

# RESURGENCE

By

Johi Jenkins

RESURGENCE

A Resurgence Novel #1

Johi Jenkins

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 Johi Jenkins

http://johijenkins.blogspot.com

All rights reserved: no part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For

Kenton LeMaire,

my complement

Contents

Chapter 1. Fire in the Hallway

Chapter 2. Guilty

Chapter 3. Finals

Chapter 4. One Down

Chapter 5. Prom and Other Disasters

Chapter 6. The Tree House

Chapter 7. The Awakening

Chapter 8. The Past

Chapter 9. All I Want

Chapter 10. Watched

Chapter 11. Graduation

Chapter 12. The Cruise

Chapter 13. One

Chapter 14. Spark

Chapter 15. All Good Things

Chapter 16. Charge

Chapter 17. Linked

Chapter 18. Reveal

Chapter 19. The Journey

Chapter 20. Back in Kind

Chapter 21. Solace

About the author

A note from the author

# 1.Fire in the Hallway

As far as Brielle Marshall was concerned, this day was proving to be absolutely weird in every way. It was in fact the _opposite_ of what should have been a normal spring day in her senior year, in one of the final weeks of high school. It was Tuesday after Memorial Day weekend; it had been hard enough to wake up and go to school after a long weekend.

"What's wrong with you, Brie?" Her friend Melanie asked, probably more concerned with Brielle not paying attention to her than with the possibility of Brielle being distressed. It was almost the end of lunch period, and Brielle had clearly missed a vital name or circumstance in whatever story Melanie had been telling.

"Are you kidding me? Three-day weekend. I'm still half asleep," Brielle offered, but that wasn't it at all.

Brielle had slept in, way too long, having one of those really good dreams that she never wanted to wake from, and as a consequence she had been almost late for school. She had hurried to Lincoln Park High School, and gotten flushed with her quickened pace. She had been only half paying attention to the normal chatter of her friends, her thoughts unfocused as if searching for something, but she didn't know what. That was so out of character. She had drifted this way all morning.

She had gotten away with it too, until now. Melanie had other things on her mind and had not noticed until that one inopportune moment when she had actually asked Brielle for her opinion.

"Yawn. Tell me about it. Here, take a sip," Melanie said, and offered Brielle a small bottle. Energy drink.

Brielle took it warily. She hated energy drinks because she thought they tasted horrible and nothing that tasted that bad could be good for her. But she had to admit that she was seriously distracted, so she took a long sip.

" _Ergh_. Disgusting." Brielle said, making a face. She pushed the bottle back to its owner.

"I know, but nobody drinks it for the taste," Melanie said, collecting the bottle from Brielle. She sounded like she was going to say more on the previous subject of Brielle not paying attention, but the bell rang. "Let's go," she said, resigned.

The drink didn't help at all; Brielle still felt distracted during fifth period, History. She noticed that she was feeling a warmth, a tingling in her body that she couldn't quite place. Worse, she realized that it had been going on for a while before she had finally noticed. _Ugh_. She thought that maybe she was going to come down with something, or be sick from that energy drink. Melanie! Brielle and Melanie didn't have History together, so Brielle found no one to yell at.

There was nothing to do in class. Every teacher was going through final review and preparing the students for what to expect in the finals, which started the next day. But a review of History was sort of what the class was to begin with, and Brielle was bored out of her mind. That was normal enough.

To every student's delight, there was a knock on the door. They all suddenly perked up. Mr. Hidalgo went to the door and talked briefly with another teacher. After a minute or so he turned to the class and announced that they were all to go to the auditorium for general assembly. All students cheered. Any break from History was salvation.

"What do you think this is about?" She heard Nathan ask beside her as they put their books away. His voice had a nervous edge to it. Nathan was her cousin and the most paranoid teenager she knew. He believed Judgment Day was coming. The Terminator version. Calculators freaked him out as a kid when they spelled "hell" upside down.

"I'm sure it's nothing. I guess we'll find out," she answered. Then she thought about it. She didn't want to sit next to him at the assembly, so she acted quickly to delay her fate. "I have to use the little girls' room first. See you there."

He gave her an odd look and left the opposite way.

She did stop by the restroom for a minute to fix her hair, not that she could do much about it. It was cut neck-short with longer blunt ends at the front that were hard to tuck in successfully behind her ears. Brielle gave up with a short exasperated sound and exited the restroom. Out in the hallway, she started walking down the high school's main hallway along with the rest of the seniors, and apparently the juniors as well, towards the auditorium. But as she neared the old school wing where the auditorium was, she became more and more apprehensive.

This was _not_ normal. Definitely not typical, unless someone had stolen something big from the principal's office. She remembered perhaps twice in almost four years in this building being called this way to the conference hall, and when it had happened before it was because the school officials wanted to address a national concern. Positioned every thirty feet or so at the ends of the hallway were ominous-looking security guards. Someone definitely stole something. She was considering who could have been the perpetrator when something grabbed her hand from behind, stopping her in her tracks.

_Oh!_ Brielle thought, before she even turned around. It was a hand that held her right one; the touch was warm but sent shivers up her arm.

She turned slowly, enjoying the shivers as they ran down her extremities. Finally she found herself looking at the most beautiful person she'd ever seen in her life. It was a boy of about her age, amazingly with her own hair color: a vivid metallic orange, a bright fire, shining copper blond in the artificial light of the school hallway. Long for a boy, it fell a little over his ears and forehead, perfectly all over the place. It was a version of her own, shorter and lighter. Something she'd never seen before except in the media... and her own reflection.

But the hair was just framing a face. When she finally was able to focus on that face, she first noticed his eyes were a strange color of blue: dark, but bright blue; and looking so intense and somehow anxious but full of wonder that she lost herself in them. She couldn't look away. It looked like he was going to say something, but had stopped and was now looking closely at her face. She realized that they had been silent for too long. She must be staring at him like an idiot, possibly drooling. She needed to move, break the spell. Wipe her lip before he noticed the drool.

She straightened up as if to move away, though nothing really happened except a twitch of the fingers in the captive hand. This got him to finally speak.

"Wait. Look into my eyes. Do you know me?" His voice made her heart beat faster than she thought possible. There was something wrong with her breathing, too. Maybe she was suffering from a heart attack. But he was waiting for an answer.

What was the question? Did she know him? That was ridiculous. She had never seen this boy before. She would never forget this face even if she lived a thousand years and never saw it again. She couldn't possibly know him.

She shook her head.

Brielle was aware that his hand, his left hand, had never released hers. They were face-to-face holding hands. She looked away, down at them, a little self-conscious, because his eyes were too beautiful. And without a warning he took his free hand and gently placed it on her neck, his thumb at her cheek, making her look up at his face again. _Ah_. Her skin dropped five degrees and her blood warmed up ten. He repeated, with a trace of despair, "Please, this is so important. I need you to think, to remember. Please. Do you think I look familiar at all?"

She had frozen when he had touched her face. The world had narrowed to this man and his impossible hair and his pleading eyes. His hair, his eyes. There was something about them. The hair was familiar alright, but that was probably because it was so much like hers. Yet the eyes—she didn't know how could she possibly recognize them, but she thought she did. From a dream. From long ago. She couldn't move an inch, but somehow she nodded.

His expression changed to something she couldn't understand—something like relief, wonder, or affection—but she had no time to think about it, as he released her neck and turned around. Her skin tingled where the air reclaimed it, and the spot felt empty somehow. As if his hand belonged on her neck. She wasn't thinking properly.

Still holding her hand, he guided her to the edge of the hallway, away from all the passing bodies. He stopped next to an open door and said in a low voice, "Listen well, okay? Your life and my life may depend on this. Please believe me—you can't go to that conference. You need to get out of here. Can you find a way out?"

She couldn't begin to understand the weight of the sentence. It sounded too epic. But she nodded again. She knew how to get out; she had done it before. And finally he let go of her hand— _no, don't_ , she wanted to say. She felt the same tingling and strange emptiness again, and she became... what? Sad? She wanted him to touch her, to hold her hand again. To her surprise, he reached up to hold her face with both of his hands, and leaned his face towards hers until their foreheads touched, and closed his eyes. She gasped softly. Her heart stopped.

He whispered, "I need to hear you say 'yes.'"

So she took a deep breath, aware of how close he was to her, and forced herself out of her apparent paralysis. She said, "Yes, I can make it out."

"Thank you," he said, opening his eyes. There were a thousand more thanks in those deep blue hollows, and she was falling again, staring.

"Um.... Where should I go?" She asked him.

"Just go home. You'll be safe there." And with that, he let her go. "Goodbye," he said, giving her a final, pained look. And then he walked away from her, towards the main office of the school. He disappeared in the sea of passing students.

Brielle had frozen at the goodbye, and remained immobile when he walked away, just staring at his back. When she couldn't see him anymore, she snapped out of it. _No_. Without thinking, Brielle followed him. It couldn't be over. She had to see him again. She looked around and kept searching for the fire that was his hair, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. She didn't wonder if she'd imagined him, because perfection like that was beyond her imagination.

She gave up; he was gone. Clinging to the words he had said, she decided to do as he asked.

Away from his strange influence—the influence of the beautiful, she suspected—Brielle slowly regained control of her senses, and became aware of her surroundings. Other students were passing her, and she started walking forward with them again.

At the turn towards the auditorium there was another restroom, and she entered it swiftly. There was no one else in there. She went all the way to the opposite wall where there were the windows that she'd once in her freshman year proved her friends she could fit through. She threw her backpack first, and then slid though the panes, and landed on the concrete behind the school. The dust from the window clung to her jeans and her shirt, and she briskly patted most of it away.

Free, she ran parallel to the structure towards the back gate, staying close to the building. She jumped the fence that surrounded the parking lot, and found herself in the service alley in the back of the school lot. Her house was not too far away—about ten minutes walking—and she was early. She would have the house to herself for a short while. She was glad for the time, for she really needed to come up with a story to explain to her mother. She should try to make sense of what had just happened, of the supposed danger that she had apparently just evaded.

But no such thoughts came. Her mind would only allow one person.

# 2.Guilty

Orange hair. It had looked so silky and inviting. Brielle ran her fingers through her own hair pretending that it was his, that it was ten minutes ago, and she wasn't escaping from anyone. That made her pause for a second. She questioned her current actions.

She had exited the alley behind the school, crossed the main avenue that ran next to the school, and was now on the street that would take her home.

But why was she going home? Who was she running _from_? It should have been ridiculous, her mindless following of a total stranger's orders. But she felt she could trust him, even if she couldn't explain why. _Yeah right_ , she thought as she actually snorted out loud. If she was being true to herself, the blind trust wasn't any all-revealing power that let her know who was good and who was lying. She did exactly like he asked her to because she _wanted_ to. She wanted to please him because she had been instantly attracted to him, no doubt about it. And that should've been bad because....

She jumped as her phone vibrated in her pocket.

"Oh, crap."

The second the words left her mouth, Brielle felt ashamed of herself. Her phone was ringing, and it was Bruce. Never since they started dating had a call from her boyfriend been a reason to panic. Calls from Bruce were a source of instant joy. _Are_. Are a source. She sighed and answered up the call.

"Hey, Bruce." Ugh. Whatever happened to "baby"? This was stupid. The clouds had to be radiating some weird mojo.

"Hey Brie, where are you? Where'd you go? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine; I'm walking home," she replied as lightly as ever, without a trace of unease. She was momentarily shocked at her seamless insincerity.

"But where are you? I don't see you here at the conference, Nate says you were right behind him, but you went to the restroom, and you never showed up. And you haven't replied to any of my texts." His voice was a neutral tone that was probably the result of annoyance cancelling out concern.

"Conference? Hold on." She looked at the screen. Indeed there were five new texts from him. Oops. She brought her phone to her ear again. "I guess I didn't hear the buzz. Sorry. I left because I wasn't feeling so well. I was going to call you when I got home," she added. Which would have been true, when she eventually remembered him.

"But you said you're fine? What's wrong?"

"Headache. Killer," she lied again. A mental image flashed of the last time she didn't feel well. Bruce had visited at her house and had kissed her lightly, and she had kissed him back. She cringed involuntarily now, remembering. And cringed a second time, from embarrassment at cringing. What was wrong with her?

"Oh, baby, so sorry to hear that. Do you want me to go see you after dinner?" He sounded genuinely upset.

"No, no, you stay put. I'll be fine. Gotta study for finals, remember?" Thank God for the excuse. As she spoke, she saw the boy in her mind, and felt his hand on hers again. A ripple of pleasure ran through her as she remembered his hand on her face. _Um_... what had she just said?

"Oh. Okay, but don't sweat it. Tomorrow's the easy ones," Bruce said.

"Yeah, but I still have to study. Plus, that's what I told Elena when she asked me to help her with school. She's got math homework." The words kept coming out of her mouth without her input. She was paying no attention to what she was saying.

"That's okay, I guess. Call you tonight," Bruce said, sweetly. "Hope you feel better."

"Kay thanks bye." She ended the call without flourish. Usually at "bye" there were at least an additional six lines before the call actually ended. But Brielle's mind was demanding her attention and she couldn't afford to waste more time. It was inventing scenes that never happened. The boy's lips on her cheek....

Oh crap. Crap crap crap.

Brielle had a problem here, with Bruce specifically. She decided to think about it later. There were better things to think about. The memory of the strange encounter gnawed at her chest, waiting to be relived.

But as she decided to act on it, a faint sound interrupted her thoughts. What was that? It had sounded like a cat's mew. That was another thing to add to the growing list of strange things about this otherwise random Tuesday. A cat, out on the streets? There were no stray cats in her neighborhood, Lincoln Park. She looked around, looking for the source of the sound, but she didn't see anything. Nor she heard anything anymore.

She shrugged it off and kept walking down the street. A minute later she heard it again, a bit louder this time. It was definitely a cat. She stopped again and looked around.

A shadow flew over her. She looked up at once, and was surprised to see an enormous bird flying over the street. "Oh my God!" She cried impulsively. It was a sight to see: wings spread as it glided over Brielle, with its fanned-out tail feathers that made it look like a miniature airplane. It was majestic. She noticed that its tail was buff-orange, and the name _red-tailed hawk_ came to mind.

A _hawk_! It was the first time she had spotted a hawk. As she watched, captivated, the bird flew upwards and doubled back, turning in a wide arc across the blue sky. And at that moment she heard the mew again—her head snapped down as she detected that it was coming from somewhere near her, in front of her.

" _Meow_?" she called in her best high-pitched cat imitation voice. It was pretty good, in her opinion.

_Meow_! Apparently, the cat approved too, mewing back at her. Its voice was high like a kitten's... and it sounded afraid. Brielle immediately saw why—the hawk was coming back now, and as it approached, it called out a menacing, shrilling _kee-eeeee-arr_. The cry lasted a few seconds and it sent chills up Brielle's spine.

Holy hell. It was coming for the kitten! Brielle searched frantically in front of her, and mewed again to the cat. It responded, and at length she located the sound coming from a tree not too far from her. However, the hawk was probably closer. She ran towards the tree, waving her arms over her to shoo the bird away, but not too violently that she would scare the cat. As she neared the tree, she finally spotted it: a small, fluffy black and white kitten, perched on a branch of one of the trees that lined the street. And unluckily for the kitty, it had chosen to climb a younger tree with sparse foliage—the branch upon which it was perched must have been perfectly visible to the aerial hunter. The cat looked totally terrified. Whether of the hawk, or of the crazy human waving her arms maniacally, Brielle couldn't tell for sure.

"Come here, kitty," she called anxiously. She was afraid of the hawk—she didn't know if it would fight Brielle for its dinner or if it would be intimidated by the larger animal, the human. What did she know about birds, anyway?

The cat responded with a frantic mew, but came closer as if curious about its would-be rescuer. Brielle looked up and saw the hawk descending. She extended her arms to the cat, and commanded again, "Dude! Come _here_ ," as if it would just jump in her arms. Surprisingly, the little thing edged closer, making a show of pretending to measure the distance between the branch and Brielle; she couldn't wait another second and snatched it, and immediately cowered down next to the tree, hiding the kitten with her body and lowering her head, hoping that the hawk would ignore her and not peck her eyes away.

She heard the angry, shrill cry again and looked up to see the hawk had flown over her. Without waiting to see if it would turn yet again, she started walking towards her house, briskly.

"What were you doing up in that tree?" She scolded the cat. "Huh? Have you been chasing squirrels? That was a bad idea. Have you even _seen_ the squirrels around here? They're so fat, they're bigger than you. You're coming with me...."

After a few minutes, not hearing the hawk again, she slowed down and looked at the kitty. It was looking at her curiously, definitely not afraid anymore. _Arrgh_. What a cute little thing. She inspected it for damage. It— _he_ , Brielle noticed—looked healthy enough, except that his fur was a little matted. Nothing serious. He was mostly black except for a white chest, the tips of his front paws, and all of his hind paws, which made him look like he was wearing a tuxedo with white boots and individual gloves for his fingers. He was a gorgeous kitten. And sweet—this kitten had known love from a human, or else he wouldn't just come to her like that, hawk or no hawk.

Brielle looked left and then right. "Assuming you live nearby, I guess I'll have to alert your owners about their missing little tuxedo cat. Maybe I'll put up a missing poster." At that moment, the thing started purring. Brielle's choice was made for her. "Or I could just take you home, and wait for _them_ to put up missing posters."

The day just kept getting weirder and weirder.

Her house was not too far down the street. She explained this to the cat. "I like to call it Marshall Manor, and it's been my family's home since I was eight years old and we moved to Chicago. Or was it nine years old? Don't know. The house is pretty big, you'll see, for the city. Or maybe you'll disagree, since you probably were born in one of these other houses," she said, apologetically to her companion.

Brielle had always liked her house, but it was nestled in a street with mansions that made it look like Marshall _Cottage_ by comparison. That was not rare in this neighborhood. "But," she added as she entered through the side porch and admired the trees in her backyard, "those mansions don't necessarily have this huge private patio. Okay, maybe they do. Still, you'll like it."

The patio in her family's property was surrounded by pine trees that were tightly packed and formed a sort of wall that guarded the patio from the world. And perhaps more importantly, kept her tree house from her neighbors' view. In this city everything required permits, and she wasn't sure the tree house was up to date with the Buildings Department. The tree house was probably her favorite place in the world. However, she didn't spend too much time inside recently, what with being a senior and having to study most of last semester for the SATs and having a boyfriend. The last time she had been inside it was the previous summer, and she only went there was to clean it, spend a few hours with Melanie and company, and basically to keep her little sister Elena from thinking it was abandoned; otherwise she might want to take over it. And after all, it was Elena's dad Reuben who had built it. But it had been for _Brielle_ ; Elena had been a baby when he built it.

"Let's get you inside. I've got no kitty litter, but I'll get you some later," Brielle kept talking to the cat as she entered her house, as though they were old pals having a conversation. "Want some milk? Oops," she said as she noticed that there was no such thing in the fridge. Elena didn't like milk, so of course there was only soy milk. "Sorry. Hope you like this...."

Surprisingly, the cat lapped up the soy milk hungrily. Maybe he did only because he was hungry. "Okay, that's kitty litter and cat food on the shopping list."

After the cat drank, she bent to scoop him up; on her way back up something caught her reflection in the window glass pane, and her heart stopped for a second. No—she thought she had seen _him_ , but it was only her own reflection. Her hair reminded Brielle of the boy's hair, and all else was forgotten.

The cat, the hawk, the tree house, the neighbors, they were all shoved aside as the she remembered the scene in the hallway. The real protagonist in her head became Mr. Fire Hair. In her mind, he was touching her face again as she moved about the house without really seeing anything in front of her. In autopilot, holding the cat, she climbed the stairs and went up to her room.

It was around 2:00 pm; she had a bit more than an hour to bathe the cat, or study in silence in the empty house before her mother, Joy, would arrive with Elena, yet all she wanted was to lie on her bed and close her eyes. Because when she did, she saw _him_.

***

The sound of the front door closing and small footsteps running up the stairs announced the arrival of Joy and Elena. The cat was sleeping peacefully next to Brielle, while her imaginary new relationship was progressing quickly. She was upset to have been shaken from her reverie. She gave the boy one last kiss, picked up the sleeping kitten and went downstairs to meet her mother.

"Brie! What are you doing home?" Joy asked pleasantly surprised. Usually, Brielle lingered after school talking to her friends, and her walk was longer than Joy's and Elena's. As a consequence, Brielle usually made it home long after Joy and Elena were settled in. "And who is _that_? Oh my God, he's adorable. She?"

Brielle smiled at her mother's enthusiasm and gave her a quick kiss. "Hi. We had a surprise seminar in the afternoon, and they let us off when it ended." Which was partially true. "Then on the way here, I found this little guy on a tree, and I swear a friggin' _hawk_ was trying to snatch him up! So I got him down, and didn't know where to put him; I mean, had to keep him from the hawk, right? So I brought him here. I'll check for posters and return him when someone asks. You can tell he's somebody else's," she finished, a little sad. "He's too friendly around people."

"You saved a cat from a hawk. And you of all people— _you're_ going to return him?" Joy asked doubtfully. Brielle had a reputation for feeding squirrels to get them to stay as pets. Her mother knew that Brielle was bluffing. "Uh huh. 'Course you are. You probably already named him."

Brielle smiled despite herself, and Joy's suspicions were confirmed. She wiped the smile off her face. "No, of course not. And I _will_ return him. If someone comes looking for him." Brielle had already even shrugged off the possibility of looking for posters.

"C'mon, what'd you name him? Noir?"

Brielle scoffed. "Noir? What is he, a perfume? No...." And since she was totally busted already, she fessed up. "I was thinking... Fingers. Because look at this!" She thrust the kitty forward, showing Joy his paws. "Only his fingers are white!"

"I don't think they're called fingers in a cat."

"So? Isn't he the cutest little tuxedo cat?"

"He is," Joy said, and it sounded like she was a goner, too. But she suddenly changed the subject. "So what was your seminar about?"

"Uh..." she started to say. But she was saved from answering by Elena running into the kitchen area like she always did, very loudly.

"Who's the cutest tuxedo cat?" She asked as she came in, her eyes desperately searching the room as though she had heard that someone was giving away free diamonds. Then they zeroed in on Brielle's hands, and she squealed. " _Ahhh_!" She ran towards Brielle.

"Jeez, Elena," Brielle said, raising the kitten away from danger. "Or should I call you Elmyra?"

"Who's Elmyra?" Elena was nine. Of course she didn't get the Tiny Tunes reference.

"Never mind," Brielle said. "Look, you woke him up! Why'd you have to scream like that?"

"Sorry, Brie. Please lemme see. I'll promise I won't hurt him!" Elena pleaded. She sounded hurt.

Brielle noticed that Joy made a face that she interpreted as, " _If you're not going to be nice to your sister, you're not keeping the cat._ "

_Not again_. Brielle was tired of feeling guilty today. So she immediately softened, and handed the cat to Elena. "Okay. Here, but don't squeeze him. He hasn't gone to the bathroom yet."

Joy said, "Brielle! What are you waiting for?"

"I put some newspaper in my room. It'll do while Dad gets home."

"Oh, so you spoke with your dad _while_ he's working, and he's okay with you having a cat, _and_ he'll bring you some cat supplies?"

"No, not yet. But I was going to call him, and I _know_ he'll say yes."

Brielle called her stepfather and was happy to leave a message with his secretary, Heather. Reuben Marshall was a family doctor, and on Tuesdays he only worked until 5:00 pm, so he should be able to bring the items before long. Or most likely, Heather would probably buy the items for him, and then he would get home directly.

"Brie," Elena came into the living room where Brielle had gone to make the call. She held up the cat. "I named him Tux. For _tuxedo_. Isn't that a nice name?"

Brielle's jaw dropped. "I make _one_ phone call...! And you already renamed my cat? What the hell, Elena?"

"What? The name Mom said you gave him is stupid, anyway," her voice lowered towards the end.

Brielle felt bad for yelling at her sister. She sighed and forced a half smile. "Fine. Tux doesn't sound so bad, anyway."

Elena did a little twirl. "See? I told you she'd like it," she told the cat. _Tux_ , Brielle corrected herself. "Hey Brie, will you help me with algebra today?" She asked. She had a way of demanding everyone to cancel whatever they were doing to do as she asked. Brielle wasn't going to give in.

"El, I got finals, remember?" she replied. "I have to call Mel first, anyway," she added with a hint of annoyance, as Elena showed signs of protesting. Brielle was sure that Elena could figure out math problems by herself. She was smart and her dad was a doctor. That had to count for something. Brielle's dad had been a simple professor. Elena clearly had the genetic advantage.

Brielle did call Melanie, but it turned out to be a very short conversation. Melanie explained the gist of the "seminar": it was some college fellowship thing. And Melanie had not seen anything interesting, to Brielle's disappointment.

Brielle had almost wanted Melanie to have seen _him_. For one, she knew Melanie wouldn't believe her description of the boy, and one can't brag to an unbelieving audience; but more importantly, during her daydreaming she had imagined a scenario where the boy had asked around for Brielle prior to their encounter, and one of his interviewees was Melanie, who had not only caught his name, but had by now spread the word that a super cute guy was looking for Brielle, and all other girls were jealous.

But now Brielle added to that string of thoughts that Bruce would have also heard about the encounter, thought back on her short replies during their phone call not too long ago this afternoon, put two and two together and realized that she had had a mini affair with a stranger. And disappointed in her, Bruce was going to break up with her in front of everyone at the plaza tomorrow!

She shoved all thoughts hastily aside and actually relaxed at Melanie's lack of information, and decided to not even mention the boy. She told Melanie about Tux—and then had to explain her actions, because her friend immediately jumped to the conclusion that Brielle had stolen some poor girl's kitty cat. No, she didn't _steal_ him. She _saved_ him. What was with the guilt trips? They chatted for a bit until Melanie's younger brother Joe—a boy version of Elena, it seemed sometimes—demanded her attention to order dinner.

She managed to study enough before dinner, and felt guilty about dissing her little sister earlier. She went to Elena's room and asked if she still needed help. It turned out, by that time Elena had managed to figure it all out herself, as Brielle had known she would. Tux was sleeping—again—and Elena was now bored. So she got Brielle to stay for a game of chess instead. Brielle agreed half-heartedly, more out of lingering guilt, but couldn't just refuse on grounds of wanting to be alone and daydream.

"Earth to Breeee," said Elena sounding more like an annoyed little person than the nine-year-old girl she was. As far as Elena was concerned, this was her playtime with her big sister, and it was sacred. Brielle's attention should be on the game before them. Specifically, on the queen that Elena had just moved to take Brielle's eyes _off_ the rook.

"Sorry, El," Brielle offered lamely. "I'm dead tired; it's the first day back after Memorial," she said, using the same excuse she had used on Melanie earlier today. And it was just as untrue. There was more activity going on in her brain than there had been for a long while. Presently, she was remembering the way his hand had felt on her skin. She imagined it still tingling. And that was quite absurd.

She tried to focus on the game before her. Elena was amazing at chess for such a young person. Brielle never willingly lost to her little sister, but today she wanted to finish as quickly as possible because her room and its inviting privacy promised hours that she could devote to accurately reliving those five minutes. His name. Why didn't he say his name? " _The boy_ " would get old pretty soon.

She went for the obvious move, and let Elena have her rook.

Finally back in welcome solitude, she smiled. Despite all the pretending she had done tonight, her Bruce predicament and her lack of enthusiasm for family time, she could say that her day had been amazing because she had rescued a kitten from certain death and met the most gorgeous boy.

Brielle had never experienced such extreme highs as the happy times she was able to focus her energy on him. The minutes she spent thinking of him were almost pleasure. Thoughts of him touching her would put her in a state of happiness from which she didn't want to escape.

Deep down she knew she should question the whole incident, but she couldn't make herself care about the danger he had warned her of. She was simply dazzled by _him_.

# 3.Finals

"I still can't believe you ditched! But how'd you do it?" Melanie started harassing the next day as Brielle approached, before Brielle had even had the chance to say hello.

Melanie sat on a bench next to Bruce, who looked up. His short, wavy blond hair was a little disheveled; something Brielle used to think was attractive, but that morning she realized it actually bothered her. She also found that his pale blue eyes were quite uninteresting, as they looked at her questioningly. It had clearly just occurred to him to wonder the same thing that Melanie had asked.

Brielle said hello briefly, put her books down and sat next to Melanie automatically, to answer the question Melanie asked. That left Bruce all by himself to Melanie's left. Well, he wasn't by himself. He was next to a hot girl, Brielle told herself.

Brielle had always been the less-hot one of the two. Melanie was wearing a purple shade of lipstick that made her look quite interesting in Brielle's opinion and to her slight mortification. Brielle's orange-red hair would never allow for such a trend to look good on her. A lot of things didn't go with her flames, actually. Oh, but other flames certainly matched. _Ahh_.... Her mind started to wander.

_Snap out of it_ , she told herself. She realized her friends were waiting for an answer.

" _Excuse_ me," she said dryly, leaning forward to make sure Bruce knew he was included in the scolding. But she addressed Melanie. "I didn't ditch. I told you, just like I told BF here: I had a headache, so I went home."

"Hey," he protested, "that's exactly what I told her, but Mel hears whatever she wants to hear." He shoved Melanie, who shoved Brielle in turn, laughing.

"I do _not_. I just wanted to confirm her story with you, Bruce," Melanie said, facing him and away from Brielle, "not that there's anything wrong with ditching. I would've done it myself, but it didn't occur to me. Plus, we couldn't have! Those security guys were at the gates. How _did_ you do it, Brie?" She turned back around to face Brielle.

"Um," Brielle started to reply. Ever since the playful shoving, she had been imagining quite the scenario: the both of them falling in love with each other—no, hooking up at a party, while intoxicated—and Bruce's subsequent tear-stained confession that it didn't mean anything, that Brielle was the woman he would always love, the prettiest of the two, but he was weak; and Brielle would break up with him in front of everyone, and they would all admire her for being so strong and faithful. And then Mr. Fire Hair would appear with roses and jewelry to console her. "I went through the rear fence. I just didn't feel like waiting for a pass."

"Oh wow!" Melanie said with a little bit of admiration. She would never be able to do that because she was always in frilly lace or skirts. "Well, you've always kicked ass in all sports, ever since we were kids. I guess a little fence couldn't stop you."

"That's right," Bruce chimed in, uninvited.

Brielle mentally rolled her eyes, and immediately scolded herself. "Guys, do you want to start moving? I want to do a quick one-over before English."

"Ugh. Okay," Melanie said. "I can't wait for this week to be _over_! Freaking finals... I'm soo ready for prom...."

Prom!

Brielle had forgotten about prom for a whole day. Impossible. The big event was this Saturday night. Brielle had even gone shopping over the extended weekend and had found not one but _two_ dresses.

The one she was likely to wear was a printed column gown with side cutouts and an extremely flowing skirt. It was ivory colored with a dark champagne floral print starting mid-skirt and increasing in density towards the hem, and vines and flowers embroidered along the vest along with fake jewels. It was mostly backless except for the two straps crossing at the back, embroidered with the same details as the front, forming an X. She had chosen it because her mom liked the color on her, and her mom was paying, so, there. Brielle was surprised that her mother had even approved of it. It was, after all, just a long skirt attached with a glorified bra at the front. But she had absolutely fallen in love with a metallic green dress in the trumpet style that made her look like a mermaid.

She had received a call from Bruce while he was at the tux rental place, asking her about her dress color because the lady at the store had said they needed to match. She had gone with the champagne and forsaken the green for a different time. Her mother, seeing her torn, had also gotten her the green one. Brielle had been so happy. There had been nothing else on her mind until one day ago.

And now she was contemplating in horror the coming event. While it was nice to dress up, and prom was usually something every girl with a beautiful dress looks forward to, Brielle was suddenly very interested in changing the topic.

It wasn't happening.

Melanie was having a conversation with Bruce that apparently Brielle wasn't a part of. "Nate wouldn't mind," Bruce was saying.

"I know, but I don't want to go _with_ him. I don't mind being _there_ with him. I need to show up single, to make sure guys _know_ I'm single."

"Guys, let's go," Brielle cut in.

Luckily the first bell rang, backing up her plea. They gathered their books and left for their first round of finals. Brielle was happy to focus on something else for a change.

***

That week was actually the last of school and tests for the seniors, which was unfortunate for Brielle because she was having a hard time concentrating on studying. Seniors would be taking tests Wednesday and Thursday, while the other grades had their finals the following week. Brielle tried really hard to study and forget the strange guy, but it was almost impossible.

Wednesday went by in a blur with finals. During breaks and lunch Brielle had to pretend to pay attention to Melanie, Bruce, their friends Darla, Kate, Nathan and Ryan, the tests, her routine. At night she used studying for Thursday finals as the best excuse to ignore her family and end calls with Bruce quickly without him suspecting anything, even though she did accept a call or two from Melanie because she felt any hard core studying session needed some form of healthy procrastination. Tux the kitty would sometimes come in and sit on Brielle's books, and she would of course have to stop studying; she used the distraction to relive those five minutes from Tuesday over and over again, soaring on cloud nine. Then she would come crashing down the next minute as she remembered Bruce.

Bruce. Her first serious boyfriend, whom she had dated most of senior year. They weren't a power couple by all means; they were more of the nerdy variety. In fact, they had been friends longer than they had dated, both taking AP classes and participating in Math Club during their junior year. They had a small circle of friends; Bruce's best friend was Brielle's cousin, Nathan. She liked Bruce, she... _loved_ him, or so she had thought. At least she had said so to him, many times. She could remember saying it, she could remember _believing_ it, but she couldn't remember the feeling.

Brielle sighed miserably now as she considered what she might have to do. Bruce was a sweet guy, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings, but she was going to have to do this. She called forth her feelings for the blond boy with pale blue eyes, but all that her heart delivered was guilt, pity and dread. She had no real motive to break up with him—that she would ever admit to anyone—but she was going to have to come up with something, because thinking of him had become a source of tension, and that was never a positive sign in a relationship.

But she needed to go back to studying. The first set of finals shamed her into studying more for the next day. Tired and irritated, she realized that she had spent most of her afternoon hiding in her room before and after dinner, taking breaks from studying every ten minutes to think of the boy and recreating their brief encounter a hundred times. Then she realized something changed.

She became increasingly mopey and couldn't concentrate on studying. She sighed and closed the notes she was reading. She got up from her desk, lay down on her bed and closed her eyes.

It wasn't just her one-way boyfriend troubles—those that plagued her mind and concerned her real boyfriend, Bruce, even though he wasn't even aware of it. No, add now to the pile of worries her _fake_ boyfriend. Her mental escapades would not progress endlessly as she would have liked—she was stuck in the same reveries over and over again, because her information on the mystery boy was limited. And moreover, it was hard to foresee a future with a boy that for all intents and purposes, she might never see again.

_No_. She wouldn't believe that. She _couldn't_ —her mind refused to accept it. He had sought her out; he had spoken like a guy would speak to a girl he cared for.... But really, what did she know about his feelings? If he was so damn interested in her, where was he now? Gone. He came, gave her a warning, touched her face and shattered her universe, and now he was gone. Maybe the warning wasn't even real. Or maybe it _was_ real, and he was in trouble. He _had_ said their lives had depended on her escaping.

She froze. She felt the change in her body as anxiety started to creep in. What if she had _not_ succeeded? What if he was in trouble, caught by some authorities, deported somewhere? _Dead_? No no no. No way. He couldn't be. He had to be alive, and he had to come back. But back from where? He didn't live here. She was sure of this. If he lived anywhere near, she would have met him earlier, and she wouldn't be dating Bruce.

Bruce!

_Aaah_. Her lungs seemed to reject the air that she was furiously pumping into them. She was suddenly annoyed at everyone and everything. Her finals, the boy leaving her, her lack of action against her relationship with Bruce, her stupid daydreams that were threatening to take over her every waking hour, and the possibility of being stuck in this limbo forever! _No_!

She could do something about _one_ of her problems anyway.

"I. _Don't_. Love. Bruce!" She yelled into her pillow, and immediately felt some relief. There!

Tux looked up from the window seat where he had escaped Elena's room for the night. "Sorry you have to listen to this," she told him. He narrowed his eyes sleepily and went back to whatever he was doing before.

She picked up her phone and called Bruce. He picked up right away.

"Hellooo, Brie," he said in the singsong tone he reserved for her.

His greeting disarmed her. She couldn't do it over the phone; it wouldn't be fair for him.

"Hey Bruce, how are you?" She tried to sound normal.

"Good, baby-doll, how're you doing?" His voice sounded a little distant, as if he were paying attention to something else.

"Um, not so good, actually. Things have been a little crazy recently. But I'm fine," she added quickly, before he could ask about her troubles. "What are you doing?"

"Not much. Playing _Gears of War_ with Nate and Ryan." That explained the tone of his voice. _Guys_.

"What, are they there? Aren't you supposed to be studying?" She was immediately glad that she didn't break up with him over the phone.

"No, no—I totally finished studying. And no, they're not here. We're playing online. They say hi."

"Bruce! I'm gonna hang up."

"What? Why?" He dropped something. She heard the sound of things being moved about.

"You're playing with the guys and they can hear you talking to me! I have to study anyways."

"No! They can hear me, but not you. Right, guys? Hold on," he said to either her or the guys. He was silent for a few seconds, and she could hear the noises coming from the TV. She hated war games. "Hey, can I call you back in a few? We're in the middle of a mission and they're bitching at me for not paying attention."

"No, don't worry. You play; I'll talk to you tomorrow. Hey, can you make it a few minutes early?"

"If you call me and wake my ass up!"

"Sure, I can do that. Good night," she said, embarrassed for asking him to get up early so that she would break his heart when there were fewer students around, so that less people might notice and think she was an evil bitch. Right in the middle of finals. And he had agreed so innocently.

"Night!" He actually sounded cheerful. Oh, Bruce.

After she hung up, the highly pleasant feeling of having accomplished something took over the guilt she should be feeling. She thought of tomorrow almost smiling in anticipation. In her vision, she argued with him the need to end their relationship so flawlessly that he had no choice but to nod and say, " _Brie, of course—we need to break up_." Brielle shook the thought away. It was so unbelievable that it made her think of what would _really_ happen the next day, which wouldn't be so simple. She decided to think about something else.

_Fire Hair guy_ , her mind suggested immediately. _No_. Enough was enough. She was partially convinced now that she had blown the whole thing out of proportion. Whoever he was and whatever his intentions were when he talked to her—intentions that might not involve her at all—he had only been helpful in allowing her to see that her relationship with Bruce was a mistake. But she would not let herself lose any more time thinking of him when it was harmful to her habits, and possibly useless. He was gone. She didn't even know his name.... She sighed in dejection.

She immediately wanted to slap herself. This was why she needed to forget him. She went by Elena's room. Elena always found something for them to do. Anything to keep Brielle from wallowing in self-pity. She could hear Elena singing a pop song, so she didn't knock. Study guilt took over and she went back to her books, only to find Tux sitting on top of them again.

She sighed. "Okay, it's just you and me, buddy."

# 4.One Down

Brielle rose earlier than usual on Thursday morning. She had had trouble sleeping because she kept going over her impending dreadful conversation with Bruce in her head, and when she finally fell asleep she had unpleasant dreams and kept waking up every few hours. Worst of all, she had one of her recurring nightmares.

One of her recurring nightmares was that she was taking a test and she spent most of the time allotted doing just the first problem, and then time ran out and she failed. Another one was that she was back in grade school and had to do everything all over again. And the worst one, which she had that morning, was the one in which she had killed someone by accident, and she spent the entire dream trying to revert the accident somehow, but the authorities were after her and she had to evade them, while proving that she didn't mean to do it; and she always ended up dreaming in anxiety for what felt like hours.

Around 6:00 am, one hour earlier than her normal waking time, she couldn't take it anymore and decided to start her day. Once ready she went to the kitchen to grab breakfast and ran into her stepfather.

"Hey Briella, what are you doing up so early? Can't sleep over finals? They'll be over today." Reuben said, probably trying to cheer her up. He was the only one who called her Briella. He gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head. Her stepdad's private practice was just outside the city, so he normally left early before everyone else in the house. She knew that he was about to leave any minute now but he didn't show any signs of hurry; instead he looked like he was happy to cross paths with her. It made her feel much better. She really loved him like a father.

She decided to share her pain, without really making a conscious effort to do so. "Actually, it's not about the finals, Dad. I'm going to school early to meet Bruce.... I don't think it's working out between us and I'm going to talk to him about it." She looked down as she spoke, afraid of seeing judgment in Reuben's eyes.

"Oh, honey...." His voice was kind and invited her to look up at him. He was smiling sympathetically. "Look, whatever is going on, you're doing the right thing talking to him. It's a sign of how brave you are. You've always been wise, and I know that no matter what happens today, your decision will be what's best for _both_ of you, in the long run." He opened his arms to her.

"Dad," she said full of gratitude, and hugged him, while her eyes threatened to fill with moisture. "Thank you... I'm just so nervous. I don't want to hurt anybody."

"Princess, I know you don't, you're a great person. But you've got to know: sometimes you have to hurt a little _now_ to prevent a greater hurt _later_. Dialysis and chemo suck, but they're necessary evils. For some people," he added.

"So I've got to be chemo," Brielle said, her spirits falling even further with the horrible comparison. She was a destroyer. She was evil.

"No, no! You could never be chemo. You're more like a... like a flu shot," he said with a half-smile.

"Thanks, Dad," she said briefly, afraid she would start getting weepy and ruin her makeup.

"And remember: I always say it's better to cut out a heart with a scalpel than it is to cut it out with a spoon. Good luck with finals."

_Oh-kay_.

***

"Just spit it out, Brie," Bruce said, his tone infused with worry now. It had clearly just occurred to him that what Brielle was going to say involved something that would hurt him. He had probably assumed that she wanted to talk about her own problems or finals when he first saw her worried face.

She took a deep breath and finally said, "Bruce, I don't think this is working out." She felt petty and spineless saying it this way. The truth was she didn't want him anymore; she had lost her love for him practically overnight. She was flaky, her love was volatile and all her avowals of love had been meaningless.

Bruce was a little too romantic for his own good, but he wasn't a fool. A few long seconds passed before he responded. "So you're breaking up with me." It didn't sound like a question.

_Like a Band-Aid_ , she thought. _Make it quick, hurt him less_. She waited a few seconds before answering as well, but she didn't doubt her intention. She just didn't want to come off as too eager to end it. It would be like pouring lemon juice over the paper cut. "Yes," she finally said.

"Why?" He almost whispered, and his tone betrayed his cool manner. She could hear the hurt in this one word.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure I know myself. I meant everything that I've said to you until recently, I did...." She took a deep breath. "But now, I don't see us working out in the future. I don't see us happy together. There's something missing." Blame the relationship, not the one of its parts who was to blame. _Coward_.

He was silent for a while. She looked at him expectantly. She wanted to finish this. At length he said, "Look, it's too early in the morning, and we have _finals_ , for Christ's sake. Can we talk about this later?"

No! This was her fault. She wasn't taking responsibility. "Bruce, I'm so sorry to do this now. I really am. I don't want to hurt you because I still love you, but I can't change my mind, and you need to see that we're not the right people for each other—" Her voice broke towards the end of her discourse, and she couldn't finish. Her eyes slowly filled with tears.

Bruce was left speechless. He looked like he was going to say something, but no word came out of his mouth. Brielle stood up, put a hand on his shoulder as if to say farewell and close the argument, and then she walked away.

She was the first one to reach her classroom. She would be taking her Spanish final in the first period, and Melanie was in her Spanish class. She didn't want Melanie to see her while her eyes were puffy, a clear sign of distress. Her red nose would still give her away, so she took a deep breath and tried to push the unpleasant talk out of her system. A few minutes later she was back to normal, and even had trouble figuring out the reason for her teary episode.

Why _did_ she cry, anyway? Was it a regard for Bruce's feelings? No. She felt sorry for him, yes, but more significantly, she felt embarrassed for herself—fearing his opinion of herself. What would he think of her if she broke up without a little display of feeling? Surely that she was a heartless, evil bitch. She cried to appear to have feelings, so that he didn't hate her.

These tears were just a screen.

She was friendly on the outside; caring, sweet. But she _was_ an evil bitch. And she didn't want anyone to know, so she cried.

Wow.

By the time Melanie arrived and the test had begun, she was seriously questioning her principles.

***

She had a free period before lunchtime, and decided to use it to review Physics, the one test in the afternoon that she actually feared. Stupid magnetic fields. She chose to study in the library because it was in the old school wing, where she thought she could escape her problems. She was wrong.

A shadow fell over her. She looked up to see Bruce, a cautious look on his face.

"How was the morning?" He asked casually.

"Wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. How was yours?"

"Not bad. I'm not sure I'm ready for Trig, though. I can't get my mind to focus, Brie," He said, and his tone changed to pleading. "Can we talk about this? If you say no I'm going to fail. Let's just talk, whenever, it doesn't have to be now. I know you're stressed out about the tests."

She groaned internally. She hated when he thought that she was being difficult and blamed it on her being stressed out. But she also didn't want to ruin his memorization of the trigonometric identities, so she didn't tell him what she really wanted to tell him.

"Okay, Bruce. Let's talk after school."

He sighed in relief. "Okay. But you're killing me here, you know. Prom is tomorrow—"

" _Later_ , Bruce. Please," she reminded him.

At lunchtime, they sat with their normal crowd and talked civilly, but in a formal enough tone that people noticed a change. Melanie was the only one that knew. Brielle had promptly informed her after the Spanish final that there was no more Brie-Bruce, and Melanie had taken the news well. No questioning Brielle's motives; just siding with her best friend unquestionably. If Brielle broke up with Bruce, it was obvious that he must be an unworthy moron. Girls didn't break up with perfectly good guys, did they?

Brielle had to admit that at that moment, she loved Melanie despite their character differences. They had been best friends since first grade, when fate had made them sit down next to each other. Even though their personalities had gone in opposite directions while growing up—Melanie being fun, bossy, and eventually slutty, while Brielle was a bit of a follower, staying back and letting others tell her what to do—they remained friends. Probably because it was too much of hassle to find a best friend when everyone else seemed paired off already. And they already knew so much about each other anyway.

It had worked out for them because Melanie liked attention and Brielle didn't care to fight for it, letting Melanie always be the leader. And staying out of the spotlight had given Brielle the advantage of being a little bit more applied in school. Only a little.

After lunch, Brielle went on to Physics. It was bad but she hoped that she did okay. Whatever. It was her last test, and she was done. She had a full free period with nothing to do. She felt like bursting out running just for the sake of running. She felt a huge weight lifted off her shoulders... until she remembered Bruce. The weight crashed down upon her again and almost knocked her breath out.

She walked dutifully to the bench outside where she normally hung out with the small gang after school. The day was lovely. Too bad she couldn't enjoy it. She dreaded this conversation. At length, Bruce appeared.

"Don't do this, Brie," he said, not beating around the bush.

"Bruce, there's no other way."

"Brie, Saturday's senior prom, for Christ's sake. What're you gonna do? Is it.... Am I wrong in thinking that you're not going with someone else? Is that it?"

It had not even occurred to Brielle to go with anyone else. That was the problem with fake boyfriends. They didn't take you to prom.

"No," she said quietly.

"What? I'm not wrong—so you _are_ going with someone else?"

"What? No, I'm _not_ going with anyone else. I didn't exactly think this part through. I assumed that we'd still go together, as friends. But now it seems kinda unfair. It might not be too late; you could go with someone else."

"I don't want—no. I want to go with you. Even if as friends."

Now she felt the sting of guilt. But it was for the best. It had to be. _Ugh_! How frustrating. How did people do this, break up? It seemed a very natural part of life; Brielle saw couples breaking up left and right. What did they say to each other? How did those conversations go down? How did they react?

"Bruce, I wish I could show you my thoughts." No, she didn't. "That way you could see what you are to me, why I don't think we're good for each other as a couple. But we're so alike; I wish we could go back to being friends... real friends."

He actually scoffed, but his tone wasn't harsh. "Brielle, you don't dump someone and expect them to remain your friend. I said I want us to go to prom as friends because we were already going, and you kinda sprung this one on me at the last minute. We can be _friendly_ to each other, but we can't—we shouldn't—be friends. What kind of friend would I be, pining over you?"

Pining! "Don't say that," she said, hurt and guilt battling for the title of Prevailing Feeling of the Day.

"Look, Brie—you've obviously been thinking about this for a while. Me, I've only had today. I didn't even think you were fully serious... but now I see you are. Maybe I'll see what you see someday, but you gotta give me some time."

"I'm sorry, Bruce," Brielle said, and she was. For this conversation to have to happen in the first place.

"Me, too," he said, and she couldn't read the emotion on his face. He walked closer to her and grabbed her hands in his. "Do you want me to walk you home?"

His blue eyes were pleading, and they made Brielle feel uneasy.

"No, thanks. I think I need some time alone," she said.

"I'm not gonna get a breakup kiss out of you, am I right?"

"Yes. No! Yes, you're not going to."

"Just checking," he said. And with that, he left her to her musings.

***

It was finally all over.

Finals were over. Classes were over. Bruce was over.

He had actually been civil to Brielle. She was expecting him to be angry, or groveling, but he had surprised her. When Brielle got home, she updated her mother and sister of the change in her status quo. They were both supportive and secretly happy.

Elena had had a small crush on Bruce since she had met him, like every other nine-year-old feels when an older boy gives her the amount of attention appropriate for his girlfriend's youngest family member; and therefore was a little too jubilant at his new single status.

Joy had been eighteen once and with a boyfriend, and she knew what boys and girls did at that age when they were alone—so no Bruce meant one less thing to worry about. Plus, it was no secret that Joy didn't think too much of Bruce. But she wasn't about to own up to that.

"So, Brie, what a day you had," Joy said, almost sympathetically.

