Roam (Roam Series, Book One) Page 6

  “Your name was Julie Henry. And… yes.”

  “What happened to me in that life? How did I die?” I demanded. His jaw clenched, and he turned toward the waterfall.

  “You were murdered. Strangled.”

  I gasped.

  “Your continual fainting, I’m convinced, is a residual effect. You always carry something from the past life into your next life.” He took the photo from me, slipping it back into my wallet. “Your parents took you to neurologists, and they found no diagnosis. You faint because you hold your breath.”

  He knew. I remembered the battery of tests when I was a child, and the pediatrician finally suggesting that I held my breath as a way to deal with anxiety. I saw a psychiatrist who taught me deep breathing methods, but every once in a while I became so overwhelmed by anxiety I fainted, not even realizing I had been holding my breath. How can he possibly know all of this?

  “I have been with you your whole life, Roam,” he answered, as if reading my mind. “But I’m still learning things about you. Like why your parents chose your name… that’s something I can’t know from reading medical records.” He tucked his wallet into his back pocket. “Or that you have a mature vocabulary- I’m grateful for that, trust me.” I smiled, unable to not be flattered. He returned my smile. “Or that you “love” your boyfriend, Logan.”

  Indignant, I blushed. “That’s none of your business.”

  He reached out to still my hands; I twisted them absently. “I know you love him. You’ve loved him all of your life. If you will trust me, and we succeed, you can be together with him for as long as you choose. We just have to find the way.”

  “And the way is to travel back in time, through my dreams,” I asserted.

  “Not through your dreams. Your dreams have the answer. We just need to know what the answer is.”

  “How do we know the answer if we don’t know the question?” I philosophized. “What if we just walk away from all of this, and see what happens?”

  “A man of courage does not run away, but remains at his post and fights against the enemy.”

  I smirked, looking down at my feet. “Socrates?”

  “You seem like a fan.” He pulled his car keys from his pocket, heading toward the SUV.

  “My sister calls me ‘Socrates.’ She has since we were kids.” I followed him. Suddenly, I was gripped by panic. “Morgan and my dad have nothing to do with this, right? They’re safe?”

  West opened the passenger side door, turning to me. His face was grave. “No one you love is safe, Roam.”

  Chapter Eight

  We sat in silence. Every time I opened my mouth to form a question, another question surfaced. He pulled into the parking lot of a small coffee shop within ten minutes. “This place makes good sandwiches. Do you have a preference?”

  “No, thank you,” I stared out the window, leaning my head against the glass. “I don’t care. I’ll just wait here.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he promised. I watched him walk to the door of the café, unabashedly admiring his broad back and arms. I’ve spent lifetimes with this man. Wouldn’t I remember him?

  My phone chimed, and I slid it open. Missed call from Logan. I called him back, careful to watch West through the café window.

  “Where are you?” Logan usually answered casually, but now he sounded angry. “I’ve been calling you. You were so sick this morning- are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I promised, clearing my throat. “I got involved in researching something… you know me…,” I laughed half-heartedly, hoping he wouldn’t detect the shaking in my voice.

  “You’re not at the library, you’re not at home. Where are you?”

  “I went for a walk at the park. I needed to think about what I learned.”

  “What are you researching?” He was unconvinced; I couldn’t blame him. Disappearing for an entire day was not my style.

  “Medieval alchemy,” I blurted, watching West speak to the cashier through the window. He turned suddenly to look for me, and I gave a small wave.

  “Exciting.” Logan wasn’t usually sarcastic, and I winced at his word. “Do you want me to come over tonight, or should I just pick you up in the morning?”

  The sandwiches must have been pre-made; West was already paying for them. “I’ll just see you in the morning, if that’s okay. I’m going to bed early tonight.”

  “Do you have a lot of homework?”

  I thought of the books piled in my locker. “A ton.”

  “Okay. Promise you won’t ever do this to me again. I worry about you, Camden.”

  “I promise. Okay.”

