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Chapter 6

Riley's face inched closer, his breathtaking greenish-blue eyes shining with glee. My own closed in anticipation as I leaned in myself. The instant his lips met mine, all reality evaporated. The world around me blurred until it was only a void. All that existed was we --- nothing else. I could have wallowed in the simplicity ceaselessly, but, too soon, we both pulled away. However, when I opened my eyes, it wasn't Riley staring me down.
Those molten eyes were fastened with mine --- stabbing right into my heart with a look of want mingled with distress, evil lurking behind them. This Everett was harmless. This was my Everett.
Yet I still froze. My muscles were inaccessible. No matter how much I pushed, nothing would move. He leaned closer --- slowly, ever so slowly.
"You're safe. I'm right here. You're finally safe."
I jumped up, Everett's whispered words still echoing from my memory-gone-haywire. My mind was playing tricks on me. I stared down at my cereal, suddenly losing my appetite; I was still on edge. The spoiled memory still felt real --- it was real enough. I couldn't possibly go to school with this paranoia. My 3-foot jump at the sound of the grandfather clock going off confirmed this. I held my head in my hands and shuffled out from the table, grabbing the cordless phone as I marched out. Taking the stairs two by two --- and almost tripping --- I dialed as I mounted the stairs. I anxiously shoved the phone to my ear when I reached the top and ran into my room, slamming the door shut. After about five rings, someone finally answered.
"Hello. You have reached Seattle's Alys Peak Hospital. Alexis Greene speaking." declared the speaker quite wearily, but trying to sound official.
I cleared my throat and began to speak professionally, "Might I please converse with Dana Willows?" but I couldn't keep the grin from my voice.
She cleared her throat as well and spoke even more expertly. "Please hold Miss Willows." This was a game Alexis and I had played since I was little and she used to babysit me. I'd known her almost as long as Mom had been working at the hospital. She was like a crazy aunt to me. I waited for a few moments with muffled sounds that told me Alexis had put the phone against her shirt again. Subdued shouting and shouting back was all I heard for at least a minute. Finally, my mom's voice overpowered Alexis's and I knew she had the phone now.
"Hey sweetie." my mom addressed me with a hint of anxiety in her tone. "Are you okay? Shouldn't you be at school, or at least about to leave?" Suspicion couldn't help but creep up into her voice, but worry overpowered it. When I hesitated, she drew a hefty breath to ask once more.
"Mom. Mom, I'm fine, just ---" I drew in a sustained breath myself. "One of my memories came back to me. But…." I slumped down on my bed stiffly. "It went haywire. It was like a nightmare, but in a memory. One of those foreboding things, you know?" I explained quickly, on the verge of babbling. I was going hysteric! "And it's sticking with me. The paranoia's too much. I can't go to school like this. No way. Not this jittery. Because I won't even pay attention --- so what's the point of even going, you know?" Great, now I am babbling. I started to shake uncontrollably, so I lay down on the bed to try to suppress it to some extent.
"Oh, honey, are you okay?" Compassion immediately sprung up out of the worry.
"Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. I just can't be around people. I---"
"Do you need me to come home? I can come right away. You don't have to worry about a thing. I'll be there in the next---"
I interrupted her neurotic prattle just in time. "No. No, Mom. I-I'm probably better off being alone. I just need to calm down. I might go to school later, but not now. Not now." I explained a bit restlessly.
Instantaneously, the suspicion emerged with force. I mean, I couldn't expect it not to. This even sounded crazy and fake to me. Any mother will suspect foul play when her child doesn't want her at home for a reason they won't explain. For me, the reason was simply that I didn't want anyone around. I was better off alone. I always had been.
"Are you sure you're not just trying to skip school?" There was a pause, and then she cleared her throat. "Oh, I don't know why I'm asking you. Like any teenager would tell the truth!" She sighed.
"Mom! You know me. I don't skip school. I just avoid people. Skipping school isn't an option, nor does it interest me." I could understand how she would think that though. Even I would suspect me. I mean, this does seem fishy.
"Yes. I guess your right. I won't apologize though. I'll be checking up on you!"
"I understand, Mom." I stated simply.
"Good. And don't you dare turn the phone off. I have ways, my darling." There was a hint of humor entwined with each syllable. "I love you, sweetie."
"Love you too." With that, we both hung up.
I sighed and tossed the phone on the bed. Clasping my hands behind my head, I lounged back comfortably and undertook to settle myself, staring up at the ceiling as I had that first night.
How things had changed since that time! Even though some things were the same --- like how I couldn't stop thinking of Everett and like the fact that he was still my same angel ---, almost everything was different. I was alone then, now I had Riley --- and possibly Mitchell. I was Everett's slave then, and now I was his ultimate enemy and prey. I admired Everett so much then, and now I only looked on him with disgust. I had imagined him perfect, and now that image was disfigured with a grotesque shadow of hatred and fear. Back then, I had felt Everett was the one thing holding me together, and now Riley was my reality and Mitchell recognized me. Every impression I had of him then was shriveling in the flames of distrust, fed by my waxing horror at his other half. I wanted my Everett back! The Everett that I had believed was true was still there --- somewhere, somehow, no matter how deep.
Yes, conditions had changed, but about this last thing, I was completely sure. I glanced around, but recognized nothing. My life had become so surreal now --- as if I was in a dream. Days moved so fast now. Months seemed like weeks --- weeks, like days themselves. I could only imagine how years would feel moving at this rate. I no longer claimed this as my life. I was someone's trick, a fantasy, an eye's myth. Now, finally, at just the right time it seemed, I perceived that my life had been changed --- irrevocably changed. There was no going back. My fate had betrayed me and flagrantly steered me in this direction. Curse my straightforward and pliable emotions! This Everett Caine had torn them to pieces! Why had I been so innocent, so naive, when things had turned out as ironically as they did! I couldn't imagine where I'd gone wrong. Distrust had been planted in me the moment I'd seen those eyes change, yet I'd stayed. I stayed unperturbed in danger's way!
I threw myself back on the bed again in a fury, covering my face with my pillow.
Minutes passed. I counted them one by one until my heartbeat started mellowing --- softening as my anger withdrew its large flames from my mind. I could think clearly now, which might not exactly be good.
Think of the good things --- the bright side. Well, even though my life had changed for the worse by Everett, it had also changed for the better by Mitchell and especially Riley. My memories of Riley's face instantly buried me, suffocating me with glee. Oh, I already missed him! I turned over in my bed and attempted to relax. I needed to clear my mind, because apparently anything I thought of turned awful eventually. Curse my pessimistic view!
My mind had just started to wade into the ebbing waves of a dream, when my cellphone sounded off piercingly. I sat up sluggishly and groaned, figuring I'd just ignore it, and lay back in bed. I barely thought about the phone --- and barely heard it since I was half-asleep --- but somehow I felt like I should check it. The noise stopped, yet the feeling was still there. Try as I might to repel it, something was drawing me towards my cellphone. I sat up begrudgingly and leaned over slightly to inspect the screen, rubbing my eyes to ward off my weariness. Picking it up, I noticed the screen was lit up with "1 NEW MESSAGE" in bold black letters contrasting the white background. I anxiously opened it only to find the text was from . . . no one. The space that would usually be filled with the sender was empty --- completely. I pushed "ok" and my eyes begrudgingly wandered down to skim the message to get any idea of whom the author might be.

Sorry for yesterday. My phone cut off. Now, you're probably wondering why you can't find out where this text came from. Well, to put it frankly, I don't want you to get a hold of me. Why? It's another one of those "forbidden" things I told you about. I'm still watching out for you, Rosette. I want you to know that. I'm protecting you no matter what --- no matter what you say, what you think of me, or what you do. This probably doesn't mean much to you now, but it will count in the long run. I wish I could say all this to you over the phone, but . . . circumstances prevent me from communicating otherwise --- at least to you. I just want you to know that you're safe.

It didn't need an author for me to know its source. I slowly --- almost painfully --- leaned back, stunned, on my bed. Even through the phone, he stuns me!
"Safe"? I was only safe when he wasn't around! Why was he even texting me if he didn't want me to get a hold of him? I scrutinized the message once more, hit "reply", and began bombarding him with these questions.
Soon after I sent it, my phone went off again. "Wow. He's fast!" I gasped, fingering my cellphone reluctantly. I realized just how fast when I read the lit-up phrase "3 NEW MESSAGES." For a moment, I debated whether I should open it or just walk away. My mind pulled me farther from it, while my emotions seemed to pull it closer to me. Didn't I hate him? Then why should I care what he said? His whispered words in my twisted memory imbedded themselves in my brain.
"You're safe now. I'm right here. You're finally safe."
Finally, I flipped my phone open and pushed "ok" so hard that it was a wonder it didn't break beneath my grasp. My mind was screaming at me while my heart raced faster and faster until every sound was smothered by its echo. However, that was before I read the text.

Rosette, you just don't get it do you? I'm protecting you! Why is it so hard for you to appreciate that? It seems like you only trample on everything I do for you. You would be dead without me! I'm not asking for the world, here. I'm only asking you to realize just how important I am to your life right now. And, no, I'm not being arrogant. I would only love to see you value me for once, but I guess none of this matters to you. Well, on to other subjects then. The reason I am talking to you, is that I can see that you're scared, and it's of me. I wanted you to start trusting me --- but I can see that's not going to happen until I can prove myself to you. I know I ruined that whole thing when I left and when I revealed myself, but just because I'm a little different doesn't mean I'm going to kill you. As for where I am and why I'm gone for so long . . . guess what? It's "forbidden." Sorry. At first I left because I was afraid I *would* hurt you. I turned out to be wrong, so I came back. Then I attacked you, so I ran away again --- but I couldn't stay away. So, every now and then, I would stop in. I kept finding excuses to see you --- to make sure you were okay. I even nearly compromised my secret to see you. I feel the need to protect you, just because I'm not the worst thing out there and I'm pretty sure one of them is after you. Yet, you're still scared of me --- even when I slip up for just a few seconds. Couldn't you be a little more grateful that I'm not letting whatever is out there maul you? As for how you're safe, I still have a reliable amount of "guards" for you, including myself on a few occasions. I'll be back soon, and I'll make sure to stop by. Remember *why* you're safe, Rosette.

That was all it said. That was it. I kept pressing the down button nevertheless, searching for some continuation. When none was found, I threw the phone aside in a frantic blind fury. To my dismay, I tossed it at the exact angle to land on the only fabric-layered part of my vanity. And I really wanted it to break... I grunted in irritation and turned over in my bed again. His words kept replaying in my head --- the whispered ones and from the text --- the most prominent ones being "I'm not the worst thing out there . . ." I picked up my pillow and hurled it at the phone with a scream, and then buried my head in the sheets. My raw emotions soon faded, as they were shallow.
I hadn't felt deep, true emotions for a long while now.
My phone went off again, but I recognized the sound as the one I had programmed for my mom. Sighing in relief, I calmly rose from the bed and opened the phone only to find a text asking me --- neurotically, of course --- if I was okay. I speedily texted back the slight lie that I was doing better but still not fine. Sure, I looked calm and collected and was acting that way now, but I definitely was not doing better. Maybe my paranoia is causing these breakdowns. I snapped my phone shut and shook my head, amused, before setting it back in the same spot. Nevertheless, when I lifted my head, my eyes locked on the scene outside my window.
Titian.
It was everywhere --- that color, donning my backyard. All outside was bathed in its eerie glow. I had no idea at that point whether my paranoia was catching on to me or the trees were filtering the sun's glad rays in that way, but either way I slowly marched towards the window, my hands clenching so hard into fists that I could feel my nails embedding themselves within my palms.
Suddenly every memory of Everett's eyes came back to me, trampling me in their lunatic stampede. I fell to my knees, writhing in agony, with nothing but the memories before my eyes. This was my Everett. This was kind Everett. Nice Everett. An Everett that would never hurt me --- could never hurt me. The other half of the predator, he was --- the half I wanted back. I pounded my face with my hands, not caring about the bit of blood that had started to trickle out, only begging him to stop torturing me. The tears washed the blood from my hands but also partly absorbed it into my eyelids --- which bathed the memories in a crimson foreground. It seemed nothing near coincidental, for the memories deserved their scarlet mark. Now those eyes seemed more menacing, merciless, more undeserving of my compassion --- just as it should be. It felt natural for his silhouette to bear its scarlet glow --- all predators deserved the blood upon them. Somehow, some way, I heaved myself up enough to grab the phone, smearing it with wet with tears. I could see through enough to type these simple words that held so much meaning:

You are dead to me, Everett Caine.

