His blade cuts through the cloth of my sweatshirt. “Smile.” The hiss, as sharp as the knife, punctures the air.
This time, I force a small grin. Doesn’t anyone notice us? Don’t they see I’m being forced against my will?
He leads me down a flight of steps into the park. A canopy of pin oaks envelops us as we descend. Their splayed, fingerlike branches clutch a beautiful fall wardrobe of leaves in oranges and reds that will soon become last season’s garb. Beneath them, old-fashioned lampposts cast a white glow from every angle.
If I can get away, Central Park has plenty of hiding places. I know them well, and I’m betting if he just moved here he doesn’t.
“Do you come here often?”
“No.”
A few more steps. “How long have you lived here again?”
“Keep your mouth shut,” Ky snaps. Annoyed. Good.
“I was just wondering why a college student would want to throw his life away by kidnapping a teenager.”
He stops. Shakes his head. Laughs. “You stupid girl. Do you mean to tell me Elizabeth told you nothing?”
Whiplash. “What do you know about my mom?”
“Wow. She’s dumber than you are.” He drags me forward.
The insult raises several choice words to mind. How dare he say that about Mom. But I don’t speak again. Somehow this all fits together. Joshua knowing Ky’s name. Ky knowing Mom. These are the outer corners of one complicated puzzle. If only I had the middle pieces so I could see the entire picture.
We pass more late-night loiterers. A shifty-eyed man stomping out a cigarette at the base of a tree, attempting to hide his totally illegal act. A couple in matching joggers walking their Border collies. Three girls about my age passing a bag of Skittles back and forth as they chat. Laugh. Gossip. Oblivious in their own little bubble.
I will someone to look at me. To ask if I’m okay. To care.
As if reading my thoughts, Ky laughs, low and mocking. “People only see what they want to see, princess. They ignore what’s right in front of them. No one is going to save you.”
I swallow. Having been the target of bullies like Blake, I know too well most people would rather look the other way than try to help and risk their own skin.
The Pond is in clear view. He lugs me to it, then stops on the soggy shore. “Get in.”
His demand is very stage left. Is he going to drown me? “What?” I avoid eye contact.
He digs the blade deeper, breaking skin. I try to lean away, but his grip is too firm. “Either get in or be dragged in.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“When you can’t touch the bottom anymore, swim down. Haman will be waiting on the other side.”
The other side? Haman? Maybe Ky is some psycho, escaped from a mental hospital. Of course, that doesn’t explain his freeze-ray eyes. Still, if I play along I might be able to escape. “You’re not coming?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You and your questions.” Ky spits to one side.
This is my chance. “So I just go out to where it’s too deep to stand and then swim to the bottom?”
“Yes.” Ky looks around, back toward the path. “Now hurry up.”
What’s he so nervous about?
I feign compliance and shrug, suppressing a grin. “Okay. But you’ll have to let my arm go first.”
He releases me with a shove, and I tread the freezing shallows. My sneakers become instant weights. I’ll never gain distance in them now. I remove each one and chuck them ashore.
Ky is a statue, arms crossed, watching me.
I move forward, ignoring the shivers already taking over. My feet sink with each step. Once the water reaches waist high, I push off from the muddy bed and swim. Something squirms by my leg. I jerk away. Gross.
When I point my toes and can’t reach the bottom anymore, I glimpse the shore one last time. Ky hasn’t moved. I take a deep breath. Then I dive. The water is dank. Murky. I can’t see a thing.
If I can get deep enough, I’ll be able to swim forward and hide beneath the Pond’s bridge. I’ll wait in the shadows until Ky leaves. When it’s safe, I’ll swim to land. Go home.
A hand grabs my ankle and yanks me down.
I claw for the surface. Chest tightens. Lungs burn. The grip on my ankle is too much. Down, down, down. How deep is this thing anyway? I’m dizzy. I’m going to pass out.
And then, out of nowhere, another hand grabs me, but this time around my bicep. I’m a rope in a tug-of-war, and Team Ankle is winning. I kick with every modicum of feistiness and teenage angst I have left. I don’t know if the other contestant is friend or foe, but he’s yanking me in the direction I want to, no, need to go.
Thwack! My heel meets bone . . . a nose? I’m free.
With my rescuer’s help I swim for the surface. When I break it, I gulp. Lie on my back and float. I can’t swim anymore. Then I’m dragged along until I finally reach earth.
Whoever saved me is propping my head now. Cough. Spit. Gasp. “Thank you.” Was that my voice or did I trade with a toad?
“Quiet now. We don’t have much time.”
Mom?
I look up. My vision blurs. Blink, blink, blink. Oh my—“Mom!” This can’t be real.
“Hi, brave girl.” She looks different, older somehow.
I scramble to sit. I cry out, and something reminiscent of a seal bark protrudes. “Mom, what’s happening?” Sob after chest-jolting sob spills forth. I clutch the fabric of her clothes, afraid if I let go she’ll vanish with my next breath.
She strokes my wet hair, finger-combing the tangles. “I need you to listen to me now. We may have only moments.”
Choking fear wraps jagged talons around my heart. “What do you mean?”
“I thought keeping all of this from you was the best thing. But I was wrong. You need to know the truth so you can guard your heart against the lies.” She cranes her neck.
I follow her lead and search for Ky on the opposite shore. He’s gone. Good riddance.
She grips my shoulders, and we lock gazes again. Her stare bores into my soul. I brace myself.
“You are not of this Reflection, Eliyana. I brought you here to hide you from those who seek to use you. In hopes you’d have a normal life. I wanted you to have a choice.”
Reflection? Normal? Nothing about any of this is normal. “Why would anyone want to use me?”
“Because of this.” Mom touches four fingertips to my birthmark.
I shudder. “I don’t—”
“This”—she traces my cheek—“is not what it seems. These markings on your face make you a target. The enemy knows about you now. It’s not safe here for you anymore.”
“Enemy? Target? You’re not making sense.” Has someone drugged her?
Mom sighs. Moonlight reflects off her pooling tears. With a shaky breath she says, “I’m sorry. I was wrong. I never should have kept—”
Splash! She doesn’t have the chance to finish. Whatever just broke through the water is coming right at us.
SIX
Far Away
An arrow—an arrow—darts by, inches from my face. Pings the maple tree behind Mom.
“Run!” She yanks me to a stand. We trip over stones and midget bushes along the shore up a small incline to the winding path around the Pond. A copse of trees rises beyond the sidewalk. Mom sprints into it, literally dragging me. She’s going to dislocate my arm. Who’d have thought she could run this fast? When we’re somewhat sheltered, she stops, grabs me by the shoulders, and looks past me, wild-eyed. “Give me your sweatshirt.”