  “You’ve been acting strange ever since the game. You know, if you really want to take advantage of me, I will give in- eventually.”

  This was the Logan I knew. I grinned. “Good to know, Rush.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, ‘night. I love you.”

  “Love you too.” I let him hang up, dropping my phone back into my back pack as West returned with two bottles of iced tea and a brown paper bag. He handed me a bottle through the open window.

  “I got you turkey with tomato and lettuce.”

  “Thanks. I have some cash in my purse, but it’s at home. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

  He eyed me, sliding into the front seat. “I’ll put it on your tab. Was that your father?”

  “Logan.”

  “And you haven’t shown him the numbers,” he confirmed. I rolled my eyes, gripping the brown paper bag.

  “No, I haven’t. But Logan would understand, and he would help.”

  West started the ignition, putting the SUV into reverse. “He can’t know.”

  “Why?”

  “Trust me,” he ordered. I scowled.

  “So, same for my dad and Morgan?”

  “That’s right.” He pulled out to the main road. “Do you want to eat these in the car, or…,”

  “And you’re not going to touch me,” I repeated, my restless fingers ripping the brown paper bag.

  He turned to me, his blue eyes narrowed. “Roam, I promised- I will not touch you.”

  “Okay.” I nodded, meeting his eyes. “Because I don’t want that. From you. Or anyone. At all,” I stumbled over my words, blushing furiously. “And I may not know self-defense, but I will be buying some mace and possibly a pocket knife very soon.”

  He pulled to a stop sign, turning to me again. This time, he was smiling. “I will teach you to fight. And I’m glad to hear you don’t want that- from anyone.”

  “You touched my forehead. When the numbers came. You were touching my hair and my head,” I stated, accusing. The memory of his fingertips against my temple hollowed my chest.

  “I understood your pain. I was comforting you. There is no need for that again, unless the numbers change.”

  I felt my jaw drop. “Why would they change?”

  He gave me an apologetic look. “If the Alter makes a significant move, the numbers change. Remember, that’s a good thing.” I trembled, remembering the deep pain in my arm. “But- I’ll be there for you.”

  I nodded firmly, taking a calming breath and counting backwards from ten in my mind. By two, I was breathing normally. “Great. Okay. Let’s eat in the car.”

  We ate while he drove. He turned on the radio, and I was comforted by Kelly Clarkson’s familiar voice. Everything we had talked about today was extraordinary, but I realized that I believed him. I was a little disappointed in myself. “Do you think that I’m so bored with my life, I’m just choosing to believe this?” I blurted.

  West considered my question, turning the music down. He brushed his fingers with a napkin, and then shoved the paper that held his now-eaten sandwich back into the brown paper bag. “You ask theoretical questions that I’ve never had to answer.” He said, turning into my sub-division. “Are you ‘bored with your life’?”

  “Isn’t every seventeen-year-old girl looking for something more?” I pointed out, shrugging.

  He smirked. “
Does every seventeen-year-old girl answer questions with more questions?”

  I tried to return his smile, shaking my head. “I don’t know. I think I’m losing my mind a little. I’m sorry. I need to think about all of this. I feel better now that I’ve eaten- thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me- and don’t apologize.”

  He sounded so harsh all of a sudden, I was taken aback. He pulled onto my cul-de-sac road. “What am I supposed to do- just see you in history? What are you asking of me?” I struggled to articulate my confusion.

  “Just pay attention to what comes into your mind tonight. If you can, keep a notebook by your bed. Write everything down as soon as you wake up.”

  “Okay, I can do that.” My dad’s car was not in the driveway yet; it was almost seven o’clock. Sometimes he stopped at the VFW for a beer after work, but with Logan’s call about me being sick this morning, I would have expected him home and calling my cell. I was seized with worry. “My dad should be home already.”

  “And Roam… these dreams, they are very vivid. In the past… I’ve been there to comfort you. Right next to you,” he added, pointedly. “Are you sure you can handle them?”

