Waiting For A Star To Fall (Autumn Brody Book 2) Page 6

  Veronica was clearly worried by this. "You say that good ghosts are looking after her, but isn't there something she can do to be sure? Like, a protection charm or... or anything?"

  "She already has it. Louise is sorry you didn't have it when you turned seventeen. Eighteen was the year her own connection with the spirits became intense. It's why she started the tradition of passing it on at that age."

  Autumn stared down at her right hand, her mouth falling open as her right ring finger seemed to feel warmer. Almost as if the ring was radiating heat. Absently, she tried to tug it off. It wouldn't budge.

  "What can a ring possibly do?" Autumn snapped. "You think this is a gift? Last time I listened to a goddamn ghost, I was nearly killed! I went crazy! I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't breathe without wondering what would happen to me next. The only reason I was able to let it go was because Nikki..."

  "Nikki what?" Veronica prompted anxiously.

  Autumn hesitated, staring at the floor. "You'll think I'm nuts, V. Certifiable."

  Kneeling beside her, Veronica brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. "I'm sitting here listening to all of this and I'm not even remotely worried about that. I believe Audrina. I believe you. What did Nikki do?"

  "She helped me. When Kearney... I ran from him. She told me where to go. Where to hide. Bought me time..." Autumn hugged herself tightly, slumped in her chair. "She was in the courtroom, too."

  "Did she look happy when they sent that fucker to prison for a hella long time?"

  "Yeah. She was happy."

  "Good." Veronica rose slowly to her feet, glancing over at Audrina. "I think I need to get her back to her hotel. She's pale."

  "Am I?" Autumn mumbled.

  Time shifted, blurred like Louise as she slipped through the living room wall into... death? Heaven? Where did ghosts go? Were they trapped? For so long, she had struggled to push aside all reminders of room 308's bloody history, all knowledge of what phantom teenagers were capable of. Now, she had nothing but questions, but no strength or courage to seek a reply.

  Somewhere in the ether, a farewell to Audrina. A card. Call me anytime. A cab ride, Veronica at her side. Her head resting upon her friend's lap. Shouldn't I be supporting her? Her great-grandmother had been on the beach, in the hotel... Was she a guardian? A menace?

  Andrew. How could she ever speak of any of this to him? Would he believe it? Or would he call Emma and tell her that maybe she needed several more years of therapy?

  "Call me in the morning," Veronica urged her as she walked her into the hotel. “No arguments.”

  Autumn could only nod, panicked by the mirrored surfaces, looking for a flash of purple or a pale, smiling face. Nothing. No impossible reflections. No people. Only her own eyes: dilated pupils, frantically searching for monsters in the shadows. Her hair hung past her shoulders, messy and flat on the right side from lying on Veronica's lap.

  Just leave me alone. I need time. Leave me alone...

  "Hey, listen to me," Veronica insisted, shaking her shoulders gently. "Listen?"

  Autumn drew a shaky breath and nodded.

  "This isn't bad. That it wasn't a one-time thing, I mean. Like she said, you can just say no. And you're not alone, okay? I'm here for you." Veronica kissed her cheek gently and pressed the call button for the elevator. "Are you still coming to the show tomorrow?"

  Autumn forced a weak smile for Veronica’s benefit. "Of course. I wouldn't miss it."

  "Get some rest, okay? Cuddle up to that man of yours and don't let go."

  The elevator opened and Autumn slipped inside. With a wistful look, Veronica waved and turned away, heading out into the humid night. Jamming the button for the 38th floor, Autumn leaned against the back wall, allowing the faint ding of changing floors to lull her into a semblance of calm.

  I can say no? Fine. No. The answer is no. Don't even ask. I can't be your conduit or your puppet. I'm only eighteen.

  The ring on her finger seemed to vibrate as she made her way to the hotel room. Swiping her key card in the slot, she launched herself into Andrew's arms the moment she saw him.

  "Hey, whoa! What's wrong?"

  "Do you love me?"

  "Of course I love you. Autumn, what's wrong? You're shaking!"

  "Do you love me?" she asked again, cringing at the desperation in her voice.

