12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

M y phone alarm buzzed for the third time that morning. Unable to stay in bed any longer or I would be late, I sat up. As I checked my phone, I confirmed that Ryker had texted me the night before and wanted to hang out at his house for a bit after school. I hadn't hung out with just him in what seemed like forever, and I was looking forward to it— as long as he doesn't talk about my dating life. Things were different with him. We had never been more disconnected from each other before, and I missed him.

"Emma?" Mary called from the hallway.

"Yes, I am up!" I answered, as she opened my door.

"Good morning, Emma. I wanted to let you know that I'm heading to the shop."

"Okay," I said as I sat up and pulled the tangled blankets and sheets from around me.

"Also, I noticed you haven't finished going through your parents' things, and I wondered if you were okay, if there was anything you wanted to talk about." She locked eyes with me— her voice hopeful, her eyes worried. I noticed she was twisting her hands around each other.

I shook my head, no . What is she hinting at?

"No, I'm okay; I guess I kind of forgot because of school," I replied, finally freeing myself from the blankets' restraints and climbing out of the bed. I felt like the worst daughter. How could I just forget about all their priceless things like that? Shad shows up, and I blow them off? I stopped myself and looked at Mary as she began to speak.

"No, Emma, that is great. I'm glad you are having a more normal year. I just wondered; that's all. Take as long as you like." She smiled, said goodbye, and walked down the hall. I told myself that I had not forgotten about them, just been a little distracted. That thought made my guilt less sharp. I stood up and tried to find something to wear.

Once I found my clothes, which took all of five minutes, I stared at my dresser, where I had placed the box of letters my father had written to my mother. Looking at the clock on my nightstand, I noted that I had an extra ten minutes. I opened the lid of the box and pulled out the next letter. Again, it was old, and the envelope was faded.

My Dearest Ara,

The time we have spent apart, while I have been searching for home, has been horrible. How will I go on? We move from town to town and are still unable to find it. I worry that we may never, and yet, I have such sweet hope in you, in us. I do wish to be home—however, every night, as I stare out into the stars, I realize that I have everything under them, not in them, and I am grateful for it. Ryker thinks we should come back to you soon, and I agree. I hope you and Mary are well.

All my love,

Lamont

Ryker? I flipped the paper over, wondering if a date was posted on the letter somewhere. Perhaps, it is not such an old letter, and yet, why would Ryker be with my father, alone, looking for something? Were they looking for a house to buy? A house where they previously lived? If so, why was it not where it was when they lived in it? And again, why was Ryker there? How could he have been there? There was no mention of me, only of Mary. That made me wonder if I had not yet been born. Then Ryker couldn't have been there. I stared at the paper in complete and total confusion as the ten minutes I had to spare before school ran out, and I had to leave.

Shad explained the math assignment to me for most of the period, and while I loved how he scooted his chair so close to mine so that they almost touched and that when he leaned over my work I could smell his scent of mint and leather, I also felt like an idiot because math and I seemed to continue our hate of each other, and I hated that Shad saw that weakness of mine. Every time our fingers brushed or our shoulders touched, jolts flowed through my body, and I tried to calm myself down, but I was finding it extremely difficult with that song I had created for Shad blaring in my head, ever on repeat. I really felt like I was losing it. Shad chuckled as if he could sense my internal struggle.

"Here, let me show you." He took his pencil, sketched out the problem, graphing the equation in just one minute. I leaned back in my chair, frustrated.

"Well, easy for you without the song playing over and over; I can barely think in here," I said, irritated and tapping my head. Shad looked at me, and I clasped a hand over my mouth.

"Song? Are you listening to music or something?" he asked, confused as he looked at my ears.

I tried to think of something, anything, to say that could explain my stupid words.

"Uh, no, I mean, no music. I just have a song I heard this morning stuck in my head, and I cannot get it out." I shrugged, giving myself a mental pat on the back for that one . Good job, Emma , I smiled, extremely proud.

"What song?" he asked, moving dangerously close to me. I groaned inwardly. Of course, he would be curious.

"Oh, that is the thing; I cannot remember the name or the words, just the melody and harmony."

Shad's eyebrows rose; his lips puckered as if in curious thought. "Hum it," he requested, pulling away and crossing his arms across his chest. "If, in fact, this song is keeping you from grasping this equation, let me help you." He looked extremely amused, and it irritated me, because I was trying not to look like an idiot, and he seemed not to get the memo.