"Yep. All in all, a one hundred percent successful day," Brielle replied enthusiastically.

"But Brielle, you broke up with Bruce."

"All in all, a one hundred percent successful day," Brielle countered in the exact same tone as before.

"Can you at least _pretend_ to be heartbroken?" Her mother asked, trying to suppress a smile. "I'll leave you to heal your little heart."

The whirlwind of emotions had taken a toll on Brielle, so she excused herself from dinner and stayed in her bedroom. She was tired, but proud of herself for having had the courage to do it and not damaging Bruce beyond repair in the process—or so it seemed—and for being free. _Free_. It was such a relief. Yet there was something tugging at her, and while she couldn't place what it was exactly, she could tell it was something gloomy.

She plopped on her bed. Tux came in after her—he seemed to follow her around, even though Elena had made a bed for him in her bedroom—and demanded attention. Brielle placed him on her stomach and petted him absentmindedly while he purred contentedly. She forced herself to be as happy as the kitten. She had achieved something good today, survived finals, and was for all intents and purposes done with high school classes. All that was left were leisurely strolls through the rest of the school year. She should focus on that. But the nagging feeling wouldn't let go—she was fighting a heavy cloud of melancholy that threatened to consume her serenity.

Was it pain over Bruce? She tried to identify it. No, that had been the best thing about today. The melancholy felt simultaneously like a heaviness that weighed her down, and a hollow that left her feeling empty and adrift. She suspected it had something to do with the boy, the boy she had resolved not to think about anymore.

She decided against being alone with her cat—a cat lady's beginning, one could say—and went to watch TV with her family. She kept it up until Joy sent Elena to bed, as it was a school night. Brielle called Melanie, and they talked about Bruce, about graduation, about dresses and pantyhose for an hour; but eventually Melanie also left her alone with her thoughts. Brielle gave up, and went to bed.

***

Brielle tossed and turned for hours. Sleep was nowhere in the horizon. She was all alone with her thoughts, and that was not good. She had intentionally avoided thinking about the boy for twenty-four hours. Her heart would race, and she would think about something else. It took a lot of effort to simply push him away. And that was unhealthy.

She tried to listen to music to drown her mental tirades in well-known lyrics, but she only felt his hand on her neck. With her eyes closed she would see him. With her eyes open and her mind fixed on the spot above her bed, that strange sorrow cloud crept closer and closer. She got up and did something she never did before: she paced her room. Like crazy people in movies. She was glad that Tux wasn't around to judge her.

After pacing for ten seconds, she fell on her knees, clutched her head, closed her eyes. She tried to decipher her feelings. Her whole being was shaking with the swirling emotions, too strong and too numerous for her to describe a single one. There was a pressure behind the bridge of her nose, and as soon as she acknowledged it something snapped and she was crying; big fat tears spilling like torrents. And she still couldn't name the reason.

She had brought this about by thinking of _him_ , while trying to avoid thinking of him, and her mind had taken over like a rambling lunatic. It was him. Whatever was happening, it was because of _him_.

The nameless sorrow ebbed for a second, she realized, as she thought of the boy. So she allowed herself to think about him again, deliberately this time, focusing on everything that she could remember: his every word, the look in his eyes, his hair, and the feel of his hand when he had _touched_ her.... And there it was again: a fire under her skin. And more tears came, this time with sobs.

Too much. She needed to get a grip and be analytical about it. She tried to describe her emotions, she asked out loud, barely above a whisper, " _Why_ am I sad?"

Only then she realized that she _was_ sad, but about what? Did _he_ make her sad? No, not at all; she wanted to see him again, and she replayed the scene again in her head in fast-forward. She returned to her daydreams that had made her so happy before. She imagined that they had left together, and that once they were safe away from the school, they had sat in the park that was near her house, and that he had placed his hands on either side of her neck, tilted her head up, his face leaning down, and... _whoa._

A current ran up her body, and she found herself smiling. She realized the ridiculous grief she had felt moments ago was the product of his absence—she _missed_ him. She _longed_ to see him, a boy she'd seen for five minutes. It was pure nonsense. But she could not deny that when she conjured his face, she felt like everything was how it was supposed to be.

What an easy recipe for happiness: she fell into the daydream again, concentrating in the most specific of details. She did not resurface, and finally, she slept.

# 5.Prom and Other Disasters

Friday came and went. Seniors didn't do anything but talk about prom, graduation, the upcoming senior trip and the fresh gossip provided by the breakup of the sweet couple Brielle and Bruce.

As she walked home after school, Brielle felt that happy sedated feeling of good things ahead, the anticipation of amusement and relaxation. She realized she should be thinking about the big event on Saturday night, but she couldn't really care about it other than as a formal acknowledgment of her new single status. She was decidedly going to enjoy that part.

When she got home, she ran to her bedroom and dismissed her backpack in a corner as though she would never see it again. It was still early; the sun would not set for another four hours, and she was free; it felt like she was free _forever_. The day stretched before her with splendid possibilities.

Brielle felt happier than she had all week. The day before, she had refused to think about _him_ , and it had only caused her pain. Now that she allowed herself to, she felt weightless. She could think of other things, pay attention to her friends, and not feel guilty about Bruce. It felt great to update her online status to "Brielle Marshall is single"—twenty-four likes, fifteen comments so far—and the myriad of possibilities that it provided. It was exciting to be free.

Melanie would come by on Saturday to get ready together for prom and the after-party at Ramos' house. Ben Ramos was a Lincoln Park High School graduate who was now at DePaul University, which was nearby in the neighborhood. Ramos was the type that threw wild parties when his parents weren't in town. Melanie and Brielle had gone to a party the previous year when he was a senior, and they had had a great time, so they were looking forward to this party.

However, this night, Brielle had nothing else to do. As she saw her reflection in the mirror, her bright copper hair reminded her of _him_. She brought her hand up to touch it, and imagined him. That was all it took—all her plans to enjoy the rest of the day vanished in an instant as she lost herself in the vision.

***

On Saturday night, Brielle and Melanie looked at themselves in the full-length mirror closet door. They were lovely.

Brielle was still a little upset about having to go with Bruce, but it's not like she would be the only one not dating her date. Melanie had agreed to go with Nathan, just to have a date that she felt comfortable with. Darla was going with a guy from their class named George. The only real couple was Ryan and Kate, who had been dating since their junior year.

Bruce, Nathan, Ryan and George had rented a stretch limo. They were supposed to pick up Brielle and Melanie first at 6:30 pm, then Darla and Kate at Darla's, and finally go uptown to the Marriott Hotel where the senior prom was being held. The guys had the tickets, since the girls had no room in their clutch purses for anything other than their phones and lipsticks.

Brielle hadn't needed help with her hair—given her short length, a sweet, messy bun was the easiest thing to do. She had dressed up quickly in her ivory and champagne dress and matching shoes. She had chosen the pumps for their sturdy heels and strap around the ankles, which secured her feet and gave her considerable stability. Because the skirt material was so light and airy, she had decided to wear a pair of shaping shorts under her dress for protection from curious wind gusts.

After she was dressed, she had helped Melanie with her hair. Melanie wanted her long light brown hair in a formal updo that would normally not have matched the tone of her insouciant dress, but Brielle had a feeling that it would look great on her anyway. Melanie's dress was awesome. It had a corset bodice lined with silver, yellow and purple beads over a lilac skirt. The skirt was short, made of ruffled tulle. The beads flowed from the corset down to the skirt in an unsymmetrical, graceful pattern that resembled the roots of a tree. The color combination brought out the hazel of Melanie's eyes and made her look girly and innocent, while a sweetheart neckline in the corset made her look sultry and desirable. How anyone could pull that off other than Melanie, Brielle didn't know.

They had raided their moms' jewelry chests for accessories and were now both fabulous.

Bruce and Nathan appeared at the door downstairs and immediately dropped their jaws in a comical fashion when the girls appeared. They complimented Brielle and Melanie on how amazing they looked.

"Of course we do," was Melanie's humble reply.

Bruce took Brielle's hand to help her in the limo. Right before he let go, he squeezed softly, and Brielle gagged internally.

After picking up the rest of the crew, they reached the ballroom at the hotel and all the girls shrieked in delight. Even Brielle had to admit she was impressed with the atmosphere, and the spirit of prom possessed her on the spot.

Brielle and Bruce stepped up to the line to get their photos taken. She regretted having Bruce in her picture, but there was nothing she could do about it now. As she smiled for the camera, she was thinking of excuses to tell her children: _Your dad wasn't around back then, so I went out with this old friend_....

Then they all walked around, trying the special hors d'oeuvres and punch, hanging out with other friends, and gossiping about other couples. The girls danced away with their dates as well as with other guys who had failed to see how beautiful they were before, and now wanted to get a move in before it was too late. But for the most part everyone was just being silly and trying to have a good time. Brielle loved the freedom that her dress gave her to dance, twirl and sit down without feeling awkward or having to care about her posture. The almost-backless part was the only problem, as all guys—including Bruce—managed to find her skin as they danced. _Ugh_. Brielle had heard that all guys were horny at prom, and had thought that it was an exaggeration, but now she felt there was a bit of truth in it.

Someone in the prom committee must have thought it was a good idea to show a picture slideshow of some of the seniors and different school events. Although it was well-made and people laughed at the pictures, Brielle got bored rather quickly. She had been in Math Team competitions but somehow those never made it to the slideshow, and the people that _were_ in the slideshow were not really of Brielle's group, so nothing really caught her attention. It actually irked her that she started seeing the same people over and over again, and that whoever put the slideshow together had evidently thought that the scenes presented were something to write a book about. She could easily guess who the members of the prom committee were—the girls in the pictures. Whatever. Brielle wasn't friends with them and had never wanted to be, anyway.

Brielle finished a dance with a guy named Matt, who had barely talked to her before and was generally considered one of the hottest guys in school. As he walked her away from the dance floor he was openly flirtatious with her, so she was feeling pretty good about herself. But then she saw Bruce approach her. She didn't want to dance with him again, so she made her way to the refreshments table.

"Brielle, why are you dancing with all these dudes? Are you trying to make me jealous?"

"Bruce, I'm dancing with them because they asked me, just like you did, and I said yes. I have zero intention of making you jealous."

"So am I right in thinking that there's no one else?"

"No," she said, annoyed.

"Then there _is_ someone else!"

"Dude. Again? That was a flat _no_. I guess a _yes_ to the actual question."

"Which question? Is there someone else, or isn't there, yes, or no?"

"No!"

"No, there is, or no, there isn't?"

"What the hell's wrong with you? You can't just say—just shut up!" She turned on the spot and marched away from him quickly, before she ruined his rental tux by throwing her cup of punch in his face.

But in the end, despite the stupid slideshow, the mild groping, her angst at being with her ex, and her apprehension at what others would think, she ended up having a good time. There was something about the night, feeling beautiful and wanted, dancing with guys, a few of them hot, and laughing with her girlfriends that made her feel elated and even lightheaded. She felt faint pulsations within her, probably from the lights, the music, and all the dancing. She had only danced once with Bruce, and while she had hated his fingers on her exposed back and his ridiculous questioning afterwards, she forgave him. She could tell he was hurting, and it was all her fault.

After a few hours, some of the group declared they were starving and that the food provided in the banquet in the next room was inadequate and besides, they were _supposed_ to go out for dinner; that was a prom thing. So they wanted to take the limo out and have _real_ food.

Brielle didn't really want to go to dinner with them, but they were all in the same limo, and besides, Melanie was one of the ones up for leaving prom. If Melanie and the others left, Brielle would have no one to talk to. The novelty of being desirable was wearing off, and she was tired of all the unusual attention guys were giving her, a side effect of being openly single and prettier than they were used to seeing her. Plus, the weird throbbing feeling in the pit of her stomach from all the dancing didn't go away after she stopped; in fact, it was intensifying by the minute. She decided that leaving the party, its loud music and horny guys, and getting some food in her would be for the best.

***

At the insistence of the guys, they went back to the North side, all the way to Wrigleyville where the bar scene was heavy on Saturday nights. It wasn't that late, and the whole area was already full of drunken people. The drunks were mostly yuppies in their twenties who, correctly detecting that the group was comprised of high school kids at prom night based on the group's youth, their fancy tuxes and gowns, and the totally not inconspicuous freaking limo in which they arrived, decided to yell colorful remarks about being in the wrong place with their barely legal female companions.

Brielle and her friends ignored the drunks and stepped inside a diner on Clark Street by Wrigley Field. They didn't linger much, as the plan was to go to Ramos' party; and the sooner they got there, the faster they could commence their underage drinking. Plus, it turned out that the so-called diner was really just a bar that served bar food and refused to sell them alcohol.

By the end of dinner, Brielle had all but forgotten her resolution to enjoy singledom. The second they stepped outside the restaurant on their way to the after-party at Ramos', Brielle realized she had zero interest in going.

"But his parties are legendary!" Melanie said when Brielle voiced her intentions. "Last year's was awesome. We had so much fun, don't you remember? And now he's in DePaul! There's got to be tons of college guys there. I'm _so_ tired of the same idiots in our school. C'mon Brie."

"Mel, last year I saw all I'll ever need to see of Ramos to last me a lifetime. The guy needs someone to tell him he's not good-looking enough to take off his shirt in front of a crowd."

"That was funny, though. But anyway, no one's going for _him_ , just for his house party. Plus, now he'll have older college friends that can score alcohol easily enough."

"Like alcohol shortage was a problem last year when he was still in high school."

Melanie rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Brie, I'm going for the boys. You should too. Don't be lame! High school is almost over. And you're _single_. You need to go out and enjoy it!" But what Melanie meant all along was, _Don't leave me by myself, I want to go_.

"I can't do a party after prom. My shoes are killing me. Plus," she added in a low voice, seeing Bruce up ahead with the guys, "you heard Bruce; he said he'd be there, and he needs to enjoy being single, too. I don't want to rub it in his face that I'm free and enjoying being free."

Seeing that Melanie wasn't about to let go, she added, "Darla's going, and you know she's not really into George. You two can hang out together. _Pleeease_. I really don't feel so good."

"You suck, Brielle," said Melanie, slightly wounded but about ten seconds away from getting over it. This wouldn't be the first time that Melanie had been left with their friend Darla because Brielle had ditched.

Darla's usual partner in crime, Kate, was going to the party with her boyfriend Ryan. Melanie and Darla were often left together because their respective best friends, Brielle and Kate, were always hanging out with their boyfriends. _Well, not all of us anymore_ , thought Brielle with an internal smirk.

After much more abuse from all of her friends, Brielle finally convinced them that she didn't feel well and wanted to go home. The limo driver was going to take the rest of them to the party and was in the process of giving them a hard time about the extra stop when Brielle interrupted the argument by saying she would just catch a cab. So they left her there, trying to hail a cab on the busy Clark Street in front of the diner.

As the limo drove away, Brielle felt pleased with her choice. It was hard to pretend in front of them that she was sad about missing the party, and going home felt like a relief. But after a minute her elation sank as she found out how hard it was to get a cab. The yuppies were better at doing this that she was, and took all available cabs before she did. Apparently, the way to do it was to walk almost to the middle of the lane and wave drunkenly. Brielle wasn't about to do that, and she was intimidated by other people in groups, so she watched as all the taxis that went by picked up everyone else but her.

As each taxi came and took someone else, she started becoming more and more apprehensive of her situation. There were too many drunk people left and right, some men yelling obscene things at her, and her wearing a formal dress with a provocative back. She kept telling herself that she was in no danger because the street was full; there were people everywhere. But she finally got tired of it, that little voice inside telling her that something wasn't right, so she went back in the restaurant and called her mother. Joy became increasingly alarmed as Brielle explained her circumstances.

"Oh my God Brielle you should've called me _before_ your friends left you there—such friends—I'm going to have to call Isabel. And Dr. Travers is certainly going to hear about this. What the hell were they thinking? Stay inside—don't you _dare_ go outside again—" Isabel Vega was Melanie's mother, a strong-willed Hispanic woman who would lock her daughter in at the smallest sign of misbehaving. Brielle would never hear the end of it if she got Melanie in trouble with her mom. Dr. Travers was Bruce's dad, but Brielle was sure there wouldn't be a problem there, as Dr. Travers was never around anyway. Either way, anything Joy said would embarrass Brielle beyond repair when it got back to her friends.

"Mom, can you just come pick me up?"

"Of course, Brie—I'm grabbing my keys as we speak—I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Kids these days...."

Brielle hung up and tried to look as unobtrusive as possible inside the restaurant by the door. There were people in groups inside, which made her feel safe from danger on the one hand, but alone and ridiculously overdressed on the other. A seemingly mismatched trio of older girls—a blonde, an Asian and a Latina—were laughing at a story one of them was telling, and they stopped as they noticed Brielle and all three gave her a pitiful smile. Brielle hated them instantly. Three very loud guys who looked like they were in their mid-twenties were drinking at the bar, and were also staring but their smiles weren't pitiful; they were plain rude. Everyone had apparently decided to gawk at the one poor, abandoned teenager by herself. She wanted to kick herself. She tried to ignore them, and for the most part, after a while everyone ignored her as well.

But every now and then the three guys would look her way and laugh at something one of them would say. Brielle wanted to turn her back to them, but then it would show them her exposed back—she hated her dress more and more by the hour—so she kept facing inside the restaurant, trying to look anywhere but straight at them. She could feel their gaze on her and hear their loutish laughs, and it made her very uncomfortable.

Finally, one of them, a bulky, dark blond guy with shaggy hair, left the group and headed for the exit. As he passed Brielle by the door he made a vulgar noise and said, "Hey, baby," to which the other two by the bar replied by wolf-whistling and laughing. The loudest one was a tall blonde wearing a button-down shirt, and the other was dark-haired and looked shorter at the bar stool but still pretty big, wearing a Michigan shirt. They looked like they were both drunk.

After fifteen minutes had gone by since she had talked to Joy, Brielle couldn't take it anymore and walked outside, to wait there for her mother. Joy should be there in a minute. But less than a minute was all it took for things to go crazy.

The remaining two of the obnoxious guys at the bar were immediately on Brielle as she stepped outside, next to a bus stop. Brielle's heart went into panic mode. They walked up from behind her, one on each side, laughing at something, coming close enough on both sides to flank her. They were talking about having a good time together with her.

"C'mon, High School, we're gonna show you how to have fun with real men," the blond tall one said. He was taller than he had looked sitting down, and he reeked of alcohol.

"Leave me alone," she said, looking in his direction but not facing him, trying to sound annoyed and brave, not weak and scared as she felt.

"Oh, she doesn't like you, dude," the second one jeered from behind her, presumably the dark-haired, Michigan shirt one.

"She's just playing difficult, aren't you, babe?" The blond guy said; his tone alone sounded offensive.

She kept telling herself that they couldn't hurt her—they wouldn't—but she still managed to feel terrified. She felt she couldn't scream, that she shouldn't have to, because they wouldn't really try anything with her in the middle of crowded Clark Street, and screaming would only call more attention to her and that's probably what they wanted, to laugh at her. So she decided to ignore them and look away, away from them....

That's when she noticed the car parked on the side of the street, a little away from the entrance. The back door that faced the sidewalk was open, but there was nobody in the back. There was a guy in the front seat—and Brielle's already panicked heart went impossibly faster as she recognized the shaggy hair—the third guy from the bar. He had left to get a car and was now waiting for _her_ —

And then Michigan guy's hands went behind her, one on her bare back and one on her bottom. She didn't realize she was holding a round post for stability—probably the bus stop sign—and before she even thought about the proper recourse in this case, judiciously considering the variables before her; before she could realize what her brain was about to command, her body reacted angrily at that beefy hand on her back. Her foot went up followed by a blur of ivory and champagne, higher than she would've thought possible—but then, she _was_ four inches taller today—and her heel connected to the blond guy's face with a sickening thud.

"Oh, fuck!" His hands went to his face, and he went down on one knee as blood appeared on his nose and ran down his cheek. He wailed in agony, yelling curses at her.

The dark-haired Michigan guy who had grabbed her ass had immediately let go off her when he heard his friend scream, to see past her at what had just happened. But Brielle, still holding the post as though it was the very thing that gave her strength, had rotated almost one-eighty as her leg came down from the kick that had quite possibly broken the blond guy's face, and now _kicked_ the second guy even harder than she had the first guy—this the main offender, who had dared to touch her—and the wooden heel landed on his left hip with all the force of her anger, somehow the foot also getting his lower stomach. Now, this one was pretty lousy as kicks went: she had aimed for the crotch, but had missed by a few inches. Still, it worked.

"Oh, _fuck_!" The second guy said, echoing the first guy in what would've been a comical fashion, had Brielle been able to think properly. He doubled back and grabbed his middle with both hands. He had not seen it coming. Neither of them had.

"I said leave me the _fuck_ alone!" Brielle screamed, the adrenaline rushing through her for the first time in her life, wanting to kick them again, especially Michigan, whose face had been spared—she wanted to break his face open with her heel, cut out his cheek—

She sobered up momentarily as Michigan went down cursing just as the other guy did, but not before Brielle watched in horror as a dark stain appeared in his crotch area. She panicked thinking that she had opened a ghastly wound and that he would die and there would be consequences. But a second later she realized, as the stain increased faster than what she expected it to, that the guy had just peed on himself, probably because she had got him right on the bladder. She looked over at the blond one and he was now kneeling on the floor with his hands over his face yelling unintelligible things.

This had all happened in a few seconds.

In the meantime there was honking, more shouting, and people across the street had stopped to stare at the girl in a prom dress kicking dudes left and right. Dudes that were now yelling profanities at her.

A server from the restaurant had come out when he saw the drunk guys going after her, and now was yelling at them even though they looked more like the victims. Especially the blond one with the bloody face.

"What were you guys thinking? Huh? What were you trying to do with this girl?" The server shouted angrily.

The two guys stumbled over as fast as they could to their getaway car containing the shaggy blonde—that was the honking Brielle had heard—got in, and the car sped away. They apparently figured out that they had been doing something illegal, because they didn't even stop to threaten Brielle to kill her and her family for what she had done, like real bad guys would've done, following bad guy code.

"Are you okay, honey?" The waiter asked Brielle kindly.

"I'm...." Brielle couldn't truthfully say. Less than two minutes had passed since the Michigan shirt guy had grabbed her. Her heart was still hammering loudly in her ears and her thoughts were still dark and violent. "I'll be okay."

She could now hear people across the street yelling, "You go, girl!" and "Dude! Marry me!"

The waiter laughed. "You _were_ awesome, dude. Do you know karate or something?"

"No, I... I guess I just reacted. I don't know. I wasn't really thinking."

"Are you waiting for someone, I take it? I'm sorry about those guys—I should've asked the bartender to cut them off."

"Cut them off?" In the rattle that was going on in her head, her brain didn't translate the expression.

"Stop serving them alcohol, I mean. They were already pretty drunk. I watched them watching you while you stood by the door."

"Nah, don't worry," Brielle said. She didn't want to talk about them anymore. "My mom should be here any second. And a lot of people here look like they're drunk—those guys were the only ones being jerks about it."

"Do you want to come back in while you wait for your mom?"

"Yeah, but she should be here any second." And indeed, Brielle was only inside for another minute or so when her mom pulled up in front of the restaurant and honked once, briefly.

Brielle thanked the waiter and went outside. Once inside her mother's car, she felt safe again, and her heart calmed down.

"Are you okay, baby?" Joy began. "Thanks for waiting inside. This street is full of crazy people."

"I couldn't agree more," Brielle said.

***

As Joy and Brielle came in from the garage, Reuben announced from the family room that he had put on a movie and he could restart it to watch with the both of them. Elena was gone to a sleepover.

However, Brielle was in no mood to watch TV. Faithful Joy went straight to the family room couch and snuggled up to him. Luckily, he didn't ask Brielle about her night—maybe he had forgotten prom was tonight. Joy had already asked the proper questions concerning prom and dinner on the way back after picking her up, so at least she wouldn't bring the subject up. And Brielle wasn't about to remind him by showing her face in the fancy dress, so she avoided the family room altogether as she removed her shoes by the kitchen.

She looked at her shoes adoringly as she picked them up. They had been killing her all night... and they had been _killer_ as weapons against those guys. When she thought of her heel connecting with that idiot's face, she no longer trembled; she smiled.

Brielle had told her mother that she had a great time but had not wanted to go to the after-party, which Joy seemed to thoroughly approve of. Brielle considered telling her mom about the scene at the bar but decided against it. As it was, Joy had been pretty upset that her friends left Brielle by herself in a street full of drunk older guys, and Brielle didn't need the extra concern which would in turn bring about unnecessary restrictions.

So she gave them the same excuse she had given her friends— _not feeling well!_ —ran to her room, shook her hair loose from the bun, and jumped on the bed. A bizarre excitement had gotten a hold of Brielle as her mother had turned the car onto the alley behind their house, from where they accessed the garage. She could now feel the smile spreading on her face. The bar brawling fright had left her, and now a strange elation had taken its place.

She was free from everything, _everything_ else and now had time to think of him again. Of how proud he would have been if he had seen her tonight. His hands on her face, his voice telling her to be safe—because he cared for her. Because he _loved_ her.

_Yeah. So what?_ She shrugged to no one in particular. _I can think whatever I want_ , she mused.

Brielle looked out the window into the night and wondered where he was. He existed; he had to be somewhere out there. Her tree house was a black silhouette against the dark alley lights behind her house. She remembered her sleepovers with Melanie, lying face-up trying to see the stars through the branches in the balcony portion and not seeing any due to city light pollution. It was so peaceful there. Then she thought of daydreaming not on her bed, but on her tree house balcony, the night sky enveloping her, and looking up at the stars she couldn't see that would be surely looking down on _him_ , and of the cool evening air on her face....

It would be perfect. She couldn't believe she'd never thought of it before. She looked down at her dress impatiently. She wanted to get out _now_. The pull was so strong that she didn't feel like changing into regular clothes or even go downstairs and out the door—her parents might ask questions. And she didn't want to _wait_. It was much shorter this way... she grabbed her most comfortable sweater in one hand in case it got chilly outside, opened the window, pushed up the screen, and let herself out.

_Ohmyg_ —Her skirt flew up to meet her arms outstretched to her sides the second her feet left the windowsill, and she felt her heart leave its place inside her chest, pulling up as it tried to resist gravity. Whatever gave her the idea that jumping down a story would be _fine_? She only had a second to panic, though, as she hit the ground almost instantly, absorbed most of the impact with her legs, staggered forward and fell on her hands. _Ouch_.

Her daydream peace was shattered enough to wonder what the hell had possessed her. But she wondered only briefly... she stood up, looked at the tree house and smiled again. She brushed off her hands, the hem of her dress and the sweater in her hand, which had gotten most of the dirt. Then she walked to the trunk of the huge tree that had won her stepfather over.

Reuben had settled in this house, which was much bigger than he cared for, because of the ample yard with trees. And _this_ one in particular, which had the perfect size and shape to make a tree house for his stepdaughter.

As she climbed the ladder, thinking of the time it had been since she was up here, she was suddenly alert. What would she find up here? It was so open. Her hand froze on the last step. There could be someone here, someone waiting for her. Her heart started pounding with alarm. This could have been a bad idea. There _was_ someone there, waiting for her, she was sure of it! She could _feel_ someone. She couldn't hear anything, but she could feel... a _presence_.

It didn't feel wrong. But she was afraid of the feeling. Since when did she go around feeling presences? She unfroze, and found her foot. She took a deep breath, and changed her mind. She lowered herself down a step.

"Gabby, don't go," a voice pleaded.

Not a voice.

_His_ voice.

# 6.The Tree House

"Please," he said. Then his head came into view. In the low light of the streetlamp nearby, his eyes looked blue gray, and he was more attractive than she remembered. Impossible. He held out a hand and said, "Don't be afraid. I just want to talk to you."

She was frozen and couldn't reply. But she just took the hand that was offered, automatically, without thinking. _Ah_. It was solid.

He was real. He was _here_.

His hand holding hers was warm, and just like she remembered it. The touch made her pulse quicken.

But what was he saying? Afraid! How could she be afraid of _him_? The only thing that she was afraid of was not being able to let go of his hand once she had sat down on the thin mattress she kept in the tree house. She did let go, reluctantly, and he sat down across from her. She needed to ask him so many things. She needed to keep seeing his face. It had been almost pure pleasure to touch his hand, and her body and all of her senses were tingling with excitement. He was here, three feet away from her; he was _real_.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," he said apologetically.

She had to clear her throat, because she was still frozen. "I'm okay," she said lamely. She didn't know what else to say that didn't reveal her unhealthy, daydreaming obsession.

"I had to see you again," he said after moment of silence. "But you look...."

She looked down. Her dress. Her bare sides and shoulders. She was self-conscious for a second, but delighted inside. At least she looked better than last Tuesday.

"It was prom. Tonight was my senior prom," she repeated quickly, and cursed herself for sounding agitated and nervous.

"Yeah," he said, apparently at a loss for words as well.

She had no reply to that. She just looked at him.

After another pause he added, "I'm sorry, I should've—my name is James."

She gasped involuntarily as though someone had hit her. _James_? Her mouth fell open; her lips curled in something like pure shock.

"Ahh," she managed to say. It came out like a weak sob. _James_. Of course his name was James.

"What's wrong?" His voice was worried.

She just shook her head. She started trembling. She knew him. She didn't know how, or from where, but she knew him. She realized that her breath was coming out unevenly and that she was having a hard time inhaling. Her face felt hot and her eyes filled with moisture. Then to her utmost embarrassment the tears spilled out, and she was crying.

He moved forward with a speed that amazed her, and the next thing she knew, she was in his arms. Her arms went around him in turn, almost automatically, and her face buried in his neck.

"Gabby, _shh_ , don't cry. I've got you, Gabrielle," he murmured nonsense to her softly as she sobbed, holding on to him. And for the third time since she had first seen him, he asked quietly, "Do you remember me?"

That was just the thing; she didn't. His arms around her, his fingers on her bare skin, they all felt right, and her body had reacted by embracing him as though it remembered his—but _she_ didn't. She had no memory of him.

So she whispered, her face pressed against his neck, "I can't... not really."

He pulled her back gently, and grabbed her face like he had before, the day he showed up in her life. She had relived this touch so many times. But instead of touching his forehead to hers like he did then, he looked at her with something like veneration.

Then he leaned his head down to hers slowly, painfully slowly, as if giving her the choice of turning away. As if she could move. She closed her eyes and her head tilted up in his hands, her body almost trembling in anticipation. And then their lips met.

The shock made her gasp again. Her heart gave a forceful thump; the intensity knocked her back half an inch. She _knew_ these lips. James' lips had been the fuel of her existence; they were shaped as though they had been made for her own. The current that went through her body left behind a trail of sweetness that left her wanting more, as it faded.

But he had misunderstood her. He let go of her and tried to pull back, to give her space; but her arms were still around his back, effectively restraining him. She couldn't let go. She really didn't know what to do, but she knew that _away_ wasn't the thing to be. So she pulled him back to her, all the way back until her lips were close to his. "No, James," she whispered against his mouth. _Don't leave me again_. Then she kissed him.

He gave a little moan, his arms went around her again as he pressed her closer, and kissed her deeply. Her lips parted to receive his tongue with a longing that almost physically hurt. It was like water under high pressure that was only allowed a small opening to ease though... she enjoyed this escape, but she wanted more, she wanted.... She grabbed his face, as he did hers. There was no part of them that was not touching. He was kissing her without restraint, hurriedly, as though she might disappear any time soon. She kissed him back, lost in a place where there was nothing else but him. _James_.

As they both came up for air, while still holding her face with his thumbs at her cheeks, he moved his lips over her nose, kissed her cheekbone, kissed her down her neck, kissed her collarbone. The fluxes he evoked in her chest were coursing through her body like wildfire; she felt her blood run cold inside, but her skin burn as he kissed her. While her mouth was free of his she kissed what part of him she could. His temple, his ear. His hair smelled so good, a comfort to her olfactory sense that reminded her of home... long ago. She inhaled deeply and felt the world disappear around them, her mind filling with memories of him....

Currents of pleasure were chasing each other through their bodies, pulling in different directions. Her hands moved up and she ran her fingers through his hair, and found it to be fine and silky like she had imagined it to be. She felt him tremble against her, and his mouth returned to hers. Then they paused for air again, and she returned her head to his neck. They held each other in awe.

She remembered this feeling: the way his arms held her, the warmth of his embrace, and his mouth at her neck. That was a favorite. Feelings never experienced before, yet clearly remembered. How could it be? She had never met him before. Yet these images—her mind conjured images of another life, a life she hadn't lived; but she clearly saw James, this James in front of her, kissing her, touching her, comforting her. She saw another version of herself—brown-haired, older, in college. She _remembered_ being older. _Whoa_. Was she seeing bits of a previous life?

"Gabby, I've missed you," he said huskily. He held her there, rocking their bodies while their skin cooled.

"James," she whispered, and the name flowed naturally. It thrilled her to say it. "Tell me... why...? Please explain. From where do I know you? And you called me Gabrielle... no one calls me that."

He pulled back to look at her for the longest time, as if searching for something. While he did, she got the chance to see him clearly. God, he was stunning. While she examined his face, her mind confirmed what she had started suspecting. She and James had had a life together, before, somehow. This she knew; she just found out. It was him, and it was her. He was the one she had always dreamed of. He was not a product of her imagination. And he _wanted_ her.

She noticed a glint in the corner of his eye and reached up to touch it. A tear. He managed a smile that was exultant and forlorn at the same time.

"I've always called you Gabrielle," he said. He made the name sound so familiar... and sensual, somehow. "That's your name. Right? What do people call you now?" He was curious.

"I _am_ Gabrielle. But everyone calls me just Brielle, or Brie," she said.

He laughed quietly. His laughter filled her with a blissful new sensation.

"That's... cute. Bri- _elle_ ," he said, trying it out.

"Thanks," she said. She didn't know what else to say.

"I like it. I wonder why we didn't think of that before?"

"What do you mean, before?"

He looked somber for a second, as if afraid to address the larger issue at hand. "Tell me, what do you remember, love?"

_Love_? Her heart fluttered.

"I... just a minute ago, I started having flashes, like... memories, of something like another life... except that it felt like it was you and I." She could feel herself blushing. "I don't know how that's possible. She's... _I'm_ older. And we're different somehow, yet the same."

"Is that too crazy?" He looked into her eyes, almost imploring.

"It is—but it is what it is. What am I supposed to make of this?" By _this_ she meant the memories that she could now see. She closed her eyes and tried to remember, thinking that maybe she had seen a past that she had somehow forgotten. But no: that was her, she _felt_ older; in her twenties, long brown hair....

"And you didn't remember anything before now—just now?"

"It started when you said your name: it triggered something. Something familiar." She didn't know how to explain it. "I still feel it here"—she pressed a hand against her chest—"like it's there, but I only get flashes. I don't know what it is," she said, and her voice sounded afraid.

He rubbed her arms. "It's okay. It happened to me, too."

"Really?"

He took a deep breath and started, "This will sound crazy, but please, hear me out."

"Okay," she said tentatively.

"Four years ago, when I was fourteen, I woke up with the most terrible confusion I've ever experienced. I'm now convinced that the same thing happened to you, but a longer time ago. I need to you to _believe_. You and I... we were in what we think of now as _the future_ , but to us, to me, back then, it was the present. We met when we were older, not eighteen, and we had a great life together for many years."

"The future? But it feels like it happened _before_. Did we—did we time travel?" But as she asked the question, at that instant she _knew_. It was all true.

"I'm convinced we did, but I don't know how."

"How old were we?" She whispered, afraid of what was happening. She was going to remember something terrible, something she didn't want to believe.

"The last thing I remember, we were twenty-eight."

Brielle closed her eyes and was assaulted by random bits of memory. The face of a friend named Sheila. College classrooms. A small room with bright items—her dorm. Kissing James in a library behind a row of bookcases. She started trembling.

She felt James' lips on her forehead and she opened her eyes. His lips moved down to her cheeks, catching a tear she hadn't realized she had shed. Then his arms encircled her, protecting her.

"It can't be," she whispered.

"I'm sorry," he replied. "I know it's too much. Don't think about it anymore tonight. You may remember someday, you may not. It doesn't matter anyway. I don't think that future exists anymore. What matters is that we're together."

There were still a thousand questions to ask.... How did he get here? What happened in the future? Why was she so attracted to him—and luckily he seemed to feel the same way, or else it would be totally embarrassing—and why did it feel perfectly normal to make out with him within a minute of seeing him, a guy she didn't know? Was he real? Something inside her felt heavy. Overload.

He stopped her by tightening his embrace and kissing her cheek. The kiss felt so familiar.... "Please, try not to think about it for now," he told her again. "We'll have time to talk it through later. Okay? I promise."

She liked the sound of that. The feeling was gnawing at her chest, wanting to come out, but she just couldn't _remember_. Maybe with time, like he said. And he promised he would talk to her later. "Okay," she said.

"Okay," he repeated, and he smiled. "Think about the present.... I want to know the new Brielle. Tell me about your sister, your stepfather, your friends from high school."

She was silent, still trying to make sense of what was going on in her head. The people and things he mentioned... she felt like they were missing in her memory. Why did she feel like she had lived a life without Elena?

He ran a hand down through her hair, soothing her. "Tell me about your sister," he entreated again. "I don't know anything about her."

Brielle made herself focus on the distraction. "My little sister, Elena.... She's okay. She's a goofball. A few years ago I found her incredibly annoying, but I guess it was just a phase. I'm still learning to appreciate her, but at least now we're buddies. She's smart and capable of entertaining herself without getting on my nerves. Right now she's at a sleepover. And to her infinite credit, she likes to play with my hair, kinda like you're doing, and it's so calming... I could let her do that all day."

James shifted a bit, took her by the shoulders and gently rotated Brielle. He settled her with her back against his chest and ran his fingers down through her short hair. She immediately felt peaceful and relaxed. Too relaxed—she started getting drowsy. It was past midnight, and she was supposed to be home.... But she was so comfortable with him here, as long as she didn't remember anything else.

"I could stay here all night with you doing this," she said, almost sleepily.

"And I would stay here all night with you, doing this," he offered.

"I should hold you to that. You can't go... need answers...." Thoughts were starting to roam around her head without lead, the way it happened to her when she was falling asleep.

"Brielle, I _promise_ you that I'll explain everything tomorrow. But rest tonight; you've had a long day," he whispered.

That got her attention. He had said he would explain everything later, but now he said _tomorrow_. She considered seeing him again the next day and the thought cheered her up, more than his promise of answering questions. As much as she needed to know what was happening, in his arms she couldn't be bothered with the wild revelations she had discovered today. In his arms, she felt safe.

A peaceful bliss settled over her like a warm blanket. She was giddy with happiness.

"Brielle?"

"Hmm?"

"I feel the same way."

"What way?"

"Happy." And he kissed her head.

***

Brielle didn't want to, but eventually they both climbed down from the tree house and walked to her door.

They hugged each other tightly, for a long time. He didn't want to let go, and neither did she.

"I'll see you tomorrow. How about lunch?" He asked.

She grinned at the thought. "That sounds wonderful."

He pulled back and she saw his smile matched hers.

"Good night, Brielle."

"Good night, James." She moved her hand to the doorknob.

"Wait!" He whispered. She was glad to turn around and see him again. "Can I have your number?"

***

Brielle should have fallen asleep immediately, after all the extensive brain activity that had been going on in her head and the range of emotions that she had experienced in one day. But she was awake for a while. She went through the night's events in her mind again, as she lay on her bed.

" _My name is James,"_ he had said. It had felt like the floor was taken from under her feet. Her feet were touching a slab that was not there. She lost her anchors to this world, as a stream of images burst in front of her eyes, too strong and too vivid to tell them apart. Her life with James. A hundred memories made in a one-bedroom apartment in a century-old building. A coffee maker. Her mother crying. James wounded, his eyes frozen wide in horror. James, James, _James_!

She woke up with a start. She _had_ fallen asleep and now it was sometime in the wee hours of the morning. But her brain was wide awake. Oh God. _Oh God_. She remembered.

Her _episode_.

She was six years old. It was that weird year of her life that Brielle and her mother never quite figured out, so they never brought it up. Her days of sadness that promised would never go away. That eventually passed, but changed the course of her story.

The despair was so overwhelming that she was never able to extinguish it. She just shoved it aside and it was shunned to the quiet corners of her mind. It came barreling down on her now.

***

Gabrielle Elliot ran to the mirror. She knew immediately that there was something off; that something didn't add up—that she was not who she was. She remembered this room. Her old room, in her old house. Yet she was _in_ it; she was living in the house where she grew up... and she was six. _She was six years old_. She could hear her mom crying in the next room. Her mom was in pain. Of course—her dad had passed away the week before. This information was provided by her six-year-old brain.

And when she looked in the mirror, watched her brown eyes widen in disbelief, that's when it hit her, undoubtedly—she was _not_ twenty-eight, there was no one after her, and James was _alright_. But she had to go back. She had to find James. She looked at her hands and tried to call the power that she had felt before—but she didn't know how. Nothing happened. James wasn't there—he wouldn't be _anywhere_ near her—she had nothing. No power. No turning back. It was impossible: she was a child, and her brain couldn't make sense of what was going on in her head and the images spinning nonstop in her mind.

She tried to focus. Access information from her mind—numbers. Dates. Addresses. James was out there, and even if he was a child like she was, everything would be alright if only they were together. Where did he live? What was his phone number? Still staring in the mirror, she watched as her horrified eyes filled up with tears. There was nothing in her mind. There were no numbers, no sense of geography, nothing. And it was _hard_. It was like pushing a thick curtain, impossibly tall, and finding nothing behind. There was nothing— _James, I'm sorry. I'm not going to make it_ —

Her breath was coming in gasps, and she was terrified. The most terrifying time in her life—lost in time, caged in a child's body, a prisoner with an endless sentence. She knew it would be ages, long years of torment before she saw _him_ again. And her mind seemed to be closing in on itself; her brain wasn't working properly. _No, no, no_.... She couldn't believe this was happening. She kept looking left, right, down at her hands, closed her eyes, opened her eyes—but nothing changed. She was _trapped_....

Her mind had protected her back then, and locked those memories in a vault. The vault of sorrowful memories; they were only retrieved when she would be in his presence again.

But nobody could reminisce over the worst memories of their life—so awful that she had blocked them for more than a decade—without reliving the panic, the fright. Now fully awake, Brielle forced herself to breathe, but the air didn't come. She was having a physical, real panic attack. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she wondered if this was how it would all end—alone on her bed, paralyzed by fear.

Over the deafening beating of her frenzied heart she heard a noise, a scraping sound, a soft thud. Footsteps.

Her bed depressed next to her and warm arms embraced her delicately.

_James_.

Her torso was suddenly vertical, lifted up, while she gasped for air. Her lungs exploded with painful relief as they finally restarted and oxygen filled her head, clearing the scenes before her. She was able to breathe in his scent, whatever it was that was _his_ , that made her feel safe.

"Brielle," he whispered, as he rocked their bodies softly. "Are you okay? I'm here. _Shh_. I'm here."

"James," she whispered, between gasps of air that were slowly returning to normal. Her heartbeat had started to slow down, and she realized that she was feeling the calming effects of his presence. Her terror vanished; her senses returned to her in full blast as they filled with _him_.

"Brielle, what happened?" He sounded worried. "I could feel you upset about something," he said.

She was momentarily distracted, and pulled back to look at him. "Really?" That he could feel her somehow cheered her up a little. It showed a _connection_ between them.

"Yes, it's like I could hear, _feel_ your emotions, and I just knew I needed to be with you—and I'm here now."

"You came back," she said, and she wanted to kiss him.

"I did," he replied, and he tightened his hold on her, apparently no longer afraid of her imminent death. "I was concentrating on you. I was practicing this thing, from my memories, where we could feel each other's presences. I wanted to see if I could pinpoint your location, now that I've been so close to you. I thought I felt something in the distance, but it was sort of faint; I just assumed you were sleeping."

"So you really can do that?"

"Yes! It was working! But suddenly the emotion was _loud_ , and it was troubled—like you were suffering in your dreams. So I put on my shoes and ran here. When I got here I _felt_ you wake up and your terror escalated. It almost _choked_ me, it was so bad. What's wrong? Were you having a nightmare?"

"Yes. No.... Well, sort of. I was only remembering... I remembered that day when I came back, when I woke up _here_... when I was six," she said quietly, and heard his quick intake of breath.

"Oh, Brielle, no... I'm sorry," he said. He held her face delicately in his hands. "I wanted to explain things to you before you remembered _that_. It would've been easier."

"Nah," she said, and she smiled at him. "Don't be. Now I know. There were things that I could never explain before, but now I can."

She recounted as best she could. How she had realized, when she was six, that the information was there, but her brain couldn't process it. How she had tried to free herself, her mind, to go back somehow; and the effort had left her drained, her spirit crumbled.

"I think that I had been... _powerful_ , back then, when I was twenty-eight. A strong woman. But that day, twelve years ago, I was only a kid. And so I collapsed and wept. I wept nonstop for a couple of days... not being able to do anything else, but think of _him_ —you, the older you, I mean. Lost to me."

"I'm him. I'm here." He rubbed her arms, trying to console her. It was working.

"Eventually I started forgetting my past life, us, my twenty-eight-year-old body. But I think that feeling of despair was too strong to ever go away. I remember now that before the year was over, I could no longer explain those crazy dark days. I totally forgot what had happened. As I grew up I only remembered the episode as a bizarre nightmare that had affected me more strongly than any other before."

"I'm so sorry, Brielle," James said. It made her feel so warm that he cared so much about her.

"I'm glad I remembered. But that's it. Let's not talk about it anymore... it was kinda harsh."

"I won't mention it," he said solemnly, his eyes looking gray in the dark.

"I'm more interested in knowing... how did you get up here?"

"It wasn't easy," he said, lightening up.

Brielle laughed shortly, and she had to reach over to her nightstand to grab a tissue napkin and blow her nose. Then she laughed again, because she was embarrassed.

"How'd you do it?" she asked again. "You didn't _jump_ here."

"No... I was running. I did jump the fence sideways, the full thing, and when I got to your window I don't know, I jumped and grabbed the ledge, pulled myself up—God bless this brick house—and I opened your window and stumbled in. But I didn't jump a full story," he confessed reluctantly, as though regretting to admit that he wasn't as cool as she thought he was.

"That's so awesome," Brielle said, starting to get sleepy again.

"Why don't you go back to sleep?"

"Why... why can't you stay here?" She asked, almost bashfully.

It was his turn to laugh. "I don't have the power to disappear at will. If someone comes in, we're so busted."

He smiled down at her. She wanted to kiss him, but she was unsure of her breath. So she leaned in his arms again, kissed his cheek tenderly, and buried her face in his neck. He responded automatically by tightening his arms around her briefly, and kissing her shoulder.

_Oh_ —she was suddenly very aware of her choice of sleepwear: a plain tank top with spaghetti straps that left her skin exposed. Where he kissed her shoulder, the skin burned with a new kind of fire, something she had never felt before. A tingling that spread from his lips all the way down her spine. It was delicious. He was so warm and comfortable.

He pulled back reluctantly, leaving her emotions wandering her body. He grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. This kiss she didn't like, because it felt like goodbye.

"Good night, Brielle." He slid off the bed and went to the window. Her body instantly hated the empty space he left behind.

"James...?" She called out to him in a whisper. He looked back with one hand on the windowsill.

"Yes, Brielle?"

"Thank you."

He rewarded her with his most handsome smile. The darkness couldn't claim it. She could see it clearly and it filled her chest with happy longing.

"Anytime," he said.

And with that, he left the same way he had come in.

# 7.The Awakening

Brielle woke up only a few hours later with the sun, which came out so early those days. She lay on her bed feeling elated about something. Some seconds later it hit her: _James_.

He had finally come back for her. And he _wanted_ her. She smiled as she stretched happily, thinking of how her life had changed last night. Well, it was probably more accurate to say that the _course_ of her life had changed—her life didn't really change: this was what it was _supposed_ to be. James was her life, but she had only just found out. And there were so many things she still didn't know.

Was this it, then? Had she found the One—the guy she would spend the rest of her life with? It definitely felt like it. Like she was already in love with him. Something in her body responded to him, as though it had just been waiting to meet him to love him madly. When she thought about it, it should've struck her as weird that she had made out with a guy she barely knew. But it didn't _feel_ like she barely knew him. According to him, they had known each other for years.

She didn't know what to make of the revelations from last night. Brielle's elation quickly turned into unease as a million questions ran through her head, about the present, the past and the future. How did it all happen? Even though she didn't fully understand or remember, she had no choice but to believe. She could _feel_ the bits and pieces of memories pushing at the edges of her head, wanting to surface, but she couldn't form anything solid.

Some time ago, Brielle had had a short, four-note melody stuck in her head. It was from a movie she couldn't quite remember. She could remember the notes exactly, and the general feeling that there was a girl involved, and that the movie was a comedy. But she couldn't remember who the actress was, or even what was happening in the movie when the tune came up. It had bothered her tremendously. She had even called Melanie—because she couldn't text the tune—but after describing all she could knew, Melanie was no help. Every few minutes Brielle would get a _glimpse_ —not a visual, but more like the _feeling_ that she was about to remember. Yet try as she might, she couldn't remember.

Then some twenty minutes later, the movie, the setting, everything finally came to her, when she wasn't thinking about it anymore. It just came.

This was like having that feeling about more than just a scene, but a hundred different scenes, _all_ the time, _every_ waking minute, since James had told her his name. It was exhausting. But James had promised that he would answer her questions, and that she would see him today. At the thought, she smiled and sat up on her bed, fully awake, earlier than any other Sunday that she could remember.