  His hands cradled her face, grounding her as the panic attacks of days past reared their angry heads. "I love you, Autumn Marie Brody. There is no one on this earth as loved as you are by me. Talk to me. What happened?"

  She shook her head violently, crimson waves tumbling across his hands. "I need to feel something good. Safe. Talk is for later. Please, Andrew.... Please don't let the dark come in here..."

  "Okay." He kissed her, gently at first, then more insistent. "Okay, I'm here. You're safe. Do you trust me?"

  "Yes.... Please..."

  "Shh... It's safe. I promise you." Showering kisses on her head, her cheeks, her eager mouth, he led her to the bedroom with quiet deliberation. "It's just you and me, always."

  "Always," she echoed softly, burrowing against his body, inhaling his scent.

  "Like a constant, remember?" he added, reaching one hand to turn down the bed.

  Autumn smiled to herself, remembering their habit of passing notes in grade twelve math. She'd given up on outdoing him with math terminology the day he'd declared himself the constant in her equation of life. A stable presence, unwavering. That was Andrew. Even now, he didn't question her demands. He simply met them.

  "Hold me?" she whispered.

  "Anything for you."

  She allowed him to undress her, resisting the urge to chastise herself for being childish. His touch was nurturing, gentle and kind—no lust, only love. He always knew what she needed. He dressed her with similar care, nudging her arms overhead and smoothing the lace-trimmed top with a flat palm across her stomach. She felt her pulse begin to steady itself, her body jamming the brakes on the runaway anxiety train. Adrenaline crash.

  Her body swayed against him, exhaustion overtaking her. "Mmm..."

  "Sleep," he urged, coaxing her under the covers.

  The pillowcase felt divine, cooling her fevered brain as Andrew wrapped his arm protectively around her. In the morning, he would want answers. She would want them, too. But not now. Drained and dazed, she trusted in him and allowed her body to fall limp and submit to the quicksand of slumber.

  Safe and sound, she told herself, before allowing sleep to swallow her whole. She desperately needed to believe it.

  FIVE

  At first, it all seems so innocent. Serene, even. The sky is azure swirled with clouds of marshmallow fluff, so picturesque as to not be believed. My feet sink into the golden grains of the beach, stung slightly by fragments of shell and rock lurking beneath. Drawing a deep breath, I can taste the salty surf mist. I'm home.

  Water heals. Water gives life. I have always understood this. In times of difficulty, I find myself here on the shore, one way or another.

  My toes wiggle in the sand, cradling a smooth pebble beneath my right foot. Curious, I fold forward, stretching my hand to palm the hidden treasure. It feels cool to the touch despite the July heat, clumped in damp soil from the ebb and flow of the tide. I brush it aside, staring at a large amethyst.

  I knows she will be there before I glance up, but it does nothing to assuage my feelings of dread.

  "I don't want to talk to you." The stone falls from my fingers as I recoil.

  "You don't get a choice, I'm afraid." The woman approaches, the hem of her dress dragging with the weight of tangled kelp and mud. "You need to learn."

  "I don't want to learn to talk to the dead. To you."

  A laugh, as hollow as her eyes. "No, you foolish child. You already know how to talk to the dead, whether you care to or not. You need to learn to control it. To walk the line between worlds."

  "And why would I want that?"

  We stand now, staring each other down. The intru
der wears the grin of the proverbial cat who's tucked a canary inside its jaws for a snack. I stand akimbo, indignant in my reluctant understanding that as much as I hate the woman, she's got me dead to rights. Control is power, and I'm done with allowing others—living or dead—to render me powerless.

  "To close the door, you must open it," the woman tells me.

  "That makes absolutely no fucking sense."

  "It will."

  The woman stares down at her chest, watching as a tiny dot of crimson swells to the size of a melon. A dainty finger dabs inside the wound, drawing swirls upon her gown, up her arm, to her face.

  "It will," she repeats herself. "Or you will meet my fate."

  "No!"

  Autumn sprung from bed, scrambling to throw away the blankets, to stand, to run. Chest heaving, she threw her back against the wall. No surprises. No surrender. So lost she was in the ether of her nightmare, she didn't notice Andrew at her side until he physically shook her shoulders, jarring her fully from sleep.