"Oh, no, really—you don't have to do that. I am not a good singer, and I have no tone, so you wouldn't even know the song; plus, I just think it isn't that important. Not like music isn't important or the song in general—because it is. I mean, it is important to me, but I think that, well—" I closed my mouth, forcing the words to stop.

Shad chuckled, "I love that."

"What?"

"Love it when you explain things. No one talks quite like you."

"You mean unable to speak coherently?"

"No–say what you think, when you think it. You are honest."

I stared at him as the bell rang, and students shuffled around us, packing up their bags and heading to the cafeteria for lunch. The metal chairs screeched on the floor, backpacks zipped, the chatter of hungry teenagers was all drowned out as I stared into his eyes. The next moment, however, he broke the connection and stood, putting his things inside his backpack. I quickly followed his example and gathered up my things. He stood there waiting at the door, and as I placed my backpack over my shoulders, I watched him smile at me, then walk out the door, backward, to keep his eyes on me for a little while longer; then I watched as he waved, turned around, and was lost in the crowd of students shuffling down the hallway.

"So, we are still on for today, right?" Ryker asked, sliding next to me at the lunch table.

I looked up at him and nodded, not able to control the crazy thoughts spinning around in my brain. How had Ryker been in that letter? It wasn't possible. Maybe my father had another friend named Ryker? Although that was a possibility, I was not shoving aside the truth: Ryker was not a common name. "Of course," I said quickly.

"Awesome," he returned, placing a cold hand on my shoulder. I tried to be nonchalant about the chill that ran down my arm at his touch. I frowned because his touch was still not warm and comforting.

"What's today?" Sam asked, as he tossed his sack lunch onto the table and sat down across from us. He was soon followed by more football players, and I had to admit, I was not super into sitting with such a large crowd. I did remind myself of operation make-everyone-think-I-am-fine and made a point to smile at each of them and give a little wave.

"Oh, Emma has been waiting all week to hang out with yours truly. Sorry about all of my practices getting in the way." He winked in my direction as he put his cool arm around me.

Honestly? I didn't miss you as much as I usually do. Sorry, Ryker. Shad is filling my thoughts twenty-four-seven. Speaking of which, where is Shad? I tried to peer over the table to look toward the cafeteria doors. Maybe I would catch him walking in. You just saw him last period, Emma. Chill out.

"My dad is out for the night," Ryker said a little too loudly, and I just nodded because I knew his dad worked a lot. I looked around the table for Ash. As I did, I noticed that the guys all looked at Ryker and gave him head tilts, high-fives, and fist bumps as if he had just won the championship game. Puzzled, I took a bite of my sandwich.

"So what are you guys going to do ?" one dark-haired boy asked with a smirk.

Another guy with brown hair punched his shoulder and said: "Du-ude!"

"We are just going to hang at his house," I said, irritated. Do we have to sit with the football team? Ryker squeezed my knee, and I looked at him.

His eyes locked onto mine, as if to say: I am sorry about them.

I smiled my fake, warm smile, that he knew meant: you owe me . I looked up, finally seeing Ash as she bounced into the seat beside Sam with her customary gleaming smile.

"Hey guys." I watched as the football players looked her over. She looked at her lunch, oblivious to their stares.

"Hey," Sam said to her. "You are in my science class, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am," Ash said, taking a bite out of her classic PB it had been way too long.

As I walked out the door, I bumped into Shad who stood just outside, blocking most of the opening.

He turned, and his golden eyes met mine, and I tried not to smile the biggest smile I owned because that would be creepy, wouldn't it? We stared at each other, the song yet again drowning out the noise of students walking and talking in the hallway beyond.

"Have any plans this weekend?" he asked as we made it out of the door. He looked hopeful.

"Yeah, I'm hanging out with Ryker this weekend. You?"

His hopeful expression faded away, and he spoke: "Hanging out with Keil, then work. Have a good weekend. See you on Monday." I watched him as he walked away from me until he faded into the crowd of students, rushing to get home.

"Ready?"

I jumped when I saw Ryker suddenly at my side, smiling at me. What is wrong with me? Why am I so spastic? "Yep," I said in irritation.

Ryker chuckled and grabbed my hand as he led me through students in the parking lot to the sidewalk. I tried to ignore the feeling of his hand in mine, tried to ignore how his touch was not as cold this time as it was earlier, and yet not the same at all, especially if compared to the jolt within Shad's touch. I tried not to compare, but it was difficult not to when the feelings were so different, and Shad obviously won. We walked down the street, leading to our neighborhood: mine, Ryker's, and Shad's.

