Run to You Part Six: Sixth Sense

Run to You Part Six: Sixth Sense Clara Kensie Part Six in the riveting romantic thriller about a family on the run from a deadly past and a first love that will transcend secrets, lies and danger…To save Tessa's brother and sister, she and Tristan must deceive the entire town. But if their plan succeeds, Tessa will have to make an unbearable choice between her siblings and her true love. And when her nightmares become real, she may lose it all–her family, her boyfriend and even her life. Part Six in the riveting romantic thriller about a family on the run from a deadly past and a first love that will transcend secrets, lies and danger... To save Tessa’s brother and sister, she and Tristan must deceive the entire town. But if their plan succeeds, Tessa will have to make an unbearable choice between her siblings and her true love. And when her nightmares become real, she may lose it all—her family, her boyfriend and even her life. Run to You Part VI: Sixth Sense Clara Kensie www.miraink.co.uk (http://www.miraink.co.uk) Dedication (#ulink_41563071-9be4-5467-9945-91bb3e5e57dc) To K Contents Cover (#u3f6fd93e-1d73-59be-963f-980624a1ad4c) Back Cover Text (#u1f036ed9-3c7c-528c-b341-09a8ed9e2dbd) Title Page (#u1d6075e9-f738-51a1-b759-0602e5d8a7b5) Dedication (#u57b06cd1-3061-51a1-8c58-92564bb04dca) Chapter Thirty-Seven (#u348b9c3d-3de7-56d7-bebf-b4c69ccbe136) Chapter Thirty-Eight (#u11717c31-58fc-5f2e-932c-f88d8359888d) Chapter Thirty-Nine (#u437bb1c1-c74b-5683-aa1d-568ee81c9f87) Chapter Forty (#uf33f8401-bcf9-570a-9789-0e8b41d09bec) Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Forty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Forty-Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Forty-Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Forty-Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Forty-Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Forty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Forty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Forty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifty-Three (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifty-Four (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifty-Five (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifty-Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo) Playlist (#litres_trial_promo) Q & A with Clara Kensie (#litres_trial_promo) About the Author (#litres_trial_promo) Excerpt from Foretold (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirty-Seven (#ulink_a59d1a72-229e-525a-8901-b9abe5e89e9d) The wind howled around me as I knelt in the dirt of Lady Elke’s cluttered shed, watching Tristan leave. His shadow stretching long, he trudged across the littered yard without looking back. All he had ever wanted to do was to keep me safe, but he couldn’t. He thought he’d failed me, that he would always fail me. But I was the one who had failed him. On shaking legs, I forced myself up and out of the shed, away from that little house with silver walls. I shuffled across the yard to the gravel driveway, where Tristan stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, head down, as Kellan lectured him. He wouldn’t lift his head to look at me. A black rental car sat next to Tristan’s blue one. Melanie sat in the back of the black car, huddling under a blanket. She wouldn’t look at me either. I needed to get Jillian’s ballet slipper and Logan’s sheet music back. They weren’t anywhere in the yard, so I pushed against the wind to Lady Elke’s house and slipped inside. Silent, shadowed and empty. Kellan’s guards must have already headed back to the APR with her. I found the ballet shoe and sheet music on the kitchen floor. Above them, a drawer was open, and it was full of silver. Utensils, ladles, spatulas. And knives. Lots of knives. They glittered and glimmered, sparkled and glowed. I slammed the drawer shut. Then I tucked the ballet shoe and the sheet music into the pocket of Tristan’s hoodie and went back outside. Time to face Tristan. He was still standing at the car with Kellan. “She had a vision of the nightmare Tessa has every night, and then she made it come true,” he said as I approached. “Her eye turned black, just like in Tessa’s nightmare. She said Tessa was tarnished. Tainted. She wanted to make her pay for what her parents did.” I nodded. I couldn’t disagree. That was exactly what had happened. “What’s going to happen to her?” I asked Kellan. “That woman is obviously an extremely wise and gifted psychic,” he said, “but she tried to kill my niece. We can’t risk her losing control like that again. She’s headed for the Underground.” “Please