Chapter Fourteen
I roll over and squint up at my roommate. "Yeah, Jess. I was just wiped." The clock reads 6:00 and I know I need to wake up and get ready for dinner. Connecting with spirits like I did with Hailey always wears the hell out of me. It's like I ran a marathon, or two. There was no way I could go back to the conference room after something like that.
Fortunately, I had two hours of dreamless sleep.
"Did I miss anything interesting?" I ask through a yawn.
Jess reaches for her hairbrush and drags it through her blond hair. "Micah is clairvoyant, the Pucketts are all seeing, hearing, and sensing things, and Carl has been awfully good at picking lottery numbers lately."
I giggle. "I need to get some tips from him for the old college fund."
"Seriously," she says with a small snort. "The best of all though ... you'll love it. Get this: turns out Greg Swanner has been seeing these creatures in the woods around his house."
Sitting up, I say, "Oh, yeah? Like what?"
Waving the brush around in the air, Jess says, "He was telling us this legend his grandfather told him about a witch in the area that turns into a large cat with yellow eyes that only preys on males. Apparently, Greg was out hunting with some friends and he saw this ... thing. Then he saw it one night after a football game. And he said it followed him home after a night of mud riding."
"Mud riding?" I ask.
She shrugs. "Surfing on muddy roads in your car. That's not the point, Kendall."
"Oh, sorry," I say, furrowing my brow. And I thought the nightlife in Radisson was a bit dull, what with some of the older local kids playing drunk hide-and-seek in the aisles of Mega-Mart.
Jess says, "So, Greg's the only person seeing this thing and all his pals think he's a nut ball. He's lost a lot of friends because of it. And he's like a popular guy, you know, with the football thing, and being a baseball player. He's afraid the coach is going to get word of it and kick him off the team and he won't get the scholarship he wants to the University of Alabama."
"That totally sucks," I say, feeling Greg's pain. "It's stupid what you get ostracized for."
"No kidding," she says softly.
I swing my legs off the bed and shove my feet into my flip-flops. "What did Oliver have to say?"
"Oh, he and Mary were talking about cryptozoology and how there are so many creatures on this planet that haven't been classified. You know, like Sasquatch or Chupacabra or the Loch Ness monster?"
"Chupa-who-a?"
"Chupacabra. It translates to 'goat sucker.' It's this weird creature that's, like, part dog and part coyote and part wild boar, and it's got a spiny back and long tail."
"That sounds disgusting."
"Well, it's one of those things that people hunt and try to find."
I grin at my roomie. "You really listened in class today, didn't you."
She tosses her head and laughs. "Yeah, I did. Anyway, you totally missed it. Oliver brought out some slides of all these animals/creatures that are thought to be walking among us. Wisdom Walker has even heard of this yellow-eyed large cat that Greg is seeing. Hold on." She snags her notebook and flips the pages. "Here it is. It's called the wampus cat and it's supposed to be all over the South."
"That's the most asinine—" I stop myself, considering how many spirits I've connected with. Who's to say this wampus cat thingy doesn't really exist?
"You were saying?" Jess asks.
"Nothing. Go ahead."
"Wisdom Walker told us the story of the wampus cat. This Indian woman followed the men into the woods when they went out on the hunt. She hid under the skin of a mountain lion and listened to all the stories they told around the fire. When the men discovered her, the medicine man bound her to the cat's skin, and that's how she walks today."
"But none of Greg's other friends saw it?"
She shakes her head. "Nope. Just him. Poor guy."
"I know how he feels."
Jess reaches over and pats my knee. "You do, don't you."
"That's why we're here. We all have our burdens to bear."
"Or maybe they truly are talents, you know?" Jess tips her head to the side. "I think I understand what Oliver is talking about with this whole lifting-of-a-veil thing and our society being more open to all that's around us. It's an awfully big world. Wouldn't it be sad if we weren't sharing it with someone?"
Nodding in agreement, I say, "You have an excellent point there, my friend."
She stands and examines her teeth in the mirror, making funny faces at herself. "The cool thing is, Greg's not afraid of seeing it anymore and he doesn't care what people think. Even though he wants to go to college on scholarship, he wants to study this more. Oliver and Wisdom Walker told him he should look into classes on folklore and biology and zoology and other history. There's this paleontologist guy at the Florida Keys Community College that teaches about cryptozoology, so if Greg—or any of us—is interested in an intro, Oliver said he'd totally do it."
