A Desire So Deadly

Chapter 7

The sound of rain patters on the windows of the diner. I look around, and the place is empty except for one table in the corner. A blond-headed guy sits with his back to me, and I’m drawn to him. Slowly, my legs heavy as if walking through water, I move toward him. But before I reach him, he pauses, a coffee cup in his hand.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he says in a British accent, and turns slightly. I can see his features, his hair graying at the temples, the scratchy beard growing on his jaw. I recognize him, although I can’t imagine from where. “You’re still so beautiful.” He turns his back to me once again and sips from his cup.

“Who are you?” I ask. My voice sounds low and muffled. It surprises me, but then I look around again. I know this place—it’s a diner in Thistle, Arizona—even though I’ve never been there. It hits me then that this is a dream.

And sitting in front of me is Monroe Swift.

When I look at him, he’s facing me full on. He smiles, warm, loving. But in my head, I know he’s not real. Monroe died. He was my Seer; he helped me through my compulsions to save people—the Need—and led me to the light.

“Why am I here?” I ask, lifting my hands helplessly. “Why am I back?” I know things, but in that dreamlike way. Time lines don’t connect; the way I look doesn’t always match up with who I am. But I do know one thing: I’m a Forgotten. The words, the messages that come from beyond me, change people’s lives. I spread hope, and ultimately, I’ll have to sacrifice myself for the greater good. Again.

“It’s your sister, sweetheart,” Monroe says. “She’s consumed by the Want. You’ll have to extinguish her.”

My sister, Lucy. She was like me, a Forgotten. But she couldn’t make the sacrifice, and instead she turned to the Shadows—binding herself to misery. Horror. She’s the bad impulses in the world. She’s death and destruction.

But she’s still my sister.

“What does she want with me?” I ask.

“She wants you to be a Shadow with her, stay with her forever. She wants to put out your light and keep you. She’s selfish and she’s dangerous.”

I shake my head, an ache spreading through my chest. “But it’s not her fault,” I say sadly. “She didn’t know what she was giving up.” The Shadows are often tricked, promised eternity with those they love but never told about the impulses they’ll have to indulge. Lucy just wanted to stay with me and our father. She wasn’t ready to cross over. “I won’t do it,” I say with a shrug. “I can’t.”

Monroe nods as if he understands, and I miss him so much. Monroe was my doctor, my confidant. He was like a father to me once. “Then she’ll kill you and everyone you love,” he says. “The choice has never been easy, Charlotte. Elise.” He smiles. “Claire.”

I open my eyes, and my bedroom is filled with sunlight. I’m shaking, unbearably sad. Grief-stricken, even. I remember my dream, but it doesn’t make sense. Monroe—I don’t know him. But in my dream I did. Oh God. I’m going completely crazy.

I run my palm over my face, trying to make sense of everything. Lucy’s my sister? No, no—what kind of whacked-out dreams am I having? What the hell is going on? I get out of my bed and grab my robe. It’s barely six a.m. and the house is quiet. I quickly shower and then go back to my room, trying not to think. I’m just movements, my eyes wide and scared in my reflection.

As I rub the towel over my hair, I imagine it blond again. I freeze, staring at my face. There’s a memory trying to break through. My bottom lip begins to quiver, and I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look at myself any longer.

I have to get out of here. I have to do something, anything. When I open my eyes, I catch sight of my wet suit lying on the floor in front of my closet. It seems so stupid now—a coffee bet to learn to surf. Were things that normal once? Was I ever that normal?

I know what I have to do, how to ground myself in this world before it slips away. I move quickly from my vanity and grab a bathing suit from my top drawer. I get dressed and then pull on my wet suit. I keep my mind blank, ignoring the knot in my stomach. After I’ve dressed, I try to sneak out without running into my parents. My dad’s keys are still on the table, and I pause at the door and look back at my house.

There’s a thought that I might never see it again, but I’m quick to push it away. I open the door and walk out, determined to fit back into my life.