"So–my dad isn't home, so we will have some privacy."

"Okay, yeah. I heard you at lunch, but why do we need privacy?" I raised my eyebrows.

"I don't know. I haven't seen you in a while?" he shrugged.

"Okay, so what are we going to do?"

"Watch a movie?" he asked.

"Another movie, really—don't you get tired of that? That is what we did for two weeks straight after you got home from your trip."

"What? I thought you liked watching movies with me." He gave me a pouty bottom lip.

I shoved his shoulder. "No, I tolerate watching movies with you because I love you."

He stopped walking and looked into my eyes, his face suddenly very serious.

"What?" I asked, confused.

He shook his head and smiled at me "Thanks, Em. I love you, too," he whispered reverently.

"Okay, fine, Ry—I will watch a movie with you, just as long as it's not a horror movie."

"Yeah, no, of course not," he assured me. We walked through his front door and down the hall, reaching the bedroom opposite where mine would have been in my house. Ryker grabbed the door handle and turned to me. "I just want to warn you a little that well—" he stopped and ran a hand across his face in irritation. "I have been doing some research, and don't think I am crazy, okay?"

"Okay. What class of yours already has a project? Are we watching the movie in your room? You are acting weird," I added, thinking there could be nothing else that could shock me. He nodded, not answering my questions and opened the door. I walked inside, still confused.

His room was large and spacious because he had very few furnishings: one twin size bed, one small dresser, and one desk on the opposite wall. I knew his room well; however, there was a new addition. The entire large expanse of the wall, where the desk stood, was covered, floor to ceiling, with papers. I gawked, surprised—for the hundredth time that day.

Wait, is Ryker one of those stalker-killer types from the horror movies? It would have been hard not to gawk when I felt like I had just stepped into a scary movie.

"Okay, so I know, it is a bit much, but there is something about having all my research in one place and being able to always see it."

I nodded because that was all I could do. I looked at a piece of paper which was the beginning of a timeline with dates blacked out. "What is this?" I pointed to the paper.

"I was mapping out any previous attempts."

"Attempts?"

"Uh, yeah." He looked at his feet and shuffled.

"What is this, Ry?" I asked, moving down the wall to news clippings of car crashes. I stopped when I saw news clippings from that night, the night my world changed. I froze as I felt the old, and nearly forgotten about, snake coil inside of me once again, restricting my breathing, and I gasped, clutching at my heart. No–no I do not want to go back, back to that existence which once had been mine without a beating, feeling heart. It had been so long, it seemed, since I had felt that deep, sorrowful and painful presence inside of me. I wanted to scream and find a knife to cut it out of me.

"Are you okay, Em?" he asked, holding my elbow before I fell over.

Good thinking there, Ry.

"Ry, what is this—" I ordered rather than asking, my voice shaking.

"I know your parents were murdered, Em."

I looked at him, and his eyes pleaded with me to listen, to not run away. Murdered?

Murdered—

Murdered—

Murdered—

The word echoed inside of my head over and over again. I repeated it so many times that it started to sound strange, started to sound like it was something else entirely. No, it isn't possible; it was a hit and run, most likely a big semi-truck that didn't notice us . I looked at him, wanting to know more about what he knew, of what he had learned—and yet, not wanting to know anything at all.

"What?" I said almost speechless.

"It doesn't make sense what happened, how it happened—" he ran fingers through his hair as he shook his head.

I looked the entire wall over, searching.

"Did you talk to the police?" I asked as I sat down in his desk chair, still trying to wrap my head around all he was telling me. My parents' deaths were murder?

"Yes, I started with them first, and it was weird. They couldn't say what happened." He pulled out a notebook and turned to a page. He held it up to show me in the light. There, I could see a sketch of a man. He reminded me of someone–I looked harder and realized I had seen that man before, but where?

Suddenly, my mind took me back, back to the day I hated more than any other day in my life. The car was spinning upside down. It had made its final flip, and I woke up for just a second to see my dad dangling in front of me, bleeding out to the clicks and ticks of his watch. I took in a breath as my memory went blank. Then, as I thought I would open my eyes and see that I was in Ryker's bedroom again, I was still in the car, and the blood was still splattering on that stupid watch, and I gasped for breath, and my neck hurt, and my leg felt wet and sticky.