Life dragged on after that, as what usually happens following a life-changing moment. The day was colored in a gloomy gray, instead of the vivid portrait it usually was. I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, but then the whole world had fallen over me. It seemed ironic that after letting the truth escape, life lost its meaning to me. It was as if my Everett was not alive, then I was not alive --- even though I knew that was utterly false. Now that I had revealed the truth, all drama, vivacity, and even interest had faded from me. Not even a few calls from Riley lifted me from the deep fog I found myself in. My phone was never graced by his texts for the rest of the day --- the week, even --- and I jumped every time the phone went off, only to find it was my mom or Riley.
The next day, I told my mom I was fine to go to school --- another lie. However, I didn't want to be alone this time. Today was one of those days where the cold hung in the air and chilled you to your bones. The cold was comforting, for that's how everything felt to me now --- cold and unfamiliar. A light mist of rain was just starting to make it's way down to the ground as I looked up to the sky for some speck of hope --- some glimmer of bliss.
As I sauntered glumly into the classroom, Mitchell started up in his seat and quickly shooed away his friends to make a spot for me. As he rambled on about how he'd missed me yesterday, I slowly took my seat, confused by my surreal surroundings --- but never letting them touch me. I was unattainable. I didn't exist. Mitchell hand rested slightly on my shoulder, which snapped me out of my daze. "Are you okay?" he inquired anxiously when I looked him in the eyes, startled. "Is this why you were gone yesterday?" He seemed seriously concerned, but I just couldn't think of his questions as genuine for some reason. Must be the dreamlike feeling . . . I couldn't resist him, not right now when we were just getting on track.
I bit my lip and turned away. "Sort of." I hardly even muttered. It was a wonder if he heard me. I glanced back at him again, but he was turned at an angle with an expression that looked like perplexity. I turned away again, now biting the edge of my fingernail instead of my lip. When I looked back, he was staring at me. "Mitchell, I---" I started to stutter, but then, sighing and seizing his arm, I demanded, "Here, just come with me," and pulled him out of the room into the hall. Bombarding me with questions, he tripped along behind me until we reached the outside doors. I gazed back at him hesitantly before pushing my way through them, holding them open for him. Immediately, the cold splashed my face with that icy embrace and I noticed the mist had stopped. I swiftly turned to face him. "Okay," I sighed. "Mitchell, have you ever felt that someone's watching you?" I whipped my head around suspiciously just to make my point.
"Well, sure, all the time," he replied nonchalantly. "Oh, and if we're skipping school, then follow me." He began to walk away. I quickly ran after him, which I believe is exactly what he wanted --- at least that's what his grin said when I caught up.
"No, no. We're not skipping school. I wanted to...let you know what's going on. You did want to know why I wasn't at school, right?"
"Yes. And you can tell me on the way to the carnival. Did you know they're in town?" Not giving me a chance to answer, he quickly held up his hand. "Be back in a minute." With that, he took off towards the school building.
"Mitchell!" I yelled after him. Taking a few steps forward I called again, irritated. He only held his finger to his lips before disappearing behind the wall. I rolled my eyes, huffing irately, and crossed my arms while I waited for his return. About a minute later, he appeared again with both our backpacks on his shoulders. An infectious grin permanently lit up his face as he swaggered towards me. "You do this too often, don't you?" I took my backpack without a fuss and calmly trailed after him. In the middle of the trek to his jeep, I spun back around to make my way towards the school. He instantaneously cut me off and backed me towards his jeep.
"Do you honestly want to go back?" His question clearly required no answer by the bittersweet look to his face. "Look, you need a good time, and you're certainly not going to find it in there," he declared, pointing reproachfully at the school grounds. "Now, let's have some fun!" He pushed past me, snatching my hand in the process.
"And how do you know I need a good time? Maybe---maybe I just need the boring surroundings of school to jar me out of it." However, my weak excuses were no match for him, and, soon enough, I was in his jeep heading to the fun I honestly needed.

The ride there was a quiet one filled with Mitchell's glances at me, and my frequent glares in his general direction. Of course, he ignored the latter. When he finally parked near the carnival, he turned off the car and leaned back, keeping his gaze fixed on me this time. After a few seconds, an impatient sigh wafted through the air. "Rosette, you can stop pouting now. I'm not fooled in the least by your act. Trust me --- you need this. You have been so . . . out of it lately. You need some fun. I know you do, Ro. So . . ." He shifted in his seat and unlocked the door. "Let's go have some." The slam of the door made me jump and I spared my "sulking" act for a quick glance.
"But, Mitch---" I grunted angrily and slumped farther down in my seat. "I'm not coming out." I declared in an irritated singsong voice. Suddenly Mitchell was at my window.
"Yes, you are." he demanded and swiftly swiped my door open, sending me flying out of the car. Luckily, his arms were there to catch me. He held me there for a few seconds, us each staring into the other's eyes. I noticed a gleam in his that hadn't surfaced in awhile. Their green seemed more vivid --- more extraordinary than I had ever seen them. Apparently, I was finally seeing him happy, a feeling that had been reserved between the two of us. Our eyes were locked together, drawn to the other's by some insatiable spell. Eventually, I snapped out of it and stood up, rubbing my arms and laughing nervously. Mitchell stepped back and stared down at the dirt for a while. Finally I slammed the car door closed and resumed my former state.
"Ok, you got me out of the car. Doesn't mean I'm going with you," I declared sassily, crossing my arms with a smirk.
"I have ways around that." He began walking away without another word or even a glance. I pondered this until he turned around to face me and continued walking, backwards this time. "Trust me, you'll follow." Then, he turned around and jogged towards the destination of so-called amusement. I leaned against the car stubbornly.
"Fine then. I'll just stay here," I muttered to myself. I scoffed at his stupidity, and then an idea popped into my head. He hadn't even locked the car! Ha! I could just get in and start it! I swiftly threw open the passenger-side door and slid all the way into the driver's seat. Fingering the wheel ominously, a wicked grin swept across my features. Finally, I had my hands on a vehicle again. It felt so good! I turned the key in the ignition and the jeep rumbled under me. The engine revved as I pressed the gas down firmly, my grin growing. I threw the car into reverse and ferociously swept out of the parking spot. Switching it back to drive, I sped forward and peeled out onto the street. As I sped down the highway, all thoughts of Mitchell and the carnival seemed to speed through my mind as well. He had been so stupid to leave his car with me! I could get to school, back to my boring surroundings, and forget him and his ways to jar me from this life. I needed none of his "therapy"! I pressed the gas pedal harder, hoping there were no police around. I'm really having these breakdowns a lot, aren't I? I inquired of myself. I only pressed the gas harder as a response. It must have been the fact that I was whacked-out on NyQuil. I had been taking it for the past week to get to sleep when memories of him came around.
Fortunately, the ride was smooth and clear with no red lights or police officers. My mind wandered back to yesterday. Why? Why had I said it? That whole truth, the secret never divulged, was keeping me alive! How could I let that one essential, life-sustaining fact slip through my fingers, as would grains of sand?
I beat my hand against the wheel in agony and sped around an innocent car.
Maybe it had been because he'd stunned me. Any common sense of mine would have sounded the alarm if it had been in use. Yet, here I was now --- a futile existence, it seemed, after Truth had escaped.
Fate is an ironic being --- full of insensate humor and hatred. She involves our lives in her cruel humor, twisting paths together then shredding them at the seams. Her companion of entertainment is Misfortune, whom she easily convinces to enter into the lives of the routine, the ordinary, and the lucky --- causing them to grovel in anguish at her feet. She makes the unexpected appear obvious and the obvious unexpected, for when her fun is over she tosses them in her victims' faces --- expecting immediate acceptance. Of course, when tossed in my face, I would never accept it. Yet, hadn't I already?
I slammed on my brakes and pulled over, almost smashing the hazard lights button into oblivion. Leaning back in my seat, I stared at the ceiling, on which I imagined was his face. Would he haunt me forever? Would his dark silhouette be carved into my mind until his hunt was finally consummated? I had to get him out of my head. I had to get to school. Maybe it would bore him out of my mind. This had to stop!
I shut off the hazard lights and veered onto the road again. The school was only minutes away. I would get there, I would pay attention, and I would erase all memories of him. Life would go back to normal until he eventually killed me. His existence would be void until I was murdered in his arms. He was surreal. He was . . . gone.
From nowhere, a peace flooded through me I hadn't achieved before. I had, it would seem, persuaded myself of his unreality --- which, in turn, restored things to the way they were. I was Rosette again. I was oblivious, for now at least.
A few minutes later, the school appeared in view. I hurried somewhat, the joy of triumph overcoming me. It was straight ahead. It was in my grasp. I knew this serenity would soon escape me, but, with any luck, I would be in the imprisoning walls of that building when it evaporated. I accelerated even still, the pressure escalating. I was here. I was here! Finally, I had a cushion, a buffer of sorts, for my ever-mounting terror. The jeep hopped up and down over the jarring entry to my one hope and prison. I would get out of the jeep and head towards my relief with my backpack slung--- My backpack.
My foot lifted off the pedal abruptly and I veered madly to the side. Mitchell. His backpack was in the back too. I threw my hands up in frustration. Things were never easy, were they? Closing my eyes, I leaned back in my seat. At last, things between Mitchell and I looked bright ahead, and what had I done? I had deserted him with no transportation at the fun he knew --- and I as well --- would help me.
I opened my eyes and chided myself under my breath, running my hands along the wheel again. Why is my idea of fun always wrong? I knew what I had to do --- but I was so close. I glanced at the school one last time, then wildly whipped the jeep back and around to face the entrance. Taking a deep breath, I whispered, "Ah, well, here we go," and sped off back to the carnival.
The drive back seemed shorter than the ride there, and, for once, something else occupied my mind than . . . him. It was a hard drive back, but I made it; and, in the process, I ultimately realized that this was what I needed --- school wouldn't help. The road was clear: Fate had made the way for me. Every car that was on the road stayed far from my vicinity, as if I had a sphere of solitude surrounding me. The jeep was fast enough and got me to my destination in record time. On the other hand, maybe that was my over-eager pedal foot. Either way, the trip was quick, and by the time I pulled back into that dirt parking lot, my nerves were on end. I was so irritated with Mitchell at that point that I almost punched the gas and rammed into his lingering form. Instead, I killed the engine and kicked the unlocked door open, slamming it afterwards in an irate manner. I strolled up to a grinning Mitchell and threw the keys at his face, which he flawlessly caught. Catching up to him, I responded to his smirk with a cross look.
"So, uh, 'Ro' huh?"
"C'mon, I'm your best friend. I'm supposed to come up with an irritating nickname for you," he laughed as we entered the carnival.