Stunned, I rock back and forth for a moment. "Shit. I missed everything."
"Not really," Jess notes. "Not everyone in the session fully admitted their ... enlightenment."
My eyebrows lift in curiosity. "Oh, yeah?"
"Mr. Sunglasses and Gloves still won't fess up to anything."
"Patrick?"
"Yeah, your boyfriend," she teases. "He just sat there most of the time twirling a pen in his fingers." She stops and remembers. "Come to think of it, he bolted out of the room like Satan was on his heels at some point and didn't come back."
That would have been when he and I connected psychically or whatever it is we're doing.
Jess dives across the bed and lands next to me. "You two hooked up, didn't you!" "No! I swear we didn't!"
Jess frowns and inspects my aura. "Damn, no pink. I was hoping for a juicy story."
"Sorry to disappoint you. No hooking up here." I stuff down the embarrassment over wanting to add the word yet. "I just needed some time to myself."
"Perfectly understandable, kiddo. As Oliver said from the get-go, we're all here to take from this retreat what we need. And what I need is food." She flips over in a near gymnastic move and both of her feet hit the floor. "Let's go eat! Chris is making pork tamales."
My traitorous stomach responds for me and I laugh. I swear, with the gourmet meals Chris is feeding us three times a day, I'm going to be the size of a house. Oh, well. "Bring on the food!"
After dinner, the inevitable pairing-up begins again. I guess that's just what happens when boys and girls fraternize. It's as old as Adam and Eve. Course, look where it got them.
Speedy is sleeping on the sixth step down from the inn, and the cats are out on their evening prowl. Oliver is involved in some closed-door meetings with the counselors, and the La'Costons are camped in front of their plasma television watching one of those singing-and-dancing reality contests, which I'll never understand the appeal of.
I spot Willow and TF disappearing around the back of the inn, while Micah and Jess, Greg and Harper, and Erin and Ricky all get into the hot tub, which is already bubbling and steaming at full force. I could certainly go for the relaxation of the Jacuzzi, but I don't want to be a fifth wheel.
Maddie pads by in her swimsuit, a towel draped over her arm. She stops, though, and looks like she doesn't want to interrupt the couples either. "We're thinking the same thing, aren't we?" she asks.
"Probably so," I say with a smile.
"I really love my boyfriend at home," she confesses. "He's so cute and I'd never do anything to make him not trust me."
I think for one fleeting millisecond about Jason and how I haven't heard squat from him. I know he lives all the way up in Alaska, but last I checked, it was still one of the fifty states and people up there do have phones and Internet service. I mean, his sister found the time to text me and send me e-mails (okay, they were mostly forwarded jokes that I've seen a hundred times already, but still), and yet he can't seem to remember my phone number. Well, the hell with him!
Maddie smiles and touches my arm. "I'm sure he's thinking of you." When my eyes widen at her, she apologizes. "Sorry, it's that whole clairvoyant thing."
"No worries. Par for the course with this group." I pause for a moment and then finally admit what I've been unwilling to say out loud. Sure, I know Jason had to move to Alaska with his dad, but the breakup was inevitable. We were too different. On diverging paths. "It's okay," I tell Maddie. "I'm over him"
"Do we ever really get over that first love?" she asks seriously.
I lick my lips briefly, and without missing a beat, I say, "I certainly hope so."
My ears pick up the strains of a guitar. Maddie winks at me and giggles. "Now there's someone who's broken a lot of hearts, I bet."
"Oh, I'm sure."
With a nudge of her elbow, she says, "Maybe you should go see what you can do about mending his."
I roll my eyes and trot up the stairs toward the music—careful to step over the snoring papillon pup.
A crackling orangy-white blaze is going in the fire pit and Patrick sits with his back to me as he strums out R.E.M.'s "The One I Love."
"Anyone I know?" I ask coyly, making my presence known. "Will wonders never cease! I actually get a genuine laugh from Patrick Lynn." I flop down on the cushioned chaise next to him in victory. "Damn, I'm good."
"Whatever, Moorehead," he says as he continues to pluck out the song. "There's no one I love other than my family. I'm too screwed up to involve myself in anyone else's life."