  I was distracted by my father’s car being gone. “I’m used to nightmares,” I murmured, gathering my sweatshirt and back pack. When I checked to see that I had everything, I glanced up at him.

  His face was filled with compassion. “Your mother,” he said softly.

  I nodded stiffly. “Yes.” I slid out of the SUV, thoughtful, and then met his eyes through the open window. “You know, my world already ended once. It can’t be as bad as that.”

  He swallowed hard, nodding. “This time, you won’t be alone,” he promised.

  Relief washed over me, bringing tears to my eyes. I flashed a hopeful smile. “Okay, then. See you in the morning.”

  Once in the house, I dropped my bag to the floor in the entryway. The corkboard just inside our door was reserved for my father’s handwritten messages. Occasionally I would add one too, but lately texting was more convenient. One of his notes was tacked to the board, in his signature all-caps handwriting.

  Morgan’s car broke down- went out to the college to help her.

  Please txt when home- Logan said you were sick this AM.

  Love you.

  I sat down on the carpeted staircase, just to my right. I sent a quick text to tell my dad that I was home and fine. Tears were something I reserved for physical pain; very seldom did I cry during a book or movie, unless I was truly inspired. Now, tears flowed freely down my cheeks, and I had to wipe them away with the back of my arm. I caught a glimpse of the numbers and reached for my sweatshirt. Dad can’t see them.

  I didn’t want to be alone, but I’d already told Logan I was going bed early. I wasn’t sure if I wanted his company, anyway… he’d be full of questions. Morgan and Dad were occupied over forty-five miles away, and Ally-May had cheerleading practice until eight o’clock. I wasn’t sure I wanted her company, either, but anyone would do at this point.

  My phone vibrated, and I picked it up.

  Everything OK?

  It was West. Strangely comforted, I texted back quickly.

  It will be. Good-night.

  I turned and climbed the stairs, making the first right into my bedroom. I considered a shower, and then decided I’d just take one in the morning. My bedroom was still very childish- pale pink walls, beige carpet, and a beige-yellow-and-pink floral comforter. I had packed up the stuffed animals and put them in the attic, but I couldn’t bring myself to change the way my mother had decorated my bedroom.

  I ran my fingers through my thick, still-damp hair. A glance in the mirror over my dresser made me wince. Sighing, I traded my clothes for a fresh t-shirt and shorts.

  After a trance-like walk to the bathroom, I took care of my nightly routine. Questions tumbled over and over in my mind, and just when an answer arrived, another question invaded. Peeling my contacts out of my stinging eyes, I slid my glasses on- simple and black, with small, rectangular frames.

  My bed was still unmade from the crazy morning. I straightened it neatly, and then crawled under the covers. Using my phone to search the name Julie Henry took seconds, but after a Google search and a Google Image search, nothing relevant came up. Without dates, I was at a loss… I should try public records.

  The sound of the garage door just under my bedroom woke me up. I touched my phone, still in my hand- one o’clock in the morning. I had fallen asleep researching, glasses still on. I dropped my phone to the nightstand, sitting up and looking around. Dad’s getting home so late… he’s probably exhausted.

  He was at my door in minutes. “Are you awake, Roam?”

  “I’m up, Dad. I heard the garage door. Is Morgan okay?”

  He stood in the doorway, looking tired. “She’s fine. It’s the engine. I knew we wouldn’t get much more time out of that car. I told her we’d look for another one tomorrow.”

  “Camden Car Curse,” I joked. He snorted, his best attempt at a laugh over the situation.

  Concerned, he walked to me and touched my forehead with the back of his hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m really fine. I wish Logan hadn’t called you. Must have been something I ate.”

  “Okay sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, blowing me a kiss on his way out the door. I smiled, blowing one back to him.

  Wide awake now, I turned to my phone and plugged it in to charge. I contemplated more research, but a text message had come through at eleven PM.

  You can’t dream if you’re awake.

  I rolled my eyes, texting back.

  What am I looking for?