I looked at my father, and his eyes opened. He? said, "Emma, I am so sorry," before his eyes slid closed, and I screamed as blackness surrounded me, and I begged it to stop, begged it to pull me to Ryker, but again, I opened my eyes, still seeing my dead father, but that time, I also heard voices.

"Yep, all dead. It's confirmed." I saw a boot kick the side of my dad's car door. I screamed and called out for help. A few moments later, there was a hand reaching for me, and I took it. A face appeared—that face with black eyes and black hair, his nose crooked as if someone had punched him in the face and it had never healed properly.

"You okay, Emma? Hold on," the voice asked.

"Help," I croaked. I watched as he somehow got my side of the car door open. Loud scraping and sawing pierced my ears, like the cries of demons. I kept going in and out of consciousness. Then a hand, again reaching inside, unbuckled me, held me, and pulled me from the car. That man set me down on the ground and wrapped his jacket around me.

"The police will be here soon, Emma. Try to stay calm, alright?" he said, rubbing his hands over his coat to keep me from shivering .

"Okay," I said in complete shock. "Okay."

I snapped back, and I was in Ryker's room, and he was staring at me.

"Emma?" he asked me, worry in his eyes.

"Ryker, this man didn't kill my parents. He saved my life."

"One of the policemen saw him flee the scene and tried to call out to him, but he drove off."

"He helped me. He didn't do it," I said, pushing the picture away.

"But that night you told me you saw someone, someone who maybe hit your car."

I didn't remember that, and I was shocked that the sketch brought back a memory I didn't know I possessed.

"Are you okay?" Ryker whispered beside me.

"I remembered. I had a flashback; my therapist said that can happen."

"Emma, I am so sorry." Ryker moved to sit on the desk.

"So what are you going to do now?" I asked, trying to gather my thoughts, but there were too many.

"I need to find him, figure out who he is exactly."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I've talked to some friends. Even if it wasn't this man, maybe he saw someone. He is the best lead, and he was there first."

"Friends?"

"Private investigators—and stuff—don't worry about it. The point is that I will figure out who he is, and I will give your parents justice."

I nodded, because I was still too shocked by all of it to really think about saying anything.

He motioned for me to sit on the bed, and I followed him because I was so shaky from the memory of that face, and my father's face, that I could barely breathe, let alone stand for much longer.

"Ry," I said, falling back against the bed. I felt a shift in the mattress as Ryker lay down beside me. I turned to him, and he tucked me to his side, stroking my back, and the warmth that his touch sent through me at that moment seemed right and wonderful. I buried my head into his chest, trying to stop myself from crying. He kissed the top of my head and lifted my face up to look at him.

"You sure you're okay? I feel like a horrible person for just springing that on you. I didn't mean to," he whispered, his voice low and deep. I could feel the reverberation coming from his chest.

"I don't know if I will ever be okay ," I answered truthfully.

He nodded—because what else was there to say?

Instead of going downstairs, Ryker turned a movie on in his room. It was a musical about princesses and princes and happily-ever-afters, and he only watched it because he said there was a knight in it, too. I threw a pillow at his face.

"What I am telling you is that knights are clearly the best," he smiled his boyish smile, and I laughed. It felt so good, although it was forced.

"Ryker, I read one of my parent's old letters from before I was born. My dad knew someone named Ryker. How is that possible?"

Ryker shifted a little. "My dad's name is also Ryker."

"I thought his name was John."

"Well, that is his real first name, but his middle name is Ryker, and he used to go by it until I was born. You knew our parents were friends, right?" Ryker asked, as if I was crazy for not knowing.

But I hadn't known—I had never known that.

"I mean, come on, Emma. It's not just because of our friendship that our families were friends. We always went on vacations together, after all. I'm also your next door neighbor. Maybe that's something you forgot because of the crash."

That was true; our families had often gone on the same vacations, but I couldn't remember much, even when I tried to think about it. I remembered the pictures in my room, talking about the fun we had, but memories? I didn't have them. How long will my memories be repressed? Will the pain from my tragedy keep blocking them?

I nodded. "Yeah, makes sense; I just didn't realize your dad went by Ryker."

"Yep, now let's see this knight in action. I am sure once you get into the movie, you will discover knights are by far more preferable to princes," he said, moving to press play, his messy blond curls falling to the side of his face. During those two weeks before school started when we had watched too many movies, we had a constant, playful argument over whether knights were superior or if princes were. I guess, reminding him when I was younger that I would rather marry a prince than a knight always irritated him. But I was drawn to the prince in most of the movies we watched that had a fantasy element.