don’t neutralize her,” I begged. “She can find my brother and sister. She was about to tell us where they were.” Kellan snorted. “All inmates are neutralized, Miss Carson. I can’t do anything about it.” Frustration and despair roared in my ears. Once again, I’d come so close to finding Jillian and Logan, and they’d slipped away. “That’s not fair,” I said. “Nothing you do is fair. Our lives were in jeopardy today, but you didn’t shoot to kill. You only tranquilized her. If you find my brother and sister, you don’t have to kill them. Tranquilize them if you have to, but don’t kill them. Please.” He stared at me, speechless. I stared back, knowing my point was valid. Hypocrite, I shouted at him silently. Then the cool hardness returned to his face. “I am not a hypocrite. I didn’t use deadly force on that woman because I had a clean shot from behind.” He walked around the car to the driver’s side. “Your brother and sister used their psychokinesis to fly Aaron Jacobs’ car off a cliff. They can kill with the power of their minds, just like your mother. They are far more dangerous than a crazy old psychic with a knife. Make no mistake—if I feel my life, my agents’ lives, or the lives of any innocent bystanders are in jeopardy, I will shoot to kill.” Now I was the one left speechless. And hopeless. Tristan just shook his head. “You’re right, Tessa,” he muttered, “but you’ll never change his mind.” Kellan slid into the car. “I’m flying Melanie home. You two are on your own. Take a different plane, drive back, don’t come back at all, I don’t care. I don’t want either of you anywhere near my niece.” He slammed the door shut and peeled off, leaving us alone under the darkening sky. Behind us, Lady Elke’s house stood empty. The shed sat off to the side, the door off its hinges, walls dented and sagging. As we watched, it moaned, creaked and finally collapsed in on itself in a cacophony of screaming wood and clanging metal. The clatter echoed, and from far away, a dog howled. “The little house with silver walls is gone now,” I said. “Your mom’s dream happened. I survived.” “Barely,” Tristan mumbled. He kept his head down and leaned against the car. “Tristan, I’m sorry.” I pressed into his chest, but he didn’t put his arms around me. “I don’t mean to make you feel like a failure.” “I’m trying to keep you safe.” His gaze, cold as the wind that whipped at my cheeks, was fixed on a brown patch of dirt on the ground. “But I can’t. Even when my premonitions work and you don’t ignore them, I still can’t keep you safe.” He whirled around, kicking the car’s back tire. “Kellan had to save you today. Kellan.” He said his name like it tasted bad in his mouth. “I did a stupid, reckless, irresponsible thing today,” I said. “But it’s not your job to keep me safe.” He looked at me then, just a glimpse, then back to the dirt. He swallowed hard, then whispered, “You fell in love with me because I made you feel safe.” The pain in his voice and the wounded look on his face made something break inside me. Being a hero was how he defined himself, and I’d taken that from him. “I don’t love you because of your warning premonitions,” I said. “I love you because your eyes are so incredibly blue and because your hair turns gold in the sun. Because you have broad shoulders and strong arms and you let me wear your hoodies every day. And that’s only the little things. You’re kind and smart and supportive and respectful. All you have to do to make me feel safe is put your arms around me. That’s why I love you, Tristan.” He said nothing. Just stood there, stiff, and stared at that patch of dirt. I’d hurt him so much that not even my expression of love could make it better. “You’re not failing me,” I said. “You could never fail me. But I failed you. I came into your life and I ruined it. You lost Melanie because of me. You lost Nathan because of me. And my parents...” My heart pumped my tainted, tarnished blood through my veins. “I’m Killers’ Spawn, Tristan. I don’t deserve your love.” At that, he melted. The anger in his eyes, the tightness in his face, the tension in his shoulders. “Lady Elke saw your nightmare and called you Killers’ Spawn,” he murmured, taking a lock of my hair in his fingers. “She got that from you.” I nodded, and now I stared at the patch of dirt on the ground. “Tainted blood. Tarnished blood. She got all of that from you. Is that how you really feel? Is that why you think you don’t deserve my love?” Shame and despair crawled up into my throat and blocked my words, and I could only nod. Now, finally, finally, he put his arms around me, pulled me close. “You have wildflower eyes. Your hair is the color of honey. You slide