Keeper Page 8

  He’d told me that although his people had separated themselves from emotion as much as possible, he and Miriam were conducting their own studies about their importance. For my first exercise, there had been images projected into my mind. It felt like a violation, to have someone putting things into my head. At first I fought it, but then Micah reminded me that he’d have to drug me again if I didn’t cooperate. It wasn’t like it was torture or something, I just hated the loss of my free will. Micah had that look again, like it hurt him to make me do it. He did it all the same.

  There were horrible things and beautiful things, and I was supposed to tell Micah how I felt about each one. My eyes had burned with tears when he’d shown me the aftermath of a devastating tsunami, and the following efforts to relieve the suffering. He’d also shown me a young mother handing her new baby to another woman in a gesture of pure selflessness. They were images and stories that were impossible to share without creating some kind of emotional bond, even between two relative strangers. I knew I was being manipulated, but if there was a bond between us before it was only made of thread. It became a strand of silver. I wondered if it was a gift, like a beautiful silver bracelet, or a band that marked me as someone else’s property. An unsettled feeling in my gut said I already knew.

  Micah’s face emerged the most clearly. I recalled a look of shame that built a barrier around him, making him look like he was alone in the universe. There was also a moment of laughter that transformed him from an Atlas carrying the sky on his back, to the guy in the cafeteria who’d seemed to believe preservative-filled pudding in a plastic cup was the food of the gods.

  I bit down on my lip when I realized I was smiling. Something was seriously wrong with me. It brought to mind accounts of people suffering from Stockholm’s Syndrome. But it was worse than that. Micah had intentionally created a bond that made me unable to stop thinking about him.

  Assuming I hadn’t lost my mind and all of this was real, Micah was not human. He may have saved my life, but I couldn’t forget the look on his face when he said I was his. Or when he’d suggested that whatever he had in store for me was so awful it would make me beg him not to let me feel anything at all.

  I stared at the curtains again, narrowing my eyes as the feelings of vulnerability and helplessness made my chest burn and my head pound. Suddenly the bottom edge of the curtain billowed up, as if a breeze had drifted through my bedroom. I jumped, scurrying over to make sure the window was closed. It was.

  “Lexi?”

  I jerked my head to the door as my mom knocked and poked her head in. “Just seeing if you were up. It’s awful quiet in here.”

  “Uh—” I hurried to grab my notepad off the floor, turning it so she couldn’t see. “Just catching up on some homework.”

  “Better hurry.” Her eyes traveled over my cluttered floor and paused on my new shoes, which I’d kicked off near my closet. “When did you get those?”

  I tipped my head, my jaw hanging open, waiting for her to realize her mistake. She didn’t.

  “Um, a few days ago.”

  “They’re nice.” She closed the door.

  There was no way she’d forgotten she bought me those shoes. Micah had told me about how he could plant memories, like when he’d filled in a completely normal memory the first night he’d taken me on his ship. Had someone been messing with my mom’s mind as well? It didn’t make sense. They were just shoes.

  I scanned over the notebook pages I’d just filled. What were the odds it was my mom who was having a mental breakdown, and not me?

  I scrambled to my feet, glancing at the clock. As much as I wanted to spend the day hiding under my covers and trying to figure out my life, Kaela was going to kill me if I made her late for school. I grabbed my favorite soft blue tunic from my dresser. When I pulled off my t-shirt a purple splotch on my arm caught my eye. I prodded it gently with my finger. The memory of pinching myself came rushing back. It was a message I’d sent to myself, proof that what had happened to me was real.

  I sat down on the bed to catch my breath, scrunching my tunic against my sinking chest with shaking hands.

  A bang on my door made me jump.

  “Come on, Lexi, you need to get moving.”

  How was I supposed to go to school and look Micah in the face? Neither Mom nor Principal Archibald was going to believe I was sick, so curling up into a ball in the corner of my room wasn’t an option. I took a deep breath and slid on my tunic, then put on a pair of leggings and tennis shoes. I had to hurry to fit in my hair and eyeliner regimen. Maybe I didn’t feel like myself, but that was all the more reason to make sure I looked the part.