  "Hey, hey! It's me," he pleaded.

  She felt her knees buckle beneath her, sinew snipped and collapsing under the weight of her terror. His arms slid beneath hers, breaking her fall and pulling her against him as she began to weep. Gentle circles upon her lower back were paired with gentle kisses to the top of her head.

  Steady. Breathe it out. Keep the count. Her therapist was in her mind now, urging her to fight through the squeeze of her chest.

  "Breathe, Autumn," Andrew whispered. "Just breathe."

  Inhale, shaky exhale. A sob, choked back, swallowed down and lodged in her throat. Inhale. Hold. She held tightly to him, exhaling into a tiny space between them. Inhale. Three. Counting breaths like sheep. Let them leap, Emma instructed her. Up and down, gently over the fence. Inhale, exhale.

  "Good... That's good... You're coming down," he soothed her. "Few more breaths. You can do this."

  Inhale five. Alive. She was alive. The vice began to loosen its grip on her heart, allowing it to sprawl and expand anew in its cage of bone. She would survive. She was good at it.

  "Okay," she murmured into his chest.

  "Of course you are," he replied warmly. "Come back to bed."

  Autumn assented, curving against his athletic frame and tracing the hint of abdominal muscle with a feather touch. Andrew, in turn, ran his fingers absently through her waves, teasing them loose. A gentle humming and she was at ease once more.

  "What dream was it?"

  She bit her lip, reluctant to explain. Usually, her dreams involved tunnels, or choking hands upon her throat. Concrete events that he knew of, hellish moments that naturally gave rise to terror in darkness. But this... Even Autumn doubted its truth.

  "It was connected to last night," she said at last, choosing her words carefully.

  A sigh. "Can we talk about last night?"

  He's going to think you've lost it. Didn't he once think you were crazy, back in the middle of Nikki's worst antics? There was no winning: if she avoided the subject, he would undoubtedly reach out to Veronica. She, in turn, would spill like a lopsided tea pot. But if she told him, and he couldn't cope…

  "Nikki," she began evasively. "Did you... Do you believe she was there, in that room?"

  His hand stilled, caught in a loose knot of hair. "I'm confused. That was over a year ago."

  "Just... I need to know." She turned her head, resting her right cheek upon his heart, studying his face for truths between his lines. "Do you believe in ghosts? Do you believe that I saw what I think I saw?"

  He remained silent for a long moment, his brow furrowed as he mulled her question. When he spoke at last, his voice was low and crackled slightly. Static on the line.

  "At first, I didn't. I thought Chris was screwing with you. We knew he was after you and I-I've never believed in anything after life..."

  He hesitated now, and she felt her fear frothing at the mouth, longing to consume her.

  "Andrew, you're not answering me."

  "I am," he insisted sharply. "I... There's something I didn't tell you about that night. The night we found you."

  Her hand sought his now, fingers interlaced. Bound together. She nodded silently, waiting for him to reveal his secret.

  "When I saw your room, I was so scared for you. I knew he had you. I knew. You were somewhere out there with a killer, sick, weak, unable to talk..." His voice grew hoarse with emotion as he continued. "And I asked for the universe, or fate, or whatever, to give me a sign. To help me find you. Veronica was screaming at Lorraine to call the cops..."

  "I remember," she interjected. "And you went and got Professor Grant, because he knew the tunnels."

  "That's what I told you," Andrew replied. "But it wasn't quite that simple."

  "What was it, then?"

  His eyes met hers and she instantly recognized the fear within them. "A single sheet of paper suddenly fluttered off your desk and hit the ground. I can't... I don't know why I looked, except that there was no draft. But that one page... I picked it up. It was notes you'd made about Grant, about his connection to 1980."

  Autumn felt as if she'd been struck over the head. A sign. A sign from a ghost.

  "There was no draft," he repeated. "So maybe it was help from... beyond. I don't know. But it helped me find you. If having you alive means accepting that there are things I can't explain, then... then so be it."

  Autumn swallowed hard, cotton-mouthed and cowardly. In her heart, she knew it was no maybe. Nikki Lang loved sharing messages with her. She had surely knocked down the page, hoping to trigger Andrew's memory.