She wanted to try out what James had said they could do before, when they were older. They could sense each other. He could do it now; he had felt her when she had been upset last night, but she had only been able to feel his presence in the tree house when she was close to him. Could she feel him now, when he was a mile away in his hotel?

Brielle closed her eyes and took a deep breath—it was what people seemed to do in yoga to either prepare for a difficult pose or to gather their inner awesome—and tried to search for him.... She could smell her room—eucalyptus spearmint—hear her mother downstairs, see dancing red images behind her eyelids, feel the covers over her feet. But she didn't feel that strange tingling she had felt the previous day. She wrinkled her forehead in concentration, then in frustration. _James_? She called. Nothing. Well, _pff_. At least she could feel him when he was nearby.

Brielle freshened up and went downstairs. Joy was sitting at the counter with Tux on her lap, dressed as if to go out. She was stirring a cup of coffee with one hand and petting the cat with the other, while examining a to-do list in front of her. Talk about multi-tasking.

When she saw Brielle, Joy smiled and pushed the cup of coffee in front of her daughter. "Morning, baby," she said.

"Morning. What's this?" Brielle asked, wary of the liquid. She wasn't a coffee drinker. She didn't need coffee to remain awake throughout the day, so she tried to stay away from it as much as she could.

"Magic potion," replied Joy. "Try it, see if you like it."

Unfortunately for Brielle, the coffee tasted quite good. It was creamy and sweet but not overly so. When the first sip was swallowed and gone, Brielle sipped again without thinking about it.

"Mom, do you want to make me an addict like yourself? Is it a lonely world out there for coffee drinkers?"

"Oh, hush. Two cups aren't going to make you addicted."

"Two?" Brielle asked looking at the mug in her hands.

Her mother ignored the question. "Brielle, Reuben and I are going to the suburbs today to shop for your graduation present!"

"Yay," Brielle said with the required enthusiasm. "What am I getting, a laptop?"

Joy's face fell. "Not today, honey. I'm sorry. But we'll try to get you something you like. Anyway, more to the point: Elena was supposed to have been here by now but Nancy called and said she'd bring her around at lunch. I guess she underestimated the girls' ability to make chaos in the morning. Reuben and I are leaving soon; will you be here to take care of your sister? You don't have any plans, do you?"

Trick question. Brielle hadn't told her parents about any plans with James so no, she couldn't possibly have any plans. "I'll be here when she gets in, don't worry," she said truthfully.

"Good. Drink your coffee, don't fall asleep. I have go get this cat hair off me. Here," she said, and handed Tux to Brielle. He immediately started purring in Brielle's hands.

As she sipped her coffee, Brielle understood that this had been Joy's ulterior motive. Wake Brielle up so that she could take care of her sister. Tricky mothers. Well, since she was up already, might as well have breakfast. She poured herself a bowl of cereal. Tux became very interested in the soy milk.

By the time she finished breakfast, Joy and Reuben came down, ready to leave. Her stepfather kissed the top of her head and promised to get her a nice present.

After her parents left, Brielle was so wide awake from the coffee that trying to go back to sleep was out of the question. Her thoughts wandered to James and a happy expectation spread over her like a blanket. She would see him today at lunch. She just couldn't go out because of Elena. But she'd figure it out. She would....

She heard her phone ringing. She set down the kitten and ran upstairs, her heart hammering at the possibility of this being....

James!

"Hey," she said casually.

"Hey, you," he replied. His voice created a tingling that pulsated throughout her body.

"Whatcha up to?" She asked.

"I was just wondering if you'd have breakfast with me. Also, your house is really pretty by day."

"You... you were what?" She stopped processing thoughts for a second. Then her brain restarted and she understood. He was there. "You're here?" She ran to the back windows and looked at the tree house. She didn't see anything, but after a second realized that beyond the thrashing of her heart, the faint vibration she felt was a _presence_ , and it was coming from somewhere in that general direction.

"Very good girl," he praised her.

The thought of her alone with him, and no one else in the house, ignited a blaze within her that surprised her with its swiftness and intensity. A current ran from her chest to her shoulders and down her arms.

"Are you okay?" He asked her. He sounded amused. "I can feel your agitation."

"You can? Wait. I'll be there in a second." She hung up, amazed that he could feel her excitement. And immediately felt embarrassed that he could tell she was rattled. She took a deep breath to steady her pulse. It didn't work. She walked out the door and climbed the tree house steps at a steady pace. But on her last few she slowed down. Her heart was going to kill her.

"Hello," she heard the loveliest voice say, as he pulled her up and into his arms.

***

James was wearing a nice pair of slacks and a button-down shirt. This was a change from yesterday when he wore jeans and a t-shirt; today he had dressed up. Brielle realized that he thought he might meet her family today. _Sorry, today you are all for me_.

He let her go and sat next to her on the cot, but facing her.

She laughed briefly, a nervous titter; he grinned in return, both a little bit shy because they knew they were about to kiss again. _Soon_.

"Did you manage to sleep well after I left?" he asked.

She had. But not before she had spent a considerable amount of time remembering his weight on her, his arms around her, and how good it had felt to see him in the middle of the night, even though what had brought him to her had been so terrifying.

She now looked up and met his eyes. He seemed to forget he had asked a question. His bashfulness vanished, his impulsive body took over—he took her face in his hands and brought her to his lips. She gave in to the sweetness that immediately rushed her, the double pleasure of his lips and his touch, being in his arms.

His hands moved to her back and hers went around him as well. He kissed her slowly, and she enjoyed very much the currents that pulsed through their bodies as she kissed him back. Her tongue ran over his upper lip, and he groaned against her mouth, tightening his arms and pressing her closer to his chest. The kiss deepened, as she wanted to get even closer, but there was no air between them already.

Brielle pulled back slightly when she needed air, just a little. She opened her eyes and found him looking at her. She felt that too much time had passed without looking into his eyes... it was like they almost nourished her. She wondered if she had seen eyes like that, their blue so different and overwhelming, like the open sea.

She saw he was smiling and realized that she was smiling, too. His teeth were straight and his lips were... so... appealing. Mesmerized, this time it was Brielle who closed the distance to his lips. She figured one day she would get over this need, this... thirst. But not today.

They held each other for a while. It was a sensation that took some getting used to. Her cheeks felt a little stiff from grinning all the time when he was with her.

Then he appeared to remember his purpose.

"I, uh, came to meet your parents."

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry," she said, crossing her hands over her heart in mock sadness, "but they're not home at the moment."

He was momentarily frozen, no doubt thinking the same thing she was thinking. "Brielle, I'm sorry. I thought that they were—"

She climbed over his legs and pressed herself against him, buried her face in his shoulder. A shudder went through both of them and made them pause.

"Brielle," he started to say, but his mouth found better things to do next to her ear. Her tongue brushed lightly over his lobe.

He exhaled sharply against her neck and wrapped his arms tightly around her slender frame, as if to hold her down. She did the same, held on to him, controlling her desire.

If they let go, the tree house would burn to the ground.

"We'd better..." she started to say.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"My sister's getting dropped off soon."

"I'll come back when your parents are home," he offered.

"No! Stay.... Let's sit on the porch where we have actual furniture, until Elena gets here. I'll be good," she promised.

"What you and I call _good_ are very different things."

***

Joy's patio furniture had never looked more comfortable, or served a better purpose. They sat in a cushioned outdoor sofa, side by side, facing each other.

"By the way, I saw you jump outside last night," he said, looking up at her bedroom window.

She almost blushed. That had been beyond crazy, and she didn't want him to think that she was senseless or stupidly daring. But he had jumped up the same window not too long afterwards, so the fact that he had seen her doing something dangerous and, admittedly, kind of cool, left her a little pleased with herself.

"I never did that before, I swear. I don't know what got into me," she confessed.

He laughed quietly. "Don't swear... you have. You were awesome, your prom dress flying around you for a second. Left quite the image."

Her prom dress flying around her in a different scenario flashed before her eyes as she remembered the scene outside the diner the previous night. Not even half an hour before she had met James again. It had been understandably pushed from her mind, what with finally seeing the guy she had obsessed over for days, and finding out about a whole other life that she had blocked out—no big deal.

But now the incident with the drunk jerks came rushing back.

"Brielle? What's wrong?"

It took her a few seconds to compose herself, and try to phrase the sentence carefully without appearing to be too damsel-in-distress-y or too reckless and extreme.

"Okay. James... last night, right before my mom went to pick me up from dinner.... Like not even five minutes before she showed up...." She gave up and started thinking again.

"You're killing me here, Brielle. You've no color in your face. What happened?"

There seemed to be no good way to say it, so she just said it.

"Well, there were these two dudes. Drinking, right? No, three, but one left first. Anyway, I went outside, and the two dudes followed me. They tried to get frisky with me. I was scared, facing one of them, and the other one was behind me... and he grabbed me—" She didn't want to say that he had touched her butt. It sounded dirty. "I don't know how I even did it, but I kicked his friend. In the face. I think I broke his nose—"

"You what?" James' face had become a confused mess of anger, concern and awe.

"I kicked him in the face with my heel, and then immediately turned around and kicked the other guy in the stomach. The second guy peed on himself."

"You—okay, please explain this to me, Brielle. Give me. Details."

She did. She explained what happened in the diner, starting with when her friends left, not catching a cab, asking her mom to pick her up, the three guys, the one that left to get the car. The kicks. The waiter. The guys getting away.

When she finished, James grabbed her and pulled her in a tight hug. He hadn't said a word while she told the full story, and Brielle was afraid that he did not approve of her judgment, or... her manners, or something like that. But his embrace was ardent; his arms around her were shielding.

"I'm so sorry, Brielle," he said after a minute. "That those jerks tried anything in the first place. That I wasn't there to protect you. Not that you needed to be protected anyway, but still. You shouldn't have had to wait alone like that...."

"James, don't apologize for not being there," she said, and pulled back to look at him. His blue eyes were saddened. "I'd rather you were where you were. Here, waiting for me. It's not like you knew where I was anyway."

"I... sort of did, actually."

"What? How?" She was amused, and curious. Pleased that he seemed to have been keeping an eye on her, and dying to know how he got there in the first place. How long had he been at the tree house? Where had he been this last week? So many questions....

"I followed you to prom. I was there, on guard duty only, I swear."

" _What_? You were? No way." Brielle pushed his shoulder with her palm playfully, excited at the thought of what could have been. "We could've danced! Why didn't you say anything?"

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself. And besides, I wanted to talk to you alone. I had to keep reminding myself of this. God, you were gorgeous. I wanted to grab you. Kiss you. Tell you everything."

Brielle laughed a bit at that. "And then what happened?"

"When you left, I didn't get out fast enough. I did get in a cab and tried to follow you, but I lost you. So I came here, hid in the tree house and waited."

"Okay. I guess I'm happy with the turn of events. Perfect way to end prom night. Though I gotta say, it's lucky that I came out to the tree house. What if I didn't? What were you going to do? Would you have waited till today?"

"I don't think so. I would've thrown pebbles at your window. You don't know, Brielle," he said as he took her face in his hands and looked in her eyes, "how much I've missed you."

His eyes were burning into hers. His face was divine. And it was making her pulse run wild.

"And if you didn't come out," he continued, "I was going to go in there, I swear. But you came out. It worked."

"What worked?"

"Well... I think... I did that. Made you come out, I mean. I was thinking of you."

"What? And how did that make me come out?"

"I wanted you to. Maybe you heard my wishes, or felt me. Kind of like I could feel your strain last night. You probably felt my urgency to see you, and came out."

"Ha," she snickered. "I had no will, then."

"Of course you did. Your will just happened to agree with mine, and you came out."

She smiled at that, awed, excited that she could feel him the way he seemed to always feel her. She wanted to do everything that he could do, and she wanted to remember everything. Her curiosity was piqued.

"James, tell me everything," she said.

"Everything?"

"Everything," she said. She wanted to know _everything_.

"Okay, Brielle, but it's gonna take a while," he warned jokingly.

"I'm yours," she said, meaning he had her full attention, but as the words left her mouth she almost blushed.

Before she could explain, he said, "And I'm yours." He grabbed her hands and kissed them. She did blush this time.

He started from the beginning. "We met when we were in college... we were twenty-one. _That_ is one of the clearest memories I have. I remember as I approached the Union building, I could _feel_ your presence; above the sea of bodies and voices, there was something in me that reacted to you. Like seeing color in a black and white painting. I sensed that you were in the cafeteria, but I didn't know what to look for. I just knew that there was a person in there that I needed to see. That I was quite literally attracted to.

"I didn't even stop to think—I walked in looking for you, but I couldn't make out which person had the mind that called to me. It was like a game of hot and cold, trying to figure out who you were.

"It would've gone on for a while longer, but you got up from your table and came to _me_. You had been sensing me the same way, and I was parading like a creep up and down the hallway looking for someone I couldn't find. I felt your presence behind me like the heat from a fire, only it was in my mind. Then I turned around and looked at your face..." he paused to kiss her, "and I was undone.

"And you asked me, 'Are you looking for someone?' and I just stared at you. Nothing I'd ever felt before prepared me to the sound of your voice. It was like you owned me, and I didn't mind at all that you did.

"And so I blurted out, without thinking of what you'd think of me, 'Yeah, you!' and you laughed. Do you believe me?"

"Of course I believe you," she said quietly. Each word he had said had been an assault to her mind.

"Does any of that ring a bell?"

It did more than ring a bell. It didn't matter whether or not she believed. There was no way she was inventing these memories. They were hers; she could _see_ everything he had said: the cafeteria in the Union, the step down she took to meet him, the way his hair had looked... it was blond, though. He hadn't mentioned that. She didn't invent this memory from his tale. She _remembered_ it.

Her mouth was hanging open. "I... yes, I remember everything you said. I remember you telling me about it later. But you were _blond_."

"And you were a brunette!" He was delighted at her remembering his hair color, really proud of her, as though she had just said that she had saved a full village of starving children. He pulled her to him again.

"We retold each other's versions of our first meeting. I remember what you told me," he continued. He had a faraway look in his eyes, like he was trying to remember _remembering_ a memory. Which is exactly what he was doing. Their memories were fake, borrowed from their former selves. They had happened, once, but they no longer were true. Everything had changed.

"I had brown hair... yes. But also red?" She was confused.

"As I recall... we both noticed our hair changing slowly to red when we were still in college, not too long after we met."

"Why do you think that is? We have red hair now, but we've never met... not really. And I've been red-headed most of my life."

"Me, since I was fourteen. I think it has something to do with us. I guess thinking of you, being _aware_ of you, did it for me."

"But I didn't even remember you until yesterday."

"Well, you might have triggered the change when you were six, before you forgot everything. We'll figure it out. I like it, by the way," he said with a wink.

She immediately felt self-conscious and looked down; the hair in question fell over her eyes.

He pushed back a strand behind her ear and continued: "When we were twenty-eight, something happened. I still don't know exactly what, but we were somehow thrown back in time, to our younger selves. Last week I had never seen you," he said, as he grabbed her face again and kissed her forehead. "I first saw you at your school. It was mind-blowing. I had proof that you were real, and not just a memory."

She closed her eyes to let this sink in. It felt true enough. But it still didn't make sense. So what happens in ten years when they turn twenty-eight again? The same thing, they go back?

She had so many questions that she didn't know where to start. They always said "start at the beginning" but there seemed to be many beginnings going around. She settled for _hers_ —the day that everything had changed for her, the end of what was normal. Last Tuesday.

"What happened that day, at my school?" The question had been on her mind for days. Well, she wasn't thinking about the reason for him being at her school as much as she was thinking about _him_ , but it was still one of her more important questions.

"I had found you just the day before. I was looking for you. I had been for a very long time," he said.

"Since when?" She immediately forgot her resolution to ask about last Tuesday.

"Since right after I came back, woke up here, I mean, when I was fourteen. Four years ago. I went to the house where you grew up, but you didn't live there anymore. It was the _same_ house your mom lived in when we originally met; I recognized it. But you didn't live there as you were supposed to, so I realized that something had changed."

"But where was this house? Where did you go?" She asked, confused. "I've lived here since I was eight. Or nine." she added, remembering when she said the same words to Tux.

" _Now_ you do. But in my memories, you never lived in Chicago. You lived with your mom, in Urbana, Illinois... and it was just you two."

She tried to remember those hazy memories from the day before. She didn't remember anyone but her mother; she had felt the absence of her sister in those memories. And suddenly she understood why he had asked yesterday about her family. James didn't know Reuben or Elena. "What about my stepdad? And Elena?"

"Your mom never remarried. She was Joy Elliot. Your name was Gabrielle Elliot... my _geek_." He looked at her as though trying to find something hidden behind her face.

Brielle was momentarily distracted. "Your geek?"

"Your initials. You were born G.E.E.," he started to explain, and actually blushed a little. "And we, uh, got married...."

She snickered despite the seriousness of the conversation. Married! She was only eighteen; marriage was something old people did. But she realized it came out wrong.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh—what I meant was..." she started to explain, but he took over when she paused.

"Oh don't worry, I know. Trust me. Imagine being fourteen and wondering where your wife is."

"That's a little messed up."

"You get used to it. But anyway, you took my last name. Kenner."

_Kenner_. It had not occurred to her to ask him his last name. Now he said it, and a new flood of images attacked her. She gasped and closed her eyes. Wedding photos, emblems, _Mr. & Mrs. James_ _Kenner_ written in delicate stationary. And her name: _Gabrielle Edith Elliot-Kenner_....

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she said, and she opened her eyes. I just remembered bits of our wedding. And now I remember the _my geek_ thing."

He had a faint trace of sorrow in his eyes, but he smiled. "But I like your new name, too. Gabrielle Edith Marshall. I guess now you're my _gem_."

_His gem_. His. The possessive was lovely in her mind.

"Ha... I guess I am." She didn't know what else to say. Her head felt heavy.

"So you didn't grow up in Urbana?" James asked, trying to bring the conversation to this lifetime.

"Nope. I mean, yes, I didn't. My parents say they moved here right after Mom had Elena."

He looked far away, remembering. "It's so weird that you have a stepdad and a sister."

"It's so weird that I didn't have them once. I wondered what changed...."

"When did your mom meet your stepfather?"

"After... _Oh_. She met Reuben, my stepdad, after I... came back," she struggled to name something she didn't fully comprehend. "I was six when it happened, right, and I got seriously depressed... My mom took me to the pediatrician for a referral; I remember seeing a kid's psychiatrist. I didn't remember it though, until last night. Anyway, she met my stepdad at the hospital; he was doing his last rotation there—he's a doctor. They got married, had Elena, and then we moved to Chicago when he got a job here."

He was silent for a moment. Her episode had changed the course of her life, unbeknownst to her. "It was so hard for me, too, and I was fourteen. But you _do_ have the memories here somewhere," he said as he placed his hands on her head. "And that's all they are now. Memories."

"So what happened to you, when _you_ woke up, when you came back?" She had just remembered how hard it had been. Would it have been better had she been older?

"That's... a long story," he warned.

"My favorite ones."

James smiled. "Okay. But I warned you. So you now know what it was like. The second I figured out what had happened, where I was... you know there's no real way to describe it. Madness. It was a Saturday when it happened, a Saturday afternoon about four years ago.... I knew right away I wasn't dreaming. I knew it was real. I didn't know your mom's number—I had to assume you'd be living with her, just as I was living with mine—and I couldn't find you online; I googled like a maniac that day.... So I couldn't call you and ask if the same thing had happened to you. Needless to say, I had the most bizarre evening of my life. But still, that night when I went to sleep, I kept hoping I'd go back. But the morning came, and I was still there.

I finally resigned myself to the idea that, however it had happened, I was back to my teenage years. The first thing I did, the very next day, I had to make my mom take me to your mom's house. I was going crazy. I wasn't even allowed to drive; I was fourteen. I convinced her to drive me two hours each way just to 'see something I needed to see,' is what I told her. And then we got there and you weren't there. Not finding you, not knowing what had happened to you... that was the last straw. For a while there I even wondered if you were _here_ , whether I was in a weird parallel dimension where you didn't exist. I didn't know that you had moved; it didn't occur to me right away.

"Afraid I'd lose my mind eventually, I started writing down everything I could remember. I'd close my eyes and block out the present and think only of you. I wrote my story, your story, the details of our life together, everything I could remember. I have notebooks and notebooks of stuff written down.

"And then I wrote what I could remember the last day I was there. When I was _then_ , I mean. There must've been _something_ that had brought me to the past. And when I examined that final day of our former lives, I figured out something big—when it came to me it was like a slap across the face."

Brielle couldn't help but ask, "What was it?"

"You see, there was an older guy in his fifties that we were friends with. Well, you knew him first and introduced me to him. His name is Richard Davis. He's only in the last year or so of my memories. Do you remember him?"

"Richard... Davis," she said, and it did sound familiar. A friend of hers. An older guy. "It's coming back."

"Well, I remember him in the last few days I can account for; he'd been talking to you frequently. I'd never think twice about him, I mean, we knew a lot of people and had a lot of friends. But he stood out in my memory; something about him felt wrong. It took me a while to figure it out, but then it came to me."

"Felt wrong how?"

"It's complicated. And I'll explain, but here's the gist of it: I figured out he came back here, too."

"Oh." Brielle was surprised. "Like we came back, you mean? How do you know?"

"I don't _really_ know. Like I said, it's complicated. But here goes: I remembered a certain event from some years ago, in _this_ present life, when I was about twelve. That was before I came back from the future. I used to love going to the library. There's a plaque there that's dedicated to my father, and was put up there after he passed away."

Here Brielle had to interrupt. "Your dad passed away too...." It was originally a question, but as she said it, it became more of a statement. She remembered this was true, but she didn't know before he said it. "When you were six, like mine."

"Yeah, another thing we had in common," he said.

"Another?" Then she remembered. " _Oh my God_! Our birthdays! We were both born on January 5th!"

He laughed a little. "Yep, strange, huh? Born the same day, in the same state, and our fathers passed away within months of each other...."

They had been born the same day! Memories flashed in her mind of the many discussions they had had on the topic. She was in awe, and wanted to remember more, but didn't want to interrupt his story. "Sorry, please, go on about this Richard guy. You were in the library when you were twelve..." she prompted.

"Well, nobody ever went to the library. I used to wait for my mom there until she left work—it was just us, my mom and I, just like it used to be just you and Joy—and so I knew most of the people that went there. I mostly hung out in the reading room doing homework or reading, while waiting for my mother to pick me up."

"Ms. Lana," Brielle interrupted, her brain providing her the information.

James smiled, his expression radiant, as though delighted that she had remembered his mother's name. "Yup. The sweetest widow there ever was, Lana Kenner. Of course," he checked himself, "only because Joy is no longer a contender, being married now."

"My mom was never the sweetest one even when she _was_ a widow. Your mom was just the kindest, most endearing...." Brielle trailed off, seeing flashes of her mother-in-law, remembering the feeling of being loved by this woman. Mrs. Lana had welcomed Brielle like a daughter the first day James introduced them. "I wish I could meet her again. But again, sorry, go on."

"One day you will, again," James said, still smiling. Then he dropped his smile as he continued. "So anyway. One day when I was a kid, I saw a man that caught my attention. I think he was in his forties, although when you're a kid you think everyone's older. He could've been late thirties, I guess. Anyway, he looked out of place. He dressed too nicely, like he had money. And what made him stand out the most back then, at least to me, was that I remember seeing him staring at my father's plaque.

"The librarian, Mrs. Larson, told me later that he had asked her extensively about my father. She didn't tell him about me, but she thought the idea of someone asking about my father would make me proud. And it did, and I never forgot the man or that day.

"Skip ahead a few years later, when I was fourteen and writing down my memories. When I thought of our friend Rich, he reminded me of someone. Someone from _this_ life. And then it hit me—the guy from the library that had asked about my father a few years before; he was _the same guy_. Rich, the guy from the future."

But Brielle didn't see the significance that he was implying. "So this guy who was our friend had visited your hometown before? Did he live where you grew up... Peoria?"

James' countenance softened as he smiled softly again. "Hey... you remembered my mom, and now Peoria. I didn't tell you that's where I grew up."

She returned the smile. "I think that one came to me last night when I remembered being six. I remembered I was in Urbana, and you were in Peoria, but I didn't know where exactly or how to reach you. But what's weird is that I only found out I knew just now. I think my brain's finally accessing the vault of denial I've had locked all these years."

"I'll never know how the brain works...."

"Yeah, me neither. Anyway, so the Rich guy...? Oh, right. What was he doing there? He was _not_ from Peoria," she said, as her brain provided the answer to the question she had asked the minute before. _Thanks, Brain_.

"Right, he didn't live there. I didn't know this back then, though. The reason that figuring this out was so momentous was... here's the weird part... that I realized then that I'd never seen him _the first time around_ ; he'd never come to the library. In our past, I first met him in our twenties.

"Do you see what I mean? When we met him before, the first time, in our twenties, _that_ was the first time I saw him."

She thought about it. "What if... he was there before too, and you didn't recognize him when we met him later, in our twenties?"

"No. I would've remembered him, if he'd been to the library before. And I'm sure because this time around I remembered him so clearly, because he asked about my father." His voice had become agitated.

Brielle tried to process the meaning of his story. It was an alternate past. "So he wasn't there the first time around, in your _original_ childhood."

"Exactly. This was a change that had nothing to do with me coming back. And if the guy from the library was indeed my friend from my first life, Rich, that meant that he might have traveled the same way I did. I was excited with the possibility."

"I see," said Brielle.

"I understood the meaning of the two different pasts. Our supposed friend from the future, Rich, had also gone back in time, and had possibly come searching for me, just like I would go searching for you a few years later. But I had seen him _before_ I came back, when I was twelve, so I didn't know him back then. When I figured it out I was torn between wanting to meet him to ask him all sorts of questions, and an unknown fear of him."

"Fear?"

"Yeah. He'd been one of the last people I saw you with, in one of my last memories of my old life, and I had never really liked him, because he seemed to like you too much—sorry," he said, as she made a slightly repulsed face, "—so it occurred to me that he might have something to do with my situation.

"So something good came out of this. I had traveled fourteen years to the past, and apparently Rich had gone back a longer time, to an earlier date than I had. It was suddenly possible then that _you_ , my missing one, could have also gone back! It would explain why you weren't around where you were supposed to—your past had changed, just like mine had, just like Rich's had. The horrible idea of a parallel universe where you didn't exist was no longer killing me.

"Now the question was what had happened to you. _When_ you had arrived. It could've been earlier than fourteen years; Rich had traveled at _least_ sixteen. Now we know you went from twenty-eight to six years old, which is what, twenty-two years? Which is insane.

"But back to Rich. If he was hanging out in my town, maybe he was looking for me. The thought occurred to me that maybe he was looking for you as well. If so, either he had found you in the two years that had passed since I first saw him, or he was still looking for you.

"The thought of him having found you was... bad. I wondered if he was the reason you weren't where you ought to have been." His eyes had narrowed and he made a sound that sounded like a hiss. "I wanted to find this guy and _kill_ him." He laughed apologetically when she made a small, surprised sound. "You see, it never occurred to me that he might actually be looking for us as our old friend, to talk about what had happened.

"Anyway, I decided to search for _him_ as well as for you. He was actually quite easy to find because he's the head of a corporation, Davis Energy Group. His name pops up everywhere on the Internet. From my house in Peoria I could only do Internet searches, but I found no connection to you. If he was looking for you, being so wealthy he'd surely find you eventually. And I'd follow."

"What were you doing in the meantime? Did you go to school?" She was enthralled in his story.

"Yeah, as lame as it sounds I repeated the end of my 8th grade and had to go to high school again. But here's something awesome. Since I knew mostly everything from high school, I was suddenly deemed as gifted. _Oooh_ ," he said, making fun of his educators. Or himself. "I was just a regular college graduate, back in high school; of course I breezed through every class; anyone would. So with the help of two really awesome teachers and our wonderful State Board of Education's belief in academic acceleration, I was able to skip the freshman year and graduate high school in three years."

"Wow! That's _cool_. You're telling me finished high school _last year_?" She wasn't even finished with hers and he was already _done_.

"Yeah, last Fall I was supposed to go to college, but to everybody's disappointment I stayed home. Heh. I told them I'd decided to wait a year to go with my age group, but in reality I needed a year off school to track Rich and find you, and this worked out perfectly. I'd been accepted to college already, so why not? I convinced my ever-loving mom that I was capable enough to go on a solo trip looking for a position in the University of Illinois and living, in fact, in the Urbana-Champaign campus. I hate lying to her, but really, I've had to all these years."

"So Ms. Lana thinks you're in _Champaign_?"

"Yeah. I call her every week and tell her about my fake research."

"Oh."

"She's better off not knowing. I don't know. Maybe. That's what I thought in the beginning. I never told her, and now it's too late. But anyway, back to Rich. Last June, after graduation, I traveled to his company's headquarters to spy on him."

"What? To spy? What kind of spying?" Brielle was beyond curious.

"I have a bug on two of his cars," he said, rather proud of himself. "I know when he moves, and the calls he makes when he's on his cell. I even hacked into his mobile."

"No way! You can do that?" She was seriously impressed by James. Here was a guy who could _spy_ on real people.

"Heck yeah I can. I'm unofficially a computer engineer. And I specialized in communications, remember?"

"Oh," she did remember. So was she, supposedly. Yet she didn't know the first thing about hacking. "You're like Chloe, in _Smallville_."

"Who?"

"Um, Clark Kent's sidekick who could find anyone on the Internet...?" She stopped at his blank stare.

"Sorry, I haven't really watched TV in the last four years."

"The show ran for ten years! Okay, whatever. She was a hacker," Brielle explained.

"Okay, I guess I'm Chloe," he said, and batted his eyelashes at her. "Since I've been here I've done more research and basically gotten the ins and outs of hacking down to a science. All for this. So that I can follow this guy. I'm his ghost, and he doesn't even know it. I hope."

"Oh, wow. I feel so insignificant," she said, laughing. "I remember taking classes but I can't remember any real application. The knowledge is gone."

"It doesn't mean you won't get it back. I mean, yesterday you didn't remember anything from our previous life. Also, maybe you won't need it. You could study studying something else this time around. Why not?"

Oh. She could be a vet like she wanted. Why did she end up studying communications, anyway?

"So what did you find out, spying on him? What's the big deal about Richard Davis?" Brielle asked.

"Well, Brielle, I think he's the guy we're supposed to be afraid of."

"How?"

"Davis is just a regular guy like everyone else, nothing special about him. By the way, in my mind I switch back and forth calling him by his first and last names. Rich is how I remember calling him as in my memories; but in this life, now that I don't like him so much, I call him Davis," James said.

"He sounds like a Dick to me," Brielle muttered, and they both laughed.

"I guess he is."

"Let's call him Davis. I hate his name anyway. Rich," she scoffed. "That's even worse because he probably _is_ rich."

"Oh, he's filthy rich. Anyway, other than being rich, he's normal, right? But, he's read way too many comic books and he desperately wants to believe in special people and, I guess, super powers; when he found out about things we could do, you especially, he became obsessed with you."

"Me? What did I do? What _could_ I do?"

"Well, we could always feel each other. That's something odd. Supernatural, even. I don't think he knew that, though. He did know that we were pretty strong and agile. The thing with you kicking those dudes reminded me, you were pretty badass then.... But anyway, I think that he liked you, and when you rejected him he became the villain. And, unfortunately, has a ton of money and is very smart; he can do scary things with that combination."

"He sounds just like the villain in _The Incredibles_ ," Brielle noted.

"Who?"

"Never mind," she said, giving up with the pop culture references. "What are we supposed to do? Call the cops?"

"I guess. If we had proof he's stalking you. But it'll be hard to prove, because he's an outstanding citizen. He's got a foundation and everything, helping out kids in college."

They were interrupted by sounds coming from the front of the house. Elena was back.

"Elena's here," Brielle said, dejected.

"I'll come by after your parents get in."

That cheered her up. She gave him a quick kiss and stood up. Blood rushed to her head and she felt dizzy for a second. She felt his arms around her immediately; he was fast. She hadn't seen him move.

"How'd you do that?" She asked him.

"When it comes to you, I don't think I can explain anything."

He set her on her feet, kissed her forehead and left out the rear fence.

# 8.The Past

"Thanks, Ms. McAndrew," she waved as the nice lady walked back to her car and drove away. She turned on Elena. "It's just you and me, buddy. Mom and Dad are in the burbs and they're coming back around three. Are you hungry?"

"Nah, I just ate," Elena said as they stepped inside. "What do you wanna do?"

"I was going to watch some TV."

"Your shows are lame. I'm going to my room. Where's Tux?"

"Um, last time I saw him he was here in the kitchen. But try my room," Brielle said. Tux preferred Brielle's room for whatever reason.

"But he knows he's got his own apartment in my room. I'll go get him." And with that, she went upstairs, leaving Brielle alone.

Brielle was left with conflicting feelings. She was happy that she didn't have to pay attention to Elena, but she also felt a little rejected by her little sister who used to love being with her. And more importantly, Brielle regretted that if she was going to be by herself, James shouldn't have had to go away.

So she went up to her room and tidied it up a little bit. It was messy, and James had already been here. Luckily, it was nighttime and he never turned on the light, so he didn't see the mess. She hoped.

Melanie called around 1:00 pm—she was probably just waking up—to brag about all the fun that Brielle had missed by being boring and staying in on a Saturday night.

"It was so nice out, Brie. We were all in the patio and it wasn't cold at all." The weather had been vacillating the whole month, but that was common in Chicago. "I ditched my sweater and made out with a guy from Oak Brook."

That was so Melanie.

"What about Nate? And Darla, Kate and Ryan?" Brielle asked, to make conversation.

"Oh, you mean, 'what about Bruce'? He was being an idiot." Melanie said, and left it at that, because she liked building up stories and having to be begged for more. Not that Brielle minded.

"Whaa?" She asked in a high-pitched voice, letting Melanie know she had a willing audience. "What do you mean, being an idiot?"

"After dinner, the second he found out you weren't going, he turned into a fun sponge. At the party he sat in a corner and refused to enjoy himself. I went over to talk to him, but the fun just went _sluurp_ —" She made a vacuum sucking sound.

Brielle pretended not to like what she heard. "Poor Bruce. I feel bad."

"Nah, leave him be. He'll come around. It's not like you're his soul mate or anything."

_You got that right, Mel_ , Brielle thought.

After they hung up, Brielle tried to busy herself for another half an hour. Elena was already on the phone; probably talking to the girls she'd just seen off. Brielle wanted to call her parents and complain about having to babysit a person who didn't even leave her room. She felt tied to the house, and what she wanted was to see James again.

The time she _didn't_ spend thinking about things to say to her parents, ignoring her friends' texts and not cleaning her room, she spent thinking about James. And coming up with a good excuse to call James. _"Oh, hi, there was something you said that was a little unclear...."_ Nah. _"Hey—did you say you wanted to come by later? I just need an idea of when...."_

She gave up and just called him.

"Hey, Brie."

His greeting filled her with a sweet emotion. _Brie_. Like her friends called her. She immediately felt silly for wasting time looking for an excuse to call him; calling him was perfectly natural. He sounded eager to talk to her. And she couldn't seem to get enough of his stories.

"Tell me more."

***

Over the next hour he told her the remainder of his journey to find her.

After graduating high school, with so much free time James had found Davis easily enough. His senses had sharpened over the years and he was able to follow Davis' moves like his shadow. Davis was obviously still looking for Brielle—his high school _raids_ were proof of that.

Davis and his gang of assistants would travel to different high schools and pretend to offer scholarships and counseling to every junior and senior; no student was missed. He would come back and interview anyone that was absent.

Eventually Davis had led James to Chicago. In the same general area as Brielle, James had started feeling a faint difference in his senses—a tingling, an emotion that he described as anticipated happiness. He had been so excited; it was real. It was the same feeling he remembered from his memories, when he had first been in the same area as Brielle in the university: an awareness, his body reacting to her presence. As he had gotten closer with each passing day, Brielle became real in his mind, not just the ghost of someone he remembered.

Looking for Brielle's trail and monitoring Davis became the work of James' waking hours. By spying on Davis, James knew which high schools Davis planned to visit. He would go to the chosen school beforehand to search for Brielle in his mind.

And that was how he found her: Davis had been talking on the phone with his main assistant about next day's search, more excited than usual. The next day James had sneaked in the high school, and as the students had started filing in, his senses had become hyperaware.

And then, a miracle: Brielle's presence had filled his whole being like water to a dehydrated man, reaching into every pore and making him shiver with anticipation. Her proximity had a physical, palpable reaction in his body: it was responding to years of longing, of sadness, of uncertainty. The feeling was like nothing he'd ever experienced in his this life. It had been surpassed the next minute. She had come into view, beautiful, alive and perfect. He had become immobile and couldn't do anything but stare at her from afar. Since she was late, she had hurried, and that morning she had a radiant glow from the exercise. When the bell rang not too long afterwards and she went to class, he had finally unfrozen and tried to come up with a plan to get her out of school.

During lunch period, James found Davis at the principal's office asking for permission to deliver an impromptu presentation about one of his scholarship foundations, which made him look like he was a great guy helping out the young bright minds. Given his large donation to the school, the principal knew that Davis was serious, and allowed him the spot in the auditorium in the sixth period.

James only had a small window of time to act. The second that her class was dismissed, James followed the crowd looking for her red hair.

***

"Oh my God, James," she said when he was finished.

"Oh my Goddess, Brielle," he replied, and she laughed. "So that's my story."

"I think my parents are downstairs.... I mean, I can hear people moving; I hope it's them and not thieves," she added.

"Speaking of your parents...." He sounded a little nervous, if possible. "I do want to meet your family."

"You already know a third of them. Well, sorta," she said. James had known a different version of Joy. How strange.

"I'd still like to meet them, introduce myself, ask you out, _et cetera_."

It was her turn to sound nervous. "Well... do you have to, today I mean? I sort of _just_ broke up with my ex-boyfriend. They're going to think that I did it because I was already seeing you." Which wasn't that far away from the truth, but no one needed to know.

She heard him laugh softly on the other end. "So you broke the poor guy's heart on a whim? You just woke up one day and decided to break up with him.... Should I be afraid?"

"What? No. I... I didn't.... You're different. He was.... I shouldn't have been with him anyway..." She trailed off as a different memory flashed before her eyes. She gasped. "Bruce! What? _How_?"

No freaking way.

She and Bruce had dated in her past life. _Oh my God, gross_. Her mind showed her a brief period of her life in college with Bruce. Walking to class holding hands. Bruce buying her a pen. A heated argument in his apartment. Bruce asking for time off. Bruce dating another girl.

And suddenly she was laughing out loud and she couldn't stop. She had felt so guilty just a few days ago. And there he was, revealing his true colors in her memory. He had gone into pre-law, started hanging out with a bunch of jerks, and had turned into a totally different guy in college.

"You knew about this!" She accused James, making angry movements with her hand that he couldn't see. She wished he was next to her so that she could scold him properly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but he was clearly enjoying himself.

"I'm talking about me dating Bruce, _before_ ," she said pointedly.

"Well, yeah, I knew about him from the past—in the future, I mean. I knew that before I met you, you'd dated a guy for a few months. When I came here I even remembered that he existed, somewhere, and smiled at the thought of you never having to date him, because I was obviously going to make you my girlfriend before you even laid eyes on him in college. So imagine my surprise when I see him _here_ , dating you! Holding your hand! I wanted to _destroy_ him."

It had not even occurred to her to be nervous when he mentioned seeing her for the first time last Tuesday. She had probably been with Bruce and Melanie that morning as usual, but she had completely forgotten about them. _Other events_ that day had overshadowed the regular, trivial meetings with her friends.

"When exactly did you first see me? Last Tuesday, I mean."

"It was before the first bell rang. I should've had all the time in the world to get you out of there, but I told you I had a mini-breakdown when I saw you. And then _that guy_ grabbed your hand and kissed you! And you were happy! I—"

"James! I'm so sorry!" She suddenly felt guilty and terrible. Like she had cheated on him, somehow. She wanted to go back in time and never date that idiot Bruce. Well, maybe not. Time traveling had already screwed things up once.

"What? No! Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything wrong. I just couldn't let you be. I thought about it and I just couldn't. I could _feel_ your love for him—"

"Love!" She scoffed.

"—and I didn't know if I should even compete. I decided that I was happy enough having seen you and was going to leave you alone. But then Davis' retinue showed up. That was the best excuse I had—I needed to protect you—so I approached you."

She laughed softly. "I'm glad you did."

"Me too. But I wondered...."

"What?"

"You remembered me, when I came back. But you never remembered _him_. How long have you been in school with him?"

She thought it was cute that James wouldn't mention Bruce's name. "I've known him since freshman year—so almost four years. And it could be that I didn't remember him because he wasn't the reason my mind went in big time denial. When I came back here... I was only thinking of you. But that's my guess."

"That makes sense," James said, and it could be her imagination, but she thought he sounded a little smug.

"It was a total coincidence that I ended up in his school. Or maybe not...." She probed her memories. "Ah, _Nathan_!" She said accusingly.

"What was that?"

"My idiot cousin Nathan introduced us in college. Yeah, I remember now. Because they were friends from high school, and I had sought out Nate in college. I didn't really have a relationship with Nathan and Natalie before.... That's so weird. They're my cousins. The kids of my mom's sister, Aunt Grace."

"I know your Aunt Grace," he said. "Briefly."

"Yeah, back then I didn't really visit her. But _now_ , I mean, I grew up with them, I know everything about them; yet before it seems that my mom never cared for them or my Aunt Grace."

"To think of everything that changed..." he said. He sounded forlorn in the phone. But then he changed his tone and brightened up. "So do I get to meet the new and improved ex-Elliots, A.K.A. the Marshalls?"

"Let's see what my dad's mood is. I have to say hello anyway." She sighed. She was sure of James, but she was nervous of introducing him to his family. It possibly had to do with the fact that she now felt like she had gotten married behind their back and had to introduce him as her husband. She knew she was being ridiculous. "Okay, I'll drop a hint that I'm seeing you."

"Oh, they'll love me. Until they find out we're married, and what have you."

***

"No way." Brielle's eyes opened wide in disbelief, and her jaw dropped. Before her was the most amazing present she could ever ask for: a car. A real car. An Audi A3. Charcoal gray. Brand spanking new.

Her parents had called her to the small two-car garage with the pretense of asking her to help bringing in groceries, and Brielle had gone willingly, only to stop dead in her tracks as she saw the car, and her parents with huge grins on their faces.

They each hugged her in turn.

"You deserve this and much more, Briella," said Reuben. "My eldest daughter, graduating with four-point-oh!"

"Thanks, Dad," Brielle said, and blushed internally. While it was true that she had a 4.0 average, she was by no means the only one in her class. She shared the honor with not one or two or three, but another _five_ students. She wasn't even acknowledged as valedictorian because the title went to Caroline Wu, who participated in and ran so many student clubs and organizations and extracurricular activities that Brielle often thought she must hire people to manage them all. Certainly Caroline's parents had enough money to do that.

Brielle was more of a _sidelines_ 4.0 type.

"Congratulations, sweetie," her mom said warmly when it was her turn to hug Brielle. "You're everything a mother could ask for in a daughter."

Brielle internally patted herself in the back, glad that she had not gone through with her original plan. She had thought about going off on them for leaving her alone to babysit Elena. But as they had walked through the door, their radiant expressions had made her change her mind. They _had_ gone to buy her a present, after all.

Still, when she saw the car, she couldn't believe it. She was expecting a new laptop, or a tablet, best case scenario. But she had also braced herself for the possibility of getting a mere lamp or new comforter for her dorm, since she had heard her mother complaining about money recently. A car? This was ridiculous.

"How? Guys... I thought we were having money problems?" She was now almost crying, while in her mother's arms.

Reuben laughed and looked at his wife.

Joy was clearly enjoying some form of victory. "I said that when you were within earshot to throw you off. And it worked."

"Yes it did!" Brielle said. And now she did cry, and laughed with happiness. A car.

"Whoa! That is so not fair!" Elena had heard the gist of the conversation and had come downstairs and into the adjoining garage where they all stood. She was livid. "I got all A's, too! I didn't get a single present! Not one!"

"But pumpkin, Brielle is graduating high school," Reuben reasoned. "When you're in high school, make sure you get all A's again and then you can expect something of this magnitude. At least your sister is setting precedence for you. If you get 4.0 and don't get a car, I know we'll hear about it."

"Oh. Okay. I'm sure you will, Dad," she said, still seething but partly appeased.

"Elena, don't be _nine_ ," said Brielle. "You got to name my cat. And think about this: when you get your own car, mine will be old and beat up like you complain about Ms. McAndrew's."

"What have you been saying about Nancy's car, Elena?" asked her mother, shocked.

After a brief admonishment, Elena calmed down and they walked back inside, leaving Brielle alone to get acquainted with her new car. It really was pretty. As she touched it, a warm feeling spread through her chest. Her parents were awesome. They were....

Wait a minute. This feeling in her chest was something else. _James_. She closed her eyes and tried to _feel_ him. Yes, he was here! Outside.

Car forgotten, she exited the garage and walked to the front of the street, one house down from hers, and found him there, leaning against a tree. He beamed at her.

It had only been a few hours since she saw James, and had really just talked to him not too long ago, but she had managed to miss him enough to run to him and hold on to him like a Stage 5 Clinger—whatever that was. He didn't seem to mind, though, and wrapped his arms around her.

"You came back!" She said happily.

"I thought you didn't want me to," he said, still enfolding her in a tight hug.

"No, I didn't!" She gasped and pulled back. "I mean, I'd never _not_ want you here, James."

He smiled like he was about to confess he was kidding, but she kissed him, right there on the sidewalk. Hopefully no one was watching.

"So you're okay with me meeting your parents, then," he said, after a little while.

"I am—but I need to introduce you in such a way that's as close to the truth as possible without bringing up unnecessary, superfluous, eh... details," she conceded.

"Certainly not about our past-slash-future," he added.

"Or making out in the tree house."

"Or my late-night visit."

"Yeah.... That was amazing," she said smiling, distracted.

"Okay, I'm your totally regular, non-visiting boyfriend...."

"No! Baby steps...."

Eventually they came up with a great story and walked into the house together. Joy and Reuben were in the kitchen putting away the groceries they had brought back.

"Hey, Mom, Dad...." They looked up as she came in with James at her side. Brielle saw her mom's eyes widen for a split second and then return to normal. Reuben's face was friendly, but that was probably because he was in a good mood seconds before while talking to his wife, and he had frozen his expression in place when he saw the boy. That mood threatened to dissolve in the next few minutes. "This is James," Brielle said, pointing unnecessarily.

"How do you do?" James said politely.

Other than a subdued "hello" from Joy and some non-committal sound from Reuben, they didn't say much. Maybe they would've, but Elena got up from the adjacent living room, attracted by the voice of a boy she didn't know. Her eyes went to James immediately and her jaw dropped slightly.

She quickly recovered, though, and smiled. "Hello," she said in an even more normal way than her parents had.

"James, this is my kid sister, Elena," Brielle said quickly.

"Hey, Elena. Nice to meet you," James said, again all politeness, with a winning smile that might fluster Elena for the next few years of her life, Brielle thought.

"Are you related or something?" Elena asked.

"What?" Brielle asked. Everyone in the room jumped just a bit and stared at the person next to them.

"You kinda look alike," Elena explained.

"We do _not_ ," Brielle said, perturbed, and looked at James, to find him looking at her, smile still in place. That smile was so dazzling that Brielle's mouth actually fell open a bit, and everything else around them sort of blurred. _Oh boy_. She looked nothing like him. He was hotter than a Hollywood heartthrob; all of his features were perfect like a Photoshopped model in a Vogue magazine. If she hadn't seen their future together, she would never have believed that a guy like him could ever want a girl like her.

Whatever had made him choose her, want her like he seemed to want her; whether it was destiny, chance, or something supernatural, she didn't care—she was perfectly happy, thrilled to have his attention, even if she didn't really believe it could last forever. He was just too damn out of her league.

"Yeah, I guess you don't," Elena said, obviously seeing the same differences that Brielle had. "But your hair is like totally the same color. Nobody here's _that_ redheaded."

Her parents were saying something in agreement and disagreement at the same time. Brielle didn't let another second idle by and continued rather breathlessly, "James's a friend; he just happens to be copper-headed too, it's not like we're the only ones in the world. It's not a crime."

Elena looked at her like Brielle was crazy. "I was just _saying_ ," she said.

James stepped in. "I didn't mean to show up unannounced. I was just passing by, and saw Brielle, and she told me about the car."

"Yeah, but he says he doesn't have time to see it because he's on his way to Oz. Lame," Brielle added, making a face as though she was hurt.

Oz Park was nearby, and was a perfect place for a friend/possible boyfriend to be going to on a nice Sunday evening. He had come in to introduce himself, so he must be nice, yet the fact that he wouldn't linger to see her new car meant that he couldn't be too serious. It had been a great plan; Brielle only hoped her parents bought it.

Her parents finally seemed to return to their previous unfrozen state and addressed him like civilized people. Reuben talked briefly about the park and Joy even invited him to come in next time when he wasn't in a hurry. He agreed with perfect courtesy, complimenting their generosity, their kitchen and their daughters. Then he excused himself and left.

Everyone resumed their normal voices. Brielle thought his smile had won everyone, or would eventually. He had shown such good manners, they had to love him. In fact, Brielle thought that Elena had developed a crush in the two seconds he'd been there.

Joy took Brielle aside when Reuben and Elena left the kitchen. "Hey, Brie?"

"Yeah, Mom?" Brielle asked, but she knew what this would be about.

"Why didn't you tell me about James before?" Joy asked directly. She didn't sound reproachful, just curious.

"I dunno.... I didn't think he'd ever like me, and I've sort of always liked him." Which was true in a way.

