I slammed the front door and bounded up the stairs two at a time. My mom called after me as I did, but I went straight to my room and shut the door behind me. I flopped down on my bed and stared up at the ceiling.
Holden is the one that found me. Holden had brought up doing homework together immediately before the teacher gave only our class a project with specific partners. He had a tattoo on his back that he covered as soon as I thought about it. Holden's voice and memories were clear in my head. Clearer than my own.
None of this made any sense. How could he have been there? What was he doing? What would have happened if he hadn't found me? Would I still be there right now?
When I finally decided I had too many questions, I pulled myself up off the bed and bounded back down the stairs. My mom was sitting in the living room with a book in her lap. She didn't look up even though I made plenty of noise to announce myself. "Holden Sinclair," I said. She looked up at me.
"What was that, sweetie?" her voice quivered.
"Holden. Sinclair," I stated slower. "You know him?"
"Is that one of your new school friends? Didn't you mention that name when you first started?"
"I think you know exactly who he is," I said.
"I'm sorry, honey, I don't recognize that name."
"Let me remind you, mom. He's my age, tall, dark hair, eyes as black as night," I tapped my finger against my mouth, "oh yeah, and found me wondering around Knoxville a couple months ago."
She cursed under her breath. "He wasn't supposed to tell you."
"Why, mom? Why wasn't he supposed to tell me? You didn't want me to know that I was friends with the boy who found me? Who saved my life? You knew that I went to school with him before."
"I thought he might be involved, Veronica. How lucky did he have to be to just happen upon you that night? If it had just been in town, maybe, but he found you four hours away from home. I don't believe him," she told me.
"I could have decided that for myself. I'm old enough for that. I'm old enough to understand the circumstances," I came back at her.
She looked at the ground. "I don't want you hanging out with that boy," she said.
"You don't really have a choice. I have an anatomy project with him due Monday."
She paused and stared at me for a moment. "I'm calling your teacher. You're not doing anything with that boy," she said. I turned on my heel and bolted up the stairs without a word. I picked up my phone and dialed the number Holden had called from a few months ago.
"Hello?" his voice said on the other end.
"Hey," I responded. "I'm sorry I left you in the street."
"Don't worry about it. I've been left in worse places," he said. There was a silent pause. Neither of us knew what to say next. Leaving someone stranded in the middle of the street shouldn't be an easily forgiven offense. "How are you doing with everything?" he asked.
I sighed. "Overwhelmed. Can I come over?" I asked.
"Yeah, sure," he replied.
"How far did you walk? I'll come pick you up," I said.
"I'm already home," he said.
"I left you there less than an hour ago. How are you home already?" I questioned.
"I'm fast," he answered. He gave me his address and I scribbled it across a random sheet of paper before hanging up. I shoved the paper and my phone in my back pocket and slung my backpack over my shoulder.
I bounded down the stairs and straight for the door with my truck key in my hand. My mom wasn't going to stop me from getting answers when I was finally in a place to want them. She followed me out the door and I ran to the truck. "Veronica, where are you going?" she demanded.
"I have a project to work on. I'll be home later," I assured her as I climbed onto the bench seat. The engine turned over and I backed out before she could reach the door. I sped toward the direction of Holden's house; I knew it would be near the creek in Southside but from there I had to look at each street sign off the main road. I saw an image of a three way stop in my head. In the image, I was focused on the left turn. When I eventually saw the fork in the road, I turned left and immediately saw his street sign on the left. Once on his road, I glanced back and forth at the house numbers on the mailboxes. My phone buzzed in my pocket.
"Hello?" I said.
"You're not going to find my house on your own. The mailbox is overgrown with vines. Don't run me over, I'll be standing in the road so you don't miss the turn," he said, and the call dropped.
I set the phone down but kept driving. I had to be at least four miles from Ava's house, and I wasn't even to his yet. He couldn't have walked this far that quickly. I drove another mile down the winding road through the canopy of trees before I saw him. He was standing in the road, exactly like he said he would. I slammed on my breaks and paused to take him in. He was wearing a different shirt now than he was in class, a deep blue crew neck instead of the black one from earlier. His hair was messier than normal, like he had driven with the window open, and his head stuck out the window. It looked good on him.