After about the seventh time riding the "spinning strawberries", my voice was only a whisper. Laughing heartily, Mitchell and I ran to the Ferris wheel. The line wasn't very long, considering what time we were coming here. We strolled up to the end of it, grinning from ear to ear.
Soon enough, we were allowed to get into the cart and we started ascending, when a realization came upon me.
I looked over at him tentatively, trying to glean from his expression if I was forgiven for earlier. I could see no hurt in them, so I looked him full in the face. "Sorry," I murmured softly in my cracking voice. His head seemed to snap up as if I was awaking him from some reverie.
"What?" He shook his head, confused, apparently to ward off some other train of thought. His dark olive eyes then lit up in recognition and shock of what I'd said. "Sorry? Sorry about what?" He searched my face for the answer and came up with nothing. The wall was up again. "Whatever it is, you don't need to be sorry." Reclining back with his hands behind his head, he scoffed. "It's probably my fault anyway." He snickered softly before fastening his gaze back on me. "So, enough about everything else. Let me hear something about you." He grinned encouragingly and twirled his hand in a gesture for me to start.
"Well . . ." I thought for a few moments. Coming up with nothing, I crossed my legs and reclined as well. "Why don't you start?" I urged, nodding in his direction.
He gave me a sneer then put his hand to his chin in contemplation and his eyebrow creased in meditation. Then, "giving up", his face relaxed and his hand fell to his lap. "I've got nothing," he replied simply, casting his hands in the air. The grin spread broadly across his face once again. "Your turn," he chuckled, his smile gleaming.
I gave him a glare then stared off into the carnival. We had lifted only about ten feet already, so there wasn't much of a view yet. I sat back once more and considered what I could say. "Well, I hate approaching people. Um . . . , I don't open up to someone unless we're close. And this should be obvious, but, I'm deathly shy." I gave him a look that said, 'Happy now?'
"Seriously, I could tell most of that already! So, um," He leaned towards me, his slow hot breath tickling my face. "I guess that means we're close if you're opening up." His countenance screamed 'hopeful'.
My body stiffening and my eyes locking with his, I steadied my breathing as not to give myself away. "I-I guess so," I gasped, hardly audible.
Instantly, his face was brighter, his eyes livelier --- every muscle in his body seemed to brace. I could only imagine what kind of electric shock was searing through his body right now. I could only smile lightly in response as I leisurely and painfully drew back and tore my eyes away from him. As his grin shone, he patted the seat next to him eagerly and quite expectantly. I cautiously moved to seat myself beside him with a prayer he wouldn't get any ideas. I mean, I never had any feelings toward the guy as of yet and I hoped that went both ways. I heard a slight sigh of relief when I was finally seated and wasn't certain if it came from him or me. I stared down at my hands for a long time until he finally spoke.
"Look at that," he sighed. I met his eyes for an instant, and then drew them away to follow his stare. It was a hazy day, but the haze had withdrawn to form lumpy clouds in the sky. One of the thinner of these was completely covering the sun --- leaving just a single ray, it seemed, to escape through a weak spot. It wasn't as beautiful as an orange sunset or golden sunrise would have been, but it was still uplifting on a day like this. I vaguely realized that this symbolized Mitchell's and my renewed friendship as I gazed at him from behind. It had been a depressing haze with no connection whatsoever, and now, --- finally, now --- a simple ray of sunshine was peeking through --- and growing, I might add.
He suddenly turned back to me and grinned, crossing his arms. "So, we never finished talking about you," he stated triumphantly. I groaned. "Oh, c'mon!" He turned fully towards me and punched my arm playfully. "You're not that bad. Honestly." He drew closer. "You're pretty interesting to me."
I tried to hide the crimson the dashed across my face at that moment. "Okay, okay," I submitted, knowing he would keep it up until I divulged. "Um . . . Let's see. What else?" I muttered to myself, mock pondering with my head propped on my fist.
Mitchell scooted closer. "You could tell me what your favorites are --- color, animal, hobby, time of year. Stuff like that."
I inched away from him inconspicuously. "Well, my favorite color is probably grey. It's the color of my eyes," I clarified.
The ghost of a smirk whisked across his features. "Which, by the way, are beautiful," he cut in.
"I'm also a mundane color kind of person, if you can't tell that by this." I swiped my hand, indicating my apparel.
"You dress nicely. Color isn't everything," he interjected once more.
I swore the crimson on my cheeks could get no brighter --- or spread no further. I humbly passed over his complements and continued. "My favorite animal is the panther. Whenever I think that word, stealth and mystery immediately come to mind." I sighed at the thought.
Mitchell sighed as well. "Rosette: the Panther Girl," he chuckled. "You've definitely got the mystery down. The stealth . . . ah . . ., not so much."
I snickered along with him. It was true of course. I had to clear my throat before I started again to get him to calm down, but he was already staring off.
"It's beautiful," he breathed, only his eyes giving me a direction to follow. I bent over him to see a perfect view of Seattle in all its glory. I sighed myself and subconsciously leaned into him. I could feel him relax in response, but it didn't register.
"It's amazing." You could see almost every house if you looked around --- and most of downtown. I could point out the school, the hospital, and even the general area my house would be. The sun was descending even more, its golden glow contagious. I felt lighter, happier. This was where it was. This was my escape. This was where I belonged. I felt him turn and squirm a bit under me, and then my common sense kicked in. Instantly, I straightened --- I suddenly felt too close to him on the seat, too happy to be spending time with him, too . . . open. My mental wall firmly reclaimed its rightful position as I squished myself as far over on the seat as possible. Mitchell resumed his tense position and not one look of surprise or anger flashed over his face. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my head drooping low.
He was suddenly at my side, which only made me feel more claustrophobic. "Aw, Rosette! You worry too much! That's the second time you've said that. There's no need to be sorry. It was uncomfortable for me too. I can't blame you for freaking. That was weird." His expression was priceless. I couldn't help but laugh. Thank goodness! It was weird for him.
"True." I muttered. "But the reason I moved, well . . ." I groaned in frustration. "I-I have a hard time opening up to people. I've always been like that for some reason. It's hard for me to be around people. I put up . . . a wall, of sorts. And the mental wall doesn't usually come down. Yet, with you . . . Ugh! I don't know." I turned away from him and stared out at downtown Seattle. "I'm opening up to you right now by telling you this." I tentatively glanced up and a smile broke across both our faces. "I guess you're different!" I slapped my hands on both my legs and looked around him to see if we had moved any higher.
Immediately the cart started rocking back and forth violently. I was hardly able to stay on my seat. Flying to and fro, I tried to get a good grip on my seat and glanced around frantically for the source of this chaos. When I focused back on Mitchell, I found he was the culprit and pushed him to the other side, yelling "Quit!" He pushed me back and, soon enough, we were making a ruckus. Of course, the ride manager yelled for us to stop and we were eventually kicked off, but it was worth it. We were still pushing each other while we were strolling to the midway games.
As we reached the Balloon Dart stand, Mitchell pulled out a dollar and shoved it in my hand. "Go ahead," he whispered eagerly in my ear then steered me towards the booth.
I turned back again and pushed past him. "Oh, that's alright. I'm not in a darting mood," I stated, antsy.
He grabbed my upper arm --- what was it with him and grabbing my arm? --- and swung me around to face the stand again. "C'mon. Just try. One time." When that didn't work, he tried a different plea. "I'll play too," he ventured, raising his thin eyebrows. He deftly swiped out a few dollars and dragged me to the booth as I weakly tried to stand my ground. "Four darts each, please," he requested, placing the money in front of the man running the stand.
The man instantly had four placed in front of both of us. I spared a pouting glance at Mitchell, who then gestured for me to go first. After hesitating stubbornly, I wielded a dart at last, quite begrudgingly, and aimed for one of the balloons. As soon as the dart left my grasp, I knew something bad was going to happen. Murphy's Law blatantly played and replayed over in my head: "If anything bad can happen, it will." Rocketing through the air, the dart set its course straight for the man with the darts --- seemingly getting its revenge for being reused, or perhaps hoping for a "family" reunion with his fellow weapons of doom --- causing him to abruptly duck. Though this prevented him from having to explain the hole in his head, the dart didn't exactly miss its mark --- for when the man (who was named Tom, as his flimsy nametag denoted) pulled away, a tuft of curly maple hair clung to his attacker.
Mitchell tentatively stepped up and gave me a sheepish grin, pushing my hand down from its upraised position. I quickly stepped back, chagrin coloring my face as I grinned guiltily at Tom. Mitchell threw the next seven, each one popping either its target or a few millimeters off. After winning at least 3 prizes, he traded in the smaller ones to get me a big floppy bear. "Thanks." I uttered softly and nervously, still shaken from the dart incident. He patted my back reassuringly and led me to the next stand, declaring, "Let's go to another booth before a dart appears in your hand."
I completely agreed. Arming me with a dart --- or any sharp (or blunt) object for that matter --- was entirely dangerous and hazardous to your health. I wondered what booth we would go to next. With any luck, nothing that included me holding, throwing, or catching something. He was careful to find stands with those regulations, winning more and more prizes. We had just come from the Plinko booth, when it happened.
All day had been amazing. I could never explain how blithe I had felt this whole time. His nonexistence seemed to set things in balance --- put them in perception. I'd never felt so . . . real, so . . . tangible. Life was now complete. Life was now normal. Life was now mine. Reality had seized me in its soothing grasp and caressed me with raw resolution for once in my life --- but now, as I laughed and sauntered along, reality seemed to set as the orange sun on the horizon. Surrealism uprooted it. Just as the last of Certainty's touch was fading, he arrived. Yes. Him.
My bliss abandoned me.
He strolled in his usual perfect gait --- his face stone, his eyes unreadable. He had a searching expression (wanting, inquisitive, erudite all at once) and the moment those eyes turned on me, I froze. My fury boiled and unleashed its power. It took all I had not to spring and mall him. My hands rebelled against me and clenched in hatred, ripping some unobserved object in my hands. When a smirk swiped across his face, my hands twisted abruptly. Mitchell's voice broke through the sound barrier.
"Why are you killing Mr. Stuffykins?!" he cried, alarmed. I felt the stuffing falling over my hands, but I didn't care.
My eyes never left his. Everything else was unnecessary. Everything else was surreal. He was the one truth --- but also my target. For once in my life, and exactly when I needed it, my aim was perfect. The flailing disemboweled teddy hurtled through the air and struck his marble head, only to bounce off with a pitiful squeak and tumble mercilessly to the ground.
"Whoa! I didn't know that thing had a squeaker," Mitchell mumbled, completely oblivious to my sudden outrage.
I sped to the destination of my ruined bear and bent to pick it up, when I met his fiery eyes. The titian was breathtaking and immediately beckoned the memories that were so etched into my brain. His frigid hand brushed mine as he passed the bear to me gently. His eyes never left mine --- even when he straightened up. When my gaze finally was able to travel down to the item in question, it was perfectly fine. The stuffing was shoved back in just as it had been before, and the rips were sealed temporarily. However, when my head whipped upright, he was gone.
I briefly wondered if I had been hallucinating this whole time --- if I really was losing it. What if he was never real? What if some rabid dream of mine had seeped out into "reality"? Well, all my troubles were vanity then. Right? I turned to Mitchell and brandished the rejuvenated bear, shock washing my hatred away with its deliberate ebb. Proceeding my pathetic toss at Mitchell, I yelled, "'Mr. Stuffykins'? What kind of name is that?" and laughed as we continued on our way.
The rest of the day, we acted as if nothing had happened --- which caused me to doubt it even had. As the last orange arc of sun merged with the dark of night, I could feel my clarity exit with it. We soon left the carnival --- me frantically glancing around for him, and Mitchell, as always, swaggering and grinning beside me. Once we made it through the outlet, he instantly challenged me to a race to the car, laughing as he posed it.
"No, no, no," I anxiously declined. "Bad things happen when I run --- just like when I handle darts." Or anything that requires throwing . . .
His grin widened. "Exactly." With that, he took off. His run was fluid and concise --- a picture of endurance --- and when I started sprinting after him, well, I paled in comparison. I could feel my arms flapping and flailing wildly as I dashed forward. I was doing pretty well with my footing --- that is, until I encountered the pebble. Why is it always the small things that cause the biggest failures? First, my foot considered the pebble a threat, and quickly spun and bent to the left when met with this obstruction. Then, as I stumbled, I astonishingly gained two left feet --- each of which stepped on the other, fumbling for an escape. This unbalanced me --- as everything did! --- and I went flipping into the asphalt. I was sent sprawling head over heels until I rolled smack into Mitchell's car. Fortunately, he didn't have a car alarm, so I was spared that chagrin. As for my crimson face, well, that was unalterable. Mitchell couldn't handle it anymore --- he fell to the ground, laughing. (He had already reached the car and had been watching me finish.) This caused me briefly to remember when I'd tried the old Pirates of the Caribbean trick on him when he wasn't paying enough attention to me. 'Oh. OH! The heat!' I'd cried, before mock fainting.
He'd snickered once --- and then left me there.
. . . Of course, it had been in the middle of fall.
I slowly picked myself up, making sure he caught my constant glare at him as I was. My hands stung as I jerked my door open and climbed in, but somehow in my ascent into the jeep, my foot betrayed me again. Catching on the bottom of the vehicle, my foot triggered my flip headfirst into the passenger seat. This only made Mitchell roar louder with laughter before he climbed in as well and helped me up chivalrously. My glare grew softer as I stared into his beaming face, so I replaced it with a hard punch on his shoulder. "You're not supposed to laugh." I muttered. "You're supposed to help me up and ask if I'm okay."
"And then laugh," he quickly added, and then ducked as I swung a slap at his head. "Okay, okay!" he surrendered. "I'm sorry. I did help you up. Are you okay? For both times, that is," he actually questioned sympathetically. I couldn't refuse his worry-etched face. His earlier grin was infectious, causing a wide smile to flash across my features.
"I'm fine." I replied lightly. "Just a few scrapes --- no bruises, no bleeding, and no head trauma. Don't even comment," I warned him swiftly after that last part. We both snickered as he put the car into gear and swiveled it around to face the exit.
Under his breath, I heard him declare, "Let's do this thing."