"Well, I wish you'd told me about him, honey. But it's not hard to see why you like him. He's gorgeous, and you deserve to go out with gorgeous boys.... Don't tell your dad I said that," Joy said quickly. "Reuben seems to like him. Well, I guess he likes anyone that's not Bruce. Don't repeat that. Um, okay, I'd better go back to shelving." She turned to go.

"But Mom?"

"Yeah, honey?" Joy turned back to face Brielle.

"What do you think?" Brielle grinned; she couldn't help it.

Joy laughed and shook her head. "All I can say is, _w-o-w_."

And with that, she left Brielle grinning to herself.

***

Later that night, as Brielle was playing on her computer, there was a knock on her door. Joy's voice wafted through the wood. "Honey, are you up?"

Brielle tensed and immediately went on the defensive. Here it was. The _Conversation_. "Sure, come in."

The door opened and Joy came in wearing an expression that didn't match the lecture she was surely about to deliver. She walked over to the where her daughter was sitting, some strange veneration radiating from her face. She put her hands on Brielle's shoulders.

"Baby, I just wanted to let you know, I'm really proud of you for doing so well in school. You really deserve your present," Joy said in ultra-loving-mom voice.

Having expected a discussion about dumping and picking up boys, it took Brielle a second to realize that her mother wasn't talking about James.

"Oh, thanks, Mom. I really love the car," Brielle said, and smiled brightly. She added as an afterthought, "I thought you were going to give me a hard time about James."

"What? No, that didn't even cross my mind. He seems decent enough. You know I always say be wary of good-looking men, but for some reason his looks are second to his attitude. There's something about him..." Joy shook her head. "But then, I only talked to him for a second. Yes, I disapprove. Don't date him."

"Mom," Brielle complained, horrified.

"I'm kidding, Brie. You've proven how smart you can be, and so far it sounds like smarter than me when I was your age, so I can't tell you to do or avoid doing anything you wouldn't normally. You've never given me a hard time in your life."

Brielle felt warm, and she had to look down.

"Mom... I recently remembered giving you a particularly hard time when I was six... after Daddy died."

"Oh," Joy said. She paused for a second, and moved to the bed and sat down. "Whatever made you think of that? I thought you'd forgotten all about it. You did snap out of it, especially after Reuben started coming around and taking you out." Her mother stopped suddenly, her voice cut short.

"Hey, Mom. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to remind you of that, I just wanted to tell you... well, I'm sorry. For changing our lives...." Brielle didn't know quite how to put it.

"No, don't apologize. What for? I'm just sad remembering. It was so hard, not being able to do anything for you." Joy's eyes had filled with moisture. "I mean, here you are, one day the most blissfully happy child, but then your father passed away. You were so sad. It went on for _weeks_.... We were both a wreck. I couldn't help you; I tried everything. Finally I took you to the doctor...."

"That's where you met Dad, I mean Reuben, right?"

"Yeah," her mother said, and finally smiled again. "I thought you wouldn't like Reuben, because you missed your father, but you did. You were always so sweet. I'm glad I moved us to Chicago, closer to your Aunt Grace and your cousins. You eventually got better, and we never really talked again about it. But you were always, since then, so quiet, never gave me any problems. Only after your sister was born did you show an interest in things again. I was so happy."

Brielle took it all in. She felt guilty for putting her mother through that. "I never knew that was the reason we moved. I thought Dad—Reuben—just came here to work. I don't remember even being happy like you said, before, even though I _do_ remember Daddy," she added.

"Well, you told me you don't remember being a brunette either, and your hair started changing around that time too."

Oh. James had been right. Of course, she'd always known that her hair was a light brown when she was younger; she remembered, and she'd seen the pictures. But it meant something different today.

"So was that really when it started changing?" She was thinking of what James had said about his own red hair. How had he put it? When he became _aware_ of her.

"Yeah, I remember because that whole episode was so strange anyway. And when Reuben came around, he asked me who did you inherit the red hair from, and I had no idea what to tell him." At this, Joy laughed a little.

After some more praise and love, Joy left her to think about the significance of her red hair. It was something that she first accepted before even trying to figure out the reason behind it. What made hair red, anyway? Or brown, or blond for that matter? She went to her ancient laptop and googled _causes for natural change in hair color_.

After about half an hour, she didn't really have anything that remotely matched the events happening here. _Hanging out with my future husband_. _Receiving memories of a future life_. Nothing.

She went back to her computer, but she wondered.

# 9.All I Want

The following week was Brielle's final week in high school. Graduation was Sunday afternoon, and the senior trip was to start the following week on Saturday. All over the school students were giddy with the anticipation of summer vacation. The seniors had mixed feelings: excitement about their trip, dread of the unknown, dejection at parting with their some of their friends, and eagerness in anticipation of college and the great things that came with it. These great things that had been promised to them, either by older siblings in college or some other random college students, consisted mostly of wild parties, life without parents, endless supply of hot young people, and all the sex they conceivably could want.

Brielle was not interested in joining in the fun rollercoaster of emotions. She had already seen the other side of college life. Studying, pulling all-nighters, the unpleasantness of dorm life, and her hateful nemesis: coin laundry. She shuddered at the thought. After a short deliberation she realized nothing at the moment could excite her more than her newfound love and all the possibilities that lay before them.

Monday night, instead of talking about school or graduation or anything more pressing, like this Davis guy who was supposedly after her, she refused to discuss anything but her life with James. She was sitting with her back against his chest, on the little cot in the tree house, having a particularly nice conversation about a movie, when Melanie called.

At first Brielle ignored the buzzing of her phone, but James insisted she talk with her friend. She briefly wondered if he just wanted to hear her gossip. She turned to give him a brief, narrowed-eyed look, and then picked up.

"Hey, Melanie," Brielle said. She scooted away from James so that she wasn't talking right next to his face.

"You can't be serious, Brie!" Melanie was obviously agitated.

"About what?" Brielle asked feigning ignorance, but she knew what this was about.

"You can't just _not_ come to the senior trip. What am I supposed to do, hang out with Darla and Kate again? You know what they're calling us now, since you ditched on Saturday? MDK. Murder-Death-Kill."

Brielle had to laugh. "What? Why?"

"Our initials. It's an acronym or something, from some stupid quote from a movie no one even knows about," Melanie said, exasperated. "Look Brie, the cruise—you're already set to go. We already paid for your ticket." The seniors had worked hard all year, Brielle and Melanie included, raising money for their various school activities, including prom and the senior trip. All tickets had been paid with the ton of money obtained from highly successful fundraisers.

"I know, Mel, but I think I can convince Hannah to go and use my ticket," Brielle said. Hannah Resnick was one of the few kids who didn't sign up for the senior trip. The majority of the seniors couldn't wait for it: they had planned a seven-day cruise across the Caribbean, all-inclusive, stopping on a different tropical island almost every day, and partying 24/7. But Hannah was excessively religious and saw the cruise as a wild orgy, so she didn't sign up. However, Brielle felt sure that she could convince Hannah to go and use Brielle's ticket; they got along well.

"Hannah? No way. She's a total bore," Melanie said. "Don't leave me hanging, Brie. You gotta come. There's no reason why not to, c'mon."

"There is _totally_...." Brielle looked sideways at James, who was looking at her intensely. "Dude, I changed my mind. I don't wanna go... plus I think I'm gonna be on my period."

"Bullshit. You're not getting it for two more weeks," Melanie said, not fooled.

Damn all-knowing girlfriends. "Oh, I... I thought it was next week. Okay Mel, tell you what—I'll think about it," Brielle offered.

"You better, bitch." And with that, they hung up.

Brielle looked up at James.

"Uh.... What was that about?" he asked. This was the first time he had heard of the cruise.

"Nothing. The senior trip. We're leaving Saturday after graduation. I guess _they_ are; _I'm_ staying _here_."

"Oh." He stared at the floorboards of the tree house while he pondered for a moment. She couldn't tell from his face what he thought of the news. While his expression was a bit confused or worried, she could almost sense a different feeling coming from him, with that power of theirs. A muted contentment. "Week long?" He asked casually.

"Yeah, the whole week. Too long," she said.

"Why don't you want to go?"

She shrugged indifferently, to show how much she cared. "I don't really care for it. I've been on a cruise before, two years ago with my family. It was okay, but nothing I want to do again." She was a little embarrassed to admit the truth.

"But it would be different with your friends. With parents around you don't get to enjoy the full experience. Plus it's your senior trip..." James said, and now his tone was way off. It was like he didn't want to say it but he felt obligated to do so. What was he really trying to say?

"James, I'd rather stay here with you," she finally said.

He looked up, and Brielle was surprised to see his face full of emotion.

"Brie," he said. "I don't mean to keep you from...."

As he spoke, she edged closer, until their lips were only an inch apart.

"Trust me, all I want is you," she breathed, and she kissed him. He responded by taking her face in his hands and kissing her hard, passionately. Her chest exploded with delight, and she tingled everywhere. That was precisely why there was no way she would go anywhere without James for a week.

"Brielle, I love you," he said. Brielle's heart immediately swelled with love and she thought, _he said it! First!_

"I know," she said, and then she had to laugh.

Of course, he got it, and laughed too. Then he tickled her.

"Ah!" She shrieked.

"What's that, Princess?"

"I said love! I love you too," She gave, between gasps.

"You're so lovely when you're out of breath." He further made the point by taking her in his arms, and kissing her until she was breathless again.

***

"I have a feeling that we were more than just in love," he said quietly, after a while. He was sitting on the edge of the cot and she was lying down, her head on his lap, while he played with her short silky hair.

"Like what, you mean?" She tried not to smile, because he sounded serious, but she liked where this was going.

"It feels more epic. Like after experienced, you cannot imagine yourself without it. I can't imagine myself without you. It's like you read in books, love of legends, all-encompassing, needy—that's the love I remember."

"I think I agree," she said quietly. She was embarrassed to admit it, but she felt she had to say something. "Even though it sounds silly, given the fact that I didn't know you existed—well, that I didn't _remember_ you existed until a week ago. And that moreover I didn't really _meet_ you until last Saturday. But then I guess, even last Tuesday, when I first saw you, I felt a... sort of... place."

"Belonging."

"Yeah... that's the word. I immediately felt a connection with you, but I didn't realize what it was right away."

He made a sound that sounded like a sad, half laugh. "I knew exactly what it was right away when I saw you. I knew because I felt the _opposite_ for four years. I felt all out of place, empty. Half there. Until I came here."

She reached up with her arm and touched his face. "I'm sorry. I should've, too, but I managed to forget everything."

"No, Brie, don't apologize," he said, and kissed her hand. "You were six. I was fourteen when I came back. I might have forgotten too, if I'd gone back any earlier. And as it was, I felt all the confusion and panic you felt, but at least I was old enough to know where to find you. It took me a while to calm down, but I did, and I knew I'd be okay if I could just find you.

"I started looking for you right away. But not finding you when I went to your hometown, where you should have been at the age of fourteen; _that_ was driving me mad. For four years I lived only half alive.... And this is mortifying to confess, but ah, some days... I didn't really want to go on."

"What do you mean?" She asked, cautiously.

"If you weren't here, if you didn't exist in this past... then I didn't want to either. So I used to think a lot about... ending my life," he said, almost inaudibly.

"James!" She sat up, and scrambled over to him. She grabbed his face in her hands. " _Never_. Don't ever think that."

"Brielle, don't worry," he said, and put his hands over hers. "I don't think I would've. But I was so depressed. What if you had died when you came back? What did I know? Nothing was the same, after all. I changed my own past. What if you'd _died_? Do you understand that I didn't know for _sure_ you were alive until a week ago?

"I didn't want to think about it, the possibility, but some days were _bad_. Bad enough to consider... well. I couldn't, anyway. While I didn't know for sure that you weren't _here_ , I couldn't do it. I promised myself—and you—and I owed it to you to find you, so that I could love you like I knew I could. That anybody else could love you was a given, because you were the most amazing creature in this world, and any guy would throw himself at your feet in exchange of a smile from your lips."

She smiled automatically, and then frowned. "Good. You kept true to your promise."

"I couldn't let go until I knew for sure that I wasn't in some sort of dimension where you didn't exist. As you can imagine that would've been hard to prove, so I stopped thinking about suicide. Because, while there was a possibility that you were out there, I had to keep looking for you, so that I could love you. Like it had been, like it was meant to be."

"Like it was meant to be..." she said, and she burrowed her face on his chest. "When I first saw you it started coming back. The more I thought about you afterwards, the more I realized that all that I knew was not _all_ that there was. There was something missing, something big... _this_. But I only missed it for a few days. You, on the other hand...."

"It was so bad, Brielle," he said, while he ran his fingers through her hair, his voice full of wonder. As though he still couldn't believe she was there; as though she might disappear.

"How about we agree to not do that again, okay? Time travel, or whatever."

"Deal. We'll figure out what happened and we never do it again," he promised.

They were interrupted by a high-pitched mew from below. Brielle laughed and detached herself from James, while he looked a little confused. She poked her head out the tree house landing and there he was, Tux, alone, _outside_. She would've been mad at Elena for letting him escape, but he looked so cute. He was looking up, kitty mouth open exaggeratedly while he mewed quite loudly.

"How'd you get out here, Tuxie?" She called down to him.

"Do you have a cat?" James asked behind her, as he leaned over to see.

"Yeah, he's new. I actually found him last Tuesday, on the way home after you..." she turned to look at him. "After you pulled me out of school," she said, remembering her fluttering heart, back when he was just some gorgeous stranger.

James smiled, also remembering. But suddenly his smile disappeared and his mouth opened in shock. He was staring down.

"James?" Brielle asked, nervously.

"Is that _baby Fingers_?" He asked, sounding completely shocked.

"What did you call my cat?" How could he possibly know what she had wanted to call him?

"That's Fingers, isn't he? Oh my God, he's a kitten."

"Yeah. No, that's Tux. But... how did you know?" She was confused. "Last Tuesday—he _was_ Fingers, but only for 'bout an hour. How did you _know_?" She asked again.

"I'd know him anywhere. You had him before. You even took him when we moved in together. Do you remember? Hey there, Fingers," he called Tux in a " _Come 'ere boy_ " voice.

To Brielle's amazement, Tux's calls below grew more demanding, as in response to James.

"Are you saying we had him before?" Brielle asked. "Ohmigod. We did. Fingers!"

"Yeah. Didn't you get him from your aunt?"

"No, I told you, I found him outside.... But how?"

"I've no idea," James said, ecstatic. "Can you get him up here, Brie? Sorry to make you go down there, but someone might see me."

"No, that's okay. I'll get him. My sister might be outside looking for him." Tux was already trying to climb, lifting a little paw to the first step. She went down and scooped him up with one hand, and put him on her shoulder. He seemed okay with that, so she climbed back up.

"I never knew him as a kitten!" James took him carefully from Brielle's shoulder and started talking to him like an old pal. Tux immediately started purring.

Brielle couldn't believe she hadn't remembered her cat in her past life yet. Fingers, this _exact_ cat, was her cat before, too. She had him in Urbana in her mother's house while she went to college. When she moved out, she took him with her. He was the smartest cat, and the best kitty companion. He would ask to go outside, mewing by the door, and likewise when he wanted to come back in. He never strayed too far from the house. Fingers was ten years old last time she could remember him. James had loved to play with him; they were buddies.

But _that_ time, she had gotten him from her aunt Grace... after graduation, when Brielle and her mom had gone to her aunt's to visit. It was the same visit in which Brielle and Nathan had figured out they were going to the same college. She didn't recall where her aunt Grace had found the kitten, but they had driven back to Urbana with him. Brielle had named him Fingers. Apparently Fingers— _Tux_ —was a Chicago cat.

And _now_ he had ended up in Brielle's neighborhood. Her aunt Grace lived about a mile and a half away. How did he get _here_? Was it randomness?

No, it was too much of a coincidence. How was this possible?

"James, what does this mean?"

"I don't know, Brie. But I guess this dude is more special than we thought."

***

In the days that followed, Brielle went to school, avoided the cruise issue when Melanie tried to bring it up, avoided Bruce when he tried to talk to her privately, and spent the evenings getting closer to James.

She wanted to know as much about their future as he did. He gave her all that he could, based on what he remembered. He spoke of their past and she was thrilled when she realized that his stories triggered her own memories. They came one after another; when he mentioned an event or described a place, her mind would provide the long lost scenery and the conversations that followed. That, or she invented the memories as she went. She told him jokingly that she didn't know if half the memories in her head were real, or if she was creating them from his account. But mostly their accounts of the future seemed to agree. They spoke of a different life as though it was a dream that they had shared.

He would walk her back from school, sneak in the tree house when he could, and she would meet him there, telling anyone who cared enough to ask that she wanted peace and quiet. Luckily Elena was more involved with her friends and didn't seem to need Brielle's attention as much as she used to, so Brielle was able to get away with her escapades. Sometimes she would bring Tux, who didn't seem concerned by the blinding level of PDA they usually performed. And after James left, they would talk on the phone until it was officially too late and she had to go sleep. No more finals meant no more studying, more time with him.

Each night when Brielle went to sleep and closed her eyes, in her mind she could see a commotion of scenes; her phantom memories. She accepted them effortlessly, feeling a quiet pleasure despite the disarray behind her eyelids. Quite possibly the contented feeling was provided by her mind, finding comfort in finally opening a door that had been shut for years.

College, then James. The ever incomparable feeling of finding your soul mate. And something else, something as special as finding each other. Something supernatural? She had already experienced that sixth sense of sorts that she sensed when he was around. But she felt like there was something else....

# 10.Watched

Class of 2012 Graduation was scheduled for Sunday at 2:00 pm at the Civic Opera House, a downtown location. Every year the high school scheduled graduations in some fancy place downtown. Brielle didn't know why, but it struck her as funny.

On Friday of her final week ever, there was a mandatory graduation practice at the Civic Opera House. A school bus picked up the seniors from school grounds and drove them downtown. Brielle was looking forward to the outing although she didn't care for the practice. What enlivened her was that school was officially over and she had the whole afternoon to hang out with her class downtown, and if she got back early she might see James before her mother and sister got home. Practice was to begin at 9:00 am and last as long as necessary, hopefully not past noon.

After the long, thorough rehearsal, Brielle and the rest of the seniors left the building carrying their caps, gowns and tickets to the event. It was a nice, clear day, so a couple of them decided to go up to the glass Skydeck of the Willis Tower, currently the tallest building in the western hemisphere, to check out the Ledge. It comprised of four glass enclosures overhanging from the observation deck, about the size of an elevator. Because all three walls, ceiling and floor were made of glass, it was supposed to be scary and give the person stepping on the box a feeling of vertigo.

Bruce had apparently decided that Brielle's offer to remain friends was real, and had tagged along all week with Nathan and Ryan, in Brielle's crowd as before, as though everything was the same. She didn't expect him to go off by himself in a corner and ignore everyone, but she had wished all week that his best friends weren't associated with her—Nathan being her cousin, and Ryan being Kate's boyfriend—so that they weren't together during their last week of school. Brielle didn't enjoy being happy around him when she could tell that he was not okay with their breakup.

And now, during what was supposed to be a fun trip to the Willis Tower, there he was, hanging out with the same group as usual. Brielle purposely took her time outside the building talking to a tour guide, lingering as much as she could. She meant to give Bruce, who had gone ahead with Nathan, ample time to take an elevator, hopefully see all that there was to see and leave before Brielle's group even got there. The plan worked well for about ten minutes until Melanie started to get anxious that the group was "getting separated."

_But that's the point_ , thought Brielle. She sighed and followed everyone in.

After paying and taking the long elevator ride to the observation deck, Brielle went straight to the glass boxes with Melanie and Darla, followed by Kate and Ryan holding hands. She noted that Bruce was not there, so maybe her plan had worked. The floor area of the observation deck was spacious; the elevators in the center of the room acted a functional partition, allowing guests to walk along the perimeter glass walls in an organized fashion.

Kate and Ryan had decided to ignore the Ledge altogether and make out by a relatively quiet corner, away from the glass enclosures and the larger crowd. _Jerks_ , thought Brielle. Then she chided herself. She was probably just jealous that she couldn't do the same with James. In fact, her chest had started throbbing, missing him. She tried to act normal while the girls took pictures and shrieked while they dared each other to jump on the glass floor. But she was really starting to feel a pressure crushing her.

"Hey, Brie, we're going," Melanie was saying, trying to pull her away from the glass box.

"I'll be right there. I wanna take a few more pics," Brielle replied. She was lonely and she wanted James. She would see him later today, but this was something that would have been fun to do with him.

"Okay, but we're going to mess with Kate and Ryan, and you're going to miss it," Darla said, and they scurried off sniggering.

Brielle looked through the glass past the dwarfed neighboring high rises, and sighed. There was no vertigo, no sense of adventure, just emptiness, half of her missing.

"Why so lonely?" A beautiful voice asked behind her. She immediately looked up and saw a miracle in the reflection.

"James!" She was instantly outside of the glass box and in his arms. She had moved faster than she could register, which she felt she should reflect on, but she wasn't really thinking clearly.

"Brielle, I've been following you for the last half hour. I could've totally kidnapped you, if I were that jerk, Davis." But he didn't sound upset. His arms tightened around her.

"You're here," she said, smiling, ignoring his dig at her lack of detection skills. She let go off him and pulled back to look up at his face. Yes, he looked pleased to see her. She wanted to kiss him, but was afraid someone might see them.

"I was just watching you from the shadows. But I can't stay away from you. Your friends ditched you so I'm here to entertain you."

"Nah, I ditched _them_. To stand here and think of you," she said.

"Oh yeah? And what were you thinking?" He advanced on her, forcing her back onto the glass box.

"I was thinking... it'd be nice to have you here with me, in this very same spot where we are right now." She had reached the wall of the small glass enclosure.

"So it would appear that you somehow had a wish granted." He was now pressing against her, and her back was against the glass wall.

"It seems to be happening a lot lately," she whispered. Her heart was beating frantically, but she couldn't tell whether it was from James' closeness or from the fact that she was in a fragile-looking glass box about 1,300 feet in the air. She had already forgotten the actual number. She had forgotten many things, including how to breathe properly. She couldn't tell if she was waiting for him to kiss her or the other way around, but she felt that not kissing was a waste of everyone's time here. So she tilted her head up just as he brought his lips down on hers. Her lips parted as a muted moan escaped her throat. She pressed her tongue softly against his.

He responded immediately, and the feeling that engulfed her was so intense that she had to close her eyes. She realized the throbbing she had felt before was just her body reacting to his presence nearby, but she had not figured it out then. It was now the same feeling, but heavier, pounding inside her chest. Yet, when removed from sadness and drenched in pleasure, the feeling was amazing, and it kept amplifying each time his lips moved over hers.... She could be falling, for all she knew. But she didn't care because he was still kissing her, and kissing her, and she felt like gravity had suddenly doubled its magnitude.

She gasped and opened her eyes. "James," she breathed.

"Are you okay?" He asked. His usually sharp blue eyes were unfocused, and his voice was hoarse like hers, thick with desire.

"Yeah, I... I just had this feeling we were falling. To our deaths, on the street below."

He laughed a little, and his eyes cleared. He pulled her away from the glass. "Here, you're safe now."

"I actually felt safe, because you were with me. But I felt bad for my friends, because if I died, it would probably put a damper on graduation."

He laughed again, probably as drunk with emotion as she was. "I'll go back to being your creepy stalker. Let's go find your friends before they find you making out with me, and have to break your ex's heart all over again when he finds out."

***

Reluctantly, they parted ways. Miraculously no one had seen them... as far as she could tell. She went back on the school bus, only because she was still officially in school and the teachers were keeping tabs on everyone. But she was excited because she would see James again as soon as she got home.

On the way back to Lincoln Park High, Melanie could tell that something was up and kept asking Brielle to tell her what was going on. Brielle just said that she was excited about the trip, which got the conversation steered in the right direction. Away from Brielle.

"Oh my God, I can't believe this is over," Melanie said, after she had grilled Brielle a little bit on the subject of not going to the senior trip.

"It's been like this the whole week, Mel," Brielle countered. "It's not like we're taking classes! Ah, freedom."

"Well, are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

"Nah, I don't wanna be screwed up for graduation. I need my beauty sleep."

"Brielle, the point of going out is to _be_ hungover at graduation."

"It is?"

"Whatever. See ya Sunday. Call me if you change your mind."

"Will do," Brielle offered for her benefit.

And then, just like that, high school was over. When she finally walked home, the spot that James took in her heart swelled in victory, as usual. She was going to see him again soon. James was supposed to come by after dinner. Somehow knowing that she was going to see him wasn't enough; even having kissed him dramatically a few hours before wasn't enough. She wanted him _now_... like a junkie. She had become addicted to him.

She reached out with her mind and tried to hone in on him, even though he had to be too far away, and out of her normal range.

She felt a spark, and followed it in her mind, feeling a general sense of direction, like a magnet. She closed her eyes and tried to shut down the rest of her normal senses. After a while she stopped paying attention to the sounds around her, the smell of the tree-lined street, the feeling of her sweater against her skin. It was hard, but she was rewarded with feeling his presence, warm and curious in her mind. _James_!

She realized she had stopped walking and had to look a little weird standing on the sidewalk, facing up at the sky and smiling at no one in particular. She forced herself to move.

***

James was late. He had said he'd come after dinner, which usually meant that before Brielle even finished brushing her teeth, she could already feel his presence in the backyard. This little ability—the James detector—was proving to be quite useful.

But he wasn't in the backyard. She could still feel him somewhere not too far away so she didn't panic. She closed her eyes and focused on his presence. She could feel... uneasiness? She started to worry, but tried hard to let it go. Luckily, she found a distraction in the form of her parents, who realized that they hadn't spent too much time with their eldest daughter lately, and asked her to join them for a movie downstairs. It gave her a great excuse to shake off the apprehensive feeling.

After the movie she went to sleep, although it wasn't too late. She simply didn't know what else to do. Lying on her bed, she focused on his presence; he was still apprehensive but a little bit more subdued. He would explain in the morning, she was sure. She felt safe with him nearby. She closed her eyes and fell asleep in a short amount of time.

She woke up with a start a short time after. Her bedside clock displayed it was almost midnight. Her heart was beating fast, like when she woke up from a vivid dream. But no, it wasn't a dream this time. A noise had woken her up. Groggily, she sat up. As she focused, her chest swelled with feeling. James was here. She could feel he was nearby. Sweet.

She got up and walked to her window. She pushed up the pane and screen and looked below. In the lit darkness of the backyard she could see his pale face looking up at her, a finger over his lips in a gesture of _Shh_. Then he motioned with his hand for her to back away from the window. So, this was how he climbed to her window before. She was interested in knowing how he had managed that first night.

She was wondering whether she should help pull him up this time when she heard a scraping noise right outside and suddenly he was crouching on her windowsill.

She gasped and stumbled back onto her bed. "What the hell?" she whispered.

James ducked in and entered her bedroom for the second time since she'd known him, again without her expecting him. Tonight, though, he was wearing black pants and a black shirt, an outfit that made him look like a ninja. Well, frankly, he looked like any other hot guy would while wearing all black, but the ninja part probably had to do with him jumping a whole story without the apparent use of a ladder.

"Is that how you did that last Saturday?" she whispered fiercely as he walked over to her bed.

He bent and kissed the top of her head. "No, that's... not how I did it before," he replied in the same hushed voice she was using, and he sounded just as stunned as she did. "Last time, I sort of climbed. But now I think I really jumped one full story. I thought I could do it, and I did."

"What made you _think_ you could do that?"

"I remembered us doing that before... do you remember that? A video we uploaded?"

"Oh." Now she did. _Oh_. She sat there staring into space, while the memory unfolded before her mind's eye. They could jump like an Olympian champion. Probably higher than an Olympian champion. "James! What were we?"

"Probably what we still are... I don't really know. Maybe just plain awesome?"

"Oh, wow." She saw herself doing crazy athletic things. Jumping from one roof to another, lower one. Jesus. Her mind came back to the present, with her jumping down the same window after prom. Could she really do all those other things too?

"Brie, I'm sorry I'm late," he said. That got her attention. "I've been on the roof of the townhouses across the street."

"Did you jump there too?" Those were about three stories tall!

"No, I took the stairs in the back. Listen, I think Davis is back."

"What?"

"There was a guy outside of your house. I think he works for Davis. He left around eight, when it started getting dark. He was in a car parked outside, he was there for hours, so I was there for hours. I couldn't get close enough to know what he was saying, but I know he was on his cellphone and I saw him taking pictures."

She started getting nervous.

"Taking pictures of...?"

"Your house. Your family. I don't know."

"What do we do?" She asked.

"We kill Davis."

"What! Be serious."

"I am," and he _sounded_ serious.

"No, let's think this through."

"He's after you, I know he is, he's the creepiest guy and he's fucking dangerous." She straightened up. For him to be cursing, he must be upset. Indeed, he started pacing across her room.

"James, what if he isn't? We don't know what he wants."

"He wants _you_. That's clear. He's been looking for you, and now he found you. Damn him!"

"But do we know what he wants to do with me? Does he just want to chat, does he want to murder me? We don't know."

"Brielle, anyone that's obsessed with you is a danger to you. I'm kidding about killing him. Half kidding. I don't know what to do, but I can't just let him hang outside your house taking pictures!"

"Shh," she reminded him. He was raising his voice.

"Sorry," he said. He sat down next to her.

"Look," she tried to reason, "we don't have a case with the cops. But let's mention it to my parents, and then disappear for a week. They'll keep an eye out for people outside or asking about me. If he's still around when we come back, we definitely call the cops. Let's try to figure him out first, before we head over there and start killing people, okay?"

"I guess.... But where are you planning on going? What do you mean by disappear?"

"Well.... What if..." she started to say, but it was hard to own up to it.

"Yes?"

"Would you like to...?"

"Gabrielle," he started curtly, but immediately corrected himself. " _Brielle_ , sorry. Tell me. I love you." He scooted over to her and put an arm around her.

"I was thinking, well...." She started to talk, comforted in his proximity. And as she went on, the words came out faster and faster. "Hannah insisted she didn't want my ticket. So I can still go to the cruise. What if you came with me, on the cruise, as a regular passenger I mean—nah, it would be too expensive, I mean if there's even tickets available this late, what am I even thinking—"

As she spoke, he sat back to face her, and cut in. "Brie, you're a genius, and I'd love to. I'd buy ten overpriced tickets to be with you. Money isn't everything. You are."

"James," she started to say something to the contrary. But he brought his lips down to hers.

He kissed her lightly, and she was about to kiss him back when she became aware that she had been sleeping and might have bad breath, just like the last time he had been in her bedroom.

"Thank you," she said, and buried her face on his shoulder once more, kissing his neck.

Kissing James. Alone at night. On her bed. Her body almost shook with pleasure shivers.

"I can't be without you," he said at her neck. "I can't let this guy be near you—it burns me with something like hatred. I mean, I don't normally hate people, but I'm pretty sure that's what this is. There's just something evil about him."

"But James, I just wonder... how can this Davis man—whom I can barely remember—be after me with such persistence? I mean, what's his motivation? Why do I have any more appeal than any other regular girl?"

"Regular!" He pulled back to look at her. "You're absolutely gorgeous, for starters. Stunning."

"I'm not. I'm—oh, well," she became self-conscious, but she was not going to have _that_ conversation with him now. "You know, still, why me? There are prettier girls—"

"To some people—"

"And I just can't see why he'd want to kill me, capture me, whatever you think he wants to do, any more than to the next girl. Who looks like me," she added for his benefit.

He seemed to think about this for a second. But she believed him when he said that they should avoid this man until they figured out what he wanted. They both remembered him from the future, but Davis had been their friend. Or as much of a friend as an older man can be to a young couple.

True, he was being shady in this lifetime with the grant cover, and clearly looking for her in the creepiest possible way, but right now was not the time to confront him. They were eighteen, not even in college; and Davis was evidently a powerful man who owned a freaking corporation.

Fight or flight? Or more appropriately, confront Davis or... vacation? The idea of going on the cruise after all had just occurred to her, and it seemed to give them more time to figure out this guy. James would be there to keep an eye on her. If this Davis man was as powerful as he seemed, and he wanted her that much, he would know where she was—he could find out anything, probably—and if he followed her there, they would take it as a sign of extreme, unhealthy attachment, and deem him dangerous. Ineradicably.

James thought about it for a long while. He finally said, "Okay. All these four years I've thought that Davis is evil and that he means no good; that he's a lying, foul creep, but I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Other than you thinking he's after me, what else is there?"

"I... we haven't really talked about it. Gone _there_. I kind of wanted to see if you remembered by yourself... the last day."

"The last day of what?" But as she said it, she realized what he meant. The last day in her memories. The last thing she could remember. Possibly, what had happened that sent her back. "Oh," she said simply.

"I remember the start of the day clearly because it was the first memory I had when I woke up here." He kept talking about this life as though it was a place, or a parallel universe. _When I woke up here_. "I don't want to tell you much about it, because you said, even though I know you weren't being serious, that me telling you the memory first and then you remembering it could be just you making up a memory based on what I told you. Like when you see pictures of yourself as a child and think you remember everything about that day."

"Um, that doesn't happen to me. With the pictures, I mean. I _was_ joking when I said that to you, though," she explained. "I do remember. I think."

"That's great, love. And if you really don't remember, it's okay too. Like I said before, they're just memories now, and don't really mean much. Except this one, the last one, I feel we have to learn from it. The little I recall, I wasn't with you in my memory, so I'd rather wait for you to remember something. But back to the point, this guy Davis, our supposed friend, was there."

"That day, you mean?"

"Yeah. He was there, and I think he was with you. But the memory fades as I try to recall the end of the day—the end of my old life. The day I lost you. So naturally, I blame him. And moreover, even now in the present he seems more interested in finding you than what I would consider necessary."

"James, for all we know, he could be my long-lost uncle, solely interested in my welfare."

"Right. I really have no proof other than my gut feeling, and right now it's telling me to hate him. But you're right... I guess innocent until proven guilty.... So, okay, I'll let this aversion cool down. I'd rather have him turn out to be your secret benefactor. I'll wait," he said, and smiled for the first time that night, "and I don't mind at all spending some quasi-alone time with you. I can't just say no to that, can I?"

Brielle blushed. She hoped the light was dim enough that he didn't register her embarrassment. When she first thought about the idea of him go on the cruise, she had thought that she could get someone to add his name in and sort of pass for a Lincoln Park High senior, just another guy on the cruise. That meant that he would share a room with up to three other guys, just like she had arranged to share with three other girls.

But he had gone around that and said he'd simply buy a last-minute ticket. Which meant that he might have a room to himself. A room she could visit.

She blushed again.

"So yeah, we have a plan," she said, avoiding his last train of thought.

"Sorry if I scared you, coming here unannounced," he said.

"No, no. On the contrary, thanks for visiting me in the middle of the night. I always enjoy your company. Especially late-night visits, when you end up sitting here on my bed next to me."

"Oh," he said, and stood up, looking guilty.

"No, don't," she said quickly, grabbing his arm. She pulled him back to her. The conversation had left her tired, almost anxious. They had a plan, but the fact that they _needed_ a plan to begin with was mortifying. She needed his touch to calm her down.

He went easily, and put a knee down on the side of the bed. His free arm went around her, and he pushed her gently back on the bed, until he was on top of her, holding his weight off her with his arm.

Brielle realized she wasn't breathing. "This is better," she whispered, pretending all was cool and her heart wasn't about to implode from beating so fast.

"Your bed is very comfortable. Or maybe it's just you," he whispered back, while he looked down at her.

She brought him closer to her, pressed their chests together, and kissed his neck again.

He made a gentle _Mmm_ sound and reciprocated. He pressed his weight a little on her, while her breaths continued to fail her. He reached up and grabbed her shirt's sleeve, and pushed it slightly off her shoulder. His lips traveled to her shoulder. His tongue brushed her collarbone.

Her swift exhalation was accompanied by an audible moan.

He pulled back. "Brie. Sorry. I should go." He scrambled off her and off the bed. "If I stay here another minute I'm gonna get us both in trouble."

Disappointment and some relief and much-needed oxygen flowed through her as she sat up from the too-comfortable position. "And I wouldn't mind," she breathed. Then she sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Later today," he winked in the low light. Then he stepped on the windowsill and jumped down, as gracefully as if he were taking a step down.

# 11.Graduation

Sunday was Graduation Day. James was nervous all morning. If he was really back, Davis would surely be there to spy on Brielle, and James hadn't figured out what he wanted to do to Davis yet. Would he confront Davis? Ask him what his problem was and punch him in the face? Did Davis even know that James was in Chicago?

James excused himself from sitting with her parents. He told Brielle he'd rather watch from afar, like a bodyguard.

"I'll be watching your graduation, don't worry. I just have to be away from the crowd, to look around and see if I notice anyone acting weird," he told her that morning.

"You don't have to worry about that. Sitting with my parents, I mean. The less they know, the better."

"Why is that?" He asked, seemingly caught off-guard with the statement.

"I dunno.... They'd be watching me more. Giving me curfews and rules and stuff that they don't currently realize they need to give me," she tried to explain. This she said while meeting with James outside of her house, right in her parents' domain.

"Oh. Maybe you should drop a few hints, though. Then hopefully your dad's not going to put a bullet in me when finds out you sort of already married me."

He kissed her good luck and left her feeling slightly bewildered.

Married! _Ugh_. That was exactly why she wanted to keep her parents in the dark about her strange new relationship. The overwhelming extent of devotion she felt towards him was hard to explain to regular people. Especially parents.

Brielle drove her parents and Elena in her brand new Audi downtown to show her appreciation of their gift. She knew where to park, what to do, and where to send her parents from Friday's practice. They parted ways to join the rest of the general audience while Brielle followed the signs to where the class was being prepped.

As she joined the seniors she was surprised to see some of the girls crying, and even a couple of guys a little bit more emotional than usual, as they helped each other don their gowns and collars. Their friendships were in peril, and they knew it.

Brielle, however, had grown increasingly detached from her friends in the past week; in her mind, at least. She had seen a fully different set of friends in her memories, and seen herself crying during her original graduation. She had been right to cry for _them_. Those dear friends had been shunned to corners of her brain full of cobwebs, some of them never to be heard from again, some she was content enough to just read updates of their lives on social media. Of this current set of high school friends she guessed that she would keep only a few close to her heart. In her future, her closest friends had been made in college. But her life had mostly revolved around James.

Despite James' apprehension, graduation came and went without incidents, kidnappings or kidnapper sightings. Brielle even felt the graduating spirit affect her, and cried with Melanie like there was no tomorrow. She even felt a flicker of emotion when she hugged Bruce, and when he told her he loved her she managed to restrain herself from telling him to go to hell and instead _aww_ ed and said that he was a great guy. There were many promises to keep in touch with other people that were going away for college, and she was seared with sorrow for everyone she ever liked or hated who wasn't going on the senior trip.

But hours later, when it was over and she was back in the car with her parents on her way to dinner at Nathan's, she laughed and desired to kick herself for being such an idiot.

***

Grace and Norbert Simon, Brielle's aunt and uncle-in-law, were hosting a small graduation dinner party for both families in honor of their son Nathan and their niece Brielle. Joy and her sister Grace had been planning it for months, and talked about it for years before that. Too bad their second children, Elena and Natalie, weren't the same age—the mothers would have loved to plan double parties for the girls. As it was, everything and anything they could manage to stack together for Brielle and Nathan—who were born within two months of each other—they did.

The Simons lived not too far away in the Lakeview neighborhood, which was adjacent to Lincoln Park. Brielle always loved visiting their huge house; when she was a young teenager she thought of it as a castle. It was an amazing historic Victorian home, built around 1890. The house was nestled in a quiet tree-lined street with other old houses that looked just like it, at least from the outside. This was totally unlike Marshall Manor, which sat next to houses so competitively upgraded and modernized over the years that some now looked like they belonged in a sci-fi movie. This Victorian house was classy, and best of all, it looked like a house. A clear win in a city like Chicago.

It also had a separate, tri-level structure with three additional bedrooms in the back—it was called a coach house—which the Simons sometimes rented for additional income. The lot even had a beautiful garden that Grace professionally landscaped every spring. Joy, on the other hand, preferred herbs and vegetables, which was what she planted in the Marshalls' patio. It worked out well; the sisters would swap greens and flowers during the summer.

The Simons' house was probably worth a ton, yet Norbert and Grace had regular, middle class jobs. The house had been purchased by Norbert's parents when they were young and was now paid off. Norbert's older brother Nathaniel, after whom Nathan was named, had passed away in a car accident when he was in college. Now Norbert was an only son, and lived with his elderly mother, Old Ms. Helen, in the house he grew up in. He'd had a place with his wife when the kids were young, but after his father passed away he moved back in with his mother. He would inherit the house, so that worked out well for everybody. Except, well, for the brother who died.

Brielle loved coming to her cousins' house, but after James had been introduced in her life—or would that be reintroduced?—and after the guy he had seen outside her window, she didn't feel like spending time away from James. But family was family, and graduation was supposed to be something big, and it wasn't like she could say she'd rather be with her boyfriend. She was, after all, still pretending to just have a crush on James, which may or may not have been reciprocated; nothing serious.

They were greeted by Natalie, Nathan's thirteen-year-old sister, who announced that her mother was in the kitchen and promptly ran upstairs to her room closely followed by Elena. Nathan was in the living room, watching a movie, while simultaneously playing with his phone. Brielle would never understand how he could do that. But then, Nathan was strange to begin with.

He put his phone aside and greeted the Marshalls. Brielle sat on the couch with him, while her parents went in search of the older people in the house. As she put her feet up on the ottoman, Nathan began telling her about an application that he had downloaded that turned his phone into a TV remote, and how cool it was that it meant one less thing on the couch.

"Except when you're not here, and your parents actually need to use the regular remote, and they put it back on the couch," she said reasonably.

"Yeah, but I don't care if I'm not here watching TV with them. And anyway, I hate that thing. It scares me."

"The TV remote," Brielle repeated, for clarification.

"Yep. Sometimes I'd press a button and it wouldn't work. It refused to change the channel. The batteries were fine. It simply did not want to change the channel. And it got me thinking, I fear the day the remote doesn't work, on its own will. It'll mean it's become self-aware and refuses to take commands from a human."

Brielle rolled her eyes. She decided to change the subject. "Nate, why is your house so cold?"

"Because we Simons hate the environment," her cousin replied.

"It's not that hot outside, you know."

"I've told them this, many times. But mom wants the house below seventy; what can I do?"

"Well, can you get me some socks? I'm freezing." Brielle had worn sandals to her graduation.

"What? It's not _that_ bad, Brielle."

"Whatever. Please?"

"Jeez. Okay," Nathan said, making a face. He got up and went upstairs, presumably to comply with her request. A minute later he came down and threw Brielle a pair of rolled-up tube socks.

Brielle tried them on, but after about ten minutes her toes still felt sub-zero.

"These socks suck!" She complained to her cousin.

After a pause, Nathan said, "Okay. Funny as that sounds, I'm at a loss as to why you're complaining about my sucks. Socks."

"They're too big and cheap. They're not working! My feet are still cold," Brielle complained.

"Don't be ridiculous. If I put a jacket over a block of ice, I don't expect it to warm up. My socks aren't defective; your feet are."

Brielle had nothing nice to reply to that, so she went to the kitchen looking for her aunt and uncle. She really just wanted to get out of there, and go back home where she could talk to James.

***

Old Ms. Helen was feeling unwell and would not join them for dinner. As the remaining eight sat at the impressive formal table—another reason they had these gatherings at Grace's house, not Joy's—the unfortunate topic of dating came up. Luckily, the older men were busy talking about football.

"Brielle, you were so beautiful at prom. Nate showed us the pictures," her aunt commented.

At the mention of his name, Nathan looked up briefly. He was very evidently playing with his phone at his lap.

Natalie rolled her eyes fastidiously, and was imitated by Elena, as if to say that senior dances were ridiculous. Or maybe they were just being honest with their faces and were trying to say that the topic was of no interest to them, if they weren't in on it.

"Thanks, Aunt Grace. We had tons of fun," Brielle answered.

"You and Bruce looked so good together, just like last year." Brielle had gone to junior prom with Bruce, which had sort of kick started their relationship at the end of their junior year. They didn't make it official until senior year started, though.

"Uh...." Brielle started to correct her aunt, but couldn't finish. Joy didn't say anything, but Elena leaned over to Natalie's ear, probably filling her in.

Grace showed confusion etched on her brow, her face asking the unasked question. Nathan said, "Brielle and Bruce broke up, Mom," without really looking up from his lap.

"Oh, no, Brielle!" Grace gasped put a trembling hand over her mouth dramatically, like it was the worst thing that she had heard in her life; at the same time Brielle thought she heard Reuben mutter "Good riddance" to her uncle Norbert. She looked from her aunt to her stepfather, but he had his attention on Norbert, so she couldn't be sure he had said anything.

Embarrassed, Brielle shot a look at Nathan that he didn't catch. Since he was liberally providing status updates on Brielle's relationships, she wondered why he hadn't mentioned this before when showing the pictures to his mom. But then, he probably hadn't—she might've just seen the pictures when the kids posted them online. Their mothers were all "friends" with their kids online, watching their daily online activity and pouring over their profiles for the information that the kids wouldn't normally share. The kids knew the moms did this, but were okay with it—they didn't have to update their parents themselves or recap the game or dance. The parents saw pictures and updates and felt like they knew what their kids were up to. Win-win.

Brielle now said quietly, "It just wasn't working out, and we would've had a weird summer. But we're still friends, like before."

She got an incredulous look from half the people at the table. "We _are_ ," she insisted.

This was followed by reassurances that they all believed her. Except for Elena, who decided to chime in: "And you'd _have_ to be friends, because you're seeing that other guy."

"What other guy?" Nathan looked up from his phone, fully interested in the conversation all of a sudden.

"There's no other guy, Elena. I'm single," Brielle lied, but didn't feel guilty in having denied James in front of company. It wasn't like she was ashamed of him, more like she wanted him all to herself. And she didn't want to discuss him in front of Nathan.

"Then what about the guy who came over the other day? Your unknown brother," Elena said.

"What?" Grace asked, and looked at her sister Joy for an explanation. It was impossible that Brielle had any brothers that Grace didn't know about. Because if she did, what kind of aunt was Grace that didn't know her own sister's children?

"Elena's just being funny." Joy explained. "I don't have any kids that I'm hiding from you, Grace. She's talking about a friend of Brielle's whose hair is almost identical in color. It's absolutely strange."

Brielle looked at Nathan as Joy said this, but he said nothing. He had a strange look on his face, as though processing this all-new gossip. Brielle was furious. Nathan and his big mouth had gotten all of this started, and _he_ gets new gossip? Life wasn't fair.

Then she remembered James and how sweet life was, and mellowed out.

Her aunt wasn't giving up. "So _are_ you seeing someone else?"

Brielle smiled as though the interrogation was nothing, and said, "Nah. I think my unknown brother is cute, but then, so would every girl that ever laid eyes on him."

" _How_ cute?" Grace asked.

"Oh, Grace, you should see him," Joy interjected, not able to help herself.

Between the men talking, the younger girls gossiping, the sisters pouring over Brielle, Nathan stuck somewhere in the middle of all that, and no one remembering Ms. Helen, dinner seemed to take forever. Brielle quickly got tired of the house and the company. She was glad when they all piled up in the car to drive the short distance to their house.

***

Brielle had almost a full week to do nothing but look forward to her vacation. She felt that happy, soft belly feeling of ease and relaxation stretching out before her. Like there was nothing that could put a damper on her good mood.

She was, as it usually happens to people who don't take care to curb their expectations, proven wrong.

Bruce came by on Monday afternoon. Elena and Joy were baking in the kitchen when the front doorbell rang. Brielle, who was expecting James, in her eagerness to see him didn't realize that her body did _not_ tell her it was James. She opened the door with a smile on her face.

"Oh," she said, dropping her smile catastrophically, and immediately felt bad. "Oh, Bruce, hi," she tried really hard not to sound like someone who had just been told they won a prize, only to realize the prize was a bag of poop.

"Hey, Brie," Bruce said, with a silly little half smile that made Brielle feel sad. He was dressed casually in a cool, preppy look that fit him well. Unnecessarily well, in Brielle's opinion. He was holding a medium-sized paper bag and he looked like he had a carefully planned speech to impart.

"Is that your unknown brother?" Elena asked from the kitchen, almost shouting.

"It's Bruce!" Brielle called back, hoping to transmit enough warning in her tone that Elena would know to shut up about James.

"Who?" Bruce asked, confused.

"Elena," Brielle offered as an explanation, shrugging.

"What?" he asked, clearly not understanding.

"Don't mind her. What's up?"

"Can I talk to you for a sec?"

_Aren't you talking to me now?_ Brielle thought. She also wondered what would happen if she said no. But she saw the bag he was holding and her curiosity was peaked. Was it full of mementos that he now wished to return? Was he over her? Or did it contain a present, because he was about to beg to get back together? She hoped it wasn't anything good, because she was _not_ accepting any gifts from Bruce.

"Okay. Do you want to sit out here?" She said, pointing to a small wrought iron bench outside the door. It was mostly for decoration and quite uncomfortable. There was real patio furniture in the back of the property, but her mind wandered to the time when she had sat there with James for the longest time, talking about their past, and she didn't want to mar the memory by sitting with Bruce in the same spot. She frowned slightly.

"Brielle, you told me there was no one else," Bruce started, straight to business.

"I told you not to mind Elena," Brielle said, now angry at her little sister for bringing up the brother subject.

"What about Elena? I'm talking about you and some other guy."

Oh. Damn Nathan. "What about me and some other guy?" She asked evasively.