  His text came back before the backlight went down on my screen.

  I’m the one looking. You’re the one dreaming. Go to sleep.

  I set my phone back down and punched my pillow. I didn’t want to dream about anything scary. The story about my birthmark frightened me to my core; what were the chances I would dream about that particular event? I need to ask the years I died. I would be better prepared for these dreams if I knew a little about what to expect. I picked up my phone, still connected to the wall charger.

  Text me a list of the years that I died. Then I’ll go to sleep.

  I waited for a response, staring at the phone. After about ten minutes, my phone lit up again and vibrated against the sheet.

  1412… 1533…1790… 1912…1955…1977.

  I looked at the dates. I should have asked for locations. Nothing in the 1600s or the 1800s. Strange. I sighed and texted back.

  Thx.

  My phone didn’t light up again.

  1412… Joan of Arc was born. No other events came to mind.

  1533… I swallowed hard and moved on- not thinking about torture before bed was a strict policy of mine.

  1790… Interesting. England? America? The location was imperative for this one.

  1912… Great, maybe I went down with the Titanic. Could I time travel and give the captain and crew a heads-up about the giant ice berg? Would they be too arrogant to listen? Maybe I could email James Cameron for a psychological profile.

  1955? Again, location… I need a location.

  And 1977... He was there, sitting at the foot of the bed. I was naked… and pregnant, he said. So intimate. I squeezed my eyes shut.

  How would this time traveling thing work? Not time traveling, I corrected myself. Something else. What am I looking for- some kind of door? Maybe a dream-machine like in Inception, or something to harness lightning, like in Back to the Future?

  I decided to cancel my subscription to Netflix first thing in the morning. If I found this door, if we succeeded, would we be in our past-life mind and bodies, or would we be on-lookers? I buried my face in my pillow, trying to clear my head.

  West was convinced there was a way. West… just forty-eight hours ago he was Mr. Perry, the “hot teacher.” Ally-May was right.

  OMG.

  Chapter NineSunlight pours
through the open window, and I wake up slowly to the sound of waves crashing against a shore. I sit up in the bed, basking in the feeling of the sunshine against my skin. I am wearing silken lingerie, pale peach with spaghetti straps. A mirror is propped against the wall to my right, and I take a look. The surface of the mirror is wavy, like the air above an asphalt road on a hot day. I am blonde again, but my hair is shorter, wavy.

  I move more fluidly this time, understanding. As the sheet falls away, I see that my belly is rounded. I splay my hands over my stomach, surprised to find it firm. Had I ever felt a pregnant woman’s belly before? Not that I could remember.

  He walks in the bedroom, humming. He wears an undershirt and jeans again. This time, I think that we are not in a motel room. The large body of water across the sand looks like an ocean, not a great lake.

  “Morning, Baby,” he says, leaning over me on the bed. I move backward but he only follows, his lips chasing mine. When he presses his lips to mine, I feel shocked and guilty. “Now what’s that all about?” He teases, moving over me for a deeper kiss. I respond, unable to resist the pull that he has over me. He moves away quickly, his lips moving to my stomach. I gasp as he kisses the baby beneath the silken nightgown. “Morning, baby,” he whispers.

  I watch in awe. Maternal feelings course through me, accompanied by feelings of adoration that I have never experienced before, not even with Logan. Tentatively, I reach for him, touching his hair. It is soft, and the slight, sandy-blonde curl still exists. I thread his hair through my fingertips. Everything feels natural… and so, so real.

  “In four months, I get to hold you,” he says, lifting his head and grinning up at me. “You’re showing a little more every day.”

  “Yes,” I say; again, my voice is throatier, more adult. Would I sound like this in ten years?

  I move my hand away from him, and notice the numbers on my arm. They look strange, very different from the ones I’ve stared at all day. I try to focus on them, but they appear to swim on my arm.

  “No changes in months. Maybe he’ll stay away,” he says, kissing my arm. He kisses right over the numbers, and they whirl strangely over his lips.