Infusion Read online

  Somehow, he wasn’t really that noticeable. Maybe kind of invisible, too, but in a completely different way than I was. I was invisible because I blended in. He was invisible because he didn’t fit. I watched the pen making deep grooves in the edges. Just killing time, like the rest of us.

  I forced my mind back to Hamlet.

  When the bell rang, the guy from across the room threw his stuff in his bag. He was out the door without a backwards glance. Part of me was relieved—most of me, actually. I had to admit, though, it would have been interesting to catch his eye again.

  Outside the classroom, Lisa touched my arm. “I have Geo. See you at lunch?” Her anxiety level rose perceptibly. I followed her gaze to a small group of girls coming down the hall. She didn’t want them to leave her out.

  Her new friends mattered, and I—

  Replaced was the only word I could come up with.

  “Sure. See you!” I said, over-brightly. I watched her disappear down the hall, running to catch up with them. I’d wanted to ask her about Tyler, at least what his deal was. Instead, I turned and walked to my second period class. I wasn’t totally disappointed she was gone; talking about Jared had been painful. When I glanced behind me, I should have been more surprised than I was to see Tyler following me. This was ridiculous. I turned to wait for him. He hesitated, then strode toward me.

  “Why haven’t you contacted me?” he asked in a hushed, accusatory whisper.

  “Contacted you?” I glanced past his shoulder.

  “He said we should wait for you. He said—” He stopped. I was pretty sure I looked as confused as I felt. “Elliot said he would send you to us. We’ve been waiting.”

  I stared up at him mutely. Elliot? After a long moment, I asked, “Does this have to do with that night? With Jared?”

  Slowly, he nodded his head, and his expression softened. “I don’t know what was going on with your friend. But when I heard what happened, I assumed Elliot— I mean, if Elliot hadn’t been there, how could you … I just thought he was planning to talk to you.”

  “He didn’t. At least, I don’t think he did. I can’t really remember ... and I don’t know any Elliot.”

  “But I can feel it. I can feel—you.”

  I didn’t have time to react.

  The second bell sounded, and we were officially late. The principal would be making her rounds soon, clearing the halls.

  Realization dawned. Elliot. “There was someone I didn’t know there. He tried to help…he died trying to save me. I’m sorry if that was your friend.”

  He shifted his gaze to the lockers, blinking rapidly. Taking a deep breath, he refocused on my face. “Let’s get out of here. We can talk.”

  “It’s my first day back. I can’t just take off.” And I don’t know you.

  “You really didn’t talk to him?”

  “No. But you should tell someone—the police or something. Nobody knows who he was. They must have asked me a thousand times already.”

  “But you—”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have any answers.” I backed away, raising my hands apologetically. “I can’t help you.”

  “Fine, but you must have questions,” He lowered his voice as a few people glanced at us. “Haven’t you wondered what’s happening to you?”

  Happening to me?

  “Haven’t you wondered about the visions?” He stepped closer and whispered. “Things you’re seeing? Hearing?”

  He knew. Somehow, this guy knew something. I thought of the elongated face and hollow eyes. “I can’t miss classes. My mom will freak. She’s worried enough as it is.”

  “Your mom—”

  “Listen. I don’t care! About any of this. I. Don’t. Care.”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it again, pursing his lips. Then he shrugged. “Fine.”

  I watched him walk away from me, down the long hallway. His back was straight, rigid, his shoulders squared. He was angry. What did I care? He shoved the front doors with both hands, and the heavy panels flew open, slamming against the outside walls. They fell shut, and I stood, staring at them.

  “Wait!” I ran down the hallway and out the doors after him. Squinting at the sudden light, I scanned the parking lot. His white and green Yamaha was just pulling away. Of course, he rode a bike.

  “Tyler, wait!” I called again.

  This time, he heard me. Without an acknowledging glance, he stopped.

  I climbed on behind him. Wordlessly, he pulled off his helmet and handed it back to me.