"Well, _are_ you seeing some other guy?" From his tone, Brielle thought he wasn't convinced that she was, and wanted her to confirm or deny. Brielle was torn. She didn't want to hurt him, but _the truth shall set you free_. She sighed.

"Bruce, I told you the truth." Back then it was true. Sort of. "But I'm free to date whomever I want. So are you. We shouldn't even be having this conversation."

"Brie..." he started. He looked around, and brought a hand to his forehead dramatically, as if to shade himself from the crazy words that Brielle was speaking. He grabbed one of her hands. "You can't really be serious. If there's no one else, I mean. Otherwise, where did we go wrong? Where did _I_? It's not like we're going separate ways. We're going to college together...."

She shook her hand free, as gently as she could, to hide her slight revulsion from his touch. She didn't want to hurt him anymore, but he was obviously not getting the hint. "I wish I had an answer for you. But I don't. I'm sorry, Bruce. You didn't do anything wrong. And we _are_ going to the same university, but we both wanted to go to U of I since _before_ we started dating. That doesn't mean anything."

"Brie, I haven't even told my parents," Bruce said, betraying a hint of desperation in his voice.

"What?" She thought it would sound rude to say that she told her entire family the first day, so she simply said, "My parents know."

"They do?"

"Yeah?" She replied, annoyance making it sound like a question, with a touch of _obviously_.

"I guess I thought it was temporary. Well, I won't bother you again," he said, defeated, and even hung his head to complete the perfect sad-puppy look. Then he seemed to notice what he was holding, and offered it to Brielle. "Here, this is yours."

She took the bag from him, now reading a printer shop's logo. She pulled a frame out, a heavy metallic thing holding an 8x10 picture of... them. Bruce and Brielle, at the senior prom. She stared at it for a few seconds without really knowing what to say.

He said, "I have a copy. Mom framed that one for you, so...."

She finally knew what to say. "Thanks, I guess. And thank Mrs. Travers, please." Mrs. Sharon Travers was Bruce's mom.

He gave a sort of shrug, and then he left.

After Bruce was gone, Reuben called Brielle to the office where he sat.

"Brielle, come here." She was half afraid of what he was going to say. But all he said was, "I'm glad you're not seeing him anymore. He's just...."

"A tool?" Brielle offered.

"I was going to say immature, but for his age, that's expected. You're so much better off."

Brielle smiled. "Thanks, Dad."

***

James purchased the overpriced cruise and airline tickets seemingly without problem, thanks to what he called his "decent" savings fund. According to him, until recently that was the one good thing he'd gained out of this whole time-traveling setback—when he came back, he made a killing on the stock market, and he also made money off betting.

She asked him what other good things he'd gotten out of it.

"I got to meet you a few years earlier," he replied. "The first time around we met when we were twenty."

"Oh! Yeah, I guess, that's pretty sweet," Brielle agreed, smiling up at him. She lay on the cot, her head on his lap, while he sat against a wall of the tree house.

"Now that I have you with me again, it's easier to forget the bad things and focus on the good things. Even the future that we already lived, and now have to repeat, we get to do it _together_. And the stuff that's in the past, well, we have extra years' worth of experiences."

He kissed her forehead.

"So explain the money thing to me," Brielle asked, confused about something he had said. "You said you made your money in stocks and gambling? But how? You've only been back four years."

"Yeah, but I came back right before the big market crash. So all the money I had I invested after the market crashed. I just put it in stocks that I knew would come back. And I also make a lot of money gambling, since I remember the outcome most major events. So I don't care the odds I get; I know what's going to happen."

"Is that cheating?"

James looked up as if searching for an answer in his brain. "No," he said simply, and she had to laugh.

"So for example, I'm going to make about half a million dollars in August," he said.

"What? Half a million bucks, just like that?"

"Yeah. Because I happen to know the Rover made it perfectly okay in the Mars landing."

"Really?" Brielle was ecstatic. Her Physics teacher had been excited all semester about the Rover's flight to the planet Mars. To think she could call him now and assuage his fears. This was cheating, to know before anyone else on the planet. But it felt _good_ to know. "And the general election?"

"Four more years," he said, grinning at her enthusiasm. "I didn't get as good odds with the election as with the Mars Rover. Apparently a lot of people think the Rover's gonna crash. With the election I'm still going to make a lot of money though, since I put as much as I can—it's not like I'm going to lose it."

"Are you sure? What about the butterfly effect?"

"Oh, I doubt that me hanging out here again is going to make the President lose the election."

Brielle laughed heartily. This was too awesome.

"Anyway, I think the first night of the cruise you should keep a low profile," she said, putting the bet conversation aside and continuing a different one they had been having about scheming and plotting, trying to hide James from her whole graduating class. They were to pretend that James was just another passenger looking to have fun, and the first night Brielle was supposed to go out with her friends. "I already agreed with Mel to meet the group the first night; they have some big party they want to go to. And then hopefully I'll be able to ignore them. I'll tell them I met the cutest guy."

"Oh, is that right? And do you think they'll leave you alone?"

"You've only seen a bit, but I have serious friend-ditching skills. I'm a pro, you know."

Melanie wasn't aware of this ditching plan, of course. But Brielle didn't care. She had reserved at least one day to hang out with her girlfriends. Contrary to what she had said earlier for James' benefit, Brielle was really excited about going on the cruise. It would be her first vacation without her parents, with her friends, and most significantly, with James.

_Can't wait_.

# 12.The Cruise

The trip started out early Saturday morning. The graduating class would fly Chicago to Fort Lauderdale, drive to the port, and finally board the cruise. The whole group was scheduled to leave O'Hare, the Chicago airport, early in the morning. Most of Brielle's classmates were notably exhausted; probably from lack of sleep because they left packing for the very last minute. At least that was Brielle's excuse. But even though they may have been tired, the excitement was practically tangible in the air. They were finally on their grand senior trip.

James was in the same flight but in First Class. Waiting to board at the gate, Brielle stayed with her friends while James watched her from afar. Every now and then she caught his eye and he winked at her. She could hardly pay attention to the incessant chatter going on around her, until he left to board with his fellow important First Class passengers. When Brielle boarded the airplane with the rest of the plebs through the front of the plane, she passed James already sitting down in a very comfortable-looking chair. He was in the window seat so she couldn't brush his hand like she wanted to. That was better in the end, she figured, because Melanie was right behind her and would have certainly noticed the exchange.

Once airborne, the seniors group calmed down a bit. When the captain turned off the fasten-the-seat-belts sign Brielle had to fight the urge to run to the First Class section and make out with James. She kept thinking of his wide chair, and pretending that there was no one next to him, and that she could stay with him for the remainder of the flight. But that was silly, because there had actually been an older guy next to him.

Concentrating hard on him, she could feel his own love and desire burning through the loud, thick humming of the cabin pressure, and she hoped he was able to feel hers the same way. Not long afterwards, because she was so focused on him, she felt his presence shift slightly. Surprised, she looked up to see him emerge from his section, walking towards the lavatories in the back of the plane. Even though of course First Class had their own lavatory.

As he passed her he brushed her arm softly, since she happened to be sitting on the aisle seat. _Exactly_ like she had hoped to do to him. She looked around, but no one had seemed to notice. Melanie was listening to music and had her eyes closed. Bruce and Nathan were seated a few rows ahead. No one from her class was moving about. Brielle left her seat and walked to the back of the plane.

He was there giving her his most dazzling smile as she approached him.

"There's a line in First Class. Too much champagne," he said for the benefit of no one in particular. Both lavatories were occupied back here as well.

"It happens," she replied, as a guy from her group emerged from one of the lavatories and walked back towards his seat.

"After you?" James offered with a slight bow towards the now-vacant lavatory. Brielle couldn't tell if he was offering her to use the restroom first or if he was sending her first and was going to follow her. In the extremely tight space. With her. She was suddenly very warm and needed to wash her face to cool down.

"Thank you," she said in a low voice and stepped in, holding the door behind her. She turned around to face him, and the expression on his face was enough to set her ablaze. Before she could say anything, he stepped in after her and maneuvered somehow to lock the door behind him.

These things were really designed for one person. Two people, no matter how skinny they were, would be so close that they wouldn't be able to move without their bodies touching _everywhere_.

She didn't stop to rejoice the feeling of his body pressed against hers. She pulled his face down to hers before she could even ask what he was doing following her there. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly to him while they kissed hastily. It had only been about half a day since they had been this close, but it seemed much longer than that. Her fingers dug in his hair, and his hands caressed her back. One of his hands found the hem of her shirt and went under it, his fingers on the bare skin of her back. She whimpered softly against his lips and pressed herself against him.

"Let's stay here," she said hoarsely, gasping for air, "the rest of the flight."

He wasn't quite ready to talk yet. Or perhaps he did try to respond, but only a low, indecipherable grunt came out.

They eventually disentangled themselves, laughing quietly at their recklessness. Brielle pressed an ear to the door and could swear she was able to hear people in the back rows, even over the loud hum of the airplane. That didn't mean there wasn't anyone outside the lavatory door, standing still and quiet. No, she was somehow _almost_ convinced there was no one.

_Screw it_ , she thought, and opened the door, a feat rather easier said than done, as there was really _no_ space in the tiny lavatory. But she was determined, and she stepped out first, thinking that she could always pretend she left something inside and try to go back in if there was someone outside.

There was no one but a couple of flight attendants in the back of the plane, past the lavatories, arranging refreshments onto a cart. Brielle whispered to James to come out, and as he did one of the flight attendants gave her a disapproving-but-somewhat amused look. When Brielle looked down the aisle, a guy from school —a guy she happened to dance with at prom—was walking down with a confused look on his face. He might have seen something, but most likely nothing convincing. From the expression on his face he was still trying to convince himself that he had just seen Brielle Marshall exit an airplane lavatory with a random stranger.

***

The Lincoln Park High group was to be picked up at Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport and taken to the port by charter buses. James was to go there straight by taxi, so Brielle was going to be separated from him again for a short time.

After the airplane landed and everyone exited, Brielle caught James' eye as he stood by waiting for her at the arrival gate. He smiled, winked, and left. She could feel his presence in her body, faintly but surely. He idled by waiting for her group so as not to be too far away from her, but never approached her. He only got in a cab after Brielle and her classmates were on the buses and moving. Brielle sighed. After that she wouldn't see him until after they were all settled in.

Once on the bus, the collective excitement of the group finally started to touch Brielle. When the huge vessel appeared in the distance, everyone cheered rather childishly, but they were all too eager to feel shame. They boarded painfully slowly, and finally went to their rooms.

Brielle, Melanie, Darla and Kate all shared a tiny cabin. There was a large, rectangular window at the end of the room, past which they could see the ocean. There were two very small beds shoved side-by-side against a corner of the room, and what seemed to be bunk beds in the opposite corner.

Brielle had expected a shoe box, so she was not disheartened. The room was beyond small, but given her low expectations it wasn't disappointing. She was nervous for her cabin mates, though, thinking they wouldn't approve of the size so easily. She turned around expecting to pacify them when Darla, who had to be the most optimistic person of the group, dropped her bags in a corner and cheered.

"This is awesome, you guys!" Darla said, looking around. "We're officially on our senior trip!"

They all chimed in.

"It's small, but who cares? This is just for whatever time we set aside for sleeping. But I for one I'm going to be out every day," Kate chimed in.

"Hell yeah! It starts tonight; it's gonna be a- _ma-_ zing!" Melanie sang the last word.

"And hey, we have a window!" Brielle joined in the excitement and girlie squeals of delight.

While the girls settled in and chatted about the trip, Brielle found a rare private minute—in the bathroom—which she used to check in with James by calling his cell. He answered right away.

"Hey, darling," he said happily, as if he hadn't seen her for a week. "Are you settled?"

"Melanie, Darla, Kate and I just got in," she said, keeping her voice low just in case. "We share a room, all four of us. It's pretty small, it has _one_ bathroom, but I'm excited! How about you?"

She thought she heard a snort, the softest laugh. "Let's just say I was expecting a room a bit larger than you're describing, but I was still pleasantly surprised given my low expectations."

Low expectations were apparently the key to happiness.

"How big are we talking about here? What floor are you on?" Brielle asked.

"Uh, the Riviera, I think."

"Where's that?"

"Um, right below the Lido," he managed to sound embarrassed.

"Oh my God! You're up there with the well-dressed people," she said, and it came off as an accusation. She tried to tone it down a bit, because even though she was jealous, she was happy for him and wanted to see this allegedly large cabin. "So do you have a balcony?"

"Yeah, and it's actually quite big." he said.

"I'm so embarrassed; here we are in the tiniest room ever. But at least we have a window." A window that didn't open, but that was beside the point. "What else do you have?"

"You'll just have to see for yourself," he said. "I think I'll stay in and read a book. It's too nice here."

"Maybe I'll drop by on the way to the gang's get-together. What room are you in?"

"R305; R for Riviera, 305 for how cute you are. On a scale of ten."

She laughed at his attempt to be silly.

"Don't be cute. I'll see you soon," she said happily.

A couple of hours later the four left their room, all dressed up. They were on their way to meet at the top deck with most of the seniors who had come on the trip. While Brielle would rather be with James, she thought it would be a good idea to stick to the plan and show face.

Melanie had insisted on buying what were possibly the highest heels in the whole store where she and Brielle had shopped, to wear that first night. The shoes were dazzling, in bright colors and different shades. But they were paying for it now.

"Mel, you're right, they look great, but this boat is rickety, and I don't want to break a leg," Brielle complained.

"Brielle, to be beautiful one has to see stars," Melanie said.

"What?" Darla asked. Brielle only rolled her eyes, because she knew what Melanie meant.

Melanie shrugged her usual answer, "It rhymes in Spanish. Anyway, Brie, stop complaining. You can't wear your nasty sneakers tonight."

"I wouldn't wear sneakers! But three-inch heels would've worked," Brielle countered.

"I agree, but three inches wouldn't make my legs look as good as _this_ ," Melanie replied, and brought forward one long tanned leg, which Brielle had to admit looked pretty hot in the five-inch heels.

"She agrees. Or she _dis_ agrees," Brielle muttered, but she let it go. She stopped in mid-stride and switched her tone to hopeless pathetic. "Oh, _no_. Hey, guys, I left my lip gloss in the room. I gotta go back.... Meet you upstairs?"

"Dude," Melanie complained. They were conveniently at the elevator lobby, too far away from the room—for a person wearing five-inch heels—for them to offer to return with her.

Still, Darla offered her best alternative. "Oh. We can wait for you here. Right, guys?"

Sparing Melanie and Kate the need to lie and say it was okay, Brielle promptly said, "Nah, don't worry. I'll be quick. See you guys in a bit!" And she turned away without waiting for another plea.

But she walked slowly. When she heard the elevator door close on her three friends, Brielle returned and called another elevator. Inside, she smiled. _R for Riviera_.

***

"Whoa." She actually dropped her jaw in a possibly comical fashion. She must have a ridiculous expression on her face, but she couldn't help it.

James didn't have a cabin. This didn't even classify as hotel room. It was a suite, a magical, spacious, no, _huge_ , suite. She first noticed in the back the private balcony which doors James had left open, letting in the soft, salty breeze and the sounds of the ocean below. She then looked at the expanse between her and the balcony. The room had a king-size bed, sitting area, a mini refrigerator, minibar, a gigantic TV, a freaking _sofa_ , a, a....

"What's _this_?" She walked into what looked a walk-in closet, but was so big that it could probably fit a full-sized bed.

"I think they call it a _dressing area_ , whatever that means," he answered. He had hugged her when she came in, but had not even managed to kiss her before she saw the suite behind him and freaked out over how huge it was.

She didn't really hear his answer as she stepped away from him, astonishment over the suite temporarily replacing James as the main interest in her brain. She headed into the bathroom. Oh... _unfair_. It had a whirlpool tub and a separate shower. She could fit her own cabin's bathroom three times in this one.

Brielle turned around and faced James, who had followed her in her self-guided tour. He had a jumbled half-embarrassed, half-amused expression on his face. As if he was afraid of offending her with his huge bathroom. She pretended to wipe off drool from the side of her mouth and smiled.

"I approve of your cabin," was her masterful declaration.

He relaxed a little and came closer, taking her in his arms. "I'm glad you do. I hope you spend a lot of time here with me," he said, and managed to sound proper, without any lewd inflection.

Her mind, however, immediately went to the gutter. She tried to steer the conversation away from improper considerations. "So, what have you been up to?"

"Not much. Just thinking of you. And oh, well, I swear I got harassed in the elevator."

"What?" She asked, looking at him.

"An older lady. A real cougar."

Brielle stare at his faced in mock horror. "How?"

"When I was bringing the luggage up. Yeah, sure, the lift was full—but not that full. She had red lipstick and looked like she wanted to eat someone. And as she stepped out a couple of floors before me, she _touched_ me!"

"Gross!" Brielle laughed. "There's a fine line between cougar and old whore, and not everyone can walk it."

"What's this?" James asked, feigning shock. "Brielle, talking dirty? Do you kiss your boyfriend with that mouth? Come here."

***

Brielle had to run away, against her own wishes, because to stay would have been to sin.

With many promises to return in the morning, and hopes that the night would go by fast, she left James—after brief kissing—and left the Riviera deck. She joined her cabin mates and the seniors that had gathered at the pool deck. Some were already drunk, happy to be free of their parents and school. How minors like them were getting the alcohol was not immediately apparent to Brielle. She figured someone had a fake ID or had convinced an adult to buy it for them.

Brielle was happily received by Melanie and Darla and the rest of the group. Kate had already fallen into Ryan's arms, and there had been many catcalls and demands to get a room, of which there should be a few empty at the time. However, they were too into each other to care.

Bruce was there, pretending to be talking to a girl. He wasn't going anywhere with that girl, that was obvious to everyone. Brielle could tell that he was making probably small talk just to talk. Not that she cared. Poor Bruce. Melanie had immediately reported to Brielle upon her arrival, demonstrating that the good spirit of gossip will always triumph over the bitter banshee of resentment over not following Melanie's wishes.

"So that's Beth. He brought her over earlier and introduced her to the group, but you weren't here. Apparently she's from North Carolina, with her own group, but they're in college. Nothing interesting there; I saw that group already."

Brielle sincerely hoped he was having fun. Not just because she wanted him to be happy, but mostly because she didn't want to feel guilty anymore. But if he was doing it to make her jealous, Brielle had to regret on his behalf that she felt zero jealousy.

"Well, good for him," she said lightly.

She forced herself to enjoy the company of her friends, but after a while, all she found was slight entertainment at their expense.

"Por las señoritas Briela, Melanie y Darla," she heard Nathan say, in bad Spanish, at her side. He was carrying a tray and offered them each a shot of some punch-looking mix.

The rest of the girls cheered and _whoop_ ed over the offering. They had had a lot more to drink than Brielle, and they all had already had a shot at Melanie's insistence not even five minutes before. Brielle was feeling the effects of that _one_ when her idiot cousin Nathan appeared with this next round. She immediately imputed to Bruce some scheme to get her drunk via her friends. She looked over to the bar by where he stood, but he wasn't facing her. That didn't mean that he wasn't to blame. Oh well, eff him. She took the shot.

A short time later, Bruce walked by and approached the group, too close for Brielle's liking. He tried to join in the conversation with the guys but kept slurring his words. Someone pointed out his lack of game at the bar, and he grunted.

"I'm too blond," he said. "Maybe I should've been a redhead. It seems to be what's in at the moment."

His pained blue eyes met Brielle's as he lifted his hand as if to touch her hair. She scooted away from him as mildly as she could without appearing to be rude and made a beeline towards Nathan, who was at the moment at the bar somehow getting more drinks.

"You told Bruce? What the hell's wrong with you, Nathan? How could you?"

"What are you talking about?" Nathan asked defensively, but he looked at the floor when he said it. He lifted his eyes to Brielle's face, but stared at a point behind her head and wouldn't meet her stare.

"What kind of friend are you? You screwed him. He's all pathetic over there. And me—I didn't do anything wrong, but he thinks I cheated on him. All thanks to you." She was angry but controlled, since everyone else was not too far away.

Nathan couldn't feign ignorance any longer from the force and certainty of her accusation. "Okay, okay—I told him what Aunt Joy said at dinner last week, but that's it. I don't know anything. I didn't embellish or anything!"

"Well, he came by my house last week and he was all heartbroken and shit. He didn't deserve that. Especially not from his supposed friend."

She walked away from her cousin, hoping to have shamed him for being such a bad gossip. She rejoined the group and drank with fake glee.

***

The answer was clear as day in Brielle's mind. At least, she that's what she thought, but in reality it was the alcohol helping her loosen some of her inhibitions. She hadn't even posed herself a question, but she was certain that she knew the answer to all of the world's problems. She asked herself a question now, because she felt that there was nothing she couldn't answer.

"What am I doing with these clowns?" She asked herself, referring to her classmates. And the answer was, "James is my life. James, I'm coming."

Why hang out with losers when she could enjoy James' company? Why had she wanted to pretend for a night? What difference did it make? Maybe James could take her to one of the other entertainment spots in the cruise. The shows were supposed to be good on the first night out.

She took the stairs down to the Riviera level, walking slowly, not trusting her steps. She was a little unbalanced from the alcohol. However, the second she hit the carpeted hallway of his floor, she sensed James' presence, and the coolest thing happened. As she stood there by the stairs, the usual shivers ran up and down her body, but they seemed to run deeper. As his presence filled her, she felt the haze of the alcohol actually diminishing. In less than a minute she felt fully sobered up. _Woot_. How was that possible? Maybe she hadn't been as drunk as she thought.

Standing where she was, she brought her left foot up and removed its shoe, while perfectly balancing on the five-inch heeled right foot. Interesting. Then brought the foot down and repeated with the other. She was surprised at her equilibrium; she did this without even leaning on the paneled wall. She was definitely not drunk.

Then she almost ran to the door with a little brass handle marked R305. Once in front of it, she paused, not sure what to do next. Maybe she should knock...?

She didn't have to deliberate for too long. The door opened.

James stood there, in a white bathrobe, his perfection mostly concealed but almost within her reach, save for a terry cord tied loosely at the waist. He looked... _like a god_ , Brielle thought, frozen in place, mentally drooling. He must have been taking a shower, because he looked like he had hastily put on the robe without exactly drying his hair. His hair looked the color of dark mahogany, and was pulled back like a... like a model in a magazine. She had never seen his hair like that. His eyes were a deep, complicated blue, which reminded Brielle of the ocean that besieged them. Yet with all the cooling power of the sea behind them, those eyes were burning, and Brielle stood motionless in their fire.

He too seemed to be held in place by his thoughts, and she knew exactly what those thoughts were; they were her own. James felt her clearly enough once she had separated from her group and was on her way down. All of this her mind registered, but she couldn't process. She couldn't move. There was nothing but him.

In the few seconds that passed, Brielle and James were one, yet standing a few feet apart. He was the first to break free from the spell that held them there, and crossed the threshold to reach her. She slid in his arms automatically, and he pulled her in the room, shutting the door behind him.

# 13.One

James' lips were on Brielle's before her back had slammed against the closet doors next to the suite entrance. Her hands were trapped between their bodies, on his chest, searching under the soft terry robe. One of his arms traveled up her back to her shoulders, found the thin strap of her dress, and pulled it off to the side.

Both understanding what was happening, as their fingers found skin, they slowed down. The kiss became deeper as their minds touched. _Ah_. She could feel his love engulfing her. There was no need to ask _anything_ —he could see her intentions in their shared minds as she could see his. That was new. Her mouth was busy moving slowly against his, but she could send him her encouraging feelings— _yes,_ _this is happening. I'm ready_.

In reply, his mind evoked the love he felt for her. His need, his desire, his joy.

His hand found purchase on her chest. He pulled back and looked down at her dress—it was just a simple, stretch cotton dress—for the first time. He figured out its mechanism and slowly pulled both straps down, helped her arms through and out of the straps, and brought the top of the dress down past her strapless bra to hang her waist.

The second her arms were free they went straight for the string of his robe, untied the odious knot, and pulled. She gasped quietly.

The shock of seeing him naked was stronger than she had anticipated. It was as though she had gone to watch a play, knowing that there was a whole set and backdrop behind the curtain, but never given much thought as to what it may look like; when the curtain lifted, the scene before her eyes had marveled her beyond anything she had ever dreamed.

James had stopped his groping fingers currently at her back, trying to unclasp her bra, when she had started in surprise. He now smiled and kissed her blushing cheeks—she could feel them blushing—her lips, her nose. "All yours," he said, the first words uttered since their frenzy had begun.

"As I am yours," she returned. And with that, she fully pushed her dress down, and let it fall to the floor. She stood before him in her underwear for a few seconds. She had dressed in underwear that she thought made her look nice, more so than if she were naked. She now showed him all angles by slowly doing a full turn in front of him—she knew that when she finished, she would remove it all, but wanted him to see her this way first. Too bad she was embarrassed when she was back in front of him and couldn't look up to see what he thought of all that lace.

But she could almost hear his thoughts. Oh, he approved. Thoroughly.

The tenor of his thoughts made her smile. _What the hell_ , she mentally shrugged, and unclasped her bra and removed her panties.

She finally looked up and saw an intense look of pure love. Wonder, admiration, devotion, respect: his eyes were lit with the love that now bathed her. She brought him close to her again; their arms went around each other while that slow, fiery kiss was resumed, their bare chests burning blissfully against each other.

His arms went down to the back of her thighs, and in an instant he crouched and pulled her up to his waist. Her legs went around him the most natural way, wrapping herself to him as though she weighed nothing. He slowly walked their entwined bodies to the bed, and bent down to place her on it. His weight crushed her deliciously.

"James," she said, feeling a savage pleasure tearing at every part of her body, just from touching his skin.

"I love you, Brie," he said, his lips two inches from hers. His eyes had the same intense look as before, and now they were framed by his moist hair as it fell forward at his temples. She was mesmerized. "No matter what I may remember, this _is_ our first time."

"Agreed. And as such, this might hurt a little..." she said, hesitating for the first time. She remembered their _other_ first time—they had never been with anyone else—and no matter how sweet it was, there had been that inevitable discomfort and awkwardness.

"Ah... I can't ever hurt you," he replied, and his hand went down where she most wanted him to. He caressed her, driving her to newfound pleasure heights on this most pleasurable of days. She wanted him to touch her _inside_ , and he did, and she moaned, and demanded more.

He sat back, removed his trailing bathrobe and looked down at her. That look made her want him more, but it pained a little, when she compared herself to him. She was so plain next to his perfection. He was so beautiful.

" _You're_ so beautiful," he whispered, and at the same time she felt his veneration for her through his emotions. He thought she was the most important thing in the world. She was his other half; the reason for everything that he did. He was hers; she was _his_. And he could do this, because she was.

And he lowered himself to her again, her knees on either side of him. She wrapped her arms around his back. She lifted her hips and their bodies kissed.

Oh!

He slid in gently, so gently, looking into her eyes, his mind telling her that he was afraid to cause her pain.

Pain, what pain? The energy that she usually felt pass between them when their skins touched was magnified exponentially as he entered her. She could feel the current running through their bodies, overcoming any feeling of pain or discomfort.

Slowly at first, she enjoyed the unhurried torture as he moved; she let it saturate her as her breaths became uneven. Until she couldn't take it anymore. She pulled him to her, her hands on his lower back, making him go faster. She was drinking it in, embracing him, holding on tightly to his back while receiving his fantastic force. As he went on and on and _on_ —

And then she felt the most glorious feeling of both her lives' recollection. It started rising and falling and rising and falling, until she was elevated past a height from which she couldn't come back down, and she held her breath in ecstasy. She was retained in that rush for a few immeasurable moments, her heart exploding quietly within her—but she didn't have a chance to even thank the gods for the pleasure that crushed her, because while she held that note he was still moving inside of her, and as the wave of pleasure slowly receded, immediately another one came, and another, smaller one....

She realized she was shuddering, they both were; until it finally ebbed, and their bodies were left trembling from the waves of pleasure that had overcome them. She was left weightless, her heart still racing, heat emanating from her body like a star....

The term _pleasure_ did not justify it. Her whole being was full of a _delight_ , a wondrous glee, her heart dancing. And with their connection she could feel his joy as well; it fed her love, reflected it back at him. He kissed her cheek, buried his face on her neck, and whispered many lovely thoughts out loud.

Surrounded by the nearly tangible haze of their presences, burning in each other's arms, they vanished.

***

The next morning Brielle woke up to Melanie's back, and was immediately confused.

The first thing her body had done before she even registered that she was awake was feel around for James with that sixth sense. The back of her mind had reported that he was there, next to her. So Melanie being in bed with her was beyond awkward.

Slowly she came to, and she remembered where she was. In her room, and that was Melanie in the small bed that was close enough to hers to look like they were sharing a king-sized bed. She looked around and saw Darla on the bunk bed by the wall, and the empty top bunk where Kate should be but wasn't—and James was _not_ here. Her body was lying; she could feel him the way she'd grown accustomed to feeling when he was next to her. Her mind was clear enough now that she remembered he had taken her back to her room after spending the happiest hours of this life with him.

Yet it felt like he was next to her! Then she realized that she _could_ tell where he was—just like she could usually tell where a voice was coming from. She scrambled out of the bed, picked up the room phone on the way to the bathroom and called his room.

"Hello?" He answered on the first ring.

"James! Good morning," she said.

"Good morning, Sunshine," he replied, sounding wide awake as though he'd been up for hours.

"I just woke up—"

"I know!" He interrupted her. "I felt you!"

"What? Really?"

"Yeah, I could feel you stirring! And it feels really... sharp?" He fumbled with the word.

"Me too! I thought you were next to me. At first I thought my James-radar was off—"

"Your _James-radar_?" He laughed. "Yeah, I guess I have a Brielle version. Sorry, go ahead," he said.

"It's pretty handy, actually," she said, thinking of how she'd been calm when he didn't show up for dinner that one time, because she could feel him nearby. "So then I noticed that it wasn't off, more like it was intensified, super accurately. I can tell where you are, I don't know how, but I can. Can you?"

"Yeah, I even noticed when you woke up! But while you were sleeping, I couldn't tell you as much. It's bizarre. And then you called me," he finished.

"Well, I called you because I wanted to know if your senses sharpened like mine did. Do you suppose it has something to do with..." she lowered her voice, "us having sex?"

He laughed again. "Nice theory. Probably. I mean, last night I felt like something unlocked. My skin feels... open."

"Open?"

"I guess. I feel like I'm more aware of my body, and the world around me. I don't know. I've been up for just an hour."

"Well, let me focus and see if I can feel anything else. But just in case, why don't we... try to prove the theory later today? See if any other senses intensify or improve," she said, in a pretend lab assistant voice, clearly only interested in sex. It felt great to be so comfortable around him to joke around, when she should have felt embarrassed.

"Is my girlfriend a sex fiend?" James asked. Her heart did a little flip at the term _girlfriend_.

"You brought this upon yourself," she said.

"And I don't mind one bit. So yes, please. I couldn't pass up the chance to do _science_. But first... have breakfast with me?" He asked.

"Why, of course, my willing assistant."

# 14.Spark

After they made plans and hung up, Brielle took a shower that lasted longer than it should have. She went over the every detail of their rendezvous in her mind. She closed her eyes and smiled as she relived the kisses had given her, the sensation of his body against hers, the feelings that had transformed her, and the peace she felt afterwards when they lay against each other.

When she finally stepped out of the bathroom, she found Melanie and Darla awake, discussing their party from the previous night and Brielle's desertion. _Oh, great_.

"You'd better have a good explanation, _Brie_ ," Melanie said in her fake venomous voice. Brielle knew that she wasn't really angry. Melanie had probably fulfilled her amusement goals for the night, something she could achieve with or without Brielle.

"Don't hate, Mel. So I met a boy."

"What?" Melanie and Darla asked in unison.

Of course, they needed to hear every detail, asked every imaginable question, and Brielle somehow explained the perfection of her night as well as she could without going into the best details.

Her plan had been to say she had met a cute boy at the party, and had retired to a different bar to have some alone time with him. But as it turned out, it is way hard to hide juicy details from thirsty inquisitors such as Melanie and Darla. Brielle managed to leave out the sex part, but owned that she had seen the inside of his suite.

"His suite!" Melanie repeated. He must be rich, too. Was he with his parents? How old was he? He couldn't be as hot as Brielle presented him. There was no way. He was? Then there must be something wrong with him. Was he a total dick? Was Brielle sure he was straight?

The interrogation went on for a while. Darla was thrilled and jealous. Melanie was also jealous, but happy for her friend, although she was not fully satisfied unless Brielle confessed _some_ details of their intimacy, such as how much skin had been exposed and to what base she had gotten. However, she let Brielle get ready for breakfast, only because both of them, Melanie and Darla, also needed to take showers and get ready quickly if they were going to see this guy before Brielle ran off with him.

It was now apparent that Melanie and Darla were going to be stuck together like they usually were before, if Brielle was going to be seeing a guy during their vacation and Kate wasn't even staying in their room.

Brielle left as quickly as she could and met James at his suite. When he opened the door, she couldn't help falling in each other's arms. It was an awesome feeling, belonging. Being part of each other. If she were Tux, she would've purred.

"Is it weird that I'm so clingy?" Brielle asked James, kissing his neck. "I don't remember being like this before with you," she said between kisses.

"I don't mind you being clingy. You can be my Super Glue if you want. And I think I'm a little, too. It could be because we're younger now than we were before, being together."

"Or that we just had amazing sex last night for the first time."

He chuckled in her hair, amused. "Don't girls prefer to say 'make love' instead of 'have sex'?"

"I don't know. Melanie is the one I get all my sex talk from, and she's always talking about sex. I don't think she's ever been in love. So no," she concluded.

"Stop talking about sex. Or we'll miss breakfast." His hands went to her butt cheeks. "We can _delay_ breakfast," he added, in an uncharacteristic display of common guy behavior.

"Hey now. Don't temp me." She extricated herself from him. "We need to eat quickly before the spies get going. That would be Melanie and Darla."

"Of course." He kissed her. "Let's go get some fuel to burn later."

Fuel to burn later?

"Who are you again? I thought _I_ was the dirty one," she said, pretending to be aghast at his innuendo. He was always so proper. _Sex changes everything_. Oh well. It's not like she regretted a thing from last night. In fact, it was arguably the best night of her life. But she needed to pretend she was a lady.

She shook her head disapprovingly at him. He grinned.

"You're not fooling anybody," he warned her. "I can feel what you feel, you know. So clearly. Actually, maybe that's why I'm talking dirty, because I'm taking after you."

"So what you're saying is, you're becoming like me, so I should become like you, and we meet somewhere in the middle?"

"Maybe," he said, and took her hand, like the gentleman he normally was, and kissed it softly. "But I hope _this_ never goes away."

They went upstairs to the casual breakfast restaurant and sat together at a table. There were a few girls from her group already there, and they did not fail to gawk at Brielle and her companion. Mostly at the companion.

Brielle should have felt miffed by the stares, but she was actually quite thrilled to be seen with such a guy like James; her confidence was boosted like never before. She had never felt exactly desirable, yet now she felt like an eight. In her mind, James was a perfect ten, and tens didn't date below eights. So no, she couldn't be bothered by the gawkers. And besides, she was staring at him just like they were.

"What?" James asked her, laughing.

" _What_ what?" She countered, confused.

"You're beaming like there's something hilarious going on."

"Oh," she said, and realized that she was. She lowered her voice and leaned in. "Girls at your nine o'clock are totally staring at you. I don't know if I should feel jealous or proud. I think I settled for proud when you caught me. But you already knew that, because you always seem to know what I'm thinking."

"They are _not_. And I don't know how this Brielle-reader works. Sometimes I can almost hear your thoughts, like last night. I think I can always feel your emotions, but then, they might be mine for all I know."

"Yeah, same here," she said, amazed. She grinned. "That's so cool. And the girls totally _are_ checking you out; see for yourself."

He dropped head slightly and turned to his left as much as he could without being obvious, under the pretense of pushing his hair out of his eyes. His eyes went as far left as they could go.

"They're staring this way, yeah, but they look confused. Maybe they're wondering why our hair is almost the same color, or think we're related like Elena did. Which was kind of weird."

"James, they were staring at you while we were in line. You don't seem to realize that you're total eye candy. No—you _have_ to know. You do look in mirrors, right?"

He rolled his eyes a bit. "Come on, Brielle. I don't spend a lot of time thinking about myself."

"You're so humble; it's so cute. Well, I'll say it for you. You are... _extremely_ good-looking."

He dropped his gaze to the table, but had a little smile for her. "Thanks, Brie. But you know," and he looked up, and his eyes were an overwhelming blue that momentarily wiped her mind blank, "you're _absolutely_ beautiful, yourself."

Brielle blinked, snapped back to reality and laughed heartily. "No no-no-no-no," she trilled. "We're not having that conversation. I'm partly embarrassed as it is, like I've somehow embezzled more beauty than what should've been my share...."

She let it hang there. His puzzled look let her know that he didn't fully understand what she meant—basically, that he was too good for her—but she had no problems with the gap in their attraction levels. After the previous night she was surer of his devotion towards her than that of her family's.

Her heart swelled with love as she remembered.

"I love you, James."

He smiled in return. However this mood detector worked between them, she didn't know, but she was glad that he caught on her feelings and seemed to let go of what they had been talking about. "And I love you, Brielle. You want to head out and explore the Bahamas?"

"You betcha," she replied enthusiastically.

They finished their food quickly, hoping to leave before more of Brielle's group showed up. They managed to leave the vessel without running into anyone else they knew.

***

The tourist resort Princess Cays where the ship had docked was charming, full of sun and warmth. Brielle felt her love for James growing more by the hour, and she could feel James' love flowing around him. They held hands as they visited shops, talked about trivial things, even discussed the meaning of life. She discovered they shared similar tastes in jewelry, gemstones, hats, clothes and the like. But what affected her the most was the feeling of being by themselves and acting as a couple would—a _real_ couple. Shopping, walking, talking, holding hands, with no parents around. It was like it _used to be_ , in their old lives, when it was just the two of them. Grown up.

"Shall we try these brand new swimsuits you got?" Brielle asked James, in mock businesslike fashion. James had begged to go in the water after seeing the impossibly turquoise beach; unfortunately, Brielle had not been planning to go out to the island directly in the morning when she ran away from her roommates, so she had not grabbed her swimsuit. Like that would dissuade James from his mission. He had purchased a pair at the convenient but probably overpriced shop along with towels and sunscreen. She had complained about the price, but he had pointed out that swimsuits made great souvenirs.

"I can't wait to," he replied presently, and he sounded so happy that she had to reach up and kiss him.

Her yielding to the expensive souvenir might have also had to do with the fact that she _liked_ him buying stuff for her—she could feel the reason he did it, and it only made her feel more loved. As long as he didn't buy her a house, or something she'd never be able to repay in this lifetime, she was fine with it.

Brielle was glad she had felt like dressing in comfortable clothes, because she now thought she would burst running without warning. The excess of energy she felt inside was incredible. They walked to the highly-acclaimed beach, changed to their new swimsuits in the restroom facilities, took off their outer layers and put on sunscreen. While she waited for the sunscreen to dry, or set, or whatever it was that sunscreen did, Brielle was anxious to spend some of this energy. She stretched on her beach towel.

"You look like a yoga class chick. _Namaste_ ," James told her.

" _Namaste_ ," she replied with a smile.

He paused for a second. "You know that thing where I'm becoming like a regular guy and saying coarse things?"

"Yes?"

"Well, I just thought of something really terrible, but didn't say it."

Brielle laughed. "Yet you just did."

"No, I didn't," he said, laughing at the accusation.

"You said you thought of something terrible, though. I can only guess what it was."

"Hey, it took me great effort _not_ to say it; so, I just wanted recognition for my little demonstration of power."

"Okay, then: you're wonderful for not saying whatever terrible thing you thought. But I've seen _other_ manifestations of your power, and I'm impressed enough. You don't need to worry about spending it all in curbing your guy nature."

"What other forms of my power you mean?"

"Well, for one, you _jumped_ to my window. And you can hear me, feel me, whatever, a mile away. And of course, let's not forget your prowess in bed."

"Brielle, you're so dirty," he winked at her, got up to his feet in one of those quick movements of his, and pulled her along with him. "Let's get you clean."

And with that they ran to the water, James pretending to be stern with Brielle, half-dragging her on, while she shrieked in delight.

The water was refreshingly warm, which was a good thing. After swimming for a few minutes, they gravitated towards each other and embraced under the tropical sun. She could tell he was feeling a little too happy from their closeness. She closed her eyes and let the sensation smolder her from the inside.

They spent the rest of the day before boarding time walking around, still full of energy. This was new. In the past, whenever she had gone to the beach, the briny air, the sun and the exercise, all combined to wear her out and make her feel sleepy. Yet after they had reentered the ship in the late afternoon, gone to Brielle's room to retrieve some clothes to change into—it was happily empty—gone back to James' suite and taken a bath, watched movies, and goofed around, they were _still_ not tired.

***

Brielle went to her cabin at that night to pick up the rest of her stuff. After spending one full day with James, she couldn't think of being separated from him even at night. Screw everyone and what they thought. James was more significant to her than anything else. Pretenses were crumbling around her. She lifted her head high, forcing herself to believe her inner pep talk as she snuck in the room, hoping to find it empty.

No such luck.

"Look who it is! Brielle, where have you _been_?" That was Melanie, of course.

From the scene before her, Brielle deduced that Melanie and Darla were going out that night. Melanie was only half dressed, wearing a skirt and just a bra, the contents of her luggage strewn over the two beds. Darla was wearing just a bathrobe—noticeably less fancy than those in James' suite—and was drying her hair at the small desk, full makeup on.

"I went out to the Bahamas, hello, like we were supposed to."

"Supposed to? No way," Melanie chastised her. "We're supposed to stay here and relax. But anyway, what did you do? Oh my God—did you go with the guy you met?"

"What! You didn't!" Darla said, unbelieving.

"Yeah, I did, actually. Why wouldn't I?" She challenged, while they both gasped. "And guess what? Since he's staying here solo... I'm going to pull a Kate and not sleep here tonight."

Brielle had to put her hands up, to block the immediate onslaught of "whats?" and "no ways!" from the other two. But she held her ground and said, "I totally am."

Melanie's mouth was actually hanging open. "Brielle. Ohm'God. You're serious," she said, almost in a whisper. She could not believe it, Brielle could tell. Little Goody Two Shoes, fooling around? _Having sex_?

"But you just met him, Brie," Darla said, the voice of reason.

"Guys, no—he's alright. He's more than alright, he's perfect. For me. And besides, I can take care of myself. If he turns out to be a dick, I'll come back. No big deal."

Melanie was still shocked and couldn't reply. Brielle's halo had just slipped down, and it shattered Melanie's entire universe. Darla didn't approve because she thought Brielle shouldn't do it with a guy she just met, but in the end she accepted it—both Darla and Kate had done it, Brielle knew, when they were juniors. Kate had started dating Ryan, and Darla had done it with a guy she had thought she loved back then.

"Bye, guys," Brielle said. She gave them both a reassuring smile, picked up her bags and left for her new room.

***

"You should've let me go with you," James said. "It sounds like they gave you a hard time."

"Nah," she said dismissively. "They would've been worse if you would've been there. Besides, Mel was in her bra."

"Here, let me take that."

James took her bag. They were walking together to his suite from Brielle's room. He had gone with her to pick up her things, although she had gone in by herself. He had waited outside alone all ten minutes that Brielle was inside trying to ward off the interrogators.

"Thanks," she replied.

"Would they?" James asked absentmindedly. "Have been worse, I mean? If Melanie had gotten dressed, I could've come in. Maybe if they'd met me they'd see that I'm in love with you, and wouldn't be, I don't know, so protective of you."

Brielle looked up at him. She now understood why she asked him to wait outside, when he presented her that scenario. She made a face. "I dunno. I guess I know my friends too well. Melanie, specifically, is a flirt. I don't think they'd try to openly flirt with you or something, but she was asking _waaay_ too many questions this morning. And Darla doesn't approve of me coming with you. They're in a weird place, being the two single ones. Mel specifically might be offended that I have a hot boyfriend while she's still single."

"Your friends love you," he said reasonably, as if it was obvious; _everyone_ loved Brielle. "They wouldn't put their status before your happiness."

"Darla? Melanie?" She asked, derisively.

"Well, I'm saying that they're probably just happy for you, but they don't want you rushing things with a guy you just met."

"Darla? Melanie?" She asked, in the exact tone.

James laughed and gave up. "Oh- _kaay_ ," he said. "They're _your_ friends; you know them better than I do."

They had reached his suite. As they walked inside, James said, "I'll put this right over here with my stuff. Since my stuff is yours anyway." He set her luggage by his.

Brielle blushed a bit. "Okay."

He walked back to where she stood motionless by the entrance and took her hand. "Don't be shy, Brie. You've lived with me before. Sort of. This is your room now. Throw your stuff around, make a mess. Feel at home."

"That's exactly what I'm having trouble with. It feels too formal, too different from home."

"Home is where the heart is. You just need to make homey memories here," he said, as he leaned in and kissed her cheek, her neck, her shoulder. His hands went to her waist as he kissed her. He nipped softly at her collarbone and her body responded by lighting a fire in the general area of her loins.

"Let's," was all she said, until her lips found better things to do.

***

The next day the cruise was at sea all day. Brielle and James woke up together for the first time in this lifetime; it was the sweetest morning she remembered, in this life or the previous. They stayed in the suite most of the day, enjoying each other's company. The entire time Brielle felt that surplus of energy, like she could run for miles. It was by far the best time of Brielle's life, and she felt like a totally different person that what she had been a few weeks before. She knew that the change was not just meeting James, but mostly with her newfound intimacy with him. She felt... all grown up.

On that third night of the cruise, Brielle had the pleasure of seeing James in a suit. They dressed up for a formal night; and while Brielle was excited to wear her sparkly mermaid dress, she was nervous to arrive at dinner arm in arm with her new boyfriend in front of the whole world to see. Or rather, her whole class to see. Okay; more like, _Bruce_ to see.

"Don't worry, love," James said at her side, and gave her a comforting squeeze of the hand. "Whatever they think of you, only a handful of them are friends with you later on. Those who matter don't mind, and those who mind, don't matter."

"Thank you, Dr. Seuss," she said.

"I think it was some other guy who said that."

"What guy?"

"I don't know."

"But everyone knows Dr. Seuss, so, there you go," she said, and immediately felt bad. "Sorry, I'm nervous."

"Do you want me to leave you alone to talk to him?" She knew well enough he meant Bruce. She could tell that James wanted to protect her from Bruce making a scene, but also trusted her to be strong enough to handle it. She still felt a bit contrite for dumping Bruce; even though she knew that he broke up with her once, before, _he_ didn't know that. She looked up at James and felt guilty for caring about Bruce.

James was looking at her, smiling a little. He probably knew what she was thinking. _Oh well_.

"I won't talk to him unless he wants to. He'll get over it," she said.

"I wouldn't be sure about that," James said. "But then again, he _is_ a tool."

Brielle smiled and felt better. With James, she felt like everything was the way it ought, and nothing could be wrong. There was no room for self-reproach, or doubts, or anything negative. Just the sweet, easy whirr she felt at all times that connected them. He smiled down at her—he was taller, even though she was wearing her five-inch heels.

They reached their table, led by the hostess, without running into any of Brielle's classmates. James pulled a chair for her and she took her seat, her dress and the Adonis that smiled at her making her feel like she was in a fairy tale.

She felt giddy when she noticed a couple of girls looking her way as James took his seat—whether because he had pulled a chair for her, gentleman that he was, or because he simply was so gorgeous, she couldn't tell. The girls were seated at a larger table across the aisle. They looked away, back to their own group, where the rest were chatting lively.

After the waiter had taken their orders, Brielle eyed the group discreetly. There were two girls and two guys, and all four of them were dressed elegantly. Her heart swelled with pride as she saw that James blew both of the guys out of the water in the hotness department. They were handsome guys, but James was out of this world. Then her triumphant heart deflated as she noticed that the female companions were stunning as well, blowing _her_ out of the water and making her feel inadequate.

The girls looked like they could be models, unreal, even though they must have been about Brielle's age. One was a brunette and had some exotic mix going on in her features and in her slanted green eyes. The second one was a blonde that must've had some work done, because no one could be that picture-perfect naturally and not be surrounded by paparazzi. Her hair alone was out of a magazine. It was unfair.

"What's wrong?" James could tell that something was bothering her.

"Nothing," she said automatically.

"You know, Brielle, one of the benefits of being able to feel each other like we do is that I'll be the only guy _ever_ that totally knows that his girlfriend doesn't really mean 'nothing' when she says 'nothing.'"

"No guy needs special powers to figure that out. If a guy has to ask 'what's wrong?' that automatically means that there's something going on. So 'nothing' can't mean nothing, by default," Brielle said, more for the sake of arguing than because she really believed that.

"She tries to change the subject. It won't work. What's up?" James asked, sounding genuinely interested. "Tell me what's bothering you."

Brielle smiled. " _Nothing_. Figuratively! It shouldn't matter to me. But... I was just sighing over how much hotter you are than me."

"Again? That's not true."

"Is too," she said, feeling like a child.

"But it doesn't matter. I don't see it that way."

"Okay; you don't. But that doesn't make it _not_ matter."

"What is it that matters so much? Are you worried about us? About me, because you think I'm so hot I'm going to... what?"

"I guess... no, I'm not worried about you," she conceded. She really wasn't worried about him leaving her because she was mundane and he was godlike. Then what was the problem? "I know I shouldn't think this way, but I'm concerned about what other people might think."

"And what might other people think?" His voice was velvety, his tone appeasing.

"That I'm not good enough for you," she muttered, looking down at the table.

