Run to You Part Five: Fifth Touch

  Part Five 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...

  Tessa’s nightmares feel all too real, and the hope of getting her family back together has never seemed so slim.

  Although a psychic warns her that leaving town may mean her death, Tessa cannot stay when she uncovers a new lead to her brother and sister. Not even if she must go alone and risk losing Tristan forever.

  Run to You

  Part Five:

  Fifth Touch

  Clara Kensie

  Dedication

  To J

  Contents

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Excerpt from Run to You Part Six: Sixth Sense

  Excerpt from Foretold

  Chapter Seventeen

  I was going to die.

  Inside a little house with silver walls, I was going to bleed to death.

  Because Deirdre had a dream.

  “How will it happen?” An anxious dread settled in my stomach like a rock. From the counter, the knife flashed again.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I just know that it will.”

  “What kind of house has silver walls?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Dennis said solemnly, “because you’ll never be in a house like that. Deirdre’s dreams always happen, Tessa. The only way to keep them from happening is to change the course of events. She dreamed that you left Lilybrook because of your brother and sister. So, to change the course of events, you won’t leave. You’ll stay in Lilybrook.”

  “Tristan changes the course of events with his warning premonitions all the time,” I said. “So if he has one about me, I’ll listen. I won’t ignore him anymore. I’ll do what he says. Immediately. I promise.”

  “That’s not good enough,” Tristan said. He put his hands on either side of my face and caressed my cheeks with his thumbs. “You almost got hit by that ambulance in Tennessee because you had lifted the fog so high that you were lost in the visions. You walked right in front of it, even though I was yelling for you to stop. It wasn’t that you ignored me; you didn’t hear me. Or what if...” He grimaced, guilt shadowing his face. “What if something like Twelve Lakes happens again?”

  My shame was my parents; Tristan’s shame was his failure to keep me safe from Kellan in Twelve Lakes.

  “But what about Jillian and Logan?” I asked. “I can’t let a dream stop me from finding them.”

  “Aaron Jacobs is looking for them,” Dennis said.

  “I’m looking for them too,” Tristan said. “I may not be a human computer like Aaron is, but I’m still searching for matches for Brinda’s drawings, and I’m still contacting psychics around the country. I’ll find them for you, like I promised I would. I’ll bring them to you, here, in Lilybrook.”

  The tightness in Deirdre’s face turned from worry to anger. “Dennis spent eight years looking for you,” she said. “Tristan moved away his senior year and put off college for you. They risked their lives to bring you to safety. That you would even consider—”

  Dennis took her hand. “You can’t be with your brother and sister if you’re dead, Tessa.”

  From atop the fridge, Marmalade mewed.

  I stared at the Connellys, and they stared back at me. Deirdre: hurt and resentful. Dennis: decisive and stern. Tristan: distressed and determined.

  Tristan and Dennis were almost killed because of me. I owed it to them to stay alive.

  And despite the shame that crawled around inside me like a disease, despite my tainted blood, despite being Killers’ Spawn...I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live to see my brother and sister again. I wanted to give them happy, stable, peaceful lives.

  I couldn’t give Jillian and Logan happy, stable, peaceful lives if I bled to death inside a little house with silver walls. I needed to live.

  For the past eight years, I’d fled from town to town to stay alive. And now, to stay alive, I needed to stay put. I could not change my past, but I could change my future.

  “Fine,” I mumbled. “I’ll stay in Lilybrook.”

  * * *

  As I stood at the mirror in the guest bedroom and brushed my hair for school, Tristan came up behind me. He put his hands on my hips and drew me against him. “I have to leave for class, but I want to let you know that you don’t have to worry about a thing,” he said. “Nothing’s changed except you can’t leave Lilybrook. You’ll still get Jillian and Logan back.”

  “What do you think it means, though?” I asked. “A silver room?”

  “My mom’s dreams can be symbolic. She dreamed that you had wildflower eyes, remember? You do have wildflower eyes, but not literally. The silver room can be anything. I think the silver is your fog. Maybe it means that instead of lifting it too high, you bring it down too low and pass out again, like you did in the Underground.”

  “Hmm. That could be. But the red? The blood?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. You’ll hit your head on something when you pass out? You’ll get hit by a car?” He shuddered.

  “What if it means someone’s going to kill me?”

  “Don’t even talk that way. Who would want to kill you?”

  I met his gaze in the mirror. “Nathan.”

  A muscle pulsed angrily in his jaw. “I told him to leave you alone. Has he threatened you?”

  “No. He hasn’t even spoken to me. But he still hates me. He’s in my nightmares. His eyes become part of the Nightmare Eyes.”

  Tristan considered it, then shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on with Nathan, but he wouldn’t hurt you. He’s a safeguard, Tessa. He protects people. I’ll call him on my way to class this morning and talk to him again. Besides, my mom’s dream will only happen if you leave Lilybrook. And you’re not going to do that. You are going to stay here, where it’s safe. I will bring Jillian and Logan to you.”