  I was about to leave my room, but I paused at the door, grabbed my phone, and pulled up the UFO website.

  Guest: Foilhatgirl?

  My new friend was probably at school or something anyway.

  Foilhatgirl: What’s up?

  Guest: Hey. You were talking to me last night about the scar on my wrist.

  Foilhatgirl: I remember. You okay?

  It was nice to have someone talk to, to have one person—okay, one person who wasn’t a big, burly, scary guy—who understood what I was going through.

  Guest: I think so.

  I paused, not knowing what to tell her. It all felt so personal. And frightening.

  Foilhatgirl: Did they take you again?

  Guest: Yes.

  Foilhatgirl: How much do you remember?

  Guest: A lot. There were tests. They put all kinds of images in my head. They wanted to know how I felt about them. They monitor that.

  Foilhatgirl: I’ve heard reports.

  Guest: He let me ask questions. Apparently I’m a Lifer.

  Foilhatgirl: He?

  I paused again. How could I explain all of this to some stranger? Should I?

  Guest: What if I don’t feel as afraid as I should?

  Foilhatgirl: It’s normal to feel a connection to your abductor, but remember it was forced upon you. They want you to trust them. Don’t. Listen, I didn’t want to freak you out before. But I lost my aunt. I know I said there were only two types of abductions, One-Timers and Lifers. There’s one more scenario. The one where you don’t come back.

  A chill went through me.

  Guest: I’m sorry. What else could I say?

  Foilhatgirl: Hey, will you do me just one favor? Get a username and send me a message. I want to give you my personal number so you can text me if you need someone to talk to.

  Guest: Thank you.

  I created a username, Catchmeifyoucan, and shot Foilhatgirl a message, then stuck my phone in my back pocket.

  Mom and Cody were already finishing up breakfast when I made it to the kitchen. Cody scowled as usual when I ruffled my fingers through his hair, but he smiled when he jabbed me with his elbow.

  “You’re always running late,” Cody said, taking his bowl to the sink. “Is that because you’re a juvenile delinquent now?”

  I laughed as I hurried to grab a Pop Tart so Kaela didn’t have to feed me, and a chunk of cheese for Twitchy. “’Fraid so, little brother. You’ll need to find a new role model.”

  “Hah,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  I nearly ran into Mom when I turned the corner to head back to my room. She stood firm, blocking my way as she eyed me critically. “You look tired.”

  “I know, I was up late,” I said lamely.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Just take it easy.”

  I gave her a quick hug. “Will do, Mom.”

  I heard her urging Cody to hurry up as I stuck the cheese in Twitchy’s tank. I touched her gently with my finger. You probably want to get out of here, don’t you? I picked Twitchy up and hurried to the window, pushing it open it with one hand. Then I stuck my hands outside, opening my hands to let her run off my palms. She crept to the edge, then hopped off. I watched as she ran a little ways, and then scurried back into my palm.

  “Don’t know what’s good for you, huh?” I carried her back to her tank, not sure
whether to be relieved or concerned.

  I closed the window, then grabbed a jacket and my backpack. By the time I found the keys to the van the house was empty. I turned the lock as I shut the door behind me.

  When I turned around I nearly ran into a woman standing on our front porch. I gasped, stumbling back.

  “I’m sorry,” I said when I’d recovered enough to form words.

  “That’s okay. I snuck up on you.”

  “I’m just glad I didn’t run you over.”

  She stood there staring at me, all business in her black blazer and slicked back hair. “Can I ... help you?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s nothing to be alarmed about, but we had some calls about a recent disturbance in the neighborhood.”

  I glanced around, wondering who had summoned this woman. There wasn’t so much as a smashed window or a tipped trash can in sight. Nothing much ever happened around here, except for the occasional burglary. Well, that was if you didn’t count the alien abduction.

  “Oh, it’s nothing serious,” she said, as if I’d asked out loud. “We just wanted to let people know that we’re looking into it. So if you have any information that might be helpful ...”