He actually laughed, affectionately. "Brielle. _No one_ would ever think that. I can feel your doubt, I know—so likewise you should be able to feel my conviction. How I think you're gorgeous; how your hair is so beautiful; how you're so smart, and... and healthy." Healthy? She raised her eyebrows at him, amused. He continued, "You're absolutely _perfect_ in my eyes. And if one day you weren't, I'm not going to love you any less. I can't."

She was smiling now. "Thank you."

"Besides, it's not like we're going to look like this forever anyway. One day we'll be old, and none of this will matter," he said, waving his hand in front of his perfection.

"I'll believe it when I see it," she said, mostly to herself. She imagined James as an old man. All she could picture was him with a few wrinkles and gray hairs. He still looked fantastic in her imagination.

He gave her a look that made her wonder if he knew what she was thinking. "Regardless, I don't love you just for _this_ ," he reached across the table and touched her face gently. "I love you because you're probably my soul mate, or my intended, or whatever it is that we are. My soul loves you. Everything about you. Whatever you looked like."

"Whatever I looked like," she repeated, verifying.

"Brie, if you woke up a _dude_ tomorrow, I'd love you the same."

Brielle laughed. "A guy!"

James looked up, as if thinking about what he said. Then he laughed too. "Sure. I'd have to learn a few tricks, but..." he shrugged playfully, "what other choice would I have?"

"James," she said, unbelieving, "that's the weirdest, but sweetest thing I've ever heard." She felt warm all over.

"Ever? I guess I'm lacking, huh? I'll have to make sure to tell you nicer things from now on." He winked at her.

The food came, and it was amazing. It was served in courses: a fancy salad, butternut squash ravioli for entrée, and an enticing piece of white chocolate raspberry swirl cheesecake for dessert.

"I've gotta take a picture of this," she said, in awe, and regretted not having taken pictures of the salad and entrée. After she took a few, having the camera out, she decided to take a picture of James.

He gave her his best smile and she almost threw herself over the dessert plate to kiss him. The waiter came by and offered to take a picture of both of them. Brielle came around and sat on James' lap; afterwards, he got up with her and pulled her chair again as she took her seat.

She couldn't help but notice the blonde from the group across the aisle looked their way again. This time, though, Brielle felt elated. James would love her even if she was a dude. She smiled as she scraped the plate with her spoon, enjoying every last bit, while James looked at her thinking she was the cutest thing in the world.

"May I take you dancing?" He asked her with a smile that was impossible to resist.

"You may take me anywhere you want, as long as you're there with me," she replied, quite possibly with little stars over her eyes. Somehow, she managed to forget all about her classmates and Bruce and the hot girls, and only focus on how James made her feel.

***

When Brielle and James entered the ballroom they posed for a picture by a cruise photographer, which reminded Brielle a little bit of prom. In fact, as they walked to the dance floor she saw many classmates. Every one of them looked at Brielle and James. Some girls stared with their jaws hanging open, but while in James' arms, Brielle felt nothing but peace.

Until the crowd parted and she saw Bruce out of the corner of her eye. Automatically, she looked at him—to see him staring directly at her. Oops. He quickly looked away, but not before Brielle saw something like resentment in his eyes.

Whatever.

"Is it weird that I only care about what he thinks of me, not what he feels? Like, I care if he thinks that I'm a bad person, but not whether he's in pain or not. I don't know," she said.

"I can't really say I mind that you don't care for your ex-boyfriend's feelings, no. Luckily, I don't think anyone would blame me," James said.

Brielle spotted Melanie at a table with Darla and some of their friends, and walked up to them. Melanie's eyes widened without shame. Darla was a little less obvious. Brielle finally introduced James.

"Nice to meet you all," he said with a charming smile.

Melanie asked Brielle to accompany her to the restroom, because apparently she couldn't wait anymore to ask Brielle about him. Sending James as much apology as she could by means of her thoughts and feelings, she let Melanie whisk her away. They weren't safely out of earshot when she started questioning Brielle. Brielle was just explaining that the hair color thing was a coincidence when they ran into Bruce, just outside the restrooms.

Melanie looked at Brielle for an answer to the unasked question, _What do you want me to do?_

Out loud, but quietly, Brielle said, "Mel, you use the restroom; I'll be here."

Melanie did as she was told with a final encouraging smile, mouthing _Good luck_ as she went.

"So, Brielle, after you denied it a hundred times. You _are_ going out with a guy," Bruce said, before Melanie had even fully retreated.

Brielle didn't know where to look. "It's not at all how it happened. But nothing I can say now will change your mind, so yeah... I am. He's... he's right for me, Bruce."

"Ouch."

"I'm sorry."

"You said there was no one else," he accused her.

"There wasn't—" she tried to explain.

"Bullshit, Brie. The way you look at him—you don't just build that in three days. You know this guy from before. This is the guy Nathan told me about a _week_ ago! And you brought him _here_."

"It doesn't matter, Bruce."

"It _does_ matter, Brielle," he said, his voice thick with something like anger. "What did I do to you? Why did you tell me there was something missing or... whatever it was you told me? You can't be with me, but you can be with _him_?"

She was starting to feel quite wretched, because she didn't really have an answer for him other than _Sorry, I just don't love you anymore_. She couldn't do it. She didn't have the heart. The guilt and mortification threatened to crush her and she wanted to leave.

And then she felt him. James. James was exactly where she had left him, but he was sending her something—serene thoughts full of love and devotion. James loved her, and that was all she needed. She could do anything. She could face anything.

She took a deep breath and said, in what was hopefully a final tone, "Bruce, I'm sorry it happened this way. I'm sorry if I hurt you. I'm sorry if seeing me with him hurts you. You're a good guy.... I'll never doubt that. You're perfect for someone out there. Just not me."

Before he could say anything, she hugged him briefly, and added as she stepped back, "You didn't do anything wrong. I don't know how to say it so that you'll believe me. Sorry."

She turned to walk away, but Bruce grabbed her arm. His eyes showed a mixture of pain and anger. "You have no _heart_ , Brielle Marshall," he spat.

Daaayum.

The words stung, but he had a right to say them. And she had a right to tell him to go screw himself, but at that moment she was torn between hurt and irritation.

"I'm sorry," she said again, the only thing she could say. She shrugged off his hand and turned again, but again he grabbed her.

"Brielle—"

"Please, let go!" She said indignantly, as she felt an angry warmth in her chest explode and travel down her arm—and she felt it leave her skin where Bruce's hand gripped her.

Bruce jerked his hand back, as if shocked, and looked at Brielle with an expression of utter disbelief for a second. Then he walked away, shaking his head as he went.

Brielle was left alone, and realized that her heart was pounding on her chest. What had just happened? She pressed the palm of a hand over her heart as if to keep it from running off. This wasn't working. Damn Bruce!

"He's a total jerk," James murmured behind her, and Brielle felt his arms circle her tightly, lovingly. Her heart instantly lightened up and she turned around to face him, so happy to see him.

"But then, with that smile... I'd hover over you like a jerk if you ever dumped me."

"Like I'd ever dump you."

"In my nightmares, maybe," he said with a smile.

He took her hand and started steering her back to the dance floor, but at that moment Melanie appeared. Seeing James' radiant smile, Melanie beamed back automatically.

"You okay, Brielle?" She asked, not quite looking at Brielle.

"I am. Never better," Brielle replied.

"Of course you are," Melanie said, trying to sound normal, and not like she was gawking at her best friend's boyfriend. Truthfully, Brielle couldn't blame Melanie, but she had to roll her eyes.

"I'm sorry we can't stay and chat. We were going to dance," Brielle added.

Melanie's expression was a funny mixture of jealousy, admiration and amusement. "You kids enjoy yourselves. James, pleasure meeting you."

James smiled, clearly enjoying Brielle's amusement at her friend's expense. "Same here," he said all charms, and he even dipped his head a fraction, like a gentleman acknowledging a lady.

Whether it was the romance in the air, the way he looked, the amazing food that they ate, or liberty after having dealt with the ex-problem, Brielle couldn't tell; but something was different. They danced for what felt like half an hour. None of them were pros, but they swayed to the music and twirled every now and then, with that seemingly endless energy of theirs. As they danced a particularly sweet, slow ballad, their eyes were locked on each other.

"You look so beautiful, Brie, I can't say it enough,"

"I know," she said, and laughed at how conceited that came out. "I mean, I know what you mean. You look so... attractive. Well, you've always been. But I'm really, _literally_ attracted to you right now."

"Yeah, same here. That dress, it just looks so amazing on you...." He moved his hands slowly over her curves.

A shiver went up her arms as he touched her. Then she remembered her friends, all of them possibly watching. All of them.

"James, get me outta here," she whispered in his ear. And for added measure, she let the very tip of her tongue peek through her teeth and touch his earlobe briefly.

The hand on her waist squeezed involuntarily.

The ballroom was quite spectacular but the call of their room was stronger. As calmly as they could without seeming to yell where they were going and what they were about to do, they left the dance floor. Once outside on the hallway they quickened their pace, all the while Brielle imagining things and possibly flushing furiously. She hoped no one paid attention to them as they hurried hand in hand to the Riviera deck.

James threw the lock on the door the second they came in the suite, and was fumbling with his tie and his shirt buttons as Brielle undressed hurriedly. The elegant green dress almost didn't make it; Brielle thanked James' infrequent use of dress shirts and formal attire that gave her a few extra seconds to ease out of her dress.

It was finally off her and on the floor along with his suit, next to the door. James pressed her against the entry hallway wall opposite of the closet, and she made no attempt to move. She wanted him right then and there. Her arms went around him and he grabbed the underside of her thighs as her legs went around his waist. For all of Brielle's dreams of a bed as they had hurried to his room, said bed now remained quite in the background. Something in the back of her mind told her that this was ridiculous, that they didn't need to do this standing up, but....

It was happening and she had no room in her head to think about anything else anymore. James was inside her, his face buried in her neck as he pushed her against the wall with each thrust. Her hands went to his head and her thumbs found his temples. She guided his face to hers, she wanted to kiss him, but her lips lay immobile on his; her breathing was coming in gasps and the pleasure was building up inside her again like an explosive about to go off. And then it did—she felt a burst of energy flow out from her hands, a heat passing into James, and she was moaning, right there next to the door; she needed to be quiet, this was embarrassing; but she _couldn't stop_ —

She felt his hand over her mouth and she kissed it gratefully, reeling in the wake of the waves of pleasure that coursed through her veins. She took a finger in her mouth, caressing it with her tongue, and bit down softly. James made a grunting noise and pushed her hard against the wall one last time. She felt his shudder run up her own spine and disperse down to her fingertips, as his body was firmly pressed against hers. Then without a warning, he set her down carefully, kissed her, then turned and stepped in the bathroom door next to them.

Brielle rested against the wall behind her for support and took a deep breath. Slowly, the full command of her senses returned. She saw the mess of clothes on the floor and bent down to pick them up. She was hanging them up in the closet when James emerged, naked, and gave her a sweet smile as he helped her with the remainder of the clothes.

Then he took her hand and steered her towards the bed.

"That was wild," Brielle said as she lay next to him.

"I'm sorry, Brie. This bed is way more comfortable; I don't know what I was thinking," he said as he pulled her closer to him, embracing her. His hands went behind her and stroked her back. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"Mmm... no." His hands felt wonderful on her back, and she didn't want him to stop; she considered saying yes for a second, but then realized it would be cruel. And he might just know what she was feeling anyway. "Don't be sorry. I'm not hurt and I thought it was awesome. Plus I just learned something new."

"What is that?"

"That we can do it standing up."

He laughed, and kissed her temple.

The few times they had made love before, they had rested in each other's arms afterwards, spent. But at that moment, she still felt energized, quite aware of his body pressed against hers.

"I love you," she whispered in his ear, "More than I can recall ever loving you."

"Brielle," he said from somewhere beside her, in a voice that was full of love and desire. Whatever he was about to say, she didn't find out, because he started kissing her again, moving against her. And before she knew it, her body was reacting to his again. That was alright with her. He gently rolled on top of her and renewed his caresses.

As they finished, Brielle felt that same burst leave her hands. This time she recognized it, and brought her hands close to her face to inspect them as he lay on her side once again.

"Did you feel that?" She asked James, still breathless.

"Yeah, actually; something like a shock, a warm shiver on my back. Where you were holding on to me," James said.

"A shock! Did it hurt you?" She asked, looking into his eyes for possible signs of trauma.

He snickered. "No. It was a small shock. It didn't hurt... but it did feel kind of weird." He took one of her hands and rubbed it between his thumb and fingers.

"What do you think it was?" She asked.

"Brielle magic. I don't know. Try doing it again," he said, and smiled wickedly. "Touch me."

"Okay," she said, and put her hands on his sculpted chest next to her. Nothing.

"James... do you work out?" She asked, distracted. She had never seen him do a sit-up, but he had to. He looked like years' worth of gym memberships. Of highly successful gym memberships.

"I do pushups every now and then," he replied, and didn't ask her where the question came from. He could probably tell what she was thinking, through their apparent shared connection, or most notably, her hands on his dismally flawless pectorals. Right above his absurdly chiseled abs. No matter how many times they discussed it, she was going to get a complex. She couldn't compete with this level of... godliness.

"Is that it? How come you're so perfectly toned, so strong?" Brielle asked him.

"I've been doing them since I was fourteen?" He replied, but it came out as a question, because he knew it shouldn't be enough, but he was so used to it by now that he didn't question if indeed doing pushups every now and then would give him that body.

"You just held me up the entire time we had sex. When we came in the door. And then you weren't tired at all and we did it again!"

"Like you weigh anything, anyway," he said, as though he needed to defend himself.

"James, I weigh a hundred and twenty pounds."

"Naked?"

"Yes, naked! Who weighs themselves with clothes on?" She pushed him back, playfully.

"Uh... normal people? How do you weigh yourself at a public place?"

"I don't. Normal people do it in the bathroom—never mind. I'm not that light. You know it. And you can carry me around like nothing."

" _Friction_ held you up for the most part," he corrected.

"I'm pretty sure I was sweaty and gross, and you still held me up." She was beginning to think that there was something going on here. More than just jumping from building to building. Not just ability, but strength. Stamina.

He took a deep breath. "Maybe you're right. I remember us being more than just agile, before. Did you remember anything new?"

"No, I just have a feeling." She tried to remember.

"Don't..." He rubbed a thumb between her brows, which she had frowned in concentration. "I didn't mean to make you try to remember. But I think we used to be stronger than what we were before we met, back then. Except that we didn't attribute it to anything special. I guess we assumed that we got stronger with age. But that's not necessarily true, is it?"

"No. I mean, yes, it's not necessarily true."

"So maybe we _are_ something different," he said, and there was a trace of melancholy in his voice.

"What's wrong? You don't like the idea of being stronger, all badass?"

"I don't mind, but it makes me wonder.... This thing that happened to us, how we got separated, and all we've been through.... I feel like it happened _because_ we're different. It's a double-edged sword, is what I fear."

"We'll figure it out, James." She wanted to comfort him. She pulled him closer. "What happened to us, what we are."

"Okay, so touch me again," he insisted, and sat up, bringing her with him. He smiled again, and his smile took away everything that was wrong in Brielle's heart. She laid her hands on him obediently. "Now imagine you've got a spark, something like lightning in your hands, and you want to zap me."

She pictured current moving within her hands. Nothing. She focused on her hands, imagining feeling them getting charged—

"Whoa," James breathed, surprised.

"What?" She asked. She hadn't felt anything.

"Your hands became warmer; feel that?" He placed one hand on her cheek.

"Oh, wow. A little bit. Let me try on myself." She touched her belly but didn't feel anything after a few tries, and her hands were back to normal. Thinking that she grounded herself or something, she placed her hands again on James. She again imagined heat building up in her hands. Yes, she could feel something new... And she... she _pushed_ in her mind. She thought about _expelling_ the heat.

And she felt it again, a small charge leaving her palms, and going into James.

"Brielle!" He was thrown back an inch by the mini-blast. She removed her hands from his chest and hugged him, throwing her arms around his chest but leaving her hands in the air, careful not to touch him again.

"James, are you okay?"

"Yeah, Brie, don't worry," he said quickly. "It's okay, touch me. Here," he brought her arms in front of her again when she refused, and placed her hands on his chest. "See?"

"Did it hurt?"

"No, it was a small zappy thing. It felt weird again, but kind of neat."

"I'm sorry, James," she said, rubbing his chest.

"Brielle, you're like freaking Raiden. Don't apologize. This is so cool."

"Who?"

"Right... I forget you didn't grow up with brothers. Videogame. Before we were born. Long of the short, you're awesome."

"Well, what if you can do it too? Try me."

"I, uh...." His hands went to her breasts, and he couldn't help it, he squeezed. He just stared at them. "I don't think it's working. I'd better keep practicing...."

Honk.

She only giggled because it took her by surprise. However, once she giggled he was automatically out of trouble.

"James..." she started to say, but shook her head.

Practice _was_ important, after all.

***

Brielle was spending the best days of both her lives' recollection. Well, there might have been happier days in her memories, perfect days that were not tainted by the background threat of Davis; but these were the happiest _real_ days, because she had James, and Davis was a faceless threat somewhere in Illinois.

The closer she got to James, the more distant the memories seemed to Brielle. Not because the memories were fading, but because reality was so much sweeter. She could recall her honeymoon with James, and the happiness she had felt, but the memory was an incomplete picture in her head—it lacked the emotions that coursed through her body in present time, like when they held each other.

A couple of days passed and Brielle stopped keeping track of time. The ship traveled to St. Thomas and St. Maarten, but Brielle hardly noticed. She got up with James early for casual breakfast, wandered around the ship, had lunch, explored the port towns without paying too much attention to anything, had dinner, went back to their room.

They tried to do other things. The cruise was loaded a wide variety of onboard activities and stage shows, but nothing held their interest as their suite did. Brielle tried to go to the gym with James—she went but failed to maintain interest in the perfectly greased machines, the array of brightly colored dumbbells, exercise balls and yoga mats. This because all of her attention went to James while he worked out.

Hot darn.

He wore an orange short-sleeve shirt made of some light, breathable fabric. It was a little closely-fitting but loose enough that he didn't scream "I think I'm sexy yet I have no clue I look fantastically ridiculous" like a few guys she could name from her school. This shirt just followed his lean shape from his shoulders to his flat stomach. It met with regular, wide black shorts that hid what Brielle knew to be his shapely thighs, but would just leave other girls wondering. Brielle sighed and stayed away from him to avoid unnecessary hate from said other girls using the gym.

After a few unsuccessful attempts at weight lifting, unsuccessful mostly because she spent the entire time lusting after James, Brielle moved to the adjoining exercise room which housed the treadmills. This she found out she enjoyed, because she could run and run and spend all that excess energy she seemed to carry around without having to count repetitions or switch weights.

She started at a regular pace, but increased speed every few minutes, as she got bored. Her heart rate increased, but it didn't start to bother her until after thirty minutes. And then, she only stopped because she figured James might be done already. As she slowed down, she was happy to discover that she wasn't completely out of breath. In fact, she had expected it to be harder, since she'd never run on the treadmill before, but it had been surprisingly easy.

A poster on the wall reminded her to stretch as she cooled down. As she followed directions and stretched, she focused on James and noticed that his presence felt a bit different... engaged, but not just engrossed on the weights. She could somehow tell that it felt different, but she couldn't figure out how she knew. His presence just felt... friendly. Towards something. Or some _one._ It was hard to explain.

Brielle crossed the long room with the cardio machines and went back to the smaller room that had the strength training machines and dumbbells, where she had left James. With the ogling girls. _Oh no,_ she thought. _Girls_.

She was not surprised to see one of them, sporting a blond ponytail, had managed to approach James, no doubt attracted by his perfection. The girl was laughing and moving her hands about. Slut! Brielle felt a surge of jealousy that choked her irrationally for a few seconds. James' smile froze as he felt it, and his head moved immediately to the glass door by where she stood immobile, staring at him, as if someone had slapped her. And taken the power of speech from her. But she managed to smile awkwardly at him. She saw James move his head in the direction of the blonde and excuse himself. Without waiting for an answer from the girl, he darted towards Brielle.

"Brie!" He called tenderly when he was about halfway there. "Brie, are you okay?" He asked, as he reached her. Sweaty as she was, his arms went around her protectively, and he kept trying to rouse an answer out of her. "What's wrong?" He pulled back and took her face in his hands, and looked into her eyes, searching for signs of distress. His eyes were an intense sapphire blue, bright with exercise, or worry over Brielle's outburst of jealousy.

"Jealousy?" He asked, his voice low.

"I'm sorry!" She had found her voice, but she kept it low also, out of embarrassment. "I didn't mean to. I just—I've never seen you alone with a girl, and I came in here, and—Oh. My. God. It's the girl from the restaurant."

It was the blond girl Brielle had seen at the formal dinner a few nights before, the one that had been so interested every time that James had pulled back a seat for Brielle. The one that looked like she was a supermodel, and had given Brielle a complex. _That_ one. Brielle almost didn't recognize her in workout clothes, but as she turned back towards a set of pink dumbbells at her side, her perfect hair in her perfect ponytail and its soft waves at the tips triggered the memory.

"Who?" James turned around and saw briefly who Brielle meant. Yes, the girl he'd been talking to a second ago. "Oh. In what restaurant?"

"Formal night. She was just there with three other people."

"I didn't see her before tonight. She just needed help moving some dumbbells around, and was just making small conversation."

Brielle didn't believe for a second that the girl couldn't have moved the dumbbells herself, but by now she had calmed down enough to acknowledge that likely, it was the slut who had approached James, not the other way around, and that James, thank some lucky star or two, happened to be in love with Brielle. "I'm sorry, James. I don't know what got into me."

"You don't have to apologize," he said, rubbing her arms lightly. There was a trace of humor in his voice. "Do you want to go back? Are you done?"

"Yes please," Brielle said, and started heading towards the exit. To her slight mortification the girl approached them as they walked past where she was pretending to lift weights.

"Hey," she called out to James, smiling. Even her voice was pretty, damn her. "Thanks for the help. I'm Maureen by the way," she said, and extended her hand to James.

He took it, and smiled politely. "James. And this is my girlfriend, Brielle," and Brielle could have kissed him for the introduction. Take that, Blondie. _His girlfriend_.

However, the girl, Maureen, didn't flinch or look shocked or disappointed. She smiled the same smile, which at least looked genuine, and shook hands with Brielle, who returned the smile with a sweet one of her own, as if nothing was the matter. "Pleased to meet you," Maureen said.

"Same here," Brielle replied, in her friendliest, most honest smile that couldn't have possibly been faker.

"I was telling James that my friends and I—and Marie over there—are meeting later tonight after the comedy club. We brought bottles back from St. Maarten, and we're going to open a few tonight," Maureen said, and she actually giggled. "Since James is staying on the Riviera too, if you want, later, you can come by—R315." She moved to the door. She turned around and smiled again as she waved goodbye, and the smile was so sincere and heartfelt that Brielle would've been sure she had just made a new best friend. Maureen even looked like she was Brielle's age. She'd make a great girlfriend.

If it weren't for the fact that Brielle didn't trust Maureen. Not one single bit.

# 15.All Good Things

The final port of call was San Juan, in the island of Puerto Rico, a U.S. territory. They would be at sea all day again on Friday, their last day, on the way back to Ft. Lauderdale. Brielle wanted to disembark and visit the touristy town.

Docked in San Juan, Brielle could use her cellphone again without roaming charges. The morning they woke up docked at the port she called home, while she sat on James' bed. She meant to check in and arrange her arrival so that her parents could pick her up from the airport on Saturday evening when they got back.

Joy was happy to hear from Brielle.

"Honey, how's your trip been? Are you having fun?"

"Yeah, Mom, everything's going great over here. Kinda sad that it'll be over soon, but you know, you start missing your own stuff after a while."

"I know, baby. Especially your bed, right? And privacy? It's got to be hard sharing with three other girls."

"Oh, that's the worst," Brielle said evasively. It _was_ hard... the one night she slept in her room. "I mean, I love them to death, but... at school, you know?"

Joy laughed. "Well, you've got clean sheets and a made bed waiting for you."

"Thanks, Mom. How's everyone over there?"

"We're all fine.... Hold on, someone wants to say hi," Joy said.

"Hey, El," Brielle said, expecting her sister.

But all she heard on the other end was a confused, snappy "Mew?" as if the kitten were asking, " _What did you call me, human_?"

"Tux! _Meow_! What's up, buddy?"

The kitten mewed again, that cute little high-pitched sound of his; this time with a little more affection. She heard Joy laughing.

"He's been sleeping on your bed. I think he misses you."

"Aw, Tuxie! Mom, have you been feeding him well?"

"Of course! He makes sure I do. He's a sweet little kitten, but he's got attitude already. 'Pet me, feed me, where's Brie,' that sort of thing. And actually, he even got all grumpy yesterday and hissed at me while I was on the phone with one of your dad's friends."

"Tux? Wow, it must've been a terrible conversation," Brielle said half-jokingly.

Her mother's tone changed abruptly; she became serious. "It wasn't a bad conversation. I just... well, I thought he was a little weird. And maybe Tux caught my tone. Like a dog, growling when he feels something's off."

"The guy was weird? How? Who's this guy, anyway, that you're talking about?"

"Listen, honey, I don't mean to throw a damper on the final leg of your trip, but...."

Uh-uh. Joy was certainly not one to throw dampers. That was the last thing she ever wanted to throw. "What, Mom?" Brielle asked nervously.

"Oh, no, baby, don't worry. Everything's fine. He was just strange...."

"Tell me," she said. As she talked to her mother, James held Brielle's hand.

"This supposed friend of Reuben's called yesterday, and it brought up a red flag in my mind. Call it maternal instincts." James mood changed perceptibly. Brielle felt him tremble in her mind. "I'm only bringing it to your attention because I was a little worried—the guy asked about you in a way that I thought was... unnecessary."

"Unnecessary how?" Brielle asked.

"Well, he first asked about you and Elena, and I told him easily enough that you were away with your friends. I don't know him, but he claimed he knew Reuben, and there are a lot of people your dad knows that I don't, so I had no reason to suspect anything. So he talked about Reuben's hospital for a bit, and he sounded so nice and familiar that I kept talking to him. But not long afterwards he sort of steered the conversation back to you, talking about your graduation, and asked more specifically about your trip. That's when I got a bit uncomfortable, so I evaded his questions and excused myself to call Reuben."

"That's so strange. Then what happened?"

"Nothing. I'm probably just being paranoid. I gave your dad the phone and they talked for another few minutes, then they hung up. I asked Reuben who he was, and he just said an insurance agent from the hospital."

"What was his name?"

"Ah, you got me. Raymond, maybe? I'm not sure. And I don't know if that was his first or last name. I can ask Reuben," Joy offered.

"Nah, don't worry. So you thought he was strange and weird? But you didn't tell Dad."

"No, because it's just a feeling. Seriously, I just worried that you might be involved in a dangerous situation while away, unprotected. It's so good to hear everything's going well and that you're having fun. I love you so much," her mother said.

"I love you too, Mom. Thanks for the heads-up." All the while she was on the phone, Brielle sounded cool, just curious. However, inside she was terrified.

She could tell from his dark and stormy mood that James had gotten the gist of it. Rage had intensified his thoughts to the point that she could almost tell exactly what he was thinking. Brielle understood that this insurance guy was going to get beat up pretty soon if he was really after her; that over James' dead body someone would hurt her.

And all of a sudden she felt James' fear. She looked into his eyes as she reassured her mother that everything was alright. James was thinking about death, but only worried about the effect on Brielle's life.

That effectively got Brielle agonizing. James in any sort of trouble—there was no way she could let that happen. They had to get away. She had a burst of inspiration; she formed the thought clearly in her head hoping that James could hear her. He nodded.

"Mom, I know you're kind of worried, so this might be the wrong time to ask you. But some of the kids are staying in Fort Lauderdale for another week. I wanted to stay with them. Kate's staying." She said, glossing over the fact that Kate was actually staying with Ryan. "A few of them even extended their vacation to include some time in Miami. Kate's dad has a condo there, and I'd stay with her, so I wouldn't need a whole lot of money. I have enough money saved."

Her mother listened patiently through Brielle's whole pitch, and Brielle was surprised that she didn't immediately say no or ask if Brielle was out of her mind. Instead, she simply asked, "How would you come back?"

"Um.... Airplane? Not sure anyone would be willing to drive, if we rented a car."

"Good. Driving that distance is too much. Honey, that's actually quite fine with me. I'll check with your dad, but I'm sure he'll allow it."

"Really, Mom?"

"Yes, you see.... This Raymond guy is coming this weekend to visit Reuben, and I had mentioned that you'd be back tomorrow. So let's see if he's still overanxious to know where you are. If so, I'll talk to Reuben about it. I never mentioned the senior trip or anything else," she added, and that took some of Brielle's anxiety away.

She assured her mom that she would be safe with her friends, and that she'd see her again soon.

But the moment she hung up she was crying.

"I didn't mean to scare you," James said, embracing her. He knew what had caused her alarm. "I just never thought about somebody wanting to kill me, because nobody thinks about that, right? Unless you're in a gang, I guess, in somebody's hit list. But now that I'm with you, I've got to think of all possible scenarios."

"I don't want you to," she said.

"I have to. Brie, you're the most important thing in the world, and no one's going to get you, not even _over my dead body_. That's how I got there. I'm sorry," he finished.

"I can't think of anyone hurting you to get to me. It hurts, right _here_ ," she said, and squeezed a hand between their chests, over her heart.

James held her tight and tried to reassure her, and to hold her down, since she was starting to tremble. This reminded her of something; amongst the many memories she had yet to remember, this was one of the bad ones. She shivered through James' embrace.

He didn't have to ask her what was wrong. He felt what she felt. He let her try to remember so that she could face her fear. She looked in her mind for the feeling that was nagging her and found....

"Ah!" she cried, and a burst of power left her hands where they lay trapped between their bodies. James winced quietly but didn't let go of her.

This was bad. This was bad. _James_ —

"Brielle, don't. I'm here, with you. You're not there. You're not there," he said softly, consoling her.

His arms around her tightened protectively, gently, and he kissed her cheeks and her closed eyelids, where she was trying to hold back more tears. He kissed her forehead, her temple, and caressed her back. Brielle responded automatically to his touch, and despite her fear and anger trying hard to cling to her, she surrendered to her love for James. And her love was stronger than anything else.

She gradually felt the tension melt away, leaving her body, making her lighter. It was thoroughly relaxing.

"Are you hurt?" She asked when she had calmed down a bit.

"I'm okay," he said somewhere near her temple.

"You sure?"

"Brielle, I'm okay now. I swear." He pulled back to look into her eyes. "But darling, that was the strongest shock I've felt so far."

"I'm sorry!" She was terrified and tried to pull back even farther to examine his chest.

"No, don't be. I'm really okay. Besides, there are worse ways you can hurt me, and they have nothing to do with your power."

"I could _never_ hurt you," she said fiercely, thinking of a time he had said something similar to her. It was true. Hurting the other would mean hurting oneself.

"Of course not, love. _You_ couldn't. But if someone ever hurt _you_ , God forbid, if you... died—Jesus," he stopped abruptly and closed his eyes. He hugged her hard as the painful thought tore through him. "That would be the end of me. I'd _kill_ them, and I'd go to jail, or die; I'm not sure exactly...."

"Don't say that, James, _shh_." She could feel his hurt, and it was too much to bear. Never before had she wanted to be healthier, or live a longer life as she did now. But not for her. For _him_.

"Whatever keeps you at my side," James said, understanding her exactly.

"Okay, so do we do this? Stay in Florida?"

"I'd say it's an excellent idea," and his smile finally returned. His smile, as always, took all the hurt, all the fear away. It was instant. Like magic. She smiled in return.

"Do you want to skip San Juan and stay in? We can practice the shockwave," Brielle suggested.

"Definitely."

"The shockwave" was what they were calling their ability to expel energy from their hands. Brielle could now do it at will. She could even _hold_ the energy between her cupped hands like an invisible ball, feel the power, and _push_ it away.

James could certainly bring it forth; she could feel it in his hands. However, he hadn't been able to discharge it, push it out like Brielle could.

Brielle told him that he was being too much of a gentleman. That he couldn't practice it appropriately on her or on anything near her, for fear of hurting her. In fact, she probably would be in the same predicament, had it not been for the fact that it happened by accident, first with Bruce when she got angry, and then with James... later that night.

However, they didn't get to practice much. Their time together had somehow shrunk to the last two nights of the cruise—the future beyond the ship was again uncertain, despite their attempts at cheering each other up. Brielle didn't feel like leaving the room, and James was eager to please her in any way he could.

***

Brielle looked at James as he parted his hair in the mirror. He was already wearing his black suit for the last night of the trip, which was the second and final formal night. Brielle wore a simple black cocktail dress and had also parted her hair to the side, which made them both look strangely similar.

"We look creepy," Brielle observed.

James met her eyes in the mirror and seemed to ask _What do you mean?_ with his eyes.

"We _do_ look like each other, from a distance," she explained.

James grinned. "It's a soul mate thing."

"I'll take the shockwave and leave the part where you and I look like we're related." They didn't really look alike, but Elena's remark had a certain truth to it: when people have the same type of hair, they look related.

"It's not that bad," James said. "And even if we looked exactly alike, it wouldn't matter and I'd still date you."

"Ew," Brielle said, making a face before she could catch herself.

"It's true," James said, with a slight shrug.

"If we looked exactly alike, I'd have to have reconstructive surgery. We can't look alike. People would think we're siblings. And that's not right." Brielle's thoughts had gone in many directions, none of them good.

"I don't see the problem," James said. "What does it matter what people think?"

"James! It matters because.... Be _cause_. They'd be right to freak out, thinking we're brother and sister." She didn't see how he could think it was okay. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"Not really."

"It has to. C'mon. Suppose someone walked up to you and told you we _were_ brother and sister. That we were separated at birth." She expected him to cringe at the thought, but he only waited for her to finish. She continued. "You'd feel bad about what we've done so far, 'cause it'd be totally effed up. Right? Well, other people would feel the same way, _thinking_ that we're siblings."

"I don't see it," he said with another one of those little shrugs.

"Which part? You wouldn't feel bad if we were real siblings?" Her voice went up an octave towards the end of the question.

"Um... I don't know if I'd feel bad. But I guess I _know_ it's not true, so I'm not thinking about it seriously. It's not like I can stop loving you; I've established that."

"What! Ew. Gross."

"You'd leave me if someone walked up to you and told you I'm your brother?"

The question caught her by surprise. "Well, no, but if they presented me with real evidence...."

James turned around and walked towards her, his head down. He put his hands gently on her hips and slowly raised his eyes to hers. "You'd leave me?" His blue eyes flashed with sorrow, and were so appallingly beautiful that she couldn't look away. He sounded so heartbroken that Brielle almost cried on the spot.

"No— _never_. I could never leave you, James." She was a mess. "I'm sorry—I'd immediately reject and destroy the alleged evidence, since it'd be obviously false, because I can't feel this way for you if we weren't clearly meant to be as we are—" Her words were cut short as his lips descended on hers, warm, passionate, destroying all defiant thoughts as every cell in her body avowed that it belonged to him.

***

A voluptuous blonde in a red dress was leaning over the railing, her back to the Sun Deck. Her hair was long and fell in perfect waves to her mid back—just enough that her exposed back could still be appreciated all the way down to her waist. _Not her_ , Brielle thought.

But as Brielle watched the hair with envy—only because she couldn't magic long hair like that overnight—the girl turned around. Of course. It was Maureen. Brielle recognized her from dinner and the gym. In formal attire she was ridiculously beautiful. _Fake_ , her jealous brain suggested. She was way too skinny for that chest. And no one ever woke up with hair like that. She probably went to the salon every week. Every _day_ , Brielle corrected herself, noting that it had looked just as perfect every time Brielle had seen it.

At that moment, Maureen saw them, and waved at them, smiling. Brielle had been trying to pull James back discreetly, but she wasn't fast enough. Why did they come up to the deck after dinner? They should have gone dancing instead. Oh, wait—she had thought it would be romantic to watch the stars together. The Sun Deck was above the main Lido Deck and it smaller, more secluded.

But it was too late. Maureen was approaching them. Brielle scanned her face for a flaw. Her eyes were heavily made up so that they looked slanted, giving her a pleasing, curious look. Brielle couldn't tell their color from where she stood, but she knew they were blue; just not the intense, complex blue that James' were. Maureen's nose was perfect, and her lips plump, presently colored bright red. Not a single flaw. _Grr_. Her hands looked big. No, they were not that big.

Aha! As Maureen reached James—of course she gravitated to him, not to his girlfriend—Brielle noticed that she must be short. Or at least, shorter than Brielle was. Even in heels she barely made it to James' chin. James was tall, probably 6'-3", but Brielle, who was 5'-9", certainly reached his lips even when she was flat-footed. She knew because she only had to rise on her toes to kiss him. So there—this blond may be artificial in who knows how many ways, but when it came to height, she was literally stuck. That wasn't a flaw, technically, but Brielle had nothing else to work with.

Brielle beamed with James as they both greeted Maureen, but he flashed Brielle a knowing wink that told her he knew what she was really thinking. She frowned inwardly. She didn't understand her jealousy.

"Hi guys. James, and Brielle, right? I _love_ your name," she said, in the tone that she would tell a puppy that it was adorable. She always sounded suspiciously friendly.

"Hey, Maureen," James said, while Brielle replied "Hi, thanks," mostly because she felt she had to say something that sounded appreciative.

"Great night, isn't it? Marie—my bestie; you met her, James—she's totally missing out. But she said she needed to plan for the party—we're having another one. Hey—you guys didn't come out a couple nights ago. We had a _blast_."

"Oh, yeah. I meant to say thanks, by the way," Brielle said. "For inviting us. We decided to stay in instead," she added, rejoicing in the use of the "us" and the "we," hinting that she and James were a " _we_ "-type of couple that did things together, such going or not going to a party.

"Well, you could come tonight! We're doing it again; bigger, better, badder," she said enthusiastically. "Since it's the last night! We snuck in some rum from San Juan yesterday—it's super nice. What do you say?"

"Thanks, but we're underage," Brielle said.

Maureen laughed and made a flippant _pfff_ sound. "So are we! We're drinking responsibly. No one's driving," she added with a wink.

Brielle looked at James for support. He said, the diplomat, "We're going dancing later. And we have to pack, too, but we'll consider it."

"Great! So are you guys with that Chicago school group?"

"Brielle is, I'm not," James answered. And left it there. _Good one, James_ , Brielle thought.

"Oh. So did you guys meet here?" Maureen asked curiously.

"Nah, we met a long time ago," James said evasively, and winked at Brielle.

"Sometimes it feels like it was only a _month_ ago," Brielle said, trying to be funny, but of course Maureen wouldn't get the joke.

"Oh," Maureen said bleakly. Of course she didn't get it. But suddenly she brightened up as though someone had just told her the best news. "So, I didn't get a chance to tell you guys that I'm from Chicago too—well, from the suburbs anyway."

"That's cool," James said, politely interested. "Are you with your parents or with friends?"

"With some friends. I've been going on a cruise like this almost every year since I was a girl—I used to come with my mom when I was little, but she passed away when I was eleven; then I went to live with my dad and he didn't feel like bringing me anymore. So I started going out with my friends' families instead, and for the last few years now it's been just us—no parents." She smiled to show how much she enjoyed being without parents, which Brielle thought was distasteful considering she had just said her mother had passed away.

"I'm sorry about your mother," James said, and Brielle echoed something similar.

"Oh, thanks, but don't worry," Maureen said, waving a hand dismissively. "It happened a long time ago. She wasn't the best mom anyway. I was afraid at first because she had always complained about my dad—they'd been divorced since I was a baby—and I thought he was going to be mean, but it turns out my dad's great. He's really involved in my life, which my mom never was. I mean, I loved her, and it sucked when she died, but I'm okay now."

She rubbed her arm absentmindedly while Brielle wondered what to say to that particular disclosure of TMI. Why would anyone share the details of her life with strangers? Weirdo.

Suddenly Maureen jerked up and her eyes widened in terror as she examined her arm. "Oh no. Oh _no_." She started looking around the deck floor.

"What? Are you okay?" James and Brielle asked.

"Oh no!" Maureen repeated. "I lost her bracelet! My mother's! The one my dad gave her when they were married! How did this happen?" Her voice had become shrill, close to panic.

Brielle and James expressed their borrowed pain, and helped her look around for a few minutes, but found nothing. Maureen didn't cry, but was still distressed.

"Oh, man. I'll call Lost and Found," she said, defeated. "Thanks for the help, guys, but I gotta stop now—I have a party to go to. Well, if you change your minds about the party I'll see you there—room R315."

And with that she walked away, looking a little dejected. Brielle felt bad for her; together with James they decided to look around the entire length of the Sun Deck, to see if they found a bracelet. There weren't many people on the side of the deck where they were. They passed the stairwell in the center of the deck and moved to the rear side.

An old man noticed their activity a short time later. "You kids lost something?"

James explained that they were searching for someone's bracelet, and gave the old man the same description Maureen had given them: a white gold bracelet with a large sapphire inset in an intricate pattern.

"Oh, well, you just saved me a trip to the Lost and Found. Here you go," the old man said, and amazed Brielle by pulling out the bracelet from his coat pocket and handing it to her. "I found it on the stairs when I came up here," he explained.

"Thank you! She's going to be so happy," Brielle said, actually happy for Maureen. _Make up your mind_ , she told her emotions. Did she like or dislike Maureen? She couldn't tell anymore.

"Thank you, sir," James said.

"It's nice of you to look for your friend," the man said, and Brielle felt it would be rude to correct him about the friend part; not to mention weird. "You seem like decent kids."

"Thank you, sir," James repeated, offering his hand. "I'm James, and this is my lovely Brie, at your service."

"Russell," the man replied, shaking James' hand. He took one of Brielle's in both of his. "And she is indeed lovely," he told James.

Brielle thanked him sincerely. She felt that there was something about his smile that was sad.

"You kids with your red hair remind me a little of my wife," Russell said. "She was a redhead, though not quite as bright as you. She was always trying to help people... and everyone loved her. She passed away two years ago."

"Oh, no," Brielle said sincerely affected. "I'm so sorry for your loss." James also gave Russell his condolences.

What was going on today? It seemed liked everyone was trying to get Brielle to cry with their stories of dearly departed women. For a second she thought maybe it was the same woman—Maureen's mom and Russell's wife—but then she remembered that Maureen had said her mother died when she was eleven, which must have been some seven years ago, since Maureen looked like she was around eighteen; while Russell's wife had passed away only two years ago. She discarded the thought.

"Thank you. You're too sweet... I'm here with my son; he wants me to go out and enjoy life. I try, but I miss my Toni. We were married forty years. You can't just get over so much time together like that, you know? My son doesn't get it...." Suddenly he straightened up a little, and smiled faintly. "But I didn't mean to bother you kids with my stories. Please, ignore me. Find your friend. She'll be happy to know her bracelet's safe."

"We will. Thanks again, sir," James said.

"And by the way, you're not bothering anyone with your stories," Brielle said sympathetically. "Enjoy the rest of the trip."

With a final wave, they returned to the stairs to hunt for the bracelet's owner. Brielle's heart was no longer happy for Maureen, but clouded, thinking about an old man, his lifelong partner taken from him.

***

"I'm still thinking about that guy Russell," Brielle said on the way back to the Riviera Deck.

"Me too. What's bothering you? You sound sad," James observed. Brielle didn't exactly _sound_ sad; James was just getting that feeling through their sixth sense. Brielle didn't understand the emotions she felt coming from him: displeasure, dejection, and defiance.

"To have lost his wife after forty years; that sounds tough," Brielle explained.

"It does, and I can only imagine. Actually, I can't. It hurts too much."

"Yeah, I know, right?" Brielle said glumly. "I hope when we die, we die together."

He looked into her eyes. His gaze was brooding. "I'm not sure what to think. On the one hand, if you die, I'd probably want to die too"—he spoke over her protests—"but I don't want you to die, if I were alive or dead. So I'm setting a double standard. If I died first, I want you to keep yourself alive."

"I'm not making any promises," she said. "I feel the same way you feel."

"That's what bothers me. That guy Russell—I'm torn between disliking him for being here, on a pleasure cruise without his wife; and _admiring_ him for managing to stay alive."

They had reached Maureen's suite. "Let's not talk about this," Brielle said. She also didn't know what to think. She focused on the task at hand. "Do you wanna knock?"

"Sure," James said, and he knocked on the door.

After a few seconds, Maureen appeared at the door, and jumped when she recognized them. Good grief! Brielle was blinded by all the exposed skin she saw. Maureen was wearing nothing but a tiny bikini.

"You guys came!" She said with a little squeal of delight, jumping up and down and clapping her hands three times. Had she forgotten about her dead mother's bracelet already? "You changed your minds!"

"Sorry, no, not really," James said. "We just found your bracelet. Well, this old guy did. Here," and he handed it to its owner.

"Ohmigod!" She jumped up and down again, the clutching the bracelet in her hands as though it were a long lost treasure. Her bust gyrated in ways that Brielle couldn't help but follow with her eyes.

Seeing Maureen in a bikini, Brielle assumed that her chest had to be enhanced. But the way it moved when Maureen jumped in surprise—with quick, darting movements surely meant to engage gravity—Brielle had to admit that it moved naturally. _So what_ , she thought. Maureen was probably rich and could afford the best surgeon in the nation.

Because she was busy questioning the authenticity of Maureen's boobs, she was wholly unprepared for what happened next: Maureen threw her arms around James and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, pressing her outrageous cleavage against him. Brielle bristled on the spot but she didn't have time to force herself to react before Maureen assaulted her in the same manner. "Oh!" Brielle laughed amiably, and whether the laugh was real or fake, she couldn't tell.

"You guys!" Maureen said emotionally at Brielle's chest. Since Brielle was wearing her high heels, she towered over Maureen almost comically. "Where did you find it?"

While James explained as best as he could, Brielle stole a look inside the suite behind Maureen. From where she stood, it looked even larger than James'. She had read somewhere, since boarding the ship, that some staterooms had a Jacuzzi in-suite by the balcony. Which was totally ridiculous, Brielle thought, yet there was Maureen in a bikini, probably having a mini pool party inside.

Refusing again Maureen's now teary-eyed invitation, and feeling the ephemeral high of having done a good deed, they walked down the hall to their own mini party.

# 16.Charge

The next morning, James and Brielle, all packed up and ready to go, said their goodbyes to the suite that had been their little nest of love for the past week. As they were in line to check out, Brielle spotted some of her classmates ahead. The Lincoln Park High seniors were leaving early to catch their flight back to Chicago, except for a few of them that were going to stay in Miami, Kate included, like Brielle had told her mother.

"Be right back," she told James, "I'm going to say goodbye to Melanie and Darla, _again_." She had already said goodbye at breakfast, but she felt like seeing them off.

"Hey, Brie!" She was greeted by her friends as she approached them.

"Hey, guys," Brielle said happily. She wasn't sad to leave the ship because she knew she was going to spend another week with James in Fort Lauderdale.

"You're still deserting us?" Darla asked. Melanie rolled her eyes exaggeratedly and crossed her arms over her chest, acting like she was mad at Brielle. Her little smile betrayed her act, though.

Brielle had battled with Melanie that morning trying to convince her to go to the airport without Brielle. Brielle had only won by disclosing half truths about her intentions, and given Melanie a few juicy details about her plans with James. Only then did Melanie let her go. She had already wished Brielle the best of luck and hugged her goodbye.

"I'm just taking a later flight, is all," Brielle reminded them quasi accurately. Later by about a week would have been a more truthful statement.

Melanie shook her head like still couldn't believe it. "Wow. Brie, I'm happy for you. Screw Bruce. James is _so_ cute."

"Thanks... I guess." Brielle couldn't figure out whether she should be flattered or jealous.

They moved a little ahead in the line, and Melanie struggled with her luggage. She had the big suitcase, of course, plus an oversized matching satchel so heavy that she kept it on the floor, and her huge purse that normally housed the entire beauty department of a pharmacy.

"Where are your bags?" Melanie asked, kicking the satchel across the floor as they moved forward, instead of picking it up.

"Oh, a busboy picked up our luggage this morning. It's checked out already, and we'll pick it up when we leave the ship."

" _Our_ luggage which _we_ 'll pick up... aw!" Melanie cooed. "You're already talking like a couple!"

"I guess," Brielle replied. She sometimes forgot that her friends thought she had _just_ started dating a new guy. As opposed to having met him weeks before, and not even going to the whole "we used to be married" part.

They talked for a few more minutes until it was Melanie and Darla's turn to check out. They each hugged Brielle goodbye and promised to set something up when Brielle returned to Chicago; dinner or shopping.

The second Brielle was free, a faux tanned girl approached her. As she looked at the girl's face and saw the slanted green eyes, Brielle recognized Maureen's friend. _Great_.

"Brielle! Right?" The girl extended her hand almost formally. "I'm Marie, Maureen's friend?"

"Marie and Maureen?" Brielle couldn't help it, she had to comment. "That sounds funny. Sorry. I'm sure you've heard that a million times."

"Only a few hundreds. Don't worry," Marie said cheerfully. Another suspiciously cheerful cute girl. "It's just as funny each time."

Brielle didn't agree, but she wasn't about to insult a perfectly reasonable stranger for no good reason.

"Listen," Marie continued without giving Brielle a chance to reply. "Mo is looking for you upstairs. Ohmigod she's _so_ happy you found her bracelet."

"Looking for me?" Brielle's first thought was that Maureen might want to pay for the bracelet or something equally mortifying. "Oh, I'll find her later. I gotta get back to my boyfriend; we're supposed to be checking out."

"So early?" Marie asked. The groups left early for the most part, but passengers in general could stay until noon. It was only 9:00 am.

