The Reaping (The Fahllen #1)(38)
Author: M. Leighton

“What do you mean? What kind of things?”

“I don’t know. I can just tell that something’s going on.”

“What do you mean?” What had happened to my vocabulary since September? It seemed I was always asking the same questions and then just repeating myself over and over and over, like Rain Man.

“I don’t know,” she said again, shrugging. Now I had her repeating herself. “It’s just a feeling I get. It’s hard to describe.”

Though that was hardly a bothersome or telling remark among friends, considering the things I’d seen and experienced in the last few months, things of a supernatural nature, I took exception to her comment.

“A feeling?” I asked, trying to appear nonchalant as I resumed our walk to school.

“I guess that’s a good way to put it. Maybe it’s just intuition. Women’s intuition,” she said with a plucky grin.

“Sure it is,” I said doubtfully, dramatically narrowing my eyes on her.

After a few seconds, her expression sobered and she said, “Just be careful, Carson. Derek is- he’s—” I watched Leah struggle for an adequate description. “Just be careful,” she repeated.

“I am careful, Leah, but,” I paused to look at her. “Why do you say that? It’s like you think he’s…I don’t know, dangerous or something.” I tried to sound unconcerned, but I had to admit that her warning was making me uneasy.

“I don’t know, Carson. I mean, he is a lot older than you and—”

“Five years is not a lot.”

Leah shrugged. “I guess not, but he, uh. He’s—” she stammered. “Just be careful,” she finally said, for the third time.

“I will,” I assured her, my smile much lighter than my heart. We dropped the conversation on that note, but it was far from forgotten. I had just tucked the dialog away for later dissection.

School was uneventful, as usual. My meteoric rise to fame over the milk in Stephen’s face ordeal was surpassed (in magnitude and longevity) only by my plummet to a less-than-zero status after the incident at the lake. The fallout wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, though. My father’s passing seemed to have subdued the worst of the ridicule. Looks like even in death I owed my father a debt of gratitude.

I walked through the halls largely unnoticed, just as I had in previous times, and somehow I drew comfort from that. I’d gotten a taste of what I used to dream about and found out it is totally overrated.

Walking home was typically the high point of my day. After I left Leah at her driveway, I was always excited to get to my house and see if Derek was there. I loved it when he was. It still bothered me to come home to an empty house.

On days when he wasn’t there when I got home, he usually arrived within an hour or so. I tried not to ask too many questions about his day; he was very vague with his answers and I found that a source of frustration and, deep down, concern. That was another thing that caused my trust in him to waver.

As I strode up the driveway today, something looked different, but it took me a second to put my finger on it. Derek’s bike was parked in the driveway, as it usually was during “acceptable” hours. The garage door was open, as it often was. The front door was closed, as it usually was.

Then my eyes flew back to the garage. That’s it! The garage was empty. The Camaro was gone.

I stood in the driveway debating how I felt about this newest development when I heard a deep, throaty rumble. I turned to see what it was.

Coming down the street, toward my house, was the Camaro. And at the wheel was Derek.

Feelings of anger, sadness, accomplishment, bitterness, pride, and pleasure collided inside me in a complicated emotional wreck. I carefully schooled my features as Derek slowed and made the turn into the driveway. I took a few steps back to give him ample room to pull past me into the garage, but he didn’t advance that far. Instead, he stopped right in front of where I stood.

With a smile that I rarely got to see, Derek shifted into park and got out of the car, the idle motor throbbing quietly. Rather than shutting the door behind him, however, Derek held it open and swept his arm toward the driver’s seat, indicating that I should slide inside.

“Your carriage, my lady,” he said formally, his brilliant smile settling into a mischievous grin.

“When did you finish it?”

“Just today.”

“Evidently it runs alright,” I said, trying to keep my tone light.

“Runs like a top,” he confirmed, equally light. Then his silver eyes, eyes that missed nothing, met mine. He sobered instantly. “You’re upset,” he said, very matter of fact.

“No. I-I—”

“Yes, you are. Don’t lie to me.”

“No. Really, I—”

“I can tell you’re upset.”

“I don’t know, I just—”

“Look, Carson, you—”

“Stop interrupting me!” I shouted, interrupting him instead. “I don’t know how I feel about it. Okay?” I turned and stalked through the garage and into the kitchen, slamming the door behind me.

I knew I wasn’t being rational, but since when did emotional outbursts have to be rational? I thought absurdity was implied.

I didn’t stop until I was in my bedroom with the door closed behind me. I paced the floor a few times, clenching and unclenching my fists, struggling for control of my turbulent emotions. I knew that being out of control only opened the door for trouble. Derek had taught me that.

Taking deep breaths, I walked to stand in front of the window. I could see the driveway clearly. I watched as Derek, who’d been standing exactly where I’d left him, staring at the house, slid behind the wheel and eased the car into the garage. I heard the motor die and some of my anger died with it.

It made no sense that I would perceive Derek’s hard work and consideration an act of betrayal, even though that’s what it felt like. My father was never going to return and finish the car. I couldn’t do it by myself. It was serving no purpose sitting in the garage, defunct. So what was the big deal?

I couldn’t settle on an answer. Something inside me just wouldn’t let it go. The best I could do was to come out, after almost an hour, and be civil.

Derek was in the kitchen, leaning up against the counter, facing my door when I exited my bedroom. When I appeared, he made no move, no comment. There was no change in expression. He simply stared.