I pass my usual surfing spot and head for the real beach, even though I know my chances of wiping out are tripled there. But I don’t care. If I can surf, really surf, I’ll win the bet. And if I can do that, maybe I can fix everything.

There are only a few lingering surfers when I pull up, and I drag my board across the sand. When I’m at the water, I zip up my wet suit and wait my turn. Ten minutes later, I’m paddling out, hoping I don’t drown.

The water splashes my face, cooling my skin. The harder I work my arms, the less I think. And soon I’m just lapping, muscles tense and chest tight from breathing hard. I make the turn and sit on the board, letting a few small waves pass me by. It’s quiet, so incredibly peaceful. I wish I could stay here forever. In that silence, my mind wanders to my dream, but I splash cold water on my face, trying to drive the images away.

The next wave is also small, but I have to move or my fear will come back to crush me. I glide for a bit before I take in a quick breath, and then I hop up. I get both feet on the board, but immediately I start to pitch forward. I hold out my arms for balance, and I do it. For about three seconds, I’m surfing.

I fall backward, but the minute I smack the water, it seems to envelop me, closing in around me. I struggle just as another wave comes crashing over my head, pushing me farther under. Without thinking, I open my mouth to scream for help. I choke.

I can’t even tell which direction is the surface; I’m flailing my arms, kicking my legs. The panic is overwhelming, and in this panic, I lose control of my thoughts. And the memories come rushing in.

My name is Charlotte, and I grew up in Portland, Oregon. I have the Need—a compulsion to help people. I have visions into their lives, see their problems. And I offer a way to fix them. I give hope. But every time I save someone, I lose a bit of myself. My skin, my body begins to wear away. Monroe Swift guides me, but slowly, everyone I’ve ever known, ever loved, forgets me. It’s a fate worse than death.

I’ve stopped thrashing in the water, my arms going limp as the memories suffocate me. In my mind, I see Harlin. He takes my hand and pulls me onto his Harley. I wrap my arms around him, rest my chin on his shoulder. We are going to get an apartment in the Pearl District, where he can paint and I could go to school. We are going to have a future.

And then that life is blotted out in a burst of golden light. I’m in a tunnel, and then I emerge and my name is Elise. My father is a pastor, and during his sermons Lucy and I sit in the front row. Our mother died, but our father went on. And he loved us so much.

There is an old psychic named Marceline. She told me about the Forgotten. They are meant to sacrifice their existence in exchange for spreading hope, but if they don’t—they will be trapped here for eternity. They become Shadows—the embodiments of evil who spread misery. Lucy became one so that she would be remembered. She didn’t want to give up her family. She didn’t want to give up me.

I remember. I remember everything. Charlotte, Elise, Claire—they’re all me. Three lifetimes with one soul. But I’m so tired now. I stop fighting; I still and let the current drive me forward and then back. I’m going to die.

Suddenly there’s a flurry of motion around me, and a pressure around my neck pulls me. When I break the surface of the ocean, I choke up the water I swallowed. The air burns my throat, and I reach to hold on to the arm that’s dragging me back toward the beach. The sky is so bright, I’m blinded. But I still remember. I know who—what—I am.

I’m plopped onto the hardened sand, and when Harlin falls down next to me, I realize he’s the one who saved me. My eyes adjust to the light, and he comes into focus. His hair is plastered to his face, his lips slightly blue as he shivers.

“Claire, holy shit, are you okay?” he’s saying as he helps me to sit up. “Don’t freak out, but I followed you. You marched into the water like some warrior, and just when you got on the board, you—”

I reach to put my palm on Harlin’s cheek. At my touch, he takes in a jagged breath. Our eyes lock, and he puts his hand on his chest as if his heart hurts.

“It’s you,” he says softly. “Oh, baby. It’s you.”