  “Don’t you need it?” I pulled on the helmet.

  “I’ll be fine. I don’t have an extra.”

  “But—”

  He revved the engine, and I quickly secured the strap and wrapped my arms around his waist. I’d never been on a motorcycle before, and I’d certainly never had my hands around the body of a boy on a motorcycle. Or any boy for that matter. But desperate times—

  As the bike peeled out of the lot, I mentally saw the face of the stranger—Elliot, he’d called him. He was standing in the center of a small circle of people. Teens. Four of them. It was windy. He was giving some sort of speech, and everyone listened intently, although most of his words were lost in the breeze.

  “Get out,” Tyler growled, and I snapped back to my own reality. I’d been seeing his thoughts like I’d seen the others’. He noticed, though.

  “I didn’t mean to,” I shouted over the roar of the road. He didn’t reply. “Where are we going?” I tried to move my helmet close to his ear. Another mental image: we pull up to a short, brown apartment building—his home.

  “I said, get out.”

  “I don’t know how!”

  He pulled over roughly to the side of the road, driving halfway onto the sidewalk. “Get off the bike.” His voice was cold. I scrambled off, standing along the side of the road. “Now, take my hand.”

  “What?” I barely recognized my own voice. It had risen about three octaves.

  “I’m tired of trying to figure out if you’re playing me. I want to know what you know. Give me your hand.”

  I looked at his large, outstretched hand. “I’m not sure what I know.”

  “Give me your hand, and I’ll tell you.” He waited, then added gruffly, “It’s not really a choice here.”

  I sighed. “Fine.” I allowed him to take my hand.

  “What happened that night?” He watched my face.

  If I hadn’t known what he was doing, I wouldn’t have noticed anything. It was as if a thought had just come to my mind—as if I were simply remembering. I saw Jared’s face as he grinned at me, and then the bright meteor shower, beautiful even through the rain. I remembered the sensation of droplets, hard and cool on my skin. And then I was lying on the grass, bleeding. A man called out and ran toward us. He took the object out of his coat as he knelt down and, for the first time, I realized what it was. A knife. And then, I was in the hospital, and then I was hovering over my own body, and then I realized my only remaining friend blamed me for what happened.

  I yanked my hand away from Tyler. “Good enough?” I wiped my eyes quickly.

  “Thanks.” He started the bike up again.

  “How do we ... why does that happen?”

  “Long story.”

  “Is it always like that?”

  “More or less.”

  “Can other people—feel us—in there?” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation.

  “Only if they know what’s happening. It feels the same to them as to us—but we know how to recognize it.”

  He waited expectantly.

  “See anything useful?” I blurted.

  “Just the same things you saw. Pretty fragmented.”

  “Yeah.” Something about the memory bothered me. “Why did he have the knife?”

  He nodded toward the back of his bike. “I’ll explain more at my place.”

  I got on and leaned my cheek against the cool of his dark blue riding jacket. This had better be good. />
  When we pulled up in front of his building, it was exactly as I had seen in his mind. If I needed more proof that I wasn’t imagining things, here it was. He cut the motor and I hopped off. As he dismounted, he swept down his kickstand with his heel. I left the helmet on the seat and followed him up the apartment steps, keeping my distance. I didn’t want him to accidentally touch me and sense my myriad of emotions. Apprehension. Mistrust. Fear.

  And an embarrassing level of excitement. I was cutting class, and I was going into the home of a boy I barely knew, a boy who happened to be dark, brooding, and mysterious. Three things I found highly attractive in spite of myself.

  There was no elevator. “Fifth floor,” he muttered.

  I was surprised how easily I climbed the stairs. I hated gym, and athletic was an adjective that described everything I wasn’t. But today, five flights of stairs seemed like nothing.

  “Listen.” He paused with the key in the deadbolt and turned to face me. “I just want to clear up two things before we go in.”

  I nodded.