  I studied Tristan’s face in the mirror. He looked tired, but his jaw was set. He’d failed to keep me safe in Twelve Lakes, and he was determined to make up for that in Lilybrook.

  His phone dinged and he swiped the screen. “It’s another psychic responding to my email,” he said. “He owns a metaphysical shop in New Mexico. He even has a crystal ball, just like in Brinda’s drawing. He said he’ll keep an eye out for Jillian and Logan and call me right away if they show up.”

  He wrapped his arms around me. “See, Clockwise? I’m getting lots of responses like this. Everything will be fine.”

  I turned so I faced him and brought him in close, inhaling his scent of soap and strength and masculinity. The tighter he held me, the more my lungs opened up. Even the Nightmare Eyes dimmed a bit. I needed to stay here, in Lilybrook, in Tristan’s arms.

  I couldn’t leave Lilybr
ook to look for my siblings, so Lilybrook would have to be my headquarters. Command Central. The mission: Find Jillian and Logan. Tristan and Aaron were my soldiers. From my post, I would oversee their investigations and help in every way I could.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Miss Bennett, the enthusiastic geometry teacher, jabbered away while scribbling angles and formulas on the whiteboard. The dry-erase markers squeaked, their acerbic scent permeating the room and making me slightly nauseated. The colorful triangles, squares and circles reminded me of Brinda’s crayon drawings. Chin propped in hand, I pretended to be copying the shapes and formulas into my notebook, but actually, I was writing a note.

  The Connellys believed I was happily going about my life while imprisoned in Lilybrook because of Deirdre’s dream of a little silver-walled house that filled up with my blood, and had left the responsibility of finding my siblings to Tristan and Aaron. But I wasn’t happily going about my life. For the past three days, I’d been trying to contact my sister. Psionically.

  I knew I couldn’t contact her telepathically—I could only do that with Tristan, and only when we were close. But when my family lived in Twelve Lakes, Jillian had been trying to develop remote vision, the same psionic ability our father had. Or at least, the psionic ability our dad used to have, before the APR neutralized him. Jillian had made some progress before her terrible headaches and bloody noses had driven her to quit—headaches and bloody noses that were manufactured by our mother so Jillian wouldn’t discover our parents’ murderous secrets.

  Maybe now that our imprisoned, neutralized mother could no longer give her those headaches, Jillian could develop her mobile eye again.

  Jillian thought I was dead, so she wouldn’t purposely send out her mobile eye to find me. But maybe if she thought of me, she would see me in Lilybrook. Alive. Safe.

  Chances were slim. Almost zero. But I had to try.

  As Miss Bennett scrawled formulas on the whiteboard, I continued my letter to Jillian.

  I’d filled almost a page, willing Jillian to see it through my eyes, when the sound of my name brought me back to the classroom. I looked up from the notebook to see Miss Bennett, marker in hand, looking at me expectantly.

  “Oh. Um... could you repeat the question, please?” I stammered.

  “What is the formula for the surface area of a pyramid?” she repeated, not patiently.

  I turned to my notebook to find the page with that formula, and saw that I hadn’t written a long letter to Jillian after all. After a few lines I’d stopped writing words, and instead had drawn a pair of circles, filled in solid black.

  My Nightmare Eyes.

  “You should know that formula by now, Tessa,” Miss Bennett said.

  “I...” I sputtered, staring at the Nightmare Eyes on my paper. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

  Miss Bennett shook her head. “Can anyone help her out?”

  In the seat in front of mine, Winter shot her hand up and quite cheerfully provided the formula.

  “Very good, Winter.” With a disappointed look at me, Miss Bennett continued her lesson.

  Cheeks burning, I gave my head a little shake to break the hold the Nightmare Eyes had on me. I flipped to a blank page and obediently copied the information from the whiteboard onto my paper. But once Miss Bennett turned her attention to someone else, I started a new letter to Jillian. This time, I kept it short and simple:

  I stared at it, hard, until my eyes dried out and the words turned blurry. Then I blinked, and stared at the words again.

  Was Jillian seeing this? What if the fog was blocking her ability to see through me? I’d been writing notes to her for three days; maybe the fog was the reason she wasn’t seeing them.

  I could lift it a little....

  I stared at the note again.

  Something shifted in my peripheral vision—Winter, turning to smirk at me over her shoulder. She was listening to me, telepathically. Her amused snarl burned into me, along with the Nightmare Eyes, reminding me that I was Killers’ Spawn.

  Ignoring both Winter and the Nightmare Eyes, I lifted the fog higher, and focused on my note.

  I couldn’t tell if Jillian was seeing through me or not. The only thing I could sense was the multitude of students who’d sat in this chair before me. Trenton Abrams, last period. He thought Miss Bennett was hot. Julie Weaver, two years ago, wishing Tristan Connelly would dump Melanie Brunswick and ask her out instead. Beth Whitcomb, ten years ago, doodling hearts and stars in her notebook.