  It's real. All of it is real.

  "Veronica wanted to see a psychic last night," she began, curving her torso closer to his. "And she was good—uncanny. She gave Veronica hope. She needed that."

  "So Veronica got a hint of her future," Andrew prodded. "Then what?"

  "And then... Madame Audrina insisted I needed a reading. A free one. And then she introduced me to my great-grandmother, Louise."

  "Okay, we need to sit up for this," he decided, pulling himself into a cross-legged position on the bed. "She told you about Louise?"

  "By name," Autumn continued reluctantly. "My ring... It was hers. She said it would protect me. That I needed it."

  "I don't understand."

  "So apparently, talking to ghosts runs in my family. And because I decided to pay attention to Nikki, I'm wide open now as a carrier pigeon for the dead. 'Here's my message, please deliver it.' Fun, right?" Autumn rolled her eyes, fidgeting with her ring. "Audrina says I can't close the door to them. I'm permanently haunted."

  "Do you believe her?"

  She wilted under the intensity of his gaze, her head bowing. "I didn't want to worry you, and I wasn't sure you'd believe me, so I've been ignoring certain things." Swallowing hard, she explained. "I've been… sorta seeing shit that maybe isn't PTSD like I thought. A woman in a pale purple dress—Louise, although I didn't know that. Feeling like I'm being followed. She couldn't have known her name, Andrew. But she knew it." Glancing up anxiously, she winced at how worried he looked. "And this would be where you declare you've had your quota of weirdo girlfriend for a lifetime and run for the hills."

  "Stop that," he chided her, tugging her closer. "I love you. I loved you even when you pushed me away. I still loved you when you decided running around in a maze beneath campus was a smart idea."

  "But—"

  "Look, maybe she's a few crayons short of a box about this dead people talking shit. Maybe you're not going to be Whoopi Goldberg for every Patrick Swayze in the afterlife. But I do believe that your heart and mind are open, more so than most people. It's one of the things I find so irresistible about you."

  She managed a half-smile for him, shaking her head. "Always a romantic."

  "With you. No one else. I may not have all of the answers, but I believe in you. Anything is possible, even if we have yet to scientifically prove it. Just don't let yourself get so wrapped up in it that it becomes your whole life,
okay?"

  It was a promise sealed with a passionate kiss. A silent vow. I'm in charge of my life. Whatever these visions were, however much of what Audrina said was true, it didn't matter. It was only one sliver of that which defined her.

  Of course, when Andrew took a few minutes to shave, she couldn't resist reaching for her computer and doing a little research. I'm not letting it consume me, she chanted in her head. I'm taking a moment to understand. Specifically, she wanted to know if the ring she was spinning around her finger and sliding half-off was of any real protection. A quick scan assured her that amethyst was known for enhancing psychic intuition and spiritual connections, as well as protection from attacks of the non-corporeal kind.

  Can't hurt, she ultimately decided, sliding it firmly back into place.

  In her mind, she could hear the whisper of her ancestor’s voice: "To close the door, you must open it."

  "Not today," she muttered. "I have a life to live."

  * * *

  Although they were tourists, the young couple had decided that they would balance the more mainstream excursions (The Statue of Liberty) with the more quirky choices (Museum of Sex). Autumn was counting on Veronica for tips on places to explore that the generic tourism guides didn't espouse.

  For their first full day in New York, however, they'd opted to keep it a little cliché.

  Grabbing a portable breakfast of bagels and coffee, they managed to navigate their way to the 6 train, taking it south until it looped through the stunning City Hall station. Shut down for business in 1945, its architecture was such a draw that train operators no longer bothered to boot people off the subway during its turnaround. Tours were offered, but none were available during their stay. Andrew, of course, filmed the entire journey. Autumn suspected that as much as she hated being recorded, she wouldn't have much choice on their vacation.

  Looping north, they jumped off at the closest stop to their main destination for the day: Central Park. It wouldn't be a trip to New York without seeing it, Andrew had insisted for weeks. Autumn really couldn't argue with him, although she did issue an ultimatum: If we do it, we do ALL of it.