When we finally reached my house, the sun was long gone. I suddenly realized that my mom would be wondering what I had been doing this whole time. I hadn't called her. Shoot! I murmured a few dreary phrases before turning to Mitchell. "My mom."
His face immediately creased in the gravity of the situation. Then, as if some profound unknown had just been solved in a matter of seconds, his face lightened abundantly. "I'll come in with you," he stated more than suggested and seized my hand in his. Pulling me out of his side of the car, he jumped down from the jeep and helped me do the same. Slamming the car door after releasing my hand, he grinned again. The sand and gravel of my short driveway scattered beneath us, sending up a cloud of stifling smoke. I patted both my pockets and searched my jacket for my keys, until figuring it wasn't needed when the doorknob started turning itself. The door opened before us, and there stood my mom.
Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, wavy locks falling out and framing her face. She was dressed in an old T-shirt I'd remembered buying for her at some park we went to --- which displayed many jungle animals, a staring and triumphant lion dominating the forefront. Her jeans were faded and ripped in countless places, displaying the wear and tear they'd gone through while in their prime. This was my mother's outfit, nothing fancy, nothing impressive --- she only came as her honest self. "Oh!" she cried, throwing the door open a bit wider. "Come in! It's getting colder as we speak!" Mitchell and I stepped in lightly, ducking by her to enter the kitchen behind the stairs. "Sit down, sit down." she cried, racing to the refrigerator. "Is there anything I can get you . . ." She paused, trying to remember his name as she snapped her fingers frantically.
"Mitchell. And thank you, but I'm fine." He and I both willingly sat down as my mom rushed neurotically back and forth.
"Oh, so this is why you were out late? Well, I never thought you'd be with . . . Mitchell again. Did you and that Aster boy break up?" she rambled.
I gave her the "Mom!" look and quickly hid my face from Mitchell. "Riley's gone for the next week, Mom. And we only went to the carnival. They're in town a few days." I covered, my face growing more scarlet by the second.
"Ah, yes, the carnival," she replied simply. I could hear the chagrin in her voice before she glanced at Mitchell to glean his reaction to what she had said. He had an excellent poker face. "I-I'll just leave you two alone." She gave me a sly smirk and dashed out into the den. I heard the TV switch on and a bag of something being reopened as she sat down.
Ever so slowly, my head turned back around to Mitchell. His face was aglow. "So, you and Riley. I had thought so. Although it's kind of hard not to hear you when you scream 'Yes!' across the lunchroom." My face colored with chagrin. Was I really that loud? Or excited? "It really wasn't that hard to tell considering his and your expressions." The crimson seemed to brighten and accumulate but my face paled at his next comment. "And then there was the hug." His grin grew as I stiffened. If only you knew . . . Feeling his eyes searching my face, I stood up abruptly to get us a couple of sodas, and he noticed just how abruptly. "Too touchy a subject?" he queried, cocking his head playfully.
"No," I answered truthfully, slamming the fridge closed before I set both cans at the table. He picked his up and popped it open, toasting it to me gratefully. "I just don't see how it matters." I sat down and popped open my own, and then, sipping it cautiously, gauged his reaction. "I'm going out with Riley. There. I don't know why it's such a big deal." I ran my pinky in circles on the can, scrutinizing my finger as it moved. "People seem to just need something to talk about." After saying it, I instantly glanced up. "I'm not talking about you," I amended hastily. Even though I thought I was a few days ago. "It's nothing big; we're not even official." How was it that I just opened up to him so easily? I think this was about the third time I had done so. There was just something about him . . .
"Yeah, I know." He seemed to stare off into nothingness for a while before returning his eyes to mine ever so slowly. "Well, without wagging tongues, we'd never have any news. And that'd be a shame." He clicked his tongue then stood up, planting the soda down on the table resolutely. It was quiet for a few seconds until I realized what drove him to stand. "You're leaving already?" I inquired, rushing to his side. Before he could even answer, I continued, "Well, then, I'm walking you out," already zipping up my jacket.
Ever so gently, he placed his hand over mine to stop me. The movement almost murdered my already over-anxious heart. "Don't. It'll only give your mom more suspicions about us." Which you'd love . . . "Today was fun," he remarked, ruffling my hair lovingly before turning to leave.
"Mitchell," I called uncertainly. As he spun around to face me, his eyes locked inescapably with mine once more. "Thanks."
"Oh! No problem," he sighed, pleased. "Whenever you need someone to skip school with, just c---"
"For everything," I finished. He stopped right then and there, his link with my eyes intensifying. There was a certain force through the few seconds of silence --- like an electric current flowing through and connecting us. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to tell me how much he'd missed me. He wanted to plead he was wrong to ever fall out of friendship with me. I could see it all in his eyes --- but all that came was a gentle smirk.
"See ya, Ro."

As soon as the door slammed shut, my bliss dissipated. Any reality remaining drove off with him. Soon, I could hear the roar of his engine no more, and when I thawed out of my frozen position and looked out the window, he was gone.
Slumping down into my chair again, I tried to keep my mind from where it was racing presently --- him. Since I couldn't block it any way that I tried, I pondered on my newest theory. He was a hallucination. I mean, really --- this one actually made the most sense. It was much more likely that I had gone off the deep end than that my angel could possibly be real, or as inhuman as I suspected. My angel was a hallucination. And if he as a whole was a hallucination . . .
I gradually rose to my feet.
I wasn't being stalked! If my angel himself was a hallucination, then it only made sense that his other half was one as well. I was free. The fear still prickled at the back of my mind --- the severity of the situation was still real enough.
Then a new theory revealed itself to me --- more horrible than I could imagine.
What if Everett wasn't my stalker?
I slumped down once more, stunned.
Of course, he was the obvious choice, but it's always the obvious ones you suspect. The obvious ones you suppose, while the guilty ones slither through the shadows unsuspected. Why hadn't I thought of that before? There had been so many more options besides him, and yet my mind had been one track. As if by miracle, the blinders disappeared and I was finally opened to the truth. But it couldn't be . . .
What if it was Riley?
What if it was Mitchell?
Anyone could be doubted. No one could be trusted. I was alone, like I had been so many times before. Only this time it was fatal.
I glanced into the den to check on my mom. Poking my head in farther, I could see that she was still engrossed in some reality show I didn't know the name of. A snotty, shiny-haired brunette with too much makeup on complained on camera about how her "friends" "wronged" her so many times and how she couldn't take it anymore. Any other time, I would have burst out laughing, but not now --- not when everything suddenly seemed so close, so encompassing. The feeling of the cold and unfamiliar returned to me with more force than it had before as I mounted the stairs. My haven was only a few feet away. Once behind the "safety" of my door (nowhere was safe anymore), I locked it and twisted towards my bed, my vision already smearing with brimming tears. Okay, let's start with Mitchell. I fingered my way over to the bed and sat down, listlessly reaching over to pull closed the curtain. This immersed me in a wholesome darkness. Ha! I was already facing one of my fears.
So, Mitchell. Well, first, we had become a lot closer as the attacks became stealthier and more deliberate. Maybe today was just one of his tricks to assure me of trusting him. In addition, how I just spontaneously opened up to him briefly reminded me of his ability to stun me. Nevertheless, what was the motivation? That seemed to be the only part lacking. But Mitchell should possibly be the most suspected because he was the least obvious.
Then there was Riley. All the odds were in his favor. Memories of all the casual times he'd been "more than human" flashed through my mind. He had seen the meadow in perfect detail miles ahead, his climb was deft and concise, his hug was iron, his reflexes always one step ahead, his flexibility and speed in "action" situations remarkable. I had always just thought he was better than I was in those things, but now they seemed plunged in infamy. However, I was still lacking a motive.
Out of all three, he --- E . . . E . . . Everett --- fit the bill. (of course, he didn't exist, so no wonder he fits so well.) Super speed --- more like teleporting --- lightening-swift reflexes, the skin, the eyes, the growl. He had attacked me for Pity's sake! There were so many reasons to condemn him, yet, they all seemed to fade. Too obvious. Plus, still no motive.
Standing up fervently, I began to pace about the room. Mitchell must have been very discreet if it was he --- for the other two had passed the test with more than enough characteristics. Both of them had exhibited very . . . nonhuman qualities. Mitchell should be the most expected while the other two the least because of their frankness.
Perhaps there was more to his behavior than met the eye. Yes, you could say that his indiscretion was a dead giveaway of his innocence, but perhaps it was ironic --- a paradox of sorts. Perhaps he was evident intentionally. Perhaps he knew what I would think. Perhaps he was guilty only by being innocent. However, what if it was neither? What if his role was one of an accomplice? That would certainly be a reason to parade his "secret." Distract the target until the mastermind takes the kill. I had seen enough murder movies to know that. And my avid watching of Criminal Minds and CSI had prepared me for the regular routine of an accomplice. They were usually the most blatant --- as I already said --- to cover for their cohort. Another huge fact about them was their gender. They were usually the opposite sex of the victim to distract them more efficiently --- usually by a relationship (which is the best distraction yet.) At that, Riley suddenly proved ideal for the role. My heart raced and I halted.
No, no! It couldn't be!
My conscious started to seep from me as my panic boiled over, causing me to clutch the edge of my dresser with a death grip. My hand flew over my heart as I felt it seem to give out with its last rapid beats. As I fell to my knees, the tears began to escape and soak my clothing relentlessly. Just as my crying could get no more boisterous (apparently it was smothered downstairs by the sound of the TV), the phone rang.
Sobering up quickly, I ran to catch the phone, which was still up in my room, before my mom came looking for it. "Hello," I greeted as indifferently as I could, my voice cracking.
"Rosette?"

