I smile. “I know. Why?”
He takes a moment to respond, his lean but built chest rises beneath his sweater when he takes a thoughtful breath. “To protect you.”
My body erupts with electricity. “From what?”
“Don’t you know?” He studies me, clearly hoping for a certain response.
“No. Should I?”
He releases his breath as though he’s been holding it. “No,” he says. The rain comes down a bit heavier until his hair grows darker and I’m flustered by how bright his eyes are. “You need to get out of the rain and sleep,” he says. “Be careful tomorrow.”
He starts to turn away, so I reach out and grab his hand. Lightning shoots through me like I’ve never felt before, so much so that I let go instantly and look at him in surprise. Again, he seems to be studying me. “What was that?” I ask.
“What was what?” he calmly repeats, although I know he knows.
“I don’t understand.”
He confidently takes a step until his shoulder touches mine and he assures me. “We’ve got you. I promise.”
The rain comes down so hard, my clothes stick to my skin, but I can’t pay any attention when he’s there. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
He is more than comfortable with his proximity. “Not yet, but soon. You need sleep. I am here.” When I don’t move, he nods his head toward my apartment, “Go.”
Finally, I walk away. Strangely enough, I instantly fall asleep till morning.
However, I am still thinking about Arek’s touch through the next school day. The last thirty minutes are the longest as the kids run around wild.
“DeSean, take a seat, please,” I beg.
“Miss Willow, there’s a stranger on campus,” he says, leaning over the shelf of plants to peer outside. I look up from the papers I’m about to pass out and see his inquisitive eyes. “There’s lots of people out there.”
Some of the kids rush over to the window. “Everybody sit down!” I holler kindly. “Y’all don’t need to look. Just sit.” I walk up to the window and lean beside DeSean.
Beside the red swing set and jungle gym a man stands on the blacktop with his phone pressed to his ear. A thick mist clouds the windows, creating more work for my eyes as I step closer. Finally, he comes into focus. His stance and frame are familiar.
Arek.
Soon in my peripheral vision I see each child peering out the windows beside me.
“Who’s that?” DeSean asks coolly.
I don’t answer as more people surround Arek on the playground. Their faces are familiar, too.
“What in the world?” I breathe out. The couple from BART, the boy from the supermarket, and the couple with the white Aston Martin are there.
“Who are they?” DeSean asks again.
My voice comes out harsher than I expect. “Grab your backpacks. You’re going to the library for the last few minutes.” Every child rejoices loudly, except DeSean.
Across the hall the librarian is cleaning up as the kids march in. She looks at me with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry Sue . . . please help me. I’m not feeling well.”
DeSean cocks his head to the side, “You need help, Miss Willow?”
I give a forced smile. “No, thank you, DeSean.”
The door nearly hits me in the heels as I rush out.
CHAPTER NINE
The winding staircases and slick aging tiles of the old schoolhouse aren’t easy to navigate. After descending two floors in my clumsy version of a sprint, someone collides with me, coming the opposite direction. The impact jars my teeth as my hip hits the hard floor.
I gather myself and finally look up. Instantly my body goes cold and my fingers numb. The angry man from the other night stares at me. A familiar race of my heart warns me.
Get away, I tell myself. I don’t even try to stand but crawl back, my palms cold against the floor. Yet he follows with clear advantage. His lips move as if speaking under his breath and just as before, my chest constricts. An immediate headache makes me close my eyes and fall back in pain. I groan.
He seems to control the raging fire in my head—no amount of burning or pressure I have ever felt could emulate the same torture. His boots stomp close to my head as I beg him to stop.
Instead, his strong tourniquet-like fingers wrap around my arm and cut off the blood flow. “Welcome back,” he growls. His voice creates a fog in my brain that makes it difficult to react. My eyes roll uncontrollably back in my head. Only when he stops talking am I able to pull away. The more I pull, the tighter his grip becomes on my arm and, despite my best effort, my skin feels as though it will tear, or my bones might break. Someone shows up behind him, which at first gives me hope, until his face comes into view. My world suddenly spins out of control.
The old man. His arthritic fingers bouncing like he has a tick. White hair just touches his jaundiced eyes.
“What . . .” I cry out, but soon my eyes roll back again with pain so severe my body convulses.
“Rapit, bye te sen,” the old man says in a different language.
Years of my life he has intruded upon my dreams. I fear him. Loathe him. Yet I know nothing about him.
When he steps closer, my body writhes more.