"Well, James and I are trying to find a nice hotel in town," Brielle said.

"Oh, I see," Marie said. "Well, in that case, do you want to come now? I'll take you there. I think she wants to give you something."

_Ugh_! But she went.

Brielle texted James that she was going to go back to the Riviera. She was actually happy that Maureen wasn't going to get one last glimpse of James.

When they got to Maureen's suite, Marie slid the keycard and came in without knocking. Brielle figured that it was Marie's room, too. "Come in," she said. "Sorry for the mess; we're packing. Mo!" She called. "Brielle's here!"

There was no answer, so Marie checked the bathroom and the balcony, calling as she went. Brielle thought she was ridiculous. Sure, the suite was huge for a stateroom, but not so big that a person wouldn't notice when another walked into the room. Maureen was clearly not there.

"Um, sorry. She was in the bathroom not ten minutes ago, right before I walked downstairs. Let me call her." Marie fished her phone out of her purse and moved her fingers over the screen. A few seconds later she brought the phone to her ear. "Hey Mo, where'd you go? Brielle's here."

After a minute or so of "okays," and "sures," she ended the call. "She's at the guys' suite, but she'll be here in a second, and she says she's sorry. Do you want to sit down? I'm tired." And with that, Marie went to one of the beds and sat down, chatting away about the cruise and the islands that she and Maureen had visited with the two guys they were with.

She turned out to be surprisingly easy to talk to. In fact, Brielle didn't even notice time go by until after about ten minutes later, when she felt a surge of irritation—it was coming from the spot in the universe that was James, always in the background even when she wasn't even thinking directly of him.

"Hey, Marie, I think I'd better get going," Brielle said, standing up the moment she found the chance in the conversation.

"Oh! Wow, I didn't even realize we've been talking for a while now. Hold on; let me call her again," Marie pleaded, pulling out her phone again.

"No, no, don't worry—I have to check out, but maybe she can come down if she has time," Brielle insisted. "It's been nice talking to you. If I don't see you again, hope you have a nice trip back."

After a little bit more fruitless resistance from Marie, she gave up and they said goodbye. Brielle stepped out, hurrying to the elevator. James' emotions had evolved from anger to disbelief to mortification in only a few minutes. She checked her phone. He hadn't replied to her text. She called him but he didn't pick up. She texted him again, asking if he was okay.

Brielle took the elevator down to the lobby, and when it opened she almost ran out, following James' presence amongst the many other passengers that were in the lobby level checking out. She wasn't surprised to feel him in a different spot than where she had left him—he wasn't in line anymore, but in a different part of the lobby where she knew there was a reception area.

As she walked down a corridor at the end of which she would take a left, she saw a figure crossing the opposite way, coming from where she knew James was. Several things happened in Brielle's mind in quick succession. Brielle gasped as she saw it— _her_ ; it was a girl covered in a strange reddish light, a thin glow all around her. Like an aura. Brielle was shocked because she'd never seen anything like that. As she watched the girl, in the next second she recognized Maureen's wavy blond hair. Maureen! Coming from the reception area where James was! Anger erupted within Brielle, momentarily casting aside the astonishment of seeing Maureen's glowing form and blinding everything but that lying, conniving bitch. And as Brielle focused on Maureen's still-moving, still-glowing form, she realized that she could _feel_ Maureen's own anger and disappointment as she walked briskly before Brielle, not seeing her, less than twenty feet away.

Brielle's brain had stopped processing more thoughts and had momentarily frozen, stunned, though her legs kept moving somehow. But it was only a flash—as the glowing Maureen crossed the hallway and disappeared from Brielle's view, the feelings faded and vanished quickly. The whole incident had lasted only a few seconds.

_What the hell_? By the time she got to the end of the hallway, she didn't even know what her plan was anymore. She was supposed to go left and find James, but she also wanted to go right and find Maureen—and do what, she didn't know—but her brain hadn't restarted. She finally stopped moving and rested against a wall. She had not only seen Maureen glowing, but also felt Maureen's thoughts? And of all the people passing by, no one else had seemed to notice the glow. Had it all been in Brielle's head? Had she confused her own anger at seeing Maureen, who had somehow tricked her into leaving James alone for a moment, making Brielle wait upstairs like an idiot while she, Maureen, tried to do God knows what with him—her irritation came back full force, and she could feel her hands full of the energy, aching to _release_ it—

Brielle felt the familiar comfort of James' presence a second before she felt his arms pull her into a warm embrace. Brielle could read his emotions without seeing his face, buried in her neck. He was flushed, angry, embarrassed, but now relieved, and pleasure at having Brielle in his arms was working its way to clear off the negative feelings. But where had the negative feelings come from? What had Maureen done?

"Brielle," was all he said against her hair, as he hugged her.

"James! What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said hurriedly.

"What do you mean, nothing? That wasn't nothing. What just happened?" Brielle asked tetchily, as she pulled back to look at him. To her surprise, she found him smiling.

"Yeah, I know. I thought your version of 'nothing' actually means 'something,'" he explained.

"Oh." He was making fun of her. But at least he was smiling. "Just tell me what happened, please?" She asked.

"Come on. I promise I'll tell you everything, but let's get out of here first. Okay?"

"Okay," she said. James took her hand and squeezed it warmly. He led her out, back to the checking-out line, except he went straight to the front of the line to a young manager who looked extremely happy to see him.

"Mr. Kenner! Ready to check out now?" The girl asked with a huge smile.

Great, another woman in love with Brielle's boyfriend. Join the freaking club. Brielle was starting to get tired of them. Although it had its perks, apparently; at that moment, Brielle didn't mind being able to check out faster. As James closed out his account, Brielle couldn't stop thinking about Maureen.

Brielle knew not to doubt James; there was no question there. But Maureen was a different story. Knowing that he had a girlfriend, she still sought James out. It was obvious. To Brielle, it was rude as hell. With her actions, not only was she saying that she thought Brielle was out of James' league, but establishing that she, Maureen, was. And that no matter how uninterested James appeared to be, she would keep trying, just like she had surely done just now. Because that's what had clearly just happened. Maureen had invented a story to take Brielle away from James, and had tried something with him—details to come, supposedly—when Brielle had felt James' discomfort while in Maureen's room with the accomplice, Marie. Maureen must have then thrown herself at James; why else would she have left him in such a state that Brielle could actually _feel_ her emotions, if it wasn't anger over James turning her down? The ultimate offense to a beautiful girl would always be rejection.

Why did she want James, of all the guys out there?

This was ridiculous. If only James weren't so damn attractive. Brielle would love her soul mate and feel the way she did no matter what he looked like. Why couldn't he be closer to her in the attraction scale? Ugh.

***

Finally, James and Brielle left the vessel together. Brielle was torn the entire time between wanting to see Maureen—to see if she could still feel Maureen's emotions, or even see the aura around her—and desiring to leave as fast as they could so that Maureen could never set her eyes on James again. James seemed to make the decision for her, as he wasted no time checking out and arranging transportation to the city of Fort Lauderdale.

Once in the city, James rented a car for driving around and buying the essentials. Then he searched for a decent hotel in town. The docking area wasn't too far away from the town and the airport, and James wanted to be close to both.

Brielle managed to avoid the subject of Maureen the whole time they ran their errands. As they crossed the lobby of the nice hotel James chose, Brielle decided she couldn't wait anymore and was about to bring up the incident. However, she was distracted by his choice of words as he checked in. James gave their names to the receptionist as James and Gabrielle Kenner.

Brielle's insides squirmed with an unexpected pleasure that she immediately chastised herself for. Married!

"Thanks, my husband," Brielle said over her sunglasses, after they were done and were moving towards the elevators to find their room. "I do enjoy this new condition of being Mrs. James Kenner."

"I'm sorry I didn't ask you. I just thought it would be easier. You know, keep it simple."

"You just made her day, though."

"What? Whose, the receptionist?"

"Yep. She might've thought we were a couple. But giving her the same last name, she immediately looked at your hand, then mine—I totally caught her looking—and seeing no ring, she relaxed in knowing that her original assessment was true; that we're just brother and sister."

"And she relaxed because?" James was now playing along.

"Obviously she's in love with you."

"Ah. Obviously. And you're going to set her straight, right? The poor thing?"

"I think I'll let her dream for a bit."

James smiled and kissed her cheek. "I don't just love you for your being my One and whatnot. You've also got a great heart, you know that?" James said with the sweetest sarcasm Brielle ever heard. She had to smile in return.

"And it's all for you, baby."

His features rearranged to a more serious look. "I'm not going to great lengths to hide our trail, but the little things help. I'd like to keep you on the QT as much as possible. And the less Brielle Marshalls around, the better. You don't know the resources this psycho has at his disposal."

"Well, where's my wig then?"

"Excuse me?"

"Don't you think he might recognize me less if I hide my 'Hey-I'm-here' hair? There's not a whole lot of couples going around with bright red heads... I've been looking. So maybe I should get a wig; what do you think?"

"But I love your hair. I'd get you one for special occasions, if you want..." his voice dropped suggestively, "but I'm not into that sort of thing. You?"

"James," she complained, trying her best to look affronted. She failed.

"That's what I thought," he said, and winked. Brielle wasn't sure what he meant, but didn't ask, because they had reached their room number.

James opened the door and let her in first. Brielle wasn't surprised when she saw it was a suite; he seemed to be a fan of large, fancy rooms. They tossed their luggage by the closet doors without even putting it away, and then lay down on the bed, side by side, holding hands. They stayed that way for a little while. Brielle's thoughts drifted to marriage and the future.

"Maureen came to me," James said, breaking the quiet moment and startling Brielle. Just when she had finally stopped thinking about Maureen. She had been looking at the ceiling, and now kept staring at it, but squeezed James' hand lightly in acknowledgment that she was listening. His voice was gentle, but he sounded far away. "She showed up a few minutes after you left with your friends. She asked about you; I said you'd be back shortly. So she made small talk while I was in line, supposedly waiting for you. But as I got to the counter and was about to finally check out, she got a call."

"From Marie," Brielle interrupted, in monotone. It was a statement. "Her friend. I was with Marie when she called," she explained.

"Were you?"

"Yeah, she came up to me as Melanie and Darla left. She said Maureen wanted to talk to me, so I followed her up to their room."

"Oh. That explains why you didn't come back for so long. Anyway, I didn't catch who was on the phone. But I heard her say something like 'Yeah, I almost forgot' and 'I'll ask them now.'"

Brielle thought that what Maureen said didn't agree with the short answers Marie gave at the time, but Maureen and Marie could've been talking nonsense to each other, lines meant for James and Brielle to hear.

James continued, "Then she hung up and said she wanted to talk to me about the bracelet, that it was really important. I had to excuse myself from the girl at the checkout counter—she said no problem, to just go to her directly once I was done—and I followed Maureen to a little waiting area off the lobby. The only thing that came to mind is that she wanted to find the man we told her had actually found the bracelet, and wanted to thank him personally."

_That damn bracelet_ , Brielle thought. She wondered for a second if Maureen had lost it on purpose counting on James to find it, just to have that excuse. But no, that would have been too big of a risk to take for a bracelet that had been her late mother's. Supposedly. She now even doubted Maureen's mother was really dead.

"But when we got to the waiting area, she...." James stopped for a second. His voice got stiff, as if uncomfortable. But Brielle didn't prompt him to go on; she could feel his embarrassment and discomfort.

"I'm sorry, Brie," he said, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn his head towards her. "I should've known she was up to something, but I... I didn't want to think that way...."

His voice had dropped to a painful whisper. Brielle wanted to look at him and tell him it was okay, that she knew he didn't do anything wrong—she _knew_ —but she also knew that she was about to get angry at Maureen, and she didn't want to talk because then James would know that she was angry and he'd probably end up feeling worse. However, the thought of his pained voice melted her impending anger away. She looked at him, squeezed his hand warmly in encouragement. "Whatever happened, it's not that bad. Please don't feel bad...."

James' eyes lit up; Brielle could feel his discomfort dissolve. He smiled timidly. "I know I promised I'd tell you everything, but now I'm not sure if that's a good idea. Not because I don't want to tell you, but because I don't want you to hear it. You're too good for this."

"James," Brielle said as unaffectedly as she could manage. "Ever since I first met her, I knew she wanted you. I've already imagined the worst possible scenarios. Yet here you are, with me. There's nothing that can be so bad if it ends up with you here, holding my hand, looking at me the way you're doing right now."

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. He was facing Brielle, but he didn't look into her eyes. "You knew, and I didn't." He sighed, and finally continued. "She sat down in one of the sofas they have there, and pulled me down to sit with her. Before I could even say anything, she put her hand on my face and kissed my cheek, and thanked me for finding the bracelet."

_Oh_. Brielle was confused. She thought it had been something worse. She breathed in relief, but she didn't feel any better. And then she knew that was not the end of it. He was still explaining.

"I sort of pulled back carefully, not wanting to hurt her feelings. I was torn. On the one hand, the move had been too intimate. It was almost proof that she liked me more than she should. But on the other hand, it wasn't a direct advance—she didn't, like, declare her undying love for me. If I'd said, 'whoa, don't, I'm with Brielle,' and she wasn't really into me, then I'd sound like I was too full of myself, as if every girl that showed gratitude towards me was in love with me. I hated that thought."

"Because you're humble by nature. You _have_ to know, James.... Look, for future reference, _every_ girl is in love with you."

He laughed half-heartedly. "I sure hope not. I can't see it that way. But today I wished I had. I should've known. Brielle, I should've said how much I loved you and described how I was having withdrawals because I hadn't seen you in ten minutes. But instead I said something like 'no problem,' something non-descript like that, and then she... she just kissed me... on the mouth."

James wiped his lips with the back of his free hand absentmindedly. Brielle tried hard not to close her eyes as if passing judgment. _Yuck_.

"She caught me by surprise—no one ever kissed me out of the blue like that, without my consent, you know what I mean? Not this life or the previous. Hell, in this life I've kissed no one but you. So anyway, I sort of froze while she did her thing, until I snapped out of it and I pushed her away. I think I said, 'Maureen, no,' like one would say 'bad dog.' I told her I hoped that I hadn't given her the wrong idea. She just looked at me. It was awkward. Then she said...." He closed his eyes like he couldn't go on. "I'm sorry, Brie."

"Don't worry, James. I think I know. I felt you get angry, you know. Did she insult me? It doesn't matter; you can tell me." It _did_ matter; Brielle would've gladly strangled Maureen. But Maureen was lucky that she was already gone back to wherever the hell suburb in Chicago she came from.

"She said she didn't understand. She sounded hurt, for real. I asked what didn't she understand, but she just asked me what was wrong with _her_. It's like she was surprised I rejected her. I told her there was nothing wrong with her"—Brielle sneered—"but I was with you; that you're my everything, that there's no one but you. And then she scoffed as though that wasn't a good enough answer, and asked me _why_. _Why_ I was with you. I hated that she would just imply, just like that, that she could be better for me than you are. I got so angry that I.... I think I shocked her."

"What?" Finally, some good news.

"Look." He brought his free hand over him, and concentrated for a few seconds. Through their joined hands, Brielle felt the power shift within him; as she watched, the air over him rippled abruptly as the power left his hand.

"James! You can do the shockwave! How?"

"Remember when you shocked your ex because you were angry? I think the same thing happened to me. I was holding her shoulders, to keep her away from me, when she scoffed and asked me why I was with you. She was so insolent. You know I'd _never_ hit a woman, and I didn't mean to, but I guess it just happened. I know she felt it, because she looked angry and hurt, but she probably thought I pushed her. I felt so bad, Brie, but she finally got up and left me. I stared at my hands, and I called the energy again and _pushed_ it out—I finally figured out how to do it. Then as I was sitting there, I suddenly felt you. You were nearby and so angry and confused. I thought you'd seen everything. But then you asked me what happened.... you didn't know."

Brielle was still reeling over the fact that James could release his power like she could. "Wow. You can do it now," she said, distracted.

"Yeah, well. Something good came out of that girl."

"There's something else," Brielle said, her mind returning to the scene that morning.

"What's that?"

"I saw something... and I felt.... I left her suite almost as soon as I felt your unease. By the time I came downstairs she had left you and was marching off somewhere. But I didn't see her at first; I just noticed a glow about someone who turned out to be her—"

"A glow?"

"Yes. Like an aura. It was red, all around her. As I saw it, I recognized Maureen. Maureen, who was supposed to be upstairs—she had tricked me! She had pulled me away from you to sneak off with you—when I came down, I could tell where you were; and she was coming that area. After she made me wait for ten minutes in her suite listening to her evil friend. I was so angry. And then I realized I felt a separate rage that wasn't mine. It was hers; she was furious.... I could feel her emotions, well, the one emotion—anger—like I feel your surprise right now."

"You saw an aura around Maureen, and you felt her emotions? Did you see anyone else's?"

"No, everyone else was normal. I could only hear her. And I dunno, I haven't seen her since, so I don't know if it was temporary or not. It felt like it was temporary."

"Wow. That's something else, isn't it? I guess she did have her use after all."

"Fuck Maureen," she said contemptuously. Brielle hardly cursed in front of James, but now she did, and it felt so good.

"No, thanks," James said. "I don't think I will."

***

It felt wonderful but strange, being by themselves, staying in a hotel room together, away from home and the senior trip and Maureen. The strange part wasn't that they were eighteen and living as adults—no, the strange part for both of them was how easy it was. They were still teenagers, but they remembered their lives together before, as adults. They had been married and had had a house together, taken life-changing decisions together.... This, staying together in a hotel, was nothing.

They ordered room service, walked around, shopped at the nearby mall; all the time pretending that they were older than they really were. Brielle had told Joy she would be staying for a week, nobody missed her at home, and the creep insurance guy scare had possibly been a fluke. He didn't ask about Brielle when he visited that Sunday, according to Joy; so Brielle saw no reason to cut back on the extended vacation.

"Look," Brielle pointed at a small supermarket as they drove around town. "Let's get some supplies."

"Anything for my wife," James said, turning into the parking lot.

"You have a wife around here?" Brielle asked, looking around as if to find a mail-order wife in the backseat.

"You've said yes before."

"You asked before."

"Brielle?"

"Yes, James?" Her heart instantly started hammering in her chest.

"You look lovely today," he said with a smile, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

"Thanks," and she couldn't help smiling back at him. Brielle wasn't about to get engaged with James, even though she knew, and he knew, that they were going to get married someday. Heck, she had memories of her wedding day that could last another couple of lifetimes; there was no need to spend another small fortune in a wedding. Great idea. This time around they could skip the whole thing altogether and simply go to City Hall. Did they even need to go to City Hall? What were they trying to prove?

"Don't be scheming over there, Brielle," James said.

"Me? I'm thinking of puppies and piggies."

"Of course you are." He looked into her eyes. Then he said, very seriously, "You _will_ marry me again, Brielle. And if we come back again, you'll marry me a _third_ time."

Brielle just stared at him. She didn't know what to say. She mumbled something like, "Of course."

He smiled and said, "Now let's see if they have that bread you used to like."

Getting groceries with James was a great experience. She couldn't remember a specific instance of them visiting a supermarket before, but she thought she remembered bright aisles and James' dazzling smile as they filled a cart with supplies. Presently, buying stuff together, running down aisles and picking up the same items, the same brands, it filled her with a sense of belonging. She could tell that he was feeling the same—the combination filled her with love.

A few days into their stay, they had almost forgotten about the temporary nature of their situation. It wasn't meant to be forever. Joy had called reporting nothing strange, no calls from the weird guy or any other calls out of the ordinary. Since they didn't establish a protocol for what to do in case the guy never came by, they thought perhaps it was time to go home. James scheduled their return tickets to Chicago for the end of that week.

Two days before departure, they were practicing the shockwave again while discussing their future together.

"What am I gonna do with you once we get back?" James asked, more to himself than to her. They were on the bed and he was playing with her hair, absentmindedly, while she in turn played with her power, charging and withdrawing the energy from her hands.

"What do you mean?" Brielle asked, confused.

"Living like plain boyfriend and girlfriend. You in your house and me in my hotel. I can't do it. I'm attached to you now. I _need_ you."

"Oh," she said. It hadn't occurred to her. It _would_ be hard. And weird. What would her parents say? Would they realize that Brielle had lied to them about her current whereabouts? Had the word spread that Brielle had basically stayed the entire trip with a guy in his suite? What if Nathan told on her? Joy would hear, and she would certainly figure out that James, the red-haired guy she had met, had actually gone to the Caribbean to have depraved, premarital sex with her daughter. That would be so scandalous. She started to panic.

In a second, James had her in his arms. "What's wrong? What's got you worried?"

"My parents. My mom. She's going to know."

"But she should know."

"No! That we had sex?"

"No, not that." He paused to kiss her head. "Although she was eighteen once, too, you know."

"Ew, James. Parents don't have sex, ever. End of story."

"Look, don't worry about it now. We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

"Easy for you to say. What would Ms. Lana say?"

"She'd say, 'where are my grandkids?'"

"No... that's what she'll say in our late twenties. Before that, until we turn twenty-five, the mothers don't want anything to do with grandchildren."

"Ah.... You're right," James agreed. "So she'd want to meet your mom, and they could plot to, I don't know, do motherly things."

"And what about the Davis guy?" Brielle asked, thinking of other things that were bothering her.

"What about him?"

"Where did he go? Is he waiting for me in Chicago? Is he still looking?"

"He either dropped off the radar or figured out that I was listening in and cut me off, because I haven't heard anything from him since... your graduation, I think."

"You're still spying on him?"

"Well, I haven't this entire trip. But I was up to last Saturday. After that guy came to your house I heard nothing interesting. Which means he probably switched lines of communication. But you know, I think we're ready to confront him. So what if he's looking for you? Can he really do anything to you? You'll zap him."

"Oh. I could." Brielle had to think about that.

It hadn't occurred to her to fight back. The idea of defending herself from Davis, or anyone that meant her harm, for that matter, lifted Brielle's spirits. To further the point, she asked James to practice honing their power.

They had practiced the shockwave every night, and by then they both knew how to call it at will and expel it like a static discharge. After the incident with Maureen, James had soon learned to command his power.

They were convinced that they both had the same abilities. They could both feel each other's emotions, sense each other's presences. Brielle had only felt one other person's emotions, and it had been Maureen when she had been feeling particularly angry, and so had Brielle. That was the one exception—James hadn't felt that. But then, Brielle reasoned, that could have been a result of the circumstances. After all, Brielle had been angry as much as Maureen. Maybe she could only feel emotions that matched hers. Maybe Maureen was different. Who knows.

After some practice that night, Brielle wondered what would happen if they held hands and discharged the energy at the same time. Would it mingle? Would it be more powerful? She asked James what he thought. They agreed to do a little experiment.

James took Brielle's left hand in his right, and sat down side by side on the bed. Brielle charged her hands first.

"Okay. Bring it forth," she said when she was ready.

James did as he was told. Brielle felt his hands warm up slightly as his energy traveled to his fingertips, and the hairs on her arm were raised as their energies mingled.

"Oh, wow. Do you feel that?" James asked.

"Yes! I'm afraid to let it go!" Brielle felt the energy increase within their bodies.

"Should I stop?" James asked.

"No, it's okay. How about...? Here, hold my other hand. Let's see what it does." She turned to face him and took his free hand in hers. James entwined his fingers with hers.

_Ohh_.... Their bodies charged with what felt like ten times the usual energy. The ends of his hair lifted by the unseen force, and she could feel her scalp tingling maniacally. It was chilling to experience.

Then Brielle noticed that James' expression changed from slightly nervous to upset, as if aggrieved. At first she thought the charge was too much to handle, but reading his emotions she understood that he was scared for _her_. She didn't want to know how she looked.

Well, it was now or never. She took a deep breath, aimed their joined hands away from their bodies, and let go, pushing the energy _out_ —it was _too much_ —

But she had only a fraction of a second to realize that she could not control it at all, and that it was going to be _bad_.

And she was knocked unconscious.

***

"Brielle. Brie, wake up," James was pleading. There was pain in his voice. Unacceptable. The idea of James suffering shook her free of the unconsciousness that enfolded her.

As she slowly came to, before she even opened her eyes, she heard him exclaim in relief, "Oh God, thank you. _Thank you_." And she felt the familiar arms tightening around her.

"James," Brielle mumbled his name. She wasn't calling him; it just came out automatically.

"Brielle, you scared the hell out of me," James said, and explained what she had missed. The shock had thrown her backwards, leaving her unconscious before she even touched the mattress. James had jumped forward to her immediately and held her, panicked for a small eternity when her presence was wiped off his radar. But then he noticed that she was breathing, her heart beating, and he calmed down a little. However, she could be comatose—after all, what did he know?—so he started shaking her gently until she came to. She had only been unconscious for about a minute, and was now lying down on the bed, her head on his lap.

"I can't believe that happened. I'm so sorry," James was still shaken.

She smiled weakly. "My turn to say 'don't be sorry'.... I love it."

She tried to sit up, but as she did she felt lightheaded, and saw stars dancing in her lateral vision. "Whoa," she said, as she threw out her arm to balance herself. James caught the arm and steadied her.

"Maybe you should rest."

"Okay," she said, and closed her eyes again.

But even with his help and a few hours' worth of sleep, she had a headache when she woke up.

"I'll get you something from the pharmacy," James said.

He found the closest one by searching online. In a minute he knew exactly where to go and how long it would take him to get there and back.

Brielle smiled through the headache as she watched him move around the room in commando mode. He turned out the lamps and left the hallway light on. He brought her a glass of water and a plate with a few saltines to her bedside, and left her cellphone next to her in case she needed to call him. Then he tucked her feet in, sat next to her and kissed her head. He repeated to her where the pharmacy was. Brielle was thoroughly amused.

"I'm glad you are. But rest. I'll leave the _Do Not Disturb_ sign on the door. I'll be right back. Call me if you need me," he said, and she could tell that he felt terrible leaving her. He added, "I love you."

"Thanks, James. I love you," she whispered, and felt his lips on her head once more.

She could tell she was about to fall asleep again, but she wanted to remain awake so that she could feel him as he walked away from the room. She could feel the emotions that he projected to her—his love, his wishes for her to be better, and even his desire for her, because she had looked so pretty a second before when she had smiled sleepily from the bed. She smiled at the thought, her whole being radiating happiness and appreciation for him, until the heavy curtain of torpidity fell over her again.

***

Brielle slept uneasily.

The headache stirred in and out of her dreams, and kept James at bay. Not cool. Dreamily, she heard the click of the door unlocking, which meant James was home and everything would be alright soon. Something about that was off, but she couldn't place it. While she struggled to overcome sleep and tried opening her eyes, she was thinking that she would ask James about the weird feeling, and that they would figure it out together. Her last intelligible thought was _James_ —and that was when she saw the big shape out of the corner of her eye.

She woke with a start, but it was too quick—she only had a second to react before her face was covered with a cloth. She didn't even get a chance to fully panic as a terribly sweet smell filled her nostrils and darkness took her once more.

# 17.Linked

An answer was waiting for Brielle at the very front row of her thoughts as she came to, but before she fully regained consciousness. She just couldn't exactly remember what was the question that she now had the answer to.

She should've paid attention to what her body had been trying to warn her.

In her mind, before her closed eyes, was a scene: she had heard the door open, and her brain had told her that it was James. James had left to get her painkillers, and she could tell that some time had passed while she slept, so she assumed he was due to come back. She wasn't expecting the cleaning maid. Who else would it be?

But no physical relief had come with the sound. James' arrival should have been portended by his presence.

_That_ was the uneasy feeling that she had had right before— _Ahh_!

Her heart panicked as she remembered. She had been _taken_. It couldn't be; she refused to believe that something like this had happened to her—yet it _had_ happened, she was sure. And as further proof she opened her eyes to an unfamiliar room. She tried to move, but her arms were restrained with some form of cloth at the wrists, and her legs at the ankles. Some metal thing set in in the restraints was scraping her wrist, and while it was not exactly painful, it was uncomfortable. She had never been tied up in her life. Shock, fear, disbelief, all pulled at her heart in different directions as she panicked.

Brielle realized she was shaking. Still, she forced herself to figure out her circumstance. She was in a small, dimly lit room, sitting upright—no, lying slightly inclined—on a cushioned chair. She was wearing the clothes that she had been sleeping in: a sports bra under a t-shirt, lounge pajama pants, no socks, barefoot. Her legs were off the ground and supported on some sort of extension of the chair; it felt like a patient's chair at a doctor's office, or a dental chair. There appeared to be only one door, to her left, and windows to her right. She couldn't tell what was behind her. She still felt drowsy and she could still smell something sweet—whatever they had used to knock her out. Assholes!

_Brielle..._!

James? She thought she felt his mental cry. But it had been faint, like an echo, so distant that she couldn't even be sure that she had indeed heard him. She pushed the remnants of unconsciousness off her mind and searched for his voice. But she heard nothing. She couldn't hear him at all. She couldn't even—

Oh no. Oh God no.

James?

There was no reply. There was no feeling indicating his presence. She was alone with her regular senses.

_James, answer me_ , she supplicated.

But she felt only his absence.

After being so close to him, after being used to feeling him nearby just like another sense, the sudden realization that he wasn't nearby made her flinch. As if something clawed at her chest—the want of his presence. It left something like a cold void near her heart.

And her terror escalated.

She started to cry. The reality of her situation suddenly fell on her like an industrial sack of flour flung from ten stories aboveground, knocking her breath away. She had been aware that she was in danger, but it hadn't really settled in. Somehow, if she had James, everything could still be okay. But she felt so vulnerable without James' presence to cloak her in safety. She felt like she had been stripped of a security blanket.

_Elena, I'm sorry_.

Of all things, she thought of her little sister first; what would become of her, and how would she handle it, if something were to happen to Brielle.

No. She refused to give up.

_James_! Brielle called over and over in her mind. Where was he? Where was _she_? She closed her eyes and strained to hear. She found something, but too faint for her to know for sure that she wasn't imagining it; that it wasn't wishful thinking. _James, where are you_? He must have been there, somewhere—she felt sure she would feel his true absence clearly. He must exist somewhere, but he was too far away.

_It could be miles_. The void in her chest seemed to expand, constricting her breathing. How many hours had she been tied up now? It felt like only a few hours had passed, but she might have been wrong. Her internal clock was screwed up from the napping before, from the headache.

She was still in panic mode. She had no idea how their strange connection worked over the distance. She wouldn't know—ever since their power had developed, since they realized they could physically tell where the other one was, they hadn't been apart further away than about a few miles. How close did they have to be in order to feel each other? If she focused, was it possible that she could hear him again? She didn't know, but she was about to find out. Of one thing she was sure: she couldn't deal with not feeling him the way she had grown used to. She was determined to hear him, somehow.

But Brielle didn't exactly know how to find his presence. She hadn't felt his absence in a long time, back when their connection was developing, so she was rusty in the procedure. But she started with the basics: _James_. She envisioned his perfection, and with it came rushing her feelings of love and intense need for him. He was her other half, her complement; he was all she would ever desire and ever need. _James, I need you_.

_James, please_.

She felt something.

It was very subtle; a muffled quiver, probing, and yearning. A presence. _Him_.

_It was him_.

A violent relief burst within Brielle. _James_. Her back arched slightly as her whole being delighted, welcoming his presence, frail as the connection was. Her lungs filled with oxygen that she hadn't realized she had been keeping from them, and she panted. Her face grimaced in pain, the agony of the separation finally attacking somewhere deep in her chest.

Now that she could feel him again, now that she was safe, her body acknowledged what she had refused to feel—that he was absent, not believing that he was gone. The last few minutes had been the worst in her recent memory, but her mind had refused to experience them. Now pain mingled with blissful relief flooded her heart. Tears overflowed and spilled from her eyes, as anguished sobs rocked her chest.

_Brielle!_ James' presence solidified as it embedded itself in her core once more. She felt his heart swell with relief as hers had. Exhilaration replaced darker emotions he had been feeling. But not before Brielle felt some of them as well.

His despair and his suffering. He was far, _far_ away, back in their hotel room. Brielle distinctly felt what he was sending her, support and relief and pure love. And, as Brielle closed her eyes once more to focus, she gasped quietly. She could _see_ images—the hotel room, the TV on top of the dresser, the curtains pulled in as he had left them... she saw this from the perspective of someone who was sitting on the bed.

For a second she was confused, but then she understood— _James_ was sitting on the bed, but she couldn't see him; she just knew that he was sitting there, somehow. Ah, she _could_ see him; she was seeing through his eyes, and could see that he sat cross-legged, his hands resting at his sides.

She noticed that the night table closest to him had been shoved aside, and the wall behind it had an ugly tear, through the wallpaper and the drywall behind it. Around the tear at the base of the wall there appeared to be a whole circular section about four feet in diameter that was warped and slightly caved in, as though an explosion had gone off in front of it.

Brielle was stunned because she hadn't felt any struggle before she was taken, and there was no sign of struggle in his mind. There hadn't been a fight. But then she saw it— _he_ had done it. _His_ rage had cast out enough energy to damage the wall of the hotel room. _Oh, James_. She noted the extent of the damage; whenever they had practiced before, there had never been structural damage. The energy left their hands like a blast but dispersed quickly. What had he gone through?

In the next few seconds, she saw everything as he replayed the scenes back to back in his mind. She saw him outside on the street a few blocks away from the hotel carrying a bag that she knew contained the painkillers, some snacks and a bottle of water. She felt what _he_ had felt. How his body recoiled as the quiet hum of her sleeping presence suddenly spiked, and disappeared in the next second. And she felt his emotions shift and darken as he understood that the unthinkable had happened. She saw him rush back to the hotel, knowing he wouldn't find her there, but hoping to find a clue. She saw him asking the hotel management if they had witnessed what happened, and his frustration when they said they saw nothing. They wouldn't help. Call the cops, they would say. But the cops would only delay him. He knew that he could find her, if she was awake.... Brielle saw James, back in the room, sitting down on the sofa, holding on to the armrest as he....

He had never tried this before. Brielle was out there somewhere, and he had to find her, no matter the cost. He knew, from his bizarre experience, that a non-corporeal part of him had traveled outside of his body. It had happened once, and it could happen again.

He didn't really understand how it worked, and there was no tech support to ask, but something within him told him that he could do it, and _how_ to do it.

James sat down and determined to relax his body and ease his mind. He needed to disconnect from his physical form. His body protested, but his resolve was firm.

But something was off. His heart was beating too fast. He was too excited, a mess of nerves and rage and impatience. About half an hour had passed since he had lost Brielle, and the thoughts he formed were killing him. The same knowledge from within him insisted, though, that he needed to _relax_....

He got up and went to the bed. It smelled of her... he slowly took a deep breath, and held it in for a few seconds. Then he exhaled, again slowly, and kept his lungs empty for a few seconds.... Then he repeated. The slow, deliberate breaths calmed his heart and cleared his mind.

As he lay on the bed, for about ten minutes, he focused on relaxing his body, breathing deeply, rhythmically. His arms lay at his sides, slightly touching his legs. He felt the gradual change in his body as he unwound. It was like falling asleep while fully awake....

And finally his body let go.

As he burst through, everything stopped abruptly. Free, he could see his body below him, and had to marvel at how unreal the whole thing was.

And so did Brielle. _Jesus Christ._ Her mind registered the shock in a brief second while she absorbed his memory. He had managed to travel outside his body. In that state, he found Brielle, but this part she didn't quite follow. While she saw the entire scene in a split second, there was something amiss here—something she couldn't see; a blur, as his thoughts glossed over the whole out-of-body experience. But that was in an instant, as she perceived the memory. The whole scene was almost smooth, except for that spot, which had felt like a short skip in a movie. In fact, she had almost missed it because she was so enthralled with what he had seen, and how he had found her the next second.

He had found her, and had made her stir. That was how he had shaken her off the stupor caused by the drugs they had used on her. And, mission accomplished, she saw him finally come back to his body after waking her up.

She was in shock. _What he had gone through_. She sent James her own images to him, the little she remembered, only to realize he already knew everything. He had seen all that she had seen from the room where she was held hostage. And this she knew because she could feel his thoughts. His thoughts that were still shaken and wounded at the moment.

_Oh, James, I can't believe you did that._ _Thanks for the wake-up call, babe_ , she thought to him. _I felt so alone_....

_Brielle, I'm sorry_. And for the first time, she heard his voice in her mind as clearly as if he was talking to her.

And she further realized that the thoughts she had seen of what he had gone through, she could see in her mind as plainly as she could remember the last hour of her life. His thoughts _felt_ like him, like his presence—she recognized their _tenor_ as James'.

_Oh God, what's happening_? She thought more to herself than actually posing the question out there for him. Either way, he heard it.

I'm not sure, Brie. But I think I'm in your head, and you're in mine. I guess this is... telepathy?

She thought back at this strange power that had developed over the course of the last few weeks. She had been able to sense his presence, his physical presence; a resonance that she could feel—similar to smelling a fragrance or hearing a sound. It had developed into something deeper, as she had been able to feel his emotions. She had assumed she was just getting more attuned to his feelings as she felt his presence.

This was new. Before, it wasn't telepathy. She couldn't hear his voice in her mind; she could only feel what he felt. But now she could really _hear his thoughts_. She could _see_ what he saw.

Their minds were linked.

The alteration excited her. Now that they could feel each other again, she was relieved; but being able to talk to each other—that made everything easier, somehow.

_Everything is going to be alright, Brielle,_ James assured her. _Right now all I know is you're somewhere north of me.... And far away. I'm running to the car and I'm coming to get you_. She could indeed _feel_ him running.

Okay, telepathy was definitely cool. She could talk to James, and he was who knows how many miles away. She tried to send him a thought, deliberately making a sentence, as opposed to her usually scrambled thoughts. _I'm sorry I got kidnapped_ , was the first thing she came up with.

She heard a sort of mental snort, shrouded in guilt. _No. Don't say you're sorry! I'm the one who left you alone!_ I'm _so sorry, Brielle_.

Brielle had to laugh at that, but not out loud. It was in her mind. _No, James. You were trying to_ help _me, getting something for my headache._

_You're right, Brielle_ , James thought _. You and I have nothing to be sorry about._ He _on the other hand... he's going to wish he never knew you ever existed_.

Concern trickled in her thoughts as she felt his anger. _James, he has henchmen. At least two. And in fact...._ Brielle started to say. She noticed something.

Since she woke up, other than a quick glance about the room, most of her brain's activity had been with James, in her mind. But as she strained to hear, she could detect something small... a heartbeat. Somewhere outside. _There's one right outside_ , she thought. _I mean, it could be Davis, but I feel like that heartbeat's been there the whole time, the guy possibly sleeping. It's probably a guard_.

James was astonished. _Jesus._ _You can hear that?_

_What do you mean?_ She asked. Truthfully, she hadn't paid attention to her range of hearing, or even wondered what was customary. She just assumed that the way it was for her was for everyone else. _Isn't that normal?_

_Not by a long shot_ , James replied. _Your hearing is ridiculous. Amazing._

_Thanks. I guess. I don't_ feel _amazing, though_. Her arms pulled uselessly at the ties that detained her.

_Don't let that coward get you down_ , James said. _He has to tie you down? Send his henchmen to get you_?

_You're right. Damn coward. He sent two dudes to get me! One of them was pretty big._ The remembered the last shape she saw before she was kidnapped. He wasn't huge in the sense that a weight lifter is huge. This guy was just tall and broad-shouldered; he had seemed to take Brielle's entire vision.

_Oh, shit_. James was startled. He had seen the guy in her memory. _That guy—that's the Aussie_!

_Who_? She asked, but she didn't have to, because James was thinking about the guy. She saw the connection directly in James' mind. When he had spied on Davis before, James had often seen him with a man that acted as a sort of bodyguard. James referred to him as _the Aussie_ because he'd heard the man speak and detected a thick Australian accent.

Seeing the big, burly man in James' memory and comparing him to the guy she saw, Brielle agreed that the big guy was this Aussie from James' reconnaissance.

_Be careful, James. When you get here, mind that guy outside. I don't know if he's the Aussie or the other one. There's also the one that was stalking me in Chicago, but I don't know, those two could be the same one. I didn't see the other one; I only got a glimpse of the big one_.

_Don't worry, Brie. We're going to get you out of there_.

By now James was speeding towards Brielle, the needle in the rented car pushing past ninety on the interstate that led to the place in the universe where she was. His mind was a mess. In the foreground, displayed before her, was the conversation he was having with her. In the background were other thoughts that revolved around her, which she could see only if she picked a thought and deliberately paid attention to it. He jumped from thought to thought as he raced towards Brielle, her presence guiding him like a beacon. And all was coated with a general feeling of agitation, a frenzy; the force that pushed his foot on the accelerator. It must've been that devotion that somehow convinced the Forces That Be to keep the police at bay, because so far he hadn't encountered a single cop.

James debated whether he should call the cops. Inform the authorities? Ridiculous. Who were they? Brielle and James had traveled through _time_. What could the cops do? Davis had kidnapped Brielle, which could put him in prison, but until when?

Brielle had to agree. She didn't want Davis in jail. She wanted the man _dead_. She gasped briefly at the thought, but didn't change her inclination. Davis, dead. No more running away. No more hiding. As she saw it in her mind's eye, she felt the burden that was Davis dissolving, and felt lighter. She savored the thought of him dead, leaving them alone forever, getting rid of this unnecessary fear. _Davis, dead_. She got more and more used to the idea. Her bloodlust blinded any other possibility. There was no other way to keep herself safe.

Herself?

Momentarily confused, Brielle wondered why her safety popped into her head in that fashion, when first and foremost was James' safety. What had gotten into her? She didn't know that she was able to contemplate murder just like that. Sure, when she thought about it, she didn't mind... but that was a first. Her whole being radiated fury, aimed at Davis, who had dared kidnap her... _Gabrielle_.

And then she noticed that it was _him_ —James was the angry one, not afraid as he normally should be, but filled with a rage that multiplied hers exponentially.

_Oh, okay_ , she thought. This link was going to take a little bit of getting used to.

Brielle was distracted by the sound of keys jingling nearby, but outside of where she was. Then the echo of a key being inserted in a door. The door that she had seen to her left. Her heartbeat quickened in anticipation. She felt James' heartbeat pick up as well, but his was fueled by rage, not fear. Brielle felt him accelerate in his race towards her. James was too far away, and this guy was about to come in....

_James_ , she thought, and hated that her thoughts were filled with fear.

_Hang in there, Brie, I'm coming for you_. His mental voice was draped with reassurance.

The door opened. Lights flickered on.

She braced herself.

# 18.Reveal

The man standing at the door looked much younger than Brielle expected. From her recollection, the last time she had seen him he had been in his fifties, balding, a bit overweight, and he had looked his age. A regular older guy she had met through some work event.

Richard Davis.

This version, however, standing serenely under the light of a florescent bulb, was absolutely striking in his appearance. He was more like a cologne ad model; classy, gentlemanly, and well-bred. By Brielle's calculation, from memory, he must have been forty-three or forty-four, but he looked as though he was in his thirties. He was wearing what looked like a very nice shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms. His hair was black, parted on the side, perfectly in place; like a financial tycoon stepping out of his expensive New York City apartment to greet the day, not at all like a kidnapper of little teenage girls in the middle of the afternoon. Or evening. It was dark outside, and it felt like countless hours had passed since her incident with James. James....

_Brielle, I'm coming._ James' mental voice was shaken. _Try to talk sense into him. Play along, don't anger him. Be careful... I love you. I love you so much...._

"The elusive Gabrielle," Davis said at last. He said it with the confidence of a man who owns many mansions and knows he looks good for his age. Even his voice was alluring, damn him. But Brielle didn't fall for his cachet at all. In fact, her dislike for him increased instantly because of his good looks—his _arguably_ good looks—and his voice just threw her over the edge into a blind rage.

Before he had said those three words, if she was being honest with herself, she had not really hated the man from her memories. She disapproved of him, she feared him, but she didn't hate him. He had been a ghost in this life, a looming threat obscuring the memory of a man who had once been a friend. She had reasons to despise him, but she couldn't, not without clear evidence of wrongdoing.

But now, his demeanor, his good looks, his Hey-I'm-rich attitude, and oh, yeah, his _kidnapping_ her—it reminded her that he had become a different person in this life. It made even more apparent the alteration between the man from her memories and the phantom stalker that had reduced her to fearing a shadow. Had made _her_ fear a shadow.

Ridiculous. Brielle Marshall shouldn't fear anyone. Especially not a coward that kidnapped and tied down girls. _He_ should fear _her_.

"I believe we haven't met. Officially," he added. "I'm Richard. Rich to my friends."

She didn't answer. She shifted her gaze towards a spot at her feet, away from him. She wouldn't give him the pleasure of her attention. But he wouldn't have that, apparently, and walked closer to her.

"You have no idea what you mean to me," he continued. "What you've done to me."

From somewhere high above where she had positioned herself, where the power of her confidence had elevated her, his words rang oddly in her ears. _Huh_? " _What you did to me._ " What could he possibly mean?

"Do you remember me?" He asked her.

Brielle shifted her eyes to him automatically at the question, but didn't answer. She returned her gaze away from him.

"Answer me," he said, raising his voice. When she didn't respond, he stepped forward and grabbed her chin, forced her to face him. "Answer me!"

Unable to look away, she looked in his eyes, but she did so defiantly. "I don't know you," she said without inflexion.

He dropped his gaze slightly. "Bullshit. You're too calm. You've got that knowing look. And you've been hanging out with Kenner. In that hotel room, living in sin." _Was he serious?_ "And _he_ knows, I'm sure."

At the mention of James, something must have shifted in her expression, because he let go of her chin and stepped back, amused.

"Oh, now she pays attention! It took me a while to figure out that he was here, too. Listening in on my conversations. So ingenious. But in the end, I'm glad he's here. He helped you pull that little stunt of yours, didn't he? You somehow managed to escape me in high school—very clever. Did you know? I was going to kill you."

Instinctively, Brielle's eyes widened in horror, and James flinched in her mind. She simply could not believe she had just heard this coming from the mouth of this seemingly-normal guy.

"Don't look so worried now! I've changed my mind since. Back then, though, I didn't know how your power worked. I couldn't have you changing everything again."

He wasn't kidding. He had seriously considered _killing her_. And he was saying this in the most regular of tones, like a person would say, _I was going to buy a car, but nah, I changed my mind._ It made her wonder if he had killed people before.

"It didn't occur to me that my old friend James Kenner was here as well.... Well, of _course_ I knew he was here, but not his older version that knew me. I thought you left him dead and he didn't come back. I went to see him about seven or eight years ago, but he was a regular kid back then.... No sign of awareness, nothing special."

Brielle could mentally hear James was putting two and two together while he listened.

Davis continued, " _You_ however, you had disappeared. In that room, that time. I knew you came back. I had to kill you. I couldn't risk it, not after—not after everything that had changed."

His voice became softer, as though he was thinking of something far away. But he switched back to his evil, almost mocking voice.

"Did you really think I wouldn't find you eventually? Don't you know that I know all about you... you, who gave us a second chance at life! Who gave me _this_...."

Because of his curious use of the plural, "us," Brielle thought he was going to whip out a gold ring and call it his precious. But what he produced from his right hand was an odd device, which he appeared to have been holding all this time. It looked like a sort of gun, in its general shape, but it had no visible hole where bullets would come out of, and the barrel was larger in diameter than any gun that Brielle ever saw. It did have a trigger, and looked deadly serious in its black metal finish. The oddest part about it was that it had a cable attached to it, hanging off the side, like a piece of computer hardware.

Davis took a seat next to Brielle, on what must have been a stool she hadn't seen, and fiddled with the gadget while she tried to look at him inconspicuously. She didn't want to appear to be interested in his fixation, but it didn't matter. He wasn't paying attention to her. He connected the cable from the gun-like device to another wire that was running on the chair that held Brielle.

"The things I've been able to do this time around..." he mused as he worked. "It has been good, Gabrielle. Thank you. I wish you'd reconsider your antagonism." He shifted his gaze towards her face again. "We used to be friends, remember? Maybe more than friends...."

His hand came up to her face and he caressed her cheek with his thumb. She recoiled at his touch. He moved his hand away.

"You weren't ever this feisty before. We hung out together all the time. I was your secret you kept from him."

His words, as much as she wanted to deny them, pulled memories from the vault in her brain from where she still retrieved useless information every now and then. She remembered one time he had asked her to go with him to an exhibition, and she had agreed. On many other times they had had lunch together, sometimes with James, sometimes alone. So what? He was fifty-something years old back then, and more than twenty-five years older than her. He could be her father. In fact she often thought of him as a father figure, a mentor of sorts, back then. Definitely not a love interest. _Yuck_ , her brain added.

_This guy's psycho_ , she heard James think, and she blushed internally. That James had to listen to this nonsense!

" _No_ ," she said, unable to keep quiet any longer. "We were friends, yes. Or so I thought. Clearly, I was fooled. No, actually, you were normal then, and you're crazy _now_ —you were never like this before. If you had, I would've never even talked to you."

"I'm the same person, Gabrielle. You're the one that doesn't remember." He moved his hand again, this time to her neck. His fingers stroked the side of her face and neck. "You were going to leave him—"

She snorted. "Ha!"

"—but right now you're too immature to see that! You _loved_ me!"

"The hell I did. You deluded yourself. I had—I _have_ —a fucking _soul mate_. What can you possibly be to me?"

He was leaning over her, disgustingly close, while James was just a cloud of red fury in the back of her mind.

"I'm the guy who made you _kill_ him," Davis said, lowering his voice, his words unexpectedly cutting through her like a knife.

She stiffened. There was something... something she didn't want to know.

Davis smiled, and dropped his voice to a murmur. "He was finally onto us, and you unleashed your power on him; you wanted to be with me...."