Description
Chapter 6

Riley's face inched closer, his breathtaking greenish-blue eyes shining with glee. My own closed in anticipation as I leaned in myself. The instant his lips met mine, all reality evaporated. The world around me blurred until it was only a void. All that existed was we --- nothing else. I could have wallowed in the simplicity ceaselessly, but, too soon, we both pulled away. However, when I opened my eyes, it wasn't Riley staring me down.
Those molten eyes were fastened with mine --- stabbing right into my heart with a look of want mingled with distress, evil lurking behind them. This Everett was harmless. This was my Everett.
Yet I still froze. My muscles were inaccessible. No matter how much I pushed, nothing would move. He leaned closer --- slowly, ever so slowly.
"You're safe. I'm right here. You're finally safe."
I jumped up, Everett's whispered words still echoing from my memory-gone-haywire. My mind was playing tricks on me. I stared down at my cereal, suddenly losing my appetite; I was still on edge. The spoiled memory still felt real --- it was real enough. I couldn't possibly go to school with this paranoia. My 3-foot jump at the sound of the grandfather clock going off confirmed this. I held my head in my hands and shuffled out from the table, grabbing the cordless phone as I marched out. Taking the stairs two by two --- and almost tripping --- I dialed as I mounted the stairs. I anxiously shoved the phone to my ear when I reached the top and ran into my room, slamming the door shut. After about five rings, someone finally answered.
"Hello. You have reached Seattle's Alys Peak Hospital. Alexis Greene speaking." declared the speaker quite wearily, but trying to sound official.
I cleared my throat and began to speak professionally, "Might I please converse with Dana Willows?" but I couldn't keep the grin from my voice.
She cleared her throat as well and spoke even more expertly. "Please hold Miss Willows." This was a game Alexis and I had played since I was little and she used to babysit me. I'd known her almost as long as Mom had been working at the hospital. She was like a crazy aunt to me. I waited for a few moments with muffled sounds that told me Alexis had put the phone against her shirt again. Subdued shouting and shouting back was all I heard for at least a minute. Finally, my mom's voice overpowered Alexis's and I knew she had the phone now.
"Hey sweetie." my mom addressed me with a hint of anxiety in her tone. "Are you okay? Shouldn't you be at school, or at least about to leave?" Suspicion couldn't help but creep up into her voice, but worry overpowered it. When I hesitated, she drew a hefty breath to ask once more.
"Mom. Mom, I'm fine, just ---" I drew in a sustained breath myself. "One of my memories came back to me. But…." I slumped down on my bed stiffly. "It went haywire. It was like a nightmare, but in a memory. One of those foreboding things, you know?" I explained quickly, on the verge of babbling. I was going hysteric! "And it's sticking with me. The paranoia's too much. I can't go to school like this. No way. Not this jittery. Because I won't even pay attention --- so what's the point of even going, you know?" Great, now I am babbling. I started to shake uncontrollably, so I lay down on the bed to try to suppress it to some extent.
"Oh, honey, are you okay?" Compassion immediately sprung up out of the worry.
"Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. I just can't be around people. I---"
"Do you need me to come home? I can come right away. You don't have to worry about a thing. I'll be there in the next---"
I interrupted her neurotic prattle just in time. "No. No, Mom. I-I'm probably better off being alone. I just need to calm down. I might go to school later, but not now. Not now." I explained a bit restlessly.
Instantaneously, the suspicion emerged with force. I mean, I couldn't expect it not to. This even sounded crazy and fake to me. Any mother will suspect foul play when her child doesn't want her at home for a reason they won't explain. For me, the reason was simply that I didn't want anyone around. I was better off alone. I always had been.
"Are you sure you're not just trying to skip school?" There was a pause, and then she cleared her throat. "Oh, I don't know why I'm asking you. Like any teenager would tell the truth!" She sighed.
"Mom! You know me. I don't skip school. I just avoid people. Skipping school isn't an option, nor does it interest me." I could understand how she would think that though. Even I would suspect me. I mean, this does seem fishy.
"Yes. I guess your right. I won't apologize though. I'll be checking up on you!"
"I understand, Mom." I stated simply.
"Good. And don't you dare turn the phone off. I have ways, my darling." There was a hint of humor entwined with each syllable. "I love you, sweetie."
"Love you too." With that, we both hung up.
I sighed and tossed the phone on the bed. Clasping my hands behind my head, I lounged back comfortably and undertook to settle myself, staring up at the ceiling as I had that first night.
How things had changed since that time! Even though some things were the same --- like how I couldn't stop thinking of Everett and like the fact that he was still my same angel ---, almost everything was different. I was alone then, now I had Riley --- and possibly Mitchell. I was Everett's slave then, and now I was his ultimate enemy and prey. I admired Everett so much then, and now I only looked on him with disgust. I had imagined him perfect, and now that image was disfigured with a grotesque shadow of hatred and fear. Back then, I had felt Everett was the one thing holding me together, and now Riley was my reality and Mitchell recognized me. Every impression I had of him then was shriveling in the flames of distrust, fed by my waxing horror at his other half. I wanted my Everett back! The Everett that I had believed was true was still there --- somewhere, somehow, no matter how deep.
Yes, conditions had changed, but about this last thing, I was completely sure. I glanced around, but recognized nothing. My life had become so surreal now --- as if I was in a dream. Days moved so fast now. Months seemed like weeks --- weeks, like days themselves. I could only imagine how years would feel moving at this rate. I no longer claimed this as my life. I was someone's trick, a fantasy, an eye's myth. Now, finally, at just the right time it seemed, I perceived that my life had been changed --- irrevocably changed. There was no going back. My fate had betrayed me and flagrantly steered me in this direction. Curse my straightforward and pliable emotions! This Everett Caine had torn them to pieces! Why had I been so innocent, so naive, when things had turned out as ironically as they did! I couldn't imagine where I'd gone wrong. Distrust had been planted in me the moment I'd seen those eyes change, yet I'd stayed. I stayed unperturbed in danger's way!
I threw myself back on the bed again in a fury, covering my face with my pillow.
Minutes passed. I counted them one by one until my heartbeat started mellowing --- softening as my anger withdrew its large flames from my mind. I could think clearly now, which might not exactly be good.
Think of the good things --- the bright side. Well, even though my life had changed for the worse by Everett, it had also changed for the better by Mitchell and especially Riley. My memories of Riley's face instantly buried me, suffocating me with glee. Oh, I already missed him! I turned over in my bed and attempted to relax. I needed to clear my mind, because apparently anything I thought of turned awful eventually. Curse my pessimistic view!
My mind had just started to wade into the ebbing waves of a dream, when my cellphone sounded off piercingly. I sat up sluggishly and groaned, figuring I'd just ignore it, and lay back in bed. I barely thought about the phone --- and barely heard it since I was half-asleep --- but somehow I felt like I should check it. The noise stopped, yet the feeling was still there. Try as I might to repel it, something was drawing me towards my cellphone. I sat up begrudgingly and leaned over slightly to inspect the screen, rubbing my eyes to ward off my weariness. Picking it up, I noticed the screen was lit up with "1 NEW MESSAGE" in bold black letters contrasting the white background. I anxiously opened it only to find the text was from . . . no one. The space that would usually be filled with the sender was empty --- completely. I pushed "ok" and my eyes begrudgingly wandered down to skim the message to get any idea of whom the author might be.

Sorry for yesterday. My phone cut off. Now, you're probably wondering why you can't find out where this text came from. Well, to put it frankly, I don't want you to get a hold of me. Why? It's another one of those "forbidden" things I told you about. I'm still watching out for you, Rosette. I want you to know that. I'm protecting you no matter what --- no matter what you say, what you think of me, or what you do. This probably doesn't mean much to you now, but it will count in the long run. I wish I could say all this to you over the phone, but . . . circumstances prevent me from communicating otherwise --- at least to you. I just want you to know that you're safe.

It didn't need an author for me to know its source. I slowly --- almost painfully --- leaned back, stunned, on my bed. Even through the phone, he stuns me!
"Safe"? I was only safe when he wasn't around! Why was he even texting me if he didn't want me to get a hold of him? I scrutinized the message once more, hit "reply", and began bombarding him with these questions.
Soon after I sent it, my phone went off again. "Wow. He's fast!" I gasped, fingering my cellphone reluctantly. I realized just how fast when I read the lit-up phrase "3 NEW MESSAGES." For a moment, I debated whether I should open it or just walk away. My mind pulled me farther from it, while my emotions seemed to pull it closer to me. Didn't I hate him? Then why should I care what he said? His whispered words in my twisted memory imbedded themselves in my brain.
"You're safe now. I'm right here. You're finally safe."
Finally, I flipped my phone open and pushed "ok" so hard that it was a wonder it didn't break beneath my grasp. My mind was screaming at me while my heart raced faster and faster until every sound was smothered by its echo. However, that was before I read the text.

Rosette, you just don't get it do you? I'm protecting you! Why is it so hard for you to appreciate that? It seems like you only trample on everything I do for you. You would be dead without me! I'm not asking for the world, here. I'm only asking you to realize just how important I am to your life right now. And, no, I'm not being arrogant. I would only love to see you value me for once, but I guess none of this matters to you. Well, on to other subjects then. The reason I am talking to you, is that I can see that you're scared, and it's of me. I wanted you to start trusting me --- but I can see that's not going to happen until I can prove myself to you. I know I ruined that whole thing when I left and when I revealed myself, but just because I'm a little different doesn't mean I'm going to kill you. As for where I am and why I'm gone for so long . . . guess what? It's "forbidden." Sorry. At first I left because I was afraid I *would* hurt you. I turned out to be wrong, so I came back. Then I attacked you, so I ran away again --- but I couldn't stay away. So, every now and then, I would stop in. I kept finding excuses to see you --- to make sure you were okay. I even nearly compromised my secret to see you. I feel the need to protect you, just because I'm not the worst thing out there and I'm pretty sure one of them is after you. Yet, you're still scared of me --- even when I slip up for just a few seconds. Couldn't you be a little more grateful that I'm not letting whatever is out there maul you? As for how you're safe, I still have a reliable amount of "guards" for you, including myself on a few occasions. I'll be back soon, and I'll make sure to stop by. Remember *why* you're safe, Rosette.

That was all it said. That was it. I kept pressing the down button nevertheless, searching for some continuation. When none was found, I threw the phone aside in a frantic blind fury. To my dismay, I tossed it at the exact angle to land on the only fabric-layered part of my vanity. And I really wanted it to break... I grunted in irritation and turned over in my bed again. His words kept replaying in my head --- the whispered ones and from the text --- the most prominent ones being "I'm not the worst thing out there . . ." I picked up my pillow and hurled it at the phone with a scream, and then buried my head in the sheets. My raw emotions soon faded, as they were shallow.
I hadn't felt deep, true emotions for a long while now.
My phone went off again, but I recognized the sound as the one I had programmed for my mom. Sighing in relief, I calmly rose from the bed and opened the phone only to find a text asking me --- neurotically, of course --- if I was okay. I speedily texted back the slight lie that I was doing better but still not fine. Sure, I looked calm and collected and was acting that way now, but I definitely was not doing better. Maybe my paranoia is causing these breakdowns. I snapped my phone shut and shook my head, amused, before setting it back in the same spot. Nevertheless, when I lifted my head, my eyes locked on the scene outside my window.
Titian.
It was everywhere --- that color, donning my backyard. All outside was bathed in its eerie glow. I had no idea at that point whether my paranoia was catching on to me or the trees were filtering the sun's glad rays in that way, but either way I slowly marched towards the window, my hands clenching so hard into fists that I could feel my nails embedding themselves within my palms.
Suddenly every memory of Everett's eyes came back to me, trampling me in their lunatic stampede. I fell to my knees, writhing in agony, with nothing but the memories before my eyes. This was my Everett. This was kind Everett. Nice Everett. An Everett that would never hurt me --- could never hurt me. The other half of the predator, he was --- the half I wanted back. I pounded my face with my hands, not caring about the bit of blood that had started to trickle out, only begging him to stop torturing me. The tears washed the blood from my hands but also partly absorbed it into my eyelids --- which bathed the memories in a crimson foreground. It seemed nothing near coincidental, for the memories deserved their scarlet mark. Now those eyes seemed more menacing, merciless, more undeserving of my compassion --- just as it should be. It felt natural for his silhouette to bear its scarlet glow --- all predators deserved the blood upon them. Somehow, some way, I heaved myself up enough to grab the phone, smearing it with wet with tears. I could see through enough to type these simple words that held so much meaning:

You are dead to me, Everett Caine.