  She held out a card with the name Reesa Warner, followed by a phone number and the words unexplained phenomena.

  “So what kind of division is that?” I asked, repositioning my heavy backpack on my shoulder.

  “I don’t usually investigate common criminal activity. But I’m here to help, all the same. So if you experience anything unusual”—she did that sympathetic eye thing adults do—“anything, please let me know.”

  “Okay.” I raised my eyebrows and waved as I headed to the van.

  I hurried inside, locking the door behind me, and crunched the card in half, stuffing it in the center crap-compartment along with half-sticks of gum, pennies, and straw wrappers. As I drove to Kaela’s, I couldn’t stop thinking about that woman. She looked so out of place in Cookie-Cutterville, so serious and professional. And how did she have the nerve to hand out cards that actually said unexplained phenomena, as if she were an actual x-files agent. Was she?

  There was something else that bothered me. It was the way she looked at me, like she knew what had happened to me. Like we were in cahoots or something. Maybe she did know. Maybe I was the only one who got that card. Was it possible that there was someone else I could talk to? Someone who wouldn’t think I was nuts?

  Or maybe there was a way to track people who used UFO chat rooms, and it was her job to check on those whack-jobs and make sure they weren’t a threat to themselves or others. I gave myself a mental eye roll. I was just being paranoid. I certainly wasn’t important enough to have my own Men in Black representative.

  When I picked up Kaela my runway announcement was a little lackluster. I barely spoke a word as I drove. Now that I’d stopped obsessing about the woman on my front porch, the images from the night drifted back into my head. The urge to see Micah again distracted me. I knew Kaela didn’t buy my story about being mad at my boss, but if I started talking too much I was afraid I’d tell her everything. And she could not know my current level of psycho.

  Austin wasn’t waiting by the front doors, or by our locker. How could I get through speech without him? I needed someone who would check me if I lost it and started gawking at Micah. Someone who would have my back if Cheyenne started in again.

  I twisted in the combo. As I pulled the door open, something brown and furry scurried out of our locker and into the hallway. I screamed, jumping back into Kaela, nearly knocking her off her feet.

  I turned my head toward the sound of laughing. Cheyenne stood next to Micah, with a couple of her friends clustered around her, their hands clasped over their mouths. She leaned into Micah, one hand planted on his chest. He stared at me wide-eyed, as if he was mimicking the startled look that was probably still stuck to my face.

  Had he been part of this? My eyes narrowed as confusion and betrayal tumbled around inside of me. I opened my mouth, but I for once I couldn’t even articulate what I was feeling. Whatever kind of experiment he was conducting, it was even sicker than I’d thought. It seemed his plan was to take away my free will at night, subjecting me to any number of unknown horrors, all the while acting helpless and vulnerable about it. Then during the day he would poke and prod at me in a less literal way, playing the part of popularity-seeking jerk and agitator. How was this all beneficial to his superior species?

  I whipped my head back to Kaela, who was whimpering on the other side of the hall, her back against the wall of lockers.

  Her lips were turned up in disgust. “Remind me never to use that locker again.”

  “I’m so sorry, Kaela. This is all my fault.”

  She inhaled, holding her breath and looking like she might explode. “It’s not just the mouse, Lexi, although I’m going to have nightmares for a week. You’ve been acting really weird, and I wish you would just tell me what’s up.”

  “Nothing’s—”

  “Fine.” She closed her eyes for three whole seconds. “I’m not mad. I understand you are going through something right now. I’m here when you’re ready to talk.” She flipped around and stalked off to class, without so much as touching my hair.

  She was mad. I knew Kaela well enough to see through the psycho-babble. But on the Kaela scale, I judged her to be only a four out of ten, at least where I was concerned. Cheyenne, on the other hand, might want to watch her back. If I knew anything about psychology I’d say the locker mouse had opened the floodgate, and all Kaela’s frustrations about my suspension and how weird I was acting had come pouring out. I was going to have to make it right. But first Kaela would need some time to cool off. I might be short two friends today.