I rolled my eyes and threw another pillow at his face. I wasn't sure how long we lay there, but I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up to darkness and a snoring Ryker beside me, I sat up.

"Emma?" I looked to the door where Ryker's dad stood, confusion in his gaze. Ryker groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Hey, dad, what's up?" he asked, pulling me down back to the bed and wrapping his arms around me, his face in my hair.

"Why is Emma Warren in your bed , son?" His voice was firm, and I wanted to be invisible.

"We fell asleep."

"Obviously, son, but—"

"Dad, seriously?"

"Just take her home, and do not do this again. You are both way too young to be having—" I pulled myself from Ryker's arms and jumped to the side of the bed.

"No, sir, fully dressed. It was completely innocent," I said. My face had to have been red.

"Ryker?"

"As much as I'd love to tell you something else happened—"

I glared at him as he chuckled.

"Emma is not lying, dad; nothing happened. We really did just fall asleep."

His dad nodded as if he finally believed us. "Well, hurry up, and get her home. It's late, and I'd hate for her aunt to worry."

"If she is with me, Mary won't care," Ryker grunted.

His dad looked as if that was hard to believe. I didn't know why Ryker was acting so strange. "Just take her home, son." His dad then walked out of the room.

"Ryker!" I whispered in anger.

He laughed.

"What? It's fun to mess with him, sometimes." His smile was wide—his blue eyes flashing in the low light of the hallway. He rubbed his eyes and yawned again, his t-shirt wrinkled from the nap. He was so different from Shad.

"I don't want people to think that about me," I said.

"Don't worry, Emma. He knows nothing happened."

He walked to the edge of the bed where I stood, holding out his hand. I didn't take it.

"What was all that about—you wishing something did happen?" I asked, confused. He merely shrugged and grabbed my hand with his, and he pulled me from the room. We walked downstairs and through the front door, hearing his dad call out a goodbye.

As we reached my house, I opened the door with Ryker trailing behind me. I realized Mary wasn't home yet. Ryker turned on the hall light.

"She's not off yet," I said sadly, not wanting to be alone.

"Do you want me to stay until she gets here?" he asked, scratching the side of his neck. I didn't say anything. I didn't want to be alone. He made his way to the living room, and I watched him make himself comfortable on my couch. "We could watch another movie?" he asked, looking back at me. I walked around him, moving to the opposite end of the couch, not wanting Mary to find us all wrapped up together like Ryker's dad had, if I fell asleep again. Ryker's brow rose in a question as he watched me.

"What? I'm not doing a repeat of what we just went through at your house."

He laughed. "I'm not going to do anything, Em."

"You're my best friend, Ry. I know that." His face twitched for a moment as if he didn't like what I'd just said, and I didn't fully understand what could have been wrong with my statement.

He finally shrugged, and then he turned on the sports' highlights. I lost interest; my head was reeling with so many questions, so many thoughts. The face of that man was seared into my brain, an image I could not get out of my head.

The car was turned upside down, and the watch on my father's lifeless wrist ticked, counting down each second that blood dripped onto its clock face. I tried not to vomit and turned to my left to see black boots and hear a voice. "Yeah, both dead. You guys are real idiots, making such a mess." Another pair of boots entered my vision. "I will clean this up. Go. At least, she is still alive; they don't really matter—" A face peered into the window with black hair, a perfect symmetrical face, other than a crooked nose.

I screamed.

"Emma,"

I heard a masculine voice whisper into my ear, and I fought to keep the man off me. What does he want? He knows I didn't die. Why did he spare me and leave my parents for dead? What did he want with me? I panted and clawed at the voice trying to sooth me. "Emma, it's me, Ryker. You are dreaming."

I opened my eyes and saw blond hair, blue eyes, and I started to cry.

"It's him, Ryker, I saw him—that night. He kept me alive on purpose. He only wanted them dead."

Ryker held me as I cried into his shoulder and shivered at his cold embrace.

"What—?" he pulled away from me, searching my face.

"It was him. You were right. He did help me, and he was irritated by the mess, but he didn't care that my parents were dead," I cried out and buried my face into Ryker's chest. "Why would anyone want them dead?"

"I will find him; I won't let him ever hurt you again." As he said it, I wanted to believe it, to beg the universe to believe it with me and make it come true. But somehow, with that man's face in the forefront of my mind, I knew that before long, he would hurt me again. I just didn't know how or why or when.