Life dragged on after that, as what usually happens following a life-changing moment. The day was colored in a gloomy gray, instead of the vivid portrait it usually was. I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, but then the whole world had fallen over me. It seemed ironic that after letting the truth escape, life lost its meaning to me. It was as if my Everett was not alive, then I was not alive --- even though I knew that was utterly false. Now that I had revealed the truth, all drama, vivacity, and even interest had faded from me. Not even a few calls from Riley lifted me from the deep fog I found myself in. My phone was never graced by his texts for the rest of the day --- the week, even --- and I jumped every time the phone went off, only to find it was my mom or Riley.
The next day, I told my mom I was fine to go to school --- another lie. However, I didn't want to be alone this time. Today was one of those days where the cold hung in the air and chilled you to your bones. The cold was comforting, for that's how everything felt to me now --- cold and unfamiliar. A light mist of rain was just starting to make it's way down to the ground as I looked up to the sky for some speck of hope --- some glimmer of bliss.
As I sauntered glumly into the classroom, Mitchell started up in his seat and quickly shooed away his friends to make a spot for me. As he rambled on about how he'd missed me yesterday, I slowly took my seat, confused by my surreal surroundings --- but never letting them touch me. I was unattainable. I didn't exist. Mitchell hand rested slightly on my shoulder, which snapped me out of my daze. "Are you okay?" he inquired anxiously when I looked him in the eyes, startled. "Is this why you were gone yesterday?" He seemed seriously concerned, but I just couldn't think of his questions as genuine for some reason. Must be the dreamlike feeling . . . I couldn't resist him, not right now when we were just getting on track.
I bit my lip and turned away. "Sort of." I hardly even muttered. It was a wonder if he heard me. I glanced back at him again, but he was turned at an angle with an expression that looked like perplexity. I turned away again, now biting the edge of my fingernail instead of my lip. When I looked back, he was staring at me. "Mitchell, I---" I started to stutter, but then, sighing and seizing his arm, I demanded, "Here, just come with me," and pulled him out of the room into the hall. Bombarding me with questions, he tripped along behind me until we reached the outside doors. I gazed back at him hesitantly before pushing my way through them, holding them open for him. Immediately, the cold splashed my face with that icy embrace and I noticed the mist had stopped. I swiftly turned to face him. "Okay," I sighed. "Mitchell, have you ever felt that someone's watching you?" I whipped my head around suspiciously just to make my point.
"Well, sure, all the time," he replied nonchalantly. "Oh, and if we're skipping school, then follow me." He began to walk away. I quickly ran after him, which I believe is exactly what he wanted --- at least that's what his grin said when I caught up.
"No, no. We're not skipping school. I wanted to...let you know what's going on. You did want to know why I wasn't at school, right?"
"Yes. And you can tell me on the way to the carnival. Did you know they're in town?" Not giving me a chance to answer, he quickly held up his hand. "Be back in a minute." With that, he took off towards the school building.
"Mitchell!" I yelled after him. Taking a few steps forward I called again, irritated. He only held his finger to his lips before disappearing behind the wall. I rolled my eyes, huffing irately, and crossed my arms while I waited for his return. About a minute later, he appeared again with both our backpacks on his shoulders. An infectious grin permanently lit up his face as he swaggered towards me. "You do this too often, don't you?" I took my backpack without a fuss and calmly trailed after him. In the middle of the trek to his jeep, I spun back around to make my way towards the school. He instantaneously cut me off and backed me towards his jeep.
"Do you honestly want to go back?" His question clearly required no answer by the bittersweet look to his face. "Look, you need a good time, and you're certainly not going to find it in there," he declared, pointing reproachfully at the school grounds. "Now, let's have some fun!" He pushed past me, snatching my hand in the process.
"And how do you know I need a good time? Maybe---maybe I just need the boring surroundings of school to jar me out of it." However, my weak excuses were no match for him, and, soon enough, I was in his jeep heading to the fun I honestly needed.

The ride there was a quiet one filled with Mitchell's glances at me, and my frequent glares in his general direction. Of course, he ignored the latter. When he finally parked near the carnival, he turned off the car and leaned back, keeping his gaze fixed on me this time. After a few seconds, an impatient sigh wafted through the air. "Rosette, you can stop pouting now. I'm not fooled in the least by your act. Trust me --- you need this. You have been so . . . out of it lately. You need some fun. I know you do, Ro. So . . ." He shifted in his seat and unlocked the door. "Let's go have some." The slam of the door made me jump and I spared my "sulking" act for a quick glance.
"But, Mitch---" I grunted angrily and slumped farther down in my seat. "I'm not coming out." I declared in an irritated singsong voice. Suddenly Mitchell was at my window.
"Yes, you are." he demanded and swiftly swiped my door open, sending me flying out of the car. Luckily, his arms were there to catch me. He held me there for a few seconds, us each staring into the other's eyes. I noticed a gleam in his that hadn't surfaced in awhile. Their green seemed more vivid --- more extraordinary than I had ever seen them. Apparently, I was finally seeing him happy, a feeling that had been reserved between the two of us. Our eyes were locked together, drawn to the other's by some insatiable spell. Eventually, I snapped out of it and stood up, rubbing my arms and laughing nervously. Mitchell stepped back and stared down at the dirt for a while. Finally I slammed the car door closed and resumed my former state.
"Ok, you got me out of the car. Doesn't mean I'm going with you," I declared sassily, crossing my arms with a smirk.
"I have ways around that." He began walking away without another word or even a glance. I pondered this until he turned around to face me and continued walking, backwards this time. "Trust me, you'll follow." Then, he turned around and jogged towards the destination of so-called amusement. I leaned against the car stubbornly.
"Fine then. I'll just stay here," I muttered to myself. I scoffed at his stupidity, and then an idea popped into my head. He hadn't even locked the car! Ha! I could just get in and start it! I swiftly threw open the passenger-side door and slid all the way into the driver's seat. Fingering the wheel ominously, a wicked grin swept across my features. Finally, I had my hands on a vehicle again. It felt so good! I turned the key in the ignition and the jeep rumbled under me. The engine revved as I pressed the gas down firmly, my grin growing. I threw the car into reverse and ferociously swept out of the parking spot. Switching it back to drive, I sped forward and peeled out onto the street. As I sped down the highway, all thoughts of Mitchell and the carnival seemed to speed through my mind as well. He had been so stupid to leave his car with me! I could get to school, back to my boring surroundings, and forget him and his ways to jar me from this life. I needed none of his "therapy"! I pressed the gas pedal harder, hoping there were no police around. I'm really having these breakdowns a lot, aren't I? I inquired of myself. I only pressed the gas harder as a response. It must have been the fact that I was whacked-out on NyQuil. I had been taking it for the past week to get to sleep when memories of him came around.
Fortunately, the ride was smooth and clear with no red lights or police officers. My mind wandered back to yesterday. Why? Why had I said it? That whole truth, the secret never divulged, was keeping me alive! How could I let that one essential, life-sustaining fact slip through my fingers, as would grains of sand?
I beat my hand against the wheel in agony and sped around an innocent car.
Maybe it had been because he'd stunned me. Any common sense of mine would have sounded the alarm if it had been in use. Yet, here I was now --- a futile existence, it seemed, after Truth had escaped.
Fate is an ironic being --- full of insensate humor and hatred. She involves our lives in her cruel humor, twisting paths together then shredding them at the seams. Her companion of entertainment is Misfortune, whom she easily convinces to enter into the lives of the routine, the ordinary, and the lucky --- causing them to grovel in anguish at her feet. She makes the unexpected appear obvious and the obvious unexpected, for when her fun is over she tosses them in her victims' faces --- expecting immediate acceptance. Of course, when tossed in my face, I would never accept it. Yet, hadn't I already?
I slammed on my brakes and pulled over, almost smashing the hazard lights button into oblivion. Leaning back in my seat, I stared at the ceiling, on which I imagined was his face. Would he haunt me forever? Would his dark silhouette be carved into my mind until his hunt was finally consummated? I had to get him out of my head. I had to get to school. Maybe it would bore him out of my mind. This had to stop!
I shut off the hazard lights and veered onto the road again. The school was only minutes away. I would get there, I would pay attention, and I would erase all memories of him. Life would go back to normal until he eventually killed me. His existence would be void until I was murdered in his arms. He was surreal. He was . . . gone.
From nowhere, a peace flooded through me I hadn't achieved before. I had, it would seem, persuaded myself of his unreality --- which, in turn, restored things to the way they were. I was Rosette again. I was oblivious, for now at least.
A few minutes later, the school appeared in view. I hurried somewhat, the joy of triumph overcoming me. It was straight ahead. It was in my grasp. I knew this serenity would soon escape me, but, with any luck, I would be in the imprisoning walls of that building when it evaporated. I accelerated even still, the pressure escalating. I was here. I was here! Finally, I had a cushion, a buffer of sorts, for my ever-mounting terror. The jeep hopped up and down over the jarring entry to my one hope and prison. I would get out of the jeep and head towards my relief with my backpack slung--- My backpack.
My foot lifted off the pedal abruptly and I veered madly to the side. Mitchell. His backpack was in the back too. I threw my hands up in frustration. Things were never easy, were they? Closing my eyes, I leaned back in my seat. At last, things between Mitchell and I looked bright ahead, and what had I done? I had deserted him with no transportation at the fun he knew --- and I as well --- would help me.
I opened my eyes and chided myself under my breath, running my hands along the wheel again. Why is my idea of fun always wrong? I knew what I had to do --- but I was so close. I glanced at the school one last time, then wildly whipped the jeep back and around to face the entrance. Taking a deep breath, I whispered, "Ah, well, here we go," and sped off back to the carnival.
The drive back seemed shorter than the ride there, and, for once, something else occupied my mind than . . . him. It was a hard drive back, but I made it; and, in the process, I ultimately realized that this was what I needed --- school wouldn't help. The road was clear: Fate had made the way for me. Every car that was on the road stayed far from my vicinity, as if I had a sphere of solitude surrounding me. The jeep was fast enough and got me to my destination in record time. On the other hand, maybe that was my over-eager pedal foot. Either way, the trip was quick, and by the time I pulled back into that dirt parking lot, my nerves were on end. I was so irritated with Mitchell at that point that I almost punched the gas and rammed into his lingering form. Instead, I killed the engine and kicked the unlocked door open, slamming it afterwards in an irate manner. I strolled up to a grinning Mitchell and threw the keys at his face, which he flawlessly caught. Catching up to him, I responded to his smirk with a cross look.
"So, uh, 'Ro' huh?"
"C'mon, I'm your best friend. I'm supposed to come up with an irritating nickname for you," he laughed as we entered the carnival.

