incredible than Remi and me being chased by otherworldlies and Monk Girl. And in my moment of clarity, the name of the boy came to me, the rock star. Gavin Vault, lead singer of Venus Unearthed.
My sanity had just taken another huge blow. The visions. The voices. Seeing Dead Dad and Gavin Vault and female monks, shape-shifting animals and Remi with fiery wings. In a few minutes, I’d gone from sort of hopeful to size eight straightjacket for the redheaded (bottle: Garnier Nutrisse Light Intense Auburn) insane. I closed my eyes and waited for them to come for me.
Gavin Vault took my right hand in his just as I had stopped breathing. It was like falling through space. Then a vision hit me like a wave of nausea. Not again. Not now.
In my vision I saw her, Monk Girl from the night before. This time up close, and this time we were alone, but I wasn’t afraid, and she wasn’t chasing me. She was laughing, smiling, and skipping; totally non-threatening. How stupid I’d been to fear her. She looked like Dead Dad, kind of translucent, but clearly a person. Then she ran toward me fast and grabbed my neck, taking my ability to breathe in her hands. For a translucent girl, she was pretty strong. She choked me, her eyes angry, determined. I read her mind. She wanted me dead. In a panic I reached up, grabbing, grasping at anything, and pulled the hood of her cloak down. A fit of air escaped my mouth as horror beat against my chest, tapping first and then pounding. I was staring into my own face, only with blond ringlets and hazel eyes.
“Grace, look at me.” Gavin’s voice was like a therapist bringing a patient out from under hypnosis.
When I opened my eyes, we were alone. He looked real, not imagined at all. His fingers were cool and soothing as they wrapped around my hand.
Where are Mom and Dead Dad? Maybe they had never been there. I remained still, afraid to breathe too hard for fear it would push me over the edge, making me Grace, The Completely Unrecognizable.
“Remi, can you hear me?” No one answered.
I looked over at the boy by my bed. I wanted to believe he was real, and God knows he felt real as he sat there with his fingers tapping lightly against my own.
I began to speak, to ask him who he was and if he knew what was wrong with me. I had been completely fine the day before until all hell broke loose. I probably had some kind of concussion. A person does not go crazy overnight. This boy, Gavin Vault, is just a gift from my mind to me to help me cope with the psychotic break.
He smiled and blinked slowly, letting his top lashes rest on his bottom ones for longer than was necessary. Dreamy.
“You’re not ready yet. I can’t help you process anything you’ve been through until you heal … until your mind heals. Rest.” Gavin’s voice was even and direct. His eyebrows scrunched together in a show of concern.
“Wait,” I begged, but I don’t think it mattered. My voice was lost, too soft to be heard.
He smiled and whispered, “It’s OK. You’re not going mad. Everything will make sense soon. I promise. Sleep now, Grace. I’ll return later, when you’ve had time to regain your strength.” Gavin’s hand slid from my grasp as he stood and turned for the door. Nooooooo! Don’t leave me here.
My eyes were instantly heavy. I struggled to watch him exit. There was a guy waiting in the hall. He patted Gavin on the back while looking at me with an odd expression. I blinked to stay awake, but I wanted to be rested for when the Larsons came, or Remi, so I could tell them everything.
As I drifted off, I reconsidered. Who would believe I’d had a visit from my dead father and the lead singer of Venus Unearthed? Absolutely no one.
This May Hurt a Little
When I opened my eyes, he was sitting in the chair next to my bed. A slight smile greeted me as we made eye contact. My body was too weak to respond.
“So I guess you’ve figured out you’ve won the contest,” he said matter-of-factly and moved closer. A cloud of concern shadowed his face. “Almost immediately after we determined you’d won, you were disqualified for having had one of your songs used in a commercial.” A smirk.