Everything strips away, all the pain of separation, loss, and hurt. I lower my arm and smile, my body aching for him. Harlin’s lips start to pull into that slow, sexy smile, and he shakes his head like I’m something else. “I have so much to say,” he murmurs, “but goddamn, you’re distracting.”

“We found each other,” I whisper, getting up on my knees so I can move closer to him. Harlin raises his gaze as I drape my arms over his shoulders, his fingertips digging into my hips as he draws me tighter against him.

“That’s what we do,” he says, staring at my lips like he can’t wait to kiss me. “We find each other. I love you, Claire. I always love you. I don’t know any other way to feel.”

He leans in, brushing his lips over mine in a kiss too maddeningly light to feel. His hand slides up to rest on the back of my neck as he gets to his knees, pressing against me. His lips are soft, and when his tongue grazes my lower lip, I let out a soft moan. I knot my fingers in his hair and kiss him hard, pushing him back in the sand. Harlin feels like home. He is my one constant, my one true need. And when Harlin curses, saying we have to get somewhere private before he goes crazy, we leave my surfboard floating in the ocean and ride off on his Harley.

Harlin is renting an upstairs apartment not far from the beach. He holds my hand as he leads me inside the small studio. There are drawings taped to the walls. Pictures of me in each life. Pictures of others—I’m assuming Forgotten who crossed over. Harlin is cursed to remember them when no one else ever will. He is a Seer, leading them toward their destiny, never letting them give up. But when the Forgotten are gone, they are erased from all minds but his. He carries their grief alone.

Harlin strips off his wet T-shirt and grabs my arm to pull me over. He kisses me again, passionately, urgently. “This wet suit is infuriating,” he mumbles as he glides his hands over the smooth exterior, no contact with skin.

I laugh and take a step back. Harlin grins and goes to lie on the bed, watching as I unzip the gray wet suit. Soon I’m standing there in a bikini, and when I put my knee on the bed to climb up, Harlin nods his approval.

“You drive me mad,” he says. When I’m close enough, he takes my arm to pull me on top of him, immediately kissing my neck, his hands gliding over my skin. It consumes me—his touch, his warmth.

“I am so incredibly in love with you,” I breathe out. Harlin rolls on top of me, and I dig my nails into his back, urging him on. This is just like last time—the last time we saw each other before I extinguished Onika, the Shadow trying to kill me. I needed to cross over to bring on the light that would send Onika into oblivion. And if I hope to save my sister from the evil consuming her, I’ll have to do it again. I’ll have to sacrifice myself. Back in Arizona, my Seer Marceline told me I wouldn’t have to leave again, but it wasn’t true. The universe betrayed me last time. Maybe now I need to take control of my own destiny.

I close my eyes, listening as Harlin whispers in my ear about how much he’s missed me. How he’d die without me. No one but me knows how tender Harlin really is. No one knows him like I do. I look at him again, my eyes fluttering under his touch. Maybe it’s because we’re always saying good-bye—maybe that’s why we’re always burning up for each other. But it doesn’t really matter why we love each other. It just matters that we do.

Harlin is curled up behind me, his chin on my shoulder, in the quiet of his apartment. I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I hope it hasn’t been that long. Because there will never be enough time.

“Why can’t it always be like this?” I say. “Why can’t we just be together, kissing and growing old?”

“It can,” Harlin says in his low voice. “We’ll get on the bike and leave right now. We won’t tell a soul.” He’s willing to give up the entire world just to be with me, but it’s not that easy. He knows that. I turn to him and smile sadly. “Run away with me, Charlotte.”

There’s a tug at my heart—my name, my old name, like a secret between us. Charlotte is gone, and Harlin is the only person in the world who remembers her. My eyes begin to well up at the loss and the bond it’s created between us. “Will you just hold me for another minute?” I ask weakly, sniffling as I start to cry.

Harlin doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his strong arms around me, pulling me tight against him.

Because although Harlin and I have finally found each other again, we know how this will end, how it always ends. So we cling to our stolen moments, hoping this time will be different.