Split - A.M. Bryker (top 10 books to read TXT) 📗

the alarm clock sitting on my night stand and sigh in exasperation when I see that it's five-thirty in the morning.

     Who in their right mind would be here at this hour? I think distastefully. Then I muse, Those idiots, obviously.

     I still kind of feel slightly loopy from the dream I just woke up from. I'm a little disappointed that I didn’t sleep longer. The scene again fills my mind.

 

     I found myself at school. The last bell rang with finality and teenagers hurried out of their classes and rushed down the hallway, toward the double doors. Except for two.

     A guy whose age seems close to mine—sixteen or seventeen maybe—stood with me in the hallway, separated from the other students. He had jet black hair that shone in the light—kind of like mine—and the most amazing dark blue eyes I had ever seen. They made him look so alive and excited about life. I couldn't stop myself from taking his suntanned hand in mine.

     He smiled at me, and we headed out the door, into the sunlight. All the other students lingered on the school grounds, talking and laughing amongst themselves. They grew silent when we walked past them. Then they began whispering to each other, but I didn't care what they were saying.

     We walked together to a park nearby and sat on a bench in the shade. I rested my head on his shoulder, but then he rose and guided me to a dark alley. Confused, I looked up at him. His eyes did not have excitement in them anymore, and they seemed… dead.

     He removed his hand from mine, his face twisted with revulsion and animosity. I tried to move away from him, but he grabbed my arms and pinned me to a wall with brutal force. Pain shot up my spine and I cried out in agony. He let go of one arm to strike me on the side of my face. I felt blood slowly stream from my cheek and down my neck.

     I looked into his eyes and pleaded with mine. He frowned. For a moment he looked confused, but then his face cleared and he immediately released me. He dropped to his knees, and I collapsed beside him.

     Putting an arm around his waist, I realized that he was shaking. His hands were balled into fists, covering his eyes. Gently, I pulled them away and turned his face so that he would look at me.

     A tear slid down his cheek when he saw what he had done to mine, and I brushed it away with my thumb. I smiled, hoping to reassure him that I was okay. I continued gazing at him that way until, finally, one corner of his mouth lifted in a sad smile.

     Then he said, "I have to go."

     Before leaving me, he gave me a swift kiss on the cheek. He then stood and disappeared into the shadows.

 

     Then I had woken up. Sigh. I wonder what the dream means, but I don't get to linger on it for very long because the doorbell rings again. Sheesh.

     I push off my covers and go to look through one of my two windows that overlook the front yard. The sun has not yet risen, since it is so early in the morning. From up here I can see the silhouettes of three men standing on the porch.

     Who are they and what do they want? I wonder as I head out of my bedroom. I make sure to keep quiet as I run down the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

     When I reach the door, I throw it open to see two expectant-looking faces change to surprise. The third is expressionless. I have a surprised look on my face as well for a couple seconds, but I quickly mask that emotion and replace it with neutrality.

     But why the heck is the most popular guy—and my ex-boyfriend—on my doorstep at five-thirty on Monday morning? He isn't necessarily friends with anyone here (aside from me), and my dad is only acquainted with him because he's acquainted with practically everybody… and the fact that I used to date him. Nevertheless, that's probably who he's here for, because I don’t see why he’d come to see me.

     "Oh, hi," Justin says, obviously trying to hide his surprise by clearing his throat. "You were the last person we expected to open the door." He gives me a heart-stopping smile. Only my heart doesn't stop—it just speeds up a little. I am suddenly glad that we’re not together and I don’t like him anymore; my heart probably would have stopped if I did. (And oh my gosh, I think I called him an idiot before I came out here!)

     "We were actually expecting your dad. Is he home?"

     I was totally right about the dad thing then. I am so good. But why would he come over so freaking early? He’s a popular teenager at school, and getting up early on their own is on no sane person’s agenda.

     The second man has replaced his surprised expression with that of amusement. This is a man named Douglas Grey, which I find kind of funny because he's almost literally grey—his clothes, his skin tone, his eyes (I know I've seen them before but now they seem different somehow), and even his hair has a tint of grey in it, which is weird, considering his age. But he's quite friendly… usually.

