Chapter 82
Katelina woke the next day, curled up on the floor of the junk room. It took her a moment to straighten out her aching body and she wondered if it wouldn't be better to just stay on the floor forever. If nothing else, it would be easier.
She imagined Jorick lying in bed in the next room, his hair spread out on the pillow and his long lashes on his cheeks, then she mentally shook herself. Jorick had told her to get lost, so how could she think of him like that? She should hate him now, not want him!
She wiped crystallized tears from her eyes and contemplated sleep, but she knew it was pointless. There was no sanctuary in it. So, she climbed to her feet and stole cautiously through the empty basement and up the stairs. The house was full of sunlight, but it failed to cheer her. Even the kitchen looked more dismal than usual, and the empty fridge depressed her. There was nothing to eat except leftover pizza and, with no enthusiasm, she hauled it to the dining room. She glanced at the chair Jorick had sat in the night before last. "Are you happy?" he'd asked. Well, now she had a definite answer to give him: No. No, she was not happy, and it was his fault.
She chewed the pizza with no conviction, and thought back on the conversation they'd had on the beach - if it could be called a conversation. So much for Loren's brilliant advice.
Loren. Jorick had demanded to know if he'd told her about Velnya, which meant Loren knew, and it was a safe bet that Oren, Torina, and even Kateesha did, too. Hell, there was probably a billboard somewhere! And yet no one ever mentioned it to her. Did they think it'd be more fun for her to just be surprised? She hoped they had their laugh because here she was, surprised and abandoned just the same.
But it wasn't a surprise, was it? No, Velnya was just another Janine, and there Katelina was, left being the not-quite-good-enough woman again.
She took another bite of pizza, but it tasted like sawdust and stuck in her throat, so she gave up. She'd be hungry later, but she'd just make Loren get her something. Yeah, feed the human monkey. Maybe it was a good thing that she'd be home soon and away from all of this weirdness.
Home.
That had become an abstract word for her. A place of comfort, safety and melancholy memories all pressed like flowers in an album. It was a word associated with daylight and computers and cell phones and her mother. But, she doubted that such a place existed anymore.
Depression settled over her like a leaden cloud, so she turned her attention to the practical; packing. The duffle bag was still in the bedroom, so she stuffed a discarded shopping bag full of clothes, then threw it on the front room couch. True, Jorick had paid for them, but he owed her something after all, didn't he?
The air in the house was too thick with memories, so she grabbed the black coat from the floor where she'd left it, and slid into it; instantly enveloped in Jorick's familiar smell. Tears pricked her eyes but she forced them back and put her shoes on. Then she stood and let her gaze sweep the house. She'd only been there a couple of weeks, but she felt an attachment to it. She had memories there, in the tiny space. Memories of sitting on the couch, of laughing, of sulking, of sitting in the dining room reading those letters.
The letters.
On a whim, she marched into the dining room and jerked open the evil bottom drawer. In a moment she'd dug out the too familiar bundle. It was as if she needed to see they were real.
They were, and the sight of them made her angry, but she couldn't let them go. She stared at them stupidly. What was she going to do with them? Take them with her? She didn't know, but she stuffed them in her coat pocket anyway, and then headed outside.
The sky to the west was a smear of red that heralded the end of another day. White snow mantled the ground. Soft and clean, it bore only the footprints she and Jorick had left last night, as though immortalizing their last walk together.
With nothing to do, Katelina circled the house pointlessly and then came to a sudden stop in front of one of the windows: the window to Jorick's secret room. She'd been too preoccupied with the door and never thought to look in from the outside. When the easy route failed, she'd surrendered instead of puzzling out another approach.
She drew near slowly, as though she expected Jorick to swoop in from nowhere and scream accusations. But, even if he wanted to, he couldn't. Not while the sun still owned the world.
The window was higher than it appeared from a distance, and she couldn't actually see anything. She stepped back in disgust and started to contemplate surrender again, when something sparked inside her. She turned to the yard to scavenge for something to climb on. There was a plastic bucket that seemed just right, and when she had it in place she climbed up carefully and squinted through the glass. She was determined to get the answer to at least one of his damned secrets before she left.
Most of the room was lost to darkness, but she could pick out a few things. There were large, shadows she thought might be chairs and one that could be a desk. Like the rest of the house, the room was full to bursting, though she didn't see any books. There was an odd stand like object that was covered in crazily leaning candles, as though Jorick had just stuck them there and let them burn and melt, one after another. Picture frames covered the walls, their glass just bright reflections, except for a large gilt framed painting that had no overlay. However, no matter how she craned her neck, the window curtains obscured all but the edge of it.
The sun sank fast, and soon it was too dark to see much of anything. Still, she strained against the coming night until something in the deepest shadows moved. Her heart thumped in her chest and then she realized what it was: Jorick!
She jerked away from the window, lost her balance and landed with a painful thud in a heap of snow. She lay for a moment, paralyzed, but once she realized she was unbroken and probably unnoticed, she relaxed.
What was Jorick doing in there? It was a pretty risky place for him to sleep, considering the curtains were wide open. But then again, maybe he had enough junk stacked up to make it safe, like the motel rooms.
Either way, it wasn't her problem anymore, was it?
With that in mind, she climbed to her feet and brushed herself off before she headed back inside. She was just shutting the door when Jorick entered the room. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his jeans and his eyes were cast downwards. At the sound of the door, he glanced up, surprise etched on his pale features.
A wave of self-consciousness crashed over Katelina, and she clutched the pocket full of letters. "What?"
"Nothing," he said softly, his face expressionless. He came to a stop next to her, but made no move to touch her or say anything further. They both stood there, frozen for a moment, and then he opened the door and went outside.
The door closed and she screamed after him, "Fine, just be an ass!" How dare he treat her like that? How dare he just walk off and leave her there? How dare he - how dare he not even care!
Fury bubbled in her and she thought of the letters in her pocket. With purpose, she strode to the dining room and found the ink pen and the yellow tablet. On the top piece of paper she scrawled:
"No one had to tell me, Jorick. I'm sorry I couldn't be as perfect as her, but you're rid of me now."
She tore the paper loose and wrapped the note around the letters, then stomped to the end of the hallway and forced the bundle underneath the locked door.
When he returned, she was sitting impatiently in the chair near the fireplace, but she stood as though he'd ordered her to attention. He stopped in front of her, close enough to kiss, and she had to exert real control to keep from gazing into the bottomless depths of his eyes. She couldn't stop her heart from racing at his nearness, but she held herself in check. She refused to make an idiot out of herself now, even if it killed her.
Jorick took her hand and, for a moment, she looked up at him hopefully. But the hope died when he shoved something into her palm and forced her fingers to curl around it.
"Here," he said gruffly without really looking at her. "You'll need this." He dropped her hand and stepped away quickly. "Loren will take you to town and from there I'm sure you can get a bus or call someone. Tell them whatever you like. Say I kidnapped you, it hardly matters." His gaze flicked to her for a moment and then away. "Just don't tell anyone about us, or you'll be in danger from the others." Then, he turned and disappeared deeper into the house.
Katelina stared after him until she heard the cellar door slam. Something crinkled in her hand and she looked down to see what he'd given her, only to find cold, green bills.
Money. He'd given her money.
She wanted to fling it back in his face and scream at him that she hated him, that he was a monster, and that she could never love him, but her aching chest belied that statement. She fought back both tears and the desire to run after him; neither one would be productive.
With a shaking breath, she shoved the damn money in her pocket, then grabbed her bag and headed outside to wait for Loren.
