Darynda Jones - Death and the Girl Next Door

“Yeah?” Intrigue scooted her closer. “How awful?”

I hugged my notebook tighter and said, “I keep thinking about that boy from the Java Loft. For three days, that boy and that vision.”

A knowing smile softened her face. “And you feel guilty?”

“Absolutely. Don’t you think I should?”

“No.”

“I mean, here I am, practically orphaned ten years to the day, and my mind keeps replaying that vision over and over in my head. I’ve never seen anything like it. Or felt anything like it, for that matter. He was so fierce, so desperate, and yet somehow not quite human.” I took in a deep breath and refocused on Brooke. “But to think about that on today of all days.”

She put a hand on my arm. “Lor, I’m certain your parents wouldn’t want you wallowing for their sake.”

“I know, but—”

“No buts. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to have your gift, to see the things you’ve seen and feel the things you’ve felt. I understand where you’re coming from, but if you really loved me, you’d describe that boy in much more detail and include pertinent information like chest measurements and white blood cell count.”

I grinned playfully and leaned in closer. “Well, I did try my hand at drawing him.”

Her smile widened. “And?”

After a quick scan of the area to make sure no one was looking, I eased my notebook forward to reveal my latest masterpiece.

Her stare locked on to the image I’d drawn. The boy from the vision. She inhaled a soft breath. “Oh, my.”

“I know.” I’d caught only a fraction of his face during the fight. Dark eyes one instant. A strong jaw the next. Lashes, thick and impossibly long. So I didn’t really have that much to go on, but I drew what I remembered.

“Is the boy in your vision the same one from the hall?”

“Probably,” I answered. “At least that’s how it usually works. But how could that even be possible?”

“Beats the heck outta me.”

“Maybe my vision was a metaphor for something he has to face in his life. Something awful.”

“Like finals?”

“Exactly. Only, you know, more life-threatening.”

A slow nod confirmed her agreement. “Maybe. I know one thing: He’s absolutely gorgeous.” She leveled an approving eye on me. “You are getting seriously good at this stuff. You should sell your drawings on eBay and pay for a trip to the casinos. Put those skills to good use.”

Brooklyn knew my glimpses into the Twilight Zone didn’t really work that way. I wasn’t psychic like that. I just saw things every so often when I touched people. There were no guarantees that what I saw actually happened, or ever would.

“I only use my powers for good,” I said, offering her a teasing scowl.

She threw me a doubtful look. “What about that time the creature whose name shall not be spoken aloud backed her car into Principal Davis’s SUV? You saw that two days before it happened.”

“Oh, right, well, most of the time. But this vision was different. So much emotion. So much turmoil.”

“So much hot guy flesh,” Brooke added.

I studied the picture and realized I did focus on the guy’s muscles a bit, but that was mostly what I saw.

“So you didn’t see his whole face?” she asked, commenting on the fact that I’d only drawn his dark eyes with long lashes and the barest sliver of his pout.

“No.” I sighed in frustration. “I got bits and pieces. It was like a puzzle I couldn’t quite solve.”

“And you’re not very good at puzzles.”

“True.” I fixed a contrite look on her as she analyzed the picture. “Sorry I called you so late last night.”

“Are you kidding? I would’ve been upset if you hadn’t called me. Being stalked sucks,” she said, referring to the fact that for the last three days, ever since I’d seen him in the Java Loft, Cameron Lusk had been following me. Just out of the blue. For no comprehensible reason whatsoever. Every time I turned a corner, every time I looked up from whatever I was doing, there he was. Glaring. “Maybe what you saw in your vision was a manifestation of your worry over Cameron.”

“Maybe.” I hadn’t thought of it that way. I was pretty new to the whole stalking thing.

She opened her red locker door then halted again. “Well, let’s think about it. You had that vision the same day Cameron started following you.”

I nodded, letting my eyes wander back to the picture. Even with my amateur style, the boy appealed to every cell in my body, drawing me in like a magnet.

“And Cameron’s been your constant shadow for three days now, right?”

I nodded again, running a fingertip over the corner of his mouth, barely visible.

She shrugged. “Makes sense to me. Your subconscious is reaching out for someone to save you. You obviously have genuine feelings of vulnerability.”

“True, but I had the vision before I saw Cameron.”

“Oh, well, that does throw a wrench into our parade.”

“Still, it’s not a bad working hypothesis. You’re good at analyzing things.”

“That’s because I have an anal retentive personality,” she said in complete seriousness.

I tried not to laugh at her as I peeked around the wall of bright red lockers to see if stalker boy was nearby.

“And on that note,” she said just as I spotted him, “I need to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Okay, so I was wondering, if Cameron kidnaps you, kills you, then buries your lifeless body in a shallow grave in the desert where your remains lay decomposing for several decades until they’re accidentally discovered by some guy on a journey to reawaken his spirit at the Salinas Pueblo Missions, can I have your iMac?”

I gaped at her. “You’ve really thought this out.”

“I love your iMac.”

“I love my iMac too, and you’re not getting her.”

“But you’ll be decomposing,” she said, her voice more whiny than usual.

Fighting a bubble of laughter, I shook my head. “I had to save a whole year for iPrecious. She stays with me no matter what state of decomposition I’m in.”

“Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this,” she said, clearly enjoying the task, “but that’s a ridiculous name.” She rifled through her books. “I mean, iPrecious? Seriously? You sound like the Apple version of Gollum.”

I smiled even though evil butterflies had started dive-bombing the lining of my stomach the moment I spotted Cameron. Being stalked was wreaking havoc on my innards.

“Is he there?” she asked.

“He’s there, all right,” I said through slightly gritted teeth, my voice tainted with a combination of resignation and fear. Cameron stood leaning against the trophy case, ice blue eyes smoldering as usual. Anger radiated off him, white hot and tangible. Despite his crystalline gaze and shoulder-length blond hair, his features were forever darkened by it.

“Well, crap.” Brooke closed her locker door, then nudged up behind me to look over my shoulder. “That boy needs a hobby.”

“Stalking is a hobby.”

“So is serial killing.”

My stomach clenched tightly in reflex. I’d never really thought of Cameron as a serial killer, but I’d never thought of him as a stalker either. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better? Isn’t that what friends are for?”

“Lorelei, friends don’t let friends get killed by serial killers.” She paused to take inventory of her belongings, cursed under her breath, then marched back to her locker and spun the combination wheel again. “Seriously, what if your grandparents had seen him? I mean, who does that? Who stands outside someone’s window all night long in the freezing rain?”

I’d called Brooke late last night and again the minute I woke up this morning. Cameron had been outside my house when I went to bed and was still there when I woke up this morning, even though it’d rained all night. Stalker Boy was nothing if not dedicated.