your hands into your sleeves. You pick the green peppers from your salad. You wear my hoodies every day. And that’s only the little things. You stand up to Kellan and the Lab Brats. You’ll do anything to find your brother and sister. You’ve been through so much, but you get up every morning and you fight. You’re amazing, Tessa. You more than deserve my love. You are my heart. You are my soul.” “But my parents—” He kissed me. It tasted like love. “I don’t care about your parents,” he said. “I only care about us. You and me.” “Us. You and me,” I repeated, and for just a moment, my heart stopped pumping my killers’ blood through my veins, and instead it echoed in rhythm: Thump. Thump-th-thump. Even the Nightmare Eyes dimmed. We stayed like that, me pressed against his chest and breathing him in, and he holding me tight, until the sky turned dark and it was just the two of us, under the stars. Chapter Thirty-Eight (#ulink_a05c84e4-4a3a-5b0e-99c8-2a72af4b5a73) “How dare you.” Those were the words Deirdre used to greet me when Tristan and I returned to the Connellys’ house as the sun rose the next morning. She stood in the foyer, hair a mess of copper, arms crossed, lips curved down. “I gave you one rule to follow, Tessa. One. Stay in Lilybrook,” she said. “And what did you do, the first chance you had? You left Lilybrook.” So this was it. I’d disregarded Deirdre’s premonition. Disobeyed her orders. I’d left town, and in doing so, I had almost gotten her son killed. Dennis and Tristan had already risked their lives for me, and now Tristan had to do it again. Tristan and I had finally reconciled, but Deirdre was going to tell me to leave, to get out and never come back, just like my mother had done. “How dare you make me worry like that?” She grabbed both Tristan and me in a hug so tight I could barely breathe. “I was frantic.” “I—” I mumbled into her chest. “You’re not kicking me out?” “Kick you out?” she said, still holding me tight. “Tessa, no. I’m upset that you deceived us, but I understand how desperate you are to find your siblings. But honey, you cannot leave Lilybrook again. We can’t risk my dream happening.” “Mom, it did happen,” Tristan chuckled. “Your dream came true.” “What? How?” She released us, then put her hands on my shoulders and looked me up and down. “Kellan told us a crazy woman tried to attack you with a knife. He didn’t say anything about a little house with silver walls.” As Tristan and I gave Deirdre a slightly sanitized version of yesterday’s events, Dennis and Ember came downstairs. They listened breathlessly, Deirdre and Ember with their hands over their mouths in shock the whole time. “That lady had a vision of your nightmare and attacked you?” Ember asked, her face white. Miserably, I nodded, and Dennis frowned. When we got to the part about Lady Elke barging through the shed’s door, Ember squeezed Lyric so tight that he hissed and bolted away, and Deirdre grabbed me again, crushing me to her chest. When we finished, Dennis rubbed his chin. “So the shed was the little house,” he concluded. “The tools on the wall were the silver.” “The tools were the silver?” Deirdre furrowed her brow. “Well, I’m just relieved it’s over. Now we need to get you to stop having that nightmare, Tessa. It’s a lot more serious than I thought.” I nodded. There was nothing I wanted more than to stop having my nightmare. Except for finding Jillian and Logan and bringing them back here, safe. And now that I no longer had to worry about Deirdre’s dream of little houses with silver walls, I was free to leave Lilybrook to get them. * * * That afternoon, I held tight to Tristan’s hand as I rang the doorbell to Aaron Jacobs’ house. In my other hand, I held a bouquet of balloons in all different colors, each of them printed with Get Well Soon. The healers who had flown out to Ringgold, Colorado, to treat Aaron after his plunge off the cliff had worked fast, stealthily healing him enough to transport him back to Lilybrook within a few days. Now he was back home with his parents and a rotating crew of APR healers and physicians on hand to treat him. Mrs. Jacobs answered the door. When she saw me, a little wrinkle formed between her eyebrows. That was the only wrinkly thing about her. Her chin-length hair was polished and glossy, and her slacks and blouse were perfectly pressed. I resisted the urge to smooth my hair. “Mrs. Jacobs,” I said, gathering my courage. “We came to see Aaron. And to talk to you. Please.” She regarded us for a moment, then let us in. Everything in her house was immaculate. White and cream with straight lines and right angles. Not a speck of dust. It smelled like Lysol. My mother would love