Chapter 4
It’s nearly twenty blocks later when I’m standing in front of a crumbling old warehouse, the number 5918 painted on the red bricks. The broken panes of glass are jagged like sets of sinister teeth. This is a really bad idea. There is no way in hell I’d be out here if it wasn’t for the Need. This side of Portland isn’t the safest place to be at night.
A wave pushes through me and I stumble toward the oversized metal doors. A flyer—the same one from Plato’s—is taped in the window. Next week there will be a community event to restore the building, something truly inspiring, I’m sure. But tonight it’s still just an abandoned warehouse. And a creepy one at that.
I step back. Need or not, there is no way I’m going inside. Chances are, there could be a junkie or dealer living inside. It wouldn’t be the first time the Need has put me in this position. Last month I walked into the dark back room of a restaurant. It was filled with drug dealers, their guns out on the tables. I told Anthony that his girlfriend was pregnant and needed him to straighten up. That if he didn’t, she’d leave and he’d never see his kid. I thought for sure I was going to get killed that night, but instead, he listened. And I walked out unscathed.
But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t scared. No... whatever it is I’m here for now, I can do it from outside. At least there are streetlights.
There’s an intense heat running under my skin, setting my shoulder on fire. I move the white fabric of my shirt to peek at it. The red blotch is darker now in the center. I feel my stomach turn at the sight. It wasn’t like this at Harlin’s.
I touch it because warmth is pulsating down my arm, seemingly from that spot. But as I brush the skin... it rubs off. I hitch in a breath, my eyes wide. I wipe my finger softly over the raised area again and another layer comes off. It’s like goldleaf on a cheap antique—just flaking away.
I’m starting to hyperventilate, but the pain seems to fade with each swipe I take. I press a little harder as I run my fingers over the spot and soon there’s no more skin there. I cry out at the sight of it and cover my eyes with my shaky hands. This isn’t happening. It can’t be. But the burning in my shoulder is gone and it’s pure relief.
I swallow hard and lower my hands, turning to glance at the wound. Only when I do, it’s different. It’s... golden.
“Oh my God,” I murmur, brushing at the skin, but nothing else comes off. It’s a layer of gold, under the surface, gleaming in the yellow light of the streetlamps.
“No.” I shake my head, not sure what’s wrong with me. As if the Need isn’t enough. Now my skin? What the hell is wrong with my skin? I blink rapidly and back away from the warehouse, rubbing roughly at my shoulder, trying to get rid of the spot. The gold.
I stumble off the curb and I’m immediately flooded in light from an oncoming car. I scream, holding my arms up in front of me, my white shirt still hanging off my shoulder. Tires squeal. Metal bangs against my thighs and I’m knocked back; the force of it driving me into the ground where my head smacks the pavement with a sick thud. Everything goes black.
“Yo, girl,” I hear. “You alive?”
I blink slowly. No scene comes into focus. All I see is a glowing figure in front of me, a person outlined in light. He’s staring down, alternating between yelling at me and yelling into his phone.
Despite the throbbing of my legs and the daggers in the back of my head, I sit up. My body burns, my bones pull toward the guy, toward his light. Although none of my other Needs have ever glowed like this, I know it’s him. And suddenly images flash and I can see why I’m here.
“Francisco,” I whisper, feeling some relief as I say his name. He jumps away from me, shaking his head.
“Do I know you?” he asks.
There is warm liquid trickling down my cheek and I touch it. It might be blood, but when I look at my hand I can’t tell. All I can see is Francisco. And the impending shoot-out.
I can’t distinguish his features but I can tell he’s scared as he backs away. I groan, getting to my feet, ignoring the aching. I want to help him. I have to.
“You need to turn yourself in,” I say, brushing absently at my blood-soaked hair. “The police know where you are. They’re on their way.” And I can see what will happen if he tries to run. I know they’ll kill him.
“Who are you?” Francisco screams at me, taking his phone from his ear. I feel a jolt of fear as he thinks of striking me, but he doesn’t. He’s too frightened. “Who are you?” he asks again, his voice cracking.
“I’m no one,” I murmur, the words startling me. My tone is so calm, and I don’t feel like myself. All I feel is the Need.
In my head I can see Francisco dressed in black at the curb of a big stone house on the other side of town. He’s younger than I’d thought, maybe twenty? While he waits, his fingers tap on the steering wheel as his best friend, Leo, is inside the home, robbing it.
Leo hadn’t known the man was home. And he didn’t mean to shoot him. Or at least, that’s what Francisco tells himself. That’s what he wants to think.
When he heard the shots, Francisco should have left, but he couldn’t run. It’s not the way. And he needed the money for his grandma. Leo had promised him 50 percent just to drive.
Here in the street Francisco grasps the handle of his car door. “I didn’t do it,” he calls out to me, as if he can’t help but confess. “I wasn’t in the house!”
I nod and move toward him, needing to touch him. His light is so bright as it glows with his emotions, but I can feel that he’s not listening. He’s not doing what he’s supposed to. He’s almost over.
“Please,” I murmur, seeing his aura flicker toward me, as if reaching out to me. “It’s time. Your grandma needs you alive. She won’t survive if you go.”
He cries out at the mention of his grandmother and runs his hands roughly through his short hair. Suddenly I can tell he’s listening.
“Damn, girl,” he murmurs, like he doesn’t know what to do. He looks around the road, indecisively, and that’s when I reach out. Not because I’m trying to, but because I have to. The vines are back, pulling me to him.