  “First of all, my place is a mess. I’m not apologizing for it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Second,” he added, “this isn’t some kind of date.”

  Warmth rose quickly to my cheeks. Had he read my thoughts from two feet away? My expression must have given me away.

  He cleared his throat. “It’s just there’s nobody home, and I don’t want this to be awkward.”

  “Nope,” I answered quickly, “no problem.” Yeah. It wasn’t awkward at all.

  The corner of his lips twitched slightly. He turned the key, pushing the heavy wooden door open.

  Chapter Four

  He wasn’t exaggerating when he said it was messy. Perhaps he’d been robbed and his place trashed. Or a cyclone had passed through. Pizza boxes were strewn across the coffee table and the floor. Dirty dishes, some with food left on them, were stacked haphazardly on the small shelf beside the TV. Wrappers and paper were scattered on the floor. A chair lay on its side. I risked a quick glance at his face to see if this was what he’d been expecting. His expression hadn’t changed.

  “It’s in here.” He led me to his room.

  The only other guy’s room I’d been in was Jared’s, and this was nothing like it. Jared’s room had been pristine: bed made, floor cleaned, closet organized, books filling the thin wooden bookshelf he’d built along one wall. His walls had been all but covered with large, framed posters of solar systems and stars.

  Tyler’s walls were bare, and the brown wallpaper was peeling. It was also a fraction of the size of Jared’s. And then, being in Jared’s room never gave me butterflies.

  I stared at the unmade bed against the far wall. Blankets and sheets were in a tangled mess at the end of his mattress, clothes strewn across its surface. Nope, not awkward at all.

  Tyler cleared his throat, quickly sweeping the laundry off the bed and throwing it onto the floor of his closet. “See, now we have somewhere to work.”

  “Mm-hmm.” I glanced at the small bed and sat on the edge.

  He turned again to the closet, reached up into the corner, and took a small, black box down from a narrow shelf. “Nobody comes in here anyway, but I try to keep it out of sight, just in case.” He sat and extended the box to me.

  Lying on the bottom of the box were four thin, wire-like bracelets and what resembled a small, metallic awl, except both ends of its cylindrical body were sharpened points. I tentatively picked up the object. It was lighter than I expected, and, with the cylinder in my hand, the points extended about three inches on either side.

  “What is it?” I asked finally.

  “The bracelets in the box are communicators, and the thing you have there is a weapon.”

  Of course.

  “For what?

  “I’m getting to that. But it’s not for here. And it’s not your only weapon. Your whole body’s a weapon.”

  Of all the things I’d imagined a guy saying about my body, a weapon had never been one of them. “My body’s a weapon?” I parroted weakly.

  “I know I’m not doing the greatest job here. I’ve never done this before.” He picked up one of the shiny, thin bracelets, its sharp, zigzag edges jutting out unevenly along its surface. As he moved it, the bracelet caught the light and cast reflections on the wall across from us. “Okay, the thing you’re holding is a weapon. Elliot gave me one for each of us, and he had me hand them out at the first training. That one’s yours.”

  When I didn’t reply, he held up the bracelet. “These, though—I don’t know exactly how the bracelets are supposed to work,” he admitted. “I just know that Elliot didn’t want us to wear them until all five of us were together. They’re supposed to connect us.”

  I digested this quietly.

  “And they would only work if you’re like us.”

  Like us. It was as if I’d suddenly become part of a club I didn’t understand. “And the others have these weapons?” I shifted my attention from the bracelet to the sharp, capsule-like object.

  “Yeah. The weapon's not made to use here, on people, so I can’t really show you. It only works—there.”

  “Where?”

  “You know where. You’ve seen it. You must have seen it.”

  I chewed my lip. That part I’d been pretty sure was a hallucination, brought on first by the pain in the field, then by the drugs in the hospital. At least, I’d hoped it was. I imagined the creature with the black eyes and shuddered inwardly.

  “I can show you, if you want, but I can’t always control how much you’ll see.” He moved back to sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed.