"Ahhh ... he speaks out on how his abilities are affecting his world. Just what are his abilities, one has to wonder." I have no clue why I'm speaking like some voice-over dude, but humor seems to be the elixir that's working on this complicated guy right now.
Patrick adjusts the guitar on his thigh and stretches out his jeaned leg. He's not wearing the glasses, gloves, or knit hat. I would say his guard is seriously down right now. Not that I'm going to take advantage of it—okay, maybe just a little bit.
In the darkness, the firelight dances and casts shadows from his eyelashes onto his cheeks. His shaggy black hair blows in the slight breeze as his chocolate eyes sharpen on a distant object. I watch hypnotized as his fingers pluck the strings, sending out the song Cel, Becca, Taylor, and I have tried to master on Guitar Hero. I've got the drum part down, and Taylor is a real natural on the vocals, but Cel and Becca could totally compete against the best at playing the R.E.M. hit song. As Patrick continues, I hum along, trying not to distract him. Instead of telling me to shush or go away, he sings softly with me, harmonizing here and there, our voices blending together in a swirling, melodious way that gives me chill bumps even though I'm sitting in front of a crackling fire.
At the end of the song, he lets his fingers dangle from the strings for a few moments. His thoughts are hidden from me; however, it seems like he's happy right now. I know I'm feeling at peace for the first time in a couple of days.
I so much want to know everything about this boy. What makes him tick? Why is he here? How can I help him? How can we help each other? How can we help Hailey?
Bravely, I ask, "Can I read you, Patrick?"
"I don't know," he says with a sexy little smirk. "Can you?"
I cross my eyes and stick out my tongue. "Thank you, Mom. May I read you?"
"I'd rather you not"
I lift up and lean on the end of the chaise, close to Patrick. I gather the intestinal fortitude to say what needs to be said. "We have this ... mental tie, Patrick. You can't deny it."
"I don't," he says and then strums out a random chord. "Nor can I explain it."
"Then why can't I read you?"
He lets out a sigh and sets the guitar down to his right. His long, lean fingers slide into his thick hair, moving the strands back momentarily. I notice a few more grays at the temple, underneath the other hair. They shine in the firelight.
I toss my hands in the air. "Look, I won't beg for your story. You've heard mine. You've heard pretty much everyone else's here, yet you're shut tighter than a clam."
I have my reasons.
"I'm sure you do," I say, acknowledging what he sent to me telepathically. "I'm here to listen." Without thinking, I reach out and place my hand on the sleeve of his shirt. He doesn't flinch or move away. Instead, he adjusts back into his chair and stares into the flames. I do the same, wondering if some ethereal message will be spelled out by the conflagration and sparks.
After a few minutes, I break the silence. "We shared a moment this afternoon with the whole Hailey incident. She's reached out to both of us. How do you explain that?"
He shakes his head, tossing his hair. "I can't explain shit these days."
"That's why you're here."
Patrick snaps around to face me. "I'm here because my dad thinks I'm a freak. He called an old friend and got me into this ... this seminar because he can't do anything for me."
"You're not a freak!" Because if you are or anyone else here is, then I am too.
You're not a freak, Kendall.
Neither are you, Patrick.
His eyes lock on mine and I sense that I won't be able to take a breath when I make the attempt. I'm paralyzed by the emotions surrounding him: fear, doubt, loneliness, confusion. I recognize them because they've been with me since I woke up in the hospital following my Sherry Biddison spill. But helping Hailey is going to get me over that hurdle. Maybe it'll cure Patrick too.
Can it? Can anything?
I want to take his hand and connect with him. I need to feel the heat of our fingers together. To solidify this union we've got going.
His beautiful brown eyes—unshielded by sunglasses finally—shift over my face, studying my nose, my eyelashes, my lips. I watch as his own lips move to form words. "I wish I could take your hand, Kendall." He turns away. "I can't, though."
I clear my throat to dislodge the emotional lump stuck right in my windpipe. "I want to know what happened, Patrick"
He shudders; no other response.
"I want to know," I reiterate forcefully and then add in my mind, I promise not to judge or think badly of you, no matter what.
With that, he spins back around. "That's just it, Kendall. I don't know what happened. I was me one moment and then the next ... I wasn't."
I cross my legs underneath me and get comfortable. "All right. Start at the top."