While she immediately dismissed his words about her ever wanting to be rid of James—there was never a doubt regarding who Brielle wanted to be with—his words, still, had triggered something in the back of her mind. Something bad. Something she had only begun to remember before, but never surfaced, her mind shutting the door on that one particularly nasty memory vault.

The worst memory of them all, the one that had been sealed and shut away never to be seen again—

Brielle froze, her expression horrified.

James' face in her memory had the same expression. The terrified blue of his eyes appeared before her mind's eye, her memory pulling his face, still as in a picture. _Her power had blasted him across the room, and he lay on the floor, barely managing to sit up. His eyes slowly closed, and his chest stopped moving. No sign of breathing_.

Davis seemed to enjoy the change in her countenance. "I guess you didn't remember that before, did you? How you killed him to be with me? The night I witnessed true power...."

It hadn't been Davis who had killed James. It had been _her_.

"Oh my God," she whispered, as she felt her body charge with energy. The palms of her hands, her fingers, even her feet, all were pulsating with power. She felt unstable.

The memory came, playing in her mind like an old movie.

She had had no reason to suspect Davis. He had been their friend, Rich, not a psycho multimillionaire tycoon. There had never been any advances, sexual or otherwise. So when he invited her to his apartment she only expected friendly conversation. _Ah_... he had wanted to talk about his late daughter, a daughter that had passed away as a child.

That's why Brielle had always gone along politely, because deep down she had always had the feeling that he saw her as the daughter he never saw grow up. And Brielle had lost her father when she was six, so she had missed having a father figure in her life.

But everything had gone horribly wrong. Rich—Davis—had turned the conversation around, going from normal to awkward in the blink of an eye. He had pressed himself against her, grabbed her and tried to kiss her forcibly, while she tried uselessly to unfetter herself from his grip. In her futility she had panicked, and reacted instinctively by charging her energy, without even realizing what she was doing.

James had busted in to help her, to get Rich off her. But her energy, unrestrained, never practiced, had been released involuntarily; it had thrown James with such force that he flew backwards and rammed against the wall.

It was the first time that she had discharged any level of her ability. She _had_ been different before: she had felt the power within her, she had been agile, strong, and she had been aware of James' presence. But in that alternate life—the future, their past—they had never been able to discharge energy like they could do now. At least, they hadn't known they could.

She had felt her emotional bond with James break as he hit the wall. The link had been severed; she had assumed the worst and believed him dead. For a few seconds that seemed like an eternity she had just stood there, doubting, willing him to be alive, hoping to see his chest move as he breathed. But he didn't.

A gasp from Rich had broken her trance. He lay on the floor a few feet away, a disbelieving but enthused look in his face. Regaining her senses, Brielle had finally walked to James and knelt at his side. He wasn't breathing. Her fear had been confirmed.

Her mind went blank.

And that was her last memory, the end of her past life.

Davis had incited her, but it was no excuse. No wonder she freaked out every time her power hurt James—somewhere in the back of her mind, hiding like a coward in the room of painful reminiscences, was the memory of her killing James.

All this she saw in a flash. Present-day Davis still sat next to her, talking to her, but she didn't hear him. And she was aware of James trying to tell her something, his own memories stirred by her revelation, but she couldn't focus on him, either.

The end of her life. She had died, she knew that now. Not just traveled through time. _She had physically died_.

"... but it's not easy killing someone, my dear. Your power had gone wild, unstable; and you had this blank look on your face. I have the feeling you don't remember that." Davis was saying. She was roused from her bemusement, and she fixed her attention on him. "You just walked away from him, into the next room, like a zombie. Killing him must've taken a lot of strength out of you, because you were dazed."

"I... I don't remember that," she mumbled, truthfully.

He seemed to enjoy her traumatized look. "Figures. Well, that makes sense. Don't worry, there's not much to remember after that. I followed you to the next room, and before my very eyes, you..." he shook his head once and chortled, almost unbelieving, "you actually _disappeared on the spot_. It's like you turned to energy. You created a sort of vortex.... I walked to it, and all of a sudden it _hurt_. For a few seconds. And that was it. I woke up here, eight years ago. I'm assuming the same happened to you."

_Holy shit_. It was her. It had always been her. She had created the supercharged wormhole or whatever it had been that had killed everyone, their bodies destroyed in a convulsion of energy.

But their essence had been caught in the vortex and had somehow been transferred to an earlier time. All three of them had traveled different amounts of time. He said eight years ago; for Brielle it had been twelve years. And only four for James.... How it actually happened, and where they had physically landed, she had no idea. They had all three of them been in Chicago when it had happened, but woken up back in different locations. At least that had been the case with Brielle and James—she had been in Urbana, and James in Peoria.

It sort of made sense, or at least she could _pretend_ that it made a little sense. She assumed that an ethereal form that was by nature attached to a body was bound to be volatile, fleeting, when detached from its host. And due to that unstable nature, they must have been led via the path of least resistance until the spirit realigned with the appropriate body, the only bodies that would house them.

Now she knew what had caused the problem in the first place. Her. They had traveled through time because of _her_. And all this time she had given the issue very little importance. She had not stopped to think, _oh gee, all this stuff from the future, I wonder how exactly did that happen? And hey, given the fact that James and I both have sort of supernatural abilities, pushing energy around, hmm, could any of us_ possibly _have had something to do with it_!

But what had happened was, in the last few weeks, there had been other more pressing issues at hand. She hadn't had the opportunity to look into that, to question. Other things had occupied her mind. _Like what, prom_? She scoffed at her pathetic attempt at justifying herself. She should've known. She would've figured it out eventually, remembered on her own. _Would that have helped?_ Her helpful subconscious chimed in, defending her.

_Yes_! She yelled at herself.

Facing this memory was horrifying. She had completely freaked out by James' expiring, and had released enough energy to create a vortex that killed her and Davis, and disrupted the space-time continuum. How was she to avoid doing that all over again?

Angry tears pooled in her eyes as she remembered. They remained open, as they were before the dreadful truth had fixed her countenance.

"Why are you so shocked? You didn't know? You killed Kenner, you broke our timeline.... Why do you think I've been looking all these years for you? At first to kill you, yes, but that was because I hadn't realized the possibilities...."

As he spoke, the pain of the memory made her blood boil. Already agitated, she was dangerously close to losing her grip on her power, which coursed through her. She vaguely wondered what would happen if she did lose control. She was tied up, and Davis was at her side. From practice, she knew that she had to _aim_.

But Davis wasn't the one that had killed James, that had killed them all. It had been _her_.

_No_ , James' voice was passionate in her mind. He had been listening to her, even while she had been distracted and not able to hear him. This revelation, the turmoil in her head had made _him_ relive his last memory, which so far had been shut in his mind as well.

_Look_. And in an instant they were seeing it together; his mind was the theater, and they were the sole audience, gripping each other's hands while staring ahead.

***

James came to and was immediately afraid. There was chaos in the air, which was shock-full of Gabrielle's distress, and now his own, as he realized that he could feel her presence no longer. The whirlwind of energy called to him, even as it grew weaker. He walked towards it, while everything about the room's atmosphere warned him to stay away. Something about it felt like _her_.

But he couldn't look away from the center of the turbulence. There was something—there were... limbs— _disembodied limbs_!—scattered about. The floor was wet and sticky. He knew better than to look down—he guessed that he was stepping on human remains. But he couldn't help seeing out of the corner of his eye, and what remained of Rich Davis' body was almost unrecognizable. He shuddered with disbelief.

But Gabrielle—Gabrielle he would recognize anywhere, and effortlessly. And there she was, her lifeless body only a few feet away from him. Her eyes were closed, and it looked like she could be sleeping. A sob escaped his throat, and tears clouded his vision.

No—he refused to believe that she was gone. She was somewhere in there, in that whirlwind. Even if physical death was evident, he didn't accept the evidence. And without even thinking properly, his every fiber had but one choice, really.

He followed her.

***

_I'm sorry you had to see that_ , James said.

My own dead body? No, James. In fact, I'm surprised. He said I disappeared.

She heard the mental equivalent of a sigh. _I wish he'd been right. I wish you didn't have to see yourself like that_.

Deep down, Brielle knew that the image of her dead body would haunt her dreams for many years. If she ever made it out of here and was able to dream again, that is. She would gladly take a few nightmares in exchange of getting out of here unscathed. _Don't be sorry_ , she told James. _I caused it, after all_.

_You didn't cause it on purpose. Your memory ends when you saw me dead. When you thought I was dead. You were distraught; your power couldn't be contained. You know you didn't mean to_.

_Yes, when almost I killed you! Oh God_.... Her insides squirmed in pain and disgrace.

_But I didn't die, Brie. It's okay. And anyway, that's in the past—a future that will never happen_. James was trying to calm her down. Which was a feat, considering the level of anxiety going on in his own head.

_No. I couldn't control my power then; how can I make sure I can now? How will I keep you safe_? Brielle didn't trust herself.

_We're stronger this time, Brie. Of course you can control it. We've been practicing_.

_Oh. Yes_. That was true. Davis had almost brought to the edge twice already by forcing her to remember things that she didn't want to remember. And she had contained it. _Yes! I can contain it_. She beamed mentally.

"So you see, my dear Gabrielle, you're the one that did this." Davis said, bringing her back to her physical state. He waved his arms around the room and down his chest, pointing at himself. What did he mean, the one that had done what... turn him into an asshole? No, he was always one, she now knew. He continued, "You brought me here, where I became so much greater. You gave me second chance, and _what a chance_. You're my savior. If you only knew."

Brielle looked at him briefly, and then looked away. She didn't know how to respond. She didn't know what his plans were with her. But as long as he was talking, he wasn't hurting her, and James was getting closer.

"And you're meant for me," he added softly.

At that, she had to respond. "I'm sorry, Rich," she said, calling him by his first name for the first time in this lifetime. She appealed to his memory of times when they had been friends. She tried to sound heartfelt. She was, after all, for the time being at his mercy, and didn't want to enrage him. "I'm happy for you, that you're so much better now than you used to be, and I'm sorry if I caused you pain—"

"Pain!"

"—but I'm meant for James. I always was. I'll always want to be."

He was quiet for a second, his eyes narrowed as if debating what to say next. Then he cocked his head almost sympathetically. "Gabrielle, I'm sorry; your James is _dead_."

_What was that_? Brielle and James simultaneously dismissed the ridiculous claim in their shared mind. James added, _Um_ , _no. I'm okay_.

She couldn't help it. Her amiable façade shattered. Her mouth twisted into a sneer and she raised an eyebrow contemptuously.

Davis' face darkened.

He didn't seem to like Brielle's reaction, and she wondered if she had revealed too much. Davis had never known about their connection. First, it had always been their most intimate secret. And second, back when they were friends with him, it was much less developed. It wasn't something that anyone would notice by observing them.

But from the look in his face, Brielle could tell he now suspected something. She backed off her high horse immediately, and tried to straighten her face into a more questioning look.

But it was too late.

He slapped her.

Brielle and James gasped simultaneously, her cheek stinging with surprising pain. _Jesus!_ She heard James exclaim, his wordless outrage mingled with pain and frustration at the distance that incapacitated him. She saw him push the pedal further.

Davis lifted his hand, purposely showing his backhand, and said, "Gabrielle, I think your attitude is really starting to piss me off."

And before she had time to react, he brought his hand down a second time, with extra force. His knuckles connected with her cheeks, and something else—a metal ring, perhaps—cut into her flesh, in the most violent assault anyone had ever wrought on her. Ever.

James contorted with pain and his car swerved dangerously. _Brielle! I'm sorry; I'm coming. That fucking jerk! Brie, hold on..._ his thoughts were a violent stream of profanities mixed with affection.

"Who's laughing now?" Davis' voice was deadly cold. "Don't you ever mock me again, you silly girl."

Angry, painful tears sprung unbidden in Brielle's eyes. In this day and age, a man hitting a woman was beyond spineless. Even though she was in the receiving end of the blow, her first emotion was shame. It should've been resentment, but she couldn't help it; she felt violated, belittled. And the fact that James was watching made it all the worse. Davis wanted to humiliate her; trying to bring her down from the high place she had set herself, full of pride, feeling superior to him. He wanted to remind her who was the one tied down to a chair.

But no. It would _not_ work. Rage, mingled with James' rage, charged her body as her entire being twisted with murderous thoughts, and her stare changed from shocked to deadly. Who was this craven asshole to hit her? Let him untie her, and then they would see who was the one that would end up in tears. She wanted to kick him. The short fight in front of the diner in Chicago, that seemed so long ago, crossed her mind and charged her veins with something, something that made her mouth taste metallic. And then she remembered Bruce, how she had zapped him—

And her body, full of crazy violent fury, aching to release it, finally expelled it, lifting her fingers and pointing at Davis, as she tried to channel her fury directly at him. She didn't know how she looked, but it must have been something fierce, because Davis froze as if afraid.

Particles in the air crackled with her charge, but Davis only looked startled. He didn't drop dead. After a few seconds he visibly relaxed. He laughed quietly and put his disgusting hand on her face again. This time he caressed softly where he had slapped her.

"Stings, doesn't it? But you were so uncooperative. I'm sorry."

And then he surprised her by fiddling with the chair once more, and removed the device he had put there, which she had forgotten about. She was scared now that he was going to shoot her with it—put a bullet in her head, or no, somewhere non-lethal.... Torture her....

But no, he just held it in his hands and looked at it with wonder. Then he stood up, and bowed slightly.

"Good night, Gabrielle. Sleep well. Tomorrow I'll let you wander the house, if you behave. I hope you don't have to use the restroom." And without waiting for an answer, he left the room.

She had thought about asking to use the bathroom as an excuse to untie her, but figured that he wouldn't fall for it. The guy was seriously messed up in the head. His sudden mood change, from abusive to cold to politely interested in her welfare again, completely confounded her.

What the hell was that? Was that a test? Was he going to shoot her? Or did he manage to store her power in that device? If so, did it work? What was he planning to do with it? Or worse: had he somehow managed to neutralize her ability? Rendered her powerless? She called her power forth in her hands, felt the warmth as it charged. No, he had not shut down her power. She still felt it in her hands.

James was beside himself. But he was closer now. _Sign says fifty miles. Be there in about thirty minutes. How the hell did they take you so far away in so little time_?

_I dunno. Chopper_? She thought back at him.

I don't doubt it. By the way... I didn't call the cops, Brie.

_I know. And I know why_ , she replied. She didn't want the authorities involved.

_I'm going to kill this guy_ , he said.

_If I don't kill him first_.

***

There was nothing going on around Brielle, so her mind was on James. It was quite interesting, despite her situation, that their anxiety at being separated had turned this power into something altogether different. A mind link. Telepathy.

She could see what his eyes were seeing, as he focused on the road and his over-the-top speeding along the interstate. Even when not addressing her directly in his mind, she weaved in and out of her thoughts. She saw him thinking of her like he last saw her, sleeping, her brow furrowed slightly as the headache affected her dreams. His thoughts revolved around how beautiful she was, and Brielle's ego purred. He pictured Brielle in the mermaid dress, smiling. Brielle's naked back, his hands at her hips.

_Uhh, sorry_. James' thoughts were instantly coated with embarrassment, and reverted to fully-clothed Brielle.

Amused, Brielle made the best of it, and sent him a big mental smile. It didn't matter a bit how he thought of her. She was happy enough that he was thinking of her.

But she did notice something.

_I'm pretty sure I don't look like that_ , she observed. The Brielle in James' head had been shapelier, fuller at the hips and thighs, skinnier at the waist, and had the softest, loveliest skin in the world. According to James' thoughts, that is.

She pictured her shape, her hips and waist not really giving her any flattering curves. Nothing interesting there. Her arms were unfit and bland.

_Um, that's one argument you can't win. Besides, I'm the one that has the advantage of looking at you. At your back. You can't see your own back properly_.

_It's called... mirrors_? _Hello_? She thought derisively.

_Your mirrors are obviously defective_. He showed Brielle the way he saw her naked form. _See? Like this_.

_No, like this_. To establish her point, she envisioned herself naked, every angle she could think of.

_Brielle,_ and he was amused at her stubbornness. _It can't be. I mean, you're beautiful in your imagination anyway, but_ this _is what you look like. When was the last time you looked at yourself? Because this is you, I swear. At least as of lately. Oh,_ he said, and Brielle saw where he was headed.

_Maybe I've changed... recently_? She thought. Sure, a lot of things had changed recently. Maybe their bodies had changed as well? She wished she had met James before; earlier in this lifetime, to see what he had looked like.

_I was like this_ , he said. And he showed her a younger, skinnier James.

_No way,_ Brielle thought _. This is you._ She showed him what she considered his perfect body. The feel of his back under her arms as she pressed herself to him.

He was skeptical of her imagery, but had to agree that it was possible. That being together had not only affected the development of their psychic power, but their physical bodies as well. And that thought led to another of Brielle's naked body. It had been so long since he had seen her....

_What was that?_ She asked. For a fraction of a second, she had the sense from him that it had been a really long time since he had seen her. But really, it had only been a few hours.

_Huh? Oh, never mind that. I'll tell you later_ , he thought, evasively. Then he sighed, mentally. Brielle saw that his thoughts went back to the hotel room, and his astral projection. _I guess there's no point in trying to hide it from you, since we have this link now. I just don't know if I can tell you. I don't have words._

_You don't have to tell me. Just show me. Like you did before_ , she sent him, encouragingly.

_Okay_.

In a few seconds, she got the rest of the story.

And she was left trembling with fear.

# 19.The Journey

As James left his body, hovering over the hotel room in his astral self, he felt a tug from somewhere in the general area of his navel. He looked down to see a sort of shimmering cord—like a silver thread—connecting him to his body below. He had done it! But he only had a short time to congratulate himself on his triumph, because his spirit was timid and wanted to run back to his body. The effort to keep himself afloat was staggering, but he knew he had to push himself. He had a job to do. _Brielle_. He wasn't going back without finding her.

The second he understood his mission, it was as though his body stopped calling him back.

And then... it was almost _easy_. The instant he decided upon it, he immediately felt himself fully transition into his astral self.

_Holy light_!

There was light everywhere—no, the light was the same as it ever was, but now he could see it _all_. It felt like before he had only been able to see through a dim, opaque window, and now the soft light filled the universe. And the music! He could hear the gentlest harmony. But again, it did not feel like regular hearing—it was like before he had only ever listened to the smallest percentage of all the sound there really was out there. He was struck at how pleasant everything felt. He could have stayed there forever. But no— _Brielle_. Again her name filled his consciousness. He _was_ going to find her....

He let his mind wander and searched for her. _There_ —Brielle! He recognized her presence, the essence of her spirit, as easily as he could recognize the smell of the perfume she wore. She was sleeping, unconscious, but he could feel her where he was; the human mind doesn't go too far when it dreams.

James called her, reaching out with his mind to touch hers, but it didn't seem to be enough to make her stir. Her voice was quiet over the bedlam of melodies and accents he heard, because she was sleeping in the physical world.

And even though he could feel her, he couldn't tell where she was physically. She was too far away for him to pinpoint her whereabouts in relation to where he was. And he knew that if he returned to his body now, he wouldn't be able to feel her and locate her.

He had come this far to get to her, and he couldn't find her. _Brielle_!

In that moment, he knew what he had to do. It scared him to leave the general area where he could still see his body, but he was going to do what he went there to do. So he willed himself to move... he traveled to her presence.

_Whoa_. It was exhilarating, to travel like this. James could see the terrain below as he soared north towards her, her presence his guiding light. The trip seemed to take no time at all, and within what felt like minutes, or perhaps seconds, he was in her proximity. _Stuart_ , read the signs. She was in the city of Stuart. He'd have to look that up in the map.

He could see the place where she was being held. It was a huge house, a sprawling two-story masonry building with old Spanish details. The landscape that surrounded it was immaculate, with fountains and little artificial ponds that surely held expensive fish. The place was obviously maintained by a crew of several people; he wondered how many of them were there at the moment. For the first time, he wished that his power to feel Brielle's presence wasn't restricted to just Brielle.

He felt powerful enough to hurt everyone that tried to get between him and rescuing his princess when he would return with his physical body shortly afterwards. He didn't want to hurt innocent staff that had no idea what went on in the place. But he would. He'd do anything to get her back. The fish would be safe, though.

He followed Brielle's presence to a room on the second floor. He was able to drift towards her and enter the room. And when he saw her, he had to steady himself, because his spirit got too animated—a combination of love, excitement and anger threatened his stability in his current ethereal form.

_Brielle, my love._ He called her, over and over again, and prodded her presence as best as he could with his. It was a mental thing; he couldn't really touch her. _Wake up, Brielle. Wake up_.

And finally... a flicker in her presence. _Thank you_ , he thought to no one in particular. He had managed to make her stir. He could tell, because gradually her sleeping presence grew fainter, as she started waking up and leaving this plane. He gloried in his triumph. James lingered around, gathering more information on what the place looked like, and how he might find it physically.

_I'll be back, Brielle_.

Mission accomplished, it was time to go back.

But how?

His phantom hands went automatically to his midsection, looking for the silver chord that had anchored him to his body, but it wasn't there. He must have severed it by traveling to Brielle. It had, after all, felt like many miles. Without the chord, he was adrift.

When he left his body behind, James had briefly considered that he might not be able to find his way back. But he had needed to find Brielle, so he had pushed the worry away, hoping his body would call him back somehow, like Brielle's presence had called him as he had traveled towards her.

But when he had gone after her, he had been following a presence. Returning was different. His body, back at the hotel, was empty; there was no spirit there to call him home. He was not experienced in this area. He willed his spirit to find his body, but he couldn't.

Anxiety seeped, uncalled for, in his mind; he became fraught with worry. Brielle would be awakening any moment, and he needed to get back to his body and travel to that godforsaken place so many miles away. And just like he had when he had seen her in the room where she was being held, the agitation that flowed through his self nearly lurched him. But this time it was not a happy feeling. The worry bothered him, and he couldn't focus on maintaining his self afloat. It somehow weakened him.... He didn't know how, and couldn't explain in his memory, but something within him failed.

Except that he didn't fly back to his body. He suddenly felt a tug. _A hand, an invisible arm_ —something—pulled him, grabbed him, around the general area where his navel would be, if his astral body had a navel. The pull intensified, and for a second he felt compressed from head to toe. _Ahh_ —he briefly wondered if this was the end. But it lasted a split second.

And then everything stopped.

Fretfully, he looked around, and recoiled in shock. The landscape was gone, Brielle was gone. He found himself in an endless stretch of bright, white light. It whirled in different directions; gentle eddies of currents tumbling against the interminable space. There was no sense of direction; he couldn't tell up from down, left or right, cold or heat. It didn't feel like air, or sea or land for that matter; just infinite swirling brightness.

Time and space twisted and distorted, he suddenly understood. An unused, quiet corner of his brain produced the name of this place.

He had moved to the _astral plane_.

It was a place where spirits could travel outside of the physical world, which was in contrast called the _material_ plane. He knew that he could hop in the blink of an eye from one end of the planet to the other through this realm. But he didn't know how he knew that.

In there, despite the sense of openness, floating in the white nothingness he felt trapped. And apprehensive. There were things here, things he didn't want to encounter. He could _feel_ them, moving past him, distant, yet near. And _one_ specifically, one that was stronger than the others. Louder in his senses. It was a being... a _thing_ that wanted him. And it had a name—but in the memory, as he replayed it, he couldn't elicit the name anymore.

He had become afraid... this was no place for him. He needed to get back to Brielle, but he didn't know _how_. He willed his spirit to move, and he did. Forward, up, down; but nothing felt like he was getting closer to anyone or anything. He couldn't escape. The distortion of place and time made it extremely difficult to find the material plane he had left, and his dormant, derelict body.

It didn't help that he couldn't properly distinguish colors or temperatures or sounds... he was losing his grip on reality. His mind was roaming, and his senses eluded him. Not because there were no senses in his spiritual body, but because he received them all at once—he could see, hear, touch, taste, and smell _everything_. He almost forgot what he was there for....

He was left wandering aimlessly, lost in the astral plane. And he was there for a long, long time....

The things in the astral plane interacted with him, he knew, but he had no memory of anything regarding other entities. In fact, aside from the _feeling_ that a considerable time passed, he had no distinct recollection of what happened in that time.

James was sure he had become temporarily insane. There was nothing. Until... something changed.

In his vision there was fire, and it reminded him of... something. A strand, a strand of red hair.

With it, he saw a hand. _His_ hand, running through the red hair. _Her_ red hair.

And he remembered her. _Brielle_.

_Brielle_. As he thought her name, her shape appeared before him. Her eyes, a soft ash brown, narrowed as she smiled before him. Hair like the sunset. _Brielle_... he repeated her name, delighted of the way it made him _feel_ , made him remember feelings he had lost. His spirit broke free of the confused stupor that had imprisoned him, and he found himself again.

He could move. He could feel. He could hear.

And he was feeling _her_ , hearing her _voice_! She was calling him; looking for him.

There was no sense of direction in the astral plane, but he moved towards her voice. And he felt it—a faint echo of the place where he had left his body; a rip in the veil of the material plane left behind by his spirit as he moved from one plane to the other.

In a fraction of a second, he felt a pull—a pull backward, away from the whiteness.

And he found himself immediately before his body.

He woke with a start. His eyes opened. His eyes. He could see again.

Half conscious, he sat up, and brought his hands before him. They felt strange, like he wasn't used to having hands anymore. But he didn't think much of it. Brielle. He had left her alone, with a madman. How many days had gone by? Weeks? He looked around and recognized his hotel room, as he sat on the bed. He found his and Brielle's phones on the night table next to him. He grabbed his phone and pressed a button to revive it.

He gasped in shock.

It was the same day that Brielle had been kidnapped. It was the same _hour_.

_Twenty minutes_. Only twenty minutes had gone by....

And Brielle _was_ calling him. He could feel her again!

_James! James, I need you_. Brielle's voice was in his head, and it sounded clear, as though she was talking to him.

_Oh my God_. He could hear what she was thinking.

***

_James, I'm sorry_. Brielle hadn't realized that she was crying as she experienced what James went through. _That was horrifying, what you had to go through_.

_Don't be_ , he said. _You brought me back. I know now that it was you, when you felt you disconnected from me—you called me. You brought me back to reality. Thank you_.

_No! You shouldn't have been put in that situation to begin with. It almost cost your sanity_. She felt the neverending whiteness around him, and she shuddered.

_I'm here, and it's done. I needed to do it. I couldn't find you otherwise_. His thoughts were full of affection, and relief.

_Thank you, James. I don't know... I don't know what would happen now, if you hadn't found me_.

_I'm on my way to get you. Don't be afraid_.

She believed him.

# 20.Back in Kind

Things got tricky as James approached Brielle, because even though he knew she was in the city of Stuart, he didn't know which exit to take off the interstate. He took one that had a sign for _Atlantic Ridge Preserve State Park_ ; he'd seen the park as he flew to Brielle. He was being guided by a spot in the universe, but it didn't come with a map.

_We'll work on that_ , she thought to him.

_We'll work on coming up with a map?_ James asked.

Sure. Wouldn't that be helpful? Like a Find James app; I'd see you on the map.

_That would be great_ , he thought to her, with an underlying smirk. _But for now I don't think I need one anymore. I'm very close. I see a big place up ahead that I'm pretty sure is the place I saw. I'm going to park and run the rest of the way_.

_Be careful, please_.

_Always am_ , he replied back to her.

By the time James reached Brielle it was nightfall; his presence, crystal clear now with proximity, soothed her senses.

_Works both ways, babe_ , he thought to her. He was calm because she was calm now that he was there. Sure, she might be in danger, but now that they were back in the same zip code she felt that everything would be alright. And James was calm because even though she was tied up, and that monster had hurt her, she was in all other aspects yet uninjured. The rage that she had felt earlier was controlled. His whole body hummed with anticipation.

Because she had seen it in James' mind, she knew what the exterior of the place looked like. But now, as he moved in the ground, through his eyes, it looked even more imposing, somehow. And there it was: the wing where she was being held.

Time to get this guy.

Brielle saw James sit on the floor, his hands on the ground, palms down. She knew what he was up to, but she wouldn't have figured it out if she hadn't seen it in his mind. He was trying to _feel_ his surroundings.

For a few minutes he let his mind wander through the ground, the air. He let the particles hovering in the air tell him the story of this place. All he got was that there were two people inside other than Brielle, and that the place was old. Brielle was amazed that he could do that.

_And listen to this_ , he told her. His thoughts detected the technology that kept this place secure, because it was so out of place. All right—avoid the first floor. The second floor would be easier to break into, if he could get up there without triggering the security system on the first floor. It would be nearly impossible for an average man. But James wasn't an average man.

The one area where the cameras wouldn't detect his movements was on a garden that had palm trees. He climbed a palm tree like it was nothing. Then he hopped impossibly silently to a second story balcony while Brielle watched in fascination through his eyes. He was, simply put, amazing. A freaking ninja.

_Thank you, babe_. He mentally winked.

Brielle became increasingly excited by his rescue effort. James smiled as he crept along the shadows towards her.

***

James made it to the wing where Brielle was held on the second floor without running into anyone or triggering the alarm system. He was so close that she could hear his heartbeat. She saw as he reached the end of the long hallway to the main rooms of this old house, in one of which she was locked.

In the room across was the man that Brielle had warned James about, whose heartbeat she had been able to hear. Right now it was even and peaceful, as though he was sleeping. The other guy—there were two guys who had kidnapped Brielle—had to be on watch somewhere. But it looked like Davis wasn't around, the spineless worm.

Brielle's heart was singing in anticipation of seeing James again. _James, I love you_.

_Me too, Brie. I don't sense—hear—anyone else. I'm going to take this guy out_. James was excited about the prospect of attacking someone; his rage about to find an outlet.

_How?_ She asked him. The thought of James fighting the big Aussie made her nervous. The guy was huge.

_I'm going to shock him with my power, and hopefully knock him unconscious. It's not lethal_ , he said. And after a second added, _Right?_

Brielle knew from being in his mind that he would have preferred to strangle the guy to death, but his murderous thoughts were waning in her proximity, and for now, knocking him out would do.

_But we've never practiced on regular people. Maybe if you only do it a little? But then, what if he doesn't go down all the way, and gets back up and attacks you? Or what if the other guy is listening in and hears the struggle? He could call for back up and then we're SOL.... Hmm, I dunno. Maybe you should give him more than a little? Whatever you think is best. Zap away_.

Her convoluted logic suited him just fine. She sat in concentration as she saw through James' eyes what he was doing.

He turned the knob slowly, both hands on the door to help keep it from making a noise. The door opened, and James snuck his head in. It was a small room, about the same size as the one Brielle was in, except that there was a small cot, and not whatever type of chair it was that Brielle was strapped to. On the cot was a sleeping form. The Aussie. James recognized his sandy hair.

Brielle was sure that the man was still sleeping, as his heartbeats were slower than normal. James tiptoed in, blessing Brielle's hearing, and the building's solid construction with no floorboards to creak.

_Here goes nothing_... he almost prayed.

Brielle saw as James approached, his hands hovering over the guy. She felt the power building up in James' hands. As he closed the distance to the sleeping shape in front of him, the guy, who had most likely been trained exactly for this, must have sensed a presence in his sleep, because he opened his eyes. Brielle's heart dropped a few inches in her chest, and James was taken by surprise as the Aussie rushed immediately towards James, grabbed James' hands and tackled him, pinning him to the floor.

James' breath was knocked out of him. He was strong, but the Aussie was just too damn huge. Brielle was paralyzed with fear, except for her heart—it wanted to cave in from exertion. The Aussie, quite in control of the situation, managed to smile as he painfully squeezed his smaller opponent's wrists.

The problem, for the Aussie, was that in this case, hands _were_ his assailant's weapon.

Brielle felt James' energy leave his hands like a heavy, noiseless explosion, hitting the large man across the chest with so much pressure that he actually lifted off James for a second, then fell back down with another knock to James' lungs.

The pressure of the blast surprised Brielle. She had no idea that the energy could be so... _intense_. With a groan, James shoved the Aussie to the side and rolled from under him. Alarm crept into Brielle as she saw through James' vision the man give one final shudder, and then become still. He was dead.

They had killed a man.

_No,_ I _killed a man, Brielle,_ he corrected. _But don't be afraid_. The thought was swathed with comforting hues meant to calm her erratic heart. _I don't think I could've fought him off if he came back up. I'm sorry you had to see that_.

_No, James. I'm_ glad _I saw that. Don't worry about me. I'm only in shock because I don't think I've ever seen anything like that_.

James stood up, tall and godlike in Brielle's eyes.

_Holy crap, that was awesome_ , she thought.

_Thanks... I guess_.

He spotted a key chain next to the bed.

_I'm coming to get you_ , he sent her, as he grabbed the keys and left the room.

***

James was immediately upon Brielle's door fiddling with the lock, trying the Aussie's keychain, as quietly as possible. From what Brielle could see, there were mercifully only a few keys to try. He looked for the most likely keys on the keychain.

On his second try, the key went in, and he was twisting it to open when Brielle sensed him—Davis— _Behind you_! She yelled in her mind, too shocked to use actual words.

It all went down too fast. Davis had managed to sneak up on James, and although neither Brielle nor James had seen him, Brielle's ears had registered the second heartbeat, and a certain something that her brain had learned to associate with Davis in the short time he had been next to her before. Brielle also sensed that he must have been only a few feet away from James, but out of his reach.

But the speed of thought was faster. James acted on Brielle's preemptive thoughts immediately, turned around impossibly fast, and attacked almost without a conscious decision to do so: he lifted his hands and fired his power, just as Davis pressed the button on his weapon— _the device that contained Brielle's energy_ —

James had just sent his own energy spiraling towards Davis when he got hit forcibly across his chest: the shock of his own power reflected back at him. The energies were charged similarly, and bounced off each other like equal poles of two magnets. The force of his own power sent him flying backwards in a white hot pressure wave that Brielle felt in her chest, a specter of the shock that James had received. She felt as he rose across the air and landed on the hard stone floor, skidding across the tiles.

Brielle was screaming as her body rocked backwards, and her vision suddenly went dark. But it wasn't hers. It took her a split second to realize that she had been seeing everything through James' eyes, and now something awful had happened and James was in pain, outside, shattered, while Brielle screamed, tied up and useless.

James was immobilized and fading quickly. In his slowing thoughts he reflected that he may not survive this—no, there was no _may_ about it. He would definitely _not_ survive this. But in his mind, Brielle saw, was the picture of Davis' shattered face he'd seen for less than a second. And James' pain turned into a happy release as he realized that Davis had been blasted as well. He would not hurt her anymore. She would be safe. But James was going to die. And his only regret was that he knew what it would do to her....

" _JAMES_!" Had she been able to think properly, she would have been shocked to hear the primal scream that escaped her. Her frenzy of emotions went too fast for her to even acknowledge, but in the clear lead was fear, fear for _him_ —

Tears sprung from her eyes as she flexed her arms uselessly against her restraints. Another agonizing wail, part scream, part moan, as she yanked at the bonds again—but this time with such force that she heard a rip, and she was suddenly free, hands and feet free from confinement and scampering away from her chair.

She bolted to the door; pulled at the handle for a second only to realize that it was still locked. But she didn't even flinch—she didn't even stop to think how to open the door. Her instinct took over and he pulled hard, releasing energy as she did, and the damned handle broke off. _Shit_! James!

That was the last straw—she shoved the door with her hands and the whole thing exploded outward, shattering in a thousand pieces. Outside in the hall, across from where she stood she could see the open door of a room, probably the room that contained the Aussie's body. To the left she could see James about ten feet away from the remains of the door she had destroyed. He had been thrown back when Davis attacked him. She ran to him, barely noticing as she turned that Davis' body was to the right of the door, about the same distance as James in the opposite direction.

As she reached James, she threw herself on the floor next to him and found him bleeding from his ears and nose. Shit! _Shit_!

"Brielle," he said thinly. He was trying to sound strong, but was amazed at the weakness in his voice. She felt how it hurt to say the words out loud. But he said them anyway. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

"Shh, shh, don't talk," she said, and switched to speaking in his mind. _Not if it hurts. You're going to be okay, baby. Please_.

His thoughts were nervous, but he was brave for her. He was focusing on her face above him. In his mind, she saw her own eyes wet with tears, and she looked scared as hell. She tried to fix her features to reflect a serenity that she did not feel. His presence was leaving her, softening, as though he was falling asleep. His last thought was that he hoped to see her again soon, and how selfish he was for wishing that. No matter what happened now, he would see her again.

And then, releasing a short, painful breath he said, "I love you."

His eyes closed.

He stopped moving. Not even his chest was contracting anymore. Oh no. Oh no oh no.... " _Breathe_ , James!" she implored, wiping tears from her eyes.

Her uselessness shook her, tore at her insides as she just stared at his dying body. She screamed, a painful sob, her hands trembling pathetically before her. She laid them on his chest, looking for a way to stop the bleeding, but it was minor—the real damage was internal. And he still wasn't breathing. But his heart, it was still beating, although slowing down....

And suddenly her body responded. She felt her hands warming up with power again, but with a different feel to it. It felt thicker, and sweeter, somehow.

The energy was leaving her hands and traveling to James. It had a different purpose. The same energy that had hurt him before when they practiced, the very one that Davis had captured in that gun and fired at James and had repelled off his... it was now alleviating him. Helping him heal.

_How_...? Brielle didn't realize that the energy could change. She didn't know how it was happening; she just admired it. She could hear the flow of his blood, rushing to his wounded extremities. And gradually his brain activity restarted. She heard his dreamy thoughts, sensed his feelings again. Tears sprung from her eyes.

She could hear his thoughts again, and feel the waves of warm fire that he felt as they engulfed him. Her energy, caressing him. It felt so good to him. _Gabrielle_ , he kept thinking, remembering her in his trancelike state. He was full of her....

_Thank you_. He was going to make it. He wasn't going to die. _Oh, James_.

Now that she was positive that he would be alright, she was able to think of the other issues at hand. In the back of her mind while she worked on James, she thought of Davis, not too far away, and detected that he wasn't breathing. Still, his proximity made her nervous. She switched her sitting position so that she could face Davis, in case he moved. The position left her back exposed to the long hallway behind her. It made her nervous, but it would have to do; she shouldn't keep her eyes off that diabolical man for a second. Was Davis dead? She hoped so. But she needed to make sure.

As James stabilized, she kissed him on his forehead.

Then she got up slowly, with some effort, realizing that she was extremely tired. Blood rushed to her head, and she had to take a moment to regain her balance as she stood. Sluggishly, shaking a little, she walked over to where Davis lay, his temple and nose stained with blood, and his eyes closed. She feared what she was about to do. The gun was a few feet away from his motionless hand. She kicked it away from him, cursing Davis for making it, and extended her hands over him. She heard nothing. No breathing, no heartbeat, no blood moving.

James could have died had it not been for her touch. She wondered if she could still save Davis, if she used the healing energy on him. But she didn't really know— _was_ it healing energy, or was it plain energy that she transferred to James, which his body in turn used to heal itself? She could find out now. She could try it on Davis, and see if he would respond. But she was so tired. And she couldn't really answer the question: if she could help him— _would_ she?

She debated trying to save Davis' life like she had helped James. Davis looked pretty much dead. The blood from his nose and ears was no longer flowing; it was starting to coagulate. He wasn't breathing and his heart was no longer beating. His hair, so perfectly groomed before, was now blasted in all directions. His once striking features were contorted in some impressing emotion... hopefully pain.

Brielle gasped at her own display of inhumanity.

_Well_ , she figured, _it's true_. She felt no pity, no shame, no regrets. Maybe some regret that she had not been given the chance to personally get her revenge, to be there when he perished.

But it had been her energy that ultimately killed him. The one he figured out how to store in the device that he likely had made for that one purpose. _Don't mess with what you don't know, asshole_.

And having reasoned that, she stepped closer to him. She extended her arms down towards him, and concentrated. In her arms she felt the familiar warming sensation. And when she had felt it power up enough, she pushed it out, forcibly. A pressure wave left her hands and hit him almost instantly, his lifeless body rocking limply, lifting off the ground for a split second and falling back down with a dry thud.

She stumbled a little, but didn't feel much for the worse. Interesting. Apparently this form of her power didn't cost her a lot of energy. Healing James, though, that had drained her. Still, it was good to know that she had not weakened herself unnecessarily by attacking a dead body. Well, not unnecessarily. _It was for good measure_ , she thought. _Gotta make sure, since they always come back_.

She turned back to James.

But she eyed the evil weapon, and after a short deliberation, picked it up as though it was a poisonous cobra. _Ugh_. It was heavier than it looked, and she hated it for what it had done, and the person that had made it. But she couldn't leave it here, next to Davis.

Careful not to touch any of the buttons, afraid of turning it back on by mistake—although it could very well still be on, and she wouldn't know—she went back to James.

***

_Gabrielle_. James' whole vision was dark, and he didn't feel anything around him but her presence. She called his name; she touched him. Her touch was a light, a shape, the only thing he could feel, and he clung to her. Not to save his life, but to feel her. He smiled in his mind, but Brielle didn't see it in his lips. She felt him awaken slowly, revive under her touch, and he gave in. He let her fill him with her radiance....

And she suddenly felt him start as he was revived enough to be reminded of his physical pain; a sharp tearing at his insides. A distressed moan escaped him, and Brielle bit her lip, feeling useless. She kissed his face, his lips, told him she was there for him; anything to distract him from the pain. His moans became a soft whimper, and she could feel his relief.

Finding his voice was a gateway to his auditory sense, and now he could hear her talking to him. As he gradually came to, he remembered his violent, sudden end—at the same time he realized he wasn't dead. But the more he could feel again, the dimmer Brielle's presence became by his side. She was not even aware of this herself; only through his thoughts did she notice that she was fading.

_Stop that_ , he thought. _You cannot fade_.

"I'm alright," she said, happy to hear him talk to her, even if it was in thoughts. "What matters is that you're here. You're going to be okay."

But he had figured out that she was weakening from helping him, and the thought made him open his eyes. She had never seen anything more gratifying that his deep blue eyes then, and a sob escaped her, her eyes fighting back tears. She wanted to stay next to him, staring into those eyes. But he sat up and pulled away. She saw his thoughts scramble—he was lightheaded. She rushed to him and smiled. He was really going to be okay. Her body drew in breaths that she had been keeping in suspense.

Oh hell. That had _sucked_.

He sluggishly put his arms around her. "I love you," were his first spoken words to her. His voice was hoarse, but firm.

"I love you, James. I was so afraid," she said, so relieved that she couldn't fight the tears anymore, and she started crying. _Again_.

"Brielle, you saved me," he said, speaking into her neck. And she saw, in his thoughts, that in a split second he had seen the last twenty minutes, everything that had happened, and what she had done to bring him back. And how weak she was now.

"How do you think your body just knew to do that?" He asked.

"Don't know, but I'm glad it did."

He pulled back a little to look at her face. She saw her face in his mind, and winced at how tired she looked. "How do you feel?" His tone was concerned.

"I'm just hungry. Famished, actually."

"You gave me so much energy. Let's get you some food, or something. Let's find the kitchen."

"No! James, let's get out of here," she pleaded.

"Brielle, you're weak right now. You need carbs. Something to burn so that you don't pass out. It's late; we may not find anything open around here. We can't leave without getting you some food."

"You saw an alarm system here, though. What if it _was_ triggered and the cops are on the way here to investigate?" The thought just occurred to her. She really didn't want the police involved. "We shouldn't linger; the police could be coming here any minute, and there are _two dead bodies right behind us_!"

"Shh! Don't have to yell it," he said laughing. "Okay, we'll go, but you look for something around here while I drive."

"Okay," she said, and smiled.

"Let's see if I can get up," he said.

Brielle helped him up. He was a little wobbly, but she steadied him. And she couldn't help it, she threw her arms around him, at the same time that she saw in his mind that he was about to do the same thing. They embraced as they both cried silently.

_Never again_ , he promised her. They would never be separated again. Davis was dead, his body ten feet away, and they were alive. A bit shaken but alive.

"What should we do with the bodies?" Brielle asked, looking back at Davis' lifeless form.

If the compound alarm system had been triggered and the police did show up, there was going to be some explanation required. Running away would create more trouble in the first place.

"Let's leave the bodies where they are. If the police show up, we tell them what we can," James said. "That he attacked me with that gun, and it backfired. It had to be some prototype made by him to capture your power. We'll say honestly that we don't really know what it is."

"I wonder if the hotel would provide footage of what happened tonight. Someone had to have been bribed for him to have access to the suite, but who knows if it was the manager, or the maid? The hotel will want to cooperate. So we have me being kidnapped, which is totally a crime, and we'll be justified in fighting back. But how do we explain the Aussie? He's dead from what?"

"Internal bleeding, probably," James said.

Brielle remembered how James' nose and ears had looked, and shook the image from her mind quickly. "Right," she said. "But how do we explain _that_?"

"We can say we don't know. That we didn't even see that guy die. I went in the room and there he was, dead. Blame it on Davis. He was practicing with his toy and killed his lackey."

"That sounds a little suspicious," Brielle said.

"If I was the cop by then I'd be suspicious already," James said. "But we need to inform the authorities... eventually. There _will_ be an investigation and it'll get back to us, somehow. Maybe they'll search his stuff and find out his obsession with you. Your fingerprints have got to be all over that room. Right now we have the opportunity to prove that Davis kidnapped you, that we acted in self-defense, but later that might not fly in court."

It made sense to Brielle, but she didn't want to deal with anyone else tonight. "What if we leave now, and call the cops later? Or deal with the cops when they come? Tell them the truth then. Feign ignorance until then."

James thought about it. Brielle could hear his thoughts, and knew that he was weighing the benefit of doing what he thought might save them from trouble later against his first and foremost statute of maintaining Brielle's felicity.

"Okay. Come on, let's go." James took Brielle's hand. She smiled, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're my everything, Brie."

He led her to the balcony where he had come from.

"Do you think you can jump down?" He asked her, thinking she might be too tired. "I know you're the master at jumping from second stories," he added, remembering her jump on that first night together when she met him at the tree house. "But I could jump first and catch you, if you want."

"I don't think I can let go of your hand," she said truthfully. The horrors of the last few hours of her life were starting to feel too heavy. "We jump... together."

James smiled and leaned his head down to hers. "Always," he said, and softly pressed his lips against hers. A fire was kindled somewhere in her chest and her lips parted, kissing him deeply. His free hand was at her neck, caressing her.

"I could jump _three_ stories," she said.

It didn't even scare her. Her body reassured her that it would be like jumping down a few feet. James helped her climb the balcony's top, flat rail, more out of courtesy than need. He climbed after her, and with a final encouraging smile they jumped at the same time.

_Aha_ , she said triumphantly as they landed. No falling forward, no scraped knees. _We are awesome_.

James agreed with a kiss to her cheek and pulled her close as they walked ahead, down the long driveway down to where their rental car was parked. They made it to the car and drove away, leaving the bodies and the pain behind them.

# 21.Solace

As they drove back to Fort Lauderdale, Brielle asked James, "Do you think we should switch hotels?"

"Well, other than the assistant, Raymond, we have no one else after us. Davis and his big henchman are both dead. As for Raymond... let that jerk come. We can handle him."

"We so totally can. Is it weird that I'm still wound up that I didn't get to kill anyone?"

"I don't know about weird, Brie... but careful what you wish for. I'm glad you didn't have to kill anyone. Me, I'm not sure how I'll feel tomorrow. It might bother me, it might not. I'll let you know. In the meantime, save up your aggression in case we need it later."

"Okay, James. Well, good; we're not changing hotels. I didn't want to anyway; I don't want to pack. I'm dead tired."

"Let's get some food. Here, use my phone," he said, and reached for his phone in his back pocket.

Brielle patted her clothes uselessly, and rekindled her anger when she realized she didn't get her phone back from the jerks that kidnapped her.

"No, Brie," James said. "Your phone's back at the hotel. They didn't take it."

Brielle saw an image in his mind of her phone next to his, and remembered seeing it in his mind before. "Oh! That's right," she said happily. For some reason, this cheered her up immensely.

Contented again, she searched for places that would be open this late. She found a pizzeria near the hotel; she called and ordered two large pizzas. It sounded ridiculous as she placed the order, but she was glad as they got closer. She was starving.

When they pulled in to pick them up, she could've eaten an entire slice in one breath, but she was determined to be ladylike, and waited until they were back in the somewhat damaged hotel room.

Under regular circumstances, Brielle would have been grossed out by the amount of food she ate, but she didn't feel full in an unpleasant way. Her body asked for _more_ calories.

After they ate, the events of the entire day felt heavier. Their bodies demanded the sleep needed to restore themselves. However, her feet were dirty, and she wanted to take a shower to wash off the night's events. James joined her and helped her rinse away unpleasant memories by creating new, sweeter ones.

"James?" Brielle asked sleepily afterwards, as he pressed her back against his chest and pulled her closer.

"Yeah, Brie?"

"What are we going to do about our parents?"

She felt his lips on the back of her neck.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," he said.

***

End of Book One

About the author:

Johi Jenkins grew up in the small town of Las Marias, Puerto Rico and now lives in Chicago, Illinois, with her husband. She likes sci-fi, fantasy, romance books and video games.

Other books by Johi:

_The Thirst Within_ , Book 1 of a vampire romance series.

A note from the author:

Thank you for purchasing my book. I hope you enjoyed it.

This ebook was self-published by me. A lot of effort was put into editing; however, grammatical and formatting errors may still exist in this edition. Feel free to send comments and/or edit suggestions directly to me.

If you enjoyed this book please consider taking a moment to review in your review site of choice. It greatly helps to I will always appreciate your feedback.

Connect with me:

Email: johijenkins@gmail.com

Blog: http://johijenkins.blogspot.com/

Facebook: <https://www.facebook.com/JohiJenkins>