  I shuffled to speech, dropping my binder on my desk as I slid into my seat. I couldn’t help glancing around the room, looking for Micah, although I cringed at the idea of seeing him. My level of obsession with my tormentor was burning me up. Luckily there was no sign of him yet.

  Austin’s usual seat sat empty too. I pulled out my phone to send him a quick text.

  Where are you?

  Sick.

  Wait. Didn’t the new season of Blade Song come out today?

  Cough cough.

  Nice

  Austin had started watching that anime because of the art, but now he was completely obsessed with it. He’d been talking about the season premiere for weeks. I couldn’t believe he was faking sick, though. He was the kind of guy who’d turn in a quarter if he found it on the floor.

  As I dipped my head down onto the desk, waiting for class to start, I felt the magnetic pull of Micah walking into the room. I looked up, gaping as he placed his notebook and pen carefully on Austin’s desk.

  You can’t sit there, I didn’t say. That’s Austin’s desk. No one sits there but Austin.

  He slowly slid into the desk. Before I could remind myself that avoiding further eye contact with Micah was today’s number one goal, he turned and looked at me. He was the polar opposite of a Medusa, but looking into his eyes had much the same effect. I was a living statue.

  But the stone was only on the outside. Inside I was churning magma ready to erupt through the rock. My heart was thumping. I was silently screaming. I wanted to accuse him of kidnapping me, of forcing me to participate in his weird, alien experiments, right there in the classroom. At the very least I could have accused him enabling and abetting Cheyenne’s prank—of laughing at me!

  His eyes searched mine. I knew what he was asking. He wanted to know if I remembered. I stared back blankly, giving him nothing.

  Then his icy eyes softened in apology. Was that for abducting me, or for helping my nemesis stuff a mouse in my locker? If he was really sorry he’d get out in that hallway and find the poor mouse that was in mortal danger.

  Of course the mouse incident was minor compared to plucking me up as an unwilling participant in studies that would advance his alien species. But he’d also saved my life
, and last night he was, oddly enough, some kind of comfort in a strange place. I wanted to pick up my desk and throw it at him, and at the same time there was a sick part of me that wanted to scoot closer to him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “I’m sorry about ... I didn’t know. I was as surprised as you were.”

  I only gave half a nod. I glanced at Cheyenne in the back corner. She was scowling at me, probably because Micah was sitting next to me. Then she gave me a wicked smile, most likely gloating about the mouse. I shook my head and looked away.

  “I promise. I wanted to come and talk to you, but you and your friend were arguing.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, wanting to kick myself for believing him. “I’m fine. I’m just a little tired.”

  Micah’s lips turned up on one side as if he had a secret to tell. “It’s all right. I had a long night, too.”

  I inhaled sharply. It was as close as Speech-Class-Micah had come to admitting it was all real. While it was true that there was something to be said for living in denial, I needed to hear it. I needed the affirmation that I was sane.

  I reminded myself to close my mouth as I turned my head to face the whiteboard.

  Mrs. Martinez bustled in, arms full of papers as usual. “All right, get into partners,” she said, dumping them on her desk.

  I glanced to my left. Austin was always my partner. Panicked, my eyes darted around the room. There were several kids in class that were more or less unaffiliated, as far as grouping up in this class went. I tried to catch someone’s eye as a screeching sound pulled my attention back to the desk at my left.

  It was too late. Micah had turned his desk toward me and scooted in close. Close enough that his scent drifted toward me. It was something that I couldn’t describe but that brought to mind drifting upward in a starlit sky.

  “What?” Micah asked, his eyes bright with curiosity.

  I shook my head firmly.

  It seemed we were partners. Maybe I could just sit here and ignore him. I’d look like a weirdo, but it would be easier than talking to him. It was getting harder to separate the Micah I spoke openly with at night from the one I barely knew in speech class. It was difficult to keep from pelting him with questions and accusations. I felt too many stupid conflicting feelings for this person I was supposed to barely know.