  The bell rang, and fog still raised, vaguely aware of Miss Bennett telling me to pay more attention next time, I shoved everything into my book bag and walked out of the classroom. If Jillian had connected to me via mobile eye, she would be seeing everything I was seeing and hearing everything I was hearing right now.

  “Jillian,” I murmured, holding a textbook in front of my mouth so no one would think I was talking to myself, “can you hear me? It’s me, Tessa. I’m alive. I’m trying to find you.”

  The halls were so crowded. Was there an assembly or something? If Jillian was watching through me right now, she’d see that I was in a high school, not locked away in a gray cell somewhere. As I pushed through the students, I saw a blue flyer taped to the wall:

  I let my gaze linger on it. “See that, Jillian? I’m in Lilybrook, Wisconsin,” I murmured behind my textbook. “Come to Lilybrook. It’s safe here.”

  It was becoming hard to concentrate. Everyone was on their way to that pep rally, all walking and talking. So loud. The mass grew bigger and denser by the second, everyone chattering. Brian Edes plodded along. Susie Berkowitz and Tamara Yonkers rushed past him. Girls in acid-washed jeans, boys in brown leather jackets. Junie Lyons. Ben Guntherson.

  The bell rang but the hall wasn’t emptying. Girls in poodle skirts and saddle shoes passed by, intermingling with scruffy boys in flannel shirts.

  Poodle skirts.

  That wasn’t right.

  The students in the hall weren’t really there. They used to be there, but they weren’t now. Now they were visions.

  The pep rally flyer wasn’t there either.

  The fog. I’d lifted it too high.

  Dizzy, woozy, I stumbled to the row of shiny lockers, leaning against them for support. Big mistake—the wall forced more visions into me.

  Rochelle Mellon in bell-bottoms and sporting big, feathered hair.

  Darren Szostak wearing a royal blue T-shirt that boasted LILYBROOK HIGH CLASS OF ’88.

  Tristan Connelly, in a hockey sweater and walking with a worshipful Melanie Brunswick to his left and a short-haired, laughing Nathan Gallagher to his right, just two years ago.

  The visions of Tristan and Melanie continued past, but Nathan’s stopped. Stayed. Stared.

  “N-Nathan?” Was he real?

  No—just a vision. He disappeared, swallowed up by other visions, more and more visions, crowding the hallways, shoving and clamoring.

  I tottered away from the lockers. But the visions were still there, multiplying, growing denser and louder.

  I had to bring in the fog. I had to bring it in now, before I lost control and the visions became solid, and I started spiraling into nothingness.

  I pulled it in, but it wasn’t enough.

  I pulled it in lower. Thicker. Lower and thicker again.

  The visions were gone, but I could see nothing but fog. I breathed in fog. My muscles turned into fog.

  No sight. No air. No strength.

  Why didn’t Tristan call? He didn’t call to warn me—

  Then everything disappeared.

  * * *

  Blackness. Absolute and all-encompassing.

  But even in the blackness, there was something. Something gleeful and threatening.

  My Nightmare Eyes,
darker than even the black fog surrounding me. Watching me. Dark as a starless night and black as a cavern of coal.

  I could not move. The eyes kept me paralyzed. Their rage burned through me. They wanted to keep me in the black fog forever.

  Something twinkled. Something silver.

  ~killers’ spawn

  I heard the words, booming through my subconscious, low and rumbling, as if they were spoken aloud, or perhaps whispered in my ear. I struggled to escape from the hateful words, from the eyes’ hateful glare.

  A knife. Long and sharp and silver. Its blade glittered and glimmered, sparkled and glowed.

  I had to get away. I had to get away from the ominous eyes, from the glimmering silver.

  I had nowhere else to go except deeper into the fog. With a desperate heave, I pulled the fog in closer, darker, thicker. It came, quick and solid, and it consumed the glimmering, glittering silver, it consumed the Nightmare Eyes, and it consumed me.

  * * *

  I found out, after I woke up in the APR’s clinic with Tristan holding my hand and begging me to come back to him, that a security guard had found me. Unconscious, alone and crumpled on the floor of the school’s hallway. The school nurse had called Dennis, who’d rushed me to the APR.

  I also found out that Tristan never called because he hadn’t gotten a warning premonition about it. He never got a warning premonition of the visions overwhelming me. He never got a warning premonition of the fog overpowering me.

  I also found out that it was the next day. While the Nightmare Eyes had me pinned under their hateful gaze, the sun had set, and risen again.

  * * *

  Dr. Sheldon, the kind, warm physician who had taken care of me in the Underground, placed one hand behind my neck and her other on my forehead as I sat on the curtained-off cot in the clinic. “Don’t move,” she said. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head.

  She’d kept me here overnight while I was lost in the fog. Deirdre and Dennis had stayed until about midnight, and Tristan had stayed the entire night with me, holding my hand. Now he hovered close as Dr. Sheldon determined if I was ready to go back to the Connellys’ house.