it here. “I heard about your little escapade to North Dakota,” Mrs. Jacobs said. “That was a very reckless thing to do, Tessa.” “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I know. I’m sorry.” “I’m sure you’re grateful that John Kellan was able to rescue you.” Tristan stiffened beside me, and I squeezed his hand to calm him. This was not a good time for him to get hotheaded about Kellan. “Yes, ma’am. We’re very grateful.” But my humility wasn’t good enough for her, because she continued, her expression hard and immobile as granite. “The Carson family has brought a lot of trouble and heartache to this town.” At her words, the Nightmare Eyes appeared and burned down on me from above. “Yes, we have,” I said. “What I did was wrong. And my parents...there’s no excuse for what they did. But my brother and sister didn’t mean to hurt Aaron. It was self-defense.” The wrinkle between her brows deepened by a millimeter. “I am well aware of the situation. I saw the video. I read the reports. I talked to Aaron.” “Does that mean you’ll repeal Kellan’s shoot to-kill-order?” Tristan asked. She paused for a moment, then spoke directly to me. “Your parents killed two of our investigators, Tessa. If they’d been allowed to use deadly force at that time, they’d be alive today, and so would all of the innocent people your parents killed while your family was on the run for eight years.” Her face remained motionless, except for a tiny, defiant lift of her chin. “I stand by my decision. John Kellan is allowed to use deadly force if the situation calls for it.” She was motionless, but I was crumbling. “Mrs. Jacobs, Kellan will use deadly force whether the situation calls for it or not. He doesn’t care about them. All he cares about is vengeance.” Another miniscule movement: her eyebrow raised. I thought I’d convinced her, that my plea had softened her granite resolve, but her eyebrow lowered back into place and she said, “This discussion is over, Tessa.” Tristan put his arm around me. I knew it would be useless to appeal to her, he said silently. She said the same thing to my dad. We’ll just have to find another way. Mrs. Jacobs glanced up at the balloons we’d brought. “It’s almost time for Aaron’s meds. If you’d still like to see him, you have to do it now. Come with me.” My heart sinking, we followed her to Aaron’s bedroom, which was dominated by several computers, stacks of video games, and a large flat-screen TV. The overhead lights of his bedroom were turned off, but sunlight streamed through the slats in the blinds, revealing a swollen white figure on the bed. A cotton sheet covered him up to his chest, which was wrapped in bandages, as were both arms. His face was turned away, toward the window. Only his eyes and lips were left uncovered. He looks even worse than I thought he would, I flashed to Tristan. He’s just a pile of white bandages. He’s still a thousand times better than if he didn’t have psionic healers working on him. “You have two minutes,” Mrs. Jacobs said, then left. “Hi, Aaron.” The cheer in my voice was forced. “Welcome back.” I tied the balloons to the handle on his nightstand drawer. Aaron didn’t acknowledge me or the balloons. He didn’t move. Underneath all of Aaron’s bandages were lacerations and burns. The healers were able to heal his lacerations, but most of his burns were so bad that he would always be scarred. Above me, the Nightmare Eyes burned through my blood. But no matter how much I burned, it was nothing compared to the burns that Aaron was suffering. No matter how much I hated the scars my mother had carved into my belly, they were nothing compared to the burn scars Aaron would have on over sixty percent of his body. My brother and sister had done this to him. But so had I. I had given him that final clue to Ringgold, Colorado. And I had encouraged his crush on Jillian, used it to motivate him to find her. A lump formed in my throat and I had to give up the cheerful act. “Aaron?” I choked. “Aaron, I am so, so sorry.” No reply. The only thing that moved were his eyelashes, down, then up. “Jillian and Logan, they didn’t know you were trying to help them,” I said. “If they knew, they never would have...” I couldn’t finish the sentence. No reply. Just another blink as he looked out the window. “When—if,” I corrected myself, because I was losing faith that there would be a when, “If I find Jillian, I’ll tell her how smart you are. How talented. I’ll bring her to meet you and—” Aaron flinched, then exhaled, muttering something. Five syllables. “What was that?” I asked. “You...” he inhaled. “Are...” he stopped, recovered, then dragged in another breath. “Killers’ ...Spawn.” A vise clamped around my heart as Tristan went rigid. “Hey, man. That’s not fair.” “Aaron, please.” My heart shred into tiny pieces. