The Evolution of Mara Dyer

61

NOAH’S HANDS WERE GENTLE AND HIS VOICE was soft, which made his words somehow even more chilling.

I wanted to kill Jude. I’d thought about it many times. But those words in his mouth sounded wrong.

Noah let go of my hands. “I made arrangements before I came here to have more people watch your family, but I don’t think Jude’s going to go after them,” he said, staring straight ahead. “Everything he’s done—it’s been to get at you. He said he took Joseph because he wanted to make you hurt him yourself, knowing that’s exactly what would torture you the most.”

I swallowed. “But now I’m in here. And so are you.”

Noah was silent for a moment. Then said, “Not forever.”

Something in his voice scared me, and drew my eyes to look. Noah was beautiful—always—but there was something dark now beneath those perfectly carved features. Something new.

Or maybe it was always there, and I had just never seen it.

My pulse began to race.

Noah turned to me, the movement fluid and graceful. “The girl I saw—Stella, yes?”

I nodded.

“What do you know about her?” He sounded like himself again, and I felt relieved without quite knowing why.

“Not much,” I admitted. “Jamie said something about her almost passing for normal, but I don’t know what she’s in here for.” I felt a little bad now that I hadn’t bothered to find out, but in my defense, I’d been a bit preoccupied. “Why?”

Noah ran his fingers through his hair. “Have you noticed anything different about her?”

“Different as in . . .”

“Like us.”

“Nothing obvious,” I said, with a shrug.

Noah arched an eyebrow. “Our abilities aren’t exactly obvious, either.”

True. “So you think she’s like us?”

“I wonder. There has to be some kind of reason I’ve seen you and her. Think about it—there are millions of injured and sick people everywhere. But I’ve seen only five. The only thing I can think of that connects us is—”

“But that would mean . . . Joseph.” I could not fathom him sharing this misery.

“I think whatever we have is acquired,” Noah said carefully; he must have guessed my fear. “If Stella’s here, she has a file like everyone else, and it will mention her symptoms. Maybe she shares some of yours?”

And my grandmother’s.

But if my grandmother and I were both different in the same way, it had to be hereditary, which meant Noah was wrong. All of this could happen to Joseph, too.

Noah ran a hand over his jaw. “It might show some kind of connection—something we’re missing.”

Something we’re missing. The words sparked an image of Phoebe crying and rocking on the floor while Brooke reassured her, then smiling behind Brooke’s back. “We should check Phoebe’s, too,” I said, though the idea of her being like us was a horrifying thought.

And I had an equally horrifying thought—if Stella and Phoebe were like me and Noah, there was another thing we had in common.

We were all here.

I glanced at the tiny window in the music studio. Branches were thrashing in the wind, but despite the chaos outside, the room was quiet. The sky was still dark.

“We should go now,” I said to Noah, and we rose from the floor together. “How are you going to get their files?”

“The same way I got us into this room,” he said, flashing his crooked grin. “With a bribe.”

Noah led me up and out of the studio and into the hall. I didn’t want to risk a whisper, especially not in front of Dr. Kells’s door. It had an identical keypad, I noticed. But what if she was in there?

Noah shook his head when I asked my question out loud. “She’s only here a few times a week—and she definitely wouldn’t be in there at this hour.” He pressed a series of different numbers this time. Fewer. The door opened with a click.

“Well, well, what have we here?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Noah and I turned at exactly the same time.

To see Jamie standing in the hallway, just a few feet away.

“If it isn’t Noah Shaw,” he said in a low voice, mimicking Noah’s accent. “Seducer of virgins, fresh from making beautiful music with his beautiful conquest in the music studio. METAPHOR,” he stage-whispered.

“Jamie—” I hissed. He was going to get us caught.

“Which is fine,” he said, holding up his hands defensively. “Free country. But unless you’re about to engage in some executive-secretary role-play—”

“Jamie.”

“Or, oh my God, psychologist-patient role-play? Please tell me that is not what you were about to do, or I will throw up in both your faces. Simultaneously.”

“You’re disturbed,” I said sharply.

“That’s what they tell me,” Jamie said with a wink. “So, no role-play?”

“None,” Noah said.

“Then I want in.”

“Fine,” Noah said. “But for God’s sake, shut up.” He pushed open the door, and the three of us found ourselves in Dr. Kells’s lair.

“What are you looking for?” I asked Jamie as Noah pushed the door closed behind us.

“My file,” Jamie said, as if it was obvious. Then he cocked his head at me. “You?”