  I shifted myself to mirror his position.

  “I guess, before we do this,” he shifted as though uncomfortable, “I need to ask you something.” I waited. “How hard would it be for you to believe there’s something—out there? Or actually, something—up there?” He tilted his chin, and his glance flicked toward the ceiling.

  “Are we talking about aliens?” I was embarrassed simply saying the words out loud.

  “They don’t call themselves that, but—”

  “It’s not like I’ve never thought of the possibility,” I said, “but it seemed pretty unlikely. And, if there were—others—I doubted they’d be remotely interested in us.”

  “And now?”

  “Now—I guess anything’s possible.”

  “Not just possible.”

  Shivers crawled up my arms, due to both his tone and the implication.

  “Right.” I was not having this conversation.

  He placed the bracelet back into the box. Then he held out his hands to me, palms up. “I’ll try to show you what Elliot showed me first. It will make the most sense that way. But I can’t always control what I’m thinking. Since you don’t know what you’re looking for—”

  “I get it.” I put the weapon back in the box with the bracelets and hovered my hands above his. Mine were tiny compared to his. It made sense that his hands would be bigger; he was probably more than a foot taller than I was. Of course, it wouldn’t take much to be taller than me. At five foot two, I wasn’t exactly winning any basketball games.

  “So, give me your hands, already.”

  I looked up into his face and a blush warmed my own. I quickly tried to clear my mind. Taking a deep breath, I carefully laid them on his. Instantly, I was in an alleyway. Or, more accurately, Tyler was. He was smoking. It tasted bitter and unfamiliar to me. He sighed deeply as he viewed the starred sky above him. He was bored and angry.

  “I can’t believe you actually smoke,” I said aloud. “I didn’t think anyone did that anymore.”

  “Just watch.” A wave of embarrassment surged from him, and I bit back a smile. “I can feel you being smug, by the way.”

  I forced my mind back on the images he was trying to send. Soon enough, footsteps approached from the darkness. Tyler casually glanced toward the source of the sound. He was mostly unconcerned. His jackknife weighted hi
s pocket, and he was good with his fists, too. Plus, he figured it was just someone looking to get high.

  “Tyler.”

  He was startled by his own name. His head whipped around and he peered through the black to the guy who called to him. He didn’t recognize the man yet. I did, though. Elliot.

  “Who are you?” He straightened up. He was going for nonchalance, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going to let this guy get the jump on him. The man wasn’t much taller than he was, but his shoulders were broader, and he was definitely older—in his thirties, he’d guessed. Was he was a cop? Tyler thought about the weed in his pocket. It wasn’t like the maybe-cop could search him without a warrant. Could he?

  It was strange, being in his head like this. It wasn’t simply seeing his memories. I thought everything he thought, felt everything he felt.

  When the man drew closer, Tyler relaxed. Something about the stranger felt familiar—safe.

  “I’m Elliot.” His warm, dark eyes met Tyler’s evenly. “And I’ve been searching for you.” When Elliot reached out his hand toward him, Tyler hesitated before extending his own. As soon as they touched, a torrent of images flooded Tyler’s mind and, as they did, they coursed through mine, too.

  I struggled to catch my breath as I tried to understand the fragments: a montage designed to paint a picture of a great span of time.

  A tall figure, bathed in white light, stood in wild grass amid lush, green trees. Elliot whispered to Tyler, “World Maker.”

  Echoes of nature surrounded us; the sound of crickets, frogs, and birds filled the air. And then World Maker stood beside a man … and then the man was alone, on earth. Huts, then houses sprung up. Buildings and skyscrapers. The jungle became towns and cities. But I saw the earth’s beauty. Felt its beauty.

  I gazed down on the globe from space. The blue and green orb shimmered. I felt pride. Protectiveness. World Maker had given people the earth. It was ours. Of all the planets in space, it was entirely inhabitable, the one designed for us.