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Slowly, Aaron turned his head to face me, and I was one hundred percent certain that his eyes had turned Nightmare black. But they weren’t. They were still brown. Aaron wasn’t feeding upon my nightmare, on my shame and grief and despair. Aaron hated me on his own accord. And for some reason, that was even worse. * * * Back in the Connellys’ guest room, I sat on the bed with Tristan’s laptop on my knees. Mac lay at my feet, thumping his tail occasionally, and Marmalade was perched in her spot on top of the bookcase. The only good thing that had happened today was finding out that the APR’s board of directors had put Nathan on probation for blocking Tristan’s premonitions, and he would be fired if he bothered me, or Tristan, ever again. But my blood still burned from Aaron’s rebuke as I clicked on another website. “Here’s a used car dealership in Warrenville,” I said, and called out its phone number to Tristan. He dialed, then paced the room with his phone to his ear. Before Lady Elke had fed upon my nightmare and gone crazy, she’d told us that Jillian and Logan were driving in a new car. “He doesn’t like this new car,” she’d said. “It’s too small. The RV had more space.” So, sometime soon after their visit to Lady Elke, my siblings had gotten rid of their RV and purchased a new car. It was a tiny lead. We didn’t know what kind of car, or what color, or if they’d bought it at a dealership or through a private sale. But our appeal to Beverly Jacobs had failed, so that tiny lead was our only hope of finding Jillian and Logan before Kellan did. Now Tristan and I were contacting car dealerships in North Dakota one by one, asking if they recalled two teenagers buying a car with cash. There was a soft knock on my door frame. Deirdre, her copper hair falling over a sweatshirt painted with little upside-down handprints. In childish writing it read, Best Teacher Hands Down! “Tessa, can I talk to you?” she asked. “Alone?” I shot Tristan a message—what’s this about?—but he just shrugged. He gathered his notes and laptop, and kissed me before departing to his room. Mac padded after him, and Marmalade jumped onto the bed and mewed. Deirdre sat next to me, and I tried not to stiffen when she tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. But she must have noticed, because she sighed and pulled away. “When you got back from North Dakota this morning, you asked if I was going to kick you out. Do you really think I would do that?” “I did for a second,” I admitted. She took my chin in her hand and made me look at her. “You will always have a home here, Tessa. Always.” “But—” “When you find Jillian and Logan, they will have a home here too.” “But our parents—” “Your parents tried to kill Dennis. They wanted to kill Tristan. They hurt a lot of people.” I pulled away, hung my head, but she grabbed my chin again. “Your parents did those things,” she said. “Not you.” Logically, I knew that. I understood that. But they were my parents. Their blood pumped through my veins with every beat of my heart. Shame and grief, hurt and despair built up inside me, growing bigger and bigger, heavier and heavier, until it burst out of me with a sob. “I’m just so...ashamed.” The word ripped itself from my throat. “That shame is what’s causing your nightmare,” Deirdre said. “A nightmare so strong that some crazy psychic with a knife fed upon it.” “But what can I do?” I cried. “How do I get rid of it? I can’t change who my parents are. I can’t change what they did. I can’t change the past.” Deirdre sighed. “Oh, Tessa. Sometimes I think the person your parents hurt the most, was you.” I lost it then. Sobs tore from my throat, one after another, and I couldn’t see past my tears. I covered my face with my hands and cried, and through my sobs, I told her everything. She already knew it, but I told her anyway. How every word from my parents’ mouths had been a lie. How my entire childhood had been a lie. How they’d allowed my brother and sister and I to live in constant fear. How my mother had flown me into the wall. How she’d sliced me open. How the scars on my stomach were nothing compared to the scars on my soul. How, just as I was ready to accept my mother back into my life, she’d rejected me when I told her I was living with Tristan. And most of all, how on that last night in Twelve Lakes, my parents had instructed Jillian and Logan to run away instead of telling them the truth, costing me the only two people in the world who could possibly understand how it felt to