After about the seventh time riding the "spinning strawberries", my voice was only a whisper. Laughing heartily, Mitchell and I ran to the Ferris wheel. The line wasn't very long, considering what time we were coming here. We strolled up to the end of it, grinning from ear to ear.
Soon enough, we were allowed to get into the cart and we started ascending, when a realization came upon me.
I looked over at him tentatively, trying to glean from his expression if I was forgiven for earlier. I could see no hurt in them, so I looked him full in the face. "Sorry," I murmured softly in my cracking voice. His head seemed to snap up as if I was awaking him from some reverie.
"What?" He shook his head, confused, apparently to ward off some other train of thought. His dark olive eyes then lit up in recognition and shock of what I'd said. "Sorry? Sorry about what?" He searched my face for the answer and came up with nothing. The wall was up again. "Whatever it is, you don't need to be sorry." Reclining back with his hands behind his head, he scoffed. "It's probably my fault anyway." He snickered softly before fastening his gaze back on me. "So, enough about everything else. Let me hear something about you." He grinned encouragingly and twirled his hand in a gesture for me to start.
"Well . . ." I thought for a few moments. Coming up with nothing, I crossed my legs and reclined as well. "Why don't you start?" I urged, nodding in his direction.
He gave me a sneer then put his hand to his chin in contemplation and his eyebrow creased in meditation. Then, "giving up", his face relaxed and his hand fell to his lap. "I've got nothing," he replied simply, casting his hands in the air. The grin spread broadly across his face once again. "Your turn," he chuckled, his smile gleaming.
I gave him a glare then stared off into the carnival. We had lifted only about ten feet already, so there wasn't much of a view yet. I sat back once more and considered what I could say. "Well, I hate approaching people. Um . . . , I don't open up to someone unless we're close. And this should be obvious, but, I'm deathly shy." I gave him a look that said, 'Happy now?'
"Seriously, I could tell most of that already! So, um," He leaned towards me, his slow hot breath tickling my face. "I guess that means we're close if you're opening up." His countenance screamed 'hopeful'.
My body stiffening and my eyes locking with his, I steadied my breathing as not to give myself away. "I-I guess so," I gasped, hardly audible.
Instantly, his face was brighter, his eyes livelier --- every muscle in his body seemed to brace. I could only imagine what kind of electric shock was searing through his body right now. I could only smile lightly in response as I leisurely and painfully drew back and tore my eyes away from him. As his grin shone, he patted the seat next to him eagerly and quite expectantly. I cautiously moved to seat myself beside him with a prayer he wouldn't get any ideas. I mean, I never had any feelings toward the guy as of yet and I hoped that went both ways. I heard a slight sigh of relief when I was finally seated and wasn't certain if it came from him or me. I stared down at my hands for a long time until he finally spoke.
"Look at that," he sighed. I met his eyes for an instant, and then drew them away to follow his stare. It was a hazy day, but the haze had withdrawn to form lumpy clouds in the sky. One of the thinner of these was completely covering the sun --- leaving just a single ray, it seemed, to escape through a weak spot. It wasn't as beautiful as an orange sunset or golden sunrise would have been, but it was still uplifting on a day like this. I vaguely realized that this symbolized Mitchell's and my renewed friendship as I gazed at him from behind. It had been a depressing haze with no connection whatsoever, and now, --- finally, now --- a simple ray of sunshine was peeking through --- and growing, I might add.
He suddenly turned back to me and grinned, crossing his arms. "So, we never finished talking about you," he stated triumphantly. I groaned. "Oh, c'mon!" He turned fully towards me and punched my arm playfully. "You're not that bad. Honestly." He drew closer. "You're pretty interesting to me."
I tried to hide the crimson the dashed across my face at that moment. "Okay, okay," I submitted, knowing he would keep it up until I divulged. "Um . . . Let's see. What else?" I muttered to myself, mock pondering with my head propped on my fist.
Mitchell scooted closer. "You could tell me what your favorites are --- color, animal, hobby, time of year. Stuff like that."
I inched away from him inconspicuously. "Well, my favorite color is probably grey. It's the color of my eyes," I clarified.
The ghost of a smirk whisked across his features. "Which, by the way, are beautiful," he cut in.
"I'm also a mundane color kind of person, if you can't tell that by this." I swiped my hand, indicating my apparel.
"You dress nicely. Color isn't everything," he interjected once more.
I swore the crimson on my cheeks could get no brighter --- or spread no further. I humbly passed over his complements and continued. "My favorite animal is the panther. Whenever I think that word, stealth and mystery immediately come to mind." I sighed at the thought.
Mitchell sighed as well. "Rosette: the Panther Girl," he chuckled. "You've definitely got the mystery down. The stealth . . . ah . . ., not so much."
I snickered along with him. It was true of course. I had to clear my throat before I started again to get him to calm down, but he was already staring off.
"It's beautiful," he breathed, only his eyes giving me a direction to follow. I bent over him to see a perfect view of Seattle in all its glory. I sighed myself and subconsciously leaned into him. I could feel him relax in response, but it didn't register.
"It's amazing." You could see almost every house if you looked around --- and most of downtown. I could point out the school, the hospital, and even the general area my house would be. The sun was descending even more, its golden glow contagious. I felt lighter, happier. This was where it was. This was my escape. This was where I belonged. I felt him turn and squirm a bit under me, and then my common sense kicked in. Instantly, I straightened --- I suddenly felt too close to him on the seat, too happy to be spending time with him, too . . . open. My mental wall firmly reclaimed its rightful position as I squished myself as far over on the seat as possible. Mitchell resumed his tense position and not one look of surprise or anger flashed over his face. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my head drooping low.
He was suddenly at my side, which only made me feel more claustrophobic. "Aw, Rosette! You worry too much! That's the second time you've said that. There's no need to be sorry. It was uncomfortable for me too. I can't blame you for freaking. That was weird." His expression was priceless. I couldn't help but laugh. Thank goodness! It was weird for him.
"True." I muttered. "But the reason I moved, well . . ." I groaned in frustration. "I-I have a hard time opening up to people. I've always been like that for some reason. It's hard for me to be around people. I put up . . . a wall, of sorts. And the mental wall doesn't usually come down. Yet, with you . . . Ugh! I don't know." I turned away from him and stared out at downtown Seattle. "I'm opening up to you right now by telling you this." I tentatively glanced up and a smile broke across both our faces. "I guess you're different!" I slapped my hands on both my legs and looked around him to see if we had moved any higher.
Immediately the cart started rocking back and forth violently. I was hardly able to stay on my seat. Flying to and fro, I tried to get a good grip on my seat and glanced around frantically for the source of this chaos. When I focused back on Mitchell, I found he was the culprit and pushed him to the other side, yelling "Quit!" He pushed me back and, soon enough, we were making a ruckus. Of course, the ride manager yelled for us to stop and we were eventually kicked off, but it was worth it. We were still pushing each other while we were strolling to the midway games.
As we reached the Balloon Dart stand, Mitchell pulled out a dollar and shoved it in my hand. "Go ahead," he whispered eagerly in my ear then steered me towards the booth.
I turned back again and pushed past him. "Oh, that's alright. I'm not in a darting mood," I stated, antsy.
He grabbed my upper arm --- what was it with him and grabbing my arm? --- and swung me around to face the stand again. "C'mon. Just try. One time." When that didn't work, he tried a different plea. "I'll play too," he ventured, raising his thin eyebrows. He deftly swiped out a few dollars and dragged me to the booth as I weakly tried to stand my ground. "Four darts each, please," he requested, placing the money in front of the man running the stand.
The man instantly had four placed in front of both of us. I spared a pouting glance at Mitchell, who then gestured for me to go first. After hesitating stubbornly, I wielded a dart at last, quite begrudgingly, and aimed for one of the balloons. As soon as the dart left my grasp, I knew something bad was going to happen. Murphy's Law blatantly played and replayed over in my head: "If anything bad can happen, it will." Rocketing through the air, the dart set its course straight for the man with the darts --- seemingly getting its revenge for being reused, or perhaps hoping for a "family" reunion with his fellow weapons of doom --- causing him to abruptly duck. Though this prevented him from having to explain the hole in his head, the dart didn't exactly miss its mark --- for when the man (who was named Tom, as his flimsy nametag denoted) pulled away, a tuft of curly maple hair clung to his attacker.
Mitchell tentatively stepped up and gave me a sheepish grin, pushing my hand down from its upraised position. I quickly stepped back, chagrin coloring my face as I grinned guiltily at Tom. Mitchell threw the next seven, each one popping either its target or a few millimeters off. After winning at least 3 prizes, he traded in the smaller ones to get me a big floppy bear. "Thanks." I uttered softly and nervously, still shaken from the dart incident. He patted my back reassuringly and led me to the next stand, declaring, "Let's go to another booth before a dart appears in your hand."
I completely agreed. Arming me with a dart --- or any sharp (or blunt) object for that matter --- was entirely dangerous and hazardous to your health. I wondered what booth we would go to next. With any luck, nothing that included me holding, throwing, or catching something. He was careful to find stands with those regulations, winning more and more prizes. We had just come from the Plinko booth, when it happened.
All day had been amazing. I could never explain how blithe I had felt this whole time. His nonexistence seemed to set things in balance --- put them in perception. I'd never felt so . . . real, so . . . tangible. Life was now complete. Life was now normal. Life was now mine. Reality had seized me in its soothing grasp and caressed me with raw resolution for once in my life --- but now, as I laughed and sauntered along, reality seemed to set as the orange sun on the horizon. Surrealism uprooted it. Just as the last of Certainty's touch was fading, he arrived. Yes. Him.
My bliss abandoned me.
He strolled in his usual perfect gait --- his face stone, his eyes unreadable. He had a searching expression (wanting, inquisitive, erudite all at once) and the moment those eyes turned on me, I froze. My fury boiled and unleashed its power. It took all I had not to spring and mall him. My hands rebelled against me and clenched in hatred, ripping some unobserved object in my hands. When a smirk swiped across his face, my hands twisted abruptly. Mitchell's voice broke through the sound barrier.
"Why are you killing Mr. Stuffykins?!" he cried, alarmed. I felt the stuffing falling over my hands, but I didn't care.
My eyes never left his. Everything else was unnecessary. Everything else was surreal. He was the one truth --- but also my target. For once in my life, and exactly when I needed it, my aim was perfect. The flailing disemboweled teddy hurtled through the air and struck his marble head, only to bounce off with a pitiful squeak and tumble mercilessly to the ground.
"Whoa! I didn't know that thing had a squeaker," Mitchell mumbled, completely oblivious to my sudden outrage.
I sped to the destination of my ruined bear and bent to pick it up, when I met his fiery eyes. The titian was breathtaking and immediately beckoned the memories that were so etched into my brain. His frigid hand brushed mine as he passed the bear to me gently. His eyes never left mine --- even when he straightened up. When my gaze finally was able to travel down to the item in question, it was perfectly fine. The stuffing was shoved back in just as it had been before, and the rips were sealed temporarily. However, when my head whipped upright, he was gone.
I briefly wondered if I had been hallucinating this whole time --- if I really was losing it. What if he was never real? What if some rabid dream of mine had seeped out into "reality"? Well, all my troubles were vanity then. Right? I turned to Mitchell and brandished the rejuvenated bear, shock washing my hatred away with its deliberate ebb. Proceeding my pathetic toss at Mitchell, I yelled, "'Mr. Stuffykins'? What kind of name is that?" and laughed as we continued on our way.
The rest of the day, we acted as if nothing had happened --- which caused me to doubt it even had. As the last orange arc of sun merged with the dark of night, I could feel my clarity exit with it. We soon left the carnival --- me frantically glancing around for him, and Mitchell, as always, swaggering and grinning beside me. Once we made it through the outlet, he instantly challenged me to a race to the car, laughing as he posed it.
"No, no, no," I anxiously declined. "Bad things happen when I run --- just like when I handle darts." Or anything that requires throwing . . .
His grin widened. "Exactly." With that, he took off. His run was fluid and concise --- a picture of endurance --- and when I started sprinting after him, well, I paled in comparison. I could feel my arms flapping and flailing wildly as I dashed forward. I was doing pretty well with my footing --- that is, until I encountered the pebble. Why is it always the small things that cause the biggest failures? First, my foot considered the pebble a threat, and quickly spun and bent to the left when met with this obstruction. Then, as I stumbled, I astonishingly gained two left feet --- each of which stepped on the other, fumbling for an escape. This unbalanced me --- as everything did! --- and I went flipping into the asphalt. I was sent sprawling head over heels until I rolled smack into Mitchell's car. Fortunately, he didn't have a car alarm, so I was spared that chagrin. As for my crimson face, well, that was unalterable. Mitchell couldn't handle it anymore --- he fell to the ground, laughing. (He had already reached the car and had been watching me finish.) This caused me briefly to remember when I'd tried the old Pirates of the Caribbean trick on him when he wasn't paying enough attention to me. 'Oh. OH! The heat!' I'd cried, before mock fainting.
He'd snickered once --- and then left me there.
. . . Of course, it had been in the middle of fall.
I slowly picked myself up, making sure he caught my constant glare at him as I was. My hands stung as I jerked my door open and climbed in, but somehow in my ascent into the jeep, my foot betrayed me again. Catching on the bottom of the vehicle, my foot triggered my flip headfirst into the passenger seat. This only made Mitchell roar louder with laughter before he climbed in as well and helped me up chivalrously. My glare grew softer as I stared into his beaming face, so I replaced it with a hard punch on his shoulder. "You're not supposed to laugh." I muttered. "You're supposed to help me up and ask if I'm okay."
"And then laugh," he quickly added, and then ducked as I swung a slap at his head. "Okay, okay!" he surrendered. "I'm sorry. I did help you up. Are you okay? For both times, that is," he actually questioned sympathetically. I couldn't refuse his worry-etched face. His earlier grin was infectious, causing a wide smile to flash across my features.
"I'm fine." I replied lightly. "Just a few scrapes --- no bruises, no bleeding, and no head trauma. Don't even comment," I warned him swiftly after that last part. We both snickered as he put the car into gear and swiveled it around to face the exit.
Under his breath, I heard him declare, "Let's do this thing."