He walked around my car to the passenger seat and climbed in. "Hey, doll," he said, pulling the door shut behind him.
"Hey," I said. "Where's your house?"
He pointed to the right. I could barely make out the white mailbox under all the kudzu that had overtaken it. I eased my truck into the gravel drive and followed the rocky path up to the house. It was small, a double wide shaped brick building that was painted white with black shudders and had vines growing up it. Not the same type of vines that had taken over the mailbox. These were there intentional, making the house feel more like a cottage than something built for cheap in the seventies. I stopped along the edge of the driveway close to the house. There were no other cars here.
Holden led me into the house with his hand on the small of my back. The heat from his skin made my body shake, even through my shirt. I caught myself wishing my shirt had come up again to feel the electricity course over anywhere he touched. He snickered and I quickly pushed that thought out of my head.
The inside of the house was the perfect mix of industrial and cottage feel. All the furniture had wrought iron rails holding it up and every flat surface was made of what appeared to be unstained butchers block. The couch in the center of the room was the plainest thing, a simple black sofa. What surprised me the most about the house was the number of plants everywhere. The smaller ones hung from the ceiling while the larger ones sat in huge pots on the ground. Everything was in black and white except for the plants.
"You really like plants," I laughed, looking up at him.
"You said the same thing the first time I brought you here," he said, looking back down into my eyes.
"I've been here before?" I asked. "When?"
"Uh, a week, maybe, before you disappeared," he thought out loud. I nodded and hummed. He led me to the couch and sat down next to me. "I'm assuming you came over for more than just homework?" he asked.
"I did," I admitted. "Where are you parents?"
"Oh, uh, I don't really have any," he said, ducking his head down to look at his feet.
"Sorry," I muttered under my breath. He knew so much about me, and I felt like he was a total stranger. "I didn't know."
"You used to know," he said, looking back up at me. "I've told you once, I can tell you again."
"Holden, you don't have to," I reminded him.
"I know. I want to. I know everything about you, I might as well offer something up of myself for you," he sighed and turned to face me. I kicked my shoes off and pulled my feet up on the couch, giving him all my attention. "My mom died when she had me. Complications with my birth or something, I never got the full details. My dad left me with different nannies most of my life. He's a rich businessman who can't afford the scandal of a son who was born out of wedlock and he never took care of. I live off him quietly and I barley have to see him. That's why I moved here, to start over. He pays for everything for me but I'm on my own other than that. He checks in once a month or so."
"Did I ever meet him?" I asked, not sure what else to say.
"Yeah, once. You didn't really like him," he laughed. "But I'm sure you have way more questions about other things," he urged.
"Yes, but not about what you think," I teased.
"And what would that be?" he chuckled.
"You talked to me without talking to me," I said.
He shook his head. "You sound crazy, Ronnie. What does that even mean?"
"Don't," I said, standing up. "Don't tell me that I'm crazy. I'm not crazy."
He stood up and put his hands on my waist, his hot fingers grazing over my skin and leaving trails of electricity wherever he touched. I gasped as the feel of it pooled between my legs. You're not crazy, his voice echoed in my mind, his mouth inches from mine. "I shouldn't have said you were." I felt his hot breath against my skin.
"What are you?" I asked. He shook his head and pulled away from me. I whimpered at the loss of contact.
"Do you trust me?" he wondered out loud.
"I trust you," I spoke, mainly to reassure myself.
"Can you trust that I will tell you anything you need to know?" he asked.
I thought for a moment about what he was asking me. "You don't want me to ask any more questions, do you?"
"No, I don't," he said.
"Can I ask questions about other things?" I asked.
"Like what?"
"Like what you were doing in Knoxville that night?" I reached for him, craving the skin-to-skin contact again. He reached back, my hands falling to his chest and his fingers locking around the small of my back. My shirt stayed firmly in place, but I reveled in the heat coming off him. I couldn't get enough of it.
"I was meeting my dad. I meet him once a month so he can give me money for bills. He was on business and couldn't leave so I went to him," he said. "I was on my way back when I found you."
"Show me," I whispered. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. The room shifted around me. I was no longer standing in his living room, but in a dark narrow street. There were streetlights at regular intervals but not close enough together to give a good view of everything. I heard feet slapping the ground and the view panned around to the left. There was a small figure, a girl, tall and thin, with hair down to her waist, catching her arm as she tripped around. She was maybe five feet away.