be so betrayed by the people we had trusted the most. Deirdre didn’t tell me to stop crying. She didn’t ask questions. She just listened. I continued to cry, and with each sob, each tear, I felt lighter, and my blood became cooler. When I finally stopped, exhausted, she wiped my tears. “You can’t change the past,” she said, “but you can let go of it. And Tessa, you can change who your parents are.” That was enough to make me sob one last time. I lay down, and slowly, put my head on her plump lap. She rested her hand on my head for a moment, then ran her fingers through my hair. My parents committed those crimes, not me. They’d hurt me just as much as they’d hurt everyone else. Maybe even more. Deirdre understood that. So did Tristan. And Dennis, and Ember. I’d lost so much, but I had gained something too. A new family. I’d started with Tristan, and then I added Dennis and Deirdre and Ember. Once I found Jillian and Logan, my new family would be complete. I fell asleep with my head on Deirdre’s lap as she stroked my hair. And when the Nightmare Eyes made their appearance in my dreams that night, they weren’t quite as black. Chapter Thirty-Nine (#ulink_ce8c6c1b-d162-5c25-b10b-074990ae2548) Dennis and Deirdre insisted that Tristan and I return to school the next day. We’d both missed a lot of school lately, they said, and until there was a lead in the search for Jillian and Logan, they expected us both to go to class every day. Dennis promised he’d continue our efforts to contact car dealerships in North Dakota and call us if he got a hit. I didn’t protest—there was something I needed to do at school. Someone I needed to talk to. I waited by Melanie’s locker before first period, but she never showed up. In the foreign language hallway before my Spanish class, I asked Ember if she knew where Melanie was. She informed me that Melanie hadn’t been to school since our trip to North Dakota. She’d also quit Lyre, Ember’s band. Poor Melanie was traumatized. I whipped out my phone and texted her my apology, six times throughout the day, but she never replied. Nathan ignored me all day. He would lose his job at the APR if he bothered me, so he didn’t even look at me. Deirdre had also insisted that straight after school, instead of going home, I go to the APR and meet her in her preschool classroom. She wanted me to start sketching a mural to paint on the classroom walls. She was babysitting me, keeping me from getting into more trouble. But I didn’t mind. If I was at the APR, I could keep my eye on Kellan to see if he’d gotten any leads on Jillian and Logan. And also, hanging out with Deirdre sounded kind of nice. The preschoolers were gone for the day by the time I got there, so Deirdre sat at one of the little round tables with her curriculum planner, while I took a pencil to the wall near the window. I would paint a mural of a garden, I decided. An oversized flower garden. Soon the walls were covered with my pencil sketches of gigantic wildflowers, an enormous rainbow and whimsical trees. And a pair of Nightmare Eyes, which I quickly turned into two giant sunflowers before they overpowered me. “Hey, Deirdre?” I said as the Nightmare Eyes burned into me anyway. “Would you mind if I took a break? Maybe I’ll go upstairs and visit Brinda. I want to see if she’ll make any more drawings for me.” “Sure, honey. When you get back, we can swing by Hawthorne’s to pick up dinner.” Humming contentedly, Deirdre resumed her project, and I left the classroom. I passed the lunchroom, where Kellan was sitting at one of the little round tables near the door, peeling an apple. Good. He was here, which meant he didn’t have a lead on Jillian and Logan. I slipped away before he noticed me. Upstairs, Brinda and her dad welcomed me to the playroom. Brinda spun around, showing off her new pink dress, which I admired with a silent clap. She gestured to her table, inviting me to sit and have tea. I sipped my invisible drink, then placed Jillian’s ballet slipper and Logan’s sheet music on the table, hoping Brinda could squeeze one more prediction from them. She didn’t look at them. Instead, she stared at me. Her gaze grew unfocused as Mr. Lakhani lifted the pail of crayons, and she dug through the crayons and pulled one out. Silver. She covered the entire paper with silver, solid and shiny, and it reflected the lights from above. But Deirdre’s dream of a silver-walled house already happened, I wanted to tell her. It’s over. I survived. But I couldn’t speak in here. She pointed to the paper and then to me, tilting her head. Oh, she was asking if her drawing had happened already. I nodded yes, then smiled to show her I was okay. Brinda wiped