     "Yes, it was rather unexpected," he says. He seems to speak his words carefully, and with precision. His voice is as smooth as honey but at the same time it sounds rough. It is an unusual but strangely familiar sound that makes me shiver, and not from the spring breeze that brushes my skin. It sounds pleasant, but dangerously so. I have no idea what he might be doing here, inaugurating business with my dad or otherwise.

     I take in the third man, whom I recognize to be Daren Sherwood, whose dark brown eyes never leave me. He is a young man about the age of twenty and looks uninterested in what is transpiring currently. I suppose he's here with Douglas.

     I explain to Douglas and Justin that my dad had gone to work earlier that morning to deliver triplets at the hospital and that was probably the reason he wasn't home yet. (I know this because he had woken me up so that I could fix him something to eat for later.)

     "Well," Justin says, casting his icy blue eyes on me. "I guess it can wait. I'm in no hurry." He runs a hand through his short blond hair—making it spike up attractively—seemingly to distract himself from me, standing here in some shorts and a T-shirt. His mouth twitches, suggesting a suppressed smile.

     A question nags at my mind. "Why exactly are you here so early?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, it's five-thirty, Monday morning, and you know as well as I do that it's a school day, unless they suddenly canceled again."

     Justin shrugs. "I was hoping to catch your dad before he left, but I guess I was too late."

     Douglas casts his lively—but hard—grey gaze first upon Justin, then me, and says in his polished-but-rough voice, "I was supposed to meet up here with your father around this time, but obviously he had other obligations." He pauses, then adds with a wry smile, "It was extremely coincidental that Mr. King and I arrived at the same time."

     Hearing someone call Justin 'Mr. King' is uber weird. I shrug it off. As long as I'm not called Miss Stone, I'm fine.

     I wonder what the heck they could want from my dad at five-thirty in the morning. Plus, if they wanted to talk to him they could have called—he carries a cell phone wherever he goes, and they should have known that because they've associated with him for a long time.

     No one speaks for a few minutes, leaving us standing there in an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Justin interrupts the stillness.

     "Jade," he begins. "I remember that your birthday is this weekend, am I right?"

     "Yes," I reply, caught by surprise. Why would he bother remembering that information? "Why?"

     His only answer is a small shrug.

     We continue to talk about things of little consequence until Douglas excuses himself, saying he needs to get home and do something-or-other. Daren follows. Eventually, Justin has to leave as well.

     After the guys have departed, I head back into the house and ascend the twenty-eight steps to my bedroom. Once there, I crawl back into bed. I haven't stopped thinking about the dream I had since I woke up. There is something strange about it but I can't place what it might be; I'm too tired. I'm also still bothered by the nagging at the back of my mind about Douglas's eyes seeming familiar, but different.

     Deciding I will figure it out later, I drift off to sleep, my mind and hands buzzing like they usually do.

Two

 Bek

(Somewhere mysterious)

 

The sound of rain splattering on the roof of my make-shift hut rouses me, though I wish it hadn't. I'd been dreaming. Usually I will have dreams about me getting tortured, but just now I had a dream that was different. I allow it to replay in my mind.

 

     A teenage girl danced in a forest. My forest. Her suntanned arms were held above her head and her short, slender body swayed to a melody that only she could hear. Though I could only see her eyes and a wave of black hair I immediately decided that she was extremely beautiful. But, unlike with other girls, I didn't feel shy or awkward around her. This girl made me feel special; like a human being that's wanted; alive.

     I gazed into her eyes. I detected something alive and intelligent, but I also glimpsed some mischief and humor in her eyes that compelled me to cross the distance between us, put my hands on her hips, and begin dancing with her. After a while, the girl stopped dancing.

     I asked what her name was, but then she ran, her long black hair streaming behind her. I pursued her, but somehow she was able to outrun me—probably because she was wearing leggings and she could fit into many places that I could not.

     I stopped in another clearing and put my hands on my knees, fighting for breath. Then I felt something brush across my face. I whipped my head up and found myself face-to-face with the girl.

     I jerked back in surprise and she laughed from behind the cloth covering the lower half of her face. Her laugh was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard and, like a star-crossed fool, I told her so. She seemed to blush and thanked me.

     Grasping her hands in mine, so as to not allow her to run away so easily this time, I asked again what her name was. For a moment her eyes wandered the ground, as though she was deciding whether or not to tell me.

     Then her eyes found mine again and she said, "My