“Seems as though we have a similar agenda,” Noah lied.

Jamie moved gingerly in the dark room. He sat on the edge of Dr. Kells’s desk. “Who’d you pay off?”

“Wayne,” Noah said.

Jamie nodded sagely. “He seemed like the type.”

“There’s very little money can’t buy,” Noah said, as his eyes roamed over a tall file cabinet in the corner.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jamie said. “Have you broken into the room without a keypad yet?”

I looked over at him. “What room?”

Jamie shook his head. “What kind of juvenile delinquent are you, Mara?” he asked. “I tried picking it,” he said to Noah, “but no luck. If we could get our hands on the master key and a bar of soap and a lighter, Noah, we could make a copy of it.”

Noah didn’t respond—he was already gently opening drawers. Jamie and I took the hint and followed his lead.

My eyes scanned the hanging file folders for names, but all I saw were numbers. Years, maybe? I withdrew one of the manila folders and opened it.

Financial records of some kind. Huh. I put the folder back.

We worked in the dark room in silence for a while, with nothing but the sound of drawers and folders opening and closing in the background. It would have been so much easier with some light, but under the circumstances, that probably wouldn’t have been wise.

“Bingo,” Jamie said, startling me. “They’re organized chronologically.” He held up three files in his hands. “Dyer,” he said, and handed me mine. “Shaw,” he said, placing Noah’s into his hand. “And Roth.” He hugged the last file close to his chest.

I looked down at mine. If only that was what I really wanted. Noah took Dr. Kells’s chair and flashed a lazy smile at me, pretending to go along with this. I moved to sit on his lap.

“Get a meadow,” Jamie muttered.

I grinned and Noah smiled and neither of us moved. He opened his file, but I just stared at mine. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know what it said, but considering I might not get another chance—

Screw it. I flipped it open. On the first page were my stats. What I was interested in was on the second page:

The patient admits to having past and present thoughts of harming herself or others, as well as to experiencing auditory and visual hallucinations. The patient did not hesitate to describe the circumstances that led to her episode at the Metro Dade Police Department. Her thoughts were organized and coherent. The patient admits to having specific phobias, namely of blood, needles, and heights. She denied having specific obsessions or compulsions. She admitted to having problems concentrating.

Hallucinations and nightmares appear to be stress and fear induced. Patient also experiences extreme insomnia and panic attacks. She has had recurring thoughts and incidents of self-harm (see records attached) and according to the patient and her family, suffers from extreme guilt, possibly stemming from her dual trauma; a sexual assault on the night of the PTSD event (building collapse) and the PTSD event itself. Patient was the sole survivor of a collapse in which her best friend, boyfriend, and boyfriend’s sister died. Patient claims that the boyfriend assaulted her, and she is preoccupied with the delusion that he is still alive. The patient has a psychiatric history of hearing voices that others can’t and exhibits paranoid ideation. Patient exhibits social avoidance: has a demonstrable lack of close friends or relationships other than with first-degree relatives, though she appears to be friendly with male patient J. Roth. Heightened animosity observed between the patient and female patient P. Reynard. Absence of flat affect. Possible indications of heightened superstition, magical thinking, and preoccupations with paranormal phenomena lead to probability of:

PTSD with possible co-occurring Mood Disorder (Bipolar: Severe with Psychotic Features)

Schizophreniform Disorder (1-6 months in duration)

Schizophrenia (if symptoms persist until eighteen years of age) as distinguished from Delusional Disorder.

Will continue to observe before final diagnosis.

“Mara.”

I heard Noah’s voice close to my ear. I half-turned in his lap. Noah brushed my cheek with his thumb. I was shocked to feel that it was wet.

I’d been crying.

“I’m okay,” I said in a strangled voice. I cleared my throat. “I’m fine.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Whatever it says in there, it isn’t you.”

Yes, it was. “You haven’t read it,” I said, looking away from him. Jamie was preoccupied with his own file. He was quiet.

Noah traced a pattern with his finger on my side, under my ribs and over my T-shirt as he held me on his lap. “Do you want me to?”

I wasn’t sure. “I’m not sure,” I said. Noah watched me go through so much, and he was still here. But seeing it on paper like this, seeing what everyone else thought . . .

“Do you want to read mine?” Noah asked. His voice was low but warm.

I couldn’t lie; I did. And the fact that he was willing to show me meant something. I felt strangely nervous as Noah handed me the folder. I opened it to the first page.