay what I’ve just seen. I don’t know how long I sit on the ground, images still cluttering my mind, but daylight is fading as I finally climb to my feet. I scan my parents’ farm stretched out in front of me, and the vastness is achingly lonely. My eyes lock on the cavernous dip in the center of the field, and I walk toward it as if some invisible force is reeling me in. Stopping at the edge of the old crater, I stare at the hollowed-out ground in new fascination. Angling my head from side to side, I crouch down to inspect the wide hole, brushing the tips of my fingers across the barren ground.

  A sharp jolt whips up my arm, and I scramble back as if electrocuted, sucking in a deep breath. The baby’s cries ring out, distinct and clear, and I whip my head around, skimming the land on all sides. Butterflies run rampant in my chest as the crying continues, echoing in my head and blasting my eardrums.

  I start running, pushing my legs fast, faster than I’ve ever gone before. The landscape blurs as I run, but I barely notice. My heart is hammering in my chest, and confusion surrounds me.

  Before I know it, I’m standing at our front door.

  I slam to a halt at the realization. What the? I jerk my head up, glancing at the road I’ve just taken, noting the dust balls rising along the path like a trail of puffy smoke. I haven’t even broken a sweat, I’m not out of breath, and my limbs don’t ache.

  “What are you doing standing out there?” Mom asks, poking her head out the kitchen window.

  Dampening the new layer of panic down, I turn around and grace her with a smile. “Just catching my breath,” I lie, for the umpteenth time today.

  “Come inside, sweetheart. Dinner’s just ready.”

  I offer her a smile, but it’s fake.

  As fake as I’m beginning to suspect I am.

  I cast one final glance over my shoulder, mentally calculating the distance, but there’s no hiding from the truth.

  The run home from the field should have taken me at least twenty minutes.

  But I reckon I made it in less than four seconds flat.

  Chapter 10

  Kylie drops by after dinner, and we go to my room on the pretense of doing our homework. As soon as the door is closed, I hit her with everything—the bizarro connection with those guys at lunch, the suspected thoughts planted in my head, the strange images that are invading my mind, and the superfast jog home. I’m calm as I dump everything on her, sitting cross-legged beside her on my bed, but it’s all for show. Inside, I’m a complete mess. I feel like I’m losing myself, and I’m scared.

  I like who I am, and I’ve never wanted to be anyone else, but, now, it seems as if I’m changing whether I want to or not.

  Opening myself up like this makes me feel hugely vulnerable, and even though Kylie’s my closest friend, sharing this stuff is still risky, even if she’s been good with all the weird so far. However, I trust my best friend, probably more than I trust myself right now, and I need to share this with someone before I completely lose it.

  She takes my hands in hers, failing to disguise the glimmer of excitement in her eyes. “Can you show me? The running thing?”

  My brows climb to my hairline. “That’s what you got out of everything I said?”

  She shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “It sounds awesome.”

  “It sounds like I’m a bona fide freak.” My chest tightens. “Just like that thing.” I still can’t bring myself to say the word alien.

  Her expression turns grave. “Stop. He was an evil piece of shit and you’re not.” She chews on the corner of her mouth. “But I do think we need to seriously consider the possibility he has altered you and that you may not even be aware of the true extent of it yet.”

  While that does absolutely nothing to ease the anxiety in my chest, I appreciate her blunt approach. There’s no point in trying to deny it. “That’s what I think, too, but why me?”

  “It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she says with a confidence I don’t feel.

  Something is niggling at the back of my mind, but I don’t know what. I squeeze her hands. “Do you think those new students are like him too? Is that why I had such a strong reaction to them?”

  “I think it’s possible, but there’s only one way of finding out.”

  I shake my head. “Oh no, I’m not going anywhere near them. I’m likely to spontaneously combust if I get any closer,” I say, thinking of the acute spark electrifying the space between us earlier, and the almost overwhelming pull toward them. I’ve never felt anything like it before.

  “You may not have much of a choice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everyone was talking about what went down in the cafeteria all afternoon. If you don’t seek them out, I think they’ll come looking for you.”

  “Well, that’s just great.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “If it happens, I’ll run in the opposite direction.”

  “They go to our school now. You can’t avoid them forever.”

  I rub a tense spot between my brows. Kylie’s right. Our school isn’t big enough to avoid one person, let alone four guys of their stature.

  “Heads up, by the way, I don’t think Jensen’s too happy about it either.”

  I flop on my back, groaning. “I don’t blame him. If four sexy girls turned up at school and he stared at them the way I stared at those guys this afternoon, I’d have kneed him in the balls for so obviously disrespecting me.”

  “You’d better concoct a plausible explanation then.”

  Great. More lies.

  Mom knocks on my door, sticking her head through the gap. “Honey, the police are here. They’re looking to speak to both of you in relation to the accident on Saturday.” She looks tense. “I can tell them you have a migraine if you don’t want to talk to them now?”

  “
It’s okay.” I pull my big girl panties on. “My migraine’s gone, and we might as well get this over and done with.”

  Kylie and I exchange conspiratorial looks as we walk downstairs. Two cops are waiting in the living room, standing in front of the fireplace with their hands clasped behind their backs. The formal, solemn expressions they’re wearing make it look like they’ve got sticks shoved up their ass. Mom and Dad insist on being present, and we both give our statement as succinctly as possible.

  The taller cop frowns, rubbing his chin as he skims over the words written in his inelegant scrawl. Flipping the cover on his notepad, he tucks it and the pen in the back pocket of his pants. “I think we’re done here, girls. Your statement corroborates the statements from Ms. Miles and Ms. Davenport. We’ve opened a case file, but unless any other witness comes forward, or the driver hands himself in, I doubt there’ll be any prosecutions. The scene yielded no evidence at all, which is irregular. Forensics usually identify something useful, but they’ve turned up empty-handed this time.”

  His comments lift the hairs on the back of my neck. I forgot all about the weapon that injured me. If the cops didn’t find it, does that mean it’s still out there somewhere? Or someone else happened across it first? Or maybe the freak had retrieved it, and it was incinerated along with his body. My hands start shaking as I remember what I did to him, and I shove them in the pockets of my jeans in an attempt to steady them.

  The officer rubs his chin again, his brow puckering. Sighing, he straightens up, leveling a pointed look at Kylie and me. “At least none of you were seriously injured.”

  Mom and Dad show the two men out. “We’ve now officially wandered into Twilight Zone territory,” Kylie whispers. “Whatever you did to Kenzie and Zara obviously worked if they’re now believing our version of events.”