I didn't have control over what happened, but I could see everything perfectly, as if I was watching a movie. My view moved closer to the girl and she collapsed into the strong arms that were attached to the memory I was watching. "Woah," a voice said. The arms picked the girl up, one arm under her knees, the other around her back. A streetlight must have passed overhead because I could see her clearly for the first time.
She had a similar face structure to me, but everything was backwards from how I see myself in the mirror. Her cheeks were sunken into her face, her jaw sharper, and I could see her ribs and sternum poking through the skin on her chest. She had light hair and skin so pale, she practically glowed. Her arms and legs looked to just be skin on top of bone and I wondered how she even walked with such little muscle. Her clothes were tattered and dirty. "Holden," the girl said.
"Ronnie," the voice said. He turned around as he carried me and appeared into a small restaurant. "Help me," he said. "Call an ambulance."
There was a moment of chaos while the restaurant worker ran to the phone, knocking things over in the process. I heard him say ambulance and an address before he hung up and came over to us. The arms that were still holding me finally set me to the floor. He rested his fingers against my wrist and then placed his head against my chest, listening. "She's breathing," he said, relaxing a little.
"What happened?" the restaurant worker asked.
"I don't know. I just found her like this. She was running from something," the soothing voice said.
"She looks familiar," the worker said.
"Missing person. She disappeared a year ago," the memory's voice replied. "You probably saw her missing person posters. Her parents put them up everywhere." The sirens were within ear shot now. "Can you go wave down the ambulance?" The worker nodded and ran outside. "Stay with me, Ronnie."
Paramedics came in soon after and lifted me onto a gurney. They loaded me into the back of the ambulance while the soft voice argued with one of them over if he could come. He mentioned that I was a missing girl from a small town across the state and he knew me so the paramedic gave in and let him in.
The image moved into the back of the ambulance and sat down next to me. He grabbed my hand. They already had an oxygen mask over my face. "I love you, Ronnie."
The memory faded out of my vision and I looked around the house to get my bearings. Holden's grip on my waist tightened as I leaned too far one direction. "You weren't supposed to see that last part," he admitted. I leaned my forehead against his chest and held my hands close to my chin. He pulled me tighter against him and rested his cheek against the top of my head. "We should probably work on our project," he said after a few minutes. He grabbed his backpack from the floor and pulled out a notebook, guiding me to the couch.
"What exactly are we doing?" I asked.
"Weren't you paying attention?" he asked, looking over at me.
"Yeah, but she talks so fast I can't understand her sometimes," I admitted.
"It's simple nervous system experiments." Holden explained everything to me, and it made some sense, but didn't at the same time. In the end, we decided he would experiment on me first so I could fully understand what we were doing. "Close your eyes and hold out your arms," he said.
I sat back on the couch with my legs crossed and held both my arms out, palms down, and closed my eyes. He snickered before he grabbed my wrists and flipped my arms palm up. I felt a small amount of weight on my right forearm. "Tell me when you can't feel it anymore," he whispered. I nodded and dropped my left hand to his leg which was resting next to me. I quickly pulled my hand away.
After what felt like forever but was probably only a few minutes, I said, "Okay, I feel nothing." I opened my eyes and looked at what he had placed on my arm. It was a penny sitting heads up. We both reached for it at the same time and it fell to the floor. I leaned to pick it up and slid off the couch completely, knocking my head lightly against the coffee table. "Owe," I said, rubbing my forehead.
"How did that even happen?" Holden asked, grabbing my wrist and hoisting me back onto the couch.
"I'm uncoordinated," I stated blankly.
He shook his head. "Did you at least get it?" I opened my hand to show him. We did the same experiment on him and his cold demeanor stayed until he said, "I think it might be time for you to go home."
"Why?" I questioned as I wrote his time down in my notebook. He turned his head to the glass French doors leading to the back. I followed his gaze and realized it was dark out already. "Shit," I muttered. "My mom is going to kill me." I grabbed my keys and jacket and bolted to the front door. Holden was behind me and reached for the doorknob before I could. "I'll see you tomorrow," I said. He pulled the door open and placed his hand on my back.
"Tomorrow," he agreed.