When we finally reached my house, the sun was long gone. I suddenly realized that my mom would be wondering what I had been doing this whole time. I hadn't called her. Shoot! I murmured a few dreary phrases before turning to Mitchell. "My mom."
His face immediately creased in the gravity of the situation. Then, as if some profound unknown had just been solved in a matter of seconds, his face lightened abundantly. "I'll come in with you," he stated more than suggested and seized my hand in his. Pulling me out of his side of the car, he jumped down from the jeep and helped me do the same. Slamming the car door after releasing my hand, he grinned again. The sand and gravel of my short driveway scattered beneath us, sending up a cloud of stifling smoke. I patted both my pockets and searched my jacket for my keys, until figuring it wasn't needed when the doorknob started turning itself. The door opened before us, and there stood my mom.
Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, wavy locks falling out and framing her face. She was dressed in an old T-shirt I'd remembered buying for her at some park we went to --- which displayed many jungle animals, a staring and triumphant lion dominating the forefront. Her jeans were faded and ripped in countless places, displaying the wear and tear they'd gone through while in their prime. This was my mother's outfit, nothing fancy, nothing impressive --- she only came as her honest self. "Oh!" she cried, throwing the door open a bit wider. "Come in! It's getting colder as we speak!" Mitchell and I stepped in lightly, ducking by her to enter the kitchen behind the stairs. "Sit down, sit down." she cried, racing to the refrigerator. "Is there anything I can get you . . ." She paused, trying to remember his name as she snapped her fingers frantically.
"Mitchell. And thank you, but I'm fine." He and I both willingly sat down as my mom rushed neurotically back and forth.
"Oh, so this is why you were out late? Well, I never thought you'd be with . . . Mitchell again. Did you and that Aster boy break up?" she rambled.
I gave her the "Mom!" look and quickly hid my face from Mitchell. "Riley's gone for the next week, Mom. And we only went to the carnival. They're in town a few days." I covered, my face growing more scarlet by the second.
"Ah, yes, the carnival," she replied simply. I could hear the chagrin in her voice before she glanced at Mitchell to glean his reaction to what she had said. He had an excellent poker face. "I-I'll just leave you two alone." She gave me a sly smirk and dashed out into the den. I heard the TV switch on and a bag of something being reopened as she sat down.
Ever so slowly, my head turned back around to Mitchell. His face was aglow. "So, you and Riley. I had thought so. Although it's kind of hard not to hear you when you scream 'Yes!' across the lunchroom." My face colored with chagrin. Was I really that loud? Or excited? "It really wasn't that hard to tell considering his and your expressions." The crimson seemed to brighten and accumulate but my face paled at his next comment. "And then there was the hug." His grin grew as I stiffened. If only you knew . . . Feeling his eyes searching my face, I stood up abruptly to get us a couple of sodas, and he noticed just how abruptly. "Too touchy a subject?" he queried, cocking his head playfully.
"No," I answered truthfully, slamming the fridge closed before I set both cans at the table. He picked his up and popped it open, toasting it to me gratefully. "I just don't see how it matters." I sat down and popped open my own, and then, sipping it cautiously, gauged his reaction. "I'm going out with Riley. There. I don't know why it's such a big deal." I ran my pinky in circles on the can, scrutinizing my finger as it moved. "People seem to just need something to talk about." After saying it, I instantly glanced up. "I'm not talking about you," I amended hastily. Even though I thought I was a few days ago. "It's nothing big; we're not even official." How was it that I just opened up to him so easily? I think this was about the third time I had done so. There was just something about him . . .
"Yeah, I know." He seemed to stare off into nothingness for a while before returning his eyes to mine ever so slowly. "Well, without wagging tongues, we'd never have any news. And that'd be a shame." He clicked his tongue then stood up, planting the soda down on the table resolutely. It was quiet for a few seconds until I realized what drove him to stand. "You're leaving already?" I inquired, rushing to his side. Before he could even answer, I continued, "Well, then, I'm walking you out," already zipping up my jacket.
Ever so gently, he placed his hand over mine to stop me. The movement almost murdered my already over-anxious heart. "Don't. It'll only give your mom more suspicions about us." Which you'd love . . . "Today was fun," he remarked, ruffling my hair lovingly before turning to leave.
"Mitchell," I called uncertainly. As he spun around to face me, his eyes locked inescapably with mine once more. "Thanks."
"Oh! No problem," he sighed, pleased. "Whenever you need someone to skip school with, just c---"
"For everything," I finished. He stopped right then and there, his link with my eyes intensifying. There was a certain force through the few seconds of silence --- like an electric current flowing through and connecting us. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to tell me how much he'd missed me. He wanted to plead he was wrong to ever fall out of friendship with me. I could see it all in his eyes --- but all that came was a gentle smirk.
"See ya, Ro."

As soon as the door slammed shut, my bliss dissipated. Any reality remaining drove off with him. Soon, I could hear the roar of his engine no more, and when I thawed out of my frozen position and looked out the window, he was gone.
Slumping down into my chair again, I tried to keep my mind from where it was racing presently --- him. Since I couldn't block it any way that I tried, I pondered on my newest theory. He was a hallucination. I mean, really --- this one actually made the most sense. It was much more likely that I had gone off the deep end than that my angel could possibly be real, or as inhuman as I suspected. My angel was a hallucination. And if he as a whole was a hallucination . . .
I gradually rose to my feet.
I wasn't being stalked! If my angel himself was a hallucination, then it only made sense that his other half was one as well. I was free. The fear still prickled at the back of my mind --- the severity of the situation was still real enough.
Then a new theory revealed itself to me --- more horrible than I could imagine.
What if Everett wasn't my stalker?
I slumped down once more, stunned.
Of course, he was the obvious choice, but it's always the obvious ones you suspect. The obvious ones you suppose, while the guilty ones slither through the shadows unsuspected. Why hadn't I thought of that before? There had been so many more options besides him, and yet my mind had been one track. As if by miracle, the blinders disappeared and I was finally opened to the truth. But it couldn't be . . .
What if it was Riley?
What if it was Mitchell?
Anyone could be doubted. No one could be trusted. I was alone, like I had been so many times before. Only this time it was fatal.
I glanced into the den to check on my mom. Poking my head in farther, I could see that she was still engrossed in some reality show I didn't know the name of. A snotty, shiny-haired brunette with too much makeup on complained on camera about how her "friends" "wronged" her so many times and how she couldn't take it anymore. Any other time, I would have burst out laughing, but not now --- not when everything suddenly seemed so close, so encompassing. The feeling of the cold and unfamiliar returned to me with more force than it had before as I mounted the stairs. My haven was only a few feet away. Once behind the "safety" of my door (nowhere was safe anymore), I locked it and twisted towards my bed, my vision already smearing with brimming tears. Okay, let's start with Mitchell. I fingered my way over to the bed and sat down, listlessly reaching over to pull closed the curtain. This immersed me in a wholesome darkness. Ha! I was already facing one of my fears.
So, Mitchell. Well, first, we had become a lot closer as the attacks became stealthier and more deliberate. Maybe today was just one of his tricks to assure me of trusting him. In addition, how I just spontaneously opened up to him briefly reminded me of his ability to stun me. Nevertheless, what was the motivation? That seemed to be the only part lacking. But Mitchell should possibly be the most suspected because he was the least obvious.
Then there was Riley. All the odds were in his favor. Memories of all the casual times he'd been "more than human" flashed through my mind. He had seen the meadow in perfect detail miles ahead, his climb was deft and concise, his hug was iron, his reflexes always one step ahead, his flexibility and speed in "action" situations remarkable. I had always just thought he was better than I was in those things, but now they seemed plunged in infamy. However, I was still lacking a motive.
Out of all three, he --- E . . . E . . . Everett --- fit the bill. (of course, he didn't exist, so no wonder he fits so well.) Super speed --- more like teleporting --- lightening-swift reflexes, the skin, the eyes, the growl. He had attacked me for Pity's sake! There were so many reasons to condemn him, yet, they all seemed to fade. Too obvious. Plus, still no motive.
Standing up fervently, I began to pace about the room. Mitchell must have been very discreet if it was he --- for the other two had passed the test with more than enough characteristics. Both of them had exhibited very . . . nonhuman qualities. Mitchell should be the most expected while the other two the least because of their frankness.
Perhaps there was more to his behavior than met the eye. Yes, you could say that his indiscretion was a dead giveaway of his innocence, but perhaps it was ironic --- a paradox of sorts. Perhaps he was evident intentionally. Perhaps he knew what I would think. Perhaps he was guilty only by being innocent. However, what if it was neither? What if his role was one of an accomplice? That would certainly be a reason to parade his "secret." Distract the target until the mastermind takes the kill. I had seen enough murder movies to know that. And my avid watching of Criminal Minds and CSI had prepared me for the regular routine of an accomplice. They were usually the most blatant --- as I already said --- to cover for their cohort. Another huge fact about them was their gender. They were usually the opposite sex of the victim to distract them more efficiently --- usually by a relationship (which is the best distraction yet.) At that, Riley suddenly proved ideal for the role. My heart raced and I halted.
No, no! It couldn't be!
My conscious started to seep from me as my panic boiled over, causing me to clutch the edge of my dresser with a death grip. My hand flew over my heart as I felt it seem to give out with its last rapid beats. As I fell to my knees, the tears began to escape and soak my clothing relentlessly. Just as my crying could get no more boisterous (apparently it was smothered downstairs by the sound of the TV), the phone rang.
Sobering up quickly, I ran to catch the phone, which was still up in my room, before my mom came looking for it. "Hello," I greeted as indifferently as I could, my voice cracking.
"Rosette?"