her forehead with her hand, miming a relieved expression. Then she tore the silver paper in two. I nudged the ballet slipper and sheet music closer to her. One more premonition, I pleaded silently. Just one. She glanced at the items and shook her head, then offered me a plastic chocolate chip cookie. Trying not to be too disappointed, I took the cookie and pretended to take a bite. Brinda sipped her tea, and her gaze landed on the ballet shoe and sheet music again. But after a millisecond, she turned away to pour more tea into her father’s cup. Mr. Lakhani took a pretend sip of the tea. I took another pretend bite of the cookie. Brinda’s gaze returned to the shoe and sheet music. This time they lingered for a full two seconds before she looked away. Come on, Brinda, I pleaded silently. One more prediction. You can do it. She daintily dabbed her mouth with napkin, then looked at the ballet shoe and sheet music again. Her gaze stuck, then very slowly, her eyes glazed over. Yes. This was it. Brinda was going to have one more premonition for me. Mr. Lakhani raised the crayon bucket. She reached inside and withdrew two crayons: one pink and one blue. With the pink, she drew a starburst at the top of the paper. With the blue, she drew a long wavy line underneath the star. She placed the ballet shoe and sheet music on top of the drawing, and with clear eyes and a definitive nod, slid it over to me. A year ago, Brinda drew twelve lakes, and my family went to Twelve Lakes, Illinois. A couple weeks ago, Brinda drew a gold ring, and Jillian and Logan went to Ringgold, Colorado. Today she drew a pink starburst and a wavy blue line. A pink starburst. A wavy blue line. I froze for a moment, then started shaking as hope, joy, elation zipped up my spine and into every nerve ending. I knew where I would find Jillian and Logan. I whipped out my phone and did a quick internet search. * * * I gave Brinda a handful of stickers and the world’s tightest hug, waved ’bye to her dad, and left the playroom with the ballet shoe, the sheet music and the drawing of the pink starburst and wavy blue line. Down on the main floor, instead of going back to Deirdre’s classroom, I went to the lunchroom. Kellan was still there, using his index finger and thumb to pop a cherry tomato into his mouth. His apple was gone, but the peel was on his paper plate, coiled up like a red snake about to strike. I skidded to a stop. Shoved Brinda’s drawing behind my back. “Whatcha got there?” Kellan said. “N-nothing,” I said. Brinda’s drawing, I thought. “A drawing from Brinda?” “No.” Yes. Kellan unfolded himself from the plastic chair and sidled to the doorway, blocking my exit. “What did she draw?” “Nothing.” Pink starburst. Wavy blue line, I thought. A star. A river. “Meaningless scribbles.” He took a step toward me. “None of Brinda’s drawings are meaningless.” A star. A river, I thought again. “This one is.” Star River. “If it’s so meaningless, why do you have it?” “Because—” Because Brinda drew Star River. “Because Brinda gave it to me as a present.” Star River I looked it up on my phone it’s a town in Texas Jillian and Logan are going to Star River, Texas. Then I gasped. “I—you aren’t reading my mind, are you?” I made pleading, innocent doe eyes at him. “Please, Mr. Kellan. Please don’t.” Star River. “Because this drawing—it doesn’t mean anything.” His lip twitched through his red beard. “No. I am not reading your mind. I don’t have time for this anyway. I’m late for something.” He pivoted on his heel and marched out. Star River, I shouted silently after him, as loud as I could. Star River, Texas! I pushed the words at him as he dashed triumphantly down the hallway at a speed just slower than a sprint. Star River! He pulled his phone from his pocket as he rounded the corner. To look up information on Star River, no doubt. Kellan was going to go to Star River, Texas. Good. That was exactly where I wanted him to go. Because that pink starburst wasn’t a star. It was a water lily. That wavy blue line wasn’t a river. It was a brook. While Kellan was hundreds of miles away in Star River to lie in wait for Jillian and Logan... Jillian and Logan would be coming to Lilybrook. * * * Less than an hour later, Tristan and I stood at his bedroom window, looking out at the sunset. In the distance, a little plane coursed past a white cloud. Tristan raised his childhood binoculars to his eyes. “Is that it?” I asked. “That’s it.” He handed me the binoculars to look for myself. I adjusted the binoculars, and...yes, there it was: a white plane, marked with NWSL in navy along the side. The APR’s plane was heading south, flying John Kellan and his team to a tiny impoverished town in Texas named Star River. “Kellan moves fast,” I said. “When he wants to.” Tristan stroked my cheek with his thumb. “You did good, Clockwise. You used Kellan’s telepathy against him.” I twisted around so I faced him, then stood on tiptoe to kiss the soft spot on his neck, right under his ear. “Did you write the email?” “All I have to do is hit send.” Holding me against him with one arm, he reached over to his computer and pressed the enter key. “Done. If any of the psychics in my database get a visit from Jillian and Logan, they’ll send them to Lilybrook.” If a teenage brother and sister come see you, the email read, tell them to go to Lilybrook, Wisconsin. Tell them they’ll be safe here, and there are people who can help them. “I just hope it works,” I said. “It will. It may not happen with the first psychic they visit, but it will happen.” “They need to get here fast. Before Kellan realizes I tricked him. He’ll realize something’s wrong when we don’t show up in Star River ourselves.” “I’ll take care of Kellan.” Dennis came in, carrying a battered leather suitcase. Deirdre stood behind him, her hand flittering nervously to her throat. “I’m going to Star River too,” Dennis continued. “I’ll tell Kellan that Deirdre refused to let you two go, so I came instead, to make sure he doesn’t harm Jillian and Logan when they get there. Heath Van der Sande is coming as my safeguard. It’s standard APR procedure, and Kellan won’t be able to get into my mind to read the truth.” He met my gaze. “We’ll stay as long as it takes, Tessa.” “You’re okay with this, Mom?” Tristan asked. “Dad going on a case? It could be dangerous. It could be stressful on his heart.” “It was her idea,” Dennis said. Deirdre gave a resigned sigh. “Retirement made your father bored and miserable.” With an open palm, she placed her hand on his chest, right over his heart. “I’d rather he be happy. Happiness is good for his heart.” Dennis put his arm around her and kissed the top of her frizzy head. Tristan strode across his room. “Thanks, Dad.” As the Connellys hugged each other goodbye, I stayed back. Then I remembered that I was part of this family too. I leapt across the bedroom and tried to wrap my arms around Tristan, Dennis and Deirdre at the same time. It didn’t work, so they opened their arms for me, and hugged me too. Chapter Forty (#ulink_dca65b40-b322-5a7c-af4c-873b48e8a761) The plan was to act like we were waiting for word from Star River that Jillian and Logan had arrived. To act nervous. Anxious. Afraid. I didn’t have to act. It had been five days since Dennis and Kellan left for Star River. Tristan kept in contact with our network of psychics around the country, and Dennis kept in contact with us. His messages were short: “Nothing happened today,” or “No activity.” The negative messages were good: it meant Kellan hadn’t caught on to our subterfuge. To keep up appearances, Tristan and I went to school, and Deirdre went to work. Every day after school, though, Tristan and I camped out at Hawthorne’s in a booth at the front window until the diner closed at midnight. Main Street’s wooden Welcome to Lilybrook—a Friendly Place to Live sign was visible from where we sat. If—when—Jillian and Logan came to Lilybrook, they would drive past that sign. Though visions, I had gotten to know the previous inhabitants of this booth very well. Bernie Jessup and Mandy Klein shared a sundae here in 1973. A kindergarten soccer team in yellow uniforms celebrated a victory here in 1995. Two weeks ago, while Tristan and I were driving back to Lilybrook from Lady Elke’s, Nathan Gallagher and Winter Milbourne had occupied this booth after leaving the APR. Nathan had just been put on probation for blocking Tristan’s premonitions. Then they’d heard what had happened in Lady Elke’s shed that day, and they were furious that we’d dragged Melanie along. I smothered that last vision with fog and stared outside, willing Jillian and Logan to drive past the wooden sign. So far, two psychics—one in Wyoming and one in Minnesota—had contacted Tristan. They had both been visited by Jillian and Logan, and they both had directed them to Lilybrook. Every day, we waited. Every day, they didn’t come. But they would come. Brinda Lakhani had predicted it. I carried her drawing of a pink lily over a blue brook with me, wherever I went, along with Jillian’s ballet shoe and Logan’s sheet music. They will come. I repeated that to myself with every step I took, with every breath, every heartbeat. They will come. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/clara-kensie/run-to-you-part